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“Don’t start with the attitude,” he growls, immersed in the music, the crowds of others arguing which way they should possibly go, left or right, front to back. It’s funny because the ones without a pin are free, and they will make it outlive, but the ones with red pins are stuck no matter which way they turn.

“And if I don’t, what are you gonna do? Call me a naughty girl, say I have bad manners?” I taunt, working him up. I’m horny as fuck, and we haven’t had sex for months, but that’s normal. He’s my best friend, he’s my family, but if we don’t fuck occasionally and I don’t get an earth-shattering orgasm out of it.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time. Nothing is stopping me from pushing you back into the corn and fucking you.” The way his voice becomes shallow and dark and my legs tighten together, because if I spread them open, I’m going to have a pool of my arousal at my feet before we’ve even finished the first kill.

“Tempting, but can we kill first? Sex after killing is always better,” I express.

The man standing between us is too exhausted to make a run for it. He takes one unsteady step, and I stick out my foot. Making him trip, he hits the ground.

“Rude, we haven’t even started.” I shake my head in disappointment.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he shouts, hurting my feelings.

“That’s not very nice. I’m not crazy, I’m just very devoted to my job.” If I didn’t want to kill him before, I do now.

“I was going to let you run and have a game of cat and mouse, but you ruined that, so now, it’s going to be painfully quick.” I let an uncontrolled chuckle worm its way into the air.

Instead, I bend over the ground, scrambling the bag before replacing it over my shoulders. I yank the guy by his shirt into the corn before I push him to the ground, and my shoe is reaching his cheek every time he tries to speak. I apply more pressure there, only so much I can apply before he’s going to struggle really hard.

I drop the bag to Max, he opens the contents, and I rummage through it, looking at all the tools I could use.

“The thing is, I could shoot you and no one would hear because of the silencer, but I feel that’s too easy.” His eyes narrow as if I just said something so out of line—it wouldn’t be a bad way to go, considering what I’m actually capable of. The man laughs and then rolls his eyes at me—all like everything I'm saying is a massive joke.

“Well, if you’re gonna mock me, then I guess I’ll just show you what kind of serial killer I really am.

“When is it my turn?” Max interrupts

“When you find someone to kill, you don’t get him handed on a silver platter just because you want it. Things have to be earned.” He shuts his mouth almost instantly.

“Anyway, back to it, how do we feel about cutting your tongue out?” I ask sarcastically.

He doesn’t answer, which only heightens my irritation.

“Taking that as an answer, lucky for you, I didn’t care.” Max shakes his head in disappointment. If he carries on, I’m going to have to kill him as well.

“Crazy bitch,” the man spits, making my lips curl, and my wrinkles come to the surface.

“When will you learn to shut the fuck up?” I become irritated, and I rummage through my bag of weapons before I pull out a rather big knife.

Looks can be deceiving. One slice, and he’s going to be in pain you could never imagine—the type of pain someone would tell you couldn't be real and would make you out to be crazy—yeah, that’s the kind I’m about to make him feel.

“Open wide,” I say with a cheerful forcing my way through my lips

He hesitates for a second, shoulders bunching as if thinking about trying something, but then something in his face shifts. The fight drains out of his eyes as the truth hits him: he’s not going to win, and every second he keeps pushing just makes things worse for him. His jaw works, like he’s chewing down his pride, and he finally goes still.

I shake my head, annoyed, bored, whatever this feeling is, and let my eyes fall shut for a breath. When I open them again, it’s not him standing in front of me anymore.

It’s a snake.

A thick, slick coil of scales where his legs were, its body piled on the sticky ground, shining wet under the harsh lights. Its head rises slowly, higher and higher until it’s level with my face, its eyes two glossy black pits that swallow up the room. Venom drips from the corners of its mouth in fat, glistening strings, hissing as it hits the ground, eating away at the dirt and old blood. I can smell it—sharp, chemical, like burning plastic and rotten meat. Its tongue flicks out, tasting the air around me, tasting me.

I squeeze my eyes shut again, hard enough to make bright spots dance behind my eyelids. My heart is thudding in my ears now, too loud, too fast. I tell myself it’s just the drugs, just the high stretching reality until it snaps.

When I open my eyes, the snake is gone.

Now there’s a clown.

Of course, there’s a clown.