It’s not like supermarket chicken; bland, washed and neatly packaged. If it weren’t for the label, a girl might not even realize the two were kissing cousins. No, fresh entrails had a certain musky, earthy quality, highlighted by the scent of warm fur or feathers. Anyone who’d ever prepared a farm animal for the table knew that blood made the hair stick to hands and knives; Elmer couldn’t make better glue. And the smell! She could wash her hands, shower…blood scent took forever to fade. The troll had made no effort to wash away the scent of his kill. The carrion stink of it polluted the air, forced her to breathe through her mouth. Even then, she could almost taste the rot… 1. Hush, my darling. It’s only the boogieman. “Not now, Lance.” Carrie pushed her boyfriend away, wincing at the alcohol reek of his beer breath. “I’m not going to make it with you under a bridge.” There was nowhere to do it, even if she’d wanted to. The concrete block walls looked cold—she wasn’t going to let him grope her on the rocky ground, either.
