Her Yearning for Blood

by Tim Greaton

  The Santa Shop

  (The Samaritans Conspiracy - Book 1)

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  The Santa Shop’s Hollywood Ending

  (Alternative Ending to The Santa Shop)

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  Red Gloves

  (The Samaritans Conspiracy - Book 2)

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  Bones in the Tree

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  Under-Heaven

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  (Read a preview attached to this story)

  Zachary Pill, Of Monsters and Magic

  (Book 1 in the Zachary Pill Series)

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  Zachary Pill, With Dragon Fear

  (Book 2 in the Zachary Pill Series)

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  Zachary Pill, Against the Troll

  (Book 3 in the Zachary Pill Series)

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  Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End

  Trilogy

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  Water Golems

  (Two stories from the Zachary Pill Universe)

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  Heroes With Fangs

  2012

  A Shattered Spooth

  (Book 1 in the Wizard’s Prism)

  2012

  The Pheesching Sector

  (A 6,000 word sci-fi story)

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  Distilled Shadows

  Anthology of Short Stories

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  The Shaft and Two Other Stories

  (Three tales of dark suspense)

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  For The Deposit and Two Other Stories

  (Three tales of dark suspense)

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  Dustin Jeckle & Mr. Hydel

  (A dark suspense story)

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  The Halloween Caper

  (A supernatural suspense story)

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  Bud’s Body Shop

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  Corpses Wrapped in Dirty Sheets

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  (How to Build) The Super Loop Airplane

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  Contact Tim at

  tim@greateastdevelopment.net

  Read Tim’s Blog at

  timgreaton.blogspot.com

  Preview of

  Under-Heaven

  From

  Tim Greaton

  PROLOGUE

  The sound had barely registered on my ears when, with a twist and a jerk from a forearm that had pulled thousands of lobster traps from the briny ocean, Casey Edd, the highliner of Coldwell Bay, snapped my neck.

  My soul fled that accursed house before my thin body even had time to drop to the floor…

  1

  The Angry Man

  “I told you, I’ll handle your mother!” the gaunt, disheveled man said, smashing his McDonald’s shake down on the table. Pink liquid exploded everywhere.

  Jesse froze as a thick droplet oozed from the table edge onto his sneakers. Swallowing hard, he felt dread clamp around his chest. He knew his father was only seconds away from what his mother called a “hellava bad scene.”

  Jesse’s eyes darted around the room. No one was nearby, though a woman with a baby stroller and another family with two boys, a year or two older than him, sat on the far side of the restaurant. On the one hand, he was glad they were far enough to avoid witnessing what was about to happen but on the other, he clamped his fists; he was left being his father’s only target. His memory wasn’t very good and yet, he vaguely remembered his father getting meaner with each passing day. Try as he might, Jesse could not understand what triggered these outbursts. When he asked his mother, she would simply say, “Be glad you’re still a little boy.”

  Seeing his father’s cheek muscles tighten, his face taking the shape of a bare skull, Jesse stared at the floor holding back tears. He pressed his lips together, trying to ignore the hot feeling in his eyes. From the corner of his vision, he could see his father clenching and unclenching his fists. Jesse’s little body started to quake.

  Then the unbelievable happened! a trickle of pee made its way out from down there. Terrified now at what might happen if his father found out, Jesse struggled to keep his five-year-old body under control. But when that big hand smacked loudly into the pink mess on the table, the trickle was twice as much.

  “That bitch never controlled me, and I’ll be damned if she’ll start now!” his father screamed.

  Frozen in place, Jesse continued keeping his eyes glued to his goop-spattered fries. From the top of his vision, he could see his father shake off the pink mess from his hand, then went on to wipe it on his already grimy green jacket. Anger writ large on his red crayoned face, as he glared at the two families across the room.

  This was the moment; Jesse’s hand flew to his crotch. It felt dry. He must not have peed much, he hoped not. He yanked his hand back up, and waited for his father’s unshaven jaw to stop grinding back and forth. Sitting there, Jesse began to regret asking his Mom to let him eat out with his Dad. Strange how it hurt when he missed his Dad. Although of late, the outcome of their meeting together was worse than missing him. He was beginning to understand why Mom would not allow his Dad to live with them anymore.

  Jesse winced, as his father’s gaze returned to rest on him. Taking care to avert his eyes, he wondered not for the first time, if it was he who was to be blamed for his Dad’s outburst. His mother had assured him in the past that he was not responsible and yet, he could not help wondering. He tried to recall if he had said or done anything that morning or any other morning to make his father upset. His memory failed him yet again. He could remember no wrongdoing on his part.

  Fighting back tears, Jesse wished things were as good as they were in the yesteryears when his Dad had been his best friend. He did not lack love from his mother who loved him, cared for him and always kept him well fed and warm. However, he missed having his Dad wake him up early Saturday mornings, to watch cartoons and play video games together. It tickled him to think of how his Dad would march into his room, asking for a round of wrestle before he changed out of his work clothes. These memories lit up Jesse’s face. But then something happened to change it all; in a flicker of a moment, their cartoon mornings, video games and wrestling matches came to a halt. It seemed as if an invisible hand had reached inside his father’s chest to draw out all the fun and warmth from there. His Dad began coming home late from work and his outbursts grew angrier every passing day. Many a times Jesse never saw him, as he would already be in bed by the time his father got back. This gave his parents ample time to argue and they did argue every other day.

  Now, sitting at the milkshake-splattered table, Jesse feared his Dad had disappeared, to be replaced with a dirty and angry man who scared the life out of him. His father gestured at the tray between them.

  “We came here to eat, so eat.”

  Hesitantly, Jesse picked up a French fry, the one with the largest blob of pink goo. At another time it might have been delicious, but now, he took only one tiny bite before poking it into his half-eaten cheeseburger. He sensed his Dad was looking at him. Fear chills climbed the back of his neck. Maybe he should have offered his money sooner.

  “I’m sorry, Jess. I’m not mad at you.”

  Surprised, Jesse lifted his head to see the fine lines on his father’s forehead had smoothened.

  “I brought it, Dad!” he blurted, desperate to avoid a return of the angry mood. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a crumpled plastic sandwich bag. “It’s my piggybank money, just like you wanted.” Jesse studied his father’s face as he offered the bag across the table. His father took it, but instead of the happy expression Jesse had hoped for, his lips thinned.

  “I thought you―”

  Jesse was going to add “wanted me to bring my money” but his father’s hand silenced him. Dark eyes drilled into him as the bag of bills was being examined.

  “You did good, Jess.”
His father dabbed his eyes with the back of one hand.

  Was his father crying?

  His Dad took all but one bill before handing the bag back. A fast-food worked approached.

  “Is everything alright?”

  “We had an accident,” his father said in a gruff voice.

  “I can see that,” the older boy returned cheerfully. “But don’t worry―”

  “Just clean the fucking mess up!”

  The boy’s pudgy face took on a color of red. His arm flew in defense and for a tiny Moment, it looked as if he was going to show a mean finger, instead he changed his mind, gave a weak smile and moved away.

  Jesse didn’t dare utter a word.

  “Useless little prick,” his father said. “Someone ought to fire his ass.” His head turned sharply toward the service counter where two other workers, an older man with glasses and a young woman, were talking quietly.

  “Did you hear that? You should fire his pimply ass!”

  The woman looked up, her mouth opening to say something, but the man with glasses lightly touched her shoulder whispering something. She gave Jesse’s father an angry glare before disappearing into the kitchen. The older man didn’t look their way again as he sprayed cleaner and began wiping the front counter with a cloth.

  “Just a bunch of friggin’ losers,” Jesse’s father said. He was looking at Jesse again. “Don’t quit school, sport or you’ll wind up working here with these retards!” The last he said loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear. The older man at the cash register ignored and continued washing his counter.

  His father reached across the table and took Jesse’s hand. Jesse tried to push the bag towards him again.

  “No, Jess,” his father said in his now friendly voice. “Put that back in your piggybank when you get home—and don’t tell your Mom. I don’t want her getting mad at you.”

  Jesse nodded. He had no inclination of telling her. She was already mad enough at his father.

  “Excuse me,” the older boy returned with a washcloth in hand. Jesse’s father stood moving out of the way, so the boy could clean up the mess. Jesse started to get up, when the boy waved him back. “No, you’re okay. Just move your food for a second.”

  Jesse pulled his tray out of the way and in a jiffy, the boy had the table clean as before.

  “I’ll be back with a mop in a minute.” His voice cracked making the “minute” come out in a girly voice.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” Jesse’s father announced.

  “I need to go, too,” Jesse said.

  “Goddamn it then! You go!”

  Jesse hesitated, fearing his accident may be visible from behind. He continued staring at his food.

  “Well, you want to go or not?” his father frowned, sweat beads forming on his forehead. Dumbly, Jesse shook his head.

  “You’re as bad as your friggin’ mother,” he heard his father say as he slid off his chair and headed for the bathroom.

  “She could never make up her goddamned mind either.”

  Silently, Jesse wiped a stray tear. When he heard the bathroom door slam, he quickly slid his hands under his thighs and felt his bottom. He was relieved to touch a dry backside. Thankfully, his pants were not wet. His underwear must have absorbed that trickle of pee.

  The girl in the meantime had returned to the service counter. She and the older man were now profusely whispering to each other. Jesse, tried not to stare, but his gaze kept darting from the service counter to the bathroom door. He had witnessed his Dad being thrown out of enough places to know what may come next. Ignoring the dampness around his crotch, Jesse hurriedly got up to wait aside the restroom door.

  “Hey,” his father swung the bathroom door. His eyes trying to focus, he asked Jesse with a goofy grin on his face.

  “So you do need t’ go,”

  “No, I’m ready to leave, Dad.” Jesse didn’t dare look at the workers, although he was certain they were watching.

  “Sure, Jess.” His father’s anger seemed to have melted in the flush waters. He reached down to tousle Jesse’s hair grinning as he ran his fingers through them.

  “Whatever you want, Jess. You know you’re my little sport.”

  Jesse tried to get a grip on to his father’s drastic mood swings. This one couldn’t have come at a better time though. He desperately held on to his father’s hand as he led him into the cool air outside. Only when they were a block away, did he begin to feel safe once again.

  “So’d’ya have a good time, Jess?” his father asked, his words slurred. He tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and yanked on Jesse’s arm as he stumbled. Fortunately, he caught himself before knocking them both down. Then he laughed.

  “Yeah, it was fun, Dad.” Jesse answered watching the drool come out from one corner of his father’s mouth. Wasn’t he feeling well?

  “Me and your Mom’s getting back together, y‘know. She’s gonna let me come―”

  He stumbled again only this time he let go of Jesse’s hand before staggering off the sidewalk. Laughing heartily, he struggled back up and attempted to walk along the curb like a little kid. He took only two steps before losing his balance and staggered back down to the street.

  “It won’t be long before I move back to-to the apartment.”

  Jesse nodded. The chilly breeze made his damp underwear feel cold and uncomfortable.

  “No, serious,” his Dad repeated, swinging his arms wildly as he tried to stay on the curbing. “I’m coming back. Your Mom loves me, y’know. We’re family, and families live under the same-same house.”

  Jesse faked a weak smile and was thankful his father dropped the subject and stepped back up to walk in the middle of the sidewalk. He still seemed to have trouble keeping his balance, but at least they were walking faster.

  Jesse and his Mom lived in an apartment up over a Laundromat where, if Jesse stood on the edge of his bed and peeked over the two-story building across the street, he could make out the very tip of McDonald’s yellow arches. It didn’t take them long to cover the short distance but his father was breathing heavily by the time they made it to the front door. It seemed not long ago that his father could easily have run the same distance. Something was very wrong.

  “Karen,” his father said, a little loudly into the intercom. He waited for only a second before pounding on the button again. “Karen, we’re back. Open the fucking door!”

  “Okay, I heard you,” Jesse heard his mother reply.

  The door buzzed, and his Dad shoved it open.

  “Bye, Dad,” Jesse said, rushing past and bolting up the stairs. He was already in his bedroom when he heard his parents fighting again. His father as usual, wanted to come in and talk. His mother refused to let him in and so they yelled at each other through the door.

  Instead of changing his damp underwear, Jesse quickly crawled into bed. Then trying to drown their voices, he pulled his blanket over his head and began to cry.

  * * *

  2

  Under-Heaven

  …sometime in 1945

  AT first, she didn’t say I was dead. Instead, I heard her whisper, “You’ve moved on.”

  I had absolutely no recollection of anything before this Moment. It was as if I had magically appeared before her. She was a heavyset woman in her fifties, or so I guessed. She had a cheerful smile, and a graying stack of brunette hair was tied in a bun at the top of her head. Her loose, white dress with a high open collar flowed freely below her calves. She wore white stockings that barely covered her ankles, and white shoes to match. She reminded me of a nurse. We were standing amidst immaculately cut, green grass in front of a small white house. A bay window protruded from a wall on the left side of a small porch. The white house was manned by a single unadorned white door and a set of five white steps led to it from the surrounding green lawn. Beautiful flowers of every imaginable color decked the lawn.

  I wondered how I had gotten here and who this woman was. The question made me uneasy.
Although a part of me longed for the answer, I was not sure I wanted to know.

  “Are you able to talk?” she asked.

  My thoughts in a jumble, I nodded.

  “You may take your time, Nathaniel,” she said softly. “There’s a lot to get used to. For now, let me show you around your new home.”

  Uncertainty, writ large on my face, I hesitantly, accepted her firm grip. Surprisingly for her size, she seemed gentle and warm. Although I was all of ten years, it seemed a bit odd that I should be left alone with a stranger. With a mind full of confusing questions, I meekly followed her up the stairs. Then I froze. Inside the house, between two wooden chairs, was a pure white lobster trap. Unspeakable fear gnawed at me from behind my neck, leaving me shivering like a leaf. I had no choice but to follow her into the house.

  “I’m your grandmother,” she declared as we entered a small but serviceable living room. Two over-stuffed chairs and a couch sat snuggly against the walls. The seats were upholstered in a cream color with a carpet to match. I could a white ceiling and white walls devoid of any pictures. The only end table in the room had a single brass lamp.

  “You are free to call me Grandma Clara,” she continued cooing. “You have quite a slew of relatives looking forward to meeting you, Nathaniel, but we’ll wait a little while until you get used to things first. okay?”

  “I, I guess so,” I stuttered, in a small voice.

  The quaint feeling in my stomach stopped me from asking any questions. Why was there no radio here? Why was I not able to recognize my own grandmother? Would my other relatives also seem like strangers to me? I thought they would but I asked nothing as I following the fat woman into the little kitchen.

  The kitchen was as unadorned as the living room. The cabinets held no food. There was also no sign of a refrigerator, stove or sink. The only visible furnishing was a small round table and four chairs. Across the unadorned hall was a small bedroom which held a single bed and a rocking chair. As I stood in the doorway of the room, I began to smile. The house was sadly austere, but it was my new home now. I was beginning to feel its warmth and comfort, and I liked it.