My Pet

The editor of the magazine called me on the phone.

He said, "I love your story. It's reminescent of Rod Serling's work for the Twilight Zone."

I laugh, smiling, as we work through the agreement, the dried coarse hair under my fingers itching my palm. But I don't mind. I scratch my pet affectionately behind the ears.

The phone call is over and I set it down.

I turn my pet around so he may see my face.

"My sweet, Rod. We're going to be doing a lot of work together."

The head smiles back at me, as blood oozes from the empty neck onto my pants.

"Yes, we are. Yes, that's my little Roddy."



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