The Sexy Side of Death

A pale yellow moon hung heavy in the sky, and illuminated the twisted branches of Bald Cypresses and the fetid waters of the swamp with its sickly light.

Two men looked for any sign of their friend. Luke had been dragged from his trailer down to the swamp but the twin furrows of gravel had stopped well before the water’s edge.

“You see anything Pete?” John asked.

“Naw, even with that moon- wait a sec, what is that?” He gestured to a clump of large ferns.

John crept down the slope and lifted up a leathery leaf. “It looks like one of Luke’s shoes!”

“Your friend was a bad man. You should probably go.” The voice came from above them.

In the crotch of a tree sat a woman whose form defied expectation. Her calf-high black boots swung back and forth like a school child’s, making the rest of her substantial assets move hypnotically in her thong bathing suit, a crimson one-piece that constrained much and hid little, but had a tall, white collar. An avatar of sexuality.

She stretched like a cat.

“Go. Now.”

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