The Halloween competition failed to quench my thirst for blood and some real-life events inspired this story. Horror normally freaks me out so I tried to put a humorous twist on it. I hope you like.
Have you ever had a nightmare when something happens to your sleeping, unconscious body in the physical world and your mind weaves the experience into your nightmare, making them the most realistic, terrifying, disturbing dreams ever? I had a few in my teenage years, and there are two in particular that I remember very vividly.
The first one took place when I was around twelve, when my pet rat escaped from his cage one night and decided to waltz across my snoring face, which my brain transformed into a horrible monster clawing at my face trying to rip my skin off. The blood-chilling scream escaping my lungs instantly sliced through realms, shattering the dark silence of my room; it seemed to ripple on the walls, waking the whole house. I'll never forget my mum's face as she stood in the door in her bright yellow nightdress. Her lips were enquiring whether I was ok, but her exhausted, weary eyes were asking, 'What the fuck just happened?'
It was the last time I ever owned any kind of rodent.
The second one happened when I was about fourteen, at a summer camp where we slept in log cabins in the middle of a dense forest. The windows were very low, and because of the summer heat they were only covered with insect screens. I think a fox or possibly a cat was scratching the net and, in my dream,, I was trapped in a building with a giant Cerberus-dog-type monster trying to get in. When it was about to rip through the window I gave out one of those deafening, blood chilling screams and it seemed to go on in a loop right until one of the teachers came in and shook me awake. Apparently I woke half the camp and people were still talking about it days later. I felt really awkward for the rest of the week and wished the earth had swallow me.
Luckily I haven't had any similar dreams since. At least, not until now.
In my dream we are in a devastated, post apocalyptic world and some sort of chemical-acid rain falls from the troubled skies. I'm running for shelter but the drops hit me and burn excruciatingly painful blisters onto my cheeks and arms. I howl with agony, and this thankfully wakes me. I spring up in bed like a jack in the box.
"Fuck. That felt so real!" I mutter into the darkness, as I rub my arms trying to smooth my still prickled skin back into a calmer state; I notice how damp my skin feels and instead of feeling relieved that the acid rain was just a dream, that realisation suddenly plunges me back into another kind of terror - because it is real. There is something on my skin -- some sort of thick, sticky liquid. I try to reach for the night lamp in vain as the shivers running through my veins render me frozen on my bed. Somehow, finally breaking my ice shell I manage to flick onawake the faint the light on my bedside table, my eyes adjusting to its feeble glow.
My flowery white bedding is covered with red spots; looking up I see that the red liquid is seeping down from the light fitting on the ceiling, trailing down the purple lampshade. In the dim light that permeates the room, realization hits me like a sledgehammer.
Oh my fucking god, it's blood!
Time slows down and it seems as if I'm hearing things from underwater. My heart is replaced with a heavy rock and I'm pretty sure it just stopped beating. As if fighting for air, I draw in a quick, heavy breath and force myself to think straight.
My ever so logical and realistic brain chimes in on an annoyingly patronising voice;
there is a perfectly fine explanation for this. It be anything.
Like what? Fucking ketchup?
, the snarky me replies.
You think the guy upstairs was having dinner and spilled some ketchup? It IS fucking blood!
While those two are having a heated argument, I see my hand being raised to my face and I stare at the red drops on my naked arm. Involuntarily I dip a finger into it then sniff the substance.
Do you want to lick it too?
Snarky ass attempts a joke.
It can be rusty water from the bathtub or something similar
,. The smart ass voice scorns.
It is fucking blood
.
We should call the police.
You know you've got a big problem when your voices refer to you as 'we'.
Ohh and what if it turns out to be something ridiculous like red paint?
I often have conversations in my head. Doesn't everyone? But they've never been this extremely loud and arrogant - and at the same time neither have control of my body. Something else does. I find myself getting dressed and head for the door as if it was completely acceptable or wise to investigate such a thing at twenty-seven minutes past midnight.
I'm not a great fan of the horror genre, but even I know that the ones doing something this stupid often meet a grizzly end.
Call the fucking police!
Snarky tries to stop me before I shut the door behind me. I'm watching the events from the outside like a movie, as I have no control over my body. The conversation keeps running in my head and there are a million reasons why I should stay the fuck away and not climb those stairs to the third floor... and yet that is exactly what I find myself doing.
One of the voices tells me that once I reach the floor, I will just look at the closed door and turn back because it's not like I can just knock on a stranger's door at this hour, but as I reach the top of the stairs I find the door of 4/B ajar. Soft music is seeping out.
"Hello?" I call out hesitantly, sticking my head through the door.
It is real life. Grow up. There's nothing out of the ordinary
here.
When there's no reply I enter on unsteady feet. The soft disco music is louder, other than that, I hear nothing else. I walk towards the source of music which seems to be the bedroom. The flat obviously has the same layout as mine.
Now I seem to hear a low moaning sound. Maybe someone is in trouble. I've read somewhere a few weeks ago that a guy fell face down into a glass cutting his face and eyes and he had to use Siri on his phone to call for help as he was temporarily blinded. Maybe something like that happened here. Heartened by that thought of possibly saving someone's life, I step into the cream carpeted bedroom.
The sight I walk in on seems like a couple just doing the deed: a guy on his back in the middle of the bed, a black-haired girl straddling him, hunched over his body with her back towards me. She has a black vest top on but apart from that, they are both naked. I'm backing out when I notice the pool of blood staining the pastel carpet. I draw in a gasp of air and try to turn and flee but the girl turns towards me and the next thing I know she is standing in front of me, blocking my way out, pushing the door shut with her shapely ass. Oddly she's now wearing a pair of skin-tight, black leather pants with half a dozen zippers and pockets.
Oh my god, those thighs!
Pure muscle and strength, sculpture of a huntress as she wedges them between me and my escape door.
My mouth is still open, ready for a scream, but she opens her captivating, midnight red lips and curls them into a 'you better not' smile. Pressing her finger against my lips she cocks her head, closely studying my face.
"I was hoping you'd join me," she purrs on a low raspy voice.
I smell blood on her fingers and I suddenly crave a taste of it, crave a taste of her. My eyes are locked on those lips. I can't decide whether they are red or black and I wonder whether they taste like overripe, dark, gypsy cherries. She is without a doubt the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, but only if that scale includes otherworldly, edgy beauty. Her raven black hair is straight with a fringe that almost covers her thin contoured eyebrows. She has eyes that swallow you like a depth of a bottomless well, and her arms are extravagant pastel-white canvasses for some Japanese art.
When I manage to take my eyes off her I try to gather my thoughts. "You could have just knocked on my door. A girl like you is always welcome." I hope she appreciates my attempt at humour and flirting. I tend to become childish and silly when faced with someone so out of my league.
"I prefer theatrical entrances," she shrugs. "Now, that you have seen it," she (nods her head towards) the guy on the bed, "I either have to turn you or kill you."
"Turn me?" Let's just pretend that I haven't even heard the other option. I'm only 25, don't wanna die yet.
She rolls her murderous eyes, her long heavy eyelashes fluttering in slow motion. She waits for me to catch on with a heavy sigh. I get what she means, alright, she is obviously a vampire. But hold on, vampires don't exist.
She smiles at me again in that restrained, forgiving way, as if hearing my thoughts. "You are so cute and innocent." Her soft voice seems to float around me, filling the air like sweet perfume, making me light-headed. "By the way don't feel sorry for that pig," she gestures towards the dead guy again. "Fucking scum, a rapist." She turns slightly and spits towards him. It splatters in a red patch on the floor in a way that I find bizarrely erotic. I always knew I was slightly twisted, but this is a bit beyond that.
"A rapist with a small joke of a dick," she continues with a grin. I look at the body, disinterested in the fact that he is very obviously dead, and take in the sight of his tiny penis.
"Maybe it was a grower," I smirk. This whole scene is so surreal that my comment doesn't seem out of place at all.
She chuckles in a very honest, adorable way. "Your sense of humour is one of the things I've chosen you for. It's a grower no fucking more."
My obvious question should be, "Chosen me for what?" but instead I find myself asking, "What are the other things?"
"Have you ever looked in the mirror, darlin'?" I have no idea what she's on about. If she's a ten, which she undoubtedly is, then I'm not even a five. She senses my lack of understanding, and continues, "Not only you are fucking hot, but you are the complete opposite of me. And I like opposites," she declares with thick confidence of a spoiled brat who can have absolutely anything she wants.
She pulls me in front of the mirrored door of the wardrobe. Pool of blood behind us, dead guy to the left, only a few steps away. I try not to look at him. Before I focus my eyes on our reflection, I notice that the mirror is also stained with blood spatters. "Not looking forward cleaning this up," she sighs, then talking to her reflection, she adds, "You are such a messy girl." As she smirks at her own joke her deadly razor-sharp fangs flash for a fraction of a second.
She covers her mouth with her palm as if she had just burped. "Oh, pardon me," she chuckles, fangs now disappeared.
"I kinda like them," I admit with a cautious laugh, watching her in the mirror as she takes a position behind me, her hands on my shoulders. She was right, we do look like a centrepiece on a table of wet dreams together. My approachable, girl next door face with my soft blonde curls tones down her cruel, 'don't fuck with the devil' look.
"I always liked a bit of danger," I whisper narrowing my eyes.
"I'm
very
