Moonlight sliced through the double-pane glass of the multi level penthouse perched high atop the city of New Orleans. It filtered across a pristine glass table in an ultra modern room, adorned with two-tone floors of black and white, and exotic pieces, such as wooden tribal masks and curiosities draped along the walls of the wide open space.

  One particular oddity was seated atop the table, its eyes shrieking open, screaming silently in recognition, as a suited young man sat in front of it, grasping the shrunken head, with his eyes closed.

  Suddenly, the man's eyes shot open over his sunken cheeks, as he pushed his chair out, snatched the head, and carried it delicately, two hands underneath, his meek frame swiftly walking throughout the compound.

  Passing by other suited men guarding entry ways, the man clopped up a spiral staircase into another overlook, and entered a study at the top.

  “And why should we sell?” A big southern businessman, wearing an over-sized lightly tan Texas suit, a bolo, and a cowboy hat, guffawed, chewing down on a big cigar absentmindedly, while tossing darts with blatant inaccuracy at a large dartboard across the way. “The slaughterhouse produces ample streams of revenue. Make me a better offer,” he bragged.

  “Mr. Perrault...” said a bespectacled man with short cropped hair, a pristine white button up shirt tucked in, and sleeves neatly rolled to his elbows, as he turned to face a large oaken desk sat in front of an octagonal glass window. A curly mop of gray hair sat behind the desk, gazing out of the window. “Has made his offer,” the bespectacled man continued, his eyes darting from the curly figure behind the desk to the suited man entering. “Lyle,”the bespectacled man groaned, “we're conducting business.”

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Callum,” Lyle said, “Mr. Perrault needs to see this.”

  “JEE-SUS,” the southern businessman hollered, spotting the shrunken head, “I'd heard you people were freaks, but this...” he snickered, spouting out a column of smoke, “this is something else.”

  Mr. Callum titled his small wire frame glasses to acknowledge the shrunken head, and nodded resolutely.

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  A hand rose from behind the desk, with a lone singular wave beckoning to come forward.

  “Listen here,” the southern businessman croaked, “if you don't want the land, someone else will pony up for it!”

  Everyone disregarded the qualms as Lyle approached the desk and set the shrunken head down on gently, before stepping backwards.

  A squeaky wheel screeched at the chair revolved to offer the ghastly white face of Hugo Perrault, his manic eyes inspecting the shrunken head, while his arms outstretched in a black suit with moderately sized white polka dots dispersed all throughout it. Perrault silently clasped his hands on its temples, as his eyes rolled back into his skull.

  The southern businessman watched, mouth agape, as ash fell from his lit cigar, trickling onto his suit unabated.

  After a long moment, Perrault's eyes rolled back.

  “See,” Lyle said, “unwanted visitors...the wolf, the shaman, and the dead girl...working together?”

  Perrault glared at Lyle, unblinking.

  “I've had enough,” the southern businessman hissed. “The deal's off!” He hurled his smoking cigar on the floor and readjusted his hat. Perrault's eyes fell upon the cigar, unmoving.

  Callum sighed. “That is unfortunate. You see, this...was a courtesy. We gave you an offer. A chance to do the right thing.

  “Are you threatening me!?” The southern businessman marched up to Callum, grabbing his collar.

  “There is a duality to all decisions,” Callum continued, “yet the outcome is always determined. Perhaps this outcome could've been more favorable for you...but you made that decision all your own.”

  Suddenly, two musclebound guards waltzed into the room and grabbed the businessman, jostling with him.

  “Hey! What is this!?” he huffed, struggling against the two larger men, but failing against their massive bodies.

  Perrault reached into his desk and pulled out a small case, cracking it open with ease, as the guards pulled the southern businessman's head to the dartboard, slamming it back and sending the darts rattling to the floor.

  Perrault swiveled out of his chair and unveiled his own set of darts as he rounded the table, offering Callum's outstretched hand to hold the box as he picked out a thick dart with razor sharp serrations lining its bladed edge.

  “The aims of Mr. Perrault are beyond your qualifications. However,” Callum said, cracking his lips in slight bemusement, “he usually aims for the eyes first.”

  “No, wait!” The southern businessman cried, as the guards held tight, prying his eyes open with their free hands.

  Hugo Perrault brandished an inhumanly sardonic grin from ear to ear, his eyes alight with insane delight.

  “Thank you for doing business,” Callum said.

  “NOOOO!” Screams echoed throughout the compound, while the mad harlequin cackled jovially in the night.