Brandon and the Milk Debacle

Brandon opened his fridge and cursed.

He was out of milk. Again.

He closed the fridge and turned around, staring blankly at the ingredients he’d lain out on the countertops.

Butter. Sugar. Flour. Eggs.

And no milk.

How was he supposed to make his contest-winning vanilla scones without milk?

He paced his tiled kitchen floor.

Everyone was expecting him to show up with a platter of his town-famous scones, and if he didn’t—his stomach twisted at the thought.

He had to bring those scones.

He grabbed his car keys and hopped in his car. The drive to the only store in the small town was about 5 minutes. The walk to the milk section felt like an eternity in comparison.

His car keys hit the floor with a clatter.

There was no milk.

The entire section, the whole fridge, was empty.

He clutched at his hair and cursed himself, cursed the baking mothers, cursed the world.

This was not how he was going to be remembered. He would not be the guy who showed up empty handed to Samuel’s fourth birthday party.

He got back into his car, tapping his fingers against the wheel in frustration. He turned on the radio, barely listening as the announcer rambled on and on.

“String of—unable to apprehend—shark mask—happening in Camden Delta.”

Brandon’s head snapped up.

Camden Delta. The next town over.

The drive was only an hour. He might just be able to get his milk and get back in time to make his scones for the party.

He pulled out of the parking lot, and his stomach spun the entire drive.

He absolutely hated Camden Delta. It was big and noisy, and everyone thought they were so much better than those from the small town of Westgate. But he was desperate.

He frowned as he caught up to a large traffic jam. He didn’t have time for this. He glanced around, curling his fingers tight around the wheel. Panic ate away at the inside of his chest. He jerked the wheel and pulled over, killing the engine and hopping out of the car. It was a long walk, but as he eyed the traffic, he knew the drive would have definitely been longer.

He picked up his pace, his brows crinkling as he passed the flashing lights of police cars and the bright yellow of caution tape.

He shook his head. Freaking Camden Delta.

He reached the store and exhaled in relief as he stepped into the cool AC.

“Excuse me,” He greeted one of the employees, “But do you guys have milk?”

The employee nodded. “Yeah, right over there. Got one left, I think.”

Brandon’s gut lurched. He took off towards the milk section, arriving just in time to see a middle-aged woman pull the last milk jug off the shelf. He stopped cold, and all the blood drained out of his face.

The woman turned and started when she saw him.

“Oh.” She said. “Did you need milk too?”

Brandon just barely nodded.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry.” She scratched the back of her neck. “I’ve been all over town looking for this. I’m all out and my kids were really looking forward to my special homemade mac and cheese tonight.” She raised guilty eyes to his.

Brandon forced a smile and waved her off. “It’s alright. I didn’t need it that bad.”

She placed the milk in her cart and gave him a thankful smile. “My kids will be so excited.”

She walked away, leaving Brandon to stare dejectedly at another empty milk shelf.

He sighed and turned around, dragging his feet as he left the store and started walking back to his car.

He would have to call Sheryl. He couldn’t make it to Samuel’s party. He was sick—and he did feel pretty nauseous—so he had to stay home—didn’t want to make the kids unwell. He’d say he was really sorry about the scones, but he just wasn’t feeling well enough to make them. Sheryl would understand. He couldn’t help being sick.

His foot landed in a puddle and splashed his pant leg. He glanced down in annoyance, and his brows furrowed when he saw the pool of white liquid seeping into his shoe. He stepped back and traced the source to a milk jug lying a few feet away.

He glanced around him and caught sight of another milk jug further down the street. He followed the trail of milk down a side street and turned a corner, his head tilting to the side as he took in the milk truck tucked into the shadows between the buildings.

He walked forward slowly and saw the shadowy figure of a tall, slender woman with voluptuous red hair leaning against the side of the milk truck, a cigarette between her lips.

“Sheryl?”

The woman jumped and her heels clicked on the asphalt as she turned to look at him. She squinted.

“Brandon?” She echoed in confusion. “Brandon Reems?”

“That’s the one.” He chuckled awkwardly. Something about this whole situation set his nerves on edge. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be getting ready for Samuel’s birthday party?”

` Sheryl’s lips curled up at the corners, showing her picture perfect, stark white teeth. “Funny story, actually…”

Something struck Brandon in the back of the head and he collapsed.

“Brandon, Brandon, Brandon.”

The first thing he saw were her blood red heels. They had always been Sheryl’s signature. She never went anywhere important without them. Then he saw the pair of dirty black boots crusted with dark brown stains beside hers.

His wrists burned and he twisted, rubbing his skin against the ropes that bound him. He raised his eyes from the floor to the two people that stood over him, and his eyes widened when he took in the rubber shark mask covering the face of the second.

He looked around quickly, recognizing the back of the milk truck from the crates and crates of milk that had gone warm and spoiled.

Shark mask leaned in to whisper something in Sheryl’s ear. She nodded and stepped around Brandon to climb up into the front of the van. The ignition sputtered and the truck rumbled to life.

Shark mask knelt before Brandon and procured a knife from inside one of the crates. He touched the tip of the blade to the underside of Brandon’s chin, and Brandon stopped breathing. Then the knife withdrew, and shark mask stood up.

Sheryl clicked on the radio as Brandon watched wide-eyed as Shark Mask sat down on one of the crates and fiddled with his knife.

“Police statements have neither confirmed nor denied the arrival of any new evidence from this morning’s murder by Camden Delta’s very own serial killer, known more popularly as the Shark Defender, for the killer’s signature style of targeting shark hunting fishermen and arranging the bodies of his victims into the figures of sharks, as well as the shark-mask he’s been spotted wearing by several witnesses.”

Brandon’s stomach dropped. He looked up and found shark mask staring straight at him. He scraped the blade of the knife along the edge of the milk crate tauntingly.

Brandon was going to vomit.

He was face to face with a serial killer.

He was going to die.

He’d just wanted a carton of milk.

The truck came to a stop and shark mask grabbed Brandon by the collar and dragged him out the back doors.

Wind whipped Brandon’s hair in his eyes, and he could taste salt on his tongue. He stumbled over sharp rocks and coarse grass to the edge of a cliff, and then he was staring down hundreds of feet into the dark rocky ocean below.

Brandon mumbled vainly against the gag. He heard the truck start up behind him and then it was rolling down the cliff towards him. He struggled, but shark mask didn’t seem to care. The truck rolled nearly a hair’s width from his arm and over the edge of the cliff. It struck the rocks and exploded into a shower of fire and smoke.

Sheryl clapped loudly behind them as she walked closer.

“Brilliant show, don’t you think?”

She reached Brandon and tore his gag off. She smiled with her pearly white teeth.

“Now, I bet you’re wondering why we didn’t just leave you in that truck and send you off the cliff with our dear old friend, the milkman, aren’t you?”

Brandon stared at her with wide eyes.

She grinned wider. “Well, you have something I want, Brandon.” She held out her hand, palm up towards him, and her tone lowered. “Your scone recipe.”

Brandon blinked. “What?”

Sheryl sighed. “Come on, I know you’re not dumb, Brandon.” She plucked a strand of her orange hair out of her face with her long, manicured nails. “We all know you’re going to have to die. You’ve seen too much. But whether that’s quick and easy, or…” Her eyes twinkled. “Well, that’s up to you.”

“Why are you doing this?” He whispered.

Sheryl rolled her eyes. “The recipe.”

“Okay.” He whispered. “But you’re going to have to write this down.”

She huffed and pulled out her phone. He began to recite the ingredients and steps to his precious recipe, and she clicked away. Behind him, shark mask was eerily silent.

When he was nearing the end he took in a sharp breath and slammed his head back into shark masks’. Sheryl shrieked and Brandon dove for the knife shark mask had dropped in his surprise. He sliced through his bonds just as shark mask slammed into his back and sent them both rolling towards the cliff’s edge. His fingers curled around the top of the shark mask and he ripped it off, his breath catching when his eyes locked on the bright blue ones of a woman—the same woman who had taken the last milk jug in the store. She used the advantage of his surprise and slammed him on his back with his head over the side of the cliff.

Sheryl sighed. “Now you really have to die, Brandon. Babe, I’ve pretty much got the recipe. The rest is common sense. Go ahead and have your fun.”

She turned and picked her way back up the hill. Brandon’s eyes stared into the cold, merciless one’s of a serial killer. Except, they weren’t cold, and they weren’t merciless, and he could have almost sworn he saw a glimpse of hesitation.

“You don’t have to do this.” He begged. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I don’t even know who you are.”

The woman sat back and let Brandon sit up, still with his back to the cliff face.

“I kill those who harm innocent creatures.” She said quietly. “You were an accident.”

“Let me go.” Brandon whispered. “Let me go and I’ll forget all of this. I’m not even from this town. I’ll go home and I won’t say a word.”

“You’re lying.” The woman hissed.

“I’m not.” Brandon pleaded. “Please, if you kill me, you’re no better than those you hunt.”

The woman got to her feet. “I am nothing like them.” She held out her hand to Brandon.

Brandon wrapped his fingers around her and started to get to his feet, but his boot slipped on a rock and he fell on his back, yanking the woman forward and propelling her over him off the side of the cliff. Her fingers slipped out of his and she screamed as she fell until she hit the ocean with a fatal splash.

Brandon lay on his back, staring with wide eyes at the cloudless blue sky above him.

He really hadn’t meant to do that.

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