Carver Pike - Scalp

Carlisle looked past the band mates and toward the highway they’d exited to get to the gas station. From where he now stood, he could see the overpass where forest green, armored vehicle after armored vehicle sped by.

“Go get ‘em, boys!” Roger Rickshaw, the class clown of the bunch who was always drunk, yelled.

“It’s not like they’re driving to war,” Carlisle said under his breath, “you stupid son of a bitch.”

“Where do you think they’re going?” Mitch asked, causing Carlisle to flinch.

He hadn’t heard the man approaching.

“Got you some of those pecan swirl cinnamon roll things,” Pete said as he held up a small paper bag. “I’ll put it in your seat.” He noticed the line of army trucks flying by and said, “Must be a base in Clydesville.”

That was probably it. That made the most sense.

“Yeah,” Carlisle agreed. “Maybe they’re headed back from a training exercise.”

“Plenty of wooded areas around here for that kind of thing,” Mitch said. “We used to do our training exercises at Camp Bullis.”

“I didn’t know you were in the army,” Carlisle said, suddenly having a whole new respect for the boy.

“Air Force,” Mitch informed him, “was only in for about a year though before they found…” he shrugged his shoulders for the next part as if to say you should know this part already, “…weed in my system.”

“Of course,” Carlisle replied.

Mitch laughed. “Hmm. Guess we’re not the only ones up this hour.”

Carlisle followed Mitch’s nod and saw a man walking out of the tree line about thirty yards or so away from where the band members were gathered. He had short blond hair, raggedy clothes, and walked with a limp. Carlisle couldn’t be sure, but it looked like he had a long scar on his face. He was definitely a local boy who’d seen a brawl or two.

“Probably on his way to work,” Pete said.

The interesting thing about the man was it didn’t seem like he was headed toward the gas station at all. In fact, it seemed like he was interested in the band members themselves. Carlisle wondered if he was a fan. Did he see the names on the side of the bus and get excited? He sure looked enthusiastic about reaching them.

“Looks like he’s headed our way,” Mitch said, “I better get over there and make sure Roger doesn’t say anything to piss off a local.”

“Good idea,” Pete said.

They both walked over to the other band members. Carlisle was stuck to this damn gas pump while it slowly did its job. He might be here all damn day trying to fill up this bus. The cost of gas had risen, and it seemed each time they filled up was more expensive than the last.

“Whoa,” Carlisle heard Roger say.

Leave it to Roger to be the first to say something.

That guy was going to be the reason they all ended up in jail someday. He was always pissing somebody off. This time, it seemed he’d set his sights on the local boy limping toward him. Now that he was closer, Carlisle could definitely see he had a scar and his eyes were wide open, crazed looking.

Wind blew through all the band members’ hair and Carlisle chuckled. It reminded him of a shampoo commercial.

“Hey, pal, good morning,” Roger called out to the local man.

“Roger,” Mitch said with a warning tone.

“What? I’m just saying good morning.”

“Watch it.”

“Whatever, man.”

The local man limped closer. He was only ten feet away when Carlisle swore he heard a growl.

“What’s wrong with him?” Leanne asked.

“Hey, stay back, man,” Jorden warned him.

The local man didn’t listen to the warnings. He kept coming.

“He’s bleeding,” somebody in the group said.

“Nah, he’s really fucked up,” somebody else said.

“I’m going to need you to back up,” Pete ordered.

But the local man kept coming. His growl grew louder.

“What’s wrong with his hair?” somebody asked.

That was the last thing Carlisle heard before the PFFT sound. What appeared to be a black cloud burst forth from the local man’s head and spread out over the entire crowd of band members.

“What the fuck!” Mitch yelled.

Everyone was swatting at the air. Then they were smacking their own heads, then clawing at them. Roger was the first one to scream. He shrieked like he was mad. Then the others followed. Everyone was screaming and scratching at their own heads. Some of them fell over, some dropped to their knees, and some clawed at the others.

And there was blood.

So much blood.

Carlisle replaced the nozzle on the gas pump, closed the gas valve on the bus, and then backstepped slowly toward the bus door. It was either get on the bus or run toward the gas station. He chose the bus. The gas station attendant was on his own.

Mitch was the first to slam into the bus door. He slapped at it and growled, foam oozing from his mouth. His hair had been torn back from the front of his head, revealing a bloody mess beneath. Carlisle looked at him for a second and couldn’t believe that only a couple minutes before he’d been talking to him, having a normal conversation, and now this.

The other band members reached the bus and banged against it. They slapped the windows, clawed at the siding, and tried climbing onto the bus. Carlisle had no other option but to leave them here. He started the engine, he put the bus into drive, and he gunned it. He left the gas station in his rearview mirror and pulled onto the highway while the crazed band members walked slowly after him in the direction of Virginia.

It finally occurred to him why they’d seen the Army vehicles, but if the Army was headed toward Clydesville, they were going in the wrong direction.

Thank you so much for reading Scalp . I hope that ladybug ending helped relieve some of that head itching. I hope you liked the story enough to take a look at my other work. You’ll find a list on the About the Author page coming up.

If you haven’t already, you should definitely check out A Foreign Evil: Diablo Snuff 1 , Passion & Pain: A Diablo Snuff Side Story (where you first meet Kong), The Grindhouse: Diablo Snuff 2 , and keep your eyes open for The Maddening: Diablo Snuff 3 . That one will be on its way soon if it’s not already published by the time you’re reading this. You might also want to check out my full-length novel, Grad Night , which loosely mentions Diablo Snuff .

Thank you again for reading, and if you have a chance to review this book, every review is always so appreciated.

My name is Carver Pike. Since as far back as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by everything horror. I’d sit cross-legged in front of the TV and watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre while devouring a bowl of Kaboom cereal. I always wished the ghost at the end of each episode of Scooby-Doo wouldn’t be just another man behind the mask. I wanted real ghastly ghouls, dastardly demons, and malevolent monsters.

At some point, I knew I couldn’t sit back and keep watching this horror world from the stands. I wanted to be in the game. So, now I wield this virtual pen and sling ink onto this page with the hopes of someday being a major player. I want to create those worlds you visit, feed that fear that keeps you up late at night, and entertain you in ways only the greatest storytellers can.

I’m currently living in West Virginia where there is plenty of spooky stuff to write about. When I’m not writing, I’m usually watching horror movies, reading a good book, or interacting with readers on social media.