To Watch You Bleed

by Jordon Greene

  Smoothly, Dracula took the damsel in his arms and stared into her eyes, hypnotizing her with his gaze. Finally, his eyes flared in hunger and his mouth opened wide, exposing hidden fangs, and he bit down onto her neck. The woman didn't struggle, she just laid back like nothing was happening. Another of Dracula’s victims.

  “That was intense,” Tamieka exclaimed.

  “Intense?” Larissa asked. She looked at her mother, confused. “Were you watching the same thing I was?”

  “Yeah, that was good,” Tamieka asserted.

  “That was old, and corny,” Larissa retorted. “You all actually thought that was scary back in the day?”

  Tamieka rolled her eyes and feigned shock, “Back in the day? Yes, that was scary.” She let a grin spread across her cheeks again.

  “Interesting maybe, I wouldn’t call it scary. If you want scary watch one of the Dracula movies in color,” Larissa explained.

  “Ah, all you young’uns just like the nasty junk. Gore and sex,” Tamieka said.

  “Well, at least it’s genuinely scary,” Larissa teased.

  “I can’t argue with that,” her mom agreed.

  Larissa laughed, confident that her mom would eventually come to her senses. Tamieka stood up and began to make her way to the kitchen. “You want anything to drink?”

  “Nah, I’m good,” came her daughter’s reply back in the living room.

  Tamieka nodded and made her way into the kitchen. She worked the fridge, retrieving a jug of good ol’ southern sweet tea and poured herself a glass. Family time had become so much more important for the two of them over the past year. Shaun, Tamieka's husband of fourteen years, had died in a fatal car accident just thirteen months ago. Thirteen months and two days. Moving on had felt near impossible then. It still did at times, but she made herself get out of bed each morning and smile for her daughter. She missed him.

  Out of all the heartache, one good thing had come. It had brought Tamieka closer to her daughter. She had even asked to stay home this Halloween instead of going out with her friends or out trick-or-treating like she had two years ago, before the accident. She had confidently explained that at thirteen she was too old to go door-to-door like a little “kid” begging for candy. Tamieka did not argue. She was grateful for the time with Larissa. Losing Shaun had taught her to hold on to every moment, and she wanted to be there for Larissa for every one of them.

  Abruptly, a thought popped into Tamieka’s mind. Lenore's book. She had told Lenore she would be by tonight to pick up one of her books. Which one? She shrugged off the question, sure Lenore would remember.

  I can pick it up tomorrow. Uh. But I told her I’d be there tonight.

  “Larissa,” Tamieka called into the living room from the hallway as she made her way back to the sofa. “I might have to go out for a little bit. I forgot that I was supposed to go by the Summers’ house earlier.”

  “What are you going over there for?” Larissa inquired.

  “She’s getting me a copy of one of her books,” Tamieka shrugged, “I can’t remember which one, but one of them. I could go by tomorrow probably.”

  “I’ll be fine, go get your book,” Larissa smiled. “I know how much you like a new story.”

  Tamieka grinned. The girl knew her well, even if the understanding didn’t run as well back the other direction. A teenage girl, although she had been one, was no easy book to read. Tamieka figured there was no use arguing, she did want to pick up the book after all.

  “All right,” Tamieka said. She stepped back into the hallway and snatched the car keys off the hall table. “Get your shoes on, we’ll go on and be back in half an hour or so.”

  “Come on, Mom, let me stay here and watch movies. I’ll be fine,” she tried, holding herself tall and confident on the sofa.

  “I don’t know, Larissa,” Tamieka said. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you all alone. Halloween night can be crazy.”

  “Go, Mom, I’ll be fine.”

  With a gentle grin, Tamieka gave in, “Okay. Keep the doors locked and don’t open them for anyone but me. And I mean anyone, but me.”

  “Okay, Mom!” Larissa pleaded with her to just stop.

  “Love you, I’ll be right back.” She turned and walked out the front door.

  “Love you, Mom.”

  The cool night air rushed over and under Aiden’s red and black gloved hand as he let it wave up and down outside the car window. The brisk breeze was refreshing as it seeped through the thin breathable fabric of his costume. It cooled his blushed skin. With his Spidey mask off, his pale pink lips arched upward in what was possibly a permanent grin. The dark and light browns of his hair ruffled in flurries as the wind sloshed them furiously. The light brown of his inner iris seemed to overtake the usually dominate outer honey brown circle. It gave his eyes a brighter look.

  “Hey, man, are you still on Earth over there?” Mason inquired, momentarily taking his eyes off the curvy road.

  Snapping back to reality Aiden grinned even more. He smiled at Mason and then looked back out the window at the passing night forest. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Really? Cause you definitely look like your somewhere else,” Mason jeered. “So was it good?”

  “Yeah,” Aiden started, trying to find the words. “Yeah, it was great. I actually talked to her.”

  Mason visibly slumped in the bucket seat of his Mustang. He shook his head at his oblivious friend.

  “I mean I actually talked to her. Yeah, I was horrified at first, but after I started, I was fine. Yeah, it was good.”

  “Uh, yeah, that’s nice and all but,” Mason continued with a renewed grin,” but you kissed her, right?”

  Aiden’s gaze pulled back into the car and over to Mason with a sideways grin. He laughed at himself, realizing his mistake.

  “Of course,” he answered. “Of course it was good. It was great, really great.”

  “You kiss her upside down?” Mason continued to joke.

  “No,” Aiden laughed. “You’re crazy, man. I may be Spiderman for the night, but I’m not that good.”

  “Well don’t tell Faith that,” Mason advised him. “She might think she’s getting the whole package. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her too quickly now.”

  He punched Mason playfully and looked back out the window. The thrill of her lips on his still sang through his mind like the sweetest guitar rift with a hint of strawberry. He swore he felt a tingle on his lips again. He played the moment over and over again in his mind, wishing he could feel it again, really feel it again. He knew he would. Somehow he just knew it. All the time he had wasted in useless fear seemed to disappear for the moment.

  “So, you ready to admit I was right?” Mason chimed in, left hand on the wheel, the other on the shifter in the middle of the car’s console. He shifted down a gear as he accelerated around a curve.

  Aiden looked at him with a raised brow. He grinned mischievously. “Never. But I will happily beat your ass in Call of Duty again tonight.”

  “Hey, now,” Mason retorted, “I beat you a few times this week.”

  “Yeah, try like six times…out of what, at least twenty rounds,” Aiden grinned proudly.

  “Whatever…” he shrugged. Then Mason’s eyes widened and a crooked grin painted across his lips. “Oh my goodness, Aiden! Did you realize we didn’t even take the firecrackers in? I knew I forgot something.”

  Aiden shook his head. Firecrackers were the last thing on his mind. “It never crossed my mind.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Dalton's hands shook. The reality of all that was happening had finally sank in. It now coursed through his veins and set his body on a small steady rhythm.

  “Do you have any buckets around here?” Skull-face asked.

  "What?" Dalton asked. He raised his brow, confused. He had heard the question, but it seemed so odd. The cadence of the words were so nonchalant, almost respectful. It was almost as if the voice had not sprung from behind a dark skull-covered mask. T
hat it somehow belonged to someone decent, someone who didn’t hold the slicing edge of a knife to his neck.

  Freddie and Bullet looked on quietly. There was no reading Freddie, all his facial features hidden behind the grotesquely detailed Freddie Krueger mask. Just feet in front of Freddie, Bullet stood silent and expressionless. The small slit in his mask that revealed his lips showed a flat line and the eye sockets revealed even less.

  “Buckets. Do you have any buckets?” Skull-face asked again. This time his tone held the slightest tinge of irritation, or maybe it was sarcasm.

  “Uh…” Dalton thought aloud. He stopped shaking. What did a bucket have to do with his wife? Were they done? Did they need something to haul out their loot? Dalton’s mind lifted just enough to come crashing down as another thought broke into his stream of reason. Knives. Buckets. They don’t plan to carry us out in buckets, do they?

  Dalton’s heart began to race quicker. His mind strained to fight for control over his emotions and fears. He was losing the battle. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to focus on the question, to take each thing as it came. It was useless, pointless, to attempt to predetermine what the trio of masked freaks planned. It was an exercise in futility that took vital attention away from the here and now, from what mattered, the only thing that ever really mattered. In that split second, his fear dissipated just enough for the weight of who he had become to crash down into his metal lap. The only thing that ever really mattered.

  In a fraction of second, his mind raced through a lifetime of memories. Mara's feet leaving the concrete driveway as she finally managed to pedal her tiny pink bicycle on her own. Aiden smiling widely at just two years old while Dalton spun him in circles by his arms. Every single time he'd kissed his children on the head while they slept. Lenore in a simple white dress, walking slowly toward him with her father. Lenore.

  “It’s not that hard of question, man,” Freddie’s voice arched over the others, interrupting the flood of memories and the joy and grief they brought. There was that gang-like sound in the boy's voice again, just a hint.

  Opening his eyes, Dalton finally spoke, “No. I don’t have any buckets. We have some boxes out in the garage, but no buckets.”

  “Hm…” Skull-face pursed his lips for a moment. “Pots. I assume you have some large pots, right?”

  “Yes, of course,” Dalton answered quickly, not wanting Lenore to have to speak to the monster. He was not one to cook but he witnessed the large pot of water or tea on the stove more than a few times so it was an easy answer. “In the kitchen.”

  “Good,” Skull-face said. “That should do I guess.”

  After a nod to Bullet, Skull-face walked lightly out of the living room and into the kitchen out of Dalton’s sight. The other two monsters spread out before the sofa and recliner. Freddie swooshed his knife in a slow arch between Mara and Lenore, daring them to move while Bullet kept the muzzle of his pistol aimed dangerously at Mara’s temple. Neither bothered to show him any attention with their destructive instruments, but preferred to torment him instead with their targets.

  Their intent was clear, keep Dalton seated. He cursed them silently, wishing there was some way he could get them far enough away from his wife and daughter, from his life, to make a move, any move. If they were too close, though, Dalton’s attempt at rescue could turn into the very instrument of murder. He couldn't bear that burden. He couldn't. Instead he sat, eyes fixed invariably on the leader, on that cold white mask.

  Clangs and pings echoed into the living room. The noises came from the kitchen, surely originating from Skull-face’s search of the cabinets. Apparently he had found something.

  “Found them!” the boy’s youthful voice yelled from the opposite room. Dalton crinkled his brow, wondering still why the pots were needed. He hoped his mind was simply running rampant.

  In the silence that followed, Dalton’s ear caught the subtle flush of water pouring from a faucet. He kept his eyes peeled on Bullet, the edge of his pistol and Freddie’s knife visible in his peripheral vision. They waited as the sound of running water continued, followed by a quiet clang of metal on metal.

  Suddenly, the sounds from the adjoining room changed. The water ceased to fall and the sound of footsteps replaced the clanging. From the corner of his vision, Dalton saw the skinny boy walking carefully around the recliner with a pot filled to the brim with water. He looked at the silver pot quizzically.

  “You’ll figure it out in just a minute, just be patient,” Skull-face assured him, like it was some game that all teenagers played. “I hope you don’t mind a little water on the floor, though.”

  The boy's mixed words confused Dalton. It was as if he tried to be polite and cruel all in the same instance. Dalton wanted to question him, to ask what he was doing, but he held his tongue.

  Skull-face turned and returned to the kitchen. Seconds later, he returned with another pot, a slightly smaller one of the same set, also filled to the brim with water. Again he returned to the kitchen and came back with another pot, again smaller. In the end, Skull-face lined up three pots along the earthen-shaded tile floor. Two of the pots were from a silver set Dalton had bought Lenore four years ago at Christmas and a smaller pot from an older set made of cast iron of the decorative variety. Each was filled to the brim with water.

  The boy's gaunt figure seemed to bob with excitement as he stood by his pots of water. Dalton imagined a thin face with wide crazed eyes, crooked nose and thin lips smiling insanely at the preparations he had made. Still unsure what purpose the water served, Dalton looked back to Bullet who stepped back to let Freddie move in front of him.

  Without a word of warning, Freddie took hold of Lenore’s arm and yanked her forward. Horrified, but unsure why, Lenore jerked away. Freddie lost his grip and she fell back to the couch.

  “Get up,” Freddie commanded angrily. It was like Lenore had disobeyed an obvious command, as if she had willfully knew and rebelled.

  Lenore’s eyes widened. She scanned the pots, wondering what purpose they served. At first she didn't let her body move, but as Freddie insisted with another pull, she scooted forward and let herself be led to a standing position. Dalton could see her body shaking, the fear in her eyes, the small string of blood that etched from thigh to mid-calf in a drunken fashion. Her eyes turned to Dalton, pleading with him to do something. Dalton met her pleading eyes. He refused to look away in her moment of need, but he was unsure what he could do. Inside his heart sank another notch, a notch he thought did not exist.

  “On the floor,” Skull-face commanded, his youthful voice gaining an edge of authority. “Lay down. On your back, now.”

  The confusion in her eyes grew. She stood, questioning the command by her inaction, her mind trying to understand what they had in store for her.

  “On the floor, bitch!" All of Skull-face's odd politeness vanished as he bellowed the command angrily.

  Obeying out of fright, Lenore got to her knees and laid back on the cold tile floor. Her body tensed at the awkward feeling of the hard tile against her back. Above her, Freddie moved down and straddled her legs before placing his full weight onto her knees. The weight of the otherwise light boy was more than her knees were accustomed to holding up. Pain blossomed up her thighs as her knees bent backward, pressed flat to the floor. Nothing popped or broke, but she gasped as the pain jumped up both legs.

  “Shut up, this is nothing,” Freddie griped.

  “Here,” Bullet said to Freddie, passing him the gun-metal grey pistol. “Keep it on her,” he commanded, nodding back to Mara, keeping all of his bases covered. Keeping Dalton at bay. Bullet’s eyes caught Dalton’s and a small grin formed behind the smile opening in the mask. Dalton’s lips writhed in anger, and hate.

  Bullet dropped to his knees just above Lenore’s head and reached out for a small white kitchen rag, one of the thin square variety that Lenore kept on hand. He rolled the rag like a large joint before wrenching Lenore’s mouth open violently and shoving it int
o her mouth, a hand holding on to each end of the roll by each cheek. Lenore gasped as the back of her head was pressed against the tile and the rag pressed against her lips. Dalton cried inside as Bullet pushed down harder, pulling the edges of her lips back further than they were meant to go.

  “You ready?” Skull-face asked.

  “Stop! You're hurting her! ” Dalton blurted out.

  The three boy's stopped what they were doing and looked up at Dalton. The eyes he could see stared back at him, laughing at him.

  “Uh. Yeah,” one of them said. Dalton couldn't tell which, but it had not been Bullet, his mouth had not moved.

  “Please. Stop!” he begged

  “Have at her.” Bullet nodded to Skull-face. He grinned at Dalton.

  “No...” Dalton whispered.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” Skull-face commented as he retrieved the smallest of the pots, the cast iron one. He stooped to his knees by Lenore’s face. When he spoke again, his voice was young and gleeful again, “Open wide.”

  Immediately Dalton realized what was happening. He kicked himself mentally for being so blind. Slowly, Skull-face tipped the pot and let the water pour into and over Lenore’s mouth. She fought, twisted and shook, but Bullet and Freddie held her down. Suddenly she began to gasp and choke on the water, unable to prevent the life-giving liquid from pouring down the back of her throat in time to breathe. The water continued to pour. Lenore’s body jerked, trying to loose itself from its human bonds as she choked. Horrible gurgling noises escaped behind the constant stream of water.

  “Stop!” Mara screamed. Dalton’s attention shot to his daughter. She had finally come out of shock and her eyes conveyed terror at what she was watching. Dalton grimaced harder and then looked back to Lenore.

  The water continued to pour. Lenore’s body jerked and convulsed as it lodged in her throat and windpipe, cutting of her ability to breathe. Finally, the last drop of water fell from the pot and Bullet let her up just enough to expel the water from her lungs. She coughed and choked again and again. Water dribbled off her lips.