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Killer Fries

In which a recurring nightmare leaves a tough man’s man wondering, once again, which really would be scarier: settling down and having a bunch of headstrong kids, or routinely dealing with political monsters that never seem to get their comeuppance soon enough.


by Patrice Stanton



copyright 2019 Patrice Stanton

Smashwords Edition


Cover design & glyphs also copyright 2019 Patrice Stanton


Thank you for choosing this ebook. Although it is free, it remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. The exception being short quotes used in reviews (though no alteration is allowed). If you enjoyed this story, please encourage your friends to download their own free copy and visit the About-page, linked below, for more.


Your support of the author, as well as your respect for her property, is appreciated.


This book is a work of fiction and any similarities within it to other persons (living, dead, or fictional), businesses (public, private, non-profit, or fictional), places (actual or fictional), or events (current, historical, or fictional) are purely coincidental. The work (and therefore all elements it consists of) are products of the author’s imagination, so are used fictitiously.


Dedicated to my dear husband, James, for listening to more than one draft and, more importantly, for chuckling where I’d hoped he would!





Table of Contents


Part 1 – Tough lunch

Part 2 – Words “we don’t say”

Part 3 – Not exactly breadcrumbs

Part 4 – Gone limp

About the author

Author’s website



Part 1 – Tough lunch

Devon Diller, purposefully single, had read volumes about Lucid Dreams. But of all the tips he’d tried, none had yet succeeded in gaining him “lucidity.” He was still as far from getting the script of his frequent job-related nightmare to change as when he’d first experienced it, months before. Ever hopeful, he kept researching. One of these Tomorrows, he was sure, he’d wake up victorious rather than in the same shaken, disoriented state...

- - -


“Boys…Enough!” Special Agent Devon Diller told his two older kids, “Give the baby a few more minutes to finish, then we’ll head to the library,” The boys had eaten their McMeals in record time and were looking longingly at their baby sister’s fries. Diller refused to remind them for the 101st time that they couldn’t have any. He was about to go all drill-sergeant on them.

The voice from the flatscreen TV across the restaurant suddenly got louder, getting the Fed’s attention. He turned, giving the boys the chance they needed to “help” baby sister finish her lunch.

“…inspectors have locked the doors at Circus Frozen Foods until further notice and recalls are underway for the company’s iconic corndogs and triple-battered okra rings. According to one Federal investigator, speaking on condition of anonymity, line-workers at the main plant here outside Atlanta were struck today by a rash of quote ‘bizarre bodily ailments’ which were quickly followed by ‘violent beastlike behaviors.’ Several employees are being treated for injuries while an unspecified number of line workers, some suspected in those attacks, are in medical custody…”

As Diller watched the TV, one of the boys was breaking fries in half to cover his crimes-of-consumption. The other mimed at the baby – who was smart as a whip – for her to shove the last of the full-length fries into their dad’s jacket’s aptly named cargo-pockets.

She dutifully did, then giggled.


Part 2 – Words “we don’t say”

By the time they were all back in the minivan and heading away from the fast food joint Diller was exhausted. And we’ve only just finished lunch! No wonder she was so desperate for one of those ‘Spa Days’.

“Fine,” he said over his shoulder, accepting the latest offer/counter-offer between himself and the boys, “you two can go to the Lego® room instead of ‘story time with all those babies.’”

He glanced in the rearview at the actual baby, strapped securely in her car seat between the boys, and winked at her as he punched the power button on the radio for his favorite music channel. She smiled back.

The radio host was giving the upcoming lineup but was interrupted by a warning sound resembling a severe weather alert.

“Is it a tornado, Daddy?” one of the boys blurted.

The other boy answered, “It’s sunny, stupid.”

“Sh-h-h, you two,” Diller said, “and how many times do I need to remind you: we don’t use that word?”

“Dad, you use it all the--” began one, but was cut off by Diller’s raised-hand HALT! signal.

Then a different voice came on the radio.

“…interrupt this broadcast with a missing persons’ alert from the Atlanta office of the FBI. Macy Doldrums, a 44-year-old female Person-Of-Color, has gone missing, apparently from her home in one of Atlanta’s most exclusive neighborhoods. A large political figure locally, Doldrums is best known for her recent failed Senate campaign, for which she has still not been cleared of all financial ques…”

Diller punched the volume down to attend to his work pager which had begun vibrating madly. A quiet, “Damn!” escaped before he could remember he had three very impressionable mimics in the back seat.

“Daddy!” the boys chimed.

“Dannn!” the baby said.

Diller had to laugh out loud at that. The boys joined in.

The baby frequently made her family laugh plus she seemed to enjoy doing so and typically repeated back whatever had gotten that sort of response. This was clearly her latest laugh-line.

“Dan, dan, dan…”

Another HALT! signal was thrown in the air with a louder, “Sh-h-h,” as he punched up the volume again.

All three kids dutifully went silent.

“…though Doldrums is routinely late for her church’s choir practice, investigators were told, she has so far failed to make her typical apology-call to its director. Fortunately no signs of foul play have been found. Curiously, in her designer kitchen, the health-conscious Doldrums left a large deep fryer still plugged in, its murky oil smoking. As one official described it – off the record – she was in clear violation of the HOA’s fire-code and not only that, the beautiful reclaimed Italian marble counters were strewn with grease drippings and empty triple-battered-okra-ring bags. On another note, torn pieces of red fabric, seemingly from her missing choir robe, were discarded on the upcycled barn wood floor…”


Part 3 – Not exactly breadcrumbs

“Kind of lightly armed, aren’t we?” It was one of the Agency’s youngsters. Most complaints during team briefings these days came from the agents with least experience.

Various other stupid comments and the sidearm-only policy of the day were no surprise to Diller. He’d been on plenty of similar missions with the Agency as well as in local law enforcement and other more hush-hush organizations.

“Dude,” someone else at the briefing quipped, “how dangerous could an ex-politician be?”

“Well,” added Diller, “she did lose…” That earned him more than a few guffaws.

As they’d been goofing around a call had come in on the regional FBI Tip Line. With that, the search team was immediately dispatched to the “sighting location,” one of the area’s largest greenspaces.

As the first vehicle pulled up alongside what was clearly the make and model of the car the tipsters had been in, it quickly became clear why they had not “gotten the blank out of there” like the operators on the Tip Line had been told to advise them – and all other potential witnesses. The shattered driver’s side window with a telltale strip of red cloth limply clinging to the doorframe was the first clue.

“What the…”

The second clue was the bloody trail leading away from the car and straight towards the main Park gate. Like a partial adult-abortion, there were several grownup arms plus a lone fashionably-ragged-denim short-shorted young woman’s leg.

“Oh my ga--”

The train of Agency vehicles went wide of the slaughter that was obviously a crime scene and then in through the same main gate. There was no sidling by the end point of the criminal’s “trail,” the mostly uncrushed ponytailed head of one of the victims, standing straight up.

“Yuuucck…”

Thankfully, the special high-clearance taxpayer-funded SUVs easily passed right over it without the slightest contact. They then slowed to a halt. The agents’ earpieces crackled and the voice of the team leader came on.

“The armorer is on his way with the big guns. We’re gonna sit tight ‘til he arrives. Over.”

“Copy that,” their squad leader confirmed.

The newbie next to Diller didn’t seem fully O.K. with the mission. He was shaking his head. “Do we know for sure Doldrums did this?”

“Let me guess,” Diller said, “you voted for her, right?” A couple others in their vehicle laughed.

“Well, I’m sure,” said their squad leader, then looking at the skeptic in his rearview, “but can you – or any of the rest of you - think of some other 6’ tall limb-ripping, head-popping animal running around the suburbs in a choir robe?”

A short while later they were more heavily armed and getting last instructions from their team leader.

“Flip on your body-cams. Each two-man team will stick together like glue. No cowboys today, you hear me? Now, move out and let’s get this bitch,” he commanded.


Part 4 – Gone limp

Diller was point man to an agent he’d never met before that day. They both kept their scoped rifles at the low ready as they covered their portion of the 150 acre park. The lake was just ahead and thankfully the dock was empty with no boats anywhere in sight.

It had been hours since Diller had eaten lunch with his kids, so he broke the tense silent monotony of the hike.

Stopping and turning back to his partner he asked in hushed tones, “Say, you hungry?” Not waiting for a reply he added, “I got a candy bar in…” He patted a pocket, then remembered he’d slipped it to the boys as a consolation prize when he’d had to leave all three kids at the spa with his triple-annoyed wife. She hadn’t given him the usual, “Go get ‘em ‘Killer’ Diller,” or even a perfunctory, “Stay safe, honey,” as he’d gotten his stuff from the van, nor when he was seat belted into the car she’d planned to have all day. Thankfully the kids at least had waved goodbye.

“Oops,” Diller added, “sorry.” He continued patting his other pockets before coming to a lump in one of them. He peered into that cargo pocket.

“Hey, hey, hey, some leftover fries.” He pulled out a couple of droopy pieces of cold greasy potato and held them up proudly, realizing the baby must have stashed them there. “Still smell killer but I better eat them and keep my kid’s germs all to myself, eh?” He chuckled then stopped suddenly, noticing his partner’s eyes had gone as wide as saucers.

“The red robe…” the partner said, “it’s her!” He raised his gun and stupidly took time to get the thing in his sights. Now he was too late to save Diller from losing the fry-holding arm.

The creature quickly shoved both arm and fries into its bloody mouth.

The agent was backing away quickly while at the same time sending round after round into the former politician - who now resembled a cross between a green Stay Puft man and an upright-walking Komodo dragon. With iridescent hair “twists.” In what by this point was merely a red fluttering stringy choir “cape.”

Fortunately It-slash-Doldrums was distracted by the pain of getting shot, so for a moment completely ignored Diller who’d gone to his knees, of course writhing in pain, then on down to the ground. Unfortunately she/It fell alongside the mangled agent and, even having taken a mag-full of rounds, didn’t cease from that deadly-inhuman okra-induced mania.

Most unfortunate of all was that the last agent standing closed in to check on Diller. He then fumbled his reload, giving the political monster just the opportunity It needed to effectively finish tearing the last bit of life out of veteran Agent Dev Diller with one long-clawed hand. That accomplished, It then wrapped the hand tightly around the partner’s nearest ankle.

- - -

Waking up with a jolt, Whitehouse Security Specialist Diller took the needed moment to shake-off the nightmare. He looked around his messy overpriced digs, mere minutes from his “prestigious” daily grind.

“Maybe if I just quit working for politicians...”


The End



About the Author


Discover other stories on my author page at Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/PatriceStanton

or on my website: https://housewife3-0.com/


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