Victor Volitz died on a Tuesday, in Violet Virginia – population 425. By Saturday, his seven children and the rest of Violet were dead as well. This is their story.

Jenni found her father Victor dead on the sofa with his favorite television channel still playing the latest Bridezilla meets Toddlers of Honey Boo Boo on vacation, at a volume that would wake the dead. In fact, Jenni didn’t notice that her father was dead until after, at least, five more episodes (it was a marathon, you would have done the same, admit it) and her father’s smell had gotten to the point where she had to get up and open a window, and tripped over his outstretched arm.

“Daddy, move your arm you lazy sack of bloviating pus!”

Jenni loved her daddy.

“Seriously daddy, you could have hurt me.”

Three more shows and the window wasn’t helping.

“For the love of all things holy, go take a shower!”

Jenni was deeply saddened to learn later that she had been talking to a corpse, but also that the social security would be stopping now, and she might have to get a job. Jenni isn’t sure what bothered her more, but figured she better get the rest of the clan together so they could mourn right and proper.

Or fight.

Fighting was way more fun than mourning anyway.


The phone would ring for five minutes before going to voice mail. Holly had set it up that way because her son Henry loved to hide the dang thing and it would take at least that long to find it.

It took four phone calls before she finally found it, by where she was originally sitting, and found out that her father had died and that she would leave her family behind to attend a funeral because she didn’t want them to be unduly influenced by her family back in Violet, and to be honest, she really wanted some time alone so she could sleep through the night. It would also give her husband the opportunity to ‘feel her pain’ while taking care of the babies and fixing the dang cell phone and iPad which seemed to be slipping through her fingers and shattering.

Holly left a note and coupon for a great pizza parlor, and headed back home to mourn her daddy. Also, it would give her a chance to beat the crap out of her brother Roger. That piece of work really needed a good beating after what he did last Christmas, sending rum balls that were obviously re-gifted from their sister Kathë who was the only one that actually knew how to bake.


Janet had to leave her choir contest in Hawaii to get back for the wake and funeral, and was none too happy about it. Although it came at a good time, as good a time as hearing about your father’s death can be, as she was on the run from the hotel security, and possibly the Honolulu police department and kick that loser lesbian Lana’s ass for getting all uppity about a freaking poem that she had spent seventeen weeks agonizing over.

It was really only three days of agony, but this bitch had seventeen week’s worth of beat down coming, and Janet was only on week thirteen when Jenni called to let her know that dear old daddy dearest had finally met his maker.

The bastard always got in the way of a good beat down.


Karen was ‘milking’ Jack to help him out with Margo, when Jenni called with the news of their father.

“Karen, I have bad news.”

“Yeah Jenni, me too, Jack just won’t get off enough to impregnate Margo and now the vet, says his sperm count is low and abnormal, but I refuse to believe that especially since I paid a small fortune for the dog to begin with…”.

“Dad is dead.”

“Okay and what’s the bad news? Are Roger and Katherine going to be there for the wake? You know those two and their weapons of comic destruction.”

“Well, I haven’t called them yet. Do you think I should?”

“Nah. Besides, I’d be willing to bet that Holly already told them – if she can find her phone that is.”

“Good point. I think she’ll be here in an hour. I’ll ask her then.”


The wake was being held at Victor’s house, technically it was in the garage, because Jenni didn’t know how to organize one until it was too late. Luckily Bryan and Siobhan, cousins from mom’s side of the family, got wind of the death of Victor and offered to get him “all pertied up” for the wake, as long as Jenni had somewhere that they could dump the blood.

The wake was a splendid affair that was attended by no one in town because, well, no one liked Victor.

Not one single person in the entire town.


Roger found out that his father had died when his sister Holly called. She promised not to call Katherine, yet had called her first, so she really didn’t break the promise to Roger. She did not promise Katherine anything, in fact after making both calls Holly decided that popcorn would be in order for the upcoming ‘show’ when the wake got started. Holly was also no dummy, and told Katherine the wake started at three, while she told Roger it started at four.


At three o’clock a limousine pulled into the driveway and Katherine had arrived. Everyone looked at Jenni, who simply said, “I didn’t call her.”

“What’s up bitches? Where’s ole fat and flabby? I got a little something I want to show him.”

“Katherine it is so nice of you to come and see father off to his everlasting peace.”

“Everlasting peace? Shit he’s in Hell watching the action to get started, I’m sure. Either that or he’s sleeping through it all.”

“Katherine, he’s dead, so there is no need for sl…”

“No shit Janet! Glad to see those brains of yours are still in working order. Sing any good hymns lately?”

“I, uh… kiss off KATE!”

The knife that struck Janet in the right arm came from Katherine, for sure. Only no one actually saw her throw it. No one called Katherine, Kate, and lived to see the next day. Everyone knew that, yet Janet decided to throw that gauntlet down right away.

Janet was also prepared, getting a gown made of Kevlar was expensive, but well worth it when it came to meetings with her family. Momma didn’t raise no dummies, unfortunately momma didn’t really raise any of them after Roger and his fat head arrived and ripped momma open so much that she died in three minutes after his arrival.


Roger arrived thirty minutes early, as was his custom, and thirty minutes after Katherine. He knew that Holly had called her before she called him, because Holly liked the show.

Getting a double-edged sword through airport security isn’t the easiest thing to do when all you have is a carryon bag, so Roger had to collect the swords he kept near the house, which were hidden just for such an occasion as this, the wake of his daddy.

He would, of course, save Katherine for last – she always was a good adversary.


Sheriff’s report from the weekend:

Victor Volitz’s Vast Violent, Vindictive, Vehement, Versatile family Victimizes Violet.

Death count: 440, including the decedent Victor Volitz and his family.

Root cause: A wake gone bad

Summary: A member of Victor Volitz’s family, we suspect either Roger Volitz or Katherine Volitz, somehow rigged the entire town to explode violently at approximately 1537 local time. No citizen survived the explosions; basically they wiped the entire town off the map.

—- I really wish that I could put that statement better, but it really was that simple, town go BOOM!

Meanwhile at the Volitz residence the family was having a wake for the deceased. Those present included all seven of Mr. Volitz’s children, along with a niece and nephew who were there after preparing the body for burial. (Illegally, I might add, but it really is quite a moot point now when you come to think of it)

The best that forensics could determine is that shortly after Victor’s only son Roger arrived, the town blew up, at which point Kathë had her head removed from her body by a double-edged sword (see exhibit A & B), from what we could gather in talking with those familiar with Mr Volitz (Roger), he didn’t like the fact that everyone seemed to know that he didn’t know how to make rum balls and had been re-gifting the things to his siblings under the pretense that he did in fact make them himself. For that, his sister was decapitated.

Forensics then believes that Janet, who had just missed losing her arm moments earlier, died from blunt trauma to the head, forensics suspects a frying pan (Exhibit C), and they also suspect that it was from a backhanded motion, which if true, really makes me impressed. With the forensic team. No really. How did they figure that one?

Karen, who was wearing gloves because she was apparently trying to get some doggy sperm from her dog Jack by utilizing her hands in a milking motion (okay you get the point, and there is no need to mention that the dog’s name was Jack(forget I wrote that, in triplicate(CRAP))). There was no dog found at the scene of the crime. Who knows, maybe there will be a bunch of little Jacks running around in the fields somewhere. I suspect he never quite expected the stimulation that he received from both Karen and the sword and frying pan wielding nut jobs. So yeah, Karen was the third to go.

Bryan and Siobhan didn’t seem to put up much of a fight and were found embraced together with their heads bashed in. Not only was Katherine good with a backhand, she also was pretty quick as well, since we only found the one frying pan (Exhibit C).

— if you are still reading this and keeping score, that means Katherine was leading by a count of three to one, unless of course we determine that Roger was responsible for the town, in which case he will leave as the ultimate victor. If I may interject some more personal narration into this report than I already have, I suspect that Roger and Katherine may have been in cahoots for the town death toll, so I would give them both 210 additional bodies. I have been ordered to complete this report in a timely fashion for the judge’s review, as in NOW, so I must.

Jenni, who was trying to hide behind her deceased father was found with an axe to her head which was found rolling around in the garage after a furtive search – we suspect that Jack thought the head was a chew toy, at least until he got wooed away from the scene, as there were many bite marks on the ears, and the head appeared to be dragged a short distance as well. Forensics is still trying to determine if the axe hit the head before or after decapitation. I’m inclined to call this one a tie.

Holly suffered a single gunshot wound to the head; her popcorn was spilled and resting on an iPhone with a cracked case. We believe that she saw what was coming and wanted to do it her way. Friends said that she will finally get some sleep, and hope it wasn’t truly a suicide, since her soul will never make it to Heaven now. She was very devout in her faith, from all accounts.

That leaves us with Katherine and Roger. One with an axe in the head, the other without one, if you have read this far I am sure that you will know which is which. Regardless, it was a real horrorgasm.


Sheriff Jeni Micha Tirk

For Judge

Jennifer Spencer

On this ninth day of November, in the year of our lord two thousand thirteen.




“Are you prepared to die?’

 The voice came from the man seated across from me on the bus, and the casual manner in which he asked me the question made me think that maybe I was hearing a random voice in my head. They have been coming back more frequently now that I no longer had a source for my medication so, to me, another random voice in my head was nothing to concern myself with.

 “Are you prepared to die?”

 Okay, now this was getting a little annoying, I mean having a voice inside your head is one thing but for it to keep asking you the same question over again was borderline redundant and I was not a particular fan of redundancy. Which is ironic considering what I did for a living; there was a whole lot of redundancy built into my job. I wish the voices in my head had warned me about that, it would have been very helpful. Of course they probably wouldn’t be in my head if I had a position with a company that didn’t deal with doing the exact same thing, over and over, day after day.

 “Are you prepared to die?”

 I must have dozed off or something because when I opened my eyes at the sound of those words, the man was seated next to me. Funny that he hadn’t smelled bad from three feet away, but now with this close proximity he reeked of alcohol, cheap cologne and, was that urine? His faced looked as if it had survived a battle with a blender, the scars crisscrossed in a pattern that made me think of pick up sticks from my childhood, except for the colors, which were all either reddish purple or white, depending on how far along the healing process was, I imagine. His teeth were a nice shade of brown, yet his eyes were a remarkable green that seemed completely out of place. It fascinated me just the same.

 “Are you prepared to die?”

 Again with that question, which was definitely coming from his foul-smelling mouth and not the foul-tempered voices in my head. Now I needed to come up with an answer as it seemed that the bus was moving approximately an inch per hour, and my stop was still several blocks away – an eternity at the current rate. Now the voices started to ask me some serious questions and I had a choice to make, voices in my head or voices from the old smelly dude. I decided to listen to my own community to see if they had any insight into my situation.

 “Whew, where did that guy climb out of a dumpster from, the local fast food joint?”

 That was the voice I named Justin as in just in time for a mean and sarcastic comment. He never failed to have one.

 “Maybe he’s trying to hit you up for some money. You are dressed for business today so maybe he thought he would take a chance with you.”

 That was Celeste. Yes, I have a woman’s voice inside my head, doesn’t everyone? She is the practical and no-nonsense mom of the voices, always looking for why something happened and always good for some practical advice when the situation warranted. At least that is what she told me. Besides, I was dressed in one of my more expensive suits, so she really did make sense.

 “I told you taking the bus wasn’t worth the risk.”

 That would be Fred, my cowardly voice. He always liked to tell me that he would rather be a cowardly voice that is still a voice, than a brave voice that no longer existed.

 “You are being rude.”

 This voice was new. I was pretty sure that the man’s lips never moved, yet somehow I heard him. In my head.

 “You can stop acting all paranoid, Charlie, and just answer my question; are you prepared to die?”

 Well that pretty much made today the number one day for my craziness. Some old, drunken, decrepit man with eyes that shouldn’t be, is now in my head telling me that I am being rude and really succeeding in freaking me out.

 “Who you calling decrepit? And before you jump back into that mind of yours, realize that I am following along with every conversation, so you might as well talk to me, Charlie.”

 “Um, okay,” I managed weakly.

 “Now isn’t this better? Talking like two civilized people on a bus, just passing the time until our stops.”

 “How do you know my name?” I asked in a slightly less dazed but still weak voice.

 “Your nametag.”

 “What? Oh my goodness, I forgot that was there,” I tore at the paper adhesive nametag that said: “Hi, I’m Charlie.” I was coming back from one of those fancy little seminars where they talk about all the features that their equipment could do that no one else’s can. Boring as all get out, but the free lunches were pretty good and you could usually sneak out at some point in the afternoon. I could still taste the roast beef on rye with a hint of dill pickle and Cheetos.

 “Are you prepared to die?”

 “Why do you keep asking me that? I mean is it important to you for some reason, do you have a tract that tells me all about your deity and how he/she/it will save me from eternal damnation, but only if I give you all my money and bow down to you, my poppa/granddad/father figure?”

 “Are you finished?”

 “Yes,” I started, “I think I am. This is my stop coming up and I have to get prepared to exit the bus.”

 I have seen many television shows and movies where all the action seems to stop, with the exception of a character or two, and always thought it to be a far-fetched deus ex machina that helped move the plot along without having to explain a whole lot of actions/events that occurred to get to this point. In other words, a really convenient way to get from point A to point B in a story.

 Well, that just happened. Everything stopped. Except for me and.

 “What is your name anyway?” I asked, wondering why it took so long to ask this of the stranger, yet not really concerned.

 “Well, I have quite a few; there is Thanatos, Odin, Ankou and, of course, the Grim Reaper.”

 “What? Wait? You, you are death?”

 “Always knew you were a smart kid Charlie.”

 “But that’s just legends, and mythology and fairy tales meant to scare kids, and…” I trailed off not knowing what else to say.