Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor Page 6

  "Ah ha!” Zork muttered triumphantly. Grunting, it shifted around again. “Can you tell if they’re suspicious?”

  “Aren’t they supposed to be?”

  The slug’s bottom half slid up on top of the table. Or was it a tail? Two small round dots were stuck to the end of the appendage. Zork dropped them on the table. Harold watched as Zork wrapped an eyestalk around the sugar jar at the table and firmly crushed the two bugs with it.

  Zork saw Harold’s face. “You should see what I can do with this in bed.” It pulled its mouth open to reveal those long, needle teeth and Harold didn’t think he really wanted to know.

  Zork sat back, “So what are you in for?”

  “I got picked up for assault. Got me in the act.”

  “Sucks for you.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Harold muttered, eyeing the two feds at the bar, “I could have gone to the slammer.”

  The slug blew out from a set of air holes on the side of its body, making a soft blubbering sound. “You don’t want to go. I’ve been and it’s no cake walk.”

  “Is that why you’re in FEBs,” he leaned forward, “and why you’re hanging out with government agents?”

  “Long story,” the slug whispered, looking over Harold’s shoulder at the G-men, “the short of it, I’m from outer space. Get used to it.”

  Harold snorted. He grinned at the creature. “You’re a space slug.”

  “Yep,” Zork said. It lifted the coffee mug with an eyestalk to take a sip.

  “Well?”

  “What? I can’t tell you the whole messy story. If I did, they’d have to kill you. Besides, we have about five minutes of uninterrupted conversation before my escorts realize I’ve crushed their bugs again. Maybe less. So get talking.”

  Harold leaned back. “I don’t know what to say.” He didn’t really. His mind was still stuck on “space slug.”

  “I’m in FEBS as a kind of parole. The touchy-feely guy, Donald, claims a one hundred percent success rate for members. Says he can make anyone better. Get rid of the unnatural urges to eat and drink humans.”

  “Do you think he can?” Harold asked. He hadn’t paid much attention to the reading material presented to him. One hundred percent cure rate… Was it possible?

  “Those that graduate don’t come back. ’Course it’s possible they just decide to quit and leave the zip code. They,” Zork gestured to the men at the counter, “have been watching Donald’s progress with the group and seem to approve of his results. It’s why they’ve stuck me in the program. It’s conditional on my being able to move about fairly easily in public.”

  Harold glanced at the two G-men straining their heads over the crowded booths to watch him and Zork. He hadn’t really considered it possible to go back. Since he realized he was a vampire, he’d sort of adjusted. Dropped out of sight, got a different job and kept on living anyway he had too.

  “So anyone know you got into the program?”

  “Yeah, my girl. She said I’ve been out of control lately.” Harold sighed now that they were on the topic of Maria.

  Zork let out one harsh grating bark of laughter. “Does she think this is something you can get rid of… Sounds like a normie to me.”

  “I tried explaining I need blood to survive. She thinks it’s a choice.”

  Zork’s eyes nearly popped out of their stalks. “She’s one of them. That is a real conflict of interest. She must be what you people call hot.”

  “It is not a conflict of interest. You’re the only person at this table who isn’t human. I’m dealing with a severely life-altering condition. You are apparently from outer space.”

  “She’s hot. I’ve got to see this girl. Is she as stupid as she is pretty or does she just make you stupid?“

  “We're changing the subject now.”

  “Did I hit the wrong button?”

  “Maria is very smart.”

  “So it’s the latter then?”

  The waitress came over to pick up the slug’s plate. She asked Zork if it needed the coffee reheated. It said no and invited her to warm up its spots. The waitress glared at the both of them, including Harold in her low estimation of the booth occupants. She stalked away with the slug watching her every move before turning back to Harold.

  “Look, I’m okay with who I am. This is just a gig to keep me out of a cold dark cell for the rest of my natural life. You seem to have a couple issues. Maybe you ended up here on purpose.”

  Harold felt the insidious urge to roll his eyes at the slug, the way he used to as a kid getting a lecture. Those days were long ago, and certainly not something he wanted to revisit. “Oh yeah, I ended up a vampire on purpose too.”

  “You said, your girl thought you were out of control. Are you?”

  Harold flashed on the night of his arrest. The first time it ever happened… Yet, it could be a sign. The late nights, staying out till nearly dawn pushed the limits enough. Getting sloppy and letting a guy sneak up from behind and Taser you while eating a meal meant certain death. Perhaps the same way that Zeke ended up in the hospital. When did he start thinking of people as meals?

  Harold didn’t think of Maria quite the same way, but a guy on the street, sure, that was lunch. A no name human he not only nearly killed, but scared the living daylights out of at the thought of him. Harold didn’t used think about this stuff. He wanted to go back to things the way they were and forget about the feds and dead people and changing. It wasn’t fair.

  “I had a bad experience earlier.” Harold rubbed his face. “This is giving me a headache.”

  The two G-men came over from their place at the bar. They had their hands to their earpieces and didn’t look too happy. Zork showed teeth to the both of them with a visible shrug of its body.

  “Those listening devices are expensive,” Agent Bergstrom said to him. The other took a small baggie out of his jacket pocket and slid the crushed remains of the bugs into it.

  “You can’t blame a slug for wanting to have a personal conversation.”

  “It’s time to go. We’ve paid the bill,” the agent said. He didn’t leave any room for argument and Zork seemed to know not to push its luck. A soft grunt escaped and Zork slid out of the booth.

  Harold laughed without thought when he saw the slug had been sitting in a booster seat. Zork’s eyestalks turned back. “You can bite my slimy grooves,” it said before continuing down the side of the booth and onto the floor. Zork slimed away between the two G-men muttering about everything on the planet being designed for humans. The waitress sidestepped Zork’s slime trail and picked up the mucous covered booster seat with a small disgusted noise.

  After a few minutes he stood up to leave, throwing a few bills on the table for a tip. The air outside chilled him to the bone. He welcomed it for the mere chance to experience something other than the anxiousness that plagued him these past few days. Harold walked the streets with an empty stomach. He should grab a bite to eat.

  It felt like everyone knew about him. A woman walked by, hand in hand with her child. Her hair lay parted on the side, a scurried look about her that most mothers tended to acquire this time of year. In her other hand she held a large bag from Marc’s local grocery and a purse dangling from its strap, in danger of being stolen. They made eye contact and he looked away first.

  Others passed on by him, many of which met his eyes and looked away. They all knew, they were thinking it in their minds. Coward, coward. Perhaps a few of them were G-Men like the ones following Zork, only now following him. Was he to be under surveillance for the rest of his life? How long would the government persist in following him if that were the case? Fifty years? One hundred? Hundreds? In the end, his only chance at freedom might be entering into some stupid program the way Zork had… but he had already done that.

  Donald claimed to have a hundred percent success rate and the government evidently believed him because they put Zork in the group. Harold smiled a little. He couldn’t see Zork gaining much benefit from bei
ng in FEBS, if it really was from outer space. Can’t fix another species, so there goes Donald’s one hundred percent success rate.

  Harold continued to move through the jostling, maddening crowd with their blood pulsing and pumping. All of it moving incredibly fast, everyone nervous, eager even for the upcoming holiday. Harold hadn’t looked forward to a holiday in over forty years. After he’d turned, he’d been so caught up in adjusting, trying to figure out how to survive in the new world he’d not really noticed the special holidays, except as moments of pain and a time to think about the family he no longer had, a practice best avoided. Then, he’d gotten so out of the habit he didn’t even celebrate the holidays. It was always something the others did.

  Maria mentioned something about celebrating the holidays together this year. Holidays were big in her family. They were long, couple month celebrations for a large, Catholic family. She’d been nagging him continually in fact. Perhaps he could let her pick up a few things, even decorate the apartment any way she wanted. She’d probably continue on through the New Year. Maybe he could negotiate something for himself from the deal. Although, Harold couldn’t really think of anything else Maria could give him which she wasn’t already giving him.

  Harold’s stomach turned in on itself, reminding him of his hunger. He turned silently, on the lookout for prey, some weak and tasty morsel. Yet, all he saw were G-men and accusers. Some even wore dark flannelled shirts and beards. Small children wandered by with their parents and all had the same desperate face. G-men stood on the corners straightening the lapels of their grey suits and listening intently in their ear pieces for information on his next move. Harold didn’t even know his next move. He didn’t want to eat the G-men or the Bills or even the little Rufus’ running around on all fours at his feet. Harold pushed his way through the crowd, stomach empty, his throat closed tight. The women turned their heads his way and pointed, eyes wide, mouths open in many silent screams. Little stray dogs barked and howled, nipping at his shoes. Agents left their posts under the streetlamps, following him into the crowd.

  The moment crystallized and shattered in the chilly night air.

  Harold tried to ignore them and seek out members of the crowd to serve as dinner. Someone weak, someone wandering too close to a dark alleyway, but it was hard to pick this person out from the crowd of people. They all seemed to become a Zeke or Bill as soon as he zeroed in on his next meal. There’s one, then again, another, then him, him, him, him. Impossible to move.

  Harold saw a grocery store bustling with people. Well-lit, all bright and cheery, a haven from the darkness. Harold stared, willing to give anything, about anything for the need to go grocery shopping again. His gums could shrivel up and away from his now sensitive fangs. All the teeth in his mouth could fall out and clatter on the concrete and he wouldn’t care. The dark nights were never so dark and empty, even now with sidewalks filled.

  Harold wanted very badly to make a connection with someone human. He wanted to be told everything would be okay and the day would dawn tomorrow, even if it wasn’t for him. It did no good to stand around stewing in his own juices, worrying about things which shouldn’t be bothering him for fuck’s sake. Jeez, a couple of bad days and he turned into a basket case.

  These things always seemed to work themselves out in the end, didn’t they? But now Harold really, finally stared into the gaping maul of an endless future with endless nights, working alone, no one to joke with or to tell his deepest secrets. He didn’t even trust Maria with some of his most insecure thoughts. She would think it odd, guys like him didn’t have insecurities. They were tall, dark and handsome. Dangerous creatures with wild sexual powers without a second thought about killing a person, even someone they had once loved.

  Harold watched his family die one by one. Funerals were about the only thing he got dressed up for these days. Funeral homes rarely held funerals at night but he found ways to have a private viewing for one. No sweat to slip in after dark. Around the seventies his relatives starting dropping off en masse, you'd think after a while he’d get bored with all the funerals, but no… Now his descendants were entering the deadly years and Harold knew where they all settled, some living far removed from this big, little town. He’d tried hard to keep tabs on them, but he fell short of following them all. Even now, he couldn’t live up to the simple reputation of vampire.

  Harold had nothing beyond the daily rhythm of scrounging for blood and money, trying to stay above water when all the while his own thoughts scared him so much he felt as if he might end up crazy. Harold brushed past people in the streets. Everyone changed back to normal, their regular normal selves, ignoring him, cold, inhumane so superior. He’d never wanted to be someone else more. He wanted to rip into someone’s body, take over their organs and blood and mind and make it his own, so he could be a different person, so he could get away from himself and his disease.

  Harold never wanted to eat blood again, never wanted to have to go back to that damn house to spend his nights looking at all the other desperate people, a daily reminder of his own fucked status.

  He sometimes thought about taking a long walk on the beach to watch the sunrise. Or maybe go skydiving during the day and let his body slowly burn to a crisp as he fell to the earth. By the time his corpse hit the ground he’d be nothing but ash. The wind easily scattering those snowy flakes up noses and into mouths of the other skydivers jumping out of the plane behind him. It could be his way of giving something of himself back to the human race. Or his still intact but ashy body could hit the earth at hundreds of miles per hour and expand outwards in a mini mushroom cloud visible from a moderate distance by onlookers.

  Short of ending it all, nothing could ever change his life, and Harold didn’t even have the guts for death. He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. Time to get out of this place or he’d risk turning his worries and melancholy into something truly depressing. A vampire refusing to get out of bed in the evenings, clean up after himself, wipe his mouth after eating blood or letting out a curdled, clotted belch.

  Maria’s salon, Bitchin’ It, blinked at Harold from right up the street. He’d walked all the way here from the diner without realizing it. Disturbed that he paid so little attention to his surroundings, but secretly pleased with his destination, Harold hurried towards the neon lights. Maria would help lift his funk. At least she’d get him to stop focusing on himself.

  Harold peered into the front window. He could see women and men finishing up the last customers of the day. Maria worked at her usual station near the entrance so she could get first crack at the customers walking in the door. She curled the hair of a flashy woman while talking with her about the usual salon gossip. Maybe even bragging she’d snagged herself a vampire boyfriend. Harold could just see her telling people about her conquest, but Harold remembered it differently. At least he’d convinced her not to tell her family about his little problem. Nothing like a bunch of angry Catholics banging down the door to get their wayward daughter back from the evil vamp.

  He picked out Maria in her usual spot with her back to the window. Harold could already feel his spirits lifting a little. Today she wore a very fit pair of black slacks and a teeny sweater in deference to the cold weather. She’d arranged her long black hair in some god-awfully complicated mess that probably the latest vogue style. She was always on about her hair. Maria told him once, she had to look perfect to convince her clients that she was good.

  Harold waited by the front desk as Maria finished up with her client. He’d gone straight up to her before, never to make that mistake again, and gotten bitched at for it. The receptionist, a small girl with pencils in her hair, recognized him and smiled. Harold graced her with one of his warmest returns, which for a vampire still remained pretty cold.

  He toyed with the notion of flirting a bit with the petite receptionist to get Maria’s attention. She seemed to have three hundred and sixty degree radar when it came to the possibility he might, have the inclination, to possi
bly, even be interested in another woman. He didn’t feel like getting into another fight and opted not to tease the girl about her pencils. Harold wanted to catch Maria in a good mood, so she’d stroke his ego and make him forget all about the world.

  The salon steamed inside with papaya, citrus and chemical scent. A woman in the corner applied nail polish to the acrylic nails of a largish client. A dog sat in the chair next to her with perfectly matched nails on its paws and a bow in its hair. An aproned man with long, pale-blond streaks in his hair swept up the floor, turning off lights and equipment at unused stations as he went along. Harold watched him pick up a perfume bottle from one station, pull off the lid and sniff at it. He glanced side-to-side in a quick manner, then daubed a bit of it on his wrists. The man put the perfume bottle back and picked his broom up to continue sweeping.

  Maria’s voice drew Harold’s attention as she helped her client from the chair. Harold enjoyed watching Maria work. A master of charm, this job perfectly suited her personality. She handed the client a small gift bag of severely overpriced products in tiny bottles and deftly took the woman’s money with her other hand. That would be her tip, Harold supposed. She made a lot. Her money after all helped pay for the incredible number of salon and beauty supplies she needed for her job and appearance. Bonus cash, she called it.

  Maria saw Harold at the desk when she sent her client off to pay for the salon treatment and acknowledged him with a wave. Her slightly cupped hand tuned into a crooked finger beckoning him forward and he came to her like a moth to flame. Maria always made it easy. Perhaps it was her body and those delicious curves. Or maybe it was the way she treated him. Harold smiled inwardly, maybe he only preferred women who bossed him around.

  “What are you doing here?” She cooed.

  Harold shrugged and did his best to look nonchalant. “Thought I’d drop in. Walk you home.”

  Maria turned and gathered up her things, putting away her equipment. A bottle of the same perfume the man sweeping up hair had sampled sat on the vanity. Harold pulled off the cap and took a good whiff to find out what made it so special. He smelled cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon, an all-around holiday brew. Maria grabbed the bottle from him and put it in her purse.