A Mixed Bag of Blood (3 page)

Carl wasn’t prepared for the suddenness of such a wonderful act and almost came. He grabbed her head and slowly pushed her away before pulling her up and locking mouths with her. “Come with me,” he told her, then took her by her hand and together they headed down the hall to his bedroom.

* * *

Scowling at its previous host, the booglin watched as the two humans merged together as one. The world around them was now cut off. Their spirits were intertwined in ecstasy. The booglin waited patiently for its moment to strike. Revenge hung on the small creature’s mind like a tasty meal, a palpable delicacy. It waited. And waited. Finally, while still in the act of procreation, its former host taking the woman from behind, her face pressed into the pillow, moaning loudly, the booglin scurried toward her. It approached her face—the woman’s eyes closed—and jumped into her left nostril. The woman’s nasal passage was smaller than the man’s and much cleaner, but it didn’t plan on staying long. It had a task to perform and that was all.

It crawled slowly up the woman’s nostril, careful to avoid knocking into any hairs or use its claws for purchase. The last thing it wanted was to get blown out. Luckily, the woman was breathing out of her mouth.

* * *

Beth was close to another orgasm. Carl had been a master with his tongue and equally talented with his penis. From teasing, to hard thrusts, to slow deep penetrations, he was driving Beth wild. For a moment, she thought she’d felt a tickle in her nose. It made her want to sneeze, but the orgasmic explosion in her loins quickly removed any further thoughts about her nose.

* * *

The woman’s breathing and pulse had intensified until finally slowing down, returning to a more normal state. The booglin had moved with stealth-like precision, working its way into the woman’s sinus cavity.

Ready to exact revenge, the booglin reared back its claws and sunk them into the female’s sensitive tissue, penetrating deep and gouging bone.

* * *

Carl was lying next to Beth, his body glistening with sweat, when she sat up screaming. His slowing pulse was jolted back into overdrive. He bolted upright and turned toward her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders. She didn't react. It was as if she couldn’t hear him. Her hands covered her face. She was crying and begging for the agony to stop. He got to his knees and again asked her what was wrong. When she didn't answer, he gripped her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face.

“My head!” she cried, her eyes squeezed shut. “Hurts like hell!” She pulled away from Carl, putting her hands back to her face, holding the bridge of her nose. Blood began pouring out of her nostrils, dripping onto the bed.

“Hold on,” Carl told her. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

Beth continued to writhe in pain, rocking back and forth. Her screams grew louder, the pain intensifying. Beth’s pleas made Carl’s chest hitch and balls shrivel.

He picked up his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

Loud banging erupted at the bedroom door.

“What’s going on in there?” Fred asked from the other side of the door.

“Beth,” Carl answered, waiting for the operator to come on to the line. “She’s sick or something. I’m calling 9-1-1.”

As soon as the operator came on the line, Carl began explaining the situation. It was hard to hear the woman over Beth’s screaming, but he got through it, finally giving his address. He was told to stay on the line, but Beth’s screaming was worsening. He dropped the phone and went to her.

* * *

The booglin had dug its way through Beth’s skull, its razor sharp claws easily cutting through bone. The gelatinous brain tissue stood before it. The booglin’s body shook with the woman’s screams. Putting its nose to the grey matter, the booglin inhaled. Its appetite whet, the booglin sunk its claws into the woman’s brain and scooped out a nice chunk before devouring it. Feeling the woman’s screams intensify, the creature began relentlessly digging. It tore through the soft tissue as if it were made of jell-o.

* * *

Carl watched as Beth’s screams dwindled. Her body seemed to relax. It was as if she'd been given a sedative. He held her upright by her arms, the limbs lifeless.

“Beth?” he asked. He stared into her eyes as they seemed to glaze over, appearing to focus on nothing. Her body grew heavy. She was dead weight and slumped forward like a heavy sack of grain.

Carl laid her down on her back. “Beth?” he squeaked, feeling for a pulse on the side of her neck. There was none. Blood covered her face, glistening like rich cherry syrup. He wiped it away from her lips and performed mouth to mouth and chest compressions. Nothing worked. Beth was dead.

* * *

The ambulance arrived ten minutes later. Beth was unofficially announced dead, but the paramedics would bring her to the hospital where a doctor would give an official time of death.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, the coroner was leaning over Beth’s corpse, peering into the nasal cavity. He didn't understand how so much damage could occur naturally. Burst embolism? The amount of tearing and blood loss pointed toward something else. Some kind of parasite?

The coroner studied the interior of the cadaver’s nose and nasal passages, including the sinuses and frontal lobe region. Having spent a number of hours examining the body and remaining just as baffled as when he’d first seen the damage, he decided to call it quits for the day.

On his way home, while driving along Route 9, he began to feel an uncontrollable itching in his nose.

Eaten Un-Alive

The vampires were starving and the zombie uprising was the cause. Zombies had no rules or limitations, and they spread like a plague. The vampires, having stayed hidden in the shadows for centuries, had kept their numbers small. Discrepancy had been paramount to their survival. The food supply was limitless. Now, humans hid like the dying breed they were, and to make matters worse, the blood bags had become aware of the vampires. The sun-fearing creatures remained hidden no longer, having become as desperate as their cattle.

Remington spat after draining another rabbit. The taste was awful, bitter and lacked the proper nutrition his kind needed. But it would have to suffice until he found a human.

He lay back against one of the moldy bales of hay in the old barn, finally able to relax. The place was in a remote part of the countryside. He’d seen only a few undead in the area, which he’d easily dispatched, though having to rely on animal blood was making him slower and weaker than he’d ever been.

He glanced around him and chuckled at the sight on his left. A pile of white, gray and brown blood-smeared bunny corpses lay beside him. He was Bunny Slayer, a fierce and formidable foe to the furry, grass-munching critters, sucking them dry like a giant vacuum of doom.

Remington had loved cities, New York his favorite, next to Venice. He loathed the countryside. The open fields, the long boring roads, and the lack of food were intolerable, but the cities had all been overrun with the undead.

With the night still young, Remington fled the barn, deciding it was time for a real meal. He’d consumed enough animal and vermin—yes, he’d resorted to that at times—blood for a vampire’s lifetime and deserved better. He would go house to house and search relentlessly for food.

* * *

It had been two hours since he left the barn and he’d found nothing but rotted corpses and zombies. The pathetic creatures couldn’t even figure out how to open a door or climb a set of stairs. One time, for fun, he’d plucked the eyes from a zombie and watched as it fell over furniture and collided into the walls of the house it had been in. He’d laughed so hard that night.

But for such witless creatures, they sure wreaked enough havoc. Zombies were the vampires’ cockroach.

Having not seen a human in days, he walked brazenly down the road. Normally, he’d prefer to stay in the shadows of buildings or trees. The world may have changed, but it was still wise to remain hidden, for humans were more dangerous than ever now.

Getting ready to give up, having searched a number of houses and finding them vacant or with undead life, Remington heard a female’s voice.

He cocked his head and listened. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, another indication he wasn’t receiving the proper nutrition, but it was coming from a farmhouse off to his right.

He traveled swiftly and as quietly as possible down the dirt drive, and then hid behind a small copse of bushes. The house’s windows were dark, the place appearing as deserted as all the others he’d visited tonight. It didn’t mean much of course, as most homes had no electricity. The humans kept their generators and lights off, for a lit home was often an invitation for unwanted guests, both human and otherwise.

Seeing no one outside, he ran up to the front door and began pounding at it.

“Please,” he cried. “I need help. My friends were just killed by a pack of zombies.” He continued banging on the door until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps on the other side of it. The locks clicked; there were a number of them. The door flew open and he found himself face to face with the end of a double barrel shotgun. A balding, heavy set man with a scraggly beard and wearing jean overalls was holding the weapon.

“Don’t shoot,” Remington cried, recoiling. He stepped back and hid behind his arms, trying his best to appear like a mortal.

“Dad,” a young girl’s voice sounded from behind the man. “Let the guy in.”

The man kept the weapon trained on Remington, eyeing him with obvious mistrust.

“Please, sir,” Remington said, his voice jittery. “May I take shelter in your home?”

“Got any weapons on you?” the man grumbled.

“No, sir.”

“Nice and slow, lift your shirt and turn.”

Remington did as he was told, trying not to laugh. He truly was on edge, but it wasn’t from nerves. It was from the anticipation of the meal standing before him. He could smell the man’s blood, the coppery aroma making his fangs want to extend.

Facing the man, he saw a partially open wound on his forearm. The abrasion was small—a scratch—with the slightest hint of a scab forming. Remington dug his fingernails into his palms, fighting the tremendous urge to pounce on the blood bag.

The man backed up, making room for the vampire. “Get in here before we’re spotted.”

Remington entered.

The man quickly shut the door, but didn’t slam it, and then threw each lock in place in an obviously practiced fashion. He then pulled a thick black tarp over the door, covering it completely. “To keep light from showing,” the man said.

Remington nodded and looked around, noticing now how much light there was. All the windows were covered with similar black tarps or some kind of cloth.

“Say, how’d you know we were in here?” the man asked, and shoved the shotgun against his chest.

“I heard a woman’s voice,” Remington said, immediately wishing he’d held his tongue. Vampire hearing was exceptional and he wondered if a human could have heard the woman from outside. Maybe they’d soundproofed it. And he knew for certain that she hadn’t been yelling. If she had, his case for hearing her would’ve seemed more reasonable.

The man looked at him for a second, as if deciding to believe him, then nodded and lowered the gun.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” Remington said and held out his hand.

The man didn’t move. The gun, although no longer aimed at Remington’s head, was pointed at his groin, if ever so casually.

“Not from around here, I take it?” the man asked.

“No.”

“Where are you from?”

“The City. New York, that is.”

“Dad, stop pestering the man,” the female voice said. “He’s just lost his friends.” A young girl walked into the foyer and stood next to her father. She looked nothing like the bearded fellow. She had soft looking skin, jade-colored eyes and an aura of sweetness and innocence. Her blonde hair was tied back into a ponytail, save a few strands that hung over her right eye. Remington guessed the man was in his fifties, the girl in her mid-teens. He smiled on the inside, knowing he would feed well tonight.

“They weren’t truly
friends
,” Remington said. “I’d only met them a few days ago. They picked me up hitchhiking along the Thruway, after my car broke down.”

“Hungry?” the girl asked.

Remington fought a smile, his brain screaming yes.

“Actually, no,” he said. “I had just eaten before we were attacked.”

The man was still eyeing him and it was beginning to get on his nerves. He wanted to rip out the human’s throat and begin his feast, but as with any new place, it was always better to know the surroundings. There could even be more humans lurking about, staying hidden. Remington, especially in his weakened state, preferred to avoid surprises.

“None of your companions got away?” the father asked.

“No, they were all bitten, and torn to pieces,” Remington said, staring at the floor. “It was awful.”

“Enough, Daddy,” the girl said. “Come this way, Mister.” The girl took Remington’s hand in her own and led him to the living room. Candles, along with a bustling fireplace, lit the room. The windows were blacked out, as expected. A deer’s head protruded from a plaque above the hearth’s mantle. Black and white framed photographs of people, probably long dead relatives, hung on the walls. Toward the end of the row, the photos were in color. The last picture was of the bearded man and the girl, but they were not the only ones in the picture. There was also a boy of about seven-years-old, maybe eight, and a blonde-haired woman who looked like the girl. They were all smiling.

The girl showed Remington to a seat on the couch along the right wall. Hot pain enveloped him. He began feeling very weak, as if the unlife were being sucked out of him. His stomach churned and he was overcome with nausea. He glanced to his right. Then to his left. Finally, he looked behind him on the wall. There, above him, was a cross. It must have been blessed, for normal, store-bought crosses had no power over a vampire.