Howdy! I’m an ER doc who loves horror, especially with a medical bent. Voted most witty in high school so I’m like, super funny. Querying my first novel, working on my second. Follow me on Twitter @DrSpooky_ER.
“Wow! Another first place finish for you! What’s your secret?” The reporter gazed at Larsa, her eyes twinkling as if she were speaking to a 7-time Olympic champion instead of a local high school track star. A pen perched over the page of a small red spiral-bound notebook—the reporter went old school—positively twitching in the reporter’s fingers as she readied herself for Larsa’s earth shattering truth.
The closing credits of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre unfurled on the den TV screen. Not that any of the girls paid them any mind. If Leatherface wasn’t capering about menacing unsuspecting visitors, who cared about some dumb list of names? Clara’s dog, Zander, rooted under the couch, desperately searching for dropped popcorn. While the girls watched the movie, he’d sat near the couch’s tattered arm, putting on his best I’m-starving-to-death-and-no-one-cares expression each time someone plunged her hand into the overfilled bowl. Zander lived for nights like this and when Clara’s friends piled into the house, he shook his body with such force, he nearly toppled over Clara’s grandma’s ashes that lived in the urn in the foyer.
Chief Complaint: Other
We discharged our last patient with his right arm snug in a sling, much to his chagrin. What did he expect, drinking a twelve pack and raising hell on an ATV in the pitch-black night? He was lucky he only fractured his clavicle and not his skull, where his remaining two brain cells vied for dominance.