27Horror StoryThe knife Tazia used to slice deep across the boy’s throat looked very ordinary: a yellow-handled construction knife, the kind seen on any building site.
From his hiding place, Billy wondered what had happened to the hunting blade she’d preferred before her father’s death. She’d loved her Bowie knife. She would clean, sharpen, and shine it for hours, lovingly polishing every groove and serration. This one she just left hanging in the boy’s open throat, stuck on a piece of cartilage, and let the body drop to the ground. Then she pulled a replacement knife from her back pocket. The same yellow plastic and retractable blade. Christ, what’s happened to you, love?
In the glow of the few remaining intact street lights along this stretch of road, he’d seen her holding the short st
