Creature of the Night

by Anne Stinnett

  Holy crud, Ollie thought. They’re tossing us in the deep end. But like the vampire host said, the blood came from consenting adults, so nobody was hurting anybody. This wouldn’t be any worse than choking down two helpings of Aunt Patty’s blood-beef stuffing every Thanksgiving just to make her feel good. (To the consternation of his father, Ollie was a vegetarian the rest of the year.) He could do this.

  “This is a simple challenge,” Chaz said.

  I can’t believe they think this is a challenge, Lola thought. Blood in a cup? Big fucking deal. If they weren’t going to make it harder than this, they might as well just declare her Creature of the Night right now. That way, everyone could forgo the boredom of watching them stand in a room packed with crosses or something equally lame. I wonder if I get to keep the chalice. I could get a fortune for it on eBay.

  “In keeping with the spirit of the competition,” Chaz went on. “We wanted the initial challenge to be something integral to vampire life.”

  This is great, Jeff thought. This is classic. You had to love vampires. Except some people still didn’t, but Jeff dismissed those people as racist. Or maybe it was speciesist. It didn’t matter. Jeff didn’t approve of bigotry by any name. This challenge was fitting. It was clever, and they had dished up the blood in bejeweled cups like the contestants were royalty. Jeff had spent a lot of time in college working on his binge drinking. He could swallow the contents of a full Solo cup in 3.2 seconds. This was going to be great.

  “And there is nothing more integral to us than blood.”

  Talk much? Cyri thought. Her dad grinned with excitement and patted her knee.

  This is gross, Portia thought. Where the hell did they get the blood? It wasn’t as though the contestants had vampire immunity to any blood-borne nastiness a donor was harboring. She would have called this whole endeavor a mistake except here she was on the set of a worldwide fucking phenomenon. Everybody was going to know her name. Portia reminded herself to smile.

  “We chose all of those who donated blood for tonight’s challenge from our studio audience,” Chaz said. “So let’s give them a round of applause.” The crowd clapped obediently. As they cheered, they assessed their neighbors for telltale signs of blood donation.

  Bunch of pussies. Donovan rolled his eyes. All these assholes are getting squeamish over a little blood. As though none of them had ever ordered a fucking medium rare steak. So what if this blood came out of a human being? If a mild ick factor was all these loser vamps had to bring, this shit was going to be his. Donovan, Creature of the Night and, more importantly, free fucking man.

  “Each chalice contains sixteen ounces of blood,” Chaz said.

  Smells like copper, Emily thought. Although smells like how copper tastes was more accurate. It could be the cup. Could it be the cup? Did metal have a smell? A coppery smell? How had she never noticed whether or not she could smell metal? Walking into the biggest challenge of one’s life without even knowing what one’s nose was capable of was, well, there was no other word but slipshod. Stop. It’s unlikely that there will be a smelling competition. Even if there was, the time to think about it would be then not now. One little cup of blood. The trick would be to disregard how disgusting this was, just like when swallowing anything else that had come out of a fellow human being.

  “To complete the challenge, you must consume all the blood in your chalice,” Chaz instructed.

  I wonder if it will taste the same. Madeline drummed her fingers lightly on the table in front of her chalice and contemplated her advantage. Everyone else would probably have to get used to the thickness, the taste, the knowledge they were drinking human blood. A few months ago, Madeline had been invited to a party where those who were so inclined had gotten together for some ceremonial blood sharing.

  They hadn’t been graced with the presence of a real vampire, but with the help of a Swiss Army Knife, Madeline had exchanged blood with an incredibly sexy and complex second-grade teacher. She had been disappointed when he never called, but maybe it was meant to be one of those special nights that could never be duplicated, only savored. And it was enough to know he would regret not calling once he saw her on the show.

  The main thing was, ever since she’d been green-lighted for the show, she’d been practicing. Madeline had already tasted blood today; she tasted blood pretty much every day, and the only thing new was this wasn’t her own.

  “Please don’t spill,” Chaz said. “That tablecloth is an antique.” The audience laughed.

  In for a penny, Cassie thought. She was trying to get through as much of this as possible on autopilot. Don’t think of the blood, she instructed herself. Do think of being able to dance forever. Not that she was judging. She was focusing. To reach the goal, you had to envision the goal, and maybe try to get through the little things that stood between you and your goal without dwelling on them too much. Pretend it’s Kool-Aid. With a little ketchup mixed in for texture.

  “For added motivation,” Chaz said, “we have a special surprise planned for every contestant who completes this challenge.”

  No big deal, Stewart told himself. He thought of how his kids would react when they saw the challenge and smiled. Audrey would roll her eyes and swear she was embarrassed every time she brought her dad’s antics up to her friends. Logan would brag unabashedly and hope to grow up to be like his dad. Stewart would cheerfully do a lot worse than drink a little cup of blood for that. Marcy would hate every minute of the kids adoring Stewart, but she wouldn’t be able to keep from watching with them. Maybe somewhere along the way she would remember old feelings, the ones Stewart still hadn’t managed to forget.

  Chaz told the contestants, “You twelve were handpicked from the millions who wanted to be with us this season.”

  “Who did the picking?” Delia asked.

  Chaz nearly snorted. “I think you know.” Aloud, he added, “So remember, there is a reason each of you is here.”

  Fucking savages. Kannon was beginning to doubt he was on the optimum path to making something of himself. Jeweled chalice or no, this whole thing felt about two rungs up the ladder from shooting crack in a whorehouse. Did one shoot crack? Maybe not. Kannon had friends that would know, but they had neglected to educate him on the finer points of crack. Kannon knew he was considered something of a prude in his circle, indulging only occasionally in a coke-fueled social weekend.

  But that wasn’t the point. There was nothing classy about bodily fluids; that was the point. But he would rise to this challenge as he would rise to those ahead. Kannon was determined that, when this was over, he would answer to no one.

  “We see something special in each of you,” Chaz said.

  “They should have listed their special qualities in the program,” Cyri said. “So they wouldn’t be such a secret to the rest of us.”

  “There’s a program?” Her father fished out a twenty. “Get two.”

  Chaz continued his hype. “The world is rooting for you.”

  This is lame, Celeste thought. Where’s the danger in having a beverage? If you couldn’t expect a little more peril from a freaking vampire reality show, what was the point? And the audience was salivating like a few cups of blood were a big fucking deal. This was why she couldn’t deal with people. They were always so happy about nothing. This was infuriating to Celeste, who was never happy about anything.

  “This is the moment when you reach for immortality,” Chaz said.

  Yes, I am a creature of the night, a drinker of blood, a bringer of your darkest desires. Brett was practicing the conversation he would have with the incredible girl in the second row the minute they crowned him Creature of the Night. There might not be an actual crown. Brett couldn’t remember seeing a vampire sport a crown, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have one made. It was about individual style after all, and his style was going to be heavy on crowns and hot women. Brett approved of this challenge. He knew destiny when he saw it, and he was squirming in his seat at the thought of being seco
nds away from his first taste of immortality.

  “So tonight,” Chaz paused for emphasis, “when you raise your cups, you will have the privilege of toasting with the blood of mankind.

  “The first contestant to finish the contents of their chalice will be declared the winner of this challenge. Any contestant who does not finish will be eliminated from the competition,” Chaz concluded. “Are you all clear?”

  “It’s simple enough, even for humans,” Edmund said.

  “Will you never be silent?” Delia asked.

  Eleven hundred miles away, Mildred frowned.

  “I told you!” Hal said.

  “Quiet, I’m trying to hear.” Mildred steadfastly ignored Hal’s rightness. “I don’t like the judge.” Her words were garbled by the glut of popcorn she was pushing into her mouth. The beagle pressed against her leg, hoping to remind Mildred that he liked popcorn too.

  “Him or her?”

  “Him.”

  “Yeah,” Hal said. “There they go.”

  “I can see just as well as you.” Mildred forgot to guard her popcorn against the dog as she watched the contestants seize their cups and commence guzzling. The girl in pink hesitated before drinking. “Look at that one; she smelled it first. You never want to smell strange food before you taste it. Everybody knows that.”

  “Not everybody,” Hal said. “The other one smelled hers too.”

  “You smell your food,” Mildred pointed out. “I see you.”

  “It’s gonna be a guy that takes it,” Hal predicted.

  “Yeah, because men don’t care what they put in their mouths,” Mildred said, pushing the dog’s head out of her popcorn. “Look at the slutty girl, though.”

  Lola hadn’t stopped for breath, and her cup was nearly upside down over her face. A moment later, she slammed her chalice on the table and shouted, “Done!”

  A second chalice hit the table. Then a third and fourth. They belonged to Donovan, Emily, and Jeff respectively. Two seconds elapsed between the moment Jeff’s chalice hit the table and the one when the bloody contents of his stomach joined it.

  The remaining contestants kept swallowing gamely while they edged away from Jeff.

  “I’d get that back in your stomach if I were you,” Chaz advised. Jeff visibly heaved again but managed to keep anything else from escaping his body.

  “That is some hardcore stuff,” Mildred said. Hal was too absorbed in watching Jeff put his lips on the table and start slurping to answer. Everyone had finished except for Jeff and Madeline. Jeff was reclaiming the contents of his stomach one slurp at a time. Madeline was taking one tiny sip after another, all the while looking as if she was struggling not to follow Jeff’s vomitous example. Madeline emptied her chalice just before Jeff took a final tongue swipe across his bit of table.

  “Congratulations, contestants,” Chaz said. “One big hurdle down.” He paused to watch Lola complete a slow back and forth sway and then topple out of her chair. “And that is one contestant down. We’ll see you after the break with the little surprise I mentioned earlier.”

  “That was incredible,” Mildred said.

  “You think she’s dead?”

  “Nah.” Mildred heaved herself up and headed for the kitchen. “You want some of the guacamole on chips?”

  “Why not?”

  Delia licked the last drop of blood from her lips and regarded the body of her late husband fondly. He had been a beautiful creature―he still was―and he had been so pleased to be summoned to visit her tonight. But it was better to say goodbye when things were at their best. Mediocrity and resentment were the forte of human beings and never for her. Delia had learned that many husbands ago.

  Delia had given Marco a precious gift when she had chosen him, and the price of his privilege had been paid today. Delia could not allow a human who knew her secrets to return to his former existence. As nice as catch and release sounded, it was highly impractical. Marco, once made hers, would never have been the same if she had severed their connection, and she couldn’t bear to have him underfoot while he lived out his natural life.

  So, no more Marco, but Delia felt sure that if given the chance, Marco would have made his choice again and again.

  Delia checked the mirror to make sure she hadn’t bloodied her outfit. She was, of course, still perfection.

  “And we’re back,” Chaz said. They had prepared phase two of the first challenge, the real challenge. The twelve contestants were still onstage, but now they were all unconscious.

  “While it’s true that most of you humans find drinking human blood a bit off-putting, it’s not really a big deal. Especially considering we so graciously put it in cups for the convenience of our contestants.

  “So, we wanted to add a little something extra to the first challenge. Undead life can be full of surprises, and in the spirit of surprise, we drugged the contestants’ blood so they wouldn’t have time to prepare.”

  The audience cheered the drugging. “Drug the blood! Drug the blood! Drug the blood!

  “As I said, we already did.” Chaz held up a hand to quiet the crowd. “We hate to cater to stereotypes, and I don’t know anyone who sleeps in a coffin, but tonight, that’s what our contestants will be doing. They are tucked in their coffins, snug as bugs, although they may not sleep particularly soundly.

  “It’s dark in there, so when they come to, they won’t be able to see anything, and they won’t be able to hear much more. Hang tight, friends; they should be waking up shortly.”

  “I said, turn it off!”

  “No way, babe. This is the best show ever.”

  “They’re torturing those people.” Gina crossed her arms and glared at her hot boyfriend who was currently not so hot on account of being a super-douche.

  “It’s not torture,” Brad told her. “You do know that, like, millions of people auditioned for this show, right? One of those people gets to be a real fucking vampire.”

  “Someone is screaming,” Gina said. “How is that not torture?”

  “I think it’s that Kannon guy,” Brad spoke with a bit of resentment. He had applied to be on the show but had never heard back. “The Richie Rich one.”

  “It is him, and you’re a jerk.” To her credit, Gina was mainly concerned with the general brutality of the show. Only a small part of her was upset they were being mean to the hot guy.

  “I can totally see up the librarian’s nose,” Brad said. “Those coffin cams are amazing.”

  “I’m leaving,” Gina said. She told herself she was never coming back. It was something she told herself once or twice a week. “You make me sick.”

  “Babe,” Brad said, but Gina had already slammed the door behind her. “It’s not my fault. It’s right there. I can’t not look.”

  “We learn a lot about our contestants during the challenges,” Chaz told the audience. “Like right now, we’re learning Kannon does not enjoy small spaces.”

  The crowd watched the monitors where they could see Kannon pounding and clawing at the lid of his coffin and nodded wisely. They could indeed perceive Kannon’s aversion.

  I’m dying. I’m fucking dying. Kannon continued to pound on the lid of the coffin. “I can’t breathe!”

  “Scary stuff, huh, kiddo?” Cyri’s dad said.

  Cyri only nodded.

  “He’s fine,” Chaz told the audience. “We did a test run with one of the interns. He made it for two days with minimal permanent damage.”

  Emily had pushed and prodded her way around her coffin with no results. Since no one but Donovan resembled the Hulk, it seemed they were meant to spend some time confined to their lovely mahogany resting places. Although there was no way to know if the coffin was mahogany. Pine was a lot cheaper, and there were twelve of them, although the budget for the show had to be huge. Not the point. She was in good shape; she was comfortable enough, but she wished whoever was screaming would get a grip.

  There’s probably a fucking camera in here, Portia thought. She worked a
n arm up and smoothed her hair. She pasted on a serene smile. Is that right? Is it believable to smile? Maybe I should act scared and then overcome it. This was bullshit. Someone could have provided at least minimal direction. Was she surprised? Had she seen it coming? I should try to get out, Portia thought. “Help!” she cried and performed a few gentle thumps on the lid of her coffin. She hoped the angle of the camera was flattering.

  Chaz listened to Cassie sob. He would have thought she’d do a bit better after the way she had stood up Edmund. It wasn’t PC to say, but humans were weak. Once you’d turned four, there was no excuse to be afraid of the dark.

  “First rule of Creature of the Night,” Chaz said to the audience. “Don’t be afraid of the night.”

  Don’t be afraid was exactly the point Cassie was trying to make to herself. You’re fine. This is just like being in bed at home. The coffin was easily as comfortable as her bed at home, but at home, she had the comfort of light spilling from the closet. And the freedom to get out. Nothing in here but you, she told herself. Be brave. Cassie closed her eyes and tried to pretend there was light behind her lids.

  Chaz could hear Portia reciting something. He finally placed it as one of Eleanor’s monologs from The Lion in Winter. Nodin had known the real Eleanor of Aquitaine. Chaz had always envied him that.

  Donovan was getting a cramp. He wasn’t a pussy like whatever bitch he could hear crying, but he was a big guy and this was getting uncomfortable. He pounded on the sides of his coffin for a while to vent some frustration but stopped when he realized he had bloodied his hands. There was no point in fucking himself up. He needed to be in peak condition to win this thing, assuming they ever offered a challenge that was actually a challenge. So far, they’d had something to drink followed by forced quiet time. They might as well be in preschool.

  “Looks like Donovan has given up,” Chaz said. “He’s going to have to buy the coffin now that he’s gotten it all bloody.”