The Home Visit

“May I speak to your parents?”

The dirty little boy shook his head. “I'm not 'upposed to let strangers in.”

“I'm not a stranger, honey, I'm a social worker.”

He shrugged his shoulders and stepped aside. The woman entered the apartment and looked around, noting the unkempt condition of the furnishings, the garbage littering the floor. She wrinkled her nose at the sickening stench of rotten food, and her jaw went slack when she saw the old tome on the coffee table, titled, “Acme Voodoo Rituals”.

“Witchcraft too,” she remarked, shaking her head.

She wiped the edge of a lampshade and studied the heavy dust film it left on her finger.

“May I see your refrigerator?”

“That's not such a good idea.”

Ignoring him, the woman pushed through the clutter and walked into the adjoining kitchen. She gasped, steadying herself against the wall. Blood covered the walls and appliances, and was pooling on the floor. A pair of bloated corpses sat at the kitchen table, feasting greedily on human body parts. Gore covered their faces and ran down their shirts. They stood as she entered, appraising her with dark, murderous eyes.

Quietly, the little boy closed the door behind her.