Название: Mail Order Massacres
Автор: Hunter Shea
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Научная фантастика
Серия: Mail Order Massacres
isbn: 9781516109142
isbn:
MAIL ORDER MASSACRE
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The Devil’s Fingers
MAIL ORDER MASSACRE
Three Novellas of Pure Terror
Hunter Shea
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND
Kensington Publishing Corp.
Lyrical Underground books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017, 2018 by Hunter Shea
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund- raising, and educational or institutional use.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
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Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.
First Electronic Edition: March 2018
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0914-2
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0914-7
First Print Edition: March 2018
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0915-9
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0915-5
Printed in the United States of America
MAIL ORDER MASSACRES
Three Novellas of Pure Terror
Optical Delusion
Money Back Guarantee
Dedication
For my sea serpents, Star and Samantha
Chapter One
Tuckerville, NY, 1980
When everything was said and done and the dead were long buried, they would blame Wonder Woman.
While everyone else collected Star Wars (the red, yellow, blue and green series) and baseball cards, Patrick Richards and David Estrada plunked every hard-earned nickel they had on comic books. Oh, and there were also the protective plastic bags they had to buy to keep each issue as pristine as possible.
Their habit was expensive, but the thirteen-year-old best friends found ways to scrape together enough money every month to buy the latest issues of The Fantastic Four, Captain America, The Flash, Marvel Two-In-One (featuring The Thing and a different guest hero each issue), Green Arrow and too many others to count. Well, they could count them. In fact, each could rattle off the total number of comics in their collections at a moment’s notice.
“Three hundred and twenty-five,” Patrick would say.
“Four hundred and two,” David would say, showing off just a bit.
Patrick had a paper route while David mowed lawns for the older people in the neighborhood. Sometimes, they would wait outside the Shopwell supermarket, offering to load people’s bags into their cars for tips. An afternoon at Shopwell could net them enough scratch to buy four or more comics.
And there was always shoveling to be done in the winter, along with raking leaves in the fall.
When you had a comic addiction, you had to find ways to feed the beast.
They found themselves in late May flush with cash, thanks to a visit from Patrick’s grandparents. His grandfather had slipped a twenty-dollar bill into Patrick’s pocket, whispering in his ear, “Don’t tell your parents. That’s comic book money. Get enough to last the summer.”
“You’re really gonna share?” David said, staring at the twenty on the floor between them.
“It’s not like we don’t read the same comics,” Patrick said. “The deal is, I get to add more to my collection. Say we split it seventy–thirty?”
David smiled. “I’ll take it.”
They shook and it was done.
The four-block ride to Blackburn’s stationery store had them both in a sweat. Summer had come early. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun was downright brutal. Popping tandem wheelies, they leaped off their bikes at the entrance, both riderless Huffys crashing to the ground in a tangle of metal and rubber.
Blackburn’s kept the comics in a long rectangular box on the floor under the magazine rack. The boys got on their knees, carefully rifling through the upright stack.
“We have everything,” David said, deflating. His short-cut black hair glistened with drops of sweat.
“Almost,” Patrick said, plucking a Wonder Woman free. His own face was flushed, bringing the cluster of freckles on his cheeks СКАЧАТЬ