A trail of panties for about a hundred yards led right into the trap. We went back to our campsite and crashed. In the morning when we returned guess ...hat we caught. ‘Roger had three dead chickens in his hand that we asked him about. ‘What’s up with the chickens, Rog?’ I asked.’ ‘Roger explained, ‘Dinner, my dears. I don’t like to whack the chickens’ heads off. I just fuck them to death.’ I was in shock but Gloria seemed interested.’ ‘Gloria inquired, ‘How do you catch them, Rog?’ She was dead. Her dark brown hair was matted and fell over her sharp angular shoulders, and unlike almost everyone else they had met she had no stud in her cunt. Her eyes had a haunting vacancy about them, the pupils and cornea spooky and undefined, and she never faced whoever it was she was speaking to or whoever it was speaking to her. She had prominent pinched cheeks and clearly defined cheek-bones, which gave a strangely puckered look to her mouth. It was Sweetness who rushed ahead, clearly familiar with. More

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