Worst laid plans an gy o.., p.1
Worst Laid Plans: an Anthology of Vacation Horror, page 1
Worst Laid Plans: An Anthology of Vacation Horror © 2020 by Samantha Kolesnik. All rights reserved.
Grindhouse Press
PO BOX 521
Dayton, Ohio 45401
Grindhouse Press logo and all related artwork copyright © 2020 by Brandon Duncan. All rights reserved.
Cover design by Squidbar Designs © 2020. All rights reserved.
Grindhouse Press #068
ISBN-13: 978-1-941918-70-8
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including mechanical, electric, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author.
Table of Contents
Foreword by Sadie Hartmann
You’ve Been Saved by S.E. Howard
Summers with Annie by Greg Sisco
Expertise by Asher Ellis
Unkindly Girls by Hailey Piper
Deep in the Heart by Waylon Jordan
Peelings by Kenzie Jennings
The Difference Between Crocodiles and Alligators
by Malcolm Mills
The Cucuy of Cancun by V. Castro
Taylor Family Vacation ’93 by Jeremy Herbert
The Penanggalan by Scott Cole
Sex with Dolphins by Chad Stroup
Caught a Glimpse by Patrick Lacey
In the Water by Mark Wheaton
Good Times in the Bad Lands by Laura Keating
Foreword
Sadie Hartmann
My parents planned the same family vacation every year. Sometime in October or November, we packed our bags into the station wagon and traveled a little over three hours from our home in the Sierra Nevada Foothills to the North Coast. On the way to Dillon Beach, we’d often stop in Petaluma for lunch. Late afternoon, we’d get to the beach house, aptly named, Wit’s End. This is where we stayed for about a week to ten days every year.
We never complained or whined about going someplace new. Going to Dillon Beach was better than Christmas. The house was always the same. We knew what to expect. My sisters and I planned our activities for every day: beachcombing, viewing tide pools, hiking, shopping, reading, and playing board games. Every year, we created our Best Laid Plans and executed them accordingly based on experience and familiarity.
I’m telling you this because it primes the pump for what I’m going to tell you now, which is:
I’m a creature of habit and I don’t like adventure.
I’m the best possible person to introduce you to the stories in this collection because, collectively, they are the Worst Laid Plans. You need to be warned.
It might not be a good idea to vacation somewhere you’ve never been before. Imagine all the unknown variables! What if you find yourself stranded on the side of the road in a strange place and you have to rely on strangers to help you out? You could be forced to make a hasty decision that could cost valuable vacation time or, more importantly, your very lives! Don’t talk to strangers. If it’s true for kids, it’s true for anyone. Keep to yourself when you’re out adventuring; better yet, just stay home!
It’s my recommendation that you steer clear of all RV parks. You never know what kind of people have parked their trailer there to watch you through its grimy windows. Besides, there’s not much to do at RV parks. I imagine guests get pretty bored, and boredom often leads to unsavory activities. Like they say, idle hands make the devil’s work. This goes for camping, too. I can’t imagine why anyone would think it’s a good idea to drag all of their nice things out into nature and sleep in a tent. There’s nothing but a thin layer of fabric to protect you from . . . ANYTHING. Camping is one of the worst laid plans.
I mentioned earlier that my family enjoyed vacationing at the beach. My concern is that you will be inspired to do the same, but let me caution you: not all beaches are created equal! Some beaches attract ‘unkindly girls’ and that can lead to trouble. Case in point, I heard of a beautiful creature in a bikini that preyed on spring breakers in Cancun, but I don’t imagine a monster can stay in one place for long. Reason enough to go to more private beaches.
Wait, scratch that. If you’re at an isolated beach, be aware of your surroundings. You never know what might creep out of the ocean and lure you into unsafe waters.
You also might be tempted to trust a tour guide to take you out to sea for an experience you won’t soon forget! It’s my gut feeling that going out in the middle of the ocean, where nobody can hear you scream, is not the safest option if you love your life. Beach excursions are one of the worst laid plans. You could wind up having to send out an SOS or a message in a bottle. Not ideal.
Sometimes people get excited about seeing some sights! This sounds like a good plan, but I would caution against it. What if you find yourself in a cave with beautiful, natural formations but you have no idea that it’s also home to subterranean creatures! It’s best to stay above ground and out of harm’s way. In fact, I would avoid any of nature’s unpredictable locations; you just never know what kind of wildlife you could encounter.
Maybe it would be a good plan to travel to one of any special conventions. There’s a convention for just about anything! Books, movies, comics, and more! There’s even a convention for people who are passionate about big reptiles. The folks there cosplay as crocodiles and alligators. Seems relatively safe. What could happen?
The same goes for theme parks. I don’t think going someplace that touts itself as the happiest place on earth could ever disappoint. I’m pretty sure fairytale princesses are the kindest, safest people you’ll ever meet. A solid choice if you have a family or rambunctious twins!
The stories you are about to read are not true. They’re fiction. But before you pack your bags and head off to some enticing vacation destination, it’s in your best interest to take these stories to heart and make informed decisions about your life choices. It could make the difference between sunning yourself on the beach, getting your tan on, or keeping your skin on at all.
Safe travels!
Sadie Hartmann
You’ve Been Saved
S.E. Howard
“REMEMBER THE TIME MIKEY BUSTED us into his uncle’s house to get that fifth of Jack Daniel’s he swore was hidden underneath the kitchen sink?”
Using nothing but his driver’s permit, Chris Flynn thought as his friend, Ethan Brooks, said this aloud.
“Using nothing but his goddamn driver’s permit, you remember that? He jimmies it between the door and the jamb . . .”
Gives it a wiggle or two to wedge it underneath the bolt . . . Chris thought.
“. . . then he gives it a shake,” Ethan said. “Once, twice . . .”
. . . third time’s the charm, because . . .
“. . . the next thing I hear is that bolt going POP as the lock comes undone, and he’s opening the door with this big, shit-eating grin on his face.”
All of that, and there’s not a goddamn thing under that sink. Do you . . .
“. . . remember that? Nothing but a bunch of old, dried-up mouse shit!” Ethan slapped his hand against the table and laughed loudly enough to draw glances from people at neighboring seats in the roadside diner. “Goddamn, those were good times.”
One hour into their cross-country trek to Los Angeles spent recounting “good times” had been fun for Chris. Two hours listening to Ethan’s stories had been mostly enjoyable, and three hours of it, moderately so. After five hours, however, Chris’s patience had worn thin. By now, ten hours deep, and another nineteen yet to go—not including the overnight detour they’d planned in Las Vegas—and he found himself ready to impale himself on his fork.
“You boys need anything else?” Short and stout, their waitress wore her cinnamon-colored hair teased high and a shade too bright to be natural. Her name tag read Lois.
“Just the check, please,” Chris said.
Lois pulled out her ticket pad. “Everything taste okay?”
Ethan smiled disarmingly. “Just like Mom used to make.”
“You poor thing.” She ripped off the bill, plopped it down on the table, then walked away.
While Ethan took care of the tab, Chris headed for the men’s room. As he reached for the door, the adjacent one to the ladies’ room swung open unexpectedly. Startled, he danced backwards as a young woman plowed nearly headlong into him.
“I’m sorry . . . !” she exclaimed in a startled, breathless rush, just as an older woman walked out behind her.
“Oh, my goodness, Jessie,” she scolded. “Watch where you’re going! You nearly knocked him over.” With an apologetic smile, she added to Chris, “I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”
“I . . . I’m fine, ma’am,” he replied, looking at the girl, Jessie, as he spoke. She was pretty enough to warrant more than a passing glance, with long, dark hair drooping in lank waves to her shoulders. The spaghetti straps of her white tank top were loose enough to promise no bra beneath, and a pair of low-slung blue jeans hugged the shapely curves of her hips.
&nbs
“It’s alright . . .” Chris began, but his voice faltered as Jessie brushed past him, catching him by the hand. It was only for a second, but that was all she needed to press something into his palm, a wadded napkin she’d been carrying.
“Hey, man,” Ethan called from the direction of the cash register. “You got fifteen cents?”
Chris looked down at the napkin, puzzled, then watched the older woman lead Jessie out of the diner. She glanced back at Chris, her dark eyes round and nearly pleading.
“Hey,” Ethan said again, and this time, he reached over and punched Chris in the shoulder to get his attention. “Ground control to Major Tom. I asked if you’ve got fifteen cents. I don’t want to bust a dollar.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Reaching into the front pocket of his jeans, Chris pulled out some loose change. “Here.”
Through one of the nearby windows, he could see Jessie and the woman crossing the parking lot together for an older model Winnebago. He and Ethan had both noticed it upon their arrival at the diner, if not because it was something straight out of a 1980s time capsule, perfectly, hideously preserved, than because of a bumper sticker on the vehicle’s tail end: HONK if you’ve been SAVED!
Ethan had found this hilarious. “We should get one of those, a button or something you could wear at the hospital,” he said, then busted out laughing. “Every time one of your patients rolls out of surgery, you could pinch them on the nose. You know . . .” And he demonstrated this to Chris. “Honk! You’ve been saved!”
While Ethan finished paying the bill, Chris looked down at the napkin Jessie had handed to him. It had been folded neatly and deliberately, the way notes were folded in grade school when students tried to surreptitiously pass them during class. Curious, he worked the edges loose and opened it.
HELP
The word, all caps and clumsy block letters, looked like it had been scrawled in blood. He cut his gaze again toward the diner window and watched the RV pull away, heading back for the interstate.
“What’s that?” Ethan asked, pushing his wallet back into his pocket.
“I don’t know,” Chris replied, showing it to him.
“Where’d you get it?”
“That girl gave it to me a second ago.”
Ethan frowned. “What girl?”
“The one in the tank top.” With a pointed glance, Chris added, “No bra.”
“Oh, yeah.” Ethan handed the note back. “Well, that’s weird.”
“Yeah.” Chris frowned as the Winnebago drove off. “You think she’s in trouble?”
“Could be.” Ethan blew a sour belch against the side of his fist and grimaced. “Especially if she had the lunch special.”
“Maybe we should call the police,” Chris said a half an hour later, when they were back on the road. He’d brought the note with him from the diner, and time and again, found himself glancing down at it, drawn to the grim plea and those stark, crooked letters.
HELP
“What the hell for?” Ethan asked.
“What if she’s been kidnapped?” Chris asked, and when Ethan rolled his eyes, he frowned. “What? You hear about human trafficking all the time on the news.”
“Yeah? You hear about people getting punked, too.” Ethan grabbed the note and crumpled it up. When he opened the window, moving to toss it out, Chris grabbed his arm.
“Hey, don’t.”
But Ethan opened his hand anyway. The wind, whipping past the side of the car at more than seventy miles-an-hour, snatched the note and whipped it away.
“What the hell, man?” Chris exclaimed. “Why’d you do that?”
“Because it’s bullshit,” Ethan replied, rolling his window back up. “That girl was just messing around. Would you forget about it already?”
But that was easier said than done, at least for Chris. As the day wore on, he tried to feign the appropriate interest as Ethan talked about their Vegas side-trip but still couldn’t quite shake his nagging, lingering unease.
“. . . so, I’m thinking we should go to the Sahara first,” Ethan said. “Hit the craps tables, you know, maybe play a little blackjack, then check out the nudie bars. I’ve heard there’s a bunch of them all lined up in a row. Trust me, man. A nice pair of double-Ds waving in your face is exactly what the doctor . . .” His voice faded and he frowned, leaning forward to look out the windshield. “Isn’t that the same RV we saw back at the diner?”
“Where?”
“Right there.” Ethan pointed ahead of them, toward the unmistakable brown-and-white Winnebago. “That is the same one. HONK if you’ve been SAVED!” His frown deepened. “Are you following them?”
“What? Don’t be a dumbass.” Chris feigned obliviousness. After all, the RV had held a good fifteen-, if not a twenty-minute lead ahead of them on the highway. But head start or not, it had apparently hit a cruising speed of less than the posted limit, so he figured it wasn’t completely his fault they’d caught up to it.
“A dumbass, huh?” Ethan said as the Winnebago’s right turn signal came on when it neared an exit and Chris did the same.
“What? We need to fill up.”
At the gas station, the RV pulled around the far side of the building toward bays designed for tractor trailers and other large vehicles. Chris rolled to a stop next to the regular pumps.
“Have you been following them this whole time?” Ethan demanded, annoyed now, folding his arms across his chest.
“Of course not.”
“Good. Because I told you, that girl was just fucking with you.” Ethan unfastened his seatbelt and reached for the car door. “I’m going to go take a piss. You want anything? A Coke? Some Cheetos to go with your paranoia?”
“Yeah,” Chris replied, flipping him the bird. “Ha ha.”
The afternoon sun was bright, the air dry and warm. He stood in the shade beneath the fueling island’s overhang, trying to keep an eye on the Winnebago while letting the pump in his hand run. He watched as an older man got out on the driver’s side to refill the camper while the woman crossed the parking lot for the convenience store. There was no sign of Jessie.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ethan leave the store. To his bewildered surprise, rather than head back for their rental car, he instead strode boldly toward the Winnebago.
What is he doing?
The older man had been walking back to the driver’s side door, but paused, turning when Ethan called out to him.
Shit, Chris thought, an inward groan. Ethan, what the fuck are you doing?
While he watched, Ethan chatted with the man, smiling broadly and offering sweeping gestures with his hands now and again to indicate the camper. When the woman emerged from the store, she, too, apparently exchanged introductions with Ethan. Then, with a flip of his hand in an affable wave, he strolled languidly back across the parking lot.
“Honk,” he told Chris as he approached. “You’ve been saved, man.”
“What the hell?” Chris exclaimed. “What were you doing?”
“I told you. Saving your ass,” Ethan replied, opening a bottle of iced tea he’d bought and taking a long swig. “I wanted to prove to you that note was bullshit, so I went and talked to those folks. Their names are Bill and Libby Warner. Turns out, they’re on their way back from a Bible convention in Utah. I told them my dad used to have an RV, and we’d travel all over the country every summer when I was a kid. Great Lakes, the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Disneyland—you name it.”
Chris frowned. “Your dad didn’t have an RV. He drove that piece of shit Buick.”
“I know that,” Ethan replied. “But they didn’t. Anyway, they told me they like to travel around, too. Only they didn’t have any kids to go with them. They never had any, you see.” He took another swig of tea and glanced pointedly at Chris. “No kids,” he said again.
“What about Jessie?”
Ethan shook his head. “I don’t know. But the way they were talking, there’s nobody else but the two of them.”
They sat in the car for a long, quiet moment, with Chris relaxing, then tightening his grasp repeatedly on the steering wheel. Finally, with an aggravated sigh, he reached for the ignition. Ethan caught him by the wrist.
“This isn’t about your dad, Chris,” he said quietly.
