Fair Warning

Thriller Stories | Nov 29, 2012 | 4 min read
16 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
"Bam Motherfucker!" Fink yelled out loud.
Diablo cruised down Devils Bluff with his cronies Fink and Scab in the back as they sipped Jack Daniels, busting mailboxes in the dead of night. His girl Starr sat quietly up front, her head leaning on her hand against the window.
"You bastards are Neanderthals," she says with disgust.
"Oh, c'mon Starr, were just havin' a little midnight fun." Scab says, raising the Jack Daniels bottle to his mouth.
Diablo brushes the back of his hand on Starr's face. It caresses a fresh blue bruise from two hours earlier. He looks at the bruise as though he's admiring a piece of art. Starr squeezes his hand, and then lowers her eyes meekly as if to say, sorry for upsetting you Diablo, I deserved it; it was my fault once again.
Daemonic Sign by Acephalix crackles on the distorted car speakers as 2 a.m. approaches. It was just another night of no good punk havoc and hell raising for the motley gang.
They pull up to the abandoned farmhouse they have been crashing at. It was hard times lately for the thug group; no jobs and no money in sight; whiskey and shotguns where their best friends.
Fink and Scab crash on an old musty couch downstairs with rats. Diablo and Starr head upstairs to the luxury of a garbage bin mattress on the floor.
He lies on top of her, his smoke and whiskey breath in her face.
"Girl, why are you out here runnin' with the devil for, when you had it made at home?"
"I don't know; guess I'm a little crazy." She thinks back to when she first ran away three months ago; daddy's little girl leaving the warmth of a stable home behind, getting caught up with the devil and his disciples.
"You are crazy girl." Diablo kisses her neck and loves her deep into the night.

The cold morning air rushed in like lonely ghosts through the broken windows of the farmhouse. The unpleasant chill woke Starr. She walked downstairs hearing the other three excitedly talk.
"What are ya'll yackin' about?" She rubs her sleepy eyes and then remembers the big ‘deal' going down later today; a big tradeoff between the disciple's beloved guns and a three month supply of dope.
The morning was gloomy white, with a heavy fog suffocating the air. No sunshine today as the black leathered gang kicked their combat boots across the grass to their car.
About nine miles into their journey down the dirt road, they see a handmade sign reading ‘Psychic Fair and Witchcraft Expo just ahead 2 miles on the left' Starr quickly shows her enthusiasm for wanting to check it out. Her puppy dog eyes win over Diablos ‘no' eyes as he reluctantly makes the left turn into the fair.
"I don't want to be hangin' around here all day; got that deal remember."
"These fucks are all full of shit anyway Starr." Fink says blatantly.
Starr opens the door forcefully, "Fink, why don't you use your goddamn head on the next mailbox instead of that bat!"

The four stroll throughout the fair in the foggy morning, viewing tent after tent offering free psychic readings.
"Please baby, can we do it?" Starr asks her contemplating boyfriend. His eyebrow rises with uncertainty.
"I don't know Starr, this shit kinda freaks me out." He shrugs.
"But if you really want to, I guess that's ok, beside it is free."
A genuine and happy smile forms on Starr's face.
Fink and Scab gawk stupidly over a belly dancer at another tent as Diablo and Starr enter a dark red tent.
They are greeted by a white woman wearing a blue satin robe and a Jamaican woman in a red dress, both sitting on the floor of the tent. Two silk purple pillows sit on their laps.
"Please, come sit, welcome my friends." The Jamaican woman kindly tells them.
Both Diablo and Starr sit Indian style in front of the woman. The white woman gently holds Starr's hands in hers; the Jamaican woman does the same to Diablo. He rolls his eyes letting out a short laugh.
The reading begins. But as soon as it starts there is trouble in the eyes of both psychics'. Their warm smiles have faded and their faces show extreme discontent. The Jamaican woman looks up at Diablo, her mouth wide with fear and shock. Starr's psychic begins trembling, almost seizure like.
"What the fuck," Diablo shakes his head sharply.
"Diablo I'm scared." Starr says with franticness in her voice.
Just before Diablo had time to blurt out "let's get the fuck outta here" Starr's psychic tell him, "Wait"
She looks firmly into Starr's eyes, "I want you to take his hand and hold it, don't let go."
Starr gives Diablo a confused look, but takes his hand anyway, fearfully. All four hands are now joined together.
"Am I supposed to see something?" Starr asks.
The Jamaican psychic shakes her head no, "You feel"
"What!"
A lifeless frown of death appears on Starr's face when she feels something jab at her stomach. She jerks suddenly with shock in her eyes. It's extremely painful and stabbing like. She howls and writhes in pain as the stabbing sensation continues. The feeling of warm blood gushing down her stomach can be felt. She looks down but there is no blood. Then a brutal in and out sensation of horrific pain is felt in her abdomen, over and over. Her body thrashes about violently in the tent as she screams. She eyes Diablo with a look of sick disbelief. He feels the firm grip of a handle in his hand, the in and out motion as well, along with blinding intense rage and anger.
The two psychics finally release their grip.
Starr falls back losing her breath, her face wet with sweat. Diablo vomits on the floor from disgust. She backs away from him, terrified. The stable life was calling.

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