Interview with Mrs. Slaton

Mrs. Slaton crouched in the blocky, metal chair, both wrists handcuffed to the chair’s reinforced thick arms. Enraged, she whipped her head side to side, her bloody, stringy hair slapping across her face as she lunged and shrieked at the man sitting on the opposite side of the table.

Detective Poulson hastily poked the crime scene photo toward the raving banshee and yelled, “Is this a picture of your husband!?”

She ignored the photo and snapped her oddly, decaying teeth at Poulson’s hands and face as she grunted the word “brains”. She stretched, determined to reach the detective’s warm flesh.