Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor (7 page)

            “So it’s the
latter then?”

            The waitress came
over to pick up the slug’s plate.  She asked Zork if it needed the coffee
reheated.  It said no and invited her to warm up its spots.  The waitress
glared at the both of them, including Harold in her low estimation of the booth
occupants.  She stalked away with the slug watching her every move before
turning back to Harold.

            “Look, I’m okay
with who I am.  This is just a gig to keep me out of a cold dark cell for the
rest of my natural life.  You seem to have a couple issues.  Maybe you ended up
here on purpose.”

            Harold felt the
insidious urge to roll his eyes at the slug, the way he used to as a kid
getting a lecture.  Those days were long ago, and certainly not something he
wanted to revisit.         “Oh yeah, I ended up a vampire on purpose too.”

            “You said, your
girl thought you were out of control.  Are you?”

            Harold flashed on
the night of his arrest.  The first time it ever happened… Yet, it could be a
sign.  The late nights, staying out till nearly dawn pushed the limits enough. 
Getting sloppy and letting a guy sneak up from behind and Taser you while
eating a meal meant certain death.  Perhaps the same way that Zeke ended up in
the hospital.  When did he start thinking of people as meals? 

            Harold didn’t
think of Maria quite the same way, but a guy on the street, sure, that was
lunch.  A no name human he not only nearly killed, but scared the living
daylights out of at the thought of him.  Harold didn’t used think about this
stuff.  He wanted to go back to things the way they were and forget about the
feds and dead people and changing.  It wasn’t fair. 

            “I had a bad experience
earlier.”  Harold rubbed his face.  “This is giving me a headache.”

            The two G-men
came over from their place at the bar.  They had their hands to their earpieces
and didn’t look too happy.  Zork showed teeth to the both of them with a
visible shrug of its body.

            “Those listening
devices are expensive,” Agent Bergstrom said to him.  The other took a small
baggie out of his jacket pocket and slid the crushed remains of the bugs into
it. 

            “You can’t blame
a slug for wanting to have a personal conversation.”

            “It’s time to
go.  We’ve paid the bill,” the agent said.  He didn’t leave any room for
argument and Zork seemed to know not to push its luck.  A soft grunt escaped
and Zork slid out of the booth.

            Harold laughed
without thought when he saw the slug had been sitting in a booster seat. 
Zork’s eyestalks turned back.  “You can bite my slimy grooves,” it said before
continuing down the side of the booth and onto the floor.  Zork slimed away
between the two G-men muttering about everything on the planet being designed
for humans.  The waitress sidestepped Zork’s slime trail and picked up the
mucous covered booster seat with a small disgusted noise.

            After a few
minutes he stood up to leave, throwing a few bills on the table for a tip.  The
air outside chilled him to the bone.  He welcomed it for the mere chance to
experience something other than the anxiousness that plagued him these past few
days.  Harold walked the streets with an empty stomach.  He should grab a bite
to eat. 

            It felt like
everyone knew about him.  A woman walked by, hand in hand with her child.  Her
hair lay parted on the side, a scurried look about her that most mothers tended
to acquire this time of year.  In her other hand she held a large bag from
Marc’s local grocery and a purse dangling from its strap, in danger of being
stolen.  They made eye contact and he looked away first.

            Others passed on
by him, many of which met his eyes and looked away.  They all knew, they were
thinking it in their minds.  Coward, coward.  Perhaps a few of them were G-Men
like the ones following Zork, only now following him.  Was he to be under
surveillance for the rest of his life?  How long would the government persist
in following him if that were the case?  Fifty years?  One hundred?  Hundreds? 
In the end, his only chance at freedom might be entering into some stupid
program the way Zork had… but he had already done that. 

            Donald claimed to
have a hundred percent success rate and the government evidently believed him
because they put Zork in the group.  Harold smiled a little.  He couldn’t see
Zork gaining much benefit from being in FEBS, if it really was from outer
space.  Can’t fix another species, so there goes Donald’s one hundred percent
success rate. 

            Harold continued
to move through the jostling, maddening crowd with their blood pulsing and
pumping.  All of it moving incredibly fast, everyone nervous, eager even for
the upcoming holiday.  Harold hadn’t looked forward to a holiday in over forty
years.  After he’d turned, he’d been so caught up in adjusting, trying to
figure out how to survive in the new world he’d not really noticed the special
holidays, except as moments of pain and a time to think about the family he no
longer had, a practice best avoided.  Then, he’d gotten so out of the habit he
didn’t even celebrate the holidays.  It was always something the others did. 

            Maria mentioned
something about celebrating the holidays together this year.  Holidays were big
in her family. They were long, couple month celebrations for a large, Catholic
family. She’d been nagging him continually in fact.  Perhaps he could let her
pick up a few things, even decorate the apartment any way she wanted.  She’d
probably continue on through the New Year.  Maybe he could negotiate something
for himself from the deal.  Although, Harold couldn’t really think of anything
else Maria could give him which she wasn’t already giving him.

            Harold’s stomach
turned in on itself, reminding him of his hunger.  He turned silently, on the
lookout for prey, some weak and tasty morsel.  Yet, all he saw were G-men and
accusers.  Some even wore dark flannelled shirts and beards.  Small children
wandered by with their parents and all had the same desperate face.  G-men
stood on the corners straightening the lapels of their grey suits and listening
intently in their ear pieces for information on his next move.  Harold didn’t
even know his next move.  He didn’t want to eat the G-men or the Bills or even
the little Rufus’ running around on all fours at his feet.  Harold pushed his way
through the crowd, stomach empty, his throat closed tight.  The women turned
their heads his way and pointed, eyes wide, mouths open in many silent
screams.  Little stray dogs barked and howled, nipping at his shoes.  Agents
left their posts under the streetlamps, following him into the crowd. 

            The moment
crystallized and shattered in the chilly night air. 

            Harold tried to
ignore them and seek out members of the crowd to serve as dinner.  Someone
weak, someone wandering too close to a dark alleyway, but it was hard to pick
this person out from the crowd of people.  They all seemed to become a Zeke or
Bill as soon as he zeroed in on his next meal.  There’s one, then again,
another, then him, him, him, him.  Impossible to move. 

            Harold saw a
grocery store bustling with people.  Well-lit, all bright and cheery, a haven
from the darkness.  Harold stared, willing to give anything, about anything for
the need to go grocery shopping again.  His gums could shrivel up and away from
his now sensitive fangs.  All the teeth in his mouth could fall out and clatter
on the concrete and he wouldn’t care.  The dark nights were never so dark and
empty, even now with sidewalks filled. 

            Harold wanted
very badly to make a connection with someone human.  He wanted to be told
everything would be okay and the day would dawn tomorrow, even if it wasn’t for
him.  It did no good to stand around stewing in his own juices, worrying about
things which shouldn’t be bothering him for fuck’s sake.  Jeez, a couple of bad
days and he turned into a basket case.

            These things
always seemed to work themselves out in the end, didn’t they? But now Harold
really, finally stared into the gaping maul of an endless future with endless
nights, working alone, no one to joke with or to tell his deepest secrets.  He
didn’t even trust Maria with some of his most insecure thoughts.  She would
think it odd, guys like him didn’t have insecurities.  They were tall, dark and
handsome.  Dangerous creatures with wild sexual powers without a second thought
about killing a person, even someone they had once loved. 

            Harold watched
his family die one by one.  Funerals were about the only thing he got dressed
up for these days.  Funeral homes rarely held funerals at night but he found
ways to have a private viewing for one.  No sweat to slip in after dark. 
Around the seventies his relatives starting dropping off en masse, you'd think
after a while he’d get bored with all the funerals, but no… Now his descendants
were entering the deadly years and Harold knew where they all settled, some
living far removed from this big, little town.  He’d tried hard to keep tabs on
them, but he fell short of following them all.  Even now, he couldn’t live up
to the simple reputation of vampire. 

            Harold had
nothing beyond the daily rhythm of scrounging for blood and money, trying to
stay above water when all the while his own thoughts scared him so much he felt
as if he might end up crazy.  Harold brushed past people in the streets. 
Everyone changed back to normal, their regular normal selves, ignoring him,
cold, inhumane so superior.  He’d never wanted to be someone else more.  He
wanted to rip into someone’s body, take over their organs and blood and mind
and make it his own, so he could be a different person, so he could get away
from himself and his disease. 

            Harold never
wanted to eat blood again, never wanted to have to go back to that damn house
to spend his nights looking at all the other desperate people, a daily reminder
of his own fucked status. 

            He sometimes thought
about taking a long walk on the beach to watch the sunrise.  Or maybe go
skydiving during the day and let his body slowly burn to a crisp as he fell to
the earth.  By the time his corpse hit the ground he’d be nothing but ash.  The
wind easily scattering those snowy flakes up noses and into mouths of the other
skydivers jumping out of the plane behind him.  It could be his way of giving
something of himself back to the human race.  Or his still intact but ashy body
could hit the earth at hundreds of miles per hour and expand outwards in a mini
mushroom cloud visible from a moderate distance by onlookers. 

            Short of ending
it all, nothing could ever change his life, and Harold didn’t even have the
guts for death.  He couldn’t keep doing this to himself.  Time to get out of
this place or he’d risk turning his worries and melancholy into something truly
depressing.  A vampire refusing to get out of bed in the evenings, clean up
after himself, wipe his mouth after eating blood or letting out a curdled, clotted
belch.

            Maria’s salon,
Bitchin’ It, blinked at Harold from right up the street.  He’d walked all the
way here from the diner without realizing it.  Disturbed that he paid so little
attention to his surroundings, but secretly pleased with his destination,
Harold hurried towards the neon lights.  Maria would help lift his funk.  At
least she’d get him to stop focusing on himself. 

            Harold peered
into the front window.  He could see women and men finishing up the last
customers of the day.  Maria worked at her usual station near the entrance so
she could get first crack at the customers walking in the door.  She curled the
hair of a flashy woman while talking with her about the usual salon gossip. 
Maybe even bragging she’d snagged herself a vampire boyfriend.  Harold could
just see her telling people about her conquest, but Harold remembered it
differently.  At least he’d convinced her not to tell her family about his
little problem.  Nothing like a bunch of angry Catholics banging down the door
to get their wayward daughter back from the evil vamp.

            He picked out
Maria in her usual spot with her back to the window.  Harold could already feel
his spirits lifting a little.  Today she wore a very fit pair of black slacks
and a teeny sweater in deference to the cold weather.  She’d arranged her long
black hair in some god-awfully complicated mess that probably the latest vogue
style.  She was always on about her hair.  Maria told him once, she had to look
perfect to convince her clients that she was good.

            Harold waited by
the front desk as Maria finished up with her client.  He’d gone straight up to
her before, never to make that mistake again, and gotten bitched at for it. 
The receptionist, a small girl with pencils in her hair, recognized him and
smiled.  Harold graced her with one of his warmest returns, which for a vampire
still remained pretty cold. 

            He toyed with the
notion of flirting a bit with the petite receptionist to get Maria’s
attention.  She seemed to have three hundred and sixty degree radar when it
came to the possibility he might, have the inclination, to possibly, even be
interested in another woman.  He didn’t feel like getting into another fight
and opted not to tease the girl about her pencils.  Harold wanted to catch
Maria in a good mood, so she’d stroke his ego and make him forget all about the
world.