Jessica Scarlett twisted the metal knobs atop her acoustic guitar. It was old; not old in the way a guitar sounds better with age, but old and cracked in the base with a harsh tone. Although, it was still a Gibson and the only guitar in the back of the beat-up circus trailer. She hadn't played in years but was determined to get a tune out of the wood.

She needed the stress relief. Being the 'pretty goth girl' that was strapped up to a spinning target so that her prick of a boyfriend could throw knives at her was starting to take its toll.

Not to get her wrong, she liked her blond highlights, tastefully sized gages carved with Celtic knots and black combat boots (not the knee-high hooker heels Richey tried to get her to wear). She even liked the leggings some days, but she absolutely had to slip some tattered shorts over her blood-red show bikini, rip off the corset that suffocated her breasts and put on her Jack Skellington t-shirt before she could even think about relaxing.

She strummed out a chord that sounded almost right only to have the larger string (whichever letter that one was supposed to be) loosen up and rattle a dull vibration. Something slammed into the trailer door with a thud.

Whoever jiggled the locked doorknob must have been some shade of stupid, because they didn't try to open it like a rational person. It was as if they bumped into the door a few times; giving the impression that whatever was trying to get in couldn't grab the knob. Jessica's first thought was that an animal must have wandered in to try and bone one of the exotic breeds caged up for the show, again.

Then the simpler answer hit her and she grabbed one of Richey's wicked looking knives from a stack on the kitchen countertop, "Rich if you're drunk I'ma put one of these blades in your neck!"

The doorframe cracked inward and Richey stumbled into the room shoulder first, "Jesus Richey! Sit down so I can clean you up."

He just moaned like some kind of animal. Richey doubled over to cough and a slab of something wet hit the floor in front of him. Jessica let the knife hover over the countertop, but didn't put it down. He only ever hit her once, but she wasn't about to let him make it a habit.

That's when she noticed the blood dripping down the front of his silver lined black button-up. One sleeve had been ripped off at the elbow. There were lipstick stains from some whore up the right side of his face with two large bite marks mixed in. Jessica was overcome with fear and confusion, but mostly rage. The large black throwing knife stuck him dead center in the forehead. Other than a slight wobble from the weight Richey was unfazed.

Jessica stumbled back as she grasped at the pile of blades on the counter. In her panic, she only managed to grab two and leave a large gash across her thumb.

Even with frantic throws, she managed to keep her promise and stick Richey in the side of the neck, but the second flew harder than any of the other knives; clean over her undead ex-boyfriend.

He lurched forward dripping blood all over her hands as she pushed him over and ran to the dragon imprinted dart board on their bedroom door.

She armed herself with three more knives and began throwing at the crawling frame.

The first slipped out of her bloody fingers and landed upright in the soft part of his lower back. She let in a breath, let out a breath, calmed down her tense nerves and focused on letting the blade exit her hand in just the right way.

The second stuck him deep in the eye.

The third, however, tumbled backwards over a red-slickened hand.

It clattered to the ground in front of her boot and, before she could reach for it, Richey's arm clutched her ankle with an iron grip. The bedroom door swung wide open behind her. Jessica landed tailbone first on the hard floor just shy of the mattress (because she's lucky like that).

Her hair fell overtop of something somewhat round and a few strands became tangled in guitar strings.

Richey stood with the slow gusto of a dark prophet, his shadow looming over everything in sight. Jessica reached over her head and brought the guitar forward in perfect time with the zombified carney leaning in.

His blood and lipstick stained face cracked open.

The knife protruding from Richie's forehead disappeared, like a magic trick, into his skull and his head popped out of the base of the Gibson like a jack-in-the-box with one final tune lingering melodically in the air.

Jessica Scarlett placed her bloody hand on the bloody head of the diseased dead. She shoved him aside with little effort as Richey's blood entered the wound on her thumb for a second time.