They say revenge is a dish best served cold. This isn__ correct. Revenge is a dish best served lukewarm or at room temperature (depending on the room) with a side of sauerkraut lightly sprinkled with pepper, a generous helping of golden brown roasted potatoes, and a large loaf of marble rye, washed down with any kind of unfiltered wheat beer.But whatever you do__nd remember this, as it can be a matter of life or death__on__ put any sort of fruit in the beer. Fruit doesn__ belong in beer.
He was almost at his door when Vik__ earsplitting shriek resounded down the corridor. Tom was glad for the excuse to sprint back toward him. __ik?__e reached Vik__ doorway as Vik was backing out of it. __om,_ he breathed, __t__ an abomination.__onfused, Tom stepped past him into the bunk. Then he gawked, too.Instead of a standard trainee bunk of two small beds with drawers underneath them and totally bare walls, Vik__ bunk was virtually covered with images of their friend Wyatt Enslow. There were posters all over the wall with Wyatt__ solemn, oval face on them. She wore her customary scowl, her dark eyes tracking their every move through the bunk. There was_a giant_marble statue of a sad-looking Vik with a boot on top of its head. The Vik statue clutched two very, very tiny hands together in a gesture of supplication, its eyes trained upward on the unseen stomper, an inscription at its base, WHY, OH WHY, DID I CROSS WYATT ENSLOW?Tom began to laugh.__he didn__ do it to the bunk,_ Vik insisted. __he must__e done something to our processors.__hat much was obvious. If Wyatt was good at anything, it was pulling off tricks with the neural processors, which could pretty much be manipulated to show them anything. This was some sort of illusion she was making them see, and Tom heartily approved.He stepped closer to the walls to admire some of the photos_pinned there, freeze-frames of some of Vik__ more embarrassing moments at the Spire: that time Vik got_a computer virus_that convinced him he was a sheep, and he__ crawled around on his hands and knees chewing on plants in the arboretum. Another was Vik gaping in dismay as Wyatt won the war games.__y hands do not look like that._ Vik jabbed a finger at the statue and its abnormally tiny hands. Wyatt had relentlessly mocked Vik for having small, delicate hands ever since Tom had informed her it was the proper way to counter one of Vik__ nicknames for her, __an Hands._ Vik had mostly_abandoned_that nickname for __vil Wench,_ and Tom suspected it was due to the delicate-hands gibe.Just then, Vik__ new roommate bustled into the bunk.He was a tall, slim guy with curly black hair and a pointy look to his face. Tom had seen him around, and he called up his profile from memory:NAME: Giuseppe NicholsRANK: USIF, Grade IV Middle, Alexander DivisionORIGIN: New York, NYACHIEVEMENTS: Runner-up, Van Cliburn International Piano CompetitionIP: 2053:db7:lj71::291:ll3:6e8SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-4Giuseppe must__e been able to see the bunk_template, too, because he stuttered to a stop, staring up at the statue. __id you really program a giant_statue of yourself into your bunk_template? That__ so narcissistic.__om smothered his laughter. __ow. He already has your number, man.__ik shot him a look of death as Tom backed out of the bunk.
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He was almost at his door when Vik__ earsplitting shriek resounded down the corridor. Tom was glad for the excuse to sprint back toward him. __ik?__e reached Vik__ doorway as Vik was backing out of it. __om,_ he breathed, __t__ an abomination.__onfused, Tom stepped past him into the bunk. Then he gawked, too.Instead of a standard trainee bunk of two small beds with drawers underneath them and totally bare walls, Vik__ bunk was virtually covered with images of their friend Wyatt Enslow. There were posters all over the wall with Wyatt__ solemn, oval face on them. She wore her customary scowl, her dark eyes tracking their every move through the bunk. There was_a giant_marble statue of a sad-looking Vik with a boot on top of its head. The Vik statue clutched two very, very tiny hands together in a gesture of supplication, its eyes trained upward on the unseen stomper, an inscription at its base, WHY, OH WHY, DID I CROSS WYATT ENSLOW?Tom began to laugh.__he didn__ do it to the bunk,_ Vik insisted. __he must__e done something to our processors.__hat much was obvious. If Wyatt was good at anything, it was pulling off tricks with the neural processors, which could pretty much be manipulated to show them anything. This was some sort of illusion she was making them see, and Tom heartily approved.He stepped closer to the walls to admire some of the photos_pinned there, freeze-frames of some of Vik__ more embarrassing moments at the Spire: that time Vik got_a computer virus_that convinced him he was a sheep, and he__ crawled around on his hands and knees chewing on plants in the arboretum. Another was Vik gaping in dismay as Wyatt won the war games.__y hands do not look like that._ Vik jabbed a finger at the statue and its abnormally tiny hands. Wyatt had relentlessly mocked Vik for having small, delicate hands ever since Tom had informed her it was the proper way to counter one of Vik__ nicknames for her, __an Hands._ Vik had mostly_abandoned_that nickname for __vil Wench,_ and Tom suspected it was due to the delicate-hands gibe.Just then, Vik__ new roommate bustled into the bunk.He was a tall, slim guy with curly black hair and a pointy look to his face. Tom had seen him around, and he called up his profile from memory:NAME: Giuseppe NicholsRANK: USIF, Grade IV Middle, Alexander DivisionORIGIN: New York, NYACHIEVEMENTS: Runner-up, Van Cliburn International Piano CompetitionIP: 2053:db7:lj71::291:ll3:6e8SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-4Giuseppe must__e been able to see the bunk_template, too, because he stuttered to a stop, staring up at the statue. __id you really program a giant_statue of yourself into your bunk_template? That__ so narcissistic.__om smothered his laughter. __ow. He already has your number, man.__ik shot him a look of death as Tom backed out of the bunk.
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You know what__ worse than burying your own child? Not burying your own child.
Ha!_ cackled the fiend, __ expect you__ like revenge on that husband of yours. Murder shouldn__ go unpunished, and no creature enjoys delivering chastisement as much as I. What about giving him a taste of his own medicine? If you__ be so kind as to lend me your body, I__l set him dancing to my tune.__he wife__ spectre grimaced and nodded, at which the wicked Likho stripped off the nightgown, then the dead woman__ pliant skin, peeling back the flaccid folds. These it left in a slack heap. It gobbled her flesh and sucked the bones clean. These it hid behind the stove, before inserting itself inside the empty, wrinkled carcass, taking the former position of the corpse. Its fat tongue swiped the last juices from around its lips.When the husband returned home, all was as it had been; there was not a speck of blood to be seen, although the strangest smell of rotten eggs lingered
People never think of a child as being a monster, because if they did, they would never be able to sleep at night. Children are where lies peoples hopes, dreams, innocence... Not where lies murder.
Your cunning has proved to be that of Cain. I grant you power over the Hellmouth. May Samael take my revenge." The thing said with a bitter look and a voice that seemed to be many.
Deep inside her (ih her harrowed soul) she felt a glowing ember of fury at the man responsible for this. Tha man who had put her in this position. She looked at the pistol lying beside the basin, and knew that if he were here, she would use it on him without a moment's hesitation. Knowing that made her feel confused about herself. It also made her feel a little stronger.