Creature of the Night

by Anne Stinnett

  Brett scuttled from tombstone to angel to coffin. He dropped to the ground and pressed his face to the stage when Madeline darted across the end of the row he was working across. She was on her hands and knees, moving at the speed of a demented toddler, with a knife clenched between her teeth. By the time he’d worked up the courage to resume moving, someone had beaten him to his goal. Celeste had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and was crouched beside Portia’s body see-sawing the sword back and forth in an effort to detach it from the spine. Celeste hadn’t actually appeared out of nowhere; she had been hiding in the coffin Portia had sprawled against when she’d been nearly halved.

  Brett swore. He was trying to work out his next move when Donovan thundered across the stage toward Celeste. Between his heavy steps and his war cry, Donovan made such a racket Celeste saw him coming and would have had plenty of time to put a sarcophagus or two between them. It was her desire for the sword that was her undoing. Just as she pulled the blade free from Portia’s bloody bones, Donovan brought the scythe down on the top of her head.

  Madeline had crawled around to the far side of the crypt, intending to sneak up behind Donovan. She came upon Emily first. Madeline considered briefly. Her head tilted, her brow furrowed, but she didn’t let a sound escape her because this was important. Finally, she shrugged, plucked the knife out of her mouth, and sunk it into Emily’s back.

  Emily felt a hard thud somewhere between her shoulder and her spine, and suddenly her right arm didn’t work. Still in a crouch, she whirled to find Madeline clutching her knife and looking rather shocked.

  “Fuck,” Madeline said. “I’m so sorry. That is not how a housemother should behave.”

  “No worries,” Emily told her then with her left hand buried her dagger in Madeline’s neck. She jumped when something hit her face, but it was just blood trickling over the edge of the crypt. She forgot all about that when Donovan stepped around the corner with a Samurai sword in one hand and a scythe in the other. She didn’t realize she’d dropped the spear when Madeline stabbed her until the impulse to use it on Donovan hit her.

  Emily took a step back and felt her heel hit Madeline’s body. She tried to step around, but in death, Madeline was taking up an unreasonable amount of room.

  Donovan wore a madman’s grin, alternately hefting the sword and the scythe.

  Emily saw Brett creep around the corner. She kept her eyes on Donovan’s and took another step back. She almost lost her balance when she stepped on Madeline’s torso and some ribs gave way beneath her. She tried to catch herself on the wall, but her arm remained uncooperative. She lurched and hit the crypt with her shoulder. Donovan swung the sword, and Emily tried to duck but instead toppled backward and hit the ground on the far side of Madeline’s body.

  Brett raised something above his head, and Emily saw he had picked up the spear. With none of the hesitation that had marred his performance in the last challenge, Brett brought the spear down. Emily screamed her encouragement as Brett made contact.

  Brett’s failure to kill Landon Jones had affected him profoundly. Yesterday, his qualms had nearly ended his dream. But today, he was different, and Donovan was no innocent. Brett had no reservations about killing Donovan. Truly, his heart had grown willing. His body, however, had not grown more competent. Brett drove the spear in, landing a flesh wound in Donovan’s side rather than a killing thrust. Donovan whipped around and caught the protruding spear on the wall of the crypt, snapping it off about halfway down its length. Brett was left defenseless and had only a moment to realize that, for him, the competition was over. He was about to die and that it would be Donovan’s hand wielding the sword that killed him was an added insult.

  Emily had a flash of a second to be glad when Donovan’s bulk came between her eyes and Brett’s. While Donovan pierced Brett’s heart, Emily scrambled to her feet and ran to the downstage edge of the cemetery.

  Donovan came tearing after her waving the sword. Emily turned at the edge of the graveyard and thrust her arm out, her fingers working nervously on the knife. Her right arm was still just taking up space.

  Donovan kept charging. He was going to knock her off the playing field and run her through in the same thrust. Emily flung herself to the side, losing her balance in the process. When the fuck did I become some bimbo who falls for no apparent reason?

  She was still in bounds when she hit the ground but only just. As she struggled to get her feet under her, Donovan bore down on her from behind. She kicked at him, and he raised his foot and stomped her ankle, putting all his weight on the joint.

  Some part of Emily noted the odd combination of crunch and grind happening in her ankle. She let loose a roar that had more to do with rage than pain, but it was close. She hoped the whole thing would be over before her adrenaline normalized, and the pain became everything.

  In spite of his general boorishness, Donovan had the sense not to pause to gloat. He bounded to Emily’s head and brought the sword up. Emily thought that was an interesting thing because really, how many people got to experience beheading from both sides?

  “The challenge is ended,” Edmund announced. Donovan hesitated in the middle of his upswing. The moment lasted long enough to allow Emily to hope, and then whether through incomprehension or spite, he was disregarding the instruction to stop, and Emily was again about to die.

  Before she could, Edmund was standing over her, and Donovan was groaning on the other side of the stage where he’d landed after Edmund had flung him away from her.

  “Three still live,” Chaz countered with a questioning look at Edmund.

  There was a whoosh and a blur and then Vlad was on the crypt roof having a snack and bringing the challenge officially to a close.

  Edmund said, “It is ended. The next to move will be ended as well.”

  “It was close enough,” Vlad said when the final spark had gone from Stewart’s eyes. “Is it not true we need only two for the end? And I was hungry again; although much of this one’s blood was wasted.”

  “I cannot believe this shit,” Mandy said. “Did you see what just happened?”

  “I’ve been here the entire time,” Seth said. He ruffled her hair. “It would have been hard to miss a dozen people hacking each other to bits.”

  “Wasn’t it the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen?” Mandy said.

  “Well, there was the birth of our child,” Seth teased.

  “I felt that more than saw it.” Mandy swatted his leg.

  “Well, it was far more amazing,” Seth assured her. “And only slightly gorier.”

  Mason pulled his thumb out of his mouth. “What’s gory?”

  “Okay, then,” Chaz said. “Let’s give Vlad a round of applause for clearing up that little ambiguity. And keep it going for our final two! Emily and Donovan have fought hard and triumphed over some impressive competitors!”

  Edmund snorted, but the humans couldn’t hear him over their noise.

  “Donovan and Emily,” Chaz said when the audience stilled. “Come join me.” Donovan went to stand beside Chaz while Emily struggled to rise. Vlad bounded from the crypt to Emily’s side and hauled her to her feet. Emily went white; the feeling in her ankle was intensifying, and the stab wound wasn’t helping, although it was the lesser problem.

  Vlad made another leap this time with Emily in his arms. He set her next to Chaz; Donovan was on the host’s other side. When Emily turned to thank Vlad, she saw he was back on the altar sucking blood from his fingers.

  “How’s the ankle?” Donovan said.

  Emily ignored him and smiled when Chaz yanked the spear shaft out of Donovan’s shoulder. A fresh gush of blood accompanied Donovan’s yelp.

  “You insisted we keep him,” Nodin said. “I trust you will turn him.”

  Delia nodded. “Then who will turn the girl?”

  “Vlad.” Nodin considered his answer and nodded to confirm his choice.

  “If he gets carried away–”

  “Must you always su
spect my control?” Vlad said.

  “You bite someone almost every show,” Delia said.

  “You understand why Vlad should be the one,” Nodin said.

  “Rylie and Kylie are going to take our final two to prepare,” Chaz said. “And for the rest of you, we have another Friends and Family segment. We’ll be hearing from Kannon’s parents and Portia’s husband, Charles. I believe we have Charles coming up first.”

  Charles appeared on the screens. There was some excitement in the audience from those who watched Hours of Our Existence, a soap opera on which Charles had been a recurring presence for the past seventeen years. “Hey, babe,” Charles said. “I hope you know how proud I am. We always knew your big break would come, and now that it has, I want you always to remember I’m here for you the way you’ve always been there for me. And I want to tell you how sorry I am for saying that you shouldn’t do the show. I was just scared, but I was wrong. I know you’re going to be amazing because the girl I love is always amazing. I’ll see you soon. Break a leg!”

  “That means ‘good luck’ in actor,” Chaz said. “Hard to believe she’s gone. Let’s see what Kannon’s parents had to say.”

  The screens produced an image of a young woman who couldn’t possibly be a parent of Kannon’s. “At this time,” she said, “Kannon’s parents would like to express their support of their son. They wish Kannon the best in this endeavor and look forward to visiting with him when said endeavor has come to fruition. Thank you.”

  “I think that was the most heartfelt Friends and Family segment delivered by a junior associate we’ve seen all season,” Chaz said.

  “Junior ass! Junior ass! Junior ass!”

  “It is not too late for me to kill them all,” Edmund offered. The crowd shut up.

  “I have one more viewer question and here it is! Courtesy of James in Royal Kunia, Hawaii.”

  “Do you ever feel bad for feeding on humans? As though you shouldn’t be feeding on fellow sentient beings? Especially since you used to be us?”

  “I can only speak for myself,” Chaz said. “But no. Delia?”

  “No,” Delia said. “Nodin?”

  “Never,” Nodin said. “Vlad?”

  “I do not understand the question,” Vlad said. “It seems absurd.”

  Chaz tried to clarify. “James wants to know if killing humans leaves you torn apart by remorse.”

  “He only said feeding on humans,” Delia said. “No one said anything about killing.”

  “Feed without killing?” Vlad said. “Ridiculous. I am as distraught when I feed on a human as they are when they crush an ant underfoot. As much as they might mourn a cut rose, do I mourn any human loss of life.”

  “He means blood,” Delia said. “Loss of blood.”

  Vlad went on. “As much—”

  “Let’s call that another ‘No,’” Chaz said. “Edmund?”

  Edmund waved a hand in dismissal. “I do not respond to queries from my food.”

  “There you have it, James,” Chaz said. “Now, let’s take a look at the last round of confessionals. Here they are in their own words, Emily and Donovan!”

  Confessional: Emily

  “I want to get on with it already. Of course considering I was two seconds away from being dead, perhaps I shouldn’t be so eager for what’s to come. But Donovan just fucked up. Though, probably not as much as I did in the last challenge. I should have attacked Donovan at the same time Brett did. Because right now, I wish it was Brett still in this with me instead of Donovan. Not to mention, Brett probably wouldn’t have crushed my fucking ankle. It’s like a bag of sticks in there. I can’t wait to kill him.”

  Confessional: Donovan

  “I crushed that bitch. Literally. I could almost feel bad; I mean, what fucking chance did she have anyway? None. No woman is going to be able to take me out. Shit. Look at me. It’s almost over, and I’m going to be coming for you, world. Parents, lock up your daughters, not that it’s going to stop me. They should have just let me kill Emily. It’s not like there’s a lot of suspense about what’s going to happen next. Emily is going to fucking die, and I’m going to be the Creature of the Night.”

  “If anyone else gets beheaded, I’m buying shots for everybody,” Nick roared.

  Everyone in the bar cheered.

  “You’re crazy,” Mike said. “You don’t have any money.”

  “It’s okay.” Nick belched and threw another dart. “The final fight isn’t until tomorrow. I just won’t show up. Besides, you should have thought of that before you dragged me to a Creature night.” Some of their friends had been coming here for a couple of seasons now. The bar went all out during Creature week, doing the place up in fangs and fake blood.

  “That’s Creature of the Night Night to you,” the bartender said. “Can I get you another round?”

  “Absolutely, Stacey,” Nick said, leaning forward to make a show of reading the nametag pinned over her breast. “I don’t have money, so he’s buying.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Mike agreed, hoping to impress Stacey who was new and cute. “Great challenge, huh?” he said.

  “That was the best challenge ever,” she agreed. “It was the first time one of the judges ever killed someone onstage.”

  “I think it’s against the rules for the judges to kill contestants,” Mike said.

  “They make their own rules,” Stacey argued. “And the guy was almost dead.”

  “So, is she on board?” The Voice said.

  Little P flinched but held onto his composure. He was accustomed to going from basking in praise to weathering sudden onslaughts of hostility. “I don’t know if she will. She wanted me to show her where in the contract it said she had to.”

  “How did someone who read the contract make it onto the show?”

  “She was in the stack approved by you,” Little P managed. “Unfortunately, they all read some of it. Every season. Although by the time section 3.24 paragraph 12 comes along, most of them have given up.”

  “Did you specifically point out to me her proclivity for reading?” The Voice was giving Little P the Look.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” Little P said. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

  “You have to always assume—” The Voice stopped talking. “Never mind.”

  For the last time, Emily had taken refuge in the library. She had found a lot of comfort here over the course of the show. Emily had always enjoyed books, not only the reading but the physical presence of them, the heft in her hand, the various scents, and the feel of pages under her fingers. As a bonus, most of her competitors hadn’t set foot in here since their initial tour.

  Sometimes, Emily read. Sometimes, she sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs. Sometimes, she perused the shelves, dipping into a page here, a page there, unable to make a decision, a pleasant torture that could occupy her for hours.

  Today, she was stretched out on the loveseat, her feet on one arm and her head on the other while she contemplated the ceiling. It was the closest she could come to comfort. There was an ice pack balanced on her traumatized ankle and another under the hole in her shoulder. They’d dosed her with pain meds, but since they weren’t going to bother patching her up this close to the end, she had refused to stay in the infirmary.

  “Fuck it,” Emily said to no one; although watching in The Voice’s office, Little P heaved a sigh of relief. As surprised as Emily was to find herself arriving at this conclusion, it seemed it was indeed possible to indulge in too much thought. Luckily, the remedy for too much thought was right downstairs.

  She was doing it because she wanted to; that’s all.

  “What do you want?” Donovan said when she finally discovered him in the sauna.

  “Is there any reason you need to be naked in here?” Her search had included more walking than was advisable (none had been the amount of walking recommended by the guy who’d fed her the pain pills) and the throb in her ankle was awakening her temper.

  “Yeah
. I fucked Lola before I killed her, and I thought you might want the same courtesy.”

  “Word on the street is you suck in bed,” Emily said. “And I didn’t think being delusional was one of your myriad flaws.”

  “That’s why people don’t like you,” Donovan said. “Why not just say ‘many’ flaws?”

  “Go fornicate yourself,” Emily said.

  “What are you doing?” Donovan sat up and gawked as Emily began to shed clothes. “You want me to—”

  “No.” Emily stopped undressing when she was down to her bra and underwear. “As painful as it is to admit, I wanted company.”

  “And you thought this was a good time to bond?”

  Emily shrugged then winced at the effect on her shoulder. “I’m not worried about getting attached to you.”

  “Why not?” Donovan flopped back down on the bench. “Lots of people like me. What the fuck do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily said. “It’s a little counterproductive, but you could tell me something that makes you seem like a real person.”

  “I don’t think everyone realizes how shitty you are,” Donovan said.

  “Since I’m the one with the broken ankle, I’m not sure where you get off calling me shitty.” Emily tossed one of the towels she’d brought to Donovan. “But I meant about you, not about me.”

  “I hate fucking whiners,” Donovan said. “And I’m not going to feel bad for understanding there are no rules, even when someone says there are.”

  “Profound,” Emily said.

  “You weren’t the only brain invited to the party.”

  “Where’s the other one?”

  “You want to talk?” Donovan crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me what all that bullshit about college was.”

  Emily had been surprised that this hadn’t come up sooner. She’d decided to chalk it up to the self-absorption of her castmates and been grateful.