Symphony of Blood, A Hank Mondale Supernatural Case

by Adam Pepper

  It would use the passion to generate energy but not allow it to alter the best course. The rage was dangerous, and could overpower its other instincts. The rage could lead to its downfall.

  That was how It would get her back for what she did. That was how It would taste the girl’s blood: contain the rage as tough as that was; now that it understood human emotion, it was difficult not to be changed by it. But it must wait patiently until the time was right. She’d pay dearly for hurting the chameleon. She’d beg for her life, but mercy would not be granted. The orchestra would play a special concerto.

  The symphony of blood will perform, just for her.

  For now, it was time to dig. The hole should be deep, at least ten feet, fifteen would be even better. It needed to be deep enough so that if discovered, the humans wouldn’t be able to easily get in. The hole needed to keep It safe until the cold air gave way to the warmth.

  Before starting on the hole, It went back to the cage and got the box that played the music. It pressed all the buttons, but it wouldn’t come to life. The long black string that hung from it needed to go somewhere, but It didn’t know exactly where. She’d stuck it into a hole of some kind, which It had to yank out in order to take it.

  No matter. The songs in its head were vivid enough. It would deal with the music box once the lair was finished.

  The ants go marching one by one, hurrah! Hurrah!

  It was a simple song from the past. Was it sung by a choir at the music school? It couldn’t quite remember, but the song was perfect. The steady snare drum inspired its claws to dig faster. It was slowly and steadily shrinking along with the beat, but that made the dig a little tougher. Ideally, by this time of the season, the hole should be dug already, but circumstances prevented that. It would have to make up for the lost time by working a little harder and a litter faster.

  Hurrah! Hurrah!

  The digging continued. The earth was hard, and its claws were losing their sharpness, filing down from the friction. But It was undeterred.

  The hole must be dug. The ants must continue to march. One by one. Down into the ground. To get out of the cold.

  Boom! Boom!

  Nothing could stop the dig. It would find the strength. Deep within, with the aid of human emotion and the knowledge that her blood would be tasted, just as soon as the cold air gave way to the warmth.

  It continued to dig.

  Once the lair was sufficiently deep, It worked on widening it, scraping the hard earth from the walls and then bringing the dirt to the surface in chunks.

  Already smaller by a third, it was time to shrink even further. All traces of humanlike tissue needed to be shed. Although the camouflage was already gone, that was not enough. Not nearly enough. The follicles where humanlike hair grew were scraped and torn until they peeled and ripped. Small flaps of ear were yanked off, as were the soft tips of mouth that were easy to develop into lips. Bulges that resembled collarbones and an indentation that could pass for a belly button were discarded into a heap. Kneecaps and nails, even the curvature that could be softened into butt cheeks were separated from the true body like a scrub brush roughly removing lice from a scalp.

  With the humanlike body parts gone, it was time to remove the rest. It was time for change.

  Total change. The intermezzo had begun.

  The scaly tissue shed with much less effort, and far less pain. Now at the surface, and fully mature, the true skin dried and then died, then flaked and then fell to the ground. The head, then the shoulders, the arms, then the body, it was all quite simple, just a twist and a scrape then set it free.

  The last thing to go was the tail. It was fastened to the body tightly, but it too needed to die and be liberated from the change that would soon overtake the entire body.

  The body knew what was coming. There was no fear.

  It yanked at the tail, then wiggled and it came loose. Beneath it was another tail, far smaller, maybe an inch long was all, but full of life. The old tail was dropped into the pile along with the other dead things.

  With all the dead parts removed, the body deflated. The illusion of strength was no longer necessary. Slowly but steadily, the artificial gasses seeped out. The aroma of guts and stale air filled the lair, then flowed upwards towards the small opening in the top.

  Once fully deflated, It stood proud and strong, and barely could see over the girl’s useless music box. Half out of spite, the other half joy, It urinated on the black rectangular box aiming into the porous screen on the side, then climbed over it and towards the hole. It shimmied up to the surface.

  It crept through the hedges and gathered up sticks and brush, then marched back down into the ground.

  Boom! Boom!

  It repeated this over and over again, marching up to the surface to look for short but sturdy branches, preferably with brush attached that could provide some warmth against the ever-growing elements. Then march back down with the goods. Once in the lair, the branches were crafted into a tight circle. With each carefully constructed row of sticks, the circle grew until settling at about three feet tall and about the same length wide.

  It returned to the surface and gathered up leaves by the handful, which were transported into the lair. Once there, the leaves were carefully woven into the circle of sticks. A few leaves were left at the top, covering the opening and keeping it hidden.

  The heap of discarded body parts was picked up and dropped into the nest, covering the bottom like a warm carpet. It sunk into the nest with relief. The work had been tiring, and only now rest could finally come.

  Sleep was short, but fulfilling. Much was still to be done.

  With warmth and a hint of light from the hot ball sneaking in through the opening atop the hole, It began weaving. Sticky, cotton-like secretions were woven into a ball, which It used to wrap up in, like a sleeping bag. The bag covered It from head to toe. Once complete, no light got in, and no warmth escaped.

  A more complete rest could take place, wrapped up in the warmth of the bag. More secretions came from its pores, but these were slimier than the cottony ones. These fluids oozed out slowly, very slowly, and very deliberately. It took many passes of the red, hot ball, perhaps dozens of passes, but eventually, all of It was enveloped in the goopy juices. The juices began to eat away at its skin, killing any cells weak enough to succumb.

  The bows slowly moved across the strings. The mallets softly stuck the cymbals. The crescendo began to build.

  The secretions continued. Only the strongest cells of the body could withstand the onslaught. Only the strongest cells survived.

  Those healthy cells did more than survive. They thrived. They grew stronger, feeding on the weak and dying cells, devouring all the energy the weaker cells once possessed. Energy was a commodity so valuable, that even the hardiest cells found themselves battling one another for sustenance. This civil war dominated the body while the mind slept. On and on they jockeyed for position and skirmished for livelihood. An entire season of cold was needed to resolve the border wars, and to the victors went the body while the losers made the ultimate sacrifice, giving themselves to make It greater.

  The mallets moved faster and faster, hitting the cymbals harder and harder. The bows now stroked the strings. The woodwinds and brass horns joined in. The volume rose, slowly and steadily. The conductor’s baton moved faster and faster; the increasing tempo naturally followed.

  The chill had left the air. The hot ball’s light peeked in the opening to the hole.

  The mallets moved faster. The body began to grow. The horns blew harder. The fibers of the bag began to stretch. The body continued to grow, overflowing from the nest, reaching its previous size, then continuing still.

  The cymbals crashed. A leg burst through the cotton-like wall. The horns wailed. An arm, muscular and firm, ripped a hole across the bag. Wings sprouted from the scaly, hard back of a body now barely able to fit in the lair. The snout curved, the tongue and teeth were firmer and stronger than ever before. Th
e one-inch tail grew many inches, and thickened.

  It stood up, crouched over to avoid hitting its head on the top of the lair, and carefully replaced any wayward sticks back into the body of the nest. For at the bottom were a dozen very precious items, oval shaped, and colored a dull pearl, safely tucked away underneath brush and leaves where they’d stay safe and warm until ready to hatch.

  It slithered up the hole, which was no easy task given this newfound size. But It quickly adapted and wasn’t at all uncoordinated. To the contrary, It nimbly scooted through the hole and emerged at the surface. The clean air was refreshing and It was reminded of one thing.

  The chameleon, and what she’d done to it.

  The girl would hear the music. There would be a special performance, just for her.

  It stopped to fill the hole with leaves, twigs and branches.

  * *

  The red sky of twilight glared in its eye as It approached the long, manmade tree. It looked quiet. There was no evidence of life. No activity. Nothing to let It know where the humans were.

  The risk of being spotted was great. But It was hungry. And It was hungry for her. It backed away, retreating a few hundred yards, finding cover behind an old manmade tree filled with tools. It sat behind the tree, still and quiet, until the twilight faded, and the darkness came.

  It walked towards the long manmade tree, slowly yet purposefully. Lightly, It flapped its newfound wings, but didn’t attempt to fly. The wings felt heavy. Too heavy to lift the muscled body that It was still growing accustomed to.

  The main floor had many lights on, and many windows to look through. There were several humans walking on the first floor, moving quickly about, some cleaning dinner plates while others carried boxes. None of them were of interest, at least for the time being. The second floor had a handful of lights on. Some of the windows were curtained, others were exposed. It didn’t sense activity there.

  On the third floor, there was only one light on. The windows were curtained, closed about halfway, and the curtains were pink. It flapped its wings, and lifted off the ground ever so slightly. Then lost its strength and sunk quickly back down. It tried again, this time getting almost ten feet off the ground, before giving way, and allowing the ground to grab It.

  Determination fueled It, and It made a third effort at flying up. The wings fluttered, then whipped, then flapped. Again, It lifted off the ground. As It felt its strength begin to give way once again, It leaned towards the wall, sinking its claws into the wood frame of the manmade tree. It scratched with its claws while flapping its wings the best It could, not letting go of the wall. It passed the second story, then reached the lit-up window on the third story.

  It looked in through the half-shut, sheer, pink curtains. She was in there. Just her and her dog. Mackenzie lying on her belly on the bed, talking loudly into a speak disk, making loud joy-noises. The dog was nuzzled up under her chin.

  Rage: the humanlike emotion was strong, almost impossible to contain.

  The wings were flapping, but It couldn’t hold on. It felt itself slipping. It clawed at the edge of the window, trying to get a hold, but again, the ground seemed to pull at Its legs. It fought to hold the edge, scratching one last time, this time missing the edge and scraping the window instead. Then, It sank, at first quickly, but It spread its wings fully, no longer flapping them, instead using them like sails to slowly coast to the ground below.

  Once down, It turned to look up. Mackenzie, head poking out the now-opened window looked down, and It looked back. Could she see it in the dark?

  Neither said a word, and It quickly ran towards the lair.

  * *

  It reached the lair, but passed it by. It needed food not shelter. The tall stone walls quickly came upon It, and again It made a weak attempt at flying. It took off, but the ground’s pull was too strong. Resolve was stronger than the weakness of its body, and It scaled the wall with a combination of clawing and flapping.

  Once at the top, It looked back. Its eyes, their senses heightened, could see much farther and clearer than before. Its focus was deliberate, and direct. Over the brush and straight through the treetops, It could see her room, the light still on. It would return. But first, It jumped off the wall, spread its wings, and landed softly on the ground below.

  Through the brush and trees It marched, the pit of its stomach calling out for food. It felt weakness, but not like before. There was no desire to shed. The body now behaved quite differently. The rough outer shell shriveled and clung tighter to its bones, becoming denser and harder than ever before. But the flesh was also dryer than before.

  It needed to eat. The body needed to be fed. The symphony needed to play.

  Familiar lights came into focus up ahead: the blue lights of a sign that hung on the side of a silver manmade tree. The sounds of teenage humans filled the air.

  It crept closer. The humans sat atop their wheeled boxes and put lit torches in their mouths. They talked loudly, blowing out smoke in their joy-noises. There were many of them, more than ten. It listened.

  “Come on,” one male shouted. “I’m hungry.”

  “Yeah,” called another. “Let’s go.”

  Several of the young humans started towards the entrance to the silver manmade tree. Three stayed behind.

  “You coming?” the loud male asked.

  “In a minute.” A female responded. She stood over a male, and just behind the two of them stood another female.

  The male stood hunched over with his hands on his knees.

  “Are you okay,” the female asked, rubbing his back in a soft, circular motion as she spoke.

  “Fine,” he grunted. “Go on. I’ll be in in a minute.”

  The second female breathed sad-noises, then the first female turned around and faced her. “You can go if you want.”

  “No. It’s okay. I’ll wait for you.”

  The male’s throat sang out. His face turned red. He straightened himself up, then said, “You both go on. I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. Feel better.”

  “I’m fine.”

  The two girls walked towards the silver tree, the one looking back, but not saying anything else.

  The soft song of sustenance kept It company.

  Once the girls were out of sight, the male crouched down behind a wheeled box, and his throat continued to sing a hoarse tune. Chunks of wetness flew from his mouth. It could smell the strong aroma of the boy’s last meal mixed with stomach juices.

  It stepped out of the brush and onto the small strip of green, soft ground that separated the woods from the hard ground. It stepped down, onto the hard ground. The boy continued to gag and spit, the chunks now gone and only liquid spew from his mouth.

  All was quiet, other than the boy and the symphony. It was hungry and weary but the song grew louder, fueling It on, urging It to satisfy the inner orchestra that had waited through countless days of cold to once again be nourished.

  He huddled over, the flats of his feet on the ground with his knees almost touching his chin. He spit and rubbed his chin, groaning. Saying two words over and over:

  “Never again.”

  The song was no longer soft, no longer concerned about being heard. It rushed towards the boy.

  “Never again. No more Yager.”

  The symphony struck the man from behind; his balance already precarious, he fell immediately. It wrapped its tail around the male’s torso and constricted.

  It heard noise. Humans leaving the silver tree and coming towards It. It rushed into the woods, dragging the boy by the tail.

  “Did you see that?” a woman said.

  “I think so,” replied a man.

  “That was too big to be a raccoon.”

  “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Doors slammed and a wheeled box came to life and quickly left. It stayed deep in the brush, watching the red lights from the ass of the wheeled box as they faded. Th
en, It turned to the boy, whose face was already white from his illness, now was completely colorless. He wasn’t moving.

  It opened the boy’s mouth, and launched itself inside. The taste was delicious; the song was glorious.

  Power filled it. Its pores relaxed. Its tight skin loosened with vibrant moisture. For the first time since It awoke from its extended slumber, It felt good.

  * *

  It devoured what it could of the boy, but humans kept coming in and out of the manmade silver tree. So, It left the carcass by the nature trees, and spread its wings. This time, they lifted It off the ground instantly. Effortlessly, It was airborne. It rose high up, and flew fast. But It didn’t like the cool rush of wind It felt when It went too fast, so It slowed to coast gracefully back to the property, over the wall, landing softly in front of the small entrance to the lair. Using its claws, It widened the opening slightly, and poked its head in. All was safe in the lair. It covered the opening with fresh sticks and brush.

  It flew up, and towards the long, manmade tree. The darkness would be leaving soon. The delightfully warm light from the sky would soon come.

  The third floor looked dark. It sailed over to her window, and looked in. It could see nothing. It pushed up close to the glass, hovering, but couldn’t see in. Something was blocking its vision. But she was in there, It could smell her even through the tightly shut window.

  It touched the window, then pushed it. A cold breeze tingled its wings. Suddenly, the temperature was dropping rapidly. Despite the meal and the energy It had stored up, the sudden coldness was very unsettling.

  Had It arose too soon? It would have to retreat to the lair and wait out the cold spell there.

  It flapped its wings and soared over the trees, then settled easily onto the ground.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  “Oh God!” she screamed, then dashed towards a hallway.

  I followed her, and we bolted underneath the stairway. Marty turned towards us and I heard him yelp. I couldn’t help but look back, and I saw him reaching out towards me as something yanked him backwards: it was the creature’s tongue. He’d been lassoed like a hog at a rodeo and he was helpless as the creature sucked him back. Marty cried out, but all I could hear was a muffled grunt as the creature tightened its grip.