Profile: Horror
Prompt Title: The Lock On the Floor
Prompt: There is a knock on the door. You open it, expecting a trick or treater. Instead, you find a lock of hair on the floor. What happens next? What do you do? (500 words)
My word count: 480
Loan Me Two Dollars?
Glenn left about ten minutes ago.
He put on his snakeskin boots and ambled out the door to see if John Standing Elk has any beer to sell us. We don't have enough gas money to drive off the reservation and pick up any from the highway quickie mart. Almost everything we had we spent last week at the bar two towns over, before we got into that brawl with some idiot Pawnee.
Besides, there are some Halloween movies on TV tonight. Good ones. I haven't taken my eyes off the screen since Glenn slapped my shoulder, took my last five dollars and left.
During one of those talking scenes where they give you all the information about the serial killer, there's this knocking on the door. Loud. Probably some res kid with a dirty old bed sheet over his head begging for candy we ain't got. I ignore him and concentrate on the TV. I want to hear how many this killer's already bagged.
But the kid ain't stopping, so I get up and jerk open the door, ready to do some killing of my own. Nobody there. Just the wind shaking the tree in the yard and the flickering lights from inside the other houses on the road.
Then I see a braid of dark hair on the porch boards. Out of curiosity, I pick it up. The leather strap holding the braid together is the one Glenn wears, it's the same buffalo symbol.
"Not funny, bro! Get your ass and that beer in here!" I call out. "And bring the rest of your hair!"
No answer.
Another gust shakes the tree in the yard, turning the leaves backwards and I hear a moan, and then a wet plop. Out of nowhere something dark and hairy lands on the porch steps, splattering droplets of blood on my feet. I jolt back and almost fall over.
But the thing doesn't move. So, I step forward, even though I don't want to.
Big mistake.
From the TV, some lady starts screaming, and I want to vomit, but I don't have time. There are three ghostly Pawnee warriors on white horses in the yard, their faces streaked with war paint. One of them points his lance at me and I about pee myself.
"One Arapaho scalp for four disgraced Pawnee," he shrieks. "Next time, we won't be so cordial."
Then they're gone. Like they were never there in the first place. There's just wind in the yard.
And that's when I hear Glenn moaning from somewhere in the darkness. The TV is blaring police sirens as I stumble down the porch steps, avoiding the folded glove of scalp, and into the yard.
Oh, man. Those Pawnee really did scalp him. That's the most screwed up thing I've ever seen.
Loan me two dollars for a beer?