Read Online Good Home Cookin': A Novel of Horror by Christian Burch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christian Burch
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pushed
too hard about any certain subject. A light bruise around his right
eye and cheek were reminder enough.
Something was moving in the water by
the time they reached the fence, and Jameson kept watchful for any
red eyes in the reflection of his flashlight beam. They’d yet to
have an incident but the day they threw caution to the wind would
be the day they became gator bait. Holding open the fence, Jameson
motioned for his son to toss the bags through. Before throwing
them, Gabe stabbed holes in them. Blood began to leak
out.
The activity in the water increased
and Jameson nudged Gabe with his boot.
“ Hurry up, or they’re
gonna come right up to the fence.”
Nodding fervently, he heaved the bags
through and they landed with a splash in the water. Within seconds
the agitation in the water turned into a feeding frenzy as three
adult alligators tore open the bags and began consuming what was
inside.
Jameson let the fence fall back into
place and they headed back in the direction they’d come.
Chapter 2
7 days later
The lights were blinding. The sweat
was pouring off of him in streams. The open black leather jacket,
with red flames on the sleeves was like wearing a portable furnace.
His black leather pants clung to him in all the worst places. All
of that shit he could ignore because the roar from the audience
fueled his adrenaline and allowed him to forget about anything and
everything else. That and the large quantities of booze and drugs
currently flowing through his system
With one foot on the monitor, he took
a deep breath, closed his eyes, and launched into the opening lines
of their most requested song. At twenty three, Dylan Masterson was
living out his dreams of being a rock star. As lead singer of
Forbidden Fruit, a band that some would argue was poised to become
a major player in the Rock scene, he was given access to anything.
Girls, drugs, booze. Two albums with over 300,000 copies sold, a
fourteen city tour, and recording a third album upon completion of
the tour were a clear indication of their rise.
Tonight’s show was a sellout. A thick
fog of smoke hung in the air, three hundred and fifty people jammed
uncomfortably into the location, and Dylan couldn’t help but smile.
Three years ago they were going nowhere fast, playing gigs at dives
and bars, for embarrassing pay outs, bar tabs and food. In those
places, they’d be lucky if fifteen people were paying them any
mind. They struck gold when a manager for a respected record
company happened to stumble upon one of their demos, giving them
the opportunity of a lifetime. They were rising above the imitators
and fakes that plagued the underground scene.
Fists pumped in the air, and voices
lifted from the crowd as he ended the chorus. On stage, the four of
them gave one hell of a performance and seemed like the closest of
friends. Dylan strode over to Jerry, lead guitarist, and they posed
back to back. Jerry’s fingers moved in a blur as he began his solo
and Dylan let out one of the screams that he was becoming known
for.
Behind the scenes, trouble was brewing
amongst the members. Dylan was an asshole to his other band mates.
There was no denying it. At the end of the previous show, Dylan had
needed help walking off the stage. His drinking was becoming more
than excessive and sometimes he couldn’t even make it through an
entire show. The other band members were beginning to worry that
the next recording session would have to be put on hiatus or worse.
Dylan didn’t realize the view the other members had of him was so
low, or maybe he would have tried to correct his current descent
into oblivion. On the other hand, ever since gaining something of a
following, his care and passion seemed to be only for where he
could get his next fix or buzz.
As the song came to its end, Dylan
motioned for the bartender to bring him another bottle. Six songs
into the night and he was preparing to delve
too hard about any certain subject. A light bruise around his right
eye and cheek were reminder enough.
Something was moving in the water by
the time they reached the fence, and Jameson kept watchful for any
red eyes in the reflection of his flashlight beam. They’d yet to
have an incident but the day they threw caution to the wind would
be the day they became gator bait. Holding open the fence, Jameson
motioned for his son to toss the bags through. Before throwing
them, Gabe stabbed holes in them. Blood began to leak
out.
The activity in the water increased
and Jameson nudged Gabe with his boot.
“ Hurry up, or they’re
gonna come right up to the fence.”
Nodding fervently, he heaved the bags
through and they landed with a splash in the water. Within seconds
the agitation in the water turned into a feeding frenzy as three
adult alligators tore open the bags and began consuming what was
inside.
Jameson let the fence fall back into
place and they headed back in the direction they’d come.
Chapter 2
7 days later
The lights were blinding. The sweat
was pouring off of him in streams. The open black leather jacket,
with red flames on the sleeves was like wearing a portable furnace.
His black leather pants clung to him in all the worst places. All
of that shit he could ignore because the roar from the audience
fueled his adrenaline and allowed him to forget about anything and
everything else. That and the large quantities of booze and drugs
currently flowing through his system
With one foot on the monitor, he took
a deep breath, closed his eyes, and launched into the opening lines
of their most requested song. At twenty three, Dylan Masterson was
living out his dreams of being a rock star. As lead singer of
Forbidden Fruit, a band that some would argue was poised to become
a major player in the Rock scene, he was given access to anything.
Girls, drugs, booze. Two albums with over 300,000 copies sold, a
fourteen city tour, and recording a third album upon completion of
the tour were a clear indication of their rise.
Tonight’s show was a sellout. A thick
fog of smoke hung in the air, three hundred and fifty people jammed
uncomfortably into the location, and Dylan couldn’t help but smile.
Three years ago they were going nowhere fast, playing gigs at dives
and bars, for embarrassing pay outs, bar tabs and food. In those
places, they’d be lucky if fifteen people were paying them any
mind. They struck gold when a manager for a respected record
company happened to stumble upon one of their demos, giving them
the opportunity of a lifetime. They were rising above the imitators
and fakes that plagued the underground scene.
Fists pumped in the air, and voices
lifted from the crowd as he ended the chorus. On stage, the four of
them gave one hell of a performance and seemed like the closest of
friends. Dylan strode over to Jerry, lead guitarist, and they posed
back to back. Jerry’s fingers moved in a blur as he began his solo
and Dylan let out one of the screams that he was becoming known
for.
Behind the scenes, trouble was brewing
amongst the members. Dylan was an asshole to his other band mates.
There was no denying it. At the end of the previous show, Dylan had
needed help walking off the stage. His drinking was becoming more
than excessive and sometimes he couldn’t even make it through an
entire show. The other band members were beginning to worry that
the next recording session would have to be put on hiatus or worse.
Dylan didn’t realize the view the other members had of him was so
low, or maybe he would have tried to correct his current descent
into oblivion. On the other hand, ever since gaining something of a
following, his care and passion seemed to be only for where he
could get his next fix or buzz.
As the song came to its end, Dylan
motioned for the bartender to bring him another bottle. Six songs
into the night and he was preparing to delve
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