“Don’t even look at me!   Damn, all this could have been avoided had you kept up with the gas on this vehicle of yours!  Now, look, we’re sitting here waiting, again.  If Lenny dies, I’m going to make you pay big time!”

“Look, I did what you asked of me, at least be somewhat grateful, you know I could just kick you out of here and go on my merry way!”  Then he froze.  Bad choice of words.

“You under estimate me Arch, if any butt is being kicked out of this car, it’s going to be yours.”  Then guilt kicked in, a little, but it did rear its head.  “Sorry, it’s just that my soul mates life is on the line and for some odd reason I can’t sense him or feel anything, like…” the mere thought of death caught my breath, and made me gasp, “…death.”

He placed his hand on my knee; it was warm and somewhat reassuring, but not enough to calm me. “Don’t say it, I’ll get you there and I’m sorry.”

Finally, the bridge sounded its bell, and the road was coming back down into place.  We took off and it was another ten minutes to Gauger Road.  Thank goodness it was all back roads, there’d be no traffic lights to contend with, just stop signs and Arch sensing my eagerness, rolled through them.

The warehouse was in view and still not sensing Lenny, I did feel a presence in the air and it wasn’t friendly, but it had a familiar feel to it and I was trying to place it.

“Park here, off to the side, I don’t want to alert anyone, it’s going to be hard enough as it is once I’m inside.”

Arch did as I asked.  “You want me to help?”  His hand already on the door handle.

“No, stay here, I’ll need you to get us out of here in a hurry and don’t look at me like that, I can take care of myself, done it before.  I’ll be fine, just sit tight alright?”

It was still dark out, thank goodness for small favors and so I stayed in the shadows inching my way up until I was a few feet away.  Lights were on in the upper portions of the building and I could see shadows moving, but wasn’t so sure as to whom they were or belonged too.  The door at the far end looked like it was slightly opened and so I ran for it.  Blurring as I went, I wasn’t sure if I’d been seen, but  if what I wasn’t sensing was any hint that I was right, then I was going with it.  Just as I had guessed, the door wasn’t locked and slightly opened, dumb I thought on their part, lucky for me.

The coldness of the handle rattled my nerves, and I couldn’t understand why that was.  Surely I’d been in worse moments than this, why now, why did I feel this anxiety?  Slowly I opened it; stillness, so eerily crept over my skin and a smell, faintly, hung in the air.  It wasn’t pleasant; in fact, it was fear and tinged with the aroma of blood.  My heart began to race and I tried to feel Lenny’s presence but for some odd reason I still could not.

I kept close to the walls.  The warehouse hadn’t been used in what seemed like years.  Dirt, wooden boxes and debris littered the floor.  Moon light filtered through a crack in the wall, casting a show of lazily floating filth that hung still and I scrunched my nose at the sight.  What was the place being used for I wondered.  A noise echoed above me on the second floor.  Frozen to my spot, I tried to see if I could hear voices and as luck would have it, I couldn’t.  Damn.

Clenching and un-clenching my fingers, I proceeded in search of a stairwell.   Hopefully no surprises would be found.  Why did that sound impossible?   I found a doorway, unlocked, so far so good, and went through.  Offices lined both sides and were empty, but I thought not to tempt lady luck I’d keep low until I made it to the exit sign, my goal and the way to the upper level.

Once I reached the exit door, I quietly went in and eased it shut.  Tension grew the more I continued and seemed to be growing faster and as I made my way up the stairs.  Switching over to my wolf sight, I didn’t see any warm blood in the shadows which was good, but it didn’t mean they weren’t here, because they were, just not in view yet.  Another door, at the landing of the second level showed light beaming just underneath it, that’s when I grew tense.  How was I going to go in un-noticed, I couldn’t use the shadows around me, the light would make sure of that.  The only thing I could do was use my wolf strength and vampire speed to get me through this.  So why didn’t I feel reassured by that thought.

Staying behind the door as I opened it, I peered in and the next thing I knew was burning pain.  I didn’t hear anything, except for the swooshing of air that stirred and that’s when the pain kicked in.  Like little fingers of fire, the pain climbed its way through muscle and bone.  I wanted to scream, but held it in and that’s when I saw where it had come from.  It wasn’t a person, but a booby trap.  Someone didn’t want me or anyone else here, for when the door was opened, a gun, in the upper left hand corner, was a motion sensor device and damned it worked well too, because I felt myself getting weak.  Silver bullets.

This was not going to happen on my time, not when Lenny was in there, and I knew he was, but where though.  I didn’t think about that, didn’t want too.  My mission was to get him out.

He was suddenly aware of slow movement to his left. The realization began to dawn on him even before he rolled over just what it was. It was her. She hadn’t left, though he wished that she had. He had done her, to be sure, exploring every part of her that she would allow, and even a place or two that he had had no interest in venturing to, but come the morning, he had hoped that the bitch would be gone.

Just then, she quickly flipped over, facing him. Her expression appeared to be outrage, as if she had secretly hoped that he would be gone, though it was his apartment. He managed a stupid grin as she studied his features.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Did you say something?” she asked, though to him it sounded more like a growl than pillow talk.

“I said ‘good morning’”.

“No, I mean before that.”

He frowned as he thought her question over. He was still numb from the self-inflicted abuse that he had endured from the night before; however, he was fairly certain that he had not said anything. He knew implicitly that he had thought that “he had wished the bitch had gone”, but there was no way that she could have read his mind, so he moved on.

“No,” he said.

She sat up on one arm and continued to study him, her dyed-black hair falling off of her shoulders as she did so. The bed sheet fell off of her as well, revealing her slight chest. He tried to ignore them, but could not, stealing more than a glance before looking back to her thin face and those questioning eyes. She was in her mid-twenties; at least that was what she had told him. She wasn’t a beauty, by any stretch of the imagination, not rail thin and covered with tattoos the way she was. He had counted six last night; however, aided by the light of morning, he realized with very little effort that she had far more; perhaps twice that number. And these were not the unicorn or butterfly variety, either. She had two green demons on her torso; each one tiny, baring their fangs, and clawing their way to each breast. About her waist she had symbols that seemed to remind him of some of the outfits that Jimmy Page used to wear during the height of the seventies. As another layer of cobwebs fluttered away, he could not yet pinpoint what they might be, but felt fairly certain that it would come to him.

“Are you sure you didn’t say anything?” she asked again as if offering him one last opportunity to clear up the air.

He could nearly feel her eyes boring into his as he pursed his lips and shook his head that, in fact, he had not said a thing. Her nostrils flared once like a horse that was preparing to break. Her eyes seemed to darken and her jet-black haired spun as she immediately rolled over and practically leapt from his bed. He could see yet more tattoos across her naked backside as she stormed off, for reasons that he had yet to fathom.

I don’t care, he thought as she headed for the bathroom door. Before reaching the door she stopped and spun. What had been bad before was now far worse. She was seething now. She glared at him one last time as if she was contemplating violence, but he seemed not to notice or care. After using the toilet, Goth-woman hurriedly dressed back into her leather corset, leather pants and boots and ultimately slammed his front door and stormed off down the hall.

William whistled Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” as he walked from his parking spot and headed toward his building, his plain black gym bag hanging over his right shoulder. He was still hurting from the night’s excesses, but since it was Friday, he figured that he could work through it until he got his second wind. He was concerned that it was a wind which might not come until quitting time at 4:30, but he was prepared to struggle through. It was only one more day. One might think it odd that a guy who liked to party that hard would be an avid jogger, but he was. He liked to have a good time, but he didn’t want to wear it.

He began fumbling through his pockets as he approached the turnstile at the entrance of the building. Access was controlled by an electronic reader that scanned one’s identification card. To his right, a guard eyed him suspiciously from the security desk. The large man’s counter was positioned in the corner where there was a wall behind him and to his immediate left, so that all that he had to watch for was essentially in front of him. He had a counter that was waist high and a bank of monitors on the desk before him. Right now, however, all that he was concerned about was the guy who apparently had no access card.

“I can’t believe this,” William sighed as he checked his pockets for the second and third time, still not coming up with the location of his card. He knew it wasn’t in the bag, but he still set the bag a top the electronic reader and felt around inside it just in case.

The guard continued to study the man, saying nothing, nor offering to assist him in the least.

“What’s up, Bill,” came a voice from behind him.

William recognized the voice immediately as belonging to David Grainger. He glanced up just as the man approached the turnstile. David was holding a clenched fist out to him. William absently reached out with his right fist and touched the other man’s.

“Nothin’, Dave,” he replied. “You?”

“Not much. S.O.S!” David looked him over, noting the lost expression his coworker was sporting. “Forget your card?”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks!” The man said. He turned around, quickly swiped his card and passed through the turnstile as soon as he heard the unmistakable click sound of the unlocking mechanism. “Talk to you later,” he said as he quickly headed off toward the elevators.

When William glanced back toward the security guard, he found the man still staring at him. Sheepishly, he approached.

“Good morning…” he glanced at the man’s badge. “Julius”.

Julius Bowen flared his nostrils once as if he were holding something in. “Good morning, Sir,” He said at last.

William took no notice. He simply shoved his hands into his trouser pockets as if defeated. “Looks like I forgot my card,” he said quietly.

“Do you have an access card, Sir?” The guard asked, continuing to study him.

William was taken aback. He knew the guard had overheard the conversation with David. He had also been an employee with the company for twelve years, only missing a handful of days a year. “Of course I have a card,” he said with a bit of frustration in his voice. “I’m William Reese. I’ve worked here twelve years. You know me!”

The guard smiled for the first time all morning. “You didn’t know me, Sir. Why should I know you?”

William stood there frozen, staring back as the guard smiled sarcastically and then casually looked away, back to the monitors before him. He struggled, searching for what he should say now, but the sound of the turnstile locking mechanism disengaging stopped him.

Without looking up, the guard said: “You’ve got ten seconds before it locks again.”

The Goth-woman watched intently from across the street. She was smiling, too. She could not hear what was being said, but she was more than able to discern William’s body English which was speaking volumes to her. She watched his every move as he quickly made his way through the turnstile and hurried toward a bank of elevators. She did not drive away until he had entered the elevator and it had swallowed him up.

Man, I’m tired, William thought as he leaned against the Men’s Room entrance door on his floor and entered, attempting to stifle a yawn, but failing miserably. He trudged past four stalls before he found the one to his liking. Besides the low hum of the ventilation system, it was quiet. He had the room to himself.

William locked the door behind him and then lifted up the toilet seat with his right dress shoe. As he began to urinate, he glanced at his watch. It was only 8:42 am. He yawned again. He shook his head as the yawn dissipated, wondering just how in the world he was going to make it through the day essentially on fumes.

The Men’s Room door opened.

I’ve got company, William thought as he finished up.

The toilet flushed automatically behind him as he turned and opened the stall and stepped out. The door to stall number six closed behind him before he could see who it was. Thinking nothing of it, William quickly washed his hands, dried them with three squares of paper towel and left.

Each rest room in the building had been designed with two doors: one was the entrance and the other the exit. Unbeknownst to William as he exited through the second door, the first door opened.

But no one came in.

”Oh, shit, I’m sick!” William muttered under his breath as he quickly left his desk at 11:12 am, and headed for the Men’s Room before the diarrhea could ooze its awful way out of him. He was extremely lactose intolerant. He liked to tell friends that even if he only looked at milk he would get deathly sick. He knew that he had not yet eaten anything, but it sure felt as if he had, and something that he definitely should not have.

William did his level best not to attract attention to himself as he made his way past other cubicles; however, he was very nearly past the point of caring. His gate was quick, but for a man with his sphincter tightly clenched, his face showed no compromise of his dignity. As a fresh series of twinges and spasms began to aggravate his bowels even further, draining the color from his face and threatening to reveal his anguish to his world–and worse than that, he trotted the last few paces.

It’s a miracle! he thought with great relief as he shoved open the Men’s Room door. It was empty again, but he did not have the time to notice. Inside, finally able to disregard propriety altogether, he ran the last few steps of peach colored tile, subconsciously counting the stalls as he went: one, two, three, four… His bowels near utter and complete collapse, their spoiled contents threatening to destroy everything below the drain: hair, cotton briefs, Dockers, dress socks and shoes; and yet he still insisted upon stall number five.

Approximately eight minutes later all was well. William had caught his breath and his pulse had dropped back to normal. It wasn’t pretty, but the worst was over. His stomach had even begun to relax. He was beginning to feel so much better that he had even begun to think about lunch.

William heard the Men’s Room door open.

To his right, the door to stall number six opened. William heard the seat come down.

Curious, and not yet ready to think about getting up, William leaned forward a bit to sneak a glimpse of the man’s shoes. Before he could take that glimpse, however, the Men’s Room door opened again.

We’re getting busy. Good thing I got here when I did.

The door to stall number six opened again, followed by the toilet seat being set down. It made a faint sound as it made contact with the basin.

With a distasteful frown on his face, as if he had just sampled a little of what he had just deposited in the basin below him, William turned and stared hard at the stall wall between his and stall six, as if by simply staring, his eyes might be able to pierce the thin metal and see what might be beyond. Why, he was not sure. If indeed there were now two men together inside that stall, did he really care to see? He didn’t much care knowing it. Anxiously, however, he awaited the next sound with a black curiosity.

The Men’s Room door opened again.

Now what?

Stall number six’s door opened again.

Three now? he thought, incredulously. I gotta’ get outta’ here. He quickly reached for toilet paper as the toilet seat next door came down again.

William stopped momentarily and listened. When nothing seemed to be happening, he found himself leaning to sneak that peek under the stall to see what three pairs of feet could possibly be doing so quietly. Bracing himself by holding onto the toilet paper dispenser with his left hand, he took a good long look.

The length of the glimpse did not change a thing. The stall was empty.

What the hell?

The Men’s Room door opened again.

William turned toward the sound. He did not even bother to right himself, but simply turned his head as far as he could and watched for feet that never walked by.

The door to stall number six opened beside him.

What the…?

The toilet seat came down again.

Suddenly, there was a crash as something large and heavy slammed into the stall wall between them. “Shit!” William yelled and almost fell off of the toilet, throwing his hands out against both walls just in time to catch himself. His right hand immediately landed upon a large dent that had been made.

He turned to it, disbelieving. There was indeed a deep defined indentation where the thin metal of the stall wall had collapsed inward.

William leaned forward again, still holding the sides of his stall, and peaked back into number six. He stared at the empty space for the longest time like an idiot being taught jet propulsion. The knowledge just would not register in him. There was nobody there!

The Men’s Room door opened again. “Oh, no,” he whispered aloud as his countenance continued to fall.

The door to stall six opened.

The toilet seat came down.

William braced himself for the inevitable crash as he grabbed another wad of toilet paper to finish wiping. When it came, he still jumped.

This time he did not break his concentration by swearing or by taking another look, he just kept going.

The Men’s Room door opened again.

The toilet seat came down.

Something slammed into the stall wall.

This time the Men’s Room door was opening even before the echo from the crash had even faded. The stall door was opening before William could register the main door opening.

The seat.

The crash.

It was happening very fast now.

William just kept on wiping though he was long-since clean. It was all that he could do. All the while, the ghostly antics continued around him, speeding up faster still: the Men’s Room door; black Nike running shoes, stepping before stall number five, then moving on; stall door number six opening; the toilet seat…

William froze. Nike running shoes?

The Men’s Room door opened.

William focused on the area beneath the stall door and waited for the pair of shoes. In perfect time with the other occurrences, they arrived. They faced his stall momentarily, as if their owner was undecided upon which stall he wished to visit; unlike William, of course, who simply could use no other. Stall number five’s occupant did not move a muscle. The shoes shuffled and moved on their way to number six. William heard the door swing open, the toilet seat go down, the crash, a distant scream…

Not only did William hear the scream, he felt it. It resonated down his back as if he were a xylophone being played. He grabbed for more paper, but the roll was empty. He went to his feet.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the black shoes as they appeared below the stall door. He paid them no mind.

The stall door opened. His.

It struck him hard on the top of his head and he went down instantly. He fell back onto the toilet, then to the tiled floor below, striking both his right shoulder and right side of his head on the stall wall between his and number six. His pants and underwear were still down around his ankles. He did not hear the splash of his left hand as it fell into the toilet and was unaware that he was wet until he grabbed his aching head with both hands. Soiled water and shreds of mushy paper rained down his face and neck, and down his shirt.

When he found the strength to open his eyes, William’s stall door was closed once again. He listened to see what part of the ghostly musical movement the room was on, but he could only faintly hear anything over the pounding in his head.

The Men’s Room door opened.

William started to pull himself up as the pair of familiar black shoes appeared below his stall door. He knew better than to get up this time. He braced himself by grimacing and clenching his teeth. It worked to steady him, but just barely. His eyes fall upon the door lock. The latch was through the metal catch, just as it had been since he first entered the stall. Before William could begin to question how a locked door could possibly open, the metal bar began to slowly slide open, followed immediately by the door itself. William strained his eyes as far as he humanly could, but that still did not change the fact that there was no one standing there and, therefore, no one doing this work.

While he watched, the door closed again and so did the metal latch. The shoes shuffled and moved over to stall six.

It was then that every fiber of William’s being suddenly shouted: “NOW!”

Using the toilet and the paper dispenser for leverage, William hauled himself to his feet. He did his best to ignore the sounds emulating from the stall beside his, as well as the pounding of his own head. This time, however, the scream did not come quietly. It came forth like a banshee’s wail.

“NOOOO!”

Every hair on William’s body suddenly and immediately rose to a horrified attention. His eyebrows leapt from their station just above his eyes and his eyes practically popped free of their sockets.

The Men’s Room door opened.

One wet hand and another dry one quickly groped for the heap of clothes at William’s feet. The black shoes reappeared below the door, but he didn’t see them. He did not bother to pull up his underwear first; his pants simply swallowed them on their way. The latch began to pull away from the lock. William grabbed for the top of the stall door with his dry hand, still pulling his pants with his damp left hand, planning on buttoning them only after he had left the stall. The door suddenly opened again, hitting him full in the face and knocking him against stall number four.

“Goddamnit!” he yelled in pain and anger, clutching his face with both hands. He was vaguely aware of his pants being down around his ankles again and of his hand being wet. He was, however, unaware that the madness had suddenly ceased.

The Men’s Room door opened.

“Goddamnit!” he yelled again as he finally managed to get his hands upon the stall door. He pulled, but it would not open. He shook it wildly. “Why is this happening?” he cried out.

Shaking the door had managed to loosen the latch.

“Hey!” someone suddenly yelled in surprise outside the stall door just as William appeared from behind it. William screamed.

“What’s going on in here?” the Information Systems Manager asked nervously and backed away from the semi-naked man. “What the hell’s going on in here? Pull up your pants!”

William had no rebuttal for Kenny Wheat. He simply reached down and pulled up his clothes. “I’m sorry,” he said simply, his eyes darting around excitedly.

“What the hell happened to you?” Kenny asked.

“Nothing,” William muttered in response, but knew that this would not be nearly enough. He would be attempting to explain this for a very long time to come. He only wished that he could.

The Manager was not satisfied. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’? Look at you!”

William fastened his leather belt and shuffled over to the nearest sink to wash his hands. In the mirror above the sink he could see exactly what Kenny wanted to be able to understand. He steadied himself by holding the sink with both hands as his mind and body tried to compose themselves.

Kenny held his ground, but said nothing. He just stared.

William looked back in the mirror. He could plainly see that a mere clothing adjustment was not going to be enough to do the trick. He looked like hell. His pallid complexion revealed that his nerves were shot over what he had just endured. The left sleeve of his dress shirt was wet and decorated with shreds of toilet paper, not to mention the damp spots around the front of his pants where he had used wet fingers to get them up. His dark hair was in disarray: usually carefully combed back, it was now hanging over his left eye. There was a hint around his right eye of the nice purple shiner he would be sporting later, and without having to touch the top of his head he could feel a large bump forming there as well.

Kenny watched as William picked bits of toilet paper from his shirt and then washed his arm and both hands thoroughly with soap. Kenny had so many questions but did not know in which order he should ask them, or if he should at all. He turned slowly while he thought it over and stepped toward the nearest urinal. As he did, he noticed the carnage left behind in stall number five. “Shit!” Kenny said and stepped closer. The toilet was full of paper. Too much paper. It looked like William’s own private Devil’s Tower like the one Richard Dreyfuss fashioned in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. There must be a whole roll in there! Kenny decided.

Kenny pursed his lips as he started to question William further, but stopped. William was drying his hands and arms now with his back to him. Without a word, he ran his hands through his hair, straightened his shirt one last time and then calmly walked out of the room.

Kenny watched as William disappeared, and did not move until well after the door slowly and automatically closed behind the man. The room seemed very quiet now. Almost too quiet, like a funeral congregation anxiously awaiting the pastor’s opening remarks. He was unsure why a quiet Men’s Room should suddenly spook him, but it now seemed to. There had been no great need to urinate before; however, it now felt as if he had not emptied his bladder all morning and that he might be there awhile.

As Kenny finally approached a urinal, his eyes roamed over every square inch of the Men’s room. He felt like such a fool doing it, but he could not shake the sinking feeling that someone was planning to jump him. “Asshole!” he whispered and quickened his pace. He unzipped his work slacks with a little jig now as it became increasingly imperative that he hurry things along. He maneuvered himself through the slit in his plaid boxers and quickly relieved the building pressure.

He was only half way through when he stole a questioning peak over his left shoulder at no one there.

It was five o’clock and well past quitting time. William had done relatively little work for the day. The spreadsheet that he had been working with stared back at him accusingly as if it were his Vice-President. Since the morning’s events William looked fine; that is if one discounted the pale expression embedded in his face. Had he simply left early for the day; however, he would have been seen, and, if seen, questioned. Better to stay, he had convinced himself, then to have to relive the day’s events.

It was bad enough that he would be using that Men’s Room one last time.

William stepped into a conference room just around the corner from the Men’s Room. He closed and locked the door behind him, pulling the shade closed in the little window. William tossed his gym bag upon the large rectangular oak desk sitting in the heart of the room. It had been the last gift that he had received from his ex-girlfriend before she had left him: matching bag, sweat outfit and shoes. Of course when he thought of that fact he always seemed to leave out the part about him sleeping with her sister which had caused the whole ex-part. When he finished tying the laces on his shoes, he closed his work clothes up in the bag and left the room.

William walked quickly for fear that he might change his mind. He had always tried to fight fear head on, however, so he pressed forward. Perhaps a part of him was also a little curious now. Will it happen again? It seemed to be building up to something; what?

Without stopping, the only possible way he was going to muster the necessary courage to venture back inside, he held his right hand out before him like a battering ram, and pushed his way into the Men’s Room.

He stopped.

The room was silent. Nothing out of the ordinary was going on. “Okay,” William muttered to himself, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Are you still here?” the room asked, its voice deep and menacing.

“What?” he answered, his voice, in contrast, coming across meek and feeble.

A head suddenly materialized from the back of the room where the row of urinals was located.

“I saw the VP leave hours ago. Heck, I thought everybody was gone.”

It was George Hale. He was a security guard, and obviously a hell of a lot more friendly than the last one that William had encountered. William dropped his bag. “Shit,” he exclaimed and grabbed the wall to his right before he dropped as well.

“Geez,” the officer added as he went to a sink and began washing his hands. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you look like hell!”

“Thanks.”

“I’m sorry, I just mean…”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted the man, waving him off. He patted his left shoulder as Hale moved past him, reaching out for some hand towels. “Thanks.”

“Okay,” the officer said with a glance at his watch. He reached out for a baseball cap with the word “security” across the front of it, placing it on his head and adjusting it slightly. He glanced at William’s outfit. “Wish I was goin’ home.”

William nodded with an absent-minded grin as he picked up his bag.

“You gonna’ be all right?”

“I am now,” William answered and headed for his stall while the other man left.

William stopped awkwardly when he had reached the stall. There was a handwritten sign posted upon the door. It read simply: OUT OF ORDER.

He grimaced. How can this be? For him, using another stall was unthinkable. It was practically his second office.

Curious, remembering how easily the locked door had opened this morning, he played with the outside of it and managed to open it. Thinking momentarily that the sign might have been a mistake, and that he might be able to use his stall after all, he quickly pushed the door open. His smile quickly faded just as soon as it had appeared. The toilet was a terrible indescribable mess.

Shaking his head in disbelief at the sight, William pulled the door closed and locked it once again. He shuffled his feet and reluctantly moved on to the next stall.

Inside stall number six now, William found himself standing there, critiquing the new digs. Just pee, he berated himself, finally locking the door behind him. He set his gym bag down on the floor to his left. Then let’s get out of here.

Both the toilet seat and cover were in the down position. As he began to lift them with his right foot, the Men’s Room door opened. William stopped and set them both down. The sound was light but seemed to echo volumes within William’s ears.

“Anybody in here?” a familiar voice called out.

William turned completely around and faced forward. Strangely, as his mind attempted to discern the identity of the voice, he sat. Stranger still, and without a prompt, he raised his feet off of the ground. He did not yet know why, but the logo on his shoes seemed to be crying out to him: “Nike!”

“Hello? Anybody here?”

One stall door squeaked open, followed by another. William could picture each door sliding open on their metal hinges as the man glanced quickly inside and then moved on.

Another door opened, squeaking like the one before. If they all made the same sound, he had never noticed it before. William swallowed hard. It took some effort because his throat was suddenly dry.

Another door opened. William knew this door. It was the Men’s Room door again.

“Is it clean?” a new voice suddenly asked.

“What?” the familiar voice asked.

“The room? Is it clean?”

“Yes,” the man lied. “We’re cool.”

“Then let’s go,” the new voice commanded gruffly. “You got cash?”

“Some,” the familiar voice answered. William knew indecision when he heard it. He wondered what impression seeing it might elicit.

“You’d better have more than just some,” the other voice threatened loudly. “Or so help me, Kenny, I’ll take it out in flesh.”

William’s eyes widened in recognition.

Now he thought that he might know the second voice as well.

“C’mon, man,” Kenny pleaded as casually as he could under the unpleasant circumstances. “I’m good for it.”

Suddenly, there was quick movement and a rapid shuffling of shoes along the tile of the Men’s Room floor. There was a loud crash as the owner of the gruff voice grabbed Kenny, spun him around and threw him into the nearest stall. William covered his nose and mouth with his hands, hoping not to be heard.

“Don’t screw with me, Kenny! That phrase might get you an extra chip on poker night, but with me it’ll get you killed. You hear me?”

“C’mon, Pete,” Kenny laughed nervously. “This isn’t necessary. I’ve got the money.”

There was a momentary silence. William had no idea what was going on. He just sat there perched on the toilet like a bird of prey, watching for the slightest movement. He just wished that he didn’t feel so much like the prey, especially now as his right leg began to cramp. He heard the ruffling of paper.

“You’d better have more than this!”

“What do you mean, ‘more’?” Kenny asked. “That’s all you ever ask?”

“Not this time. This is quality blow I got here. It’ll cost you another bill.”

“Another bill?” Kenny repeated, incredulously. “Please, man, I haven’t got that.”

“Well, then it’s no sale.”

William closed his eyes. For the most part, he participated as a reluctant observer. He felt like a camera in a motion picture, moving around and within the characters of a drama, spying and recording every move and thought and word, though in this case all William could do was listen. Though a camera can only record images as they occurred, William began to sense what the screenwriter of the film already knew: Kenny was not about to take no for an answer.

“C’mon, you know I need it.”

“What you need is another bill.”

“But I don’t have it!” Kenny pleaded. He sounded frantic now. He knew anger would not assist him here, but he could not help it. William clenched his closed eyes tighter still.

“Look, asshole,” the other voice said. “I know you haven’t got it. Don’t you get it? That’s the reason!”

“I…I don’t understand,” Kenny said softly. William almost didn’t hear him.

“That’s the reason I’m raising prices. I’m sick of you! I’m risking too much, feeding you. You whine; you grovel. I’m sick of it!”

“Please, man,” Kenny begged. “I won’t tell. Your secret’s safe with me. I’ll never bother you again. Please, just one more.”

“Get your hands off of me, damnit!” the other voice suddenly yelled. William started to tremble.

“But you don’t understand…!”

“I don’t care what you… Goddamnit! I said don’t touch me!”

“Give it to me, Julius!”

Julius? William suddenly opened his eyes. Officer Julius Bowen!

William heard shoes shuffling around the floor again. He could hear heavy breathing as the combatants struggled.

He heard something else. It sounded spring-loaded. He heard someone grunt and just knew it was Kenny. He heard something that he could not explain, followed by a long series of low moans. Oh, God!

“Damnit!” Officer Bowen cursed. “See what you made me do.”

William heard running water, followed by some splashing. Kenny’s attacker was cleaning his switchblade, but William could not know this. To his left, he heard the sound of something heavy fall against the stall and slide across his view. It was Kenny. Clutching his belly, he slowly rolled over onto his back. To William’s eyes there was blood everywhere. It trailed beside him on the formerly clean peach colored tile, the man’s clothes and all over and pouring out of the man’s hands and fingers. He was still alive. His eyes were still open and his pupils were darting all around, perhaps waiting for word from his brain as to what the damage was, and awaiting further instruction.

Kenny looked up and met William’s horrorstruck eyes. With recognition, the dying man lifted a crimson hand from his palpitating belly and reached out for help. As sorry as he felt for Kenny, William knew instantly that he must close his eyes tight and try and forget the look on the face of the dying man at his feet if he ever wanted to see the sun again.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Officer Bowen asked, approaching. “Reaching for Jesus?”

Hiding within the darkness of his shut eyelids, William did not realize how close the dying man had come and threw open his eyes as Kenny suddenly grabbed a hold of one of William’s black Nike running shoes that hovered there over the floor. Black Nike running shoes!

And now William knew everything.

He gasped and dropped his hand from his mouth. Officer Bowen stopped. He peered between the stalls and discovered William’s shape in the stall above the body. William tried to hide by moving out of Julius’s line of vision but it is far too late.

“Sonofabitch!” Bowen muttered, lunging for the stall, stepping on the dying man in the process. “You’re still here?” He threw his shoulder into the door but it was locked. William slid back further on the toilet. His back met the back wall. There was nowhere for him to go.

The latch began to move. Bowen was using the same knife that had opened Kenny to try and open the stall door. William jumped to his feet and grabbed for the lock. Bowen kicked Kenny out of his way and met William at the door. It was now open. William held the man back once, but not twice. Officer Bowen drove William and the door back with the second push.

The door flung open, knocking William against the back wall of the stall. He managed to keep from falling, but by the time he had regained his balance, Bowen had him by the sweat-top and threw him against the stall wall which bordered stall number five.

William did not see the steel until it had sliced its way through the air toward his belly. He tried to grab the arm, but his own were pinned beneath the free arm of his attacker. His eyes widened as the terrible realization flooded over his panicked, screaming senses that he was about to be stabbed. William screamed as the blade ripped into him, piercing tissue and organ alike.

The sound that came out of him was a horrible banshee’s wail: “NOOOO!”

The sound of William’s scream, coupled by the simple fact that he had now murdered two people, caused the guard to spin and immediately flee the Men’s Room. He did not stop, nor did he look back until he had put much distance between himself and the scene of the crimes.

William was not yet dead. He was sitting on the floor of stall number six; his body nestled between the toilet and stall five. There wasn’t anything to be done, he knew, but wait for the end. He did not have much strength left, not could he seem to string together enough thoughts to figure out what he could do. He heard the Men’s Room door open. He could not turn his head, so he simply waited to see what might come next. He half expected to see black Nike running shoes, but was met instead by a pair of familiar women’s boots. It took nearly every bit of his remaining strength just to raise his eyes, but he ultimately did so. He looked up into the knowing and heavily mascaraed eyes of the Goth-girl. There, hanging from her neck, was his missing I.D. card. His own picture stared back at him, accusingly, as if to say that he could have avoided this whole terrible ordeal had he made better life decisions. Her expression was neither malice nor joy, but indifference. She removed the identification card from around her neck, revealing a second item hanging there. It was an amulet of some sort; a winged goat that was in a sitting position. It was now staring at him, too. Goth-girl tossed William’s card onto his lap.

“I am not a bitch,” Goth-girl said evenly before William died with a look of awe permanently formed onto his face. “I’m a witch.”

James Garcia Jr. is the Vamplit published author of Dance on Fire. Two Kingsburg police officers have been butchered in an attack as ferocious as it is mystifying. Now two detectives and their families are being drawn into a battle that threatens to destroy them and those around them. In a marriage of horror and Christian themes of good conquering evil and redemption, Dance on Fire is the fictional account of characters drawn into the fire by supernatural forces.

Genre: Horror, Vampires–Words: 107,480–Published: February 6, 2010–Purchase on Smashwords

Where to Visit James
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Read more about Louis in The House on Blackstone More

It was autumn 1888 and I had just returned from the Continent. Club Crimson was located in London, so I did tend to live there all year round; with the exception of the occasional jaunt to Paris or Venice, generally for my nocturnal pursuits and special and extremely pleasurable sprees to Eastern Europe for feeding and lust. These particular excursions being especially gratifying as the ladies there are the wildest of my kind. When I am with them I lose all track of time which can be rather amazing in my case.

These creatures are so entirely without morals, they quite surprise me and they were fast becoming an addiction, with their late parties and unusually wicked entertainments, so I came back. Besides, addiction frightens me.

But I digress, for this is a chat about that remarkable time when Jack the Ripper stalked Whitechapel’s mean streets.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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Carole Gill was selected by North West Playwrights of England for further development. It was an invaluable experience but Carole found she prefers to write fiction. She loves to scare herself and others with her horror fiction and is widely published in horror and sci-fi anthologies. Currently, Masters of Horror Anthology One, Masters of Horror Damned If You Don’t, Sonar’s Ladies and Gentlemen of Horror 2010, SNM’s Bonded By Blood3 Languish In Lament, Sonar’s Whitechapel 13, Anthology, Rymfire’s Undead Tales, Zombie Winter, Angelic Press’ Demonic Toys, Netbound’s Spirits of the Night and Enter at Your Own Risk, Dark Gothic Fiction. Sci Fi Almanac 2009 and 2010 and Science Fiction Freedom Magazine, issues 1-4, Sci Fi Talk’s Tales of Time and Space. Although she loves writing sci-fi her true love is dark gothic horror. Her gothic horror novel, The House on Blackstone Moor, published in 2010 by Vamplit is her first novel. The sequel, Unholy Testament will be published by Vamplit later this year.

I returned to Half Moon Street to take charge of my club, but it was running fine which let me turn my attention to other matters and soon I became fixated with the Ripper inquiry.

Before I go on: you do remember my prediction about a certain Royal? Yes, that’s right we were chatting at Club Crimson and I happened to tell you of my prediction that a certain member of that well-thought of family would turn out to be Jack?

Well, I am afraid the belief became something of an obsession as I found myself thinking about it all the time. It quite took over my existence—existence being a more appropriate word than ‘life’ in my case, don’t you agree?

Now, when the murders first happened, I was not surprised. And when they continued I was in all honesty half expecting it.

Did I contact the police? No I am afraid I did not. Do not, whatever you do, forget who or what I am, for I am no avenger, no knight in shining armor.

I am part fallen angel and part human. The human side I believe accounts for my thoroughly apathetic nature. Whereas the fallen angel part of me is actually an idealist—well, father was, wasn’t he if you think about it?

I mean my father was quite enamored of Lucifer. He supported him utterly and without question. Have you never backed a loser?

Yes, Lucifer fell. Pride does come before a fall.

Now let us return to the killings and that blood-spattered autumn. I had arrived back from France shortly before that first murder. Some poor creature was found slashed to ribbons in Buck’s Row. There was another victim found on the 8^th of September.

I must say though that after the fourth killing I found myself growing rather annoyed. One killing—two even three alright, such things are to be expected it is the way humankind is, the way things are, especially in the filthy, vermin ridden streets of Whitechapel. However, when the fourth killing occurred, I did go into action quite surprising myself.

I went out to find him would you believe? After all, enough is enough. It was getting boring.

So there I was, trying to summon all of my special skills into locating the killer, but the thing is, I didn’t see him until I reached Miller’s Court. One quick glance through the window proved I was too late. I could see the evidence from where I stood.

I recognized him at once. He was standing gazing down at a bloodied corpse, looking pleased with himself.

I decided I would wait for him.

*

I felt like an artist admiring my handiwork, she was after all my creation, an exquisite corpse. In life some would have said she was pretty. I, myself, didn’t share that opinion. I could see the bog in her, the stinking midden, which flowed too near to her birthplace I could see and smell that as well.

Yet when I first saw her move with the unmistakable sauntering gait of the street walker, I was fascinated, the way a lion might be staring at his prey.

I smiled and said something. She took my interest as flattering, my conversation as exciting. I saw a smile and flash of her teeth, still intact because she was young.

“Alone darling?”

Darling! What effrontery. Had she known who I was she’d have died!

How ironic, don’t you think?

“Ooh you are a gent, ain’t ya? Look dear! I don’t live far. Just this way; Miller’s court, see?”

It was late—few people were about even on these disease ridden streets. So we walked along, just she and I, both full of happy expectation.

Her lodgings were grim and disgusting. A broken window with a piece of fabric shoved inside it to keep the cold out.

“Step in whilst I light the fire.”

The room was so tiny the door could not open properly. Her bed seemed to fill up the place, a busy bed no doubt.

“I‘ll just put this on…”

I turned in order not to see her tawdry preparations.

“Alright then.”

She was wearing a gaudy, nearly threadbare chemise, long past it best, a gift perhaps made cheap from overuse. I think she though me was shy. “That’s right ducks, you just relax, I’ll stretch out on me bed and wait, that’ll give you time.”

I smiled too as I reached for my friend: Mr. Sharp and Ready—a pleasant sort of chap if you don’t rile him.

The women rile him—some women that is.

Some kind of instinct must have alerted her for she suddenly opened her eyes. That’s when I slit her throat. Two swipes—the second so powerful, I nearly took her head off, blood erupted, like a beautiful fountain.

Then it stopped.

Her eyes were open and staring and that’s when I began to paint my canvas.

I wanted to leave my mark. It was work. People said I wasn’t good at anything, but I was, for I was a master craftsman, an artisan!

People don’t realize how much talent it takes to do what I do. Nor do they know how much time it takes, however as it was getting late and I could not afford to dawdle. So I pulled off my blood-stained clothes (I had clothes underneath).

I planned to walk up Commercial Road toward Anthony Street, eventually reaching London Hospital, where I knew I could easily catch a cab to Jermyn Street. Ah, the luxury of a Turkish bath to wash away the tiredness and anything else that might need washing away.

Finally I leave, closing the door gently behind me, but that’s when I saw a man standing not 100 yards away. There was something familiar about him.

Suddenly I knew where I’ve seen him. Club Crimson!

I will have to be clever I cannot afford to leave a witness. “Good morning to you, Monsieur Darton!”

*

Ah! My murdering client comes out at last and I see he wants to engage me in conversation no doubt to distract me.

“And a good morning to you too, sir. It is good to see you again. I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you at the Club of late.”

“Yes. I’ve been rather busy.”

I wager you were, I think to myself.

He is beginning to speak rather quickly his words falling over themselves. Clearly he is nervous.

I smile and walk over to the hovel he has just exited, glancing at him as I do. You see, I want him to know, if he had any doubts at all, that I know what he’s just done. Frankly I’m rather enjoying this.

The light isn’t terribly good, but I can see a fire burning in the grate and it’s smoking badly, as if clothes are being burned. “Oh dear! That might cause a conflagration,” I said.

He protested, as I knew he would, but I paid him no heed and opened the door.

I have seen much carnage in my time and truthfully, I have been the cause of much of it, but usually when angered or feeling myself desperate. And I do get desperate occasionally. It’s all down to my existence you see.

Longevity is one thing, I think that can be dealt with—but longevity which has no end ever is something else again, and that can rather get on one’s nerves.

“Stop!”

I turned slowly. He was threatening me with a knife. How interesting.

I nod toward the knife. “That really won’t be necessary,” I said, “for I should like to talk to you. We have after all much in common you and I; you know the Club after all.” I wanted to throw him off a bit, devilish of me I know. “Yes, you’ve seen what goes on there. Far be it from me to rein anyone in and besides, I recall your active pursuits in my club as well! I knew you’d go far!”

He smiled. “You remember, how lovely!”

I knew he was using his garden party voice then and I smiled “I won’t turn you in, as you know people die in my club all the time.” I expected him to say something, but he didn’t so I said: “Well let’s get a move on, shall we?”

I must say this was rather a bold thing to say to a man who was standing outside a butchered woman’s residence in Whitechapel, in that murderous season, but I did not care.

In time you will know that is how I am. Some find me charming and others repellent. Anyway, I shall go on:

More stammering: “Yes of course. We shall walk together.”

“What a good idea!” Ooh I was quite enjoying this! I had been granted a stay of execution by him, or perhaps not, perhaps it was just him being cagey or trying to be.

But never mind. I should love to have him lunge at me dagger ready—and me about to give him the biggest surprise of his life! I licked my teeth in anticipation.

He didn’t have any idea with whom he was dealing that was the long and short of it and that was what I found so enjoyable.

“Commercial Road isn’t far—we can arrange transport from there,” he stated.

“I am sure.”

How merry we sounded walking along as we were.

“I do like morning strolls don’t you?”

Sacre bleu! He was laying it on a bit thick. “The air is fresher in the morning.”

Listen to me! What utter nonsense! How could the air be fresh ever in this poor, filthy stink hole of London?

Suddenly he stopped. “I know a short cut.”

I smiled. “Do you indeed, excellent. I could rather go for something hot.”

“I was just thinking the same thing!” he gushed.

We began to walk once more.

Oh so this is where he’s going to try it! I see.

It was truly difficult not to smile, for I felt so mischievous, knowing that he was going to try and kill me and I was going to… Sorry, but you will have to wait for it!

We were mid-way down the alley when he stopped.

“Why are we stopping here?” I asked in the best choirboy voice I could manage.

“Did you honestly think I would let you live after what you saw?”

I shrugged. “I thought it highly unlikely.”

“Quite right!” he lunged at me, but as he did I raised my hand. Only my hand and he tumbled backwards with such force that I heard his skull crack (either that or his back) as he hit the ground. He lay there, the crimson tide of his blood fanning out around his head.

I shook my head. Crimson! How delightful I thought, thinking of my club!

That he began to twitch a little only added to my pleasure. I just did not like the man. “I must tell you something before you die, before I sink my teeth into you and drink my fill of you—royal blood has quite a kick you know! Oh, you didn’t know that’s what I really was, did you? A club fully staffed by vampires doing what they do best, didn’t tip you off? Hmm you are thick!”

He was moaning a lot now.

“Yes, it won’t take long, JACK! You see there is evil in this world and there is evil. There is carnage and carnage. You my friend give evil a bad name, for it is mindless evil, it is evil with no purpose other than to destroy.

I knew I had best make it quick for I could see he was sinking fast.

“I have seen the earth born and civilizations die. I have lived forever and shall continue until there is no time at all. And although I am no hero, I do sometimes feel the need to do a good deed. The only thing I can attribute to that is my heritage, for you see my father was a fallen angel and my mother human. I am then half human and half angelic. And as Father fell along with Lucifer…”

I stopped speaking, for it had hit me: the realization that I could not let him die. “No,” I said. “I cannot let you die you will have to go because of what you are, it is your fate you see, but why ruin the reputation of your family for the likes of you?”

With that I healed him. It is a gift I rarely use.

“Return to your palace,” I said. “And we shall let bygones be bygones. But remember this if nothing else! I shall keep a close eye on you and because of my powers you know you are not safe from my wrath. Do we understand one another?”

“Yes!”

I am gallant sometimes and this was no exception for I helped him to stand.

“Who did you say you were?”

I smiled. “Please sir do not be repetitious, I have told you. Now go on! Think of your family and heed my warning. One more thing before you go.” I grabbed him, sinking my teeth into his neck. He didn’t struggle. I think in some weird way he was enjoying it and that is why I pushed him away.

“Thank you for that,” I said wiping my mouth. I detect a strange taste there, an under taste of something. Perhaps it is your destiny I perceive. I feel you will stay close to home now. I wish it, but I genuinely feel you will.”

He was rubbing his neck and whimpering.

“Go on, you may go!” I watched him scurry away.

Suddenly I felt philosophical. I do sometimes feel that way.

I thought of my belief that the world is more complex than we know. I am also complex, as you will see. I am as complicated a being as you will ever meet. We have only just met and yet don’t you feel it, the pull to the darkness of impossibility.

Epilogue:

Darton’s former client was made the Duke Of Clarence and Avondale and Earl of Athlone in 1891, and in December of that year became engaged to Princess Mary Of Teck, later to become Queen Mary after marrying his younger brother George. He died of pneumonia at Sandringham House on the 14 January 1892, during the flu epidemic which swept the country, he was 28 years old. His last thoughts were of Louis Darton, which Monsieur Darton was well aware of.

Oh God, my husband was snoring again. It was the middle of the night, he was snoring like a chainsaw, and now I’d never get back to sleep. Ugh! The life of a wife. My back was to him and I thought about turning over to push him, but I was so cozy, so instead I just nudged him, hard, with my elbow.

This elicited a snort-snuffle – not the reaction I was looking for. Great – all this noise had made me wide awake, eyes open, staring at the light from the full moon that filtered through the shades and into our bedroom.

Snort! Growl!

What the…. What the hell was my husband doing growling?

Crack! Crackle! Snap! Streeeeetch! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Jesus! What was going on with my husband?!

“Sam, what in the hell,” I said as I tossed off the covers. Before I saw him, I … felt him. It. Fur.

Growl! Crack! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

I looked slowly to my left, and, well, Holy Shit!

What I saw happening in my bed reminded me of some movie that my friends made me watch ages ago, a werewolf movie. That was going on – my husband was turning into a werewolf, right before my very eyes. No, really. He was. In our bed. As I sat next to him. I watched, unbelieving, as his snout started to lengthen, longer, then a little longer, then click, click, click – I watched as animal-teeth filled it.

Shit!

Unfortunately for me right now, I was on the far side of the bed, away from the door. So many nights I’d felt safe because I knew that if we’d had intruders into our bedroom, my husband would be there to greet them first and defend me. I’d never thought that one day my protector would be my biggest threat.

The claws were forming on his hands and I knew I didn’t have long now. I jumped up off the bed and raced around its foot to the door, before chancing a glance back. It hadn’t been lucky for Lot’s wife, and it wasn’t for me, either.

His eyes, mean and yellow, focused right on mine.

Grwaor he roared as he recognized me as prey. His snout growled and snapped in my direction, and I turned away, pressing the lock on the inside of the doorknob before slamming it shut. I heard a heavy thud on the other side, then claws scratching and scrabbling two seconds later, but I was already halfway up the stairs to our son’s room, taking them two or three at a time.

By the time I heard our bedroom door shatter (they just don’t make them out of heavy wood anymore, not these days), I had reached Jason’s room, slamming and locking that door behind me. No need to be quiet – the wolf knew where I was – I heard the boom, boom, boom bounding up the stairs. I only had a few seconds to go before he tore Jason’s door to pieces, and as I lugged Jason’s tall dresser in front of the door all I could think was Thank God I go to the gym!

“Mommy?!” my little boy was waking up, wondering why his mother was rearranging furniture in his room in the middle of the night. Both of us turned our heads sharply to the door as we heard the claws scrabbling and whacking at it.

This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening!

Scooping Jason off the bed and plopping him in the corner near the window, I pushed the bed behind the dresser to brace it, only to hear a CRACK and Jason’s scream. A large, fur-covered hand, with claws longer than any press-on nails I’d ever seen just broke through the flimsy door.

Now was not the best time to be frozen in panic, but there I was, not moving. And I needed to get the damn fire safety ladder out of the closet. Which was near the door, which was about to have a werewolf bent on ripping me and Jason limb from limb coming through it. A killer werewolf that had loved us back when he was human.

“Mommy!!” The impact of Jason hitting my legs in an attempt to get into my arms broke me from my immobility. I’d heard of adrenaline making people do super-human feats, and I don’t think I’ll ever quite figure out how I managed to make my way across Jason’s room (okay, it was only about six feet, but still) to the closet, get out the fire ladder, open the window, hook the ladder over the sill – all while Jason hung from my hip.

And then the door behind us was ripped to shreds as a seven-foot, snarling, raging werewolf entered the room.

Fortunately, he was slowed by all the furniture pieces in his way, but it would only be seconds before he’d splintered the bed and the dresser. I looked at my son, whose was shaking so much that it was making my own teeth chatter, and said, “Hold on, kiddo!”

Jason’s eyes were so wide and unblinking I wondered if he’d gone into some catatonic state, but then he nodded his head and I had my leg over the sill just as dear-old-ex-hubby/dad charged across the room, talons out, teeth snapping. Jason screamed again and I felt a wetness against my hip. I couldn’t blame him although it surprised me and my hand slipped from the rung. I dangled for a seconds but managed to get us almost all the way down before the monster above us tore the ladder off the sill and we crumpled to the ground.

And what do we do now? Head to the neighbors? But he’ll get us in there. Drive away? Great, but the keys are inside…

I was aware of a silence in the air. Jason noticed it too, and both of us turned our heads up to the window at the same time. He was there, the wolf, watching us, waiting to see our next move.

I moved to the wall of the garage and punched in the keycode, then hit Enter. The door started rising. I looked above me. It was still watching us. Apparently his ability to reason as a human was gone, because otherwise he would have known what I was about to do.

“Jason, go wait by the car. Wait under it if you need to. And when you hear my feet come running towards it, you get up and by the door!” I told him as I pushed him towards the Pathfinder. Just like Bambi’s mother, I’d lead the hunter away from my young, right?

I bolted through the door and back into our house, taking a right turn into our front hallway and to the hall table on which we kept the keys. Large thuds down the stairs told me I was about to have very unwelcome company in a few.

Shit! The keys weren’t on the table!! Great – my husband turns into a werewolf and now he’s misplaced the keys! Bastard!!

The kitchen counter, off to my left. The keys were there. He was at the bottom of the stairs now, facing me, covered in hair, larger than any football player or nightclub bouncer, with weapons at the ready in his mouth and on his hands. He just stood there, waiting for me to make the first move. And we stood there like that, facing each other, not moving.

Until I grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter, that was when he charged at me. Whipping around, feet sliding on the tile, I sprinted to the front door, wishing I didn’t have to stop to open it.

But I did, and that was when he caught up with me. There was no recollection in his hideous yellow eyes as they glared at mine. His nose didn’t seem to remember the scent of the person who’d slept by him, night after night, as it neared my neck. His ears didn’t recognize the cries of the woman who’d given him a son.

But his body knew that silver hurt, that’s for damn sure. Thank God he’d been superstitious and insisted upon keeping that silver cross we got for our wedding right near our front door. Something about how it would keep all the bad things out of our house. Now it was helping me out of the house, away from the bad thing in it.

I stabbed him in the gut and he went down. Not thinking twice, I opened the door and fled over the sidewalk and back to the garage, yelling, “Jaaasoooon!” along the way. My little boy was crawling out from under the Pathfinder, and I reached under to pull him out all the way. We got into the car, both of us in the front seat, no seatbelts, and I didn’t even look behind me we backed out of the garage at 60 MPH.

Pulling away from our house and driving down the street, everything was quiet. It would have been dark, but for that damn full moon above. I wondered what would become of my husband, was he still lying there on the tile in the front hallway by the door? I didn’t glance back this time.

“Mommy, your back is all wet!” Jason said to me. “You’re bleeding! The monster must have gotten you!”

He’d clawed me. I felt the fire of it now, spreading down my back and into my chest. It must have happened as I’d run out the front door, and with all that adrenaline, I’d never felt a thing. Oh shit. Now what would I do?

Looking up at the bright full moon, I had a feeling that in thirty days’ time, the phrase ‘that time of the month’ would take on a whole new meaning…

Rude Awakening

Snort! Snort! Snuffle!

Oh God, my husband was snoring again. It was the middle of the night, he was snoring like a chainsaw, and now I’d never get back to sleep. Ugh! The life of a wife. My back was to him and I thought about turning over to push him, but I was so cozy, so instead I just nudged him, hard, with my elbow.

This elicited a snort-snuffle – not the reaction I was looking for. Great – all this noise had made me wide awake, eyes open, staring at the light from the full moon that filtered through the shades and into our bedroom.

Snort! Growl!

What the…. What the hell was my husband doing growling?

Crack! Crackle! Snap! Streeeeetch! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Jesus! What was going on with my husband?!

“Sam, what in the hell,” I said as I tossed off the covers. Before I saw him, I … felt him. It. Fur.

Growl! Crack! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

I looked slowly to my left, and, well, Holy Shit!

What I saw happening in my bed reminded me of some movie that my friends made me watch ages ago, a werewolf movie. That was going on – my husband was turning into a werewolf, right before my very eyes. No, really. He was. In our bed. As I sat next to him. I watched, unbelieving, as his snout started to lengthen, longer, then a little longer, then click, click, click – I watched as animal-teeth filled it.

Shit!

Unfortunately for me right now, I was on the far side of the bed, away from the door. So many nights I’d felt safe because I knew that if we’d had intruders into our bedroom, my husband would be there to greet them first and defend me. I’d never thought that one day my protector would be my biggest threat.

The claws were forming on his hands and I knew I didn’t have long now. I jumped up off the bed and raced around its foot to the door, before chancing a glance back. It hadn’t been lucky for Lot’s wife, and it wasn’t for me, either.

His eyes, mean and yellow, focused right on mine.

Grwaor he roared as he recognized me as prey. His snout growled and snapped in my direction, and I turned away, pressing the lock on the inside of the doorknob before slamming it shut. I heard a heavy thud on the other side, then claws scratching and scrabbling two seconds later, but I was already halfway up the stairs to our son’s room, taking them two or three at a time.

By the time I heard our bedroom door shatter (they just don’t make them out of heavy wood anymore, not these days), I had reached Jason’s room, slamming and locking that door behind me. No need to be quiet – the wolf knew where I was – I heard the boom, boom, boom bounding up the stairs. I only had a few seconds to go before he tore Jason’s door to pieces, and as I lugged Jason’s tall dresser in front of the door all I could think was Thank God I go to the gym!

“Mommy?!” my little boy was waking up, wondering why his mother was rearranging furniture in his room in the middle of the night. Both of us turned our heads sharply to the door as we heard the claws scrabbling and whacking at it.

This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening!

Scooping Jason off the bed and plopping him in the corner near the window, I pushed the bed behind the dresser to brace it, only to hear a CRACK and Jason’s scream. A large, fur-covered hand, with claws longer than any press-on nails I’d ever seen just broke through the flimsy door.

Now was not the best time to be frozen in panic, but there I was, not moving. And I needed to get the damn fire safety ladder out of the closet. Which was near the door, which was about to have a werewolf bent on ripping me and Jason limb from limb coming through it. A killer werewolf that had loved us back when he was human.

“Mommy!!” The impact of Jason hitting my legs in an attempt to get into my arms broke me from my immobility. I’d heard of adrenaline making people do super-human feats, and I don’t think I’ll ever quite figure out how I managed to make my way across Jason’s room (okay, it was only about six feet, but still) to the closet, get out the fire ladder, open the window, hook the ladder over the sill – all while Jason hung from my hip.

And then the door behind us was ripped to shreds as a seven-foot, snarling, raging werewolf entered the room.

Fortunately, he was slowed by all the furniture pieces in his way, but it would only be seconds before he’d splintered the bed and the dresser. I looked at my son, whose was shaking so much that it was making my own teeth chatter, and said, “Hold on, kiddo!”

Jason’s eyes were so wide and unblinking I wondered if he’d gone into some catatonic state, but then he nodded his head and I had my leg over the sill just as dear-old-ex-hubby/dad charged across the room, talons out, teeth snapping. Jason screamed again and I felt a wetness against my hip. I couldn’t blame him although it surprised me and my hand slipped from the rung. I dangled for a seconds but managed to get us almost all the way down before the monster above us tore the ladder off the sill and we crumpled to the ground.

And what do we do now? Head to the neighbors? But he’ll get us in there. Drive away? Great, but the keys are inside…

I was aware of a silence in the air. Jason noticed it too, and both of us turned our heads up to the window at the same time. He was there, the wolf, watching us, waiting to see our next move.

I moved to the wall of the garage and punched in the keycode, then hit Enter. The door started rising. I looked above me. It was still watching us. Apparently his ability to reason as a human was gone, because otherwise he would have known what I was about to do.

“Jason, go wait by the car. Wait under it if you need to. And when you hear my feet come running towards it, you get up and by the door!” I told him as I pushed him towards the Pathfinder. Just like Bambi’s mother, I’d lead the hunter away from my young, right?

I bolted through the door and back into our house, taking a right turn into our front hallway and to the hall table on which we kept the keys. Large thuds down the stairs told me I was about to have very unwelcome company in a few.

Shit! The keys weren’t on the table!! Great – my husband turns into a werewolf and now he’s misplaced the keys! Bastard!!

The kitchen counter, off to my left. The keys were there. He was at the bottom of the stairs now, facing me, covered in hair, larger than any football player or nightclub bouncer, with weapons at the ready in his mouth and on his hands. He just stood there, waiting for me to make the first move. And we stood there like that, facing each other, not moving.

Until I grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter, that was when he charged at me. Whipping around, feet sliding on the tile, I sprinted to the front door, wishing I didn’t have to stop to open it.

But I did, and that was when he caught up with me. There was no recollection in his hideous yellow eyes as they glared at mine. His nose didn’t seem to remember the scent of the person who’d slept by him, night after night, as it neared my neck. His ears didn’t recognize the cries of the woman who’d given him a son.

But his body knew that silver hurt, that’s for damn sure. Thank God he’d been superstitious and insisted upon keeping that silver cross we got for our wedding right near our front door. Something about how it would keep all the bad things out of our house. Now it was helping me out of the house, away from the bad thing in it.

I stabbed him in the gut and he went down. Not thinking twice, I opened the door and fled over the sidewalk and back to the garage, yelling, “Jaaasoooon!” along the way. My little boy was crawling out from under the Pathfinder, and I reached under to pull him out all the way. We got into the car, both of us in the front seat, no seatbelts, and I didn’t even look behind me we backed out of the garage at 60 MPH.

Pulling away from our house and driving down the street, everything was quiet. It would have been dark, but for that damn full moon above. I wondered what would become of my husband, was he still lying there on the tile in the front hallway by the door? I didn’t glance back this time.

“Mommy, your back is all wet!” Jason said to me. “You’re bleeding! The monster must have gotten you!”

He’d clawed me. I felt the fire of it now, spreading down my back and into my chest. It must have happened as I’d run out the front door, and with all that adrenaline, I’d never felt a thing. Oh shit. Now what would I do?

Looking up at the bright full moon, I had a feeling that in twenty-eight days’ time, the phrase ‘that time of the month’ would take on a whole new meaning…

Visit Nicole’s blog and find out more about her writing.

****

“Forever.” That’s the response Ben Gongliewski receives, when he asks Miranda Dandridge how long she’s been a vampire. He doesn’t expect the word “forever” in her reply, but then again, Ben never imagined meeting vampires, let alone demons and werewolves, during his time in the Polish Resistance during World War II. Far from being horrified, Ben discovers that Miranda and her friends have very useful … talents.
For more information or to read the Taliesin Meets the Vampire review follow this link

I open my eyes, as if that’s going to do any good: I’m totally blind in the dark. What the hell do I think I’m going to see? And if I could see in this absence of light, would I see what’s really here anyway? Often enough, I have caught glimpses of what might be present, framed against some subtle light filtering through the cracks in my room, only to have everything vanish into nothingness. But the presence never leaves.

My room. That’s a laugh for you. My room is my garage; my bed is an old couch. While the rest of my family sleeps in comfort, I suffer the indignity of sleeping in an overfilled garage with barely enough room to walk from the house to my bed.

I reach over and turn on my lamp. Once my eyes adjust to the sudden onslaught of light, my suspicions are confirmed: I can see nothing but huge piles of boxes stacked everywhere – the ultimate storage area. I leave the light on for only a short time. my pounding head needs darkness now. Whatever lurks here is secondary to me at the moment. My pain overcomes the fear.

It’s midnight. I have two more hours to sleep. That’s if I can return to it. When was the last time I was truly able to sleep? The pain, the constant pain, never leaving – how long have I endured it this time around? And this…this presence, whatever it is, crawling over me, pushing on me, leaving a disgusting mold-like stench in my nose. I can hear it too, making almost a cackling sound, taunting me, laughing at me, daring me to do anything about it. But I never see it. Right now it envelops me with its horror. It attacks my body and my mind. Reality and fiction are blurred. Weird visions pop in and out of my brain, tormenting me with things I have never seen before: dark and obscure beings with evil at their core, moving slowly through fog filled landscapes, their red eyes shining in the darkness, greeting everything they encounter with hideous laughter before dragging them beneath the fog.

” Show yourself, damn it! Show yourself! ” I holler out.

Whatever it is doesn’t show itself, but neither does it leave. It never fucking leaves.

I slip in and out of sleep, too restless and in too much pain to stay asleep, but needing some sort of rest. Something comes crashing down at the far end of the garage, and I hear little scurrying feet moving around towards the cracks alongside the overhead door to escape whatever is there. Even the mice know it’s here, disrupting my life, tossing torment at me from every conceivable angle. The little furry bastards have no courage: for now, they retreat, but they’ll be back when things settle down. How could they possibly refuse the smorgasbord of delight spread out before them? My wife insists on storing flour and cereal out here – easy pickings for the little vermin. And when they’re done munching on that, they hop up on my couch in hopes of…in hopes of what? Nibbling on a couple of fingers for desert? I don’t think so. I can remember nights in Vietnam, lying down in the rice paddies to avoid detection by the ‘Cong, the rats – huge, hungry creatures swarming from everywhere – running all over me. It was tolerable as long as they kept moving, but when they stopped, planted on my chest just inches from my face, it scared the shit out of me. If they bit me, there would be a chance of rabies;if I moved too much, I would alert the enemy to my position. Fortunately, I was never bitten. These little mice in the garage are not my favorite sleeping buddies, but they are not as terrifying as the rats.

Until my alarm goes off at 2:00A.M., my unseen nemesis stays with me. It relishes most the moments when I have the dream: Vietnam, having just escaped from the POW camp, carrying my best friend in my arms, running barefoot for two days and two nights through the jungle, collapsing against a tree when I finally reach freedom, only to find out my friend is dead. My tears and my angst make this monster laugh.

” You always get fucked over, don’t you? ” it says, this time distinct enough that I can tell whatever it is is male. ” You never win. you always lose. ”

Yes, he’s right, but I’m not going to give in to him. He scares the shit out of me, so close I can feel his breath on on my face and smell his decaying, moldy odor. The stench is at once putrefying and suffocating; the pressure returns to my chest. Tasting his foulness, I must get out of the garage.

I slip into the house and use the john, my adversary choosing to remain in the garage. After that, I put a mug of coffee into the microwave and set it to boiling. For me, coffee has to be hot. While it’s heating up, I down my pain medication, grab an ice cube, and drop it into a cup. When the coffee is ready, I bring everything to my recliner: my morning ritual. Every morning, it takes me a good hour to attack my headaches.The ice, so deliciously cold against my head, starts working its magic. Nature in motion; the most basic of therapies. It makes a mess at times, the droplets cascading down my face, but what difference does it make? This isn’t a fashion show; this is pain, and I need to deal with it.

This morning the pain is especially bad and it takes two mugs of coffee and three ice cubes before I’m ready to go to work. For me, going to work is a little more involved than popping the key into the ignition and barreling down the road. I run to work. The pain makes it insufferable at times, but I have to do it. The blood needs to be shoved around my body, bringing its life force to every conceivable part of me. I brush my teeth, put my working clothes and lunch inside my backpack, check on my children, and I’m out the door.

The early morning air feels good on my tortured head, the coolness helping combat the pain. It’s not cool enough for sweat pants today. That means I’ll be battling the heat on my run back.

Work is only three miles or so from my house – yes, house: I have long since stopped calling it home. My seven children are here, but I can’t live with their mother any longer. While I’ve been fighting this pain inside me, she’s been playing slap and tickle with a former flame. Good woman: I work my ass off for her and my children, and she snubs me, even to the point of admitting it to me. ” There’s enough love in my heart for both of you, ‘ she says. What? Is this the stuff of marriage? Is this the for better or worse, in sickness or in health part?

The run always helps. I would be nothing without it. Nothing. It is the one semblance of peace in my erratic day. I enjoy my work and can escape within its insanity of schedule and chaos, but running makes me feel free. It is me; I am it.

My morning run is my favorite of the two. I can’t see in the darkness, but I can feel the contours of the road through my feet, and by keeping my stride short enough so my center of gravity is always stable, I won’t tumble if I hit a pothole. it’s worth it to enjoy the solitude, the almost virginity of the day, as if nothing like it has ever occurred before. And yet…

Peace is finally hitting my pain wracked body and I begin to almost float along, lost in thoughts far removed from any I had last night. I am lulled into a sense of false security and don’t notice when a car jumps at me from the other side of the street. Its lights are off and the engine is purring so smoothly that it is almost like some sort of a phantom car. What the hell is this idiot doing driving around like this in the dark? Thinking of nothing better to do, I flip him off and holler at him to turn his lights on and watch out. This only seems to infuriate him more because he turns around, guns the engine, and comes after me again. I dart between a couple of parked cars and veer off across a dividing island. This puts some distance between us, but he makes it up rapidly, speeding around the corner like a demon possessed. As fast as I can move, I make it to some two story apartment units and run up the stairs. I’m safe up here. he certainly can’t drive up to get me. If he gets out of the car and comes after me, that’s one thing – that doesn’t bother me: I can defend myself from some road rage driver out of his car. A gonzo idiot behind the wheel of a big chunk of metal is another story.

The driver roars to a stop at the very edge of the stairs, gunning his engine, backing up a bit, and coming back to the stairs again. It’s almost as if he’s trying to decide if he can drive up the stairs. This is one hard core idiot here. After what seems like an eternity, he backs up and drives out of the parking lot. Shit! What do I do now? I still have two more miles to run before I’m at work. Do I hide up here in my safe haven and wait for the sun to rise, or do I get rid of my shackles of fear and suck it up like a man? This guy is probably just some drunk and might be stopped at some intersection right now, sound asleep and not even remembering having chased me up the stairs.

” C’mon, man. Get a grip. You’re letting everything get to you now, ” I tell myself out loud, ashamed when I hear my own scared voice trying to calm myself down.

With as much boldness as I can muster, I walk downstairs and look around before I set out a cautious pace, wanting to keep my guard up this time. I’m no more than a quarter of a mile away when the car pulls up again on the other side of the road, this time just ambling along, matching my speed but not exceeding it. It is still too dark to catch a glimpse of the driver other than the fact he appears to be wearing some kind of a hoodie. Oh, this is great: some stupid, wandering barrio kid on the wrong side of town. As for the car, all I can tell is that it’s not new, but it appears to have a shape built for speed. It looks familiar and yet…I don’t know; I can’t say for sure.

I pass the newly built elementary school and reach a big, wide open park – no trees at all, other than the skinny little whippets they plant just so they can say they’re planting trees in a park. He comes at me then, that finely tuned machine of his almost on me before I know it. It was all a trap! A damned trap that I was stupid enough to fall into. He has me now and he knows it. I’m his to do with as he pleases: the open target, his pawn, the morning merriment for his twisted mind. Stupid imbecile that I am, I deserve to be run over like some worthless pile of cow dung present in the surrounding prairies.

In one lucky stumble, I manage to fall just ahead of the lurching car. Turning again, much faster than I would have expected, he’s on me, and I run in a zig-zag fashion to make it difficult for him to keep me dead center in his sights. He nabs me a couple of times. sending me to the ground, and my body starts wracking up wounds. Blood starts flowing freely from above my right eye and pours in, blurring my vision, my already erratic stumbling getting worse and worse. Hideous laughter pours out from the open window. He knows I’m his; whenever he decides it’s time, it’ll be over.

Lights from a car going up the hill flash on some sort of huge boulder, placed – for some unknown reason to me – in the middle of the field. I sprint for it, abandoning my zig-zag approach for now; I have to get there. It’s my only hope. Just before being swept under the front of the car, I reach the massive boulder and throw myself up on it.The car makes an almost painful, hideous sound as metal meets rock. the rock wins.

I rest for a few seconds, making sure I will have the energy to give this guy, whoever he is, what he deserves. Expecting him to be in some stage of shock after hitting the boulder as hard as he did, I’m surprised to see him pulling the car off the boulder. Not trying to pull it off, but actually doing it. Any macho thoughts of mine are totally gone now: I run out of the park for all I’m worth and take the shortest street to the railroad tracks that I can find. Once there, I’ll be a lot safer. As short as the street is, I reach the tracks and am crawling in between a couple of stopped rail cars when the car arrives.

” This time you were lucky! ” the driver shouts out. ” There will be a next time. ”

The rest of my run is in pain. I run past the huge microwave dishes and slip in through the security gates, heading straight for the shower. One look in the rest room mirror confirms what I already know: there isn’t a part of me that isn’t bruised, scraped, or cut. No shaving today. I hurt too much to mess with it.

The hot, soothing water runs down my body. I’m in no hurry to leave the comfort of the shower. Besides, I have to wait until the blood stops pouring down the drain.

” Give in to it. Let the pain go. You’ve endured enough.’

” Shut the fuck up! ” I holler.

The blood finally stops flowing and I get out of the shower. No one is here. What do I expect, anyway?

Oh, shit. Like I really need this. I almost get killed running to work, and now a voice, the same voice that I heard this morning in my garage, is talking to me at work. How much more of this can I take? I can see myself walking into the VA and telling them about phantom cars chasing me, voices telling me to just let go, and unseen monsters pushing down on my chest. Here comes the white padded room. No one can drive a car into there, though. I would be safe within the confines of the room: unless the monster pushed a wall down on me.

I sit down on a chair next to the shower and take a breather. This will not be an easy day: no rest last night and this morning’s escapade through the streets have gotten me to the point where i can hardly move. Blood starts flowing into my eye again. Shit! And that disgusting mold odor is in the room as well. I retch on the bile rising from my innards and just make it to the toilet on time, forced to crawl on my knees because I can’t stand up any longer. Everything lets loose. The acidic mess flows out, replaced by blood. My hands slip on the puke/ blood mixture on the toilet seat and I fall to the floor.

” You can’t get up, can you? You’re finished; you just won’t accept it.”

I refuse to answer this time. He’s goading me, pressuring me into giving in to his maniacal demands. Demands for what? If I give in, I’m dead. Forty years of pain and I’m going to quit now? I haven’t fought this long for nothing.

Once more, I drag my worn out carcass across the blood stained floor tiles toward the shower, the grout already a disgusting shade of brown from the fusion of blood. I have to take another shower, damn it! The last one was difficult enough. At least I hadn’t dressed before: my clothes would be a bloody mess by now.

Slower than before, I get into the shower, hugging the walls so I won’t fall down. Thank God the water is still hot and I can steal its rejuvenating powers. The blood stops flowing, and I get out again. It’s somewhat easier this time because my stomach’s not forcing me to barf, but the rest of the pain and the weakness is still there. No more voices this time, so I towel down, get dressed, and do a sort of hobble, stutter walk down the hallway to the shop. It’s a long walk – almost 100 yards through this cavernous area – but by hugging the wall, I make it to the door of my shop and slip my badge across the door security code device.

I walk in and plop down into my chair, leaving the light off. I need to rest for a while. No one else will be here for another hour yet: I’m always early. Maybe I can even catch a few winks.

” No sleep for you! ” the voice shouts.

Blood pours into my eye; unbearable pressure forces itself onto my chest, forcing me to gag on the blood coming from my throat; and I taste the mold before everything goes black.

Everything is swirling around me, a slow motion display of sights only visible to my left eye, my right eye still covered with blood. Nothing is as it should be: colors blend in with one another, there being no distinct boundaries; and the rigidity of firm objects takes on a fluid form, much as a rubber raft following the contours of an ever changing wave pattern beneath it, the ocean being its master. Closing my eyes does nothing to change the fabric of normalcy with yellow spots chasing blue ones around in random patterns, and then wham: a bright streak of red erases everything, only to have the senselessness resume. My mind is working hard to make some kind of connection with reality, but the fine line between sanity and insanity is close to being crossed.

It takes a major effort to breathe. Blood is still coming out of my throat. I gasp for air, choking with every attempt. Is this what it’s like to drown? : this suffocating feeling, the sense of helplessness, feeling as if every breath is my last. The only difference is that if I am drowning, it’s in my own blood and not in water.

” Easy now, fella. Just relax. Take it easy. We’re here to help you. Slow, easy breaths. C’mon. You can do it. ”

What the hell! What’s going on? I’m not alone, but who’s talking to me? I don’t recognize the guy’s voice.

I try to sit up so I can look around and see what’s happening, but I’m stopped by the pain and some sort of restraints.

” Don’t try to move, sir, ” a woman says. ” You’ll only bleed more. We’re taking you to the hospital now. No need for any worry. ”

My clothes are unbearably sticky from the dried blood. How long have I been unconscious? It must have been quite some time for the blood to have dried like this, and yet there’s a lot of moisture as well. Shit, that means fresh blood as well as the old.

I’m ready to ask some questions about where I’m going and what’s going to happen to me when that fucking odor returns. The pressure on my chest comes back and the blood comes pouring out again.

” Quick, we have to get him out of here! ” the woman hollers. ” Get moving! ”

We move through what appears to be a gauntlet of sorts, formed out of my co-workers. It’s difficult to recognize faces as we rush up the stairs, but some of the voices are familiar. Whereas just an hour or so ago I was the plaything of a deranged driver bent on my destruction, I will now be the fodder for conversation in the break room today. They will mean well, but sympathy is something I want nothing to do with. I’ve fought this shit for forty something years and can damned well face it in whatever form it wishes to attack me.

In just minutes, I’m loaded into the meat wagon and we’re on our way. People are scrambling all around and over me, giving me shots, wiping off blood, trying to keep my air passages clear, telling me things I can barely hear. The revolting stench of my tormentor has joined me. No one else seems to notice. Surely I can’t be the only one to smell his stench. The odor is horrendous and I know I would puke my innards out again if I had anything left inside. Dry heaves, interfering with my already labored breathing, are all I muster up for now. Thank God for that.

The ride to the hospital is a short one, and it doesn’t take long for us to wheel up to the emergency door entrance, where I’m rushed through the newly constructed, ‘ quick unload ‘ area and wheeled into the emergency room proper. I’m surrounded by white jacketed doctors, each one having his own special task, it appears. My body is poked, prodded, and humiliated in every way imaginable. My clothing is cut off and my naked body set on display for all to see. After a while, someone sees fit to throw some kind of covering over my genitals. It’s of minor concern at the moment, but a kind gesture nonetheless.

” Are you in pain, sir? ” some idiot whizzbang asks. ” Give me your number. ”

This is no time for math. Of course I’m in fucking pain. And how the hell am I supposed to answer anyone with all these things coming in and out of my throat? Stupidity to the max.

” Shit, man! ” someone else hollers out. ” Yes this man’s in pain. Look at him; he’s bleeding from everywhere. Have we gotten his medical records from the VA yet? ”

” Yes, sir.”

” What are his allergies? ”

” Only brussel sprouts, tartar sauce, and scallops. ”

” Damn, we’re not going to feed him. We’re trying to save his life. Medications, man. Any allergies? ”

” None. ”

” Then get the morphine going now! ”

I don’t know if they give me a morphine shot or just slip it into my IV. Regardless of how they do it, nothing is going to get rid of all this pain. The lights that are present everywhere in the emergency room aren’t much help, either. It’s like the deer in the headlight affect. Not only can I not see, but the light is increasing my headache pain. What a vicious cycle. All these cuts, salt from my perspiration pouring into them, add to the mix now. Up until now, they were of little concern, but it’s like everything is amplified, every part of my body connecting to some sort of central pain trigger where the intensity is forced to maintain, and then to spiral upwards, bringing new levels of pain to my tortured frame. The old tens now become eights. Yeah, I’ll give them a number alright: as soon as I get some kind of an idea of how much I can handle. My consciousness starts fading as my body starts jerking around on the gurney. What…

” Oh shit, we’re losing him! His signs are gone. I can’t read anything! ”

I can’t be going! The pain is still escalating. C’mon people! Wake up. Do something.

The paddles hover above my chest. I don’t know if they use them or not. Sudden, excruciating pain comes over me , taking away all my other senses. Pain is me. I am nothing else. We are one. All the rest leaves me…

Darkness. Almost, anyway. When my head is pounding – and it certainly is now – that’s the way I like it. However, there is enough light to see an assemblage of medical equipment, most of which I’ve never seen before. Flashing red, green, and other lights are everywhere, creating some weird, moving shadows. Other shadows and moving lights flash across the ceiling and on some of the other walls. I look at the opposite side of the room and find I’m in a private area of my own: at the end of the hospital where one can see the streets, the lights caused by sparsely moving traffic. It’s dark outside too. That means I’ve been unconscious all day. It’s nice they gave me a room with a view, but with any kind of luck, I’ll be out of here soon and won’t have much time to avail myself of the sightseeing opportunities.

Everything still hurts: not just my head, but my stomach, legs, throat – everything. My breathing is coming easier, though. Oxygen tubes have been shoved up my nose; they hurt too. They always hurt. Maybe it’s because I have a large nose, but the tubes always seem to slip to one side or the other. Nurses in the past have always given me hell for having this happen. Crap, it’s not like I deliberately do it. The fact I’m lying flat on my back with my neck in a convoluted position guaranteed to cause rather extensive stiffness isn’t helping with the overall situation, either. Maybe if I move a little bit to one side it will help things some.

Nurses come running into the room and check the equipment out. One looks over the top of everyone else and says, ” We thought we were losing you again. You must have pulled some of your connections loose. Glad to have you back with us. These last two weeks have been touch and go with you, my friend.”

Two weeks? I’ve been here for two weeks? That’s impossible. I just can’t comprehend it.

.

One of the nurses runs out and comes back with a grizzled old doctor who does the usual looking into my eyes thing, checking my pulse, and all the other things the nurses have already done. It seems like double dipping, but at least everyone’s being thorough.

” Back amongst the living, sir. I hope you stay that way, ” he says. ” How are you feeling? Can you talk yet? ”

Although it’s not easy, I manage to stumble out a few words, not that they sound too coherent. I’m having problems getting my mouth and brain to act on the same wavelength.

” Don’t talk anymore than you think you can handle, but how the hell did you manage to get into this condition? It looks as if you’ve been beaten, but with what and by whom? ”

This isn’t going to be easy to explain. Who’s going to believe my story? I can’t believe it myself. Chased up a rock by a deranged psycho with strength enough to toss a large car around; someone I can’t see pushing down on my chest; voices talking to me. Yeah, right.

” Hit and run, ” I say.

” Whoever did this looked as if he wanted you dead. ”

” Maybe, huh? ”

He shakes his head and walks towards the door, motioning for who I believe is the nurse in charge to come with him. The others put me back together again and depart as well, leaving me with one nervous looking young nurse. Something is on her mind. I’m not really in any kind of shape to question her on the matter, so I wait for her to get the courage to force it out.

” I really hate to ask you this, sir, but we’ve been having some problems getting information about you, ” she says.

What kind of information, I wonder. I vaguely remember them checking on the VA information. Yes, I remember it well: the whole food allergy versus the medicine allergy thing.

” What do you need? ” I ask.

” You’ve been here for two weeks and you haven’t had any visitors. None. Some of your co-workers have called, but…well, your wife…your wife hasn’t called or come down. Who makes the decision on what happens to you? I mean, she is your next of kin. Surely she cares about you.”

Shit! I should be used to this by now, but this is a new low, even for her. Two weeks and she hasn’t cared enough to visit or talk to the doctors.

I make my best effort to laugh, but I’m sure it comes up short. My being in here has given her more opportunity to pursue her other amorous adventures.

” You don’t know my wife very well.” That’s all I say. No need for anything else.

More nervous shuffling from my young nurse. ” Who decides, then?”

” I decide: if I don’t make it, give my body to science. I’ve already filled out paperwork. Ed at work is my power of attorney.”

” You knew your wife would act this way? ”

” I knew. ”

” I’m so sorry. No one should die alone.”

” Sometimes we don’t have a choice.”

She reaches down and gives me a kiss on the forehead. Her eyes are moist and she turns in a hurry to hide them.

Before she reaches the door, I say, ” Thanks for caring. ” She turns and winks at me, then leaves.

I’m left to the solitude of my room again. More time to think, to be alone while the pain whips around me. One thing about physical pain, though: it takes away some of the mental stress. It hurts to think that all a man has after sixty years of existence is suffering. As hard as I have battled the cancer inside me, winning three times before, it’s back again; this time it’s worse than before. I’ve always taken a different approach to fighting it, never going for chemotherapy, because..well, because that would have meant I would have been weakened and unable to provide for my family. They always came first, even my wife. I never considered allowing them to go into my skull and removing the tumors. Better to use my radical anti-oxidant, mega doses of garlic, and running beyond limits that a healthy man is supposed to be able to achieve. Yes, I used the testing equiptment at the VA to gauge my progress, even enduring the rocket engine like sound of the MRI machine while it probed and tortured. I did all of this and thought I was winning. Damn it! I will win!

” So you think you’re going to win, huh? You delusional fool. You are the fool of fools, the idiot of all idiots. They’re asking what to do with your worthless carcass. Would they do that to a man who had a chance of surviving? You’re going down, and you’re going down fast!”

The stench and the voice are back to attack my mind and my body. The pressure builds in my chest, reaching new levels of pain. His laughter escalates as I start flopping around on my bed, the machines hooked up to me going haywire. The oxygen tubes are jerked from my nose and the blood coming down joins that from my throat. My heart starts beating a crescendo of pain to match that of my head. I hear people pounding on the door trying to get in, but the door won’t open. The bastard has somehow managed to lock it. His hideous laughter threatens to break my eardrums and the stench seems to invade even the cuts and scrapes on my body.

Life drains from my body as the door finally opens. I try to talk, to tell them what’s happening. No words form…

The room becomes a hive of activity, people moving around in a blur, white coats blending in with the multicolored outfits the nurses wear: flowery tops; Looney Toon shirts; and some solid color outfits. All of this speed around me, yet I can barely move. I’m going down in a hurry. The abyss awaits; one little wrong move now and it’s all over.

Bright lights, cutting through the darkness of moments before, show more than I care to see. Blood is everywhere.The white jackets are covered from its spraying. Surgical gloves and masks are the doctors’ main line of defense from anything carried in it that might cause them harm. The defibrillators are back again, although this time they might be here for naught.

The doctor’s hands come down, the paddles taking forever to reach my chest, forcing me to writhe in agony with my present pain, yet at the same time preparing myself for the anguish to come. I’m slipping fast; and then the electricity shoots through me, causing me to arc up as if I’m ready to meet my maker. A few seconds and he zaps me again. This time my breathing becomes easier, but the pain is beyond comprehension. God, please: no more! Enough pain. My limit has been reached.

” He’s back, doctor,” one of the nurses says.

” I don’t know what’s holding him here,” he says. ” He can’t have anything left. It’s impossible. ”

A new bed is wheeled in, and as soon as the blood is removed from everything, I’m stripped down naked once more and they wash me as well. In a few minutes, the room looks pretty much as it did before this episode into the nearness of everything that could have been.

One by one, the doctors and nurses leave the room and near darkness returns, and with it, the ominous shadows casting their creative selves to the surrounding walls. A dancing light appears on the ceiling, holding still, pulsing with intensity. I am too exhausted to look outside to see what the source of its power might be. But the light beckons and I have to answer its call.

It’s the car! The one that tried to kill me when this whole mess started. It’s parked across the street by the parking garage, sitting in the shadow of the building. The hooded man is sitting on the roof of the killer machine, dangling his legs to the door handles. He looks my way, but he’s too far away to see his face. I’m not really sure I want to see his face. It must be an evil face. How could it be otherwise? With the torment he put me through, he…

Oh, my God! It all makes sense now. Or does it? My mind is spinning, trying to piece this insanity together. This man is the body behind the voice. They are one and the same. But how? What is happening? Have I gone completely stark, raving mad?

The machines start making a weird sound: a steady monotone. In no time, the room is filled again. The paddles come down; again and again. Nothing happens.

” What’s the time? ”

” 2: 34 A. M., doctor. ”

” He fought hard. ”

The doctor pats me on the shoulder and pulls the sheet over my head.

I lie there for a few seconds wondering what’s next. There is no light to walk to; nor are there any spinning black entities I might have expected. There is nothing. Only silence.

The car revs up and I rise to look at it. I understand now. For so long, I fought it. No more.

I leave the hospital and walk across the street to the car. The hooded man slides down and I stare into his face, a face that I did not expect to see. I look into the face of Death, and I see my face. I am Death. We join and become one.

The car: a gorgeous creation. In 1968, I owned this car, complete with red, orange, and yellow flames, sitting out against a black body. My car once more.

Death drives a ’68 Buick.

Artwork by Suesart

I didn’t remember how I came to be on my back, but when I realized the change I opened my eyes to find him there. Illuminating, with eyes that drank me in, I kept quite still as he leaned in. His eyes closed and moaned seductively. I wanted to touch him. I wanted him to extinguish the flames that burned deep within me and yet, I was scared. When I proceeded to do so his eyes glared hauntingly and growled.

His lips traveled faintly against my skin, leaving shivers where they touched my neck. He moved slowly, savoring every step as he worked down to my shoulder. I closed my eyes, the excitement building faster and faster, and then he stopped.

My eyes flew opened, I didn’t understand. He floated just above me, with his white shirt unbuttoned. A muscular chest, pale and glistening like diamonds laid before me. It was most breathtaking. I wanted to touch him, to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Slowly, I reached up. He growled softly, I paused. He closed his eyes and so I proceeded cautiously.

He was amazing, rock solid and cool to the touch. My fingers lightly traveled his skin leaving quivers where they had touched. Low and seductive his growls kept sounding from his throat. I continued to explore his body until he seized my wrist in an instant. Staring down at me, he brought it up to his mouth and began to lick. A pleasurable smile crept over his face and continued as if he were having something sweet. His tongue, so cold, soft and yet, so inviting I begged for more. I offered my other wrist to which he didn’t hesitate.

Such a feeling of want came from me. The urge that inflamed me begged for release.
Instinctively, it was if as if he read my mind and lay upon me. Passion consumed my soul to depths that I have never known existed. I relinquished myself to him; I would not let his hunger go unsatisfied.

Morning broke the night and with it, I rose. He was gone but not forgotten for he left his mark. I was his forever.

I feel my way through the murkiness, here and there something travels against my skin, sending my nerves to panic. I am being toyed with, a sport to which I find no folly in nor do I deem it sport, I wish thee death then I too will have the last laugh.

In the far distance a glow, out of nowhere appears. It’s brilliance captivates me and so I follow. It beacons me, not with words, but with the warmth it sheds, its beauty far beyond compare.

Brighter and brighter it grows. I stare into its orb, and become mesmerized by it so…ah…I shall follow you forever, I feel so safe within its light. Slowly we move, weaving side to side through the abyss…then pain.

My orb is not what it seemed. My orb a glowing monster with teeth like daggers and twice as sharp that tore through my skin, pierced every vessel, muscle and organ. My eyes widened as the pain spread through my body, rendering me motionless.

His eyes were dead, they had no heart, no feeling in them as they looked straight ahead, as if I never existed, as if I were not there… he continued to feed. Then, when finished, swam away and left my carcass or what was left for another day.

She breathes hard inside the confined space, flinching with every sound she hears. There is the sound of what seems like chains above her but it’s hard to be sure, even with her abilities. Occasionally a loud bang startles her and it’s everything she can do to stop herself crying out. She tightens her hands into fists, nails digging into bloody palms as again, noises far too close for comfort, follow one after another.

It won’t be long now.

She waits as patiently as she is able as she struggles to picture the scene above her. There appears to be more present above her than at first assumed. They talk to each other in insistent tones, noises and scrapings and rumbling, a cacophony of indistinguishable sounds, bookending each spat sentence like responses. She grinds her teeth together in an effort to contain the scream building within her, ignoring the pleasurable warm sensation of iron filling her mouth, overflowing her trembling lips.

He won’t be long now.

How long has it been since he left? She tried to count the hours but quickly became confused. His return. That’s all she’s had to cling to for as long she can remember. He promised he would return and she had no reason to ever doubt the sincerity of his words. He’d never lied. Not to her.

Motion now rocks her suddenly and a gasp escapes her bloody lips.

She feels movement starting down at her feet, a straining sensation pulling her legs heavenwards. She braces her feet against the wood beneath her soles, willing her body downwards, away from the irrepressible pull. It feels futile. She feels the blood rush to her head as her legs ascend then suddenly her upper body follows suit as the pull evens out, the same force lifting her up, unwilling to be denied it’s prize. She is aware that her body is once again level yet in motion, heading up to meet whatever awaits her upon the surface.

He’s not coming.

With the thought, a bloody tear escapes her eyelashes and streaks down her muddied cheek. If he ever had any intention to return now, it’s irrelevant for he’ll be too late.

The inevitability of what is to follow frightens her beyond rational thought. Shame fills her heart as for the first time she confronts the true depth of her cowardice. This was not how it was supposed to end. All dreams of a noble death seem to sluice from her mind’s eye. Not even the threat of pain would have caused the unbearable anguish of a disrespectful retiring, the impending sensation that she feels now. If it was love, if it was true and absolute love, as he had promised her existed between them, would he have allowed her to be expired in this way?

The voices are clear now. Some are shouting, others are laughing as the pull seems to speed up. It halts momentarily and she can feel her body rocking suddenly from side to side before slamming down still once more, as if they have deposited her back from where they found her, but her heart knows different. Her body leaps upwards from the jolt, her head hitting the wood in front of her, the pain slashing jagged stars across her field of vision. The grain of the wood in front of her swims in and out of focus and she shakes her head in order to clear it.

She is moving again, sideways this time. There is more laughter, words she recognises as mortal curses and occasionally a bang, though not as hard as previous, punctuate each curse. She is sobbing now despite the shame that has engulfed her love soaked heart. Her hands have moved upwards in the small coffin and taken hold of her face, her own touch the last comfort she is ever to know.

Chains, heavy chains thud down upon the lid outside as her movement sideways ceases and again, she is swaying from side to side. There is one voice now, speaking with a clear and judgemental tone, he seems to be preaching, punishing, yet she hardly hears the words, so loud now are her sobs. She cries for an interminable amount of time to pause briefly, suddenly, to realise there is only silence now. No talking, no anger, no preaching, no noise of any kind…and the pull releases at this given movement.

A sudden sensation of falling overwhelms her and she screams loud and true inside her wooden casket, her fangs bared for no one to see ever again, not her victims, certainly not her immortal lover who has forsaken her in her final hour of need. The drop is short and the hard waiting watery arms of the pacific ocean catch her with as much gentility as it has shown the many destroyed and discarded remnants of vessels that litter the shoreline. She will now join their number, a vessel set sail into the murky waters against it’s will to be eternally forgotten, buried in a watery grave.

She wonders how long her death will take, recalling the many horror stories her immortal sire and lover had told by a fire on many nights. She wonders why even though she has no capacity nor need to breathe why it has suddenly grown stiflingly claustrophobic within her once beloved coffin. She wonders what her lover will imagine has occurred when he happens upon her empty grave. She wonders if the fear she feels could be anything like what she has put her hundreds of victims through before her lover taught her there were other ways to exist.

She wonders if it was love she ever truly felt at all.

Feeling the electrical anticipation of the feed, he lofted to a door on a second story balcony—leading directly to his quarry. It was locked, but the mere desire for it to be open was all one of Nebuchadnezzar’s power needed to make it so… and being invited? Such was but… superstition—by the young and inexperienced of his kind. Entering silently, he was greeted immediately by the overwhelming scent of the blood! That heady, intoxicating nectar that was life itself! Satiation at hand, he—

“Nezzy?”

Nebuchadnezzar, startled, realized he’d closed his cape in the door, and as he’d begun to descend on his pray, it tore, alerting the old man. But even more amazing—he’d been recognized!?!…

“Nezzy!” the old man repeated—rising spryly for one so ancient for his kind. “It is you! My god, you have literally not changed a bit since college…”

And then it clicked—Marty Frischler… from nearly 50 years earlier, the last time Nebuchadnezzar deigned to spend time as if yet mortal.

“Marty!” he said, retracting his fangs and smiling awkwardly. “Hey, you haven’t—I mean… you look good!”

“Boy, this brings it back, doesn’t it!” Marty barked out an abrupt laugh—then sobered immediately. “Wait a minute… you’re going to eat me, aren’t you?”

Nebuchadnezzar blinked back his surprise. “Eat you!? I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”

“Oh, cut the crap, Nezzy… I’ve always know you were a vamp. I mean, it was pretty hard not to know…”

“You knew?!”

“Bollocks! We all knew!”

“But… how?”

“For starters, you never came out except at night.”

“Well, come on,” Nebuchadnezzar replied, incredulously; “sleeping all day? It was college after all…”

“Yeah, alright, I’ll give you that one… but you scheduled all your classes at night… and none of us ever—and I mean not EVER—saw you drink so much as a beer…”

“Pfff! So what the he—”

“AND…” Marty cut him off, “you almost died that time we ordered a pizza with garlic on it.”

“Um… allergic?”

“At our parties, you always went off with whichever girl was drinking the most—and then you came back drunk.”

“So it never occurred to you that we might have been… otherwise occupied?”

“Not after we realized they all ended up at the medical center the following morning with anemia…” Marty shrugged. “It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see what you were.”

“Speaking of which, what did you end up going into?”

Rocket science.”

“Ah…” With a confidant flourish of his cape, Nebuchadnezzar waved the argument away. “But all you’ve said—it proves nothing!”

“You cast no reflection in mirrors.”

Nebuchadnezzar considered… “Hmm… that’s a pretty good one…” Coming up empty, he said, “Well, alright. Yes, you’re absolutely correct. And as nice as it is running into you, I’m going to have to drink you anyway. Nothing personal.”

“No, just your nature, I understand… but—well, I wonder…?”

“Yes?”

“It’s just that my granddaughter is just in the next room, and—”

“You’re offering me your granddaughter!?” Nebuchadnezzar stumbled back, aghast. “You sick bastard!!”

Marty gazed back at the vampire, an expression of sheer innocence on his face… then, suddenly, Nebuchadnezzar noticed a twinkle in the old man’s eyes.

“Wait a minute!”

“Whooooo-eee!” Marty cried, doubling over with laughter, slapping his knees with both hands. “I never thought you’d buy that! You always were so gullible!”

“Oh, I am so going to kill you!”

“I know, I know—but promise me you’ll leave her alone,” said Marty, abruptly serious. “My granddaughter? You see, because I know there are… your kind out there, I have her drink a glass of holy water every day. She’d be like poison to you.” Slumping in defeat, he sighed. “But I’m an old man. I’m ready to go anyway.”

At last, Nebuchadnezzar thought, slowly closing the distance between himself and his college chum… tilting the old man’s head back to expose the jugular—feeling the coursing of the blood, as if his own heart still beat… his fangs grazing over the flesh lightly—

“Hold on, hold on just a minute here!” The vampire again withdrew suspiciously. “You fed holy water to her, but didn’t drink it yourself?!”

Marty began to chuckle. “Heh, heh, heh… busted!”

“I can’t believe this…”

“Oh, it’s all in fun—I’d have told you,” Marty insisted. “Let me make it up to you—how about the next door neighbor?”

“No—I don’t trust you now.”

“Aw, come on! I hate that guy… plays his music loud all the time, his dog is always chasing my cats…”

“I don’t believe you,” Nebuchadnezzar replied, walking back toward the door to the balcony. He turned suddenly to confront the old man once more. “And—I’m not eating anyone until I get the hell out of this town!…”

And he was gone.

“Grandpa?”

Marty turned to see his granddaughter, Lizzy, peering in the door from the inner hallway. “Lizzy, sweetheart, what are you doing up?”

“I heard your friend…”

“Did you now?” He settled back into his chair, and opened his arms in invitation. Lizzie quickly ran over and crawled into his lap.

“Was he really a vampire?”

“Well… I’m afraid so…”

“But you used to know him? A long time ago?”

“That’s right.”

“How come he didn’t know you were Jewish? Doesn’t he know we don’t believe in ‘holy water’?”

“Hm!” Marty half chuckled, glancing toward the door Nebuchadnezzar had disappeared through. “I guess he forgot.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

Marty smiled. “Oh, I hope so, sweetheart… I hope so…”

© 2010 Mishka Zakharin

He was already in character, deciding to simply jump into his tale without the typical buildup or reflection. It was not unheard of to begin in such a fashion, but it drew the ire of some in the background, feeling disrespected, or worse, ignored. There were many who had been harboring such feelings from his very introduction to the group; however, if he knew of it, he behaved as if it were insignificant, which succeeded in making their furor worse.

Reluctantly, they took their positions and did their level best not to make their disdain for him so painfully obvious. In the end, as usual, whether they liked it or not, they found themselves so drawn into the telling that they could not pull themselves out again before the payoff.

“I pulled into my parking stall late that first night and shut off the car. We don’t have a parking lot, just a few spaces in the alley: there’s only eight units in the complex anyway, so we don’t need much. I drive a 98 Mustang convertible; yellow with black lines and when I opened the door, something caught my ear.”

“Hannah.”

“It sounded very otherworldly, as if I heard it, but not really. More like I felt it. I thought someone was crying, and then realized that that wasn’t it, it was somebody calling. However, when I stopped to listen, it was gone. I stood there in the dark for a while to see if it’d come back, but it didn’t. I was tired and hungry, so I probably only gave it a few seconds before I finally turned and headed for my apartment.”

“I didn’t hear it again until the next night. I had just pulled into my spot and cut the motor.”

“Here, Hannah.”

“It scared the shit outta’ me! I must’ve been daydreaming or something. I even checked the back seat. That’s how close it was.”

“C’mon, Hannah. Come to big sister. Hannah?”

“So I jumped out of the car to see whether I might be able to catch them this time. I wasn’t thinking about ghosts or anything…”

The spinner of the tale paused a moment, slipping out of character. “I know. I love that, too,” he said, directing the comment to some of those who laughed.

He quickly climbed back into character and continued.

“I was just curious. Anyway, I could hear the voice as clearly as my own thoughts, but I couldn’t see anyone.”

“Hannah? C’mon, girl. Hannah?”

“It just kept taking me deeper and deeper into the alley and away from my building. There’s not much lighting back there either, so I was starting to get more than just a little spooked.”

Another pause and more laughter ensued.

“Here, Hannah. Here, Hannah.”

“Finally, I stopped. I glanced back toward the building in order to judge the distance. I never heard another thing that night, but it stayed with me. I didn’t get a wink of sleep. The last time I looked at the time it was 3:07 am. I forced myself to roll over and quit staring at the clock after that, so I don’t know what time it was before I finally fell asleep; it was a while, though. I know that. I sure paid for it the next day at work, let me tell you.”

“The next day was a blur. All that I could think about was whether I might once again hear that mysterious voice in the alley. I didn’t even have the stereo on when I drove home that next night, and I usually have it cranked; that’s how committed I was to getting to the bottom of all of this. I didn’t even wait to completely pull into my spot before cutting off the motor. Hell, I may have even jumped out of the car before it had finished rolling forward. Who knew?”

“Unfortunately, all of my best efforts proved fruitless because there was no one in the alley and no nearby activity. I was alone and felt like a damned fool. I remember shaking my head in disgust as I made the slow walk up to my apartment.”

“A voice suddenly came out of nowhere.”

“Excuse me, Sir,”

“Where she came from, I’ll never know! I just spun around. But as I did, my short-term memory kicked in and I knew who it was. It was the same damn voice I had been chasing in and out of the shadows for the past two nights. I couldn’t believe I was hearing it now. But there it was; there she was.”

“Excuse me, Sir,”

“She called me ‘sir’. Can you believe that? I could see she was a little young, seventeen or eighteen, but ‘sir’, I don’t think so! I’m not that much older. Okay, maybe twelve years, but that’s it. She said hello to me with a sweet smile. Man, was she pretty! Nice skin; not too dark, not too fair. And there was a lot to look at with the bare midriff and the tiny shorts that nearly revealed the entire leg.”

“I’m, Audrey. I’m looking for my cat.”

“I asked her whether her cat’s name was Hannah and she appeared surprised. She didn’t know the strength of her own voice, I guess.”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Well, of course it was because she had been driving me half out of my mind for three days, but I didn’t tell her that. I just told her that I had heard her calling for her”

“Him, she corrected me.”

“Him? I asked and she started blushing.”

“My baby sister named the cat a long time ago. She was too young to understand gender and I was too young and childish and spending too much time watching Hannah Montana. I suppose it’s my fault, ultimately. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t. What does he look like?”

“They’re called Ginger cats: orange and white.”

“I was promising to keep an eye out for the cat when a set of headlights belonging to a police car that was pulling into the alley distracted me. When I looked back at the girl, she was gone again. Disappeared, just like that into thin air, like the saying goes. I about freaked! I must have glanced around for her madly because the police car pulled right beside me and the officer studied me for a while.”

“Hello, I remember sighing.”

“Live around here?”

“Yes, Sir. I just moved in.”

“Seen any suspicious activities?”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been watching you for a while now and you were acting a mite suspicious.”

“I remember just staring at him. I was standing in an alley, talking to a young woman. We were only talking!”

“You looked like you were waiting to hook up. Got something cookin’?”

“I was flabbergasted! I come home every night, haunted by some girl calling for her cat. I finally meet her, only to have her disappear almost as mysteriously as she appeared. Then a cop shows up out of the blue and accuses me of suspicious activities. I’m just looking to get some dinner in me so I can go to bed. He must have noticed me growing upset because his expression changed.”

“Relax, buddy. I’m just asking. It is rather late.”

“Yes, it is.”

“But there was someone. Right?”

“He looked me straight in the eye and asked. I felt like his eyes were boring a smoking hole into my forehead and beginning to probe my brain. The only things missing were the box interrogation room, a two-way mirror and Andre Braugher from Homicide: Life on the Streets, staring me in the face. Anyway, I was tired, so I just let it all out. Alright, officer, here’s the thing. For the past few nights, I’ve been hearing some girl calling out for her lost cat. I tried to find her, but I never could. Tonight, I finally found her. Actually, she found me, but that’s not the point. I spoke to her for a little while, but she disappeared on me again just as you pulled up!”

“His expression changed yet again. This time I thought that I had made him angry, as if I had gone too far.”

“You spoke to a girl who was looking for her cat?”

“Yes.”

“Hannah, right?”

“I tell you I just bet my jaw dropped when he said that. I was starting to feel like a character in the Martian Chronicles or something. Like the whole town was against me, watching and planning elaborate schemes to play on me. Either that or Alan Funt was hiding behind a row of cars with hidden cameras a dime a dozen. Then the cop jumped out of his patrol car and whipped out his flashlight.”

“Short blonde hair; always running her hands through it.”

“I stepped out of his way and let him pass. I vaguely remember doing it as his knowledge of the turn of events continued to stagger me. He walked a little way down the alley, and then turned back. I didn’t have clue-one as to what the man was doing, so I didn’t say a word. I just watched him. He turned off the light and put it back through the ring holder for it on his belt.”

“I attempted to answer him, but he wouldn’t give me a chance. He just kept talking. The words were coming out of his mouth as if he were unable to stop them.”

“Cold out, but she’s wearing, let me see…a bare midriff tee-shirt, shorts, white shoes, no socks.”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“He just watched me for a while and waited. It was as if he was surveying me, studying my expression to see if he could find a crack to start pounding away to see if I’d rat out my friends and tell him who killed Kennedy and where Hoffa was buried.”

“This isn’t bullshit, is it?”

“No! Who the hell makes up a story like that?”

“You’ve just spoken to Audrey! He said and sighed.”

“Audrey. Yeah, that was her name.”

“Not, Audrey. The Audrey!”

“The Audrey? What the hell does that mean?”

“She’s our ghost!”

“What? I’m tired as hell, but I know a real life, living and breathing person when I see one!”

“Trust me. We have a ghost. She’s not spotted very often. In fact, I’m surprised you saw her at all. And to actually talk to her, that’s something else entirely. I wish it would have been me! I’ve been hoping to catch a glimpse of her for years. There’s not much else to keep you awake in a quiet city like this on the graveyard shift.”

“C’mon, officer! You’ve got to be kidding me! There’s no way that the girl I just talked to was a ghost. There’s just no way!”
“I know it sounds like horseshit…”

“Sounds like it?”

“Look, Audrey McNeal was a runaway. She disappeared sometime in the summer about thirty years ago.”

“Thirty? This girl wasn’t thirty!”

“Of course she wasn’t thirty! She was only seventeen when she disappeared! She hasn’t aged! Some say she was kidnapped by perverts, but I don’t think so.”

“What about the cat?”

“Well, see, that’s my point. The kidnapping theory-people can’t explain it. All of their answers differ. But that’s what makes her a runaway in my book. You see, I think it’s some kind of psychological thing. She ran off, and God knows how she ended up, but now, in death, it’s the cat who was the one who ran off, not her. Hannah abandoned Audrey, not the other way around.”

“At this point, I think I was the one who was staring at him now.”

“Doesn’t it make perfect sense? The girl can’t cope with the blame for her fate. She’s somehow either forgotten what happened or repressed the entire thing. Anyway, she’s evidently in limbo looking for a cat that’s long gone. That’s some punishment just for running away, don’t you think?”

“But aren’t you just giving her a little too much credit? I mean, if she’s a ghost, does she still have the ability to think and to repress events if she feels so inclined?”

“The officer became lost in introspection for an instant, but that was all.”

“You bring up a good point.”

“I thought I had his bullshit by the maggots. I even felt victory for a second, but it was fleeting.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot explain the condition of her state. However, I can the result. What I’ve described to you are the facts as I’ve come to piece them together over the years, from every source willing to discuss it with me; there’s not many, you know.”

“People don’t like to talk about it?”

“Sure don’t.”

“I thought this was rather odd, but I didn’t dwell on it long. Instead, I tried another approach. Well, if I see her tomorrow, I’ll ask her what she thinks. Goodnight. Then I tried to make good my escape.”

“Wait! You can’t talk to her!”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t risk it!”

“What risk?”

“You don’t understand! Audrey isn’t safe!”

“So! I’ll use a condom!”

“My poor attempt at humor caused a very ugly look to crawl upon his face. He frowned suddenly and made a move to put a hand on me. I remember I didn’t expect that, and I’m not really sure what I would’ve done had he gone through with it and got rough. Luckily, I didn’t have to do anything. Something stopped him. I don’t know what it was, but I was grateful. Man, I actually saw anger flash across his eyes there for a second like lightening across an Oklahoma horizon. As long as I live, I’ll never forget that look.”

More laughter ensued. Even some of those who hated the speaker with a passion that they had not known in this life found it difficult to not join in with the rest.

“Anyway, I wasn’t ready for it, you know. I’m still a stranger in this town. How do I know what they do to people they don’t like? It’s a small place: maybe they take ‘em out by the river and make ‘em disappear like Audrey did. Who knows, right?”

“If you thought the first story I told you was something, then you’re definitely going to love this next one.”

“To tell you the truth, I could have cared less! I’m just glad he was talking again and making peaceful. I was too tired for anything else.”

“Anyway, he was right; I didn’t believe him, and I obviously wasn’t gonna’ to be buying this next one either. But I let him take his shot at it anyway.”

“As the story goes somebody named Olsen happened upon Audrey about twenty years ago. It got to be kind of an obsession with him. He started missing work, staying up ’til dawn, sleeping during the day; the whole nine yards. They say he began to look like a ghost himself, after awhile. Sometime after his wife had had enough and had taken the children and left him, Mister Olsen finally found his ghost again. Well, the reason I’m warning you, though it sounds ridiculous as hell is because she attacked him.”

“So I said that he’d ended up getting what he wanted after all, but that apparently was not what the officer wanted to hear, either. I thought he was going to try and grab me this time for sure. He stepped close, looked around nervously and whispered something you wouldn’t believe.”

“She sucked his soul!”

“And that’s when he finally grabbed me. He had these thick black gloves on. I bet they were warm inside, but they were sure as Hell freezing on the outside. And they had a hold of me good, too! I was about fifteen seconds away from kneein’ him in the family jewels and yellin’ for help. Luckily for both of us, some resemblance of sanity suddenly seemed to return to his face.”

“The way the story goes. She sucked the life out of him.”

“Sucked the life out of him? Give me a break! What was incredible though, was, here was a man who although a Police Officer, a servant of the community, had only known me for fifteen minutes, but was absolutely frightened for me. So, that’s when I realized that my sarcasm was better suited for the re-telling of the story, not the listening. Brilliant, huh? She did what? I asked him, sounding genuinely interested. I knew I had to be convincing. I just couldn’t suddenly act like a smitten schoolgirl, feigning interest with her boyfriend while he explained the difference between defensive linemen, linebackers and defensive backs, you know. And I was good because he bought it. He let go of me and then finished his story.”

“She drained him of his essence. I don’t know how she did it, but she did. When they found him the next morning, he was nothing more than a husk. He spent the rest of his days over in Kingsview.”

“Of course, I didn’t need an explanation as to what ‘Kingsview’ might be. As long as this cop knew, that was all that mattered. Somebody should call and make reservations for you right now buddy, I remember thinking.”

“He died just a few years later. Broken spirit, I guess.”

“It must’ve been, I agreed with him. I guess it was a successful snow job because a sudden calm washed over him. He stepped away and seemed to catch his breath, so I waited for a few seconds and then tried to make my escape. Look, officer…”

“Officer Clark. Officer David Clark.”

“Okay, Officer Clark. I know that I haven’t been too appreciative with what you have tried to do. I mean, you don’t even know me, and yet you have put yourself out on a limb by telling me all about Audrey and the danger. I won’t lie to you: the story’s fantastical, and I am having trouble with it, but I do thank you. I stepped toward him and extended my hand. I’m very sorry.”

“That’s alright, he said, reaching for my hand. But as his gloved right hand touched mine, the cold rayon or polyester or whatever it was sent my hand retreating. Man, it was freezing! Anyway, we looked up at each other and started bustin’ up. It was the perfect ending for a perfect night, if you know what I mean. Of course, I didn’t tell good Officer Clark that. Anyway, he finally headed back to his car.”

“I’m sorry, but your gloves are freezing!”

“So I understand, he smiled and said, climbing back into his patrol unit. Next time I see you, I’ll take them off.”

“Finally, he was gone. I waved him off and then quickly went home. I slammed a sandwich down my throat and went to bed.”

“The next night was Saturday and I was off. I just took it easy. I watched some TV, munched on some cheese and crackers washed them down with a beer, then took a nap, waiting for after dark. I wasn’t frightened by Officer Clark’s bullshit about sucking souls, and I certainly didn’t believe that Audrey was a ghost, yet, I just couldn’t help being curious about seeing Audrey again.

“I ended up falling asleep. The best laid plans of mice and men, right! Well, actually it probably turned out to be the best because even at two in the morning, I could still hear people hanging around outside by the pool, having some drinks. I didn’t have to wait long, though. Soon I was outside, back in the alley.”

“Here, Hannah.”

“The voice was suddenly right behind me. I spun around and there she was.”

“Here, Hannah… Oh, hello.”

“She apparently had not seen me either. Hi, Audrey, I said. I’m surprised I got that much out. Audrey was standing there all right, but not like she was the night before. She was wearing the smallest fitting sweater and a pair of low rise jeans that fit like a second skin…”

Now the entire room seemed to explode with laughter.

“Anyway, I was stunned. What happened to Officer Clark’s story about her being in the same shirt and shorts she’d been wearing every day for the past thirty years? It looked like I was proved right, but the funny thing was, I guess I was just a little surprised. Maybe a part of me really wanted to believe the story about her after all! No luck finding Hannah, huh?”
“Nope, I can’t seem to find him. I hate to give up on him, but he’s been gone a long time. The town’s small, and still pretty quiet, but it’s still not safe in the world these days for a girl to be out this late.”

“You know, that’s very smart thinking. It isn’t safe these days. But it could be worse: I’m from Phoenix, I should know!”

“You’re right. I think I’ll probably just forget it and go back inside.”

“When she did finally turn to go, she allowed me to accompany her home.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Yes, I know. You called me ‘sir’ the other night!”

“Audrey giggled and apologized. You looked older in the dark, she said. I can see that I made a mistake.”

“That’s okay, I’m Max.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Max.”

“It’s nice to meet you again, Audrey. I’m new here and it gets lonely when you don’t know anybody. I stopped her as we reached the grass that led to her place and re-phrased what I had said to her. I don’t mean for that to sound so serial killer-ish. What I meant was that it gets boring if there isn’t anyone to talk to, you know, that’s all. You can only watch so many reality shows.”

“That’s okay, she said. I didn’t take it any other way.”

“I shook her hand briefly and wished her a good night.”

“She wished me a goodnight as well and I headed for home. Unfortunately, I never made it. I found myself half-blinded by headlights again. I knew who it was. It could not have been anyone else; not the way my luck had been running. I walked up to the car and by the time I could see again, I saw the passenger door open. I stopped and waited to see if anyone was getting out. Eventually, I took it as my clue that I was supposed to get in. Hey, Officer Clark, I said. How’s it going?”
“He just stared at me without saying a word.”

“Something wrong?”

“I thought I told you to stay away from Audrey? I thought you understood?”

“C’mon, Officer…”

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t need any more of this, so I grabbed the door and started to get out. I got about half-way before a big cold hand grabbed me and pulled me back in.”

“Did I tell you to get out?”

“I tried to fight him off, I tried to speak, but I was so cold all of a sudden that I lost my train of thought. I thought of Audrey. What happened to your story about Aw-dree being a ghost? Suddenly, I was losing the ability to speak.”

“I was so cold! It felt for a moment like my arm was on fire. Let go my arm! I think you really done s-something to me now, it’s starting to h-hurt! Yes, my ahm! Don’t just ook at it, et me go! You got some k-kind of problem or what?”

“Not at all.”

“Can y-you let g-go?”

“Not quite yet.”

“Not q-quite yet, what the h-hell does..? Oh, G-God! It’s s-so c-cold. Y-your h-hand. I’ss r-really s-sar-ing to b-bur mme.”

“Just a while longer yet and it won’t hurt ever again. However, first let me explain that Audrey isn’t a ghost. I am.”

“Is that when you sucked him?” one of those up in front interrupted.

“Yes, but it wasn’t quite over yet.”

“Sorry,” he quickly apologized.

He waved it off, attempting with some difficulty to maintain his position in the story. “That’s okay. Anyway, he tried to pull my cold fingers off of his arm, but by then the process was already complete and he just fell lifeless.”

“I love the way, though, that the point of view has changed,” He continued to interrupt. “At first you were a character to Max, now Max is a character to you!”

“Ah, yes. Anyway, he said to me… Um, I said to him… Oh, Hell! I can’t remember where I was!”

“Take it easy,” another said. He stood against a wall at the back of the room. He was much older and wiser, and the most senior arch demon amongst the throng of ghosts and demons present. “It will come to you. This is often the case with human stories. When interrupted enough times, especially near the end, you often become confused between your role and your role as seen through the eyes and ears of the husk before the drinking of the soul.”

“Okay, I’ve got it. Max looked down at his arm as the last of the warmth left his body. Well, he didn’t have much choice in the matter: his neck, too weak to support his head simply fell limp. All he could do at that point was move his eyes. Anyway, I think he understood what had happened. Just in case, I leaned over his husk after I pulled him out of the car and whispered to him, setting my now warm red lips over his right ear: Max, what I said about sucking souls was true. I just sucked yours!”

“You didn’t tell him that!”

“Yes, I did, Poltergeist.”

“Cruel bastard!”

“I promised you I’d remove my gloves the next time we met, I reminded Max. Unfortunately for you, Max. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t know that the sucking of souls takes place through contact with bare skin.”

“That’s when his eyes started to lose their final luster and became that dull stare. I knew he couldn’t hear me after that. Well, he could, but there wasn’t much he could do with it. I know the institutions think they can get stuff out of the husks we send them, but they can’t. They’re just fooling themselves! Anyway, I just leaned him up against his car and drove off into the night.”

Among them, there arose a question.

“Yes, young demon?” the teller of the tale asked.

“Is that the end?”

“Well, not quite. I did do something that you might’ve been rather proud of, Poltergeist.”

“What’s that?”

“Hannah. I retrieved the dead cat out of the trunk and tossed its stiff little body in the husk’s lap before I left. You should’ve seen the look on Audrey’s face next morning when she heard the ruckus as a crowd formed to see the sight. She walked over, the crowd parted to let her through, she screamed at the top of her lungs. It was great!”

James Garcia Jr.

Also by James Garcia Jr. Dance on Fire