Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor (3 page)

            “We all encounter
little bumps on the road to self-betterment.  While those people in the grocery
store didn’t applaud you for trying to get groceries, we do.”  Donald started
clapping and others in the group, including the zombies started clapped too. 
“Next time people start running from you I want you to walk tall and ignore them. 
They are only reacting out of fear and prejudice.  You can rise above it.”

            Then, one of the
zombies admitted to biting a woman on the head at the grocery store and the
clapping trailed off.  Another zombie sitting beside him raised her hand and said
she was the woman.  She started sobbing and Harold saw the skin flap forward on
top of her head where the zombie ripped open her flesh to get at the brains. 
The other zombies threw their now empty coffee cups at the zombie who’d sinned,
mainly he thought, for admitting to the faux pas.  Donald patted the crying
zombie woman’s back. 

            This was getting
good.  Add a few security guards and they’d have an episode of Jerry
Springer.      

            “Don’t you cry
now,” he said, “you’ve come to the right place.  We’ve all been through what
happened to you.  It’s a shock to say the least, but it’s possible to get back
to normal.” 

            The zombie woman
looked hopefully at Donald.  Harold felt sick.  She was a freaking zombie. 
Fresh looking sure, but on her way out.  Finite.  Kaput.  Ain’t nothing
bringing that woman back to good health.  Yet, Donald stood there telling her
things were going to be just fine. 

            A zombie body
after infection was in
Caedocinis
, electrical impulses didn’t stop,
awareness didn’t end, but their bodies stopped growing new cells and wounds
didn’t heal and old cells just kept going until they literally died and fell
apart.  Medical science didn’t have a cure.  He may be new at all this undead
stuff, but he understood that much. 

            After all, when the
zombies the military had been experimenting on in the 1980s got loose and
started running amuck, the only fix they found was to burn them all to ashes. 
Even then Harold always wondered.  Were those people still trapped in the
ashes?  Once a zombie, always a zombie, even when you had completely decayed
away.  He feared it and sent a silent word of thanks that at least he hadn’t
become a zomb.          

            Donald wandered
towards the group’s center.  “As some of you may know, I was once like you.” 
Harold grinned at that.  Right, if Donald ever felt the urge for a little human
snack then he was definitely going to make a complete recovery.  “I was once a
vampire.  I sucked blood.”

            The mention of
blood reminded Harold of his hunger again.  Mister lip sucker next to him even
got distracted from giving death stares and paid more attention.  When you were
a vampire it was hard not to notice when someone said blood.  Kind of how the
word “boobs” made a guy suddenly pay more attention.  A word like that also
made you focus more on those in the room who had boobs or blood, which included
pretty much everyone, but Donald remained the only one with fresh, clean blood
and walking around the room got Donald’s blood flowing.  Harold could hear it
rushing through Donald’s veins.  Even the pumping of his heart increased,
bite-me, bite-me, bite-me, it taunted. 

            “Yes, I drank
blood and lived on my fellow man.  It was a horrible, mean existence, running
in fear, hiding from the light.  I couldn’t die, but I couldn’t live either.  Until
one day,” Donald held up a finger and turned to look everyone in the eyes or
eye.

            “One day I had an
epiphany.  I didn’t have to live this way.  I had accepted the stigma and
preconceived notions of mainstream society.  Everything we know about the living
undead, about ourselves, we’ve been taught by scary myths and legends that
portray us this way.” 

           
And
medical
science, Harold thought.

            Donald allowed
the group to absorb those words.  “I changed.  I stopped drinking blood.  I
started to seek out the light and the way to being human was shown to me.  All
I had to do was wean myself of the behavior which led me to my former bereft
state.”  Donald went back to the group of zombies and laid his hand on the
shoulder of the zombie who admitted to turning a woman in the grocery store. 

            “It wasn’t easy. 
I fell off the wagon several times.  I still had emotional scars and mental
blocks, old ways of thinking hindered me.  It took hard work, but eventually I
became the man you see before you today.”

            Everyone broke
out into applause again.  Even the coterie of group members once so attentive
to Harold was now entirely focused on Donald.  Harold could see the wolf man’s
tail wagging so hard, patches of fur came off of it in droves.  This Donald guy
was good. 

            Quietly, but loud
enough for Harold’s ears could pick it up, the slug muttered if Donald was what
they would all turn into, it would much rather stay a back-biting, bloodsucking
larva of a slug.  A couple of others in the group turned to glare at it. 

            The rest of the
meeting consisted of others complaining about stress or hunger, problems with
the whole “becoming normal” thing, and a few failed attempts to get back in
touch with family members.  Donald was trying to set up a meeting where
everyone brought in a family member or friend for a monitored conversation
about how problems caused by bloodsucking and flesheating affected their
relationships.  Few of them were turning up familial support.  Most of the
group members were infected long enough their families were also dead or moved
on or else didn’t even realize their loved ones had turned into fucking
monsters. 

            Donald finished
up the meeting with rules for everyone to keep in mind.  Get a buddy.  Don’t be
alone when you start to get hungry.  If possible, seek out the buddy.  Try
blood and flesh alternatives while weaning yourself onto real food.  Get a few
minutes of daylight every twenty-four hours.  (Harold thought that might
account for the slight crispiness of some of the other group members.)  Above
all, try to take on the attitudes and activities of normal humans.

            Then, the meeting
broke up.  Harold stood to try and make good his escape, but someone grabbed
him by the elbow.  Rufus, the good dog, held him fast.  Harold reluctantly
waited while Donald took a few moments to speak with the new zombie woman,
probably to impart a few words of wisdom, before she tottered off after her new
family. 

            “I see you hung
around,” Donald said, then chortled to himself.  Rufus didn’t let go of
Harold’s elbow until Donald got to the both of them.  He held out a hand which
Harold reluctantly accepted.  “Welcome to the group.  I’m glad you decided to
pop in tonight.  We’re always looking for new blood,” he chortled again. 

            Harold didn’t
laugh.  He was hungry and nervous and the sooner he could get out of here and
grab a bite to eat the sooner life would be okay again. 

            “Well, I just
wanted to welcome you personally,” said Donald.  He folded his hands in front
of himself. 

            Harold nodded,
looking around for an opening to leave, an excuse to leave, anything he could
find to leave and get away from Rufus and his ring master, Donald. 

            “I also wanted to
remind you about our tenets and the guidelines of group.  I assume you received
our paperwork?” 

            Oh yes, Harold
nodded.  He’d received a stack of handouts from the courthouse about an inch
thick and still sitting unread on his coffee table. 

            “Good, good. 
Well, you’ll need to find yourself a group buddy before the next meeting.  You know
someone to call on for strength, to talk with for support.  Show you around the
house.”

            Harold focused
back on Donald.   “I’m sorry, house?”

            The man frowned,
“Yes, the halfway house.  I assumed they told you down at court.”

            Harold shook his
head as it slowly dawned that he’d be spending a lot more time than he wanted
with these characters.

            “You’re in the
diversion program.  Required to spend your days at the house to qualify for
graduation.”

            He needed to get
a buddy and he’d be hanging out at one giant, creepy sleepover.  Harold didn’t
feel so hungry anymore, in fact, he felt a bit sick again.  The feds may have
mentioned something about a haunted house of horrors, but he’d been in no real
mood to listen then.

            “I wasn’t really
expecting to stay on in a group home,” Harold began.

            “Tut, tut,
halfway house.”

            “Err, yeah.”    

            Harold’s mouth
twitched as Donald patted him on the shoulder, “Don’t worry we’ve got a lovely
bed made up for you.”

            Maria was not
going to be happy about this part of the program.  She already thought they
weren’t spending enough time together.

            “Now about your
group buddy?” Donald asked. 

            Harold nodded. 
He had to pick someone out of this group of Donald devotees to share his most
intimate, scaredy vamp fears with, someone who would probably be eager to spy
on him for the ringmaster here. 

            “In fact, if you
don’t know anyone in the group yet, I’m certain Rufus would be glad to take you
on as a buddy.”  At Donald’s words, Rufus grinned.  A little slobber dribbled
out of the side of his mouth and his tail wagged extra hard. 

            Harold took an
involuntary step away from Rufus.  Well, he’d rather be staked, drawn and
quartered than share his thoughts with Rufus.  “I have already asked someone
about being my buddy.” 

            His feet found
something slippery and Harold hit the floor in a hurry.  Rufus barked his
laughter.  Damn it.  A trail of wet slime meandered away from underneath his
ass and around the corner of a forklift.  “I already asked someone about it,”
he repeated, staring off into the distance.

            “Are you
alright?” 

            Harold eased back
to a standing position.  “I’m okay.”  Harold wiped the gooey mucous from his
hands onto his trench coat, already slick with slime on the back.  “I’ve got to
go wipe this stuff off,” he muttered and tried to make a getaway. 

            “Wait.  Who is
your group buddy?”

            “Huh.”

            “Your buddy?  I
just need to make sure you are set up for next week.  It’s going to be
exciting.”

            “Uh.” Harold’s
eyes were drawn back to the slimy trail he’d fallen in.  The trail of a
disgusting creature that gained pleasure from not only annoying Donald, but the
others in the group.  One that also had the distinction of being the asswipe
who outed Harold earlier to the group.

            “The slug.”     

            “The slug?”

            “I spoke with the
slug about being my buddy.  He said yes.”

            Donald’s eyes
narrowed and his cheeks lost some of their natural puffiness.  “Yes, that would
be convenient.  Zork’s buddy just graduated from group.”  Donald pressed his
palms together so they made little human heart pumping sounds with the air, pushing
it in and out from between his palms.  Swoosh, swoosh, noises like the blood in
Donald’s real heart which started pumping blood a little bit more rapidly all
of a sudden.  “Still, Zork is not the easiest person with which you’ll get
along.  Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have Rufus as a buddy?  He’s a good
listener.”  Rufus looked as if he’d just gotten a treat.

            “I’m okay,”
Harold said.  He turned and slipped into the alleyways of pallets to find
Zork.   

            Beyond the
forklifts the sounds and whispers of other group members grew steadily quieter
as everyone left to go their own ways home.  He could imagine Rufus the lapdog
curled up peacefully on the floor in front of Donald’s fireplace.  Without all
the creepy crawlies, the warehouse seemed a lot less spooky.  Really, it was
just a big building filled with a lot of food. 

            Harold considered
the task ahead of him.  He’d already told Donald that Zork agreed.  He
basically had to get the slug’s okay, no ifs, ands or buts.  Getting Zork was
the best move Harold could make.  Zork didn’t seem the bonding type and wasn’t
likely to hit Harold up for support over a pint of blood.  He disliked Donald
or at least wasn’t into FEBS the way some of the other members were, so he
wouldn’t have to worry about problems of loyalty.  

            The trail
disappeared at the corner.  Harold glanced around, walking forward several feet
to see if he could pick up the trail again, peering beyond nearby corners. 
Nothing there except concrete. 

            Was it possible
the slug could fly?  

            Harold stalked
back to where the trail stopped.  The slug could have backtracked.  Did it
realize it was being tracked?  Harold followed the trail back several feet and
looked for off branches.  He didn’t think a slug capable of jumping very far,
but then again, Harold had never seen anything quite like it before.  He’d
never heard myths about slug creatures.  Unless this was the creature from the
myth of the Chupacabra?  He couldn’t really remember the myth involving slug
trails.  Harold was checking the sides of pallets for mucous trails, just in
case Zork could slime its way up walls when a wild scream broke the silence.