by Mark Henry
The wood nymph jerked toward the vampire and flickered, light dancing off his skin like the crackling projection of old film. He threw back his head and spread his arms out wide, releasing some kind of plea to the wood. His song craned to a high pitch at the same time as the stench of dank mildew filled the room—I guessed from his ass. But jokes aside, you know I was moving away.
Vines sprung from every wooden surface, slow curling sprouts giving way to thick tangles that jutted into the room ramrod straight and sharp at the point, knots piercing the room with barked lances.
One of the branches sprang up between Johnny and Chase, knocking the vampire off his feet. He fired the gun ineffectually into the ceiling and when he scrambled to his feet, the bar was a jungle of whipping creepers and deadly spines.
I didn’t notice Johnny disappear and I don’t suspect he did, probably shrinking down to his insect form, but Mama must have known that for sure. She threw herself at the side of the plastic bubble with a shriek. It rolled off the gurney with a muffled thud, crushing a Medusan shrub overrun with snaking vines before she hamster-rolled it toward the last place he was visible.
“He was here! I saw him!”
“Aren’t you going to do something about this?” I asked Hellary, who rolled her magazine up, slipped it under her arm like a dad on the way to his morning constitutional and strode out of the bar, coughing “losers,” from the doorway.
“Real mature, Hellary!” I crouched next to Mama, her eyes wild and hands pounding the floor of the bubble.
“If he under there, he gotta be dead, right?”
She reared back and the bubble lifted off the crushed vines and twigs, revealing a crack in the floor wide enough to lose a heel in. If this show didn’t pan out, I had a feeling an exercise DVD for yeti might just make some money. There was a population that could benefit from some exercise. I glanced at Hairy Sue’s body, expecting it to have returned to human form in her death and not the pile of pocked chicken skin that lay before me. But why would it? The big lumpy thing was its natural state.
“He’s in the basement!” Chase yelled and wove his way through the flora and fauna toward the main hall door.
“Make sure to take some swag on your way out!” I called.
He stooped a bit in mid-trot and snatched a small gold bag out of the basket at the door. The contents were mostly shit, a few drink tickets to the Well of Souls, VIP status at Convent, that sort of thing. What was most important was the tiny package of earplugs. I couldn’t have been certain that Johnny would show up at the big finale, but I wasn’t planning on taking any chances. And, since I kind of liked some of these people, particularly the most fantastic drag queen I’d ever met, I figured I’d make sure we all had a defense against Johnny’s vocal power.
Tanesha, Maiko and Absinthe darted out after him, Angie sort of floated—well, part of her did—her entrails curling around the branches and propelling her disembodied head forward. Wendy, however, stood at the bar draining a bottle of Tarantula in greedy mouthfuls.
“Really?” I asked, snatching it from her hand and draining it dry.
Scott lurched forward after her, the claws on his hind paws scrabbling on the floor. Gil and Vance were behind him, my friend grumbling the whole way about chewing Chase a new asshole. I guess it was supposed to sound threatening but came off a tad gross considering the context.
Spew coughed and I turned to see him lounging in his booth, hands behind his sizeable head as his toupee slipped back to reveal a high forehead pasty as floured marble.
“Care to get in on this?” I asked.
He shook his head without meeting my gaze. “I’m opposed to violence. Have fun though.”
“Are you ready?” Wendy asked, eyes skittering toward the dark doorway.
I nodded and crept toward it. Wendy tiptoed behind me, so close, had she been able to breathe, I’d have felt it on the back of my neck. She did run into me a few times, blaming the camera for her lack of perspective, or something to that effect.
I checked the full length of the hallway before stepping out into the melee—a girl can never be too careful, plus it’s always advantageous to be the last one at a fight—either it’s been resolved by the time you get there, or the players are so exhausted I can pick them off easily with a few carefully placed bites (and by carefully, I mean making sure to get the head)—but I took too long to get moving as Mama’s bubble rolled over my foot as she barreled past. The bubble bumped and bounced against the walls of the hallway like a pinball, finally slowing to a crawl about halfway to the rear staircase—that it didn’t occur to her to simply cut a hole through the damn thing amazed me. Mama’s prone figure lay curled at the bottom, worn out.
The stairwell, dark even during the day, was veiled in the kind of shadows even childhood monsters fear, black and inky as midnight on skid row and twice as dangerous. I looked at Wendy, hopeful she’d take the lead. She glowered and shook her head with finality. I clung to the railing for support—the last thing I needed was a fall and a new reaper bill.
“Watch yourself, I don’t want you tripping on top of me.”
I could hear shouting and the thuds of furious combat below. At one point, a scream rang out, a woman’s voice, only graveled and husky.
“Absinthe,” Wendy breathed.
I nodded.
At the bottom, a welcome glow calmed me somewhat. The light came from the source of the ruckus, a doorway about halfway down the hall, and spotlit the crumpled figure of the Belgian ghoul, headless and nude, her flesh stitched in black vine like a homemade rag doll. Focused on the atrocity and not my footing, I caught on a tangle of growth, dense and covered in yellow flowers—St. John’s wort, I thought. A fairly common ground cover for the area. Trudging through the stuff was no easy task and the tiny buckles all over my stilettos didn’t help matters any. But about halfway down the corridor, I caught on something heavy and toppled over it and onto my knees with an aching crack.
“Oh shit.” Wendy’s face was white with terror—or whiter, pale being our natural state, and all.
I reached for the object, a mound only slightly higher than the rest of the brush, and retrieved what seemed to be a wet bundle of leaves.
Too heavy for that, I thought, and drew it toward me, realizing I didn’t really want to know and probably would have been better off just trudging on, but couldn’t stop myself. I pulled some of the greenery away and then dropped it.
It was Absinthe’s missing head, threaded with vines, mouth gaping in a silent scream.
Johnny’s hobby was not so cute anymore. Apparently redecorating wasn’t limited to just rooms.
We pressed on, and reaching the open doorway, heard another scream. Wendy nudged me forward and I pointed out a sign on our right. “The Hungry Desert. What do you think that means?”
“No clue. I’m sure it’s something horrendous. That would figure, right about now,” Wendy whispered.
“The challenges were meant to be held down here, but since Johnny died first, I never knew anything about what they were.”
The light emanated from an overhead bulb hanging ominously from a black cord in the ceiling. It cast a triangle of light onto the far wall, decorated with the harsh edges of two words, painted from floor to ceiling: HUNGRY DESERT. The edge of a door was visible just left of the first “R” and obscured that letter as though it were simply a crease in paper.
I, for one, wasn’t looking forward to this. But Johnny’d played his cards and it was time to play mine, if I can use a poker reference. And I can, because, hey, it’s my book. Plus, what’s a reality show without a big finale. A flop, that’s what.
Over my dead body.
Deadish, even.
We pushed into the first room, a vast space filled with sand that rolled out like seaside dunes. The ceiling was higher than feasible and reflected a moving sky of fluffy cumulus and cerulean blue. In the distance a rectangle of black ruined the illusion of nature.
“There’s the door,
” I said, pointing for both the camera and Wendy’s benefit. I started to move through the sand and nearly fell over backward as my heels sunk deep into the surprising cool depths.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” The voice came from our right. A girl’s voice. My stomach tensed.
Hellary.
I rolled my eyes even as I turned—it was refreshing not owing the bitch money.
She’d stripped off her Mary Janes and tights and hiked up her jumper to the crotch of her panties and lay in the sand sunning. “They all went through there. Some of them made it.”
“Some?” Wendy’s horror gave the word three syllables.
“Yeah. I think.” The reaper fluttered her eyes. “Or maybe they all did, I wasn’t really paying attention. Sorry.”
“Made what?” I asked. “There’s nothing in here.”
“Oh.” Hellary smiled. “There’s something in here, it’s just not visible.”
“I don’t suppose you care to tell us what?”
“Nope.” She waved me aside. “You bitches can find out on your own. Now get out of the way, you’re casting a mighty fat shadow.”
I scanned the hills and valleys of the desert landscape and at first saw nothing—I did make a note to only vacay near the ocean, somewhere cute with palapas, poolboys and drinks with umbrellas in them—then noticed patches of green interrupting the sea of beige. I walked slowly to the nearest sprout. White pentacle-shaped flowers snaked from the leaves. Morning glories. I figured they were either a sign of Johnny having been there or moisture or something.
I was about to test my theory and follow them like a path when Wendy came running up behind me carrying Absinthe’s head like a football. She reared back and lobbed it in a high arc, dropping it at the crest of one of the taller dunes.
“Nice one.” Hellary held her hand over her eyes like a visor.
“Getting your aggression out?” I asked.
“I just figured we ought to see what’s out there, that’s all.”
As we watched, the green globe of leaves and gore sunk into the sand and out of sight. Not the object of some dragon’s snapping hunger, it just simply sunk and disappeared.
“Quicksand?” I suggested.
Wendy nodded.
I went back to my original plan. I could have been completely wrong, but I was pretty sure that the spots of morning glory grew in Johnny’s footprints. It just made sense. Plus the crooked seam of them led straight to the open door on the opposite side.
“Stay behind me and if I start to sink, for Christ’s sake, get it on film.”
I slipped off my shoes and stepped across to the first patch and the ground felt firm enough, I mean, as far as sand goes. Wendy followed a few paces behind. My next few steps were a little shaky. I felt the sand shifting under my bare feet and had to leap to the next patch of plant life before I slipped into whatever the hell quicksand was. I had an image of that cheesey 80s horror flick Blood Beach and the monster that sucked up bad actresses and the steroid junkies that loved them later spitting them out in a spray of blood. I was pretty sure we weren’t dealing with that kind of thing.
Though I could’ve been wrong.
That’s why this next part is a little sketchy on the integrity side. Don’t get me wrong, I love Wendy. She’s my best friend and I wouldn’t trade her in for anything. But when I saw the gap between the last two patches of morning glory, there was nothing else I could do.
“Wendy?”
“Yes?” She held on to my arm and looked around my shoulder. “Wow. That’s a long way. Good luck with that one.”
“Why don’t you lay down between them and I’ll just tiptoe across? Easy as can be?”
“What?” She glared. “Are you fucking nuts?”
I shrugged. “It’s not like you’re going to die. You might sink a little bit but really it’s nothing more than a nice salt scrub. Your face will look as fresh as a five-year-old’s. Swear to God.”
I knew nothing of the sort, of course. But I figured that even if she sank to the bottom, we could always come back and dig her out after it was all over. It’s not like she had to breathe, and I could probably do my own camera work.
She grimaced at the expanse of sand. “And you’ll pull me right out?”
“The second I get across. No shit.”
She crouched down to her knees and eyed me suspiciously. “Right out?”
I snatched the camera from her hand. “Absolutely. But let’s do it quick so you won’t sink very far.”
Her eyes widened and she stiffened. I couldn’t let her ruin this chance, so I did something I’m not proud of. I pushed her over. She fell with a muffled thud onto her stomach, her face buried in a pillowy hillock. It was really sort of amusing as long as you weren’t Wendy.
Before she could react, I padded as softly and quickly as I could once onto her ass and then—God help me—the back of her head, forcing her face back into the sand. When I reached the final patch of morning glories, Wendy was thrashing atop the sand, not having sunk an inch. Hellary howled with laughter, doubled over and wheezing.
I reached down and pulled my friend—no, scratch that—my best friend, to her feet.
“You’re a hero,” I said.
Her face was scrunched in anger.
“You’re my hero,” I emphasized, nodding my head aggressively. “Saved my life, and I’ll tell everyone so.”
Wendy stood in the very spot I’d pushed her down into. She stomped her feet, just to show me how firm it was, as if the scratches on her face weren’t clue enough. I figured it probably wasn’t a good time to tell her about those and was lucky not to have to as another scream broke the silence between us.
The door led to a balcony overlooking the heart of the house, the boiler, a large metal cylinder, orange with rust, and pipes protruding from it to feed the house. But the steam it produced didn’t make the scream.
That was all Johnny.
And, to his credit, it could have sounded a lot more effeminate, considering Angie had him in a great big gory tentacle hug and was alternating between vicious bites at his cheek and lapping at the blood—or whatever—that splashed from the wound.
“Back off!” Chase approached the struggling pair. He pointed his gun at Angie.
“Watch out!” Maiko shouted.
Tanesha and Scott fought against the vines binding them to the far wall. Both howled in frustration. This was the only time I’d seen them side-by-side in their supernatural form.
Tanesha was only slightly taller than Scott’s seven werewolf feet due to her fabulous weave; it didn’t transform—something about it not being natural. I wondered what would happen if the drag queen ever got breast implants, the idea of silicone double Ds bouncing around under all that fur made me want to vomit…and pursue advertising geared toward the altered were.98
“Stay back or I’ll shoot it in the head.”
Angie’s entrails slackened, leaving trails of gore and other bodily fluids in their wake. Her large intestine snaked around his throat a bit before finally giving way.
“Her,” Maiko spat.
“Well she bloody well don’t look like a her.” Chase kept the gun pointed at Angie and moved to stand next to the wood nymph.
“He’s not even British,” Gil spat. “And he used to be so fucking fat you could start a soap company with the weight he carried. Jesus, haven’t you seen his nipples?” Gil shook violently and leaned into Vance’s comforting embrace, the drama hanging like a cloud around them.
Johnny wiped at his cheek with the front of his shirt, eyes pinioned on Chase’s approach.
“Nah gaw shoo you. Promise.” His accent slipping into a bad Brit flick cockney.
“Oh okay, then,” Johnny said. “Like you didn’t fire off a round upstairs. What was that, fucking foreplay?”
“No, seriously, I forgive you.” His accent gone totally American now, the bland speech of a Pacific Northwesterner.
“Mmm-hmm. Come here then.” Johnny held o
pen his arms as though to hug the vampire but when he was close enough—and really, who didn’t see this coming—Chase turned the gun on Johnny and blasted a hole through his shoulder.
The wood nymph fell back on his ass and gawped up at Chase, already aiming for another shot. “I knew you’d do that.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did too.”
Chase began to shake his head, but a pair of vines struck his wrists from above, sending the gun skittering off under the boiler. They coiled around his throat, leafy and thick as a feather boa and lifted him several feet above the floor, where he kicked and gurgled.
I glanced at Gil, who smirked a bit.
Johnny knelt on the floor, his face a study in hatred. Vines shot out of the beams and walls, targeting Chase and drilling through his convulsing frame. Congealed blood and bone meal dropped to the floor in clumps and even Gil couldn’t smile through the torture his rapist endured. Though he should have.
He’s way nicer than me, as if you couldn’t tell. But even I flinched as the body was torn apart, quadrants dropping onto the floor in big wet plops.
“Gross,” I said aloud.
Maiko was next to act, rushing forward and evaporating into tendrils of gray smoke mere seconds before Johnny blasted two shots in her direction. Her ghost form swirled around Johnny’s head and contracted, tightening in like a helmet of toxic gas.
The wood nymph batted at the haze and ran from the room. I helped free the rest from the vines and we followed easily, traversing the desert and up and out of the hellacious basement.
We found them in the Grand Hall.
Johnny stumbled out of Maiko’s smoky cloud, gasping for air and lurching for the front door, one foot broken and flopping. When that happened was hard to tell, though I didn’t much care either way, just as long as Wendy was capturing it.
“One last thing, Johnny.” I stepped up to the battered nymph and tipped my head in what I hoped was a welcoming gesture, or at least comforting. “Why’d you do it?”
“Why?” he croaked. “I’ll tell you why…”