Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre (6 page)

ground, then begins to laugh and cough as the figure stands in
front of him, barely visible. “Thought you’d get away, did you?”
Marty asks sarcastically. The shadowy figure drifts backwards,
deeper into the veil of darkness. “Come on out now,” Marty
shouts, “and take your medicine, boy!”

Out of the darkness, a black raven emerges. It stands motionless as it investigates its surroundings and watches Marty collect
his breath.

“Get out of the way, bird!” Marty yells, while walking toward
the dark corner. The bird impedes his progress by roaming in
front of his every step. “I said get out of my way!” he screams,
threatening the bird with a brick. His threats are to no avail; the
bird does not budge. Marty hurls the brick at the raven. The brick
stops mid-air, inches away from the massive bird. Marty’s eyes
pop wide. Then the brick vanishes. As a winter breeze rushes
through the alley, Marty clutches his arms, trying to stay warm
while he gazes at the bird staring at him. “What did you do with
that brick?” The bird’s eyes light up like a brilliant emerald flame.
With merely a glance at this strange phenomenon, Marty is subdued. The bird backs into the shadow and all that can be seen are
the blazing eyes, the body no longer visible. Abruptly, the eyes
split into four, then six, and they keep splitting. Marty is stricken
with fear. He can’t move.

Without warning, a large bolt of lightning flashes across the
heavens. With a thunderous rampage, a huge downpour instantaneously develops. Rain pours down on Marty. The thunder begins
to rage, with the winds forcefully pushing Marty back and forth.
The wind whips him in the face. As he stands there, looking at
the three dozen pairs of emerald flame-filled eyes, he begins to
back up toward the window he crawled through. He takes one
step back, crunches a bottle under his feet and staggers, slips on
the rainy pavement and falls, then gets up and takes another step
back. The heavens open the cloud gates wide, allowing the leviathan of all lightning to strike just above the factory. Marty ducks.
He stops moving backward, hearing the lightning sizzle the sky.
He cowers. The thunderous bolt of pure energy blows out all the
remaining windows. The alley, once darkened by shadows, illuminates. Marty’s eyes fill with tears of terror as the leviathan reveals
the secret behind the darkness. He swiftly drops his rusty blade,
turns, and begins to run.

He dashes through the alley while the dozens of gleaming eyes
watch him.
In their grisly stance, they stand perched upon garbage cans,
others on trash bins. Their lazy blood-red tongues dangle to the
side, enhancing their sick, menacing grin.
Behind Marty, in the no longer hidden corner, a pack of rainsoaked jackals looks amongst each other as if to determine who
will get the first bite. Ghoulishly, they salivate and stare at their
escaping meal. Like a steel bear trap, their teeth fit perfectly
together as thick slobber creeps in between. Their fiery eyes
remain focused as Marty gets closer to the escape window.
His pounding heart weakens him as he stumbles to the ground
with barely enough energy to lift himself. Hoping he has outrun
the pack, he looks back to see how far away he is. To his unfortunate surprise, the pack is sitting directly behind him, watching him
struggle. They take another look at each other with their flamefilled eyes, then flourish their razor-sharp canines. Hindered by
the treacherous rainstorm, Marty, reaching for the open window,
slips, crashing down in front of the pack of demons.
“Calm down...just calm down,” Marty pleads to them as he
reaches out in an effort to calm the animals. Without warning, he
is attacked voraciously. A few attack his head and body; others go
for his throat, tearing it to pieces. Blood fountains into the air as
his arteries are abruptly severed. Being sprayed with blood does
not bother the pack. They continue their kill. Marty makes no
sound as his legs are chewed off. He looks up at the falling rain-
drops, and as they mix with the thick blood on his face, he prays
death is on its way. His last precious moment of sight is brutally
interrupted. One of the jackals sees his eyes as a delicacy over-
looked by the others.
This jackal’s attack is a feeding frenzy. Some members of the
pack prolong the onslaught, while others drift back into the darkened corner, their mouths full with chunks of dangling flesh and
warm, salty blood.
The rainstorm subsides just as quickly as it started, with the
heavenly clouds opening their windows, allowing the moonlight to
venture through. Eventually all the jackals find their way back to
the dark corner.
Once their bodies are no longer visible, the fiery eyes begin
to come together, finally ending as one pair. From this pair of
eyes emerges the monstrous raven once more. With its belly visibly filled, it plucks wickedly at some remaining flesh lying on the
concrete. It then strolls over to the torso of the lifeless carcass.
With a sudden burst of energy radiating from the raven’s fiery
eyes, the brick once thrown at it appears suspended in mid-air.
Without hesitation, the brick hurls itself, smashing into Marty’s
half-eaten face, which lies soaking in blood and rainwater.
Peering at the night sky, the radiant beast launches itself into
the clouds.

Sitting on the couch like a drunken old man, Silas relaxes
as if waiting for his wife and children to return home. The apartment is in disarray; drawers have been torn away from the furniture and flipped over, pouring their contents onto the carpet.
Heaps of clothing and trinkets waiting to be sold to the highest
bidder fill garbage bags. Pillows are torn with their goose-down
filling decorating the beds like snow.

“Where the hell is he? Shit, he can’t do nothin’ right,” Silas says
to himself, as he sits on the couch with his hand in his jeans, fon-
dling his testicles. “I’m hungry. What else is here to eat?” He peels
himself up from the couch and heads for the kitchen. After slamming most of the cabinets open and closed, he takes another look
into the refrigerator.

“Wow, looky here. A whole fuckin’ turkey! I don’t remember
seein’ this.” He gives his groin one good scratch, then reaches
down for the 10-pound turkey that lies on a bright silver platter.

The turkey is lavishly decorated with peas, carrots, celery, and a
host of other vegetables. It is exquisitely stuffed with a mixture of
breads, meats, and dark brown gravy. Silas licks his lips all the way
to the table. As he drools over the turkey, the lights in the room
suddenly dim then flicker like a sudden power surge. Silas stares at
the fixtures as his heart skips. In the bedroom, unseen by Silas, the
feathers on the beds begin to stir as if a window has been opened.
The lights return to normal, and Silas redirects his attention.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a meal like this.” While smiling to himself greedily and using a large fork that he finds lying on
the counter, he begins to gorge on the nutritious meal. Tearing
off the legs and wings, he eats as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks. As
he finishes each juicy portion, he throws the bone on the floor,
then continues his feast. His lips are wet with fat and saliva, his
beard is a trap for any morsel that misses his mouth. Stabbing
the bird repeatedly, he searches rigorously for his mouthfuls. Midway through his meal, he hears a strange noise at the window. He
stands, then walks to the window, holding his fork like a weapon.
Looking out the window and pressing his face against the pane, he
sees nothing. He pans left to right and spots only a dilapidated fire
escape swaying slightly in the gentle evening breeze. Silas returns
to the table and continues his feast.

His hunger pangs satisfied, he wipes his face with a pillow and
leaves the table. All that remains is the silver platter with a pile of
bones and half-eaten vegetables.

Sitting on the couch, he passes gas and belches while rubbing
his stuffed belly. Looking at his hands and the gravy stains on his
once clean v-neck T-shirt, he decides he’ll take a quick shower.
Walking toward the bathroom, he stretches and yawns, scratching
his arm pits and face, stepping over the artifacts Marty smashed
during his rampage through the apartment. Silas first stops at the
kitchen, grabbing the longest kitchen knife he can find. Just in case
the two women walk in on him, he can make quick work of them.

Heading toward the shower, he carefully steps over his pile
of defecation, being sure not to ruin his sneakers. He removes
his clothing as soon as he is in the bathroom. Leaving the door
slightly ajar, he pulls back the flowered shower curtain and steps
in. Slowly turning the marble knobs, he steps to the side to ensure
a comfortable water temperature. Once it is to his liking, he steps
in between the smooth streams of water. Silas quickly notices the
used washcloths beside him on the shower bar and, reaching over,
takes one. Staring at it, he expresses a faint smile, then lays it on his
face, taking a deep breath like the true pervert he is. After soaking
his face with their feminine aroma, he gives himself a thorough
wash.

When he steps out of the shower, Silas notices a strong breeze
coming from the front room. Quickly grabbing his knife, he investigates. Dripping wet with a towel wrapped around him, he cautiously walks out to the front room. At first, he finds it hard to
figure out where the strong gusts of wind are coming from, so
he begins to follow the whistling noise to its origin. As he walks
closer and closer to the dormant fireplace, he realizes that this is
the origin of the wind. The upper air vent has opened, causing
some of the soot to scatter on the thick lightly colored carpet.
Relieved, Silas kneels down and reaches his hand up to try to close
the vent. He stumbles around until he grabs what he thinks is the
handle.

“Ouch! Goddamn it!” Cutting his hand on a long rusty nail, he
draws back a bloody finger, but the cold wind forces him to try to
shut the vent again. He reaches up as far as he can, but soot and
other debris fall on his arms and neck.

Unseen by Silas, a pair of watching eyes glare at his stumbling
arms from the top of the chimney. Looking down, they begin to
travel down the chimney, getting closer to his arms.

“Damn, where is it?” he grunts. “There’s got to be a handle to
close this fuckin’ thing!”
The eyes get closer, becoming blood-shot, like an animal preparing to sink its teeth into its prey.
“This must be it.” He feels a small knob.
The eyes get closer.
“Hell, this better be it. My arm’s gettin’ tired.”
The eyes descend farther.
“Come on, baby, close for Silas!”
Closer...closer...closer...
Slam! The sound of the closing vent echoes up the chimney.
“Shit, that was a pain in the ass. Look at this,” he complains as
he brushes the ash off his chest. “I got dirt all over me, now I got
to wash my ass all over again.” Walking back to the bathroom, he
removes his towel to try to remove some of the debris from his
hair. Standing in front of the mirror, he does not see the watchful eyes spy on him from around the corner. The eyes stare at his
nude body with mischievous intentions, then they begin to glow.
They have decided that the mischief shall begin.
“Shit, my stomach’s gettin’ hot. Damn! I shouldn’t have wolfed
down that bird so fast, now I got cramps.” Silas bends over, holding his stomach. Looking down, he notices a small drop of blood
drip from his belly button onto the white tiled floor. Before he
can stand, another drip quickly follows, another, then another. He
then covers his belly to stop the bleeding.
“What the hell is goin’ on? Why am I bleedin’?!” As he ques-
tions this unnatural occurrence, his hand begins to throb, then
to overflow with blood that pours onto the floor. Pain quickly
diverts Silas’ attention; his head feels as if it will explode any second. He grabs it and screams as his ears begin dripping crimson.
Blood spatters the white floor and Silas’ feet. His naked body is
soon covered with the red liquid, which begins to flow out of his
eyes and mouth. Choking on his own blood, he grabs his throat
instinctively. He wants to stop it. He wants to clear his throat, but
more and more blood bubbles out. He then turns and begins to
stumble out of the bathroom. His feet slip on the bloody puddles.
He slides into the wall, slams his head, and drops clumsily onto
the floor. Dazed, Silas gets up, dragging himself to the door.
The angel of darkness stops his progress. The black raven
stands in the doorway, proud and arrogant. Though it’s a monstrous figure, Silas is in too much pain and agony to think clearly
or be frightened by anything. Grasping his throat, vomiting blood
and half-digested vegetables, he steps over the large bird, whimpering in pain. The unscrupulous animal quickly snatches Silas’
manhood.
Silas screams. He cries out, watching the blood from his chok-
ing mouth splatter the ceiling.
Streams of blood pouring from where his groin and body orifices were, Silas staggers against the wall. He stands there, staring
down in horror at himself. Then he shrieks and collapses.
The black raven wiggles the human genitals between its razorsharp beak, like a huge juicy worm it’s just snatched from its bur-
row. Using its knifelike claws, it clamps down on the penis while
slowly swallowing each bloody testicle.
The raven finishes gobbling. It tours the apartment as its eyes
glow with anger. It sees the damage the three men have done to
the once immaculate place. Suddenly, a veil of darkness gently settles over the apartment.