"No More Blood" - Contest #6

"No More Blood"
(the sixth ACW monthly writing contest)

Assignment:
Write a story or poem using the
following title: "No More Blood"
2500 words or less.

Deadline:
February 15, 2002

No More Blood
by Mcgobot
dnmcrobert@hotmail.com
(Entry #2)

~Winning Entry~

This version has been edited.
The original, unedited version is below.

Some call me an addict,
(I daresay they panicked).
I plead frankly 'Not Guilty', m'lud.
My desire is not trenchant,
It's merely a penchant,
For daily consumption of blood.

To you sir, I lobby,
'Tis only a hobby,
And nothing remotely pernicious.
You've quickly decried it,
But yet have not tried it.
Blood is quite simply delicious.

The detox you suggest,
At the doctors behest,
Will do me more harm than you think.
I forsee anaemia,
Or, worse, septicemia,
Deprived of life's liquid to drink.

It's victimisation!
The whole situation!
It's inconceivable that,
I'd be standing here, pale,
Facing possible jail,
If I wasn't also a bat.

My nocturnal sorties,
I admit, are naughty,
But I mainly use prostitutes, sir.
Another two pricks,
(Although teeth-marks, not dicks),
Is no tragedy. Do you concur?

You appear unconvinced,
Have I not yet evinced,
My claim by sufficient amount?
I should have remained in a
House in Romania
Revered by locals as 'Count'.

Please offer salvation,
To my reputation,
My once fearsome name will be mud.
With fall out spectacular,
Were I, Count Dracula,
Told I could drink no more blood.

Home

No More Blood
by E. B. Hinton
e_b_hinton@yahoo.com
(Entry #1)

~Runner Up~

This version has been edited.
The original, unedited version is below.

He waited as he always did.
He stood, as he had almost every night for a year now, under the street lamp, its yellow light casting his features in shadow and reflecting off his jet black hair. He shrugged and drew his coat tighter about him. The chilly night air didn’t affect him; it was just habit. A way to look normal. Few cars passed by on the street and the drivers of those that did never spared him a glance. After all, it was a “bad” neighborhood; staring at someone could get a person shot.

The sound of heels clicking on pavement came from behind him. He stared forward, letting his other senses gather information about the person approaching. Perfume. Should be a woman. The clicking of the heels was light, made by someone weighing no more than say, 120 pounds. He felt confident that it was indeed a woman who had now stopped directly behind him.
“Hey, mister,” she said. Her voice was soft and melodic, but the tone underneath betrayed her, revealing boredom and a touch of despair.
“Yes?” he asked without turning.
“Lookin’ for a good time, maybe? Maybe you need a friend or somethin’?”
“No,” he said and slowly turned. She took an involuntary step back. It was a natural reaction and one he fully expected. “I need something else from you.”
She tried to smile, but it kept faltering. “Look, buddy, I’m not lookin’ for trouble.”
He smiled and his voice was soft when he spoke. “I know.” He took a step toward her. “I know exactly what you mean.” He reached out, took hold of one of her delicate hands and gently brushed the back of it. “So much pain in your life, dear woman. So many worries, so many trials.”
When her eyes met his, her body suddenly relaxed.
“I can help ease that pain; I can make things better.”
“Yes,” she said in a whisper.

He drew her close, put an arm around her shoulder, and slowly walked her down the street. They turned into an alley where light seemed to be not only absent, but actually sucked in like a black hole. His eyes adjusted in a way that hers never could.
As he pushed her back against a wall, he knew any thoughts of flight were long gone from her mind. He bent his head down and nuzzled her neck with his nose.
“Yes,” she whispered again.
Her scent was intoxicating. He drew his mouth open, the sharp points revealed, and bit into her neck. As the blood pulsed rapidly into his mouth, he felt it starting again and drew away quickly. The woman’s eyes were glassy and begging for him to continue, but he would have to stop.
“Damn it,” he said as he let go of her. She slid down the wall and crumpled into a heap at his feet. “This has got to stop.”
He stood there for a moment, looking at her vacant smile. Besides a couple of punctures in her neck, she’d be all right.
He left the alley, cursing.

“You’re my doctor,” he said, “fix it.”
Dr. Morris turned on his small stool and faced him.
“Jake, I wish I could.” He stood up, walked over, and peered into Jake Turner’s eyes, first one, then the other. “However, I have never heard of a vampire being allergic to anything.”
“Well just look at me.” Jake waved a hand in front of his face, which was covered with small, bright red spots. In fact, they covered most of his body. And they itched horribly. “Every damn time I try and feed, this happens.”
Morris returned to his stool and rolled over to the small counter that overflowed with tongue depressors, ear swabs, and bandages. An open file took up the rest of the space and Morris wrote in it.
“When did this start?”
Jake thought for a moment. “A few weeks ago I guess.”
Morris looked at him then wrote some more. “Was it after a particular person?”
Jake shook his head. “No. Come to think of it, this started during a dry spell. I think I went about four days without feeding before my first rash appeared. Then, when I tried to feed, it only got worse.”
Morris nodded. Jake scratched his face, arms, legs, and anywhere else he could while he watched the doctor scribble. Morris was a human, but he was trusted among the vampire community. Not that vampires needed a doctor very often, but occasionally one might come across a human who hadn’t taken care of himself. Finding clean blood was getting harder every year.
“Okay, I’ll run some tests and see what I can come up with. Offhand though, I’d say it’s an allergic reaction of some kind.”
“Great.”
“Come back tomorrow night. In the meantime, try not to scratch too much. It’ll only make it worse.”

When Jake returned the next night, he hoped for an answer.
He got one.
“You are definitely allergic to human blood.”
Jake didn’t speak. He just stared at Dr. Morris.
“Most likely you’re having a reaction to types of blood that are different from your own, but I can’t say for sure without further testing. So, you have a choice: either stop feeding on human blood, or live with the flare-ups. I will tell you this though, the reactions could get worse.”
“How much worse?”
Morris shrugged. “In humans such severe reactions would be deadly. In your case, it’d just make you wish that someone would come along with a wooden stake.”
“Oh, very funny. Come on doc, isn’t there a pill I can take or something?”
“No, Jake, there isn’t. Your body doesn’t function like a human’s. I can work on it, but something like this would have to be done in secret and it could take years to find a way to combat it.” The doctor looked at the floor and rubbed his hands together. “Now, for the really bad news.”
“Oh god.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“What?”
Morris nodded. “Since yesterday, I’ve had two others come in with the same reactions as you. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that it was some kind of epidemic. A vampire plague, if you will.”
“And?”
“And what? There’s nothing I can do except run some tests and see what I can come up with.”
“And how long will that take?”
Morris shrugged. “Like I said, it could take years.”
“And in the meantime?”
Morris smiled. “No more blood for you.”
“Great.”

Morris waited until he was sure he was alone in his office, then he went to the basement. Weaving his way around boxes of supplies, he reached the back wall and stopped. A quick glance over his shoulder told him it was safe. He pushed on a particular concrete block and it gave under the pressure. When it had sunk into the wall an inch, an entire section of bricks moved back, revealing a passageway.

It had taken a few years to develop the virus, but now that it was in full effect, Morris felt very proud. The hardest part had been getting the vampires exposed. He had sweat off a pound that day when he’d crept in to the resting place of one them, injecting it with the virus. After that, it had moved among the vampires like the common cold. Airborne and highly contagious.

He walked through a small but sophisticated laboratory; the secret room where he had developed the virus, and opened a small, locked cabinet. Inside was a phone with no key pad. He put the phone to his ear and waited. After several moments, someone was on the other end.
“Yes?” a deep voice asked.
“Morris, sir. Reporting that the toxin is working exactly as planned.”
“Good work, Morris. How long before we can expect significant results?”
“No more than a week at the most. Not even the strongest vampire is showing any ability to withstand it.”
“Good, good. As soon as your sample arrives here in Washington, we’ll replicate it. We’ve got operatives all over the world waiting for their chance to help spread this nasty little virus.”
“It’s already on its way, sir.”
“Very well, Morris. Stay there another week to make sure you’re right. If everything is still proceeding as planned, pack up and get back here. You won’t want to miss the party.”
“Understood, sir.”
The line went dead and Agent Morris hung up.

Home

Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.

No More Blood by E. B. Hinton e_b_hinton@yahoo.com	#1 of 14 Runner-up
This is the original version. See the edited version above.
He waited as he always did. He stood, as he had almost every night for a year now, under the street light, it’s yellow light casting his features in shadow and reflecting off his jet black hair. He shrugged and drew his coat tighter about him. The chilly night air didn’t affect him; it was just habit. Few cars passed by on the street and the drivers of those that did never spared him a glance. After all, it was a bad neighborhood; staring at someone could get a person shot. The sound of heels clicking on pavement came from behind him. He stared forward, letting his other senses reveal the identity of the person behind him. Perfume wafted through the air, so he was sure that it was a woman. Not that perfume was a definite indicator of feminism, but the clicking of the heels was light, made by someone weighing no more than a hundred and twenty pounds. The woman stopped directly behind him. “Hey, mister,” she said. Her voice was soft, melodic; the tone underneath was boredom and slight despair. “Yes?” he asked without turning. “Lookin’ for a good time, maybe? Maybe you need a friend or somethin’?” “No,” he said and slowly turned. She took an involuntary step back. It was a natural reaction and one he fully expected. “I need something else from you.” She tried to smile, but it kept faltering. “Look, buddy, I’m not lookin’ for trouble.” He smiled and his voice was soft when he spoke. “I know.” He took a step towards her. “I know.” He reached out, took hold of one of her delicate hands and gently brushed the back of it. “So much pain in your life, madam. So many worries, so many trials.” Her eyes met his and her body relaxed. “I can help ease that pain; I can make things better.” “Yes.” He drew her close, put an arm around her shoulder, and slowly walked her down the street. They turned into an alley where light seemed to be not only absent, but actually sucked in like a black hole in space. He pushed her back against a wall, any thoughts of flight undoubtedly long gone from her mind. He bent his head down and nuzzled her neck with his nose. “Yes,” she repeated. He drew his mouth open, the sharp points revealed, and he bit into her neck. As the blood pulsed into his mouth, he felt it starting. He drew away quickly. The woman’s eyes were glassy, but she would live. “Damn it,” he said as he let go of her. She slid down the wall and crumpled into a heap at his feet. “This has got to stop.” He left the alley, cursing all the way. “You’re my doctor,” he said, “fix it.” Dr. Morris turned the small stool and faced him. “Jake, I wish I could.” Morris stood up, walked over, and peered into Jake Turner’s eyes, first one, then the other. “However, I have never heard of a vampire being allergic to blood.” “Well just look at me.” Jake waved a hand in front of his face. Small, bright red spots covered his face. In fact, they covered most of his body. And they itched horribly. “Every damn time I try and feed, this happens.” Morris returned to his stool and rolled over to the small counter that overflowed with tongue depressors, ear swabs, and bandages. An open file took up the rest of the space and Morris wrote in it. “When did this start?” Jake thought for a moment. “A few weeks ago.” Morris looked at him then wrote some more. “Was it after a particular person?” Jake shook his head. “As a matter of fact, this started right after a dry spell. I think I went about four days with feeding.” Morris nodded. Jake scratched his face, arms, legs, and anywhere else he could while he watched the doctor scribble. Morris wasn’t a vampire, but he was trusted among the vampire community. Not that vampires needed a doctor, but occasionally one might come across someone that hadn’t taken care of themselves. Getting truly clean blood got harder every year. “Okay, we’ll run some tests and see what we can come up with. Offhand though, I’d say that it’s an allergic reaction to human blood.” “Great.” Morris ran tests and checked everything that he could. When Jake returned the next day, he hoped for answers. He got one. “You are definitely allergic to human blood,” Morris said as they sat in the exam room once more. Jake’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.” “I’m afraid not. Most likely you’re having a reaction to types of blood that aren’t your type, but I can’t say for sure without further testing. So, you have a choice: either stop feeding on human blood, or live with the reaction. I can tell you that the reactions could get worse.” “How much worse?” Morris shrugged. “Very bad. In human’s it would kill them. In your case, it’ll just make you wish that someone would come along with a wooden stake.” “Oh, very funny. Now seriously, what can I do? Is there a pill I can take or something?” “No, Jake, there isn’t. I can work on it, but something like this would have to be done in secret and it could take years to find some way to combat it.” Morris looked at the floor and rubbed his hands. “Now, for the really bad news.” “Oh god.” “You’re not the only one.” “What?” Morris nodded. “Since yesterday, I’ve had two others come in with the same reactions as you. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that it was some kind of vampire plague.” “And?” “And what? There’s nothing I can do except run some tests and see of some theories of mine are right.” “And how long will that take?” Morris shrugged. “Like I said, it could take years.” “And in the meantime?” Morris smiled. “No more human blood for you.” “Great.” Morris waited until he was sure that all the vampires were out of the office, then he went into the basement. He wove his way around the boxes of supplies, past the wheelchairs lined up against the wall, and stopped when he reached the back wall. A quick glance over his shoulder told him he was alone. He pushed on one concrete block and it gave under the pressure. When it had sunk into the wall an inch, the entire section of wall moved back, revealing a long, dark passageway. It had taken a few years to develop the vampire virus, but now that it was in full effect, Morris felt very proud. The hardest part had been getting the vampires exposed. He had sweat off nearly a pound that day when he had crept in to the resting place of one and then injected him with the virus. After that, it would move among the vampires like the common cold. He walked through the darkness, knowing the way by heart. He opened the wooden door at the end and entered a small room with nothing but a phone on a wooden desk against the far wall. As far as anyone knew, the phone line didn’t exist. He picked up the phone that had no dial pad and heard a ringing. After several moments, the phone on the other end picked up. “Yes?” a man’s deep voice asked. “Morris, sir. Reporting that the toxin is working exactly as planned.” “Good work, Morris. How long before the full effect triggers?” “No more than a week at the most. Not even the strongest vampire can withstand it.” “Good, good. Then within a month, every vampire in the world will be dead, correct?” “That was our calculation, sir.” “Very well, Morris. Give it a few days to make sure that it truly is taking effect. If everything is proceeding as planned, pack up and get back here.” “Understood, sir.” The line went dead and Morris hung up.

Home

No More Blood by Mcgobot dnmcrobert@hotmail.com	#2 of 14 Winner
This is the original version. See the edited version above.
Some call me an addict, (I daresay they panicked). I plead frankly 'Not Guilty', m'lud. My desire is not trenchant, It's merely a penchant, For daily consumption of blood. To you sir, I lobby, 'Tis only a hobby, And nothing remotely pernicious. You've quickly decried it, But yet have not tried it. Blood is quite simply delicious. The detox you suggest, At the doctors behest, Will do me more harm than you think. I forsee anaemia, Or, worse, septicemia, Deprived of life's liquid to drink. It's victimisation! The whole situation! It's inconceivable that, I'd be standing here, pale, Facing possible jail, If I wasn't also a bat. My nocturnal sorties, I admit, are naughty, But I mainly use prostitutes, sir. Another two pricks, (Although teeth-marks, not dicks), Is no tragedy. Do you concurr? You appear unconvinced, Have I not yet evinced, My claim by sufficient amount? I should have remained in a House in Romania Revered by locals as 'Count'. Please offer salvation, To my reputation, My once fearsome name will be mud. With fall out spectacular, Were I, Count Dracula, Told I could drink no more blood.

Home

No More Blood
by Loretta A. Stradley
readlorey875@hotmail.com

#3 of 14

She tapped the end of her cigarette to dislodge the long ash. Raising the fag to her mouth she took a long toke and inhaled deeply. What a night! What a lousy night!

With her right hand Sara wiped the beaded sweat off her forehead. Standing in the dark basement of the ranch house, she looked at the carnage. Bits of flesh were splattered on the walls in the small room. Here and there bits of internal organs could be found. There was so much blood everywhere it was hard to imagine that it came from only one body.

After thirteen years on the force you would think she had gotten used to the gore. You would think that the sight of blood and death wouldn't bother her anymore. But she still got sick. Not to her stomach, but to her soul. Sara got sick to her soul when she was called out to these 'special' cases.

Sara was a cop on a special force of the Indianapolis Indiana City police department. No one knew what the special department did exactly. It was all hush-hush. But Sara knew all too well what her special unit did. They hunted down and killed the impossible. They hunted down and killed the monsters that were only supposed to be in stories and movies.

Jake came over and stood next to her. He stood silently, all six feet five of him. Built like a football player Jake was big. He was taller than most but compared to Sara he was gigantic. She stood a good five feet three in her bare feet.

Heaving a big sigh Jake took a cigarette out of the pack he had in his inside jacket pocket. After lighting it with a Zippo lighter that had JAKE engraved on the front of it, he puffed on the cigarette deep in thought.

"What do you think did this Sara?" he said.

Sara had not moved an inch except for her cigarette going to and from her mouth. A cloud of smoke hung over her head like her own personal storm cloud. She noticed he said 'what' and not 'who'. For a green horn he was learning fast.

"I don't know yet but I have my suspicions." She said, then pointing with one finger to a spot in the middle of the floor. "But see that?”

Blanching a little and looking a little sick Jake walked over to where Sara was pointing. In the middle of the floor in a deep puddle of blood was what was left of the victim. One human heart!

Sara walked over to join her partner. He was the fifth partner she had had. One of the perks of working with Sara was the respect you got from the rest of the team. She was the best of the best and the captain to the mayor of the city, and even the governor of the state, knew her name. If you survived your term you could get a promotion to a more prestigious position. If you survived!

"I'm not sure but I think it was a empusae." Sara said, "The thing that mystifies me is that they don’t leave ‘food’." She walked around to where the heart still lay. One of the first rules if you were going to call Sara was to leave things as they were found at the crime scene.

"Nasty creatures similar to vamps and they love to eat humans. You humans seem to be on the menu for a lot of creatures." Sara said. Not being human herself she often teased her human partners.

Sara raised her hands over the spot and closed her eyes. As still as death Sara listened. She listened for the gray power to tell her what had killed the human. Man or woman they didn't know, nor who. There wasn't enough of the victim to identify.

In her mind's eye she saw the human, male, following a female. The man had a glazed look in his eyes as if he was drugged. Probably was and with a more lethal drug than any that mankind could make.

Sara 'saw' the female go down the stairs that led to this basement with the man following it. He stumbled and lurched. Strong magic this creature had to be able to get the man that messed up.

In the basement the female disappeared and the man stood in the middle of the floor in a daze without moving. He was youngish, not old at all, and the name Bill Young came to Sara's mind. That was his name.

In front of the man was a door on the other end of the room. It was open but no light came through it. It was black as pitch. The man continued to stare at it as if called. The blackness of the door slowly oozed into the room. Swirling like smoke around the room the black crawled to the man and gathered at his feet. The man continued to stare at the door.

Out of the dark a form came. It was the female but now it was in a different form. It’s true form. The empusae came to the man. It glided with a supernatural grace until it reached its destination. The man continued to stand without moving.

"Say my name human." The monster said. Its voice sounded old. Old as dust and dirt old!

The man looked at the beast with drugged happiness in his eyes. "Valentina!" he said. "Valentina!"

The beast smiled with ruby red lips. Large canine fangs overlapped the bottom lip and leaked a clear fluid from their tips. The black eyes of the beast glowed red and you could feel the anticipation it felt for the coming meal.

Though the beast looked human in form it wasn't. It was a monster as old as human history if not older. A bloodsucker and soul eater, it ate the flesh of humans. Though it had no gender to speak of it usually took the form of a beautiful human woman to trick unsuspecting men to their doom. Sara thought she had killed them all. One escaped her it seemed.

The long black hair of the monster came down to its waist. It wore black ragged clothing that looked as if someone had taken scissors to the cloth. They stood almost six feet and they could, with illusion, seem to be any height at all.

The only thing the victim saw was a gorgeous long hair blonde woman with red lips and blue eyes. All he knew was that a beautiful woman with a smile on those red lips had a promise in those blue eyes. He didn't see the long fangs or the talons on each hand like claws. He didn't see it when it raised one arm and slashed his throat with those terrible talons. Dying the man fell and the beast fell on top. It began to feed immediately slurping the blood up and chewing on the red flesh.

Sara broke contact with the gray. She had more information now. She looked at Jake shaking her head to clear her mind. The gray had a way of dulling her thinking process and she had to be able to think with a clear brain.

“It was an empusae alright and the man’s name was Bill Young.” She said. Getting another cigarette out of her shirt pocket Sara lit it with a match. She always used matches. Friends would give her lighters but she never used them. Only matches and she never told anyone why.

Taking a deep draw off her fag she was quiet and deep in thought. Jake didn’t say anything at first. Just waited for her to finish the little tobacco ritual.

“Didn’t you say you got those things wiped out?” he asked. “Didn’t you exterminate the whole species?”

“I thought that I did. I killed the old queen last winter with her brood. That was the last. At least as far as I knew. This one somehow got away when I burned the caves out.” Said Sara.

“I am going to have to go after it. It will continue to kill and feed if I don’t. Then it will breed. We don’t want that to happen. I am going tonight.” Sara said.

“I am going with you. Even a human has his uses and you need back up.” Said Jake.

Sara smiled dryly. “Yes, a human would come in handy in the hunt. Goddess knows that thing won’t come near if it smells me. But you on the other hand will smell like dinner to it. Humans make very good bait.” She said.

“Let’s get going. We have to get this thing so there won’t be any more killing. No more blood spilled on my watch.”

Throwing her butt down Sara turned and went up the stairs. The regular police and the coroner were waiting in the kitchen of the house. As soon as she left with Jake behind her they went down the stairs. No one came near Sara when she was on the scene. It was too dangerous to your health if you interrupted her.

Home

No More Blood by Jody Ray jodys101@hotmail.com	#4 of 14
Ineligible Entry: 7858 Words Click here if you'd like to skip to the next entry.
NOVEMBER The high tides of summer had receded leaving the central United States knocking at the doors of winter. An orchestra of colors played a soft flowing concerto to the trees and vines. Animals tramped the forest floor with purpose in their attempts to prepare for the long cold winter ahead. Cool breezes form the north punctuated the mild autumn air as a reminder to those procrastinating of the things to come. The bustling of the animals came to a halt at once with the shrill beckoning of the watchers of the forest. Crows several hundred yards off the main roadway went into frenzy. The natural goings on of the woodlands contrasted sharply with the sounds of man. An explosion reverberated through the terra. It was quickly followed by two more, the sounds of gunfire. The murder of crows took flight, instantly one of the flying creatures crumbled amidst a cloud of it’s own feathers. It spiraled toward the earth crippled and dieing. "Whoooo yeah! Beat that!" Exclaimed the animal’s executioner. He was seventeen year old Nate Yardly. "You fags only dream of shots like that!" He exclaimed to his three friends. " Yeah Nate man, you’re a damned good shot." "No doubt." "At least you recognize greatness when you’re in its presence Paul." Nate swelled out his chest and poked his nose snobbishly at the sky. "You gotta be a good shot in your family Nate. It’s your only defense against your uncles, because you’re to fucken fat to out run them." The friends all laughed at Paul’s remark. "Hey, at least every guy in your family has a tiny little dick. Probably don’t hurt you as bad as some of the football coaches." The group laughed even harder. Nate looked on, use to and expecting this sort of this sort of ribbing. It was standard practice among boys. The put down about pedophiliac family members and homosexual favors for spots on the local athletic teams kept on rolling. Travis Johns, pulled out a small plastic bag filled with methamphetamine, the new cocaine. He passed the bag around the group and the teens took turns snorting small amounts of the white powder off the blades of their hunting knives. The group ventured into the forest once a month. They would head to the woods for a couple of days of male bonding, telling stories, snorting meth, smoking pot and shooting anything that that moved. It was a good way to feel in control of their lives, if only for a few days a month. The group traveled through the forest heading for a stream that ran through its heart. They fired shots at everything along the way, from birds to an elusive bobcat. The cat came and went so fast that the group of armed young men wondered if they had even seen it at all. It could have been the meth playing tricks on their minds. They were so preoccupied with their own amusement they never noticed that they were being followed. What followed them couldn’t have been plainly seen. It drifted with a dark efficiency from tree to shrub. It moved with purpose, as would a tiger stalking a wild beast. The low dark silhouette was never more than a few hundred yards from the shooting, snorting group. Yet, it’s presence seemed to loom over them like an angry cloud. The four young men stopped at the stream and immediately searched out large patches of thick moss to sit on. Silence consumed them for the first few moments. They just sat and stared at the stream. It was for lack of a better word, peaceful. That peace was violated by four gunshots in rapid succession. Jarred, the youngest member of the group had spotted something. He was on his feet at once and firing. The magazine in his rifle emptied and the weapon choked with a "clunk". A tiny howl of distress rose to their ears from downstream. " A fucken worthless coyote and her pups." Jarred was wide eyed with excitement. " Fucken "A" I hit one!" And he was off, splashing downstream toward the sounds of the wounded coyote. The remaining three boys exchanged glances, looked at the pile of spent rifle cartridges and silently agreed. They splashed down the stream after Jarred. Nate couldn’t believe his eyes when he finally reached the rest of the group. Though his breathing was labored from the run and his blood pounded behind his ears, he said, "I got to give up to you "J" man." He pointed a finger at Jarred who was busy reloading his weapon. "That was a prime fucken shot! "Dude" Paul began, "That coyote bitch is still alive." The boys held their brief conversation over the high pitch howls of the pup. The bitch lay on her side, one of her hind legs quivered in unison with both front legs. Her hackles raised and her teeth bared, ready to defend her pup even as blood coursed from her mouth. The soil underneath her was growing darker in a quickly widening area. The single bullet through her shoulders and lungs had killed her. She just didn’t know it yet. "Man, I hate these fucken things." Jarred pointed at the animals with the barrel of his rifle. "One of ‘m snatched my mom’s cat from the yard at my place. Mom cried for a week." The other boys knew that Jarred was very protected of his mother since his father had left them. " I told myself then that I’d kill every fucken one of those mangy shit eaters I seen." With that, he raised his rifle and shot the snarling bitch in the head. " Let me have the pup man, that hide would look kinda cool in the middle of my floor. My big room and a little puppy hide with the head attached, right in the middle." Travis pulled out his hunting knife and tested the edge. "It will be great." Travis’ father owned two car dealerships in town and lived in a huge house. The boys grinned thinking of how in the middle of his massive room there would be the small hide of this coyote pup, out of place, like Travis himself. "Go ahead. Long as it’s dead I don’t caaa…" The words caught in Jarred’s throat. The other boys suddenly snapped their attention to their friend. Jarred was still trying to talk, instead of words he emitted only croaks and gargles. He twisted his features into a grimace. He coughed and blood poured from his open mouth. Slowly he looked into the eyes of his friends who were all staring not at his eyes but lower. Jarred diverted his gaze and looked down. The haft of a spear stood out of his chest. He gripped it with one hand and reached around his back with the other. A full two feet with the stone spearhead attached protruded from his back. Blood was already bubbling from the exit wound and running down his pant legs. Jarred stumbled toward Nate. He tried to speak again, but only succeeded in a wet gag. Bright red foam spattered Nate’s face dotting his fair skin with bubbly red blotches. Paul and Travis both whirled around rifles spitting bullets the direction the spear had come from. The frightened boys seared the wooded hillside in front of them with hot lead. Travis’s weapon emptied first. Most of his rounds had impacted on an oddly shaped tree stump. Wood chips now drifted down in the heavy forest air. Instead of reloading Travis stood starring on and yanking on the trigger of his empty weapon. Wide eyed, confused and scared to death. Nate came to his senses. He had been in a state of shock. One moment Jarred was standing by him with his whole future ahead of him. Now he had a six-foot long spear through his chest. It had come out of nowhere. Nate Yardly focused hard on the last couple of seconds. He had heard nothing but the howling pup. Then "WHUNK" a weapon from the days of primitive man had changed his future forever. He looked around but saw only a cal age of green vegetation all swirling together in the over dilated pupils of his eyes. Jarred took a short breath and gagged again. More red foam belched from his mouth. His chest felt tight and full, He couldn’t breath! His muscles cramped in violent tremors from the lack of oxygen. "Jarred?" Travis yelled out the side of his mouth. Not daring to take the rifle from his shoulder. "Man I…I…I" Nate said. Paul slung his empty rifle and turned toward his wounded friend. "Lets get outta here! I’ll help you carry Jarred!" He shouted to a still confused Nate. Paul took one step and stopped. An object half the size of a human hand struck Nate in the forehead and bounced off landing at Paul’s feet. Paul could see the deep indention in Nate’s skull. He looked at his feet. "What the hell was that?" He thought. That was a rock. Nate’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell over backwards kicking spasmodically as the throughs of sudden death over took him. "Paul! What the fuck man?" Travis screamed, "What the…" Paul turned to answer in time to see Travis pitch backward, landing hard on the ground. He sucked in air in gulping spasms. His legs kicked and his arms paddled the forest floor, a ragged bloody hole in the socket that had once held his eye. Paul heard Jarred succumb to asphyxia as his lungs filled with his own blood. All around him his friends where dieing or dead and he still had no idea what was killing them. Or why they were being killed. What has they done to deserve this? He thought for a second about grabbing his rifle and reloading. He also thought that this action would for sure lead to his death. So Paul abandoned all and ran. His fight or flight response surged through his blood strong. He ran faster than he had ever run before. The sounds of his dieing friends quickly faded in the background and gave way to his pulse pounding in his head. He never saw the low dark figure moving through the trees at an unnatural rate of speed. It ran on upright like a man but much faster. The shadow slammed into Paul at a right angle knocking him off course and headlong into a tree. The force of his impact shook leaves from the branches and shattered the bones in Paul’s face and neck. The dark figure looked down at the body of the boy and waited for the throws of sudden death to subside. The boy’s face was missing an eye and most of its skin. All of which clung to the tree with which he had collided. The figure pulled a long bladed knife from its waist. There was still much work to do. DECEMBER The large buck urinated. The thick stream of urine mixed with pheromones and the remains of his last rutting. The bare spot on the forest floor that the deer had just made with his hooves. Steam wafted off the warm liquid and rose up under the animal, giving the appearance of descending through the clouds. Derrek Durchess had already dismounted his tree stand hunting position and was on his way back to his truck. He hadn’t seen a deer all morning. He picked a prime spot, covered his sent with buck lure, which was basically the same as having a buck piss on you. He had arrived at his tree stand well before the sun started to brighten the eastern sky, all that and not one stinking deer. He would have better luck tomorrow, he told himself. Then just as he had abandoned all hope of getting a kill out of the corner of his eye he saw a tall cedar tree being shaken violently back and forth. "A buck" Derrek almost said out loud. "A big one!" Derrek had been hunting since childhood. He was lucky enough to kill a deer every year and loved to brag about his accomplishments to the guys at work. In the small recesses that mired his fragile ego, he was able to tell himself with jaded honesty that he was more a man than his friends because in a pinch, he could bring home the supper. His imagination raced with thoughts of the envious looks he would receive from the guys in town when he drove through town with this baby in the bed of his truck. He shouldered the Heckler and Kock semi-automatic assault rifle. It was chambered for a 7.62mm cartridge. The rifle cost him over sixteen hundred dollars. He loved showing it off to the other hunters, who would be envious of his "deer" rifle. He often joked that his scope alone, Bushnell’s finest, cost him more money than any other rifle in town. The HK, like a living thing could hungrily eat up its magazine capacity of thirty rounds. He could miss once or twice and still bring down a deer. Derrek remembered back to last year’s hunting trip and the deer. He had been able to see the buck through the foliage with ease. This was made possible due to the creature’s rare color. The buck had a mutation in his genetic code somewhere, which left him with total lack of pigmentation. Derrek’s aim had been a little off that day. His first shot had been fired low, and a rifle round one-half the size of a normal human pinky finger Was fired at just over 1800ft per second. It shattered both the animals’ front legs, just below the knee bend. The buck instantly fell nose first to the ground, that it had only seconds before been sniffing. Derrek’s next two shots went high just missing the animal. The buck had tried time and time again to regain his footing, each attempt failing. The animal did manage to push off with its hind legs and land again on what were only stumps. Derrek had thought it was a very funny sight, the way it’s funny when you trip somebody and they fall on their face. The deer kept trying to get up over and over again, in what turned out to be an inspiring display of its will to live. The once graceful king of the forest looked ridiculous, especially with the bottom halves of it’s front legs still attached. They were flopping around at impossible right angles to the knees, attached only by thin strips of hide. The thick warm blood splattered randomly and stained the pure white fur of the deer once had was now speckled with blood. Derrek almost had put his riffle down to laugh, "I’ll bag the only freckled deer in the country." He said to himself. It had taken the buck longer than he thought to tire of trying to run away. When he had placed the cross hairs of his scope on the buck again, it was lying twenty yards from where it had been when first shot. The stupid thing was licking madly at its broken front legs. The buck’s flanks swelled and deflated as it labored to breath. Dereck fired a fourth time and cursed himself " damn, jerked the trigger!" The deer flinched as the missed fired bullet passed through it’s intestines. Now the buck really looked ignorant, Dereck had thought. It rolled awkwardly on its side like it was trying to kill a stinging insect. It took Derrek almost thirty minutes to make it to the thrashing animal. He had to take a leak, and then came the walk across the field. It was an easy three hundred yard. He had to stop twice to catch his breath. Derrek remembered looking down at his expansive size fifty-two inch waist and making a mental note to drop a few pounds. By the time he had made it to the deer his leg muscles ached and his back felt like OT would go out at any second. "Got to get me one of those camouflage four wheelers all this walking is going to kill me." Derrek remembered how pathetic the deer had looked lying there on its side with those floppy front legs nearly wrapped up in its own intestines which had spilled out through the bullet wound. Instead of white the animal was now mostly red as it was covered in its own blood. The animal would take a deep breath every few seconds, and its hind legs would quiver. Derrek didn’t shoot the deer again. At one dollar and fifty cents a round he had already wasted to May bullets on one deer. Besides the cost of the ammunition Derrek didn’t want to do anything to ruin the looks of the animals head. That head was going to be the centerpiece of his trophy collection. The game warded at the wildlife check-in station had been kind of a dick. When Derrek had asked him if he would be able to dispose of the carcass. Derrek had explained to him that he had to wait for almost two hours for the damn thing to bleed out. He knew that after all that the meat would be no good for eating. Derrek had told the game warded that all he really wanted was the head of the deer anyway. The game warded must have had a weak stomach because as he inspected the animal he looked as though he was going to break down and cry. The man had probably been raised by women and brought up watching reruns of bambi. What a pussy. If he would have been a real man like Derrek was he would have asked for some hunting tips instead of looking like he was going to cry. The Conservation Officer had patted the deer's head softly and spoke in hushed tones to the dead animal. Not only was the man a wimp but also he must have been about half nuts to boot. Talking to a dead deer. What was this State coming to? Derrek shook his head as the officer kept on stroking the animals and removed the metal tag from the ear. Then he turned to Derrek with eyes swollen, full of tears. Derrek gave him the usual information about where he killed the animal and what time. The warded also wanted to know Derrek’s address, phone number and type of rifle he had used. Derrek had thought it was an odd question, but was proud to show the Conservation Officer what a dedicated sportsman’s rifle looked like. The man had a disgusted look on his face through the entire show and tell session. He never even asked Derrek if he could hold the rifle as so many of his friends had. This was further proof to Derrek that either queers or women had raised the guy. His parents might even be two guys living one of those alternate life styles in some haven for fags on the west coast. The officer himself didn’t look gay, but you never knew. * Derrek Durchess, the hunter, blinked his eyes hard and flashed the thoughts of the pansy Game Warden from his head. He settled the cross hairs of his scope just behind the front shoulders of the buck. It had quit rubbing it’s antlers on the tree and had gone back to sniffing and licking the ground. Derrek, through his scope forgot about the shot for a moment and checked out the buck’s magnificent rack. It had to have 10 or 12 points. Derrek could feel his stomach begin to rumble as the familiar pains of hunger ran through him. He would have his wife fix him some biscuits and gravy when he got home. The gravy would probably taste like shit with all of the no fat crap his wife used. She meant well and was only trying to follow his doctor’s orders. No red meat and no fat. She had even tried to get Derrek to follow one of those Richard Simon's programs. That was out of the question. Derrek did follow a diet when he was home to keep his wife and kids off his back. Over the course of the last year he had lost some weight and took pleasure in goading his wife that the ladies would find him irresistible. He made sure that he wore clothes that fit closely to his contours. This would give the ladies something to look at. The new Levis size 50x28 were just the ticket. The buck brought its nose up from the ground and pricked his ears. Derrek forgot about being hungry for a moment and watched as the animal’s muscles tighten. Through the lens of his scope he watched the animal tense to run. He was just about to squeeze the trigger when the world turned upside down. Everything happened to fast for Derrek to keep track of. One moment he was standing by the large oak tree that held among its branches his Real Tree, tree stand. The trophy buck was in the cross hairs of his Bushnell and his finger was beginning to take up the minimal slack on his HK’s trigger, all going according to plan, perfectly and predictable. Derrek heard a disturbance in the air. It was like the sound a small bird would make as it flew past to close. Something slammed into his shoulder hard enough to cause him to take a step to catch his balance. His right arm went completely numb the same instant. Derrek’s prize HK was momentarily forgotten and it fell from his grasp. Another "Woosh" as the air was parted. Derrek felt the impact over his right eye. Both his eye squeezed closed involuntarily. He felt overcome be the helpless unsettling feeling of dizziness. He could feel the contrasting temperatures of the skin on his face. Most of it was chapped and cold from the winter air. Part of it was tingling from the warmth of blood spilling down his face. He could only think that maybe a color blind hunter had mistaken his hunter orange for white and was targeting him, think that he must surely be a deer. Bright flashes of light gave way to an intense throb of pain somewhere behind his eyes. Though he was dizzy and beginning to feel like he might vomit, Derrek kept his balance. The fingers of his right hand were starting to prickle as the nerve endings awoke. Slowly he bent his right arm and winced as a sharp pain seared though his shoulder. Derrek also felt the grinding in the joint. Whatever had hit him had shattered his bones their. Derrek used the sleeve of his Gortex hunter’s coat, to wipe the blood from his eye. A dark object still obscured the vision. It was his eyebrow dangling grossly out of place. "Whoosh" Another impact on his head, this time from behind. Derrek staggered to his left feeling his knees go weak. He wanted to yell out to the man he knew had to be shooting at him, "Hey! I’m a man! Quit shooting!" Instead he lurched forward and fell to the cold forest floor. Derrek was still conscious and aware that he was falling. He was just unable to do anything to stop it. He landed hard and instantly tried to get back to his feet. He rose to his hands and knee’s, pushed off with his legs, but rather than standing up he launched face first back onto the ground in a great dry land belly flop. Then he vomited. He was able to rise to his hands and knees away from the sour odor of the breakfast he had eaten three hours ago. Through the hazy vision in his left eye he saw the shape of a man slipping through the trees towards him. Derrek made note of the fact that the individual, though not able to make out his face, didn’t have a firearm. Derrek’s own rifle lay ten feet away amongst the decaying leaves of the oak. " You mean your not going to try to get up again. Come on, one more time. I haven’t laughed that hard in years." The man’s voice was so familiar. Another wave of nausea swept over him and he vomited again. This must have amused his visitor, because the man began to laugh. " My, my, my, looks like it was a pretty good breakfast. Let’s see here, bacon, eggs, and this has to be a pancake." The man now stood directly beside him. That voice. "Who???" Derrek was able to choke out between deep breaths. The stranger had stepped past him and was now holding Derrek’s rifle. Through the ringing in his ears, Derrek heard the man with the familiar voice exhale a staccato breath of disapproval. He could hear the mechanical workings of the rifle as the clip was removed and the bolt locked safely back. " Derrek, you won’t be needing these." He said. With effort, eyes still shut and head throbbing, Derrek croaked. " Go ahead motherfucker. Take the gun it’s all yours. It’s worth a lot of money, even at a pawn shop." As he spoke his vision began to clear. " I’ve got no need of a rifle Mr. Durchess, but thanks for the offer all the same." Where had he heard that voice? "Did you see the guy who shot me?" "No, I didn’t know you had been shot Derrek." Surely the man wasn’t blind. The bullet holes must be obvious. "Lets see, wow, two bullets to the head and you’re still alive. Come on Derrek, even as hard as your head is, I don’t even think you could take two bullets to the head and be alive, much less conscious." Derrek heard the rifle land on the ground close to him. Derrek never heard the leaves rustle or even felt the presence until the stranger was kneeling in front of him, face to face. " I’m guessing since you shoot right handed, that you are right eye dominant. Things look hazy out of your left eye with your right eye closed. I think I can fix that pesky eyebrow for you though." " What are you going to do, you a doctor or something?" Derrek managed, but the man with the familiar voice didn’t say anything in response. His next sensation was white-hot pain as the stranger took the flap of skin with the eyebrow on it and in one deft motion, tore it off of Derrek’s face. The wound poured blood in syrupy red torrents. His grimace of pain covered in blood was something the stranger approved of with a smile. Derrek screamed, covered his bleeding face with his hands and writhed on the ground in agony. The stranger smelled the air as if he could taste it. His nose wrinkled up and he took a step backwards. Derrek had lost control of his bowels. "Fucken cocksucker! Fuck you, cocksucker!" The downed hunter screamed. Derrek was on feet staggering around drunkenly with his head in his hands. Blood ran freely between his fingers and around his covering hand. The warm liquid steamed as it hit the December air making Derrek look as though his head was smoking. The stranger had not moved from his spot. He watched Derrek wander around blindly in what had to be intense pain. "I’m sorry Derrek. I’m not a doctor and I’m afraid you may have a small scar when that heals." The stranger said over Derrek’s wailing. It took several minutes for Derek to collapse back to his knees. He heaved to vomit but nothing came out. Long tendrils of saliva dangled from each side of his chin. His head looked oddly misshapen. Two fist-sized knots stretched his flesh. Pink skin and darker red muscle protruded from the wound and it looked for the entire world like a toothless, lipless mouth with a swollen tongue. Derrek’s right eye had swollen nearly shut and crusted over with blood. He stared at the stranger with his left eye and was at lasting able to put a face with the voice. He couldn’t believe this was even possible once he realized who the man was. The Conservation Officer from a year ago stood before him dangling a curled up strip of skin. It was Derrek’s missing eyebrow. Derrek thought that the wound should really be hurting. He felt only dull throbs of pain. "Mind if I hang on to this?" The Game Warden said. "You the one…" A long pause, Derrek’s eyes glazed and he finished "Shot me?" "I told you. Your not shot. I just hit you with a few well aimed rocks." Derrek looked up at the Game Warden. "Bull…" another pause, "Shit!" Derrek whispered, dull and lifeless. The Conservation Officer looked amused. "Did you know that human’s first used rocks to hunt with? Then of course came the spear and finally the bow and arrow." He looked down at the Hunter disapprovingly, "It was probably around that time that we humans began to kill for just something to do. As the race, I mean the human race, became more advanced, we lost that which we once depended on to survive, our pure animal instinct. Yeah, weapons of war were eventually used to gun down big game. For mere bragging rights to better marksmanship. So lazier and more dependent on technology, we became. Still we ventured into the forest to murder animals from hundreds of yards away. Hell, stalking even with a bow and arrow today requires you stalk at seventy yards from your prey. Now I ask you what is so sporting about that?" " The hunt." Derrek managed. " This isn’t hunting." He kicked Derrek’s rifle with disgust. " This is a mockery. It’s target practice at best. With a fire arm as advanced as this one, you still nearly fucked up." He was close to Derrek’s face with the last few words. So close, Derrek could feel his breath and see clearly the game warden’s strong white teeth. " We need a hunting season for two reasons. A. So the state can pocket a percentage of money meant for conservation, maybe a senator will use it at the country club golf course, which brings me to point B. If not for golf courses, super highways and another sub-division of over priced homes with names like Windridge Estates or Baywood Manor. Our wildlife could find enough food to eat and have space to spread out and prevent inbreeding. Predators like wolves, bobcats and bears have been hunted to near extinction, because in heavily populated areas where natural habitat has been stripped away, they encounter soft, fat human beings, Easy to kill, no claws or horns to have to avoid. Easier to chase down and kill than a deer." He spat the words with venom in Derrek’s ruined face. " A wolf is seen carrying off an infant in a wooded resort and the slaughter is on. Had we not depleted the wolf’s natural food source, the animal wouldn’t have followed those cries of the hungry baby to the back yard swing. Not the fault of the wolf." He stood back up. " In reality, no matter how tragic the loss, our fault." He narrowed his eye’s, they burned with an inner rage. " Your fault". Derrek could only stare blankly at the warden. The pain numbing endorphins coursing through his blood had done the trick. The constant rise of the tide of pain had peeked and now seemed to be subsiding. Not sure whether or not he would be dizzy when he stood up was still a question, which gave him pause before deciding to act. Derrek’s safest choice now was to remain on his knees and gather his strength for just the right moment. The wounded hunter began to recall almost on a subconscious level, things, and physical things, about his aggressor. The man was only around five and a half feet tall. He moved with an unnatural grace. This ease of movement allowed him to take long strides without appearing to be strutting. He had a strong square jaw and strong broad facial features. He appeared to be in very good shape. The budge of muscle was evident even under his heavy olive drab denim clothing. His eyes were almost black under the heavy brow and they had been staring at Derrek the entire time. The game warden flared his nostrils and took in a deep breath of air. He exhaled slowly and drew his lips up at the corners revealing strong teeth. It was a look that told Derrek the man knew what he was planning. He knew it and looked forward to it. The lack of fear was dishearting. Derrek began to feel the tingling of fear in the pit of his stomach. The man before him was obviously the superior male. Derrek hated himself for admitting defeat. Maybe if he had met the rock throwing bambi hugger without being so banged up it would be a different story. Slowly and methodically the rouge wildlife manager let his lips back down once again covering his teeth. Something primal flashed across his eyes. It was hunger, not for food but for conflict. He spoke, "I suppose civilization’s natural tendency is to spread and populate areas not habitable. Destroying along the way the eco-systems that have been in place since well before the dawn of man." He broke his stare and turned facing away from Derrek. His gaze set high on the clouds. Even though the guy had his back turned, Derrek felt as though his actions were still being closely monitored. He continued. "The herd must be thinned to prosper, both the animal population and also the man. Breakthroughs in the medicine are preventing that. What natural selection would have once done is being all but halted. Now a child born without a chance of living can be kept alive and live to father children who will inherit those traits. In a few hundred years the human race will accepted the defect as the norm and our species will suffer, until humans become to weak to even breathe on their own or live in any way unassisted by machines. In the world predators specifically target the young, sick, slow and old. This insures that only the strongest and smartest animals live to have offspring. A cruel but perfect system." He walked over to where Derrek had thrown up. "Mr. Durchess, I thought your doctor had you on a strict diet. I don’t remember anything about bacon and eggs being on it. Do you? I don’t think Melony would approve and you know that your children would harass you and make you feel guilty." Derrek couldn’t believe his ears. How did the game warden know about his medical history, wife’s name and that he had children at all? " Who the hell are you and what do you want with me?" Derrek asked as sternly as he could manage. The game warden turned on the ball of his foot. His dark eyes fixed squarely on Derrek’s only open eye. "I didn’t expect you would remember my name from the badge on my uniform. I guess an introduction is in order. I am Carl Reggerix. What I want from you is my purpose for being alive. My job is simply to ensure that the herd be thinned. I am a predatory animal in human guise. I call the forest my true home. If need be I’ll return to them one day, but for now I have much unfinished work." " Get off your high horse and smell reality Carl. You are a man, just like me." Derrek pointed out struggling to stand up. Reggerix laughed out loud. " You have been wrong for so much of your life, that I’m sure even the truth a plain as the one standing in front of you would be over looked." Derrek didn’t reply the only sound he made was choking back the bile. He had begun to sweat, and was all aware of his earlier lack of bowel control. The seat of his thorn proof hunter breeches was bonded to his buttocks by the slimy wetness. Reggerix sucked in a lungful of cold December air. He looked as though he was savoring every bit of it. The sun had risen higher in the sky and was now basking the area just beyond the two men in warm radiant light. "I can smell your fear Derrek. This whole area reeks of it. It is a sort of unique smell fear. I'm sure you’ve grown accustom to it over the years having smelled it everyday. Don’t be ashamed, you weren’t born with the right genes. Lot of people in your family is badly flawed toward poor health. You and your offspring would no doubt parish the same way most every man in your family has heart disease. You are already born with the defect as was your father and his father and his. A flaw in genetics that over the years has become accepted. It wasn’t the norm two hundred years ago. It was bred in, like cancer or baldness." Reggerix was again staring directly at Derrek’s one good eye. The dried blood in his face and neck was beginning to itch. His head felt like it might explode at any moment. " Now stay with me on this Derrek, you’ll love the punch line. While you are a genetic suicide, I am at the other end of the spectrum. I am one of the descendents of the original six thousands. A few hundred thousand years ago the human race was almost extinct. In the end only around six thousand humans were left on earth, the strongest and smartest of our kind. I am one of them and can trace my roots back to the beginning. Today there are millions of us spread out all over the world and we are slowly thinning the herd. Taken at birth and raised in the wilds of this great planet. Brought up with wolves, tigers and taught to become highly attuned to our primal instincts. I am in many ways like that majestic buck you were going to shoot when I found you. Bred from pure stock for the survival of our species." " What kind of shit is that? I’m a pure blooded American and proud of it." Derrek’s vision blurred with the effort of speech. He wobbled but stayed standing. " Fuck you and your entire family tree!" He wobbled again. " There are other people that know I’m out here and don [’I think they would appreciate you bushwhacking me like you did." Reggerix raised his eyebrows, impressed only slightly by the show of bravado. "Other people like your wife and children." Reggerix said. "Leave my family out of this!"More sweating. "Well you never let me finish my story." Reggerix curled up one corner of his mouth in an evil smirk. "I paid your home a visit right after you left this morning. First I ended that whole Durchess family heart attack curse for good. I’m afraid the kids won’t be in school today. As far as your lovely wife Maloney, She is a descendent of the original six thousand as well. Only once removed, but she was lucky. Derrek’s mind swam in emotion. His intestines felt like they were pulling into knots. He wasn’t sure what he was hearing. He told himself in panic that it was just the rocks to his head. He was hallucinating. Reggerix the game warden a self appointed architect of genocide seem to truly be enjoying this. "Oh Derrek, before you go Looney on me let me finish. So after gutting both of your children, I visited your wife. She was still sleeping." "NO!" Derrek interjected his unwilliness to believe the story. " Now listen and let me finish, you will just love this. After introducing myself to Melony, I knew we would hit it off. I think she found me irresistible too. She played hard to get at first. After awhile she really got into it though." Carl looked up at the sky out of the corners of his eyes, taking a moment to recall the morning’s events. " She sure is in good shape, and from the taste of her I am almost sure she was ovulating. I hope we have a boy." The evil grin spread across his face. "No, no,no! Your fucken with me, trying to get into my head. I ain’t buying it. Not for a fucken second. I ain’t the one fucked up pal, it’s you." Derrek was hit by a wave a nausea that doubled him over. Acidic bile dripping from his quivering lips was the only result of the forceful heaves. Reggerix waited for him to regain his composure. The outside temperature had to be in the low twenties, but Derrek Durchess was perspiring like an Olympic sprinter. Head injuries were tricky things, Reggerix mused to himself. When Derrek looked stable again Reggerix reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two plastic bags. One was slim and folded neatly to other was fat and appeared to have some weight to it. "I thought you might be the skeptical type, so I brought you some souvenirs." The game warden opened the thin bag and tossed its contents to Derrek. He caught it left-handed. It was a pair of white cotton women’s underwear. They were soaked in some sort of gel throughout the crotch. Derrek recognized the feel and unmistakable odor of semen. "Sorry about the mess. I didn’t have time to take the underwear off. I shoved them over and let nature take it’s course. I held back for weeks before today and well, I just don’t think Melony could hold it all." " You lying motherfucker, these aren’t hers!" Derrek threw the panties away. Reggerix had to be lying. He was just a game warden, after all. Derrek screamed out inside his pounding head. He felt like a moth caught in a tornado. Helpless. "Fuck you, you sick, sadistic son of a bitch." He spat at the still smiling Carl Reggerix. "The only sadistic liar is you Derrek. You’re lying to yourself. More proof? Okay. She has a strawberry red birthmark that is shaped like the state of New Jersey, between the cheeks of her ass just above her anus. I know because I kissed her there." Derrek was beginning to feel numbness creep into his mind. It was more than he could handle. The second bag, the fat one, was opened next. From it Reggerix rolled two of what appeared to be small red misshapen apples. He took is eye off them. Looking at the grinning man. Reggerix had the look of a wild beast in his eyes. "Parents always say they hold their children near and dear to their hearts. Now you can hold your children’s hearts near and dear to you, literally." His laugh was close to Derrek’s ear. Somehow Reggerix had crossed the twenty feet between them without Derrek noticing. The conservationist leaned in close to Derrek's ear. The man quivered all over and moaned as the winds of anguish blew through the windows of his soul. " How does it feel to know that the people you most loved are lying in pools of their own blood, killed for no reason?" Derrek could feel the weak desire to fight for his life slip into the black waters of despair. "How does it feel to be caught off guard and completely at the mercy of another? A higher form of life with more right to dwell than you. How?" The broken man strained to keep his knees from buckling, the ringing in his ears was growing unbearable, but through even that was the cold voice of Carl Reggerix. " Tell me how you like knowing before your end that your mate will carry the children of another to propagate the species," The words dripped with loathing. Derrek could feel the words of his antagonist slither from the man’s lips like poison vipers, each one biting and mortally wounding the intended receiver. The powerful neurotoxins began to shut down his central nervous system. "How is it to know that your death will serve no higher purpose? You won’t be contributing to the circle of life. Instead you will be dying for the soul purpose of amusing me in your vain attempts to survive? Ultimately you wish mercy but that mercy never comes." Derrek heard the soft rustle of clothing. He grunted expelling the air in his lungs as something long and very cold pierced his abdomen, just below the belly button. He didn’t want to look. A slight upward tug made him stagger off balance. Then his sternum as something pulled upward with force stopped the unmistakable sound of metal on bone. His ears detected the sounds of trapped gas escaping. The smell was over powering. Suddenly his feet were warm. "I wonder if that’s what the albino buck was thinking of as he died slowly in front of you?" Then like a shadow over the landscape, Reggerix ran away bounding effortlessly through the mass of oak and cedar trees. He disappeared even quicker than he had arrived. Derrek look down and noticed he could see his feet while standing up. "First time in years." He thought. Voices were around him exclaiming about his wounds. He faintly heard men begin to gag and vomit. His intestines lay in a mass on his feet. Steam rose from the bowels and wafted across his face. The last thought he had before the blackness oozed in was, " How warm the steam made his face feel." * It took Derrek almost two years before he was able to leave his hospital bed. His children were in good health and Melony, his beautiful wife, was at his side through all the pain and agony. If she had been raped and impregnated, she never told and never gave birth. Derrek never hunted again. He couldn’t bear to harm another living thing. On hearing the first hand accounts of the three hunters who found him that day in December. Many people refused to even go for a walk in the forest, much less go in with a firearm and hunt. Derrek impressed on his children daily the wrong in harming a defenseless animal for any reason other than survival. Taking heed and remembering their father’s months of agony, the boys never learned to shoot a weapon. Carl Reggerix though searched for across the nation in the largest man hunt in history was never found. Only a simple word carved into the trunk of the oak tree that held up Derrek’s tree stand remained as evidence. It said simply……Remember. THE END

Home

No More Blood
by Mitchell Tremblay
millenium_roman@excite.com
www.envy.nu/mitchell

#5 of 14

No more bloody rains,
Drips of red on night,
Staining eaves,
Staining lawns,
Shed it somewhere else.

No more bloody baths,
Sharks can smell you,
Staining porcelain,
Staining steel,
Spread is over there.

No more bloody men,
Wavings blades at me,
Staining windows,
Staining sinks,
Surround the wagons.

No more bloody rites,
Scars made for passage,
Staining flesh,
Staining skin,
Tattoo the purpose away.

No more.
None.
No more blood.
None.

Home

No More Blood
by ksr_2857
kssme2@alltel.net

#6 of 14

Of Letting Go
Girthed in armor prone and down,
bleeding life's love bloods into ground.

Fending off the flies off death,
praying still you some how passed the test.

Hanging of for dear life as it seems to swim,
Farther from the shore to ebb unfulfilled to him.

Calling on the sprites of hell,
Asking for assistance, when all else seems to fail.

The armor grows looser as the heart grows small,
As it seeps away the life of it all.

Instead of the battle for the soul to save,
You've relinquished the fight and excepted the grave.

If not of the body then the heart was miss placed,
Left you with bleeding and hurt in its place.

The time soon should come when you take a big sigh
And wonder if this love you lost is worth all you cry.

As you lie bleeding and letting life go,
You realize the battle was not that hurt so.

You let the death flies hover about;
laying their eggs in a heart that was stout.

Hold on to passion, not letting it go,
If not returned by the one who's heart let you go.

Cost of love should not be so dear,
so don't let in death flies to infest later years.

Hang on to ribbons of life's blood that’s spilled;
Reach for the passion on the far-sided hill.

Home

No More Blood
by Winona Johnson
just_mystic@hotmail.com

#7 of 14

“You don’t look so good, honey,” the old lady in the purple dress said. Melissa smiled sweetly at her.

“I’m okay Mrs. Kinneson. I just haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”

“Have you tried drinking warm milk? That always works for me.”

“No ma’am Mrs. Kinneson, but I’ll be sure to try that tonight.”

“You might want to wash that off, honey”, Mrs. Kinneson said, looking at Melissa’s hands.

“Somebody might find out what you done if you don’t wash that off.”

Melissa looked down at her hands and they were covered with blood. The blood was thick and dripped down onto the ground at her feet. Mrs. Kinneson walked away, leaving Melissa standing where she was and screaming.

Melissa woke herself up screaming. Even after she realized she was awake she could still feel the blood on her hands, and she was almost sick before she made it to the bathroom.

When she flicked on the bathroom light, she left a bloody handprint on the wall. The blood was real; it hadn’t been a dream!

She turned on the hot water, leaving more blood on the faucet handle. Melissa grabbed the soap, and stuck her hands under the scalding water. Redness was washed off of her and down the drain. The white bar of soap turned pink as she used it.

So much blood, it seemed it would never come off of her. Melissa washed until her hands were red and raw, but the blood was gone, and that’s all that mattered. She had to make sure the blood stayed gone, or someone might find out what she had done.

What had she done?

“I haven’t done anything,” Melissa told her reflection in the mirror.

The telephone rang.

“What’s wrong Missy,” her mother said as soon as she had answered.

“Nothing mom, I just woke up from a nightmare, that’s all.”

“You’re having nightmares again? Should I call Dr. Fitz?”

“No Mom, its not the blood dreams again,” Melissa lied.

“It was just a dream about Mrs. Kinneson.”

“You’re having nightmares about that sweet old lady? Maybe I should call Dr. Fitz.”

The two of them laughed together.

“So, how’s dad?” Melissa asked.

“Melissa, I haven’t talked to your father in years. What makes you think I’ve been to see him since last night?”

Melissa’s hands tingled.

“Mom, I’ve gotta go. Are we still having dinner tonight?”

“Yes dear. Love you Missy, have a good day.”

Melissa hung up the phone and left a blood handprint on it. The blood was back. Melissa whimpered and wiped her hands on her shirt. No blood. No blood on her hands, no blood on her shirt.

She picked up the phone and called Dr. Fitz.”

The office was the same, but smelled different, like cinnamon.

“What did you dream?” Dr. Fitz was asking her.

“I dreamed I went to school without my pants.”

“Hostility Melissa? You made this appointment, remember?”

“I made a mistake. I’m not crazy, I just thought you would like my company.”

“What did you dream Melissa?”

“Can I use your restroom?”

“Of course.”

She hoped he couldn’t see her hands as she walked past him. He would want to know how she got blood on her hands, and she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t tell anyone. She just had to get it off. Make the blood go away, its better that way.

The water wouldn’t’ get hot enough. The soap wasn’t soapy enough. It left her hands pink, and wouldn’t get all the blood off.

She didn’t go back to Dr. Fitz’s office. She ran away, ran home. She had to get the blood off before her mother came.

Dinner was done, a simple soup and a lovely salad. There had been more, but Melissa had gotten blood on the main course, and she had to hide it or Mother would know.

“She can’t find out.” Melissa mumbled to herself. “No one can ever find out. No one can ever know or Daddy might get in trouble. Can’t have Daddy getting in trouble.”

She was in the bathroom washing her hands when her mother drove up. She just had made it. She just had gotten the blood off in time.

Dinner was nice. There was a lot of small talk. They talked about the weather. They talked about the movies they had gone to see and the people they both knew. They didn’t talk about Dr. Fitz, but somehow Mother knew. Melissa knew she knew. She could see it in her face.

After dinner, the car wouldn’t’ start.

“Mom, you can stay here tonight,” Melissa said, but she didn’t mean it. If Mother stayed she might find out. The blood was getting harder to hide, and it wouldn’t’ come off of her hands anymore.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Mother said, but she stayed anyway. She stayed in the guest room. But when Melissa screamed in the night, she went upstairs to her.

Melissa was in the bathroom scrubbing her hands. Steam billowed up from the sink. Blood was coming off of Melissa’s hands, and even Mother could see this blood, because this blood was real.

“Gotta get it off,” Melissa was saying. “Gotta get it off my hands before Mother finds out. If mother finds out, Daddy’s in trouble. Can’t have Daddy in trouble. If Daddy’s in trouble he might have to go away.”

She was afraid to go to her daughter, afraid to touch her because she was sleep walking, and Dr. Fitz had told her never to wake a sleepwalker, but she was bleeding. How could she stop her daughter from bleeding?

She called Dr. Fitz. He said he would come. She went back upstairs to watch her daughter, but Melissa had gone back to bed.

Dr. Fitz and her mother were standing over her when she woke up. They both looked worried.

“You have to hear this Missy,” her mother said. She turned on a tape recorder laying on her night table, and Melissa heard her own voice coming from the speakers. It was a singsong voice, and Melissa didn’t like it, but they made her listen anyway.

“Is Little Sister sleeping? Is Little Sister dead? What is that stuff leaking out of little sisters head?

“Can I hold your hand daddy? Why are you so sad? Whatever it was you did daddy, it can’t have been that bad.

“See, look, there’s no more blood daddy, I washed it all away. See, look, there’s no more blood, and it looks better this way.”

Then the singsong voice went away and there was a lot of screaming. Melissa couldn’t understand most of what she was saying, but she did hear two things. She could hear herself scream, “The blood wont come off Daddy, it won’t come off me Daddy!” And she heard herself screaming, “Daddy, don’t leave me Daddy. Don’t leave me Daddy.”

She looked at her mother, feeling a hidden hatred for her, and she spat in the woman’s face. “You made Daddy go away, Mother.”

Then Dr. Fitz said, “Tell me about your dream, Melissa.”

“But it wasn’t a dream, Dr. Fitz. It was real. Mother did make Daddy go away. She made him go away because little sister went to sleep and she didn’t wake up, and Daddy had to go away.”

Then, Melissa went into her singsong voice again.

“But now the bloods on me, and it won’t go away. Now the bloods on me, and its fit to stay that way.

“No matter how I wash my hands, no matter how I try, I can’t make it go away, and I can’t tell you why.”

Dr. Fitz took her mother out of the room and shut the door. They went to the kitchen and they got some coffee, and then Dr. Fitz asked, “What haven’t you told me about Melissa? This is much more than just missing her father, isn’t it?”

“It all happened a long time ago, and I thought she didn’t remember any of it. I thought she didn’t even know what he had done, but she did. She did know, and the little bitch helped him!”

“Calm down, and tell me what’s going on. How can I help her if I don’t know what’s wrong?” She sighed. So much was wrong with her little girl.

“Melissa was a twin, Dr. Fitz. She had a twin sister, only Melissa called her Little Sister because she was born first. Her real name was Maggie, and she hated to be called Little Sister.

“They were only ten, and Melissa was John’s favorite. John was my husband. He loved Melissa to death, and she was a real daddy’s girl, but he was so mean to Maggie. Especially when she got into his tools, and sometimes he would hit her because she was playing with his tools, but he never hit Melissa. Never.

“Then one day I left the girls with John, but when I came back John was gone and Melissa was there by herself and she was kind of rocking back and forth on the floor and she kept saying, ‘No more blood, Daddy. No more blood, Daddy. No more blood, Daddy. I couldn’t’ make her stop.

“Then I went looking for John and Maggie, but I couldn’t find them, then I went into the garage, where john keep his tools and I found Maggie.”

Upstairs Melissa screamed, “No more blood, Daddy. I’ll make it go away, just don’t go away Daddy.”

Dr. Fitz touched Mother’s hand. “Go on,” he urged.

“Maggie was dead,” Mother said. She said it dryly, the same as she would have said, “The turkey is done.”

“Maggie was dead. Someone had beat her head in with a hammer, and then tried to clean up the blood and mess with the bathroom towels. My baby girl was dead. John had killed her, and Melissa tried to clean it up to protect her daddy!

“They caught John, of course. He came back to the house, and the police were there waiting for him. Melissa hadn’t said anything except ‘No more blood, Daddy’ that whole time, but when the police put John in the car she started screaming for them to leave her daddy and for her daddy not to leave her. She didn’t quit screaming for hours.”

The kitchen grew quiet. There was no sound from upstairs either. The time stretched out.

“She started having nightmares then?” Dr. Fitz asked.

“Yes, nightmares. And she started washing her hands a lot, but never like this. She’s never been anything like this before.”

Another silence. Still no sound from upstairs.

“Do you think we should check on her?” Mother asked.

Dr. Fitz nodded, but he let Mother go alone. She stayed up there a little while, then came back down, carrying the tape recorder they had used on her while she was sleeping. Mother had blood on her cloths. She sat down in front of Dr. Fitz and pushed play, and Melissa’s singsong voice came out at them.

“Right hand look away from me, so you wont see the left. Right hand look away from me, so you wont see your death.

“See, look there’s no more blood daddy. No more blood on me. See, look, there’s no more blood daddy. Its back like it should be.”

Dr. Fitz got up and started upstairs, but Mother blocked his way.

“She’s okay now, Dr. Fitz. She finally got the blood off, and she’ll be okay now.”

Dr. Fitz pushed past her and ran upstairs, afraid of what he would find up there. It was just as bad as he expected.

In shock, Dr. Fitz walked back to the kitchen to call an ambulance. Behind him, at the kitchen sink, Mother was washing the blood off her hands and humming a haunting little melody.

“No more blood. No more blood. Wash away the dirty blood. No more blood, no more blood. No more blood on me.”

Home

Nomore` Blood
by Jody Ray
jodys101@hotmail.com

#8 of 14

***

The rain swept across the narrow road in great watery belts. It was propelled by the wind of a classic Missouri thunderstorm. The skies were abysmal punctuated sporadically by long bursts of lightening. The release of the static charge bore by the storm severed to illuminate the road. The strobing gave the great trees bordering the pavement the look of looming gods. Gods come to life bristling with thick twisted arms reaching down from the heights with evil intentions.

Randy fought with his own vision. Each brilliant release of voltage from the storm assaulted his eyes. Five days of being awake made it hard to focus. The proceeding thunderclaps raked at his nerves. He gripped the steering wheel of the two-ton truck until his knuckles turned pale.

Randy Nomore` was a man known to all for his joy in the excesses of life. Some would say he lived a full rich life, free of care. Those that knew him better realized the truth. That Randy was a man of weak will. He didn’t have the discipline to say, "No". The reality wasn’t that he was a character to envy. It was that he was a man in need of pity.

At forty-three He was or had been addicted to most of life’s immoderations. Heroin had cost him a job of fifteen years with The Ford Motor Company. The need for the drug was just beginning to peak when he over dosed in the company rest room.

The CEO of the St. Louis based factory found Randy sprawled on the floor in a puddle of his own vomit. The needle still hung from its purchase in his arm. Randy was admitted to treatment at a company supported rehabilitation clinic.

Methadone milked him from the lethargy of his Heroine addiction. The drug meant to calm the monkey on his back only proved to cause the hunger to change.

That had been years ago. Randy was now caught up in the plague sweeping the central United States. Methamphetemine. Invented by German doctors in WWII for used by the SS to help them stay awake and alert. Now it was made in small labs all over Missouri and it’s boarder states. The labs were not dissimilar to the shine stills of the 1930’s prohibition. This was a fact forgotten by many old timers as they openly attacked use of the drug. Meth coupled with Randy’s tragically weak will had kept him awake for the past several days. The drug gave him the sense that his reflexes were superhuman, the false sense of security caused him to exceed the conditions of the storm swept road.

A great bolt of lightening flashed obscuring his vision. When it cleared he was looking over the edge of a sheer fifty foot drop. He felt the rise in his stomach as the two-ton truck left the road.

Randy watched the approaching ground calmly, as though he was viewing a clip from an action movie. He was only slightly aware of twisting metal and breaking glass as the truck impacted head on with the earth.

They found his body imbedded in the ground from the force of impact. The truck had hit nose first and stayed that way. Like a giant dart.

He was buried a week later. The ceremony featured his life long friend Chase Tyler reading a heartfelt eulogy through racking sobs. The crowd was very small. It was composed of the men Randy had worked with in his new profession. Like a band of brothers they turned out to pay their respects. For all his faults Randy Nomore` was a good man.

***

Chase changed from the suit back into loose jeans and a t-shirt. His wife had rarely seen him squeeze into the suit. He had gained a considerable amount of weight in the passed four years. It’s origins stemmed from his love of Beer. In large amounts it helped him to recede from this world and languish in a parallel dimension. In that place he was free of his many aches and pains.

The most painful was his degrading marriage.

At the thought of it he walked to his truck and snatched a beer from the cooler staged in the passenger seat of his work truck.

Chase stopped keeping his refreshments in the kitchen refrigerator. He had come home many times primed with a twelve pack and ready for more. He would fume when he saw the cans floating like dead fish in his pond. His wife’s way of curbing his drinking habit and often times his habit of smoking as well.

"Randy ole’ buddy. This one’s for you." He finished the beer before it left his lips.

Deanna heard the crash and went to the door to check on her husband. He had been outside for several hours. She had yet to hear the sound of the lawn mower. Her three-year-old daughter entered the room smirking.

"Daddy was building a castle for me outside and he falled." She noticed Deanna by the door, "Goin’ bye bye Mommy?"

She looked down at her. The child stood next to her leg holding on with her free hand. In her other hand she held one of Chase’s prize model cars. He had given it to her on a sober day and then yelled out with pride, "Happy Birthday Terri!" The child was ecstatic on finding out it was her birthday again so soon.

Chase had passed out in the yard at his daughter’s party two months ago, But not before puking on the clown as he tried to mimic the circus funny man. Deanna flinched remembering the look on Terri’s face as the other children from the neighborhood laughed and took turns prodding her drunken Father to try and wake him up. The real laughter came when he rolled onto his side mumbling incoherently. His pants had sagged low on his hips leaving his hairy butt crack exposed. The children roared. Terri sat stock still in her birthday chair. Tears welled in her large brown eyes. She screamed at the other children to let her Daddy sleep. She explained that he worked hard at his job and was always tired in the daytime. The children let him be, until Chase farted.

"Daddy gonna go too?" Terri asked solemnly.

"Daddy is working in the yard Terri. He is sad because his friend went away."

The child looked puzzled. A light seemed to switch on inside her head, "His friend gone away to Jesus!" She pointed awkwardly at the sky.

"That’s right Honey. How did you know that?" Deanna thought that Randy would end up far south of Jesus.

"Daddy sayed it to me tomorrow night." She indicated the future in her sentence. Deanna had groan accustomed to Terri’s misconception of time.

"Is that what he read you for your bedtime?"

"uhhuh." The toddler said seriously.

Chase was not in sight. She felt a pull at her leg.

"Come and see how Daddy falled on his building." They went to a playroom in the back of the house. Through the picture window was Chase.

Deanna was at her wits end. Why did he do this to himself? Was his life really so bad? Was it her driving him to drink? She didn’t know. She was sure that her husband was losing his health. Little by little the alcohol eroded the vitality of the man she had fallen in love with ten years ago. She looked at him propped up on a crushed pyramid of empty cans. His jaw was slack and his tongue sagged out. A long tendril of saliva daggled to the ground.

Outside in the distance, the horizon darkened with the advance of another powerful summer storm. Deanna held her gaze fixed on the horizon. Lightening bolts issued from the storm reflected in her eyes. She squeezed them shut in silent prayer.

A barrage of thunder shook glass throughout the house. A single teardrop eased from her eyes and rolled from her cheek. As it hit the floor a violent clap of thunder rocked the home. Even from the great distance away the shock wave was enough to crack the glass in front of her. Terri grabbed her thigh tighter a bit shaken by the fury of the looming storm.

"Don’t be afraid baby. It is just some loud thunder." The child looked frightened beyond words, "what is wrong Terri?" Her daughter shook her head slowly from side to side.

"This one is a bad storm." She looked up at her Mother as the ominous clouds devoured the sun. The room was cast into a heavy darkness. Terri‘s nightlight popped on.

"It is coming for Daddy."

***

Chase didn’t feel the wind gusting against his face. Large drops of rain fell sideways to the earth. Some of them dotted Chase’s shirt and pants. He began to stir. Angry at his wife for spraying him with water to wake him up.

"Damn it! Would you quit with that water already?" Light flashed bright through the lids of his eyes. He squinted keeping them closed.

"Turn out the light Dee! I’ll get up when I’m good and ready!" A blast of thunder slapped him off his bed of beer cans. He sat instantly upright, still unsure what was happening.

The powerful gusts of wind ripped the ball cap from his head. He numbly thought to grasp for it. The garment was across his two-acre yard when he finally followed through with the grab. The air tugged at his shoulder length hair. It howled in his ears. Large drops of rain pelted his face; He was about to lift his hand to ward off the stinging when suddenly all around him was calm. Chase opened his eyes.

Randy stood over him. Like an impossible scare crow in a gray on gray pinstriped double-breasted suit. He might have been staring Chase didn’t know for sure. The lids were closed over his eyes, the faint signs of stitching showed at there bottoms. His skin looked artificial. His dead friend reached to him.

Chase crabbed backward on his buttocks and hands. His flight stalled when he slammed into the bench of a picnic table. His vision blurred. Behind his eyes fireworks danced. His legs stopped responding. He felt like vomiting.

"Remember our promise?" A voice from far away. Impossible. It was Randy’s voice. Speaking from somewhere far away and yet right next to his ear.

Chase tried to focus on the thing moving toward him. The image blurred wildly and came back together as a split image. It blurred again and returned whole. It couldn’t be!

He tried to stand to run but fell again. Empty cans rolled away from his boots like marbles. Once they passed Randy they caught the wind and whipped across the yard as if fired by a gun.

The abomination reached down and caught him by a wrist. The pressure of the grip made him wince in pain. The thing pulled him to his feet with ease. Chase reacted out of fear at the proximity of it and lashed out with his other hand.

The fake looking head snapped back absorbing his punch. The head stayed snapped to the side at an impossible right angle to the neck. A large indentation, the shape of Chase’s fist, sunk into the jaw and cheek. The pull of flesh tore loose all but one of the stitches in the eyelid. It sagged open grossly displaying the empty socket underneath.

"Remember our promise, a promise in blood." The voice again. The thing still had his wrist seized in that vice of a grip. More pressure. Chase felt as though his wrist was being crushed. His hand slowly flexed open from the dead man’s grip. The hand twisted the wrist bringing Chases own palm to his eyes. A thin scare stood out, still.

"Who ever died first would watch over the other." Chase mumbled astonished. Remembering.

"I will not let you follow my path. You are closer than you know. My blood is in your veins. I am part of you." It was Randy for sure. They had never told anyone of the blood pact made as boys.

It let him go. Chase looked at the damaged head lopped over on the shoulder. The thing motioned slowly with a dead crooked finger toward his home. His wife and daughter stood watching him at a broken window. Randy was threatening him.

"What are you? Randy would never threaten my family! They are all I have!" Rage took over in place of fear. He drove a punch into the lower chest of the specter and felt ribs break.

The jolt lolled the dented head forward looking down. Chase hit it again flopping it backward like a boxers speed bag. Chase gave up. The thing felt no pain. It was already dead.

His body started to tremble and burn from inside. The pain was excruciating. It grew and throbbed. His skin felt like it would burst with the pressure. It was like he was containing an explosion within himself. His eyes blurred and teared up. He wiped the tears from his face. And the voice came again.

"My promise was to you. Not them." The crooked dead finger twitched.

"What then? What do you want?"

"If you touch another drink of booze Chase. If you taste another single cigarette. If you continue to grow out of your clothes. I will come back. I will bring pain and suffering to you."

"Thanks ole’ buddy. When we made the promise that wasn’t what I had in mind. It was about saving the others life. A guardian angle. Dickhead!" Chase paused. Then issued his challenge, "Fuck you. Go ahead and take your best-shot Randy. Bring on that pain!" He roared.

"Not to you." The pale finger twitched again. Chase felt flattened as understanding finally washed over him.

The storm suddenly raged in around them. At once Randy was gone amidst the sheets of driving rain. Chase sunk to the ground and weathered the storm; He shivered. Not from the chill.

***

He kicked off his Jogging sho