#SampleSunday: from my only horror story, "Home-made Pie & Sausage"

This is my only attempt at writing horror. I wrote it while reading Stephen King's On Writing. It was published in Windchill: Crime Stories by New England Writers and is also in love, murder, etc.

HOME-MADE PIE AND SAUSAGE 
from Windchill: Crime Stories by New England Writers


      Cletus Wilkes has a smooshed up, squashy kind of face that looks like someone punched him real hard up under the chin making his whole face sort of scrunch up and jut out. If that's what happened it happened a long time ago cause now he's got so many chins a punch would just sort of bounce off. Right now his chins are wobbling as he chews and a fine sheen of grease pools up on one chin before slowly sliding down to the next one finally dripping lazily onto the big paper napkin tucked into his collar to protect the light tan of his uniform shirt.
      "Damnation, honey, I believe you make a better smoked sausage than your old man done," he says grinning at me as he licks a slick of ketchup off his thick, rubbery lips.
      "There’s still two more in the pan, Chief Wilkes," I tell him smiling. "No sense in them going to waste."
      "Well...," he pretends to think about this even though I know good and well he’s been eyeing them all along.
      "An empty frying pan means a sunny day tomorrow."
      He laughs and his belly rattles the dishes on the counter.
      "Well, I'll just eat them as a community service then," he says. "Effie Parnell likes to hang her wash out on Thursdays and gets damn cranky if the sun ain't shining."
      I carry his plate back into the kitchen. The bell on the back of the door jingles and two city hunters in neon orange caps and camouflage jackets head for the beer coolers.
      "So, what's Old Bruno think about this being a cyber-cafe now?" He raises his voice so I can hear him even though I'm not ten feet away and the kitchen door is standing wide open. He pronounces the word "ka-FEE".
      I pretend to think about it as I spoon the sausages onto his plate and add another scoop of baked beans.
      "I don’t think Pa has any idea what the internet is," I say putting the plate down in front of him. "He just knows it makes money and that’s good enough for him."
      As though on cue I see the hunters settle into the folding metal chairs at the two work stations tucked between the camping supplies and the display of sweatshirts, baseball caps, coffee mugs, and other junk with the words Pine Creek Gorge, Pennsylvania's Grand Canyon on them. I glance at the clock but those two have been in here before and never argue when I tell them what they owe for on-line time.
      "How's the old reprobate doin, anyway?" Cletus says spearing the sausage with his fork sending a spray of hot grease in my direction. I jump back.
      "Not good." I grab a dishrag and wipe the counter around his plate. "He hasn’t been downstairs in weeks now. I keep telling him he should see a doctor but you know him." Cletus laughs while he chews, his cheeks puffing out like a blowfish. 
      "I sure do. All Bruno's problems can be found in one place - the bottom of a rum bottle."
      "You could go up and see him," I offer. "Might do him some good to talk to someone besides me." Like that's gonna happen. The last thing Cletus Wilkes is likely to do is haul his fat ass up two flights of steps to the rooms above the store.
      "Some other time," he says. "You tell him I was askin after him though."
      "Excuse me."
      One of the hunters is leaning over the counter. He has a pair of iridescent orange sunglasses on a Philadelphia Eagles lanyard around his neck.
      "Sign out front says you dress out deer here."
      "That’s right," I walk to the end of the counter just glad to be away from Cletus's slurping sounds for a minute. He sounds like a pack of coyotes on a dead cow.
      "You fellas get lucky?"
      "One guy in our group, so far, what's it going to cost him to have you take care of it?"
      "Depends," I retrieve a price list from under the counter. "We can just dress it out for you or cut it up and package it or..." I explain the different cuts of roasts, chops, and steaks plus our sausage making and smokehouse options.
      "Says here you can store the meat, too."
      "Yeah, we have a big walk-in freezer downstairs. Some folks don’t have room for a whole deer at home."
      "Can I take this with me?" He indicates the brochure.
      "Sure." I smile at him. The men that come in here from the city never give me a second glance, they like their women to have some body on them, and that's just fine with me.
      "You ain't cuttin up them deer by yourself, are ya?" Cletus asks.
      "Nope. I used to but I got Porky Heinz coming in whenever I need him to do the skinning and butchering. He was working at the IGA up there in Binghamton till his mama got sick and he come home to look after her. He’s a pretty good butcher."
      Cletus nods. "Good thinkin. You got your hands full runnin this place now that Old Bruno’s taken to his bed." He looks around. "Place looks real good, I have to say."
      "Yeah. Business is growing. We got a lot a hunters up from Philly and Baltimore this year. City boys tryin to have an 'authentic' wilderness experience." I laugh, I heard about that on the talk radio last week. I like listening to the talk radio while I work in the big kitchen in the basement where Porky cuts up deer for the city fellas and I make the sausages and pies we sell.
      "Glad to see you doin so well," Cletus shovels beans into his big mouth. "I used to worry about you and Old Bruno bein stuck out here so far in the woods alone but it looks like you’re doin jest fine."
      Lying sack of shit, I think but I just smile. Read the rest here....