Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor (13 page)

            A day later,
Harold slipped into the booth opposite Zork for their usual dinner meeting. 
The slug once again had its face buried in a piece of pie.  It looked like its
second piece, or maybe third, so far.  Bits and pieces of crust stuck to the
creature’s moist skin like a weird kind of alien acne.  Zork’s needle sharp
teeth worked delicately, despite their gruesome appearance.  Zork had a bizarre
set of movable fork tines in its mouth.  Each long needle moved independently
to nibble off the topmost layer of pie, shaving away crust.  As they worked,
its vertical mouth opened wide and flat, allowing its now clamped teeth to pull
the pie inside.  Harold heard it slurping and swallowing each bite, a few
whistles of what could only be gourmand pleasure mixed in with the cacophony of
sounds.

            Harold could
imagine that same scraping, scooping and slurping mouth clamped on his back or
the back of some other poor sap.  Shaving the skin and muscle away layer by
delicate layer as Zork the flesh eater partook of yet another satisfying meal. 
Because, despite its slight appearance, despite the humor and sarcasm, despite
the fact it was corralled and followed constantly by G-men, Zork was still a
flesh eater at heart.  Same as Harold, as the rest of those, things, in the joke
of a group they attended every week, it was a kind of monster.  Even if this
particular monster also liked blueberry pie.

            Sitting at the
bar of the small diner were Potts and Bergstrom whom so recently coerced Harold
into spying on the Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers group.  Bergstrom pulled down
his dark shades, revealing those voids he called eyes and grinned at Harold. 
His stomach churned with a sudden influx of acid as he got the impression they
might approach him later tonight, but Harold didn’t really have anything on the
group beyond old Skellie’s graduation.  Although, he was currently holding a
juicy tidbit about certain missing blood units from work.  Maybe he could work
out a deal.

            Zork’s eyestalks
stared straight at Harold despite the creature’s face being plastered to a
rapidly depleting piece of pie.  Having eyestalks were quite the advantage. 
Zork twisted, bent and turn those stalks in every imaginable direction.  It
could even look in two separate directions at once.  That feat of natural selection
made Harold a little queasy when he tried imagining seeing in front and back at
the same time.  He probably wouldn’t know whether he was coming or going.

            The slug grunted
at Harold.  A clear sign to get on with the discussion.  These weekly buddy meetings
didn’t seem to do either of them much good, except to get the slug out of the
halfway house.  Harold just couldn’t see his way towards confessing his deepest
fears and secrets to this creature.

            “How’s the pie
tonight?”

            Zork grunted
again in what Harold took to mean it’s great but what does it matter to you,
you bloodsucking vampire.

            Harold sneered. 
He didn’t really need the attitude tonight.

            “Get your slimy
face out of your food,” He snapped and regretted it.  For the slug went very
still and very slimy and suddenly had a lot more teeth.  The back of Harold’s
hand twanged where Zork had bit him so many weeks ago. 

            Zork straightened
up to stare at Harold.  A long black tongue slipped out of its mouth and
circled that gaping maul, sweeping up crumbs and bits of pie as it went, even
stopping to sweep clean each of its eyestalks from the base of its head to the
ends of its eyeballs before completing the circuit and retreating back into
Zork’s mouth.  The mouth remained open however, each of Zork’s needle-sharp
teeth moved of their own accord, twitching and rippling in a gruesome wave. 
Only Harold, for just a moment, feared the wave’s end would involve Zork flying
at him from across the table and flaying him.  Did vampires taste any
differently from normies?   He’d never tried it himself.

            The slug turned
its left eyestalk towards the counter where the two Gees were hanging out,
drinking coffee and talking the kind of talk G-men always talk.  He figured
they were the only reason he wasn’t getting a rip roaring case of needle sharp
teeth in the ass. 

            “Listen you sack
of blood, sweat and stupid.  I get out of  that shack they call a halfway house
three times a week.  Once to go to that damn psych job of a group, once for
poker night every Saturday and now to see your pale stupid face every Wednesday
for “buddy” talk,” Zork said.  It shifted in its booster seat and turned the
eyestalk back to join its counterpart in glaring at Harold.  “While we’re here
I’m going to enjoy every damn minute of pie, coffee and large breasted waitress
I can get my slimy stalks on.  If you ruin this for me I will hurt you.  Now,”
Zork delicately looped an eyestalk around the handle of its coffee cup and
lifted it to its mouth for a loud slurp, “my buddy, how did your week go?”

            Harold was saved
by the waitress from having to form an intelligent response.  She placed a
glass of ice water before him revealing the cleavage from those same breasts
Zork had just mentioned as she bent forward.  Zork’s stalks got all wide and
tangled up in themselves when the waitress repeated the bend to top off his
coffee cup.  They weren’t even the same species.  Harold didn’t get the appeal
for the slug.

            They were still
squeezing themselves several seconds after she stood and walked off.  It really
was pitiful.  Harold tapped his own glass of water with his spoon to get the
lusting creature’s attention. 

            “Zork,” Harold
said.  He figured he had questions for Zork about Skellie and so far the
creature had been nothing but distracted.

            “Zork, I don’t
give a jack squat about your living situation,” Harold said, earning a sharp
look from the slug.  “As far as I’m concerned you and your freaky shit can go
back to the planet you came from and the world would be one less freak better
off, speaking as a vampire.” 

            Harold watched
Zork untwist its eyestalks to look at him with what could be described as shock
on its alien face. 

            “Now, I can
easily get up, walk away and continue my own limited, but
free
lifestyle
without ever seeing you again.  So, you’d lose one extra night of play time and
I’d be free of a slimy turd with teeth.  Don’t think for one minute you could
hurt me anymore than I can hurt you,” Harold leaned forward baring all his
teeth and blood shot eyes in glorious form.  He had his own set of sharp fangs
too.  “You little shit.” 

            That got Zork
going.  Teeth rippled and its sides erupted with a trilling hiss sounding
dangerously like a rattle snake’s tails shaking full tilt.  They glared at each
other in their anger, two miscreants of the night going one on one, an epic
staring contest and battle of wills for the dominant position in this bizarre
midnight relationship.  The first to blink loses.

            Except neither of
them got as far as ripping the other apart.  A soft cough from the bar area of
the diner where Bergstrom watched them both had Zork blinking and the tension
disappeared.  Just like that, it went from snarling monster to resigned soul,
idly rubbing at the radio round its neck. 

            “Sorry, I’ve been
under a lot of pressure from them lately,” Zork muttered, gesturing at the
agents across the diner.  “Not myself.”

            Harold took
another long look at the slug.  Its black iridescent body covered in twisted
swirls of dark grey scar tissue, replete with the ever present collar and
guards.  The slug was probably the only one of its kind here.  All alone on a
hostile world. 

            “It,” Harold
said, “happens.”

            “Does it ever. 
Doesn’t help that Matty’s getting out soon.”  Zork snorted, taking another long
draw of coffee.  “I’ve been in that group way longer than him and Donald
refuses to graduate me.  And look,” Zork gestured at its empty plate, “I don’t
even have to pretend to eat regular food.”

            Harold frowned,
he didn’t realize Zork wanted out that much.  In the past, his own problems
were on the forefront of his mind.  Not much else got through …well, Harold had
been pretty focused on himself for years now.  Thinking back over his behavior
he didn’t know how Maria could even stand it. 

            He sat back,
picking at one of his fingernails.

            “How long have
you been in FEBS anyway?”

            Zork sighed, “A
year now.  Best time of my life, isn’t that sad.”

            Harold’s thumb
made its way to his mouth where he worried at the tip with an incisor. 

            “You know it’s
funny,” Zork said, “Your government approached me with this deal to get some
limited freedom and almost as soon as I started the program, those two started
asking me a lot of questions.”

            “Questions?”
Harold said around his thumb.  He worried it a bit more, biting down just
enough to puncture the skin with a delicious shock of pain.

            “Yep,” Zork said,
“Stuff about Donald, what happens in group, where members go when they leave. 
That sort of thing.”

            They spent a few
moments in silence.  Zork drinking coffee and Harold sucking on his thumb.

            “Did you know?”

            “Know what?” Zork
asked.

            Harold pulled his
thumb from his mouth and started eyeing an index finger.  “What happens on
graduation?”

            “It’s a mystery
to me.  Donald probably gives out a certificate, has them sign some paperwork
and off they go.”  Zork stared into the middle distance with that same resigned
air as before.

            He visibly shook
himself.  “Anyway, how’s your girl?”  Zork asked.  “Sort out that little ’I
don’t eat food’ thing with her?” 

            Harold smiled. 
Last time he spoke with Maria he’d told her about the feds and before that,
having to live at the halfway house.  Things were rough, but what else was new.

            “Not exactly,”
Harold replied, “She’s actually been pouting over the fact that I have to stay
at the house.”

            Zork’s eyes
leered at Harold.  “Home fires getting cold?” 

            “No,” he said
quickly, “Don’t get any ideas.  I’ve noticed that you’ve noticed her.”

            Zork blew on
already cold coffee as movement in their peripheral vision made both creatures
blink.         

            “Time to go,”
said Agent Bergstrom.

            “Eh,” Zork’s
stalks swiveled towards the two feds towering over their table, “haven’t
finished my coffee yet.”

            “Now.”

            “No,” Zork
muttered, stalks cast downward at the table.

            “Now, now, you
know what happens when you get rowdy in public.  Bad behavior,” he lightly
patted something bulky under the front of his jacket, “get the net.  Good
behavior, get the pie.” He gestured to the empty pie plate on the table.  “We
can’t have you running around with the local citizenry, even if it’s just a
cowardly vamp.”

            Harold didn’t
like the way that last remark sounded.  He sat up straighter, pressing his
hands on the linoleum table and forcing calm into his stomach.  Watching Zork
this evening, a tiny sliver of pity started to wend its way into Harold’s gut. 
It felt sharp and unnatural, perfectly similar to the feeling he normally got
when out hunting for his next meal.  What did that mean?

            “Shut up and gulp
it down,” Potts said in a cajoling tone, letting Harold know just how much the
creature dressed in Gee man’s clothes enjoyed his bit of business.  He grinned
wider than usual, if possible, making his jowls divide into two sets of four
grinning rolls of flesh. 

            The other people
in the small diner were getting curious.  They turned to look.  The waitress
hovered at the corner of the counter with her pot of coffee tilted in hand,
close to spilling.  Even the cook in the back grill had stopped from his never
ending stream of orders to stare over the kitchen bar on folded arms. 

            Just when Harold
thought he’d begin shaking uncontrollably in the presence of these two, Zork
downed its coffee and slammed it on the table. 

            “Let’s go then,”
Zork said, sliding down to the floor.  They followed the creature out,
Bergstrom stopping at the cashier to pay for their meal.

            Harold leaned
back and tried to look unobtrusive.  Zork drew way too much attention wherever
it went. 

            He rubbed his
eyes and tried not to think about a three foot slug, or a drugged vampire or a
coworker with gambling problems or a lifetime of hurting people.  Things were
coming to a head.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out this situation was bad
for any vamp, young or old.  The easiest option still seemed to cut and run. 
Harold had some money stashed away and a fake ID put aside.  Not a lot. 
Contrary to public opinion, all vampires did not accrue vast sums of wealth
over the years.  There were expenses, of course, and appearances to keep up. 
He had to pay for an apartment, clothing, education to keep up with the
changing world.  Not to mention buying food to look like a normal human.  At
least with Maria around it didn’t go bad in the fridge.