Barbara, or “Barb” to the few who dared use the nickname, was a slight woman with iron-gray hair and the posture of a question mark. She ran the town’s only taxidermy shop, “Stuffed Memories,” and she was a master of her grotesque craft. A raccoon frozen mid-snarl in her front window greeted visitors. A bass the size of a kindergartner hung on the wall, its glass eye catching the light with unnerving accuracy.
The name stuck. Barbara Devil.
It was infinite. It was unbearable.
“I want you to make him stop,” Leo said. “I’ll pay you.” barbara devil
“Miss Devil,” he said, using the town’s name for her without a tremor. “My stepdad. He hurts my mom.” Barbara, or “Barb” to the few who dared
“Please,” he whispered.