Thomas Aidan Hiscock – Mussel Cove, Falmouth, Maine – 2025

***

Gunner paused – 

Hanging from his mailbox was a bait bag – just a raggedy, red pouch – nothing more…

If it hadn’t been for the full moon and the message, well… 

He sighed, kissing a cigarette. 

“Fuck!”

He knew the drill… “Pay late – tomorrow’s bait.”

Just the way things went around here – Fishbones was ‘that’ kinda’ town… 

Yup, in Fishbones they fucked ya.’

His porch light blinked in agreement.

Gunner didn’t want to be hacked apart… (or fed to any crabs) – 

But he did want that money… so FUCK ‘em! 

He smiled, placing a hand over his tattered coat pocket –

But the stars bristled…

Gunner frowned; cocking his pistol, he made for the house.  

“Come and try a MOTHERFUCKER!” He told the door –

Woodsmoke rushed to greet him and he relaxed…

Still, the .45 whispered…

Someone would die tonight.

***