The Dirty Diary

(Check back every Tuesday for another diary entry from Kass Costello, main character of Down And Dirty In Georgia,  a work-in-progress Novella.)

Brewing Hell

The birds stopped singing the day strangers crammed into the house. Our little perfect house sitting in the quiet subdivision where the big bad Wolf never visited. Until he did.

I was ten-years-old, standing beside the house with a paint can and brush. Raising my sister’s favorite stuffed rabbit up, I inhaled her bubblegum scented soap smell. I closed my eyes and wiped my hot tears onto the soft toy. Taking a deep breath, I willed the tears back, pushing them into a gnawing knot. I had to be strong. Weak girls were eaten by the Wolf. I had vowed to barbeque him over the spit Daddy used every Fourth of July to roast a pig, and I vowed he would be alive when the flames licked at his mangy fur.

A cold wind slapped my face, and I stared at the powder blue paint coating our home. Tranquil is what my mother said the name of it was. Now, she don’t speak. She just moans, low like a scared puppy, and rocks back and forth clutching my sisters white baptism dress as if such an innocent memory could wash away the horror. Could wash away the Wolf.

I knew the only thing that could wash away the Wolf was his blood spilt by my hand.

I pried open the paint can, and flipped the lid into the grass. No need for niceties anymore. We were marked. He had marked us, and I wanted the world to know what he had down to my perfect house painted in tranquil blue. What he had done to my sister.

Grabbing the paintbrush, I plunged the course bristles deep into the gallon of red. Quickly, I ran the brush across the sideboards. Red pigments splattered as I screamed.

Later the town gossips would whisper I had painted the siding to warn others that hell had come to the house, but it was really to warn the Wolf. Hell was brewing in that house, and I was coming for him.

(Check back every Tuesday for another diary entry from Kass Costello, main character of Down And Dirty In Georgia,  a work-in-progress Novella.)

“Coffee,” Jack asked, sitting a steaming cup of black go-go juice on my desk.

I inhaled. The richness of freshly ground beans, let me know it was from the shop down the street and not the sludge from our break room. I frowned, and took the cup. He knew me and my coffee addiction too well, and with a vampire that could be a dangerous thing. “Did you pick up Thomas Monteen?”

Jack sighed. He leaned his lanky frame against the wall. Dressed in his tight, worn jeans and cowboy boots, he looked like he had stepped off a pinup calendar for middle-age horny women like me. And for a fleeting moment, I envisioned drizzling coffee over him, licking each drop off his manly frame. What could be better than a caffeine coated snack of sex incarnate?

As if he knew, my mind was dwelling on his nether region, he ran his fingers through his blonde hair. “He skipped town. No where to be found.”

“Goddamn it. I put $50,000 on that blood-sucker.” I shot Jack, my best bails bond recovery agent, a dirty look. Losing that much cash, put out the fire raging between my legs.

He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “I can make it up to you. Perhaps tonight?”

I snorted, he had been reading my body language. I picked up a stapler, and threw it. “I slept with you once. Trust me, it was not a $50,000 fucking”

He ducked, and continued to grin. “More reason, I need a do-over, to prove my true worth at pleasing a woman. Plus, I do recall you screaming in ecstasy until your body collapsed. In fact, I’m certain your’re an oral girl? Care to prove me wrong?”

I stood up, trying to get my blood flow to move away from the vagina and thoughts of his tongue. “I want Thomas found now.”

Sussy, my partner and my ex-best friend, threw open the office door and ran in. “I found him.” She slung a stained piece of paper on my desk.

“Where is he? I’ll get him myself.” I asked, needing to move before I took Jack up on his offer, plus I wanted to make certain the slimy bastard did not get away and cost me.

Sussy looked at Jack, her green eyes roving down his lean body. She always went after my left-overs. First my husband and now my ex-lover.

“In our bathroom, tied to the toilet with a stake in his chest,” she whispered.

“Fuck.” I shook my head, that’s all I needed another dead body to explain. Looking down, my eyes stopped on the blood-stained paper. I picked it up.

In bold letters, written in blood was the note:

‘Kass, you’re next.’


Dear Diary,

Losing Kalem,

Cold air slapped me as I huddled in the graveside tent next to Sussy, my best friend. The tent’s dark canvas flapped in the wind as rain pelted the top, serenading me in a cruel goodbye waltz. Sitting in the front row, I stared at the deep mahogany casket, fighting the urge to sling open its lid and retrieve my murdered husband.

The preacher clutched a vial of holy water as he rushed through the The Lord’s Prayer. Wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief, his dark eyes darted from me to Sussy. He uttered Amen and nodded to the grave diggers. Slowly, they eased the casket into the wet, red Georgia clay. Rain ran down the grave’s sides, mixing into a red sludge as if even the earth wept blood. My tears would have to wait, but I vowed blood would flow.

When the last clump of dirt landed on the grave, I listened as Sussy stifled back her sobs. I stood up and closed my eyes, forcing myself to take a breath. My heart ached. I had just buried the illusion of love. Anger filled me, and I reached up my sleeve, pulling out my six-inch dagger.

Without taking another breath, I landed on Sussy, knocking her and her black-velvet draped chair over, scattering them against the ground. I straddled her and snarled. “Tell me who killed him?”

Her blue eyes widened and she whispered, “How would I know?”

Bringing the dagger’s tip to her neck, I pushed the tip slightly in. A drop of blood escaped escaped, running down her neck. I fought the urge to push it further in.

“He died in your bed.”


Dear Diary

Meeting Jack

Sitting at my desk, carefully I watched the vamp stalk into my office as if the sun had already set. His blonde hair tauntingly gleamed in the afternoon light, sneaking through my dirty window.  I had heard of dayrippers, but thought such abnormal creatures were merely myths woven to scare kids and old women. Yet, here the abomination was sauntering in, decked out in dark shades and cowboy boots.

His tight lips pulled into a smirk, and I wondered how long I had before he tried to seduce me and then suck me dry.

“I have a job for you,” he drawled in his Texan accent. Slipping his shades off, he took a seat across from my desk.  The telling bulge in his tight jeans left little for me to ponder if all the rumors of the dayrippers were true. Arrogant. Dangerous. Hung.

“I don’t work for suckers,” I spat out as if the very words were acid.

“I have something you want,” calmly he said, and then smiled wider.

“I don’t want anything from a sucker. Now leave or be carried out.” I rose from my seat, ready to end the conservation.

“I know who has your sister.”

“She died at five,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Did she?” He pulled out a tiny bracelet from his pocket and tossed it onto my desk.

Picking it up, anger flooded through me as I ran my fingers across the letters stenciled in its tarnished metal. Ashley. My baby sister. Her bracelet. The one she had been wearing when I allowed her to die.

That is when I went for his heart.


(Check back every Tuesday for another diary entry from Kass Costello, main character of Down And Dirty In Georgia,  a work-in-progress Novella.)

Dear Diary,


Slowly, I stood up from my desk, blushing as heat rose to my cheeks. I tried to avert my eyes from Magnus’ deep piercing stare as he walked into my bail bonds company, but his tall muscular statue demanded homage. I held my breath for fear of sighing just from the eye-candy he provided. His slight grin screamed danger, awakening every cell I thought had died with my beloved husband. Three years of holding back, of yearning for others from afar, threatened to explode. Cold goose bumps played up my spine, teasing me in a cruel  dance of touch-me-not as I waited.

Like an alley cat hungrily driven to stalk a mouse, I studied his every move as he walked around the room. I licked my lips, watching how his muscles rippled and flexed under his blue polo shirt and how his jeans rode tight in certain pleasing areas.

He shook each of my employees’ hands before coming to a stop in front of my desk. He arched an eyebrow. His day old stubble taunted me to rub it, calling me to feel its rough whiskers stroke across my flesh. For one fleeting second, I wondered what that stubble would feel like between my trembling legs. Before I could delve deeper into my dirty fantasy, he placed his oversized palms against the hard wood of my desk and leaned over, inches from me. The scent of exotic musk filled my nostrils, making me even hungrier for him.

“Kass, I’m going to destroy you,” he whispered, his voice sultry, each syllable dripping out of his mouth.

I watched his dark eyes dance as anger replaced my passion. I cursed myself for falling for his insidious charms and my own neglected needs. Frowning, I leaned in closer, ignoring the heat radiating from his body.

“I’ll nail your ass to a cross first,” I hissed.

Reaching to the underside of my desk, I wrapped my fingers around the thick shaft of the hidden silver spike and brought it up. Aiming for his heart, I plunged forward, but he twisted at the final second. The tip sank deep into the meat of his left shoulder. Blood squirted out, splashing onto me as he roared in anger and leapt on me.

It was the first time I tried to kill that Werecat, but not the last.


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