The stolen Sonata surged down the freeway with a girl trapped inside its trunk. Mikey cranked the dial of the stereo up enough notches to cover her smothered screams. It wasn’t much further to Smash’s warehouse.

 

Smash would be impressed with this one, probably giving him a solid grand and a bit of substance to smooth Mikey’s edges.

 

After twenty minutes and a line of palms and cacti, Mikey rolled up to the gate and entered. The payout was even better than predicted.

 

Easy money.

 

After a bump from the new stash—to keep his energy up—Mikey was headed for the next hit. There were always working girls in Douglas, more than anyone cared to keep track of.

​

By 9:00 pm, the Sonata was creeping toward fishnets and red lights. There was a group of girls gathered, mostly heels and wigs, but no loners. Mikey’s main rule was to always go for the loners.

 

Tucked next to the dumpster across the street, a silhouette bowed, lighting a flame, then fidgeting with the zipper of a large duffel bag. Distracted marks were also important. Mikey pulled the Sonata beside her and rolled the window down.

 

“Hi there, honey,” he cooed through pursed lips. The girl was about ninety pounds, soaking wet.

 

Easy money.

 

“Are you looking for a good time, baby?” There was something distinct in her voice, a raspiness that clung to the night.

 

 

He swiveled at the sudden upheaval across the street. The group of girls was yelling and hissing. One pointed at his current target and spit, as though the loner were a sick animal in need of a put-down.

 

“You got a problem with those girls over there?” he asked, swinging back to meet her gaze. She was right up against his window now. He hadn’t heard her approach and yelped at her surprise proximity.

 

“Can I get a ride?” She was already fingering the driver’s door handle. Her eyes were as uncanny as her voice. Vibrant and yellow, cat-like.

 

The girls across the street howled louder, and Mikey decided her unpopularity made her an even more enticing target. It was unlikely any of them would care if she didn’t come back. He nodded, slow at first, but ultimately affirmed yes.

 

She slinked around the back of the Sonata and disappeared somewhere behind the brake lights. Mikey searched the rearview mirror, tilting it with a shaking palm.

 

“What the… where did she go?” he whispered to himself, eyes still searching. Then, quick as a struck match, she appeared at the passenger door, eyes flashing in the streetlights.

 

“Thanks, sugar,” she said as she climbed onto the seat.

 

Under the cab light, he saw the duffel better. Dirty with dried red mud, zipper half busted from overstuffing. She flung it to the backseat as she flashed him a smile. Her grin glowed in the lights, the teeth too long, with gums receded. But Smash wouldn’t care about her teeth, so he pushed his foot to the floor and peeled out of the red-light district. The girls across the street were still yelling and waving as he drove off.

 

He couldn’t pummel her here. He needed to find some solitude. A place where no one would notice the transfer to the trunk. The desert highway darkened as the line of oncoming cars trickled to nil. With no headlights in the rearview, Mikey dropped his right hand around the hammer handle tucked in the side well. The girl watched the blackness outside the window, a fish in a barrel. Almost too easy. Within a moment, the hammer crashed into the base of her soft skull.

 

He felt a pop, like her skull was papier-mâché. Red gushed down the nape of her neck, and her body slumped into the seat, leaving a trail down the backrest. Mikey swore under his breath and pulled the car off to the side, killing the engine.

 

He’d barely tapped her. He knew what he was doing. Why did her head crack so easily? There wasn’t time to ditch the body and find another target. He swore again and smashed his fist into the dash.

 

Mikey popped the passenger door and locked eyes with the girl. Still open, sallow, and dilated. Pupils eerily long. Yellow-jacket eyes, now incapable of sting. He grabbed her limp arms and dragged her to the trunk, kicking up sand and rock as they traveled. The trunk slammed closed, and the Sonata veered off into the dust.

 

Not ten minutes in, a smacking sound reverberated from the trunk and shook the vehicle. More vibrations and then light whimpers.

 

She was still alive.

 

He wasn’t sure how. The back of her skull had caved. A crushed piñata. Mikey stopped the car and dashed back to investigate.

 

The Sonata rocked harder as she thrashed within the trunk. With shaking hands, he pulled the latch, arms outstretched to create as much distance as possible. As the heavy lid lifted, Mikey could only see darkness inside.

 

He inched closer.

 

Still nothing.

 

The car had stopped shaking. Where did she go? He moved closer still, head almost completely inside the black void, searching.

 

A screech pierced the desert night as the trunk lid smashed down with inhuman force, separating head from shoulders. Blood splattered across the Sonata as the girl emerged from within, gripping Mikey’s head by its matted hair. She kicked the headless body as she passed to the backseat door, head still clutched by painted nails.

 

She unzipped the duffel bag and plopped the head inside among the others. Vex would love this one. She knew she’d get a good price.

 

Easy money.

​

Maggie DeGregorio is a horror writer and mother of two based in Washington State. She holds an English Literature degree from Western Washington University and enjoys crafting unsettling short fiction that blends everyday life with the uncanny. Her work often explores themes of dread, transformation, and the monstrous hidden within the familiar.