Blue Banshee: Lake of Dread
Comedy Short - Late to eat. Early to murder.
It was just past midnight, when the 24-hour truck stop diner waitress approached his booth carrying an open face tuna sandwich.
“Is it the Blue Banshee or Blue Banshee?” she asked, sliding the plate across the formica tabletop.
“It’s just Blue Banshee,” Blue Banshee said.
“Interesting. Because, you know, it’s The Flash. The Green Goblin.”
“Well nobody says, The Superman.”
She crossed her arms. “Fair point.”
He picked up a fry.
“You don’t take the mask off even when you eat?” she said.
“I do, just not in public places.”
She looked around the empty restaurant. A wobbly ceiling fan creaked overhead. “There’s nobody else in here.”
Blue Banshee looked up. “Did you miss the part about me being a prolific serial killer?”
“Fair again.” She nodded. “But you know, you could’ve just walked in without the mask on, never mentioned this whole Blue Banshee business, and I would’ve just thought you were some guy who really liked fish sandwiches at midnight.”
He let out a long breath. “I’m starting to find that everybody’s got an opinion, but nobody’s willing to swing the axe.”
“Maybe so, but all in good fun.” She pulled out her order pad. “I’ll let you get back to your supper. Any interest in our homemade pies?”
“What do you have?”
“Peach, cherry, blueberry.”
He thought for a moment. “I’ll try the cherry.”
“Good choice.” She smiled. “It’s to die for.”
Blue Banshee shook his head. “Really? Couldn’t help yourself?”
“What? No. Just a habit.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Be right back with your slice. Don’t lose your head.”
Blue Banshee dropped his fork.
A pale fog drifted across Lake Shikawa. It was 4:30 in the morning, and there wasn’t yet a hint of daylight beyond the trees. Four rowers eased their racing shell into the water.
“What’s the deal with the counselors? It’s not even five in the morning and we’re out here practicing?”
“Yeah, well, last year we finished third in the All-Region Camp Games.”
“So?”
“So apparently that’s unacceptable considering what our parents pay.”
Twenty feet downshore, the water rippled as something slipped silently beneath the surface.
The campers noticed nothing.
The shell drifted away from the dock.
“Nice and easy,” the lead rower called. “Let’s wake the lake up gently.”
The rowers dug their paddles into the water, making slow lazy strokes.
Swimming parallel to the craft, Blue Banshee moved silently through the water, his boot knife clenched in one hand.
The rowers paddled. He was gaining on them.
WHACK.
A paddle caught him square in the forehead.
Blue Banshee disappeared beneath the water.
The shell continued onward.
WHACK.
Another paddle found him.
“Man,” one of the campers said. “This lake’s really choppy.”
“Nah,” another replied. “Just kelp.”
“I didn’t think freshwater lakes had kelp.”
Blue Banshee resurfaced.
WHACK.
Immediately he caught a paddle across the bridge of his nose. Water poured through the eye holes of his mask.
He sputtered, swallowed a mouthful of lake water, and finally peeled away toward the shore.
A minute later he crawled onto the rocks, gasping for air. He rolled onto his back.
“Should’ve skipped the cherry pie.”
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—Ricky C.
😂 Love it! 🖤
LOL. Blue Banshee just can't catch a break. That cherry pie really did him in. Poor guy. It takes a lot to swing the ax and he may not have it. Haha. Great one, Ricky.