A bit of short horror fiction by yours truly.
Larry was exhausted, the sort of run-over-by-a-car exhausted one feels after a three-day bender. His hands shook as he tried to lift the styrofoam cup to his lips, black spots in the corners of his vision. One more day, he thought to himself. One more day and this whole mess would be over.
He wasn’t a terrible person. He was just a junkie, the worst kind, who makes insane promises to whoever is proposing the stupid thing so he can get his next fix. This time, he hadn’t even realized what he was agreeing to until he was in the van, and the two men he was supposed to work with dragged the struggling lump of blankets out of its cozy mansion and into the trunk. The warm placidity of his last hit still lingered in his veins, enough that it soothed over the child’s cries.
It wasn’t until they arrived at the old barn and it was his turn to watch over the kid that the reality of Larry’s situation hit him.