Bait and Switch
by S.L. Robinson

"Mac! Here, boy!"

A large mass of gleaming black fur raced across the field toward two figures, obeying the command from the taller of the two. The boy stepped back a couple feet, not taking his eyes off the huge Labrador, as the dog leapt from the ground and opened his mouth wide for the outstretched hand of his master. Blood spurted, splattering the dog and his master's arm and face. Even a few stray drops made it to the boy's cheek.

Darren's face defined shock. His eyes did not move from the empty space where his uncle's hand had been just a moment before. Blood dripped from the cuff of the cowboy's canvas duster.

"Uncle Ray!"

Ray fell to the ground, moaning and writhing, the end of his right arm tucked into his left armpit.

"I'll get help!" a panicked Darren told Ray.

"No! First, get my hand! Hurry! Before the damned dog chews it up or buries it!"

Somehow, Darren's eyes grew even wider. "F-from Mac?" Darren scanned the area and found the big black dog frolicking with his new toy about 50 yards away. He took a slow, shaky step in the animal's direction.

Ray burst into laughter.

He answered the boy's questioning stare by holding up a bloody, but attached and whole, right hand. He continued to laugh heartily, rolling on the ground.

"Dammit, Ray, that ain't funny! I'm gonna tell my Dad, then he'll kick yer ass!"

Still trying to control his laughter, Ray managed to get out, "That ain't no way to talk to yer elders. And, anyway, my skinny brother never has been able to kick my ass, so save  yer breath."

"Where'd all the blood come from?"

"That beef heart I was holding was plum full of it, son."

Darren looked back at Mac, who had settled down to swallowing huge chunks of the heart, making quick work of finishing it off.

"Well, can't waste any more time -- gotta catch supper so yer Grams will have something for the Sundee table. Come on, Mac!"

The three walked a little while in silence, headed in the direction of Highway 213.

"Wish Dad would've come with us, you know, seein' as it's my first time an' all,"

Darren said in a low voice. "Why does he have to be a vej--veja--?"

"Vegetarian?"

"Yeah. Why can't he eat meat like the rest of the family?

"It's not that he can't, Darren; he won't. There's a difference. Yer Dad don't have the stomach for the killin' or the eatin' of any kind of animal. He does physically, mind you, but not mentally...nope."

"Still..."

"Buck up, son, ya got yer Uncle Ray to show ya the ropes!" Ray said as he gave a whollop to Darren's shoulder. "We're almost to the blind. Now, you hide behind those cottonwoods, just at the rise of that bitty hill. See where the road starts to curve?"

Darren gave a nod. Mac wagged his tail.

"That's where I've built the blind for me and Mac to hide in. After you make the signal, you can head down there to check it out an' watch the kill. Now, you know what to look
for; off with ya'."

Darren made the short walk to the trees while Ray and Mac headed down the slight incline to the curve in the road.

Darren did not have to wait long before he saw what he was looking for and made the signal with his white handkerchief. He then ran toward the blind.

The brake lights of the blue Ford glowed red for a couple seconds as the lone driver sought to slow the car for the upcoming curve. Darren was just in time to witness Mac laying down on his side in the opposing traffic lane. The Ford's brake lights glowed red again, this time accompanied by the ear-piercing screech and pungent smell of tires abruptly losing their forward motion.

The driver's side door flew open and out leaped a woman in her thirties. She raced to Mac, dropped to one knee and gently placed a hand on his chest. She then reached for the silver tag on his collar. Darren was now in the blind with Ray and could see her lips move, speaking Mac's full name: Macbeth.

Mac's teeth were at her throat even before he had all four paws on the ground. He gave her upper body one massive shake and her head fell back at an awkward angle, her neck obviously broken.

Ray raced onto the highway, Darren right behind him. Turning off the car and taking the keys from the ignition, they bundled her body into the trunk and all three took off for home in the Ford.

"Wow, Uncle Ray, that was so easy! I've always wondered why I wasn't allowed to say Mac's full name."

"Well, Darren, a lot of people just don't know it's bad luck to say the name of the Scottish play."

THE END

©S.L. Robinson

S.L. Robinson, primarily a dark poet, has appeared in many horror 'zines such as MindMares, Dreams of Decadence, Bloody Muse, Edgar: Digested Verse, Goddess of the Bay, Fagan, 69 Flavors of Paranoia, Parchment Symbols, Pillow Screams and many more, as well as the anthologies Jersey Ghouls and She of 10,000 Names. She is a member of Horror Writers Association and Garden State
Horror Writers. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two wolf hybrids.

January 2000 HofP