Halloween Psychopath Special
Count Whorton wiped his
nose on the back of his hand then went back to ignoring the goober half his age
in front of him. Mark Miller, otherwise known as The Mole Man, for his pimple-bespeckled
face with rodent-like qualities and large dark John-Boy blemish on his
forehead, called himself Count’s boss. He continued his lecture all while
scratching around a newly formed zit.
“You just can’t be coming
in drunk or drinking. This is not that kind of place. Consider this a warning,
“I’ll consider it,” Count
said, “but Mole Man, stop your worrying. All I do is put shit on shelves in the
middle of the night when it’s a wasteland where only the occasional druggy or
scumbag comes in for a melon. What’s it really matter if I’m nippin’ some or
“Well, like yesterday, when
you put the hunting knives in the cereal aisle.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Well, it happened. How? I
don’t know because the knives are on the other end of the store.”
“Maybe for someone comin’
in who needed cheap tasty flakes and a quality blade it was a convenience.”
Mole Man rolled his eyes in
an overly dramatic fashion then said, “even so, here at SWEENEY’S SUPERMART we
don’t place knives with the cereal.”
“Whatever you say, Mole
“Damn right, now try to
stay sober, its Halloween, we’re probably gonna have an increase in customers.”
“Right, right boss sir,”
Count said with a salute.
After Mole Man wandered off
Count put a few more toys on the shelf then saw someone moving up the aisle. It
was a clown with a bowtie, polka dots, and large floppy shoes. Although
diverting from clown normalcy was the dried drips of blood coming from its ruby
red lips and the sliced open throat. Standing still Count Whorton watched the
clown move toward him at a slow pace. It got closer and closer until its face
was only inches away from his own. It breathed heavily in his face while
watching him with wide eyes before finally kissing him.
“Christ, Irmie, you had me
spooked,” Count Whorton said pulling himself away from her.
“Good,” she said. Irma Side,
Count’s better half in more ways than one, was unrecognizable. She took
Halloween seriously, it being her favorite day of the year, even though she
celebrated it her way year around. “I was leaving the apartment for the
midnight bash at Dynamite Dotty’s when I saw you forgot your work flask.”
“I couldn’t find it.”
“Yeah, I hid it.” Irma
pulled from her pocket a black flask with a skull and crow on it. “Happy
Halloween, Countey,” she said with her sweet screechy voice.
“Oh, Irmie that’s
fantastic. Is it-”
“Filled to the brim, what
am I, stupid?”
“No, you’re great.” Popping
the top, Count took a sip.
As he placed his new flask
in his pocket a scream rang out through the store. Quickly getting to the front
of the building Count and Irma saw a crowd of people running to hide. Crouched
down one aisle of men’s socks and underwear was Mole Man. Approaching him Count
said, “Mole Man, what’s goin’ on?”
Mole Man looked up at Count
and Irma, let loose a scream, and ran away with surprising speed.
“What the hells goin’ on
The stores constant 80’s
pop background music came to a halt with the clearing of a man’s throat over
the intercom. “Excuse me shoppers and Sweeney’s Supermart employees the store
is now on lockdown,” the man said. Count and Irma started toward the registers.
“We have already killed one of your night owl shoppers and we will continue to
kill everyone in this building until we have what we want. Which is either
death of everyone here or something a little more personal. If anyone contacts
the police, they will die a miserable death. Happy Halloween and as always,
thank you for shopping at Sweeney’s Supermart.” The man’s voice stopped and
“Come On Eileen” started over the speakers.
Hiding behind racks of
sunglasses, Count and Irma could see the only two people at the registers. The
man who had been speaking stood over six feet tall and was wire thin. He wore a
fanged pointy eared and bald-headed mask that left his chin and neck exposed.
The other one wore a white sheet with holes cut out around the eyes. The Ghost had
small gloved women’s hands showing with blood on the front of her sheet.
“Who the hell are these
people?” Irma said.
“Beats the hell out of me.”
Retreating from the front
of the store they found another Sweeney’s employee in bedding. Laying on the bottom
shelf amongst a bunch of pillows was Alfred Box. He stood three and a half feet
tall after crawling out of the shelf he said, “Criminy, that one of them
“No, Doc, this is Irma, my
girlfriend. She just loves Halloween. Irma this is Doctor Box.”
Pushing up his glasses and
putting out a hand Doctor Box said, “I’m not in actuality a doctor. He just
calls me that. Good to meet you.”
Irma shook his hand as
Count said, “he’s the smartest son of a bitch around and I sent him up the river
“It was an incident of
unrequited love and regretful decisions. I harbor no ill will towards Count.
Incidentally, I consider him a friend.”
“And a good friend too, now
are the others dead or just trying to hide?”
A middle-aged woman in a
Sweeney’s Supermart uniform ran by at the end of the aisle straight towards the
front of the store.
“Not hiding,” Irma said.
The three of them went to the end of the aisle and watched. The woman ran with
the grace of a fish swimming in the gut of a bloated tiger. She went right for
the doors which wouldn’t open. She shook them and beat the glass before
catching a glimpse of the lanky Vampire coming up behind her. She screamed,
running towards the pharmacy. The Vampire was on her quickly swinging a machete
wildly. As she passed the shelves the woman threw over the counter medication
and bandages at the Vampire. Many hit him but few slowed him. He swung the
machete landing it in the back of her head, she fell pulling down a rack of
laxatives as she went.
“Poor Carol,” Doctor Box
“We need to move, Countey.
Where are the others you think?”
“Probably towards the back
room, Irmie, let’s move.”
They moved quietly through
the rows of items not meeting anyone as they got closer towards the back.
Arriving at the door to the break room things seemed normal. Count tried the
door, the knob turned but it didn’t open. Pushing against the metal door with
his shoulder did nothing. “Anyone in there?” Count called out. “This is Count
Whorton. Doctor Box is here too. Living employees.”
There were some sounds
coming from inside the room then the door opened a crack. It was Mole Man. “Is
that one of them?” He said nodding towards Irma.
“Naw,” Count said, “this is
Irma, my girlfriend.”
Mole Man hesitated then
opened the door completely. Inside the small room were several people, some
customers, mostly employees.
“What are we going to do?”
a man said.
“Did you see Carol out
there?” one of the employees asked.
“Look here,” Count said,
“we’re in a bit of a situation but we’ll get out of this. First of all, Carol’s
“Are you sure?”
“A machete to the head is
usually fatal. Now, we need to call the blue boys to help us out of this jam.”
“They said they’d kill us
if we did.”
“They also said they may
kill us anyway so what are we really risking here? The few last hairs off a
shaking snowman’s ass?”
“What does that mean?” said
someone towards the back.
“I’ll even make the call if
it makes you all happier. Irmie you got your phone?”
“Yeah, Countey, I’m just kickin’
myself for leavin’ my gun at home.”
Count Whorton took Irma’s
phone and called the Quartertown police station. “Irmie what’s Klunkel’s
After putting in the
extension number Count waited for him to pick up even though it was the middle
of the night. Count never knew Klunkel not to be there and sure enough, he
answered. “Detective Klunkel Quartertown Police Department.”
“Klunky, its Count. I’m at
work over at Sweeney’s Supermart and it’s a real store of horrors. We got two masked
assholes trying to kill everyone. Two are already dead.”
“Good one asshole,” Klunkel
“I’m serious, Klunky they
already killed Karen from produce.”
“CAROL was a cashier,”
corrected an employee.
“You need to get your
gun-toting, badge-wearing ass down here.”
“I would honestly Count,
but all these camp counselors are being killed down by the lake and I won’t
even get into what’s happening with this babysitter’s batshit crazy brother.
So, have another drink and Happy Halloween.”
Count got out, “you dumb
son of a,” before the call ended.
Before he could tell Irma
or the crowd that help wasn’t imminent the Vampire’s voice came over the
loudspeakers again. “Hello once more, this is going beautifully, but sadly a
little slow. So far, my lovely partner has taken a customer’s life and I’ve
split an employee’s head in two. Frankly, I thought we’d be a lot farther along
by now either; I’d have what I came for or there’d be a pile of bodies but two
does not make a pile. So, let’s speed things along. I would like some personal
information that only one person here has and that person is Count Whorley
Whorton. Like before, either I get what I came here for or you all die. I’m
content either way. You pick. Thank you.” The 80’s jams returned with a hit from
The Cars as Count Whorton mumbled a swear, all eyes turning towards him.
“Throw the ugly bastard
out,” said the voice towards the back.
“Now wait a second,” said
Doctor Box holding up a hand, “let’s think now.”
The woman employee who’d
asked about Carol took a pocket knife out and flipped open the blade.
“Listen here you fuckers,
we ain’t going anywhere,” Irma said.
“It’s you or us,” said the
woman with the knife before charging forward. Count hardly blinked, Irma moved
defensively in front of him and Doctor Box hit the woman with a chair and said,
“Nice one, Doc Box,” Irma
said, “but Countey I think we should be scootin’ on out of here on second
thought. They got awfully hungry eyes and I think we’re on the menu this
“Right next to the mummy
hot dogs. Doc, you comin’?”
Becky had started to stir
on the ground while the rest of the room formed an angry looking group. “I
don’t think my actions will be kindly forgotten, so yes please.”
The Mole Man unlocked and
unbarricaded the door to let them out then whispered good luck before quickly
slamming it behind them.
“Three against two we got
the majority at least,” Count said taking out his flask.
“Well, two and a half,”
Doctor Box said with a slight smile.
“There’s someone I can call
for help, I think he’ll come.”
“Who?” said Irma.
“The giant,” said Count
finding the number on the phone. After he finally got it dialed and ringing a
teenager’s voice answered saying, “Happy Halloween this is Bing Bing Burger
would you like to try our Super Slick Slammer Slider for two-ninety-five?” in a
slow unenthusiastic tone.
“No,” Count said, “I need
to speak to Kenny.”
After a second of silence,
there came a booming voice, “yeah?”
“Kenny, good, this is Count
Filling him in the same
quick slurred enthusiastic summary he gave Klunkel only moments earlier Count
Whorton had Kenny coming to the same conclusion.
“Stop fucking with me, you
drunken ugly bastard,” was Kenny’s response before hanging the phone back up on
the wall. He sighed, shook his head and walked three steps before the phone
rang again. This time it was Irma. She had two profanity injected sentences for
him that had the gorilla-sized Kenny apologizing and running out the back of
the burger joint.
Returning our attention
back to the Supermart, Irma hung up the phone just as Count Whorton started
talking. “Good, the Giant’s on his way, but he’ll be a while. This is the plan
to figure out who those Universal Horror wanna-be fucks are, why they want to
kill me while keeping them from killing anyone else as we hopefully kill or at
least maim them. Surviving the night while staying generally not dead
ourselves. Since its Halloween, I call it Plan B: from outer space.”
“What happened to Plan A?”
“Plan A was to have a quiet
fucking night at work where none of this shit happened. Now, Irma call back the
coppers, but instead of dialing extension 666 for demon dumbass Klunky, try to
get Miss Pinky. She’d try to get the national guard over here. Doc Box, you be
as stealthy as a one-eyed pussy cat and try to see what the killers are up to.
I’m gonna head to the cereal aisle and grab a few weapons so we don’t end up
living life in a lead-lined coffin.”
After hurried plans were
made to meet back up at the handicap accessible bathroom, everyone went about
executing Count’s Plan B: from outer space. I could tell you which route Count
took to the knife possessing cereal aisle or how Doc Box army crawled up to a
view of the cash registers but I’m not going to. Instead, I’m sticking with
She ripped her wig off
which had started to sweat and itch then ran a hand through her short hair all
while dialing the phone. It rang twice then a voice which Irma knew well
answered. “Miss Pinky its Irm-”, dropping to her knees pain burst from Irma’s back
where she’d been kicked in the kidneys. Slipping the phone in her pocket Irma
got herself up and saw the Sheet Ghost.
“You gotta pretty high,
hard kick there for a skinny little bitch in a bed sheet,” said Irma.
The Sheet Ghost waved a
large butcher knife in front of her face. “And you’re gonna die screaming an
old hag in clown’s makeup.”
“Bitch, that’s on my bucket
list, let’s get to it.”
Irma kicked the Ghost in
the stomach sending her reeling backward just as Eurythmics “Sweet Dreams”
started playing. The Ghost ran at Irma, knife slashing through the air in front
of her. Irma blocked the knife with her arm, the blade cutting her skin-deep.
Then grabbing the wrist of the hand that held the knife, she twirled the Ghost
around ripping the knife from her. The Ghost fell back, then ran at Irma again
although she now had no weapon. Irma had had enough. She punched the Ghost in
the head once, twice, three times to lay her out cold.
When Count Whorton finally
rounded the corner making his way in the handicap accessible bathroom both Irma
and Doctor box were already standing by the door nervously waiting.
“I went as fast as I
could,” he said, “ripped a few packages right off the shelf we’ll just have to
take the fucking knives out the plastic.”
“I don’t need one,” Irma
said showing the bloody butcher knife.
“Where’d the hell you get
Irma opened the door to the
handicap accessible bathroom. Tied up on the floor was the Sheet Ghost.
“Bitch cut me, I bandaged
my arm with my oversized bow tie.”
“Fuck, Irmie you okay?”
“Your clown costume’s
practically a utility belt,” said Doctor Box, “got bandages and everything.”
“More than that,” said Irma
pointing at the Ghost on the floor, “look, tied her up with my handkerchief
“You know, clown pulls out
a handkerchief, but it’s actually fifty all tied together different colors.
That’s what I used. What else was I gonna use? My ten feet of chain?”
“You did amazing, Irmie.
Get anything out of her?”
“Yeah, she wanted to kill
“Good to know, Doc, what
Doc pushed up his glasses
scratching his nose in the process. “Um, not much really. The man in the
vampire mask is sitting at register thirteen eating candy.”
“Alright Doc,” Count took
another nip from his flask. “Fuck a rickety rocking chair, who are these
“It’s someone who knows you,
Countey,” said Irma, “maybe even someone you know.”
“Hey,” said Doctor Box,
“didn’t you just start up a detective agency? Could it be a disgruntled
“The Bloody Whorehouse
Detective Agency has only had one case, a missing dog.”
“Find the dog?”
“Naw, funny story, guy was
a nut, never had a dog.”
“Come on, Countey, other
than the mask, did he look like someone you know? Did his voice sound familiar?
“I don’t know. I don’t
know.” Count closed his eyes and put his hands over his temples. A few minutes
later, looking on the verge of tears Count opened his eyes again and said, “I
think I know who it is.”
Irma tore open the plastic
of one of the hunting knives. “Then let’s go get him, Countey.”
Devo’s “Whip It” snapped
through the aisles as the three of them made their way to the front of the
store like three very odd trick or treaters. Creeping past aisles and aisles of
deathly quiet items, Count whispered to Doctor Box. “Doc, could you make out
what kind of candy he was eating? I want to confirm somethin’?”
“What? Yeah, caramels. The
same that are on sale.”
As they reached the front,
they poked their heads around the end of a shelf to see if the Vampire had
moved. He hadn’t. The best plan they could come up with was one of surprise
attack. So, the three of them crouched down and began to crawl with knives at
the ready across the slightly sticky store floor. Their Olympian swim to
register thirteen wasn’t a fraction of the way over before the Vampires’ voice
pierced their ears.
“So, this clown, dwarf, and
ugly drunken bastard walk into a bar…stop me if you’ve heard it.”
Irma, Doctor Box, and Count
stopped and exchanged stunned glances for a moment that felt like an eternity
then Count stood up. Brushing himself off while still holding the knife, Count
said, “Thank God you said something. I’ve never been good at the whole sneaky
thing and I just want to get this whole fucking thing done with, all while
keeping my asshole hairs from getting plucked in the process.”
“What a way of putting it,
Count,” said the Vampire sitting atop the conveyor belt, “I’m disappointed you
didn’t dress up today. Then again, maybe you did. What has snow white pale skin,
dark circles under the eyes, crooked yellow teeth, a twisted hunchback, and a
“I was going to say a
rotten son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever. You
care if I go get a pack of cigarettes while you talk?”
“Have your little friend do
Count turned around to Doc
and Irma standing behind him. “Could you Doc?”
“Sure, Count,” said Doctor
“Who is this man, Countey?”
“Count Whorton pointed his
knife at the Vampire and said, “This, dear Irma is Stuart Stegman. Former
accountant, current murderer and forever a psychopathic asshole… right?”
“That’s not very nice,”
said Stuart, popping another caramel into his mouth.
“It’s true though,” Doc
returned with Count’s cigarettes. “Thanks, Doc. You’re just in time to hear
about Stuart there. You see, years ago, before I met you Irmie and before I
sent you up the river, Doc, I was a regular Quartertown private investigator.
And one day Stuart the accountant got off work and was heading home to kill his
wife, Carmilla. However, Carmilla, a bright woman either aware of the plan or
fed up with her spindly-ass toothpick psychopathic asshole husband decided she
was leaving. And before her husband got home, caught her and killed her, she
hid their daughter, Mina, somewhere he has never found her. In his search for
his daughter, he hired me of all people. I didn’t find her but if I did, I
wouldn’t tell that skinny fanged fucker over there.”
Taking off his vampire mask
Stuart said, “Allegedly killed, Carmilla. It was never proven that I killed my
“Maybe not by law, but
common sense has you frying in the chair,” Count said looking at his face. A
face Count hadn’t seen in years. A face consisting of two beady eyes and a
boney nose tied together with a receding hairline. In other words, just a
normal fucking face. “By the way, asshole, what’s with the old lady caramels
you popped those back then too.”
“My vice is a penchant for
hard candies similar to your booze.”
“Uh-huh,” said Count
lighting a bent cigarette, “let’s get down to brass tacks the blue boys are on
their way and your ghostly henchman is tied up in the handicap shitter, so hand
over the machete and weep in the fetal position until we haul your ass off to
Stuart didn’t move, but he
did smile. “I’m not going anywhere until I learn where my daughter is.”
Irma stepped forward with a
question, “Why do you think Count knows?”
“Well, because in spite of
looking like an incompetent dumb fucker he gets things done. I read a while
back he solved a case where a woman came to him with just a finger. Then he
took down a murdering drag queen and reopened his P.I. office with a new
colorful name. I know he knows where she is.”
Count threw up his hands.
“I really don’t. Not. Lying.”
“Since my loves… passing, I’ve
learned to love again. With not only one, but two. You met one of my new
Carmilla’s earlier, dressed as a ghost. My other new lovely Carmilla has been
going by the name Becky and is currently in a crowded breakroom with a knife to
the back of a certain pimple-faced manager. One text from me he dies. Then the
“You’re gonna kill Mole
“And then the others. If
you don’t tell me where she is.”
“One last question Stuart,”
said Count waving his knife around. “These new women in your life, they’re also
“All my loves are named
“Jesus H. Christ, I didn’t
know we were having a Halloween half-off sale on psychopaths. Fuck, Irmie? Doc?
Did you know that?”
“Enough!” said Stuart
holding his cell phone up. “One text and they start dying. Tell me where she is
“Don’t you do it, Stuart,”
“I will if I hav-” Stuart
suddenly ducked as Count’s knife came flying at him. “What the hell was that?”
“Worth a try,” Count said
with a shrug.
“That’s it, they’re dead.”
Stuart started to make the
text as the front door exploded inwards. A twenty-pound Halloween-decorated
rock skidded and rolled across the floor. Emerging from the broken glass of the
sliding door was Kenny. He stood tall and wide wearing a stained apron, Bing
Bing Burger paper hat and for Halloween a large red cape that flapped in the
wind. He tightened his grip on the bat he held looking around. He saw Stuart
who had grabbed up his machete upon hearing the glass break. Knowing the threat,
Kenny ran full speed ahead across the store like a lunatic loose of the ward,
cape flapping, bat swinging. When Stuart glimpsed the bullet that was Kenny
coming for him, he ran without stopping to drop his machete.
Count, Irma, and Doctor Box
stayed back as Kenny’s blur passed them in pursuit of Stuart.
Count said, “I don’t know
if it’s a hallucination or this story’s narration, but did Kenny look like a
Ignoring Count’s comment
Irma said, “Look he dropped the phone.”
“Did he send the text?”
Irma picked up the phone
and hit a few buttons. “Text unsent.”
“Thank God,” said Doctor
“Yeah, they’re still alive.
Let’s go make sure they stay that way.”
They reached the back of
the store just as “Another One Bites The Dust” split through the air. They had
a rough time getting Mole Man to open the door to the breakroom but at least
that meant he was still alive. After they kicked their way in Irma went up to
the girl with the Becky nametag sitting amongst the others. Before a word could
be said Irma had her out cold, bleeding and the pocket knife she went at Count
with earlier taken away. The crowd started to panic, yelling and screaming.
“Hey,” Count said, “she was
one of them. God dammit, ready to kill you all. Now either get the fuck back or
help tie her up.”
The room went suddenly
quiet, no one moved or breathed. Count was amazed his speech had such an effect
until he realized that Kenny was eclipsing the door behind him, his bat still
ready to roll heads.
“Jesus Christ, Kenny, you
“I hit him a few times, but
then he disappeared.”
“I shit you not. I got two
good whacks in then he went around a corner and disappeared. I’m so sorry Irma,
Count I mean it.”
“It’s okay Kenny,” said
Irma, “the police will be here any minute they’ll find him.”
“I already heard sirens.”
“Good…shit, we need to
check on the Ghost.”
When they got to the
bathroom the door was open and the room was empty.
“Well, Happy Halloween,
Irmie,” said Count drinking from his flask, “Happy Halloween.”
When Klunkel showed up Count
asked him if he caught the camp counselor killer or that babysitters’ brother.
Klunkel didn’t respond.
Count Whorton and Irma
walked out of Sweeney’s Supermart just as the sun was rising. Klunkel had said
they couldn’t leave yet, but Count said his flask was empty and that always
meant his shift was over. As they got in the car Irma started it up and Elton
John’s “I’m Still Standing” came on the radio. Just before pulling out of the
parking lot Irma said, “I gotta ask Countey. Do you or do you not know where
Stuart Stegman’s daughter is?”
“Of course, I do, but I’m
not telling that fucking psychopath,” Count said and turned up the radio.
D. Davis was born and
raised in a small town in the heart of Iowa. Having written over thirty short
stories, ranging in genre from comedy to horror from flash fiction to novella
he continues in his accursed pursuit of a career in the written word.