Crimson blood dripped from the base of the severed head, each drop sizzling as it hit the brand new hardwood floor.
She stood in the doorway, transfixed, her keys in one hand, her bag of groceries in the other. “What—”
George, the contractor, stood with his back to her. In one hand he held the severed head. The other hand gripped some sort of short sword, the blade smeared in the same crimson blood. He turned and a smile spread across his face. “You’re back, Mrs. Prichard. Hope you like what we’ve done. The rest of the cabinets should be in tomorrow.”
The head bobbed up and down as George showed her all the progress he and his crew had made on the kitchen—the stainless steel oven, the farmhouse sink, the subway tile backsplash. All she could focus on was the head. It wasn’t human. Wrinkled gray skin hung loose on the face. The nose was too long. The milky yellow eyes had no pupils. The ears were pointed. A forked tongue lolled out of a mouth full of needle-sharp teeth.
“So what do you think?” he asked finally.
She didn’t answer. She could only stare at the head.
He followed her gaze. “Oh, sorry about the floor. We’ll get that fixed in no time. No extra charge. You had imps in your crawlspace. Frankly I’m surprised that didn’t turn up in the inspection.”
“But you’re the contractor. You’re supposed to be remodeling my kitchen.”
He chuckled. “Oh, but I do lots of things. It’s right here in my card.” He put the sword down on the granite countertop and fished a business card out of his wallet. “See?”
She took the card from him and read over it again.
Kitchen and bathroom remodels, electrical, plumbing, etc.
He winked. “The demon slaying is part of the etc.”