Voodoo Children - A Bubba the Monster Hunter Short Story Read online

  “Maybe some girls do, but not this girl. And she’s the prettiest girl in the whole world, mister. I know if you met her you’d see what I mean.”

  “Well, what’s her name?”

  “Brandy.” I remembered her. And her boobs.

  “Yeah, I saw her at the club yesterday.”

  “Then you know why I’m doing this.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause you’re an idiot. Look, kid, lemme tell you something about women. Especially women that take their clothes off for money. They are all after one thing, and it ain’t the same thing all us guys are after. You understand me?”

  “No.” This boy was obviously dumber than a box of hammers.

  “Look. She don’t love you. She loves the money she thinks she can get from you. You give her that money the only thing you’re gonna get in return is bigger boobs when you buy your next lap dance from her.”

  “That ain’t right! She loves me! We’re gonna get out of this town and run away together.”

  “Yeah, and I’m gonna be the next spokesmodel for Jenny Craig?”

  “Really? How much weight you gonna lose?”

  I slapped him upside the head so hard he fell to one knee. “Don’t be stupid son. Or at least try not to be as stupid as you’ve been this week. You are tampering with things you can’t control. You are raising the dead, boy! Don’t you get what happens to people who mess with the forces of darkness?”

  “Well, I might go to hell, but if I quit right after I get enough money and repent of my sins and don’t do it again, I oughta be okay.”

  “What are you, Presbyterian? You don’t get off that easy once you go down the dark path. Kid, I wasn’t sent here to save you from yourself, I was sent here to kill you.” I might have stretched the truth a little, but he didn’t need to know that I was being paid to kill zombies and remove the creator. Uncle Joe didn’t care how I did it, as long as the dead people stayed dead in Columbia after I left.

  “Oh.” He went even paler than he already was and sat down in the dirt. I watched as a couple of big fat tears started to well up in his eyes and roll down his cheeks. Then his skinny bare shoulders started to shake, then he threw his arms around my legs and he sobbed into my knees. “Please don’t kill me, mister! I’m too young to die! Please, let me live!”

  I gave him a little kick and got up so I’d be out of range if he started crying again. “Cut that shit out, you’re getting snot on my boots. And brains in your hair.” He sniffled, but straightened up a little. I sat back down.

  “Alright kid, here’s what we’re going to do. How much cash do you have?”

  “Fifty-five hundred.”

  “I’m going to give you fifteen hundred, to get you where you need to be. Then I’m going to take whatever spell books and magical hoo-ha you’ve got that showed you how to raise the dead, and I’m going to destroy it. And I’m going to leave town. And if I ever see or hear of you involved in anything like this again, I swear I’ll shoot your nuts off. Any questions?”

  “Why?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why are you going to do this? I sent zombies to kill you. Sorry about that, by the way.”

  “Forget about it. I’ve done stupid things because of women in my time, so I’m sympathetic.”

  “So you know what it’s like to be in love.”

  “Not to the point where it rots my whole brain like it did you, but yeah, I know what it’s like.” Besides, the Church was paying me five hundred bucks for every zombie I killed, so I figured I was making some decent bank on this gig. Just had to get the video footage back to Skeeter and wait on good old Uncle Joe to send me my check.

  I loaded up my gear and headed back to the truck. I loaded everything up, pulled my axe out of the tree I’d got it stuck in the night before, and handed the cash to the kid. He handed over his spellbooks and a funky little dried-up thing that looked like a chicken’s foot.

  “What’s this?”

  “Blessed chicken foot of the Baba Yaga. It grants the bearer the ability to cast any spell. That’s how I was able to do the stuff in the book.”

  “Neat.” I hung it from the rearview mirror of the pickup next to the little green pine tree air freshener and my fuzzy dice, then pulled out of the cemetery and back onto the main road. If I timed my trip back through town right, I might just make it for the start of the afternoon shift at the Ride ‘Em Cowboy.

  The End

  *****

  Also by John G. Hartness

  The Black Knight Chronicles

  Hard Day’s Knight

  Back in Black

  Knight Moves

  Movie Knight

  Black Magic Woman

  Other Work

  The Chosen

  Red Dirt Boy

  Returning the Favor

  *****

  About the Author

  John G. Hartness is a recovering theatre geek who likes loud music, fried pickles and cold beer. He’s been published or accepted online in several journals including The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, cc&d, Deuce Coupe and Truckin’. He can be found online at http://www.johnhartness.com and spends too much time on Twitter, especially after a few drinks. His first novel, The Chosen, is an urban fantasy about saving the world, snotty archangels, gambling, tattooed street preachers, immortals with family issues, bar brawls and the consequences of our decisions. John has been called “the Kevin Smith of Charlotte,” and fans of Joss Whedon and Jim Butcher should enjoy his snarky slant on the fantasy genre. Feel free to visit him online, and if you see him in person, you’re buying the beer.