Author Cara Michaels with that robot from Lord of the Rings.

1.  I read your book, Gaea’s Chosen – I wasn’t sure what it was about at first.  I thought maybe it was about Greek chicks that got chosen – like on The Bachelor.  Turns out it’s about a space ship and interstellar adventures to strange alien worlds.  That makes you one of those hot scientist-fiction writers.  Expound!

I’d put my female leads up against the egocentric Bachelor ho-beasts any day. I’m a nut for mythology, so you’re not entirely off base. I chose the name specifically for the Greek Titan, she who would spawn a millennia-spanning mythology.

I'm not only a douche - I'm a Space-Douche.

Do you have to wear a lab coat when you write?

No lab coat, but I confess I would look damn sexy in one.

Remember that time Denise Richards was a nuclear scientist in that James Bond movie - she never wore a lab coat to Tae Bo.

2.  Since you’re into science-fiction, crack an egg of knowledge on our asses about what your favorite books, movies and TV look like – you know, what are your influences?

Thank (or curse) my mom and dad. Thanks to them, I got an early education in the likes of Anne McCaffrey, Margaret Hickman and Tracy Weis, Mercedes Lackey, Jack McKinney (what do you mean, Robotech is not just a cartoon??). Nowadays I don’t get to read as much as I’d like to; my average day is 12-15 hours before I even get to think about leisure time.

"Shut the fuck up, Minmay."

3  .…and what sucks? – it’s okay to trash some stuff *cough! Syfy Original Movies!cough* Don’t worry about repercussions, nobody reads this blog.

Holy shit, do people really watch those things on purpose?  I wrote a fun scene for an upcoming novel based around a Syfy (I will honestly never even consider taking them seriously until they are SciFi again… or bring back Farscape) style movie. The characters take the opportunity presented to kiss for every terrible line of dialogue.

I’ll probably catch hell for this, but I think a lot of writers don’t give their readers credit for brain points. I prefer to assume my readers have reasonable IQs or access to Google.

Badassary approved!

4.  Let’s hear about where you came from, who your people are, and general information the background check we ran on you might have missed.

I’m a genealogy addict and frequently dig into other peoples’ histories when I get stuck on my own. I’m a tried and true American cultural mutt and I love it. Scottish, Irish, French, German, English… Know what all of those add up to? I can drink your ass under the table, holla.

Author Cara Michaels making her drunken ancestors proud.

Is it REALLY hard out there for a pimp?

Maybe, but only because our local sheriff is really damn good at his job.

5.  I can’t say enough about Gaea’s Chosen and how much I liked it.  I’m kinda jealous that I didn’t come up with that idea.  It reminded me of a serial ala Pulps/Flash Gordon.  When does the next adventure come out and can you spill some details and why did you chose to release the story in serial format?

The story was originally meant to be a one-off horror story, the kind where everyone screams and bleeds and dies. Good stuff, right? Only I really started to like my characters… and suddenly this serial idea began to take shape. As to the serial, it’s fun, fast, and cheap… better than the aforementioned pimp can claim.

Legit cliffhanger shiz!

6.  Your crew, most especially its commander, Gemma Bryant, are pretty badass.  Please mix up the crews from Joss Whedon’s Firefly, Star Trek, and Galaxy Quest and come up with the most kick-assing space-exploring team of badasses to ever yell, “Is there air?  You don’t know!?!”

#respect!

This is such a cruel question. Joss Whedon is the absolute master of the ensemble crew. Even his less than honorable characters (*ahem* Jayne, Spike, Dr. Horrible) are really likeable. Joss also understands the appeal of the kickass female character.

Never book dinner reservations on Cloud City.

So… Firefly: Mal, Zoe, Wash, Jayne, Simon, River, Book, Inara, (I really tried to give one of them up… for about .42 seconds)… For Trek (I’m giving away that I really liked some of the less popular series here): Dax, Sisko, Archer, Trip, Spock (he’s the ultimate Vulcan). For Galaxy Quest, Jason, Gwen, and Fred would probably be the most adaptable and fun.

7.  If you had a boat, would you go out on the ocean?

Hell, yes.

If you had a pony, would you ride it on your boat?

Not even a little bit. I’d go all Black Stallion and ride the pony through the water, though.

8.  You’re making a name for yourself in the space-opera biz, but what other genres and stories you got double-double toil and troublin’?

I do nothing ‘normal.’ We all have normal in our everyday lives, and my writing reflects the need to escape the norm. I seriously enjoy all things sci-fi, fantastic, paranormal, etc. I have several contemporary-ishparanormals in the works, two novels and two shorts. There are more stories on the sci-fi front. I also have a historical paranormal fantasy about 60% of the way.

Random Alien Planet that I Googled, cause I'm lazy when I blog.

But you seem to be implying I have a cauldron of mischief brewing…

No, I didn’t just call you a witch.  I think you’re taking my questions out of context.

It’s only out of context if it’s not true.

Wait – can you see Russia from your front yard?

Maybe.

9.  Out of all the robots in all science fiction ever – pick three and then play F*-Marry-Kill!

Please don’t make me explain the rules – I’m already in therapy for ‘inappropriately expressing myself in public’(whatever the fuck what means?!?)

1. Roy Batty – Fuck (OMG, RutgerHauer)

Feelings... / Like tears in rain / Feelings... / My dove of pain / Feelings... / Let's cuddle Tyrell

2. R2-D2 – Marry (seriously, the way he argues with Threepio, he knows all about marriage)

3. The Terminator – Kill (excuse me, may I borrow that grenade launcher?)

10.  Since you like nerd stuff, and we’ve fully established that, hit us with some of the girl stuff you’re into. Like, do you read those books about those stuffy English sister-broads who say they’re looking for husbands but get all light headed when one comes around and starts talking about her crumpet?

Hello Kitty? My Little Pony?  Jem?

Oh god, do I actually have to admit I liked some of this stuff as a twee, impressionable young thing? I grew out of it, I swear. I don’t read much of the stuffy English stuff, except for Julia Quinn. I have a soft spot for her, largely because she’s quite funny. I’m also a long-time fan of Lynn Kurland’s time travel/ghosty families.

I don't understand anything Cara just said - so here's a picture of Jem.

11.  What are your professional and personal goals for the coming year?

(You can’t say, ‘don’t go back to jail’ or ‘kick the boxed wine habit’ – those are too easy)

I have a company in the planning stages, and somewhere between three and six publications planned for the year. Right now my time is still eaten away by daily office drone duties, but I’m changing that, stat.

Click the picture to check out Cara's awesome book on Kindle!

Cover art for my book – by the amazing Thomas Boatwright!

Check it out:

Click for Time Zombie transportation!

(RM Stringer Photography)

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“Billy Purgatory: I am the Devil Bird is a rare instance of a book that has something for every demographic, both men and women and children and adults, (even my notoriously picky cousin and niece, 12 and 14 respectively who have no attention span to speak of could not set down their kindle) In the first installment of Billy Purgatory, the reader finds a masterfully composed blending of its whimsical and fanciful characters with raw and familiar emotions. In the genre of young adult fiction, it is easy to fall into the overwhelming sea of plots that are female-centric, with little appeal to the male audience, or the author feeling the need to center in on the tame and generic even bordering on peachiness – all of which the author has successfully dodged. Each of the characters possess an extreme depth and maturity, as the author takes you through the events of their lives; from the tender years of youth, through the confusing adolescence age, and into adulthood. Showing an acute grasp and knowledge of history and classic mythology, the reader finds themselves wanting to go back and read more of the characters and events introduced by the pages. The main character, Billy, not only tugs at your heartstrings, he shows an amazing amount of strength, determination, honor and a fierce loyalty, in the way that sometimes only a young orphaned eight year boy can truly convey. All the while a sense of true and bold innocence and dignity are completely left in tact, but the naiveté is stripped away as you follow the characters through wars, losses, facing their fears, and the loves that everybody encounters through their formative years, and continue to chase and cherish through the maturity inflicted by adulthood. Nothing is sugar coated or swept aside. This novel takes you on a whirlwind of adventure, loss and emotional feats that range from a young boy looking out for his single father, protecting a mysterious and intriguing young girl who is in over her head by forces unimaginable and even takes you to the jungles of Vietnam and the pristine shores of ancient Greece, all the while employing a naturally fluid dialog that highlights a relatable charm to each unique character.

So what was a player to do?  I came up with a writing prompt.

I’m calling it “Tell us about that time you beat The Devil at his own game.”  I’m leaving it open for pretty wide interpretation.  It could be a story, it could be a slice of their own life, it doesn’t actually have to include the literal Devil.

First on deck is a writer and friend that I’ve known for some years now, Joseph Schmidt, aka @shaolinmonk_808.

Joe is a writer/cartoonist/creative/man-about-Wisconsin who was more than willing and had a first draft sent to me the next day.  So, without further fanfare or ramblings…

The Hobby by Joseph Schmidt

-ONE-

This was starting to get way too easy.

Even now as she reached for her clothes she was plotting her next move. The body would probably go undiscovered by the motel cleaning crew until at least tomorrow afternoon. This would give her plenty of time to put distance between herself, and this mess.

“Sorry baby,” she spoke as she knelt down—making sure to not leave any shoe prints in the large pool of blood that had collected underneath his body.

“I know I promised it would be quick…” she leaned towards his face and stared directly into his vacant eyes.

“But I lied.”

She had picked this idiot up at the local strip club. He had been hitting on the other girls all night—pounding drinks, and throwing around wads of cash. After a little conversation and a hand job under the bar she had discovered that he was a High School Principal.

His cash and credit cards were an added bonus. It was never about the money, it was about the kill. That undeniably feeling that came over her every time she slit a throat, pulled the trigger, and smothered some poor assholes face with a pillow.

It was an orgasm, an electric current that traveled through every vein, and extremity. It was the ultimate form of sexual decadence, pleasing her in the way that no man could ever hope to accomplish.

She knew she was nuts.

But she was also brilliant.

She moved from city to city, this way her handiwork could never been isolated. She tried to be as neat and tidy as possible. The meds she deposited into their drinks allowed plenty of time for prep and splatter control, and the clean-up afterwards was incredibly simple.

Roll up what you could, throw your latex gloves inside the mess, and then burn your party favors in the woods—far from prying eyes.

Her hobby had started months ago.

The first pig she executed had been married.

His wife had been diagnosed with breast cancer over a year ago, and as part of her treatment needed to have a double mastectomy. As happy as he was that her cancer was gone, and that she would be around for their kids—he had needs.

The idea of making love to her, with her breasts gone had repulsed him.

“It would have been like sleeping with a boy.” He had told her over drinks at the bar.

“I love her, really I do. But I need a woman Michelle.”

This wasn’t her real name.

“She started to remind me of a jigsaw puzzle that was missing pieces.”

To be honest, she had used so many aliases the last few months she wasn’t sure what her real name was anymore.

When she had started her little rampage, she thought it would be interesting to see how many names she could create that started with the letter m.

Marie was the first.

Monique, Martha, and Maxine would soon follow.

Men were morons.

They believed that it was possible to just unzip their pants, expose themselves, and women would flock to their insignificant meat extensions like it was their last meal.

Of all eight victims, the only one that came close to satisfying her sexually was a priest with mommy issues that she had executed last month. The bullet she had emptied into his skull while he was passed out had decorated the drop cloth behind him in a bizarre angel pattern. Seeing this, she had climaxed again.

She reached for her shirt. It was casually folded up on the nightstand along with the rest of her clothes inside a very large zip lock bag. She prided herself on keeping a neat and tidy work area, no matter what flea bag motel she conducted her business in.

Her party favors were rolled up and sitting inside a trash bag. The razor she had used on this pig was clean and sleeping in the motel sink. She looked at her body in the mirror of the bathroom and smiled.

“Oh piggy you came close.” She spoke to him while caressing her chest.

“The only other person to fuck me that good had been a priest.”

A bubble formed in the center of his slit throat and popped in response.

“Don’t get me wrong piggy, he cried like a little bitch during the whole thing—almost turned me off.”

She cocked her head to the side, disappointed.

“I wasn’t even sure I could do it, you know? I mean he was a Gawd damn priest.  Then he started talking to me like he was screwing his mom—and then finishing what I started was pretty easy.”

Typically, she could go a few weeks before needing to get off.

But lately, the urge to participate in her hobby was forcing her to act in days.

“Well, it’s been a gas. But this little Philly needs to grab something to eat; and I’ll be damned if I’m going to shove this nasty motel food in my mouth.”

One quick check of the room and she was good. She remembered there was a diner just before you would hit the interstate, it looked like a decent place—and it had Wi-Fi which would make her hobby easily accessible.

She closed the door.

Maybe she’d have coffee for once.

She needed something to get the taste of piggy out of her mouth.

-TWO-

The diner’s coffee tasted like dishwater.

“Okay sweetie,” Her waitress said as she poured her a fresh cup.

“My name is Bernice and I’ll be waiting on you this morning.”

Bernice stunk of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper perfume. Her glasses were anchored to her face with a decorative chain that stretched the length of her eyes and disappeared inside her shirt. Her hair was an odd purple hue, a color often associated with a bad dye job. Her orthopedic shoes raised her up off the ground, and when she walked you could almost see the gout through her pants.

“Well Bernice,” She replied as she reached inside her purse for a cigarette.

“What would you recommend for a girl with a man-sized appetite?”

“That’s easy honey. We have a big breakfast platter with all the comforts, flapjacks, bacon, and hash browns. Most of the fellas around here can’t even finish the damn thing.” She pulled a pen out from deep inside her hair.

“Best part is, you finish—lick your plate clean, and it’s on the house.” She smiled. Her sunken blue eyes gleamed.

“What you just described sounds like the way to go.” She blew smoke through her nostrils and reached for her cup.

“And I’ll be Gawd damned if I don’t deserve this. Let’s do it.”

Bernice wrote down her order and scampered off.

She looked around the diner.

A few truckers sat together in a booth, each one bigger than the next. The collection of smashed cigarettes, empty plates, and dirty silverware that was piled on their table was enormous. One trucker, his beard covered in yolk and bacon grease looked her over.

She smiled.

Jesus it would be so easy. This one probably hasn’t seen a decent fuck in years.

And he was large. The large piggy’s allowed for more of an opportunity to play.

She could slice him open and fillet him.

But as far as he was concerned, at this moment right now—her smile meant something else entirely.

He blew her a kiss.

She responded by extending her middle finger.

He whispered something to both of his buddies who then looked in her direction. She was pretty good at reading lips, and made out the words “cunt “and “whore”.

The revolver in her purse was begging, pleading to come out. It could solve this little issue so quickly; shutting the mouths of those fat fuck’s in the booth.

Her hand was shaking. Her face was calm.

Maybe she would have to bump up her hobby. Allow her to play in the next town.

She pictured herself reaching inside her purse and producing the revolver. The surprised looks of the truckers as she pointed the barrel in their direction. The patrons of the diner scattering like mice. The heat from the revolver burning her fingers as she emptied her shells into their large bellies and faces.

“Here you go honey.” Bernice placed her breakfast special in front of her.

She looked down at her plate, and then back at the smiling face of Bernice.

“Is everything okay?” She asked.

She looked over Bernice’s shoulder back at truckers. They were ignoring her, slopping bits of toast mixed with yolk and butter into their tobacco stained teeth.

“Bernice,” she reached for her fork and calmly snuffed her cigarette out in the ashtray.

“I am fucking golden.”

-THREE-

After eating, she managed to snag a real piece of shit online. He was in the next town over, and after almost losing her cool earlier with the truckers—she needed this.

His profile had been posted on a website she had frequented before. The majority of people who frequented this site were men looking for real kinky shit—business types that wanted someone to walk all over their latex covered bodies with stilettos, Cub Scout leaders looking for ladies to dress up like Boy Scouts and shove dildos up their asses.

His screen name was likes2eat_pie.

For his handle alone he deserved a gunshot to the face.

After spending more time then she would have liked in a private chat. Then going through the motions of cyber sex, (which consisted of her feverishly typing away on her keyboard.) she managed to get likes2eat_pie’s real name and back story. His name was Karl, and he owned a number of gas stations in the next town. His secret little hobby consisted of watching women use his public restrooms on digital video equipment he had installed in the mirrors.

What he wanted was for her to arrive at his gas station, use the bathroom, pleasure herself, and then when she was finished—Karl would come in and they would fuck.

So now here she was driving as fast as her car could take her into the next town. Her stomach was full, she had bought a pack of smokes for the trip, and her revolver was loaded.

This particular hook-up was going to be tricky; she was accustomed to motel rooms and mattresses—not grimy, disease covered public restroom floors. But she would make it work; slipping him something wouldn’t require too much ingenuity. She would simply convince Karl that it was Viagra or some other magic pill that would keep him stiff.  After passing out she would move him to the car, throw him inside the trunk, and then drive out into the woods.

There she would take her time.

Maybe, just this once she would wait till they woke up.

Something caught her eye. A man, slender and tall was walking by the side of the highway. He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and was dressed in a very expensive suit. Cars zipped by, a few even honked to make sure the man realized that he was just inches away from being hit.

He didn’t seem concerned. Every time a car would lay on its horn and zoom past him the man would simple wave.

He stuck his thumb out to be picked up.

He was hitching?

What year was this?

Karl’s gas station was coming into view.

She looked in her rear view mirror as she passed the man. His skin was pale, and white as chalk. His hair was jet black and combed to the side. He wore a pair of wire rimmed glasses, and seemed to be struggling with his duffel bag. He looked up in her direction.

If she believed in a God, she would have sworn the son of a bitch winked.

She pulled into the parking lot of the gas station. Karl was behind the cash register finishing up with a female customer. He shot her a quick glance; he wouldn’t know it was her until she introduced herself. The most basic rules of the game for all female players were no pictures. This allowed for a painless exit if the women would get cold feet.

Karl wasn’t much to look at.

Short, balding, his unshaven face barely covering acne scars and skin tags. He wore a track jacket and a sagging pair of sweat pants. His obscenely large gold chain hung like a monkey around his neck. He was chewing on an unlit cigar, and his fingers were decorated with rings.

She quickly understood why he had to resort to taping women while they used the bathroom. Why he signed up for websites that gave him instant access to women that would be willing to sleep with him.

What he lacked in good looks, he apparently made up for with cash.

It was almost like he had looked into a crystal ball as a kid, and seeing how overweight and balding he was—ensured that future Karl would have the money to help him get laid. At least when it came to his profile photo, he hadn’t tried to conceal his appearance. It had been a snap shot of Karl on the beach somewhere, missing his shirt—wearing board shorts and jewelry. The rays of the sun could be seen bouncing off the sweat on his large stomach.

She stepped inside.

She tried to remember what name she had used this time.

Melissa?

Karl licked his lips as she approached him.

“Mattie?” A very large smile spread across his face.

Mattie it was. The female customer he had helped made her exit. As soon as the automatic doors sealed shut she went to work.

“You got it big boy. Are you ready to do this?” Small talk was usually expected but she had found that lately her patience was wearing very thin.

“Bathroom is in the back of the store sweetheart. Just give me five minutes to sneak into my office and switch on the camera.” A thin line of sweat had started to build on his upper lip.

The smell of his cigar and cologne were overbearing.

“Not a problem honey, I’ll just warm myself up a little before I really get busy.” She slowly shoved her manicured hand inside her panties. Karl’s eyes grew large.

“Oh man–baby you told me you were down but this is going to be a good fucking time! Just let me lock-up.” He licked his lips again and threw his cigar into the trash.

He ran over to his doors and locked them tight and just as quickly turned off his open sign.

They both laughed.

She couldn’t decide if she would slice his throat, or strangle Karl with her bare hands.

“Remember baby, straight back. It’s past the liquor.” Karl said.

She brought her hand back up from her jeans and placed her finger in her mouth.

So close she thought.

Karl disappeared into his office.

-FOUR-

The bathroom was a joke.

The one stall had a door that was barely hanging on for dear life. The toilet was decorated with various bodily fluids and Gawd knew what else.

The mirror that was above the sink was clean, and in fantastic shape.

She ripped off multiple pieces of toilet paper and placed them on the seat. The last thing she needed was to catch something.

A bug darted across the floor and disappeared inside a hole in the wall.

She would tie Karl to a spit and roast him alive for this.

She unzipped her pants and dropped them to the floor.

The bathroom door suddenly opened.

What the hell? Was Karl as impatient as she was?

The lights inside the bathroom flickered once, and she was sitting in complete darkness.

When they came back on, there standing directly in front of her was the man from the highway.

“Uh, can I fucking help you?” Her purse was on the ground. The revolver was accessible if she needed it.

He just stood there. The duffel bag he had been seen carrying still thrown over his well dressed shoulders.

“Do you hear me asshole? Get the fuck out of here!” She reached down for her purse and pistol.

The man suddenly leapt forward in her direction, moving incredibly fast.

Before she could even produce her weapon he had her purse, and the gun. He darted back towards the bathroom door.

She caught the faint smell of rotten eggs in the air.

He was still not saying a word.

“Okay mother fucker! You want to play? Let’s play!” She tossed off her pants and jumped in his direction.

She would claw his fucking eyes out if she had to.

And where in the hell was Karl?

Was he not seeing this?

The man raised his arm up and caught her wrist in his hand.

She struggled, but his grip was stronger.

“Fuck you! I’ll rip your Gawd damn eyes out! I’ll…”

She watched in shock as he snapped her wrist.

The intense pain shot up her arm like a lightning bolt.

Then, with a very fluid motion—he threw her towards the stall.

Her head collided with the toilet and she lost consciousness for a moment. Her wrist was on fire. The steady flow of blood from the large cut on her forehead was blinding her. Her whole body ached. Her mind was spinning.

She was in bad shape.

Were in the fuck was Karl?

The man reached inside her purse, and produced her pistol.

She could barely make out what happened next.

The gun was in his tightly closed hand.

When he opened his hand again–nothing but cinders remained.

“Bullshit.” She replied.

“Gawd damn magic tricks asshole? Go fuck yourself.”

She tried to stand. But fell instantly to the floor.

Then he reached inside her purse again and brought out her phone.

“What? Are you taking pictures now?”

He opened her phone and dialed. Then he quickly tossed it over in her direction. It was on speaker and the number displayed she didn’t recognize. It rang twice before someone picked up.

“Hello?” It was the voice of a female.

“Look, I have no idea what the fuck this is all about—but would you be a dear and call the fucking police on your boyfriend here?” She asked.

There was silence for a few moments. She could hear the shallow breathing of the female over the phone.

“Hello!” She tried to stand again. This time she propped herself up, using her one good hand against the tank of the toilet.

“I realize you have no idea who I am.” The caller on the phone spoke.

“But I know who you are. And I know what you’ve been doing.”

“Is that so?” She replied, looking over in the man’s direction.

This had to be some sick assholes idea of a good time. There was no way she had been made, at least not yet?

“You’ve been traveling from city to city Margo. You’ve been killing men.”

Margo?

She still wasn’t sure if that was her real name.

“Well I’m sorry you crazy ass bitch but you have me confused with…”

“My husband was a good man Margo. He had his faults. His vices just like everyone else. Our marriage was having its fair share of problems even before the cancer.”

It suddenly hit her who was on the phone.

“My husband loved me Margo. But when the cancer took pieces of me away from him it was difficult for Henry. I don’t blame him. I knew he was looking for something he felt that he couldn’t receive from me anymore.”

“Look…”

“Samantha.”

“Samantha, I’m not sure who you think I am—but I swear to you that I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Let’s tone down the attitude she thought. We need to talk our way out of this.

“I know it’s you Margo. I know this because my friend wouldn’t have called me if he hadn’t found you. You see you’re not the only one with a hobby. I’ve always enjoyed reading, and I would literally devour any book I could get my hands on as a child.”

“Okay.” She suddenly noticed how calm Samantha’s voice was.

“As an adult this little hobby of mine continued. Henry would often leave the country on business and return with books, very old books.”

She was running out of options, her pistol was apparently gone—and the asshole in the glasses was blocking the only way out.

She was losing a lot of blood.

“My cancer, we thought it had been taken care of. It returned just shortly after my surgery. This time we were told it was terminal. I can only assume that this pushed Henry over the edge. At first it started with the drinking, and then sex clubs. Finally little sites like the one you found Henry on.”

“Samantha please, I’m really bleeding here.”

“You were a hard one to find Margo. And when you buy the best you expect a speedy return.”

The man opened his bag and brought out tools. Hammer, saw, nails, and Gawd knew what else.

“How much did this bastard cost you honey? Because I’ll tell you what, he is a son of a bitch.”

She lost her footing on her own blood and dropped to the ground.

Christ was she hungry. What was the name of that waitress again?

“Oh, he doesn’t take money my dear. Sometimes deals are made with items far more valuable than money or gold. Like I said you would be surprised how old those books were that Henry would buy for me. I do miss him so.”

“Hey Sam—do you smell something? I think someone is burning eggs.”

“That’s the sulfur I’m afraid. It’s time for me to leave you now Margo.”

“Sure Sam sure—hey let me get the check. Does your friend here want anything though? He looks really hungry.”

“I wish I could tell you that this will be quick.” She replied.

The man’s eye’s turned blood red.

“But I would be lying.”