by Skye, Mav
He wasn’t sure if this relieved him or not. It tasted like piss—piss with a not unpleasant kick.
Sir Sun was sat on a faux green leather couch, Ms. Twilight perched on his lap yapping about her favorite vampire movie characters and how they differed from the book characters, although she’d never read the books, it’s just what her friends told her. The apartment was identical to his. The college kid owned considerably more plastic furniture.
Sir Sun took another sip, and zoned out Ms. Twilight’s voice. He focused on the ten clowns jumping to music in the living room. Creepy. They all had white faces, red plastic noses, dark blue highlighting around the edges of their eyes, big made up Joker mouths, and fuzzy red wigs.
They were dancing—in sync—to Metric’s Dead Disco.
Ms. Twilight swung her head around to see what Sir Sun was looking at. “Oh my God!” Ms. Twilight didn’t like clowns. “They’re so like—I don’t know. Freaky. Did you ever see that Killer Clowns from Outer Space movie?” Sir Sun shook his head. “It so horrified me, even if they were only shooting popcorn. I mean, what do you think? If it was Vamps versus Clowns, we’d totally out hot them, any day of the year, even Christmas. Especially Christmas. Last Christmas, my mom bought me this, like, can opener—the electric kind. But I just couldn’t get it to work, you know? So, I called my mom. And she was like, did you plug it in? And I was like, Oh yeah! So then I called Suzy, and she said—”
Sir Sun faded her out again. He watched the clowns dancing to Dead Disco, fascinated. They dipped, squatted, squeaked their nose, slapped their hands on their knees and then with each other patty-cake style, and then rose, pumping their palms and shaking their butts.
It was eerie. They must have choreographed together in basements for hours. He wondered if they dressed up then, too. Perhaps they had a secret clown club and maybe they did evil clown things, stole little children off playgrounds, chopped up their body parts, and sold their organs on the black market. If they practiced that half as much as they practiced their choreography they’d get away with it smooth and clean.
Spooked, Sir Sun turned his head and looked out the patio door. A dim shadow hung from the maple outside the balcony. Sir Sun recognized Ah Lam’s shape. Shivers quivered down his spine, and he remembered why he was here, why he came back to Spindler’s Roost.
He was here for three reasons. One: He wanted to find Mrs. Chow. Two: Bury the bodies. Three: Stop Velva from hurting these kids and whoever was left in Spindler’s Roost.
Murderer! Miss O’Hara’s voice hissed from behind him. Sir Sun twisted around; looking for a plant he’d know he’d find in the living room. And there it was, sitting on a dresser beneath a mounted plasma TV.
Sir Sun recognized the leaves and soft pink petals—it was a lipstick plant. It sat perfectly still, innocent, not a single leaf rustled.
Ms. Twilight wiggled her sweet ass against his crotch, reclaiming his attention. She hugged his face between her corseted breasts and pointed at her sideways fangs. “These come out, you know. Although, I’ve always wanted to give a blowjob with them in.” She grabbed a bottle of something from the table behind the couch and dumped it in his plastic cup.
Sir Sun gulped, glancing at the lipstick plant. It remained quiet.
“What do you think? Could you make my wish come true?” She wiggled again against him. And slipped her hand down his chest to belly, trailing to his throbbing member. “I know you wanna…”
She made eyes at him, waiting for a reply.
Sir Sun smiled, an awkward toothy smile, he needed to stay focused on why he was here. But he didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings, and she did have a point. He did wanna… Instead of saying anything, he held up his plastic cup.
Ms. Twilight giggled and refilled it. They did that again, and again.
After the fifth shot, Sir Sun was thinking perhaps Twilight’s idea was indeed the best plan for the evening.
Julius Caesar changed all that.
He strolled in between the dancing clowns, holding a beer bottle high in the air. He beeped a clown’s nose and threw it. It landed beside the couch near Sir Sun’s feet. The clown squealed like a mouse and scampered after it.
On all fours, he plucked the nose off the carpet and sat back on his haunches, trying to reapply it to his face. It squeaked over and over. Julius Caesar moved in, kneeing the clown away. The clown stumbled on his knees still clutching the beeping nose as if it was his baby. Ms. Twilight slid off Sir Sun’s lap to the couch cushions, where she attempted to ignore Caesar’s menacing glare. Finally, she said, “Hey Sid.”
“Hey,” he said, gazing long and hard at Sir Sun until Sir Sun felt uncomfortable. The name Sid sounded extremely familiar. Where had he heard it?
Ms. Twilight excused herself to the bathroom. Sir Sun watched her strut her stuff away, and when he turned back, Caesar was glaring at him angrier than ever.
“Excuse, me, I uh… gotta go, too.” And he did, after all the booze Ms. Twilight poured into his cup. Sir Sun began to stand. He felt a tad woozy, his head filled with warm fuzzies, and he grabbed the couch arm for support.
Caesar said, “No need to stand up, my man. Sit. Take a load off.” He sat down on the couch, and the motion of him sitting made Sir Sun fall into the couch, too.
“So, who are you again?” Caesar took a gulp of beer and inspected Sir Sun. Inspected, as in when he turned his head, his nose was practically in Sir Sun’s ear.
Awkward.
“Uh,” Sir Sun wasn’t sure what to say. Did Caesar recognize him from before in the hall? He didn’t think so. He hoped not. He decided to make up a name, but nothing came to mind. His head spun. Maybe he should just get up and leave. He put his hands on his thighs and tried to boost himself up again.
Sid put a hand on his arm. “Sit.” It was a command, not a question.
Sir Sun, light-headed, plunked back down on the couch. He said, “Sid.”
“Sid? But, that’s my name.” Caesar raised a brow.
“No, it’s my name,” said Sir Sun, confused.
“Wait, a minute. I swear when we ran into you earlier that chick called you sunshine or dick…”
“Sun…” Sir Sun slurred the letters a bit and directly after sneezed, “Ickens!”
“Sun dickens?” Caesar’s lips curled up in a smile, and he gave a good-hearted pat on Sir Sun’s back. “Okay, Sun Dick. What happened to the duck?”
Surprised, Sir Sun turned so he was face to face with the mighty Caesar. He opened his mouth to talk, but a string of laughter came out, along with, “The duck was struck!”
Sir Sun laughed and laughed until his nose ran, and his eyes watered.
Caesar’s eyes widened. “What?”
“The duck was struck with a big hairy stump!” Sir Sun wiped his eyes and finished off his drink.
“Bro,” Caesar shook his head “you’re wasted.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” Sir Sun grabbed the arm of the couch, and this time succeeded at standing. “I bid you goodnight, Caesar.”
Sir Sun saluted and turned on his heel. The lipstick plant caught his eye, and he paused, and when he did, he collided with a clown which beeped its nose at Sir Sun. Sir Sun startled, and Caesar grabbed his arm and swung Sir Sun around to face him. “The duck called me from outside the building.” A grape fell off Caesar’s halo wreath. “When he didn’t show, I went looking for him. And bumped into you by that old lady’s apartment.”
Burning Desire by Lana Del Ray started up, her heavy breathing drawing the vampiresses back into the living room. They rubbed their bodies against the clowns, someone’s horn honked.
Sir Sun’s head swam and hearing his name he said, “Uh, I, yes.”
Ms. Twilight was back, doing the bump and grind with a clown. Someone flipped on a strobe light, giving her demon eyes to go with the vamp teeth. She smiled and waved a finger, licking her teeth over her fangs.
“Yes, what?” said Caesar.
“Um,” Sir Sun thought honesty was the b
est reply. “We beat him with a bloody stump. Okay? That’s it.”
Caesar made a face. “Ya. Ya. Right.” He rolled his eyes.
Sir Sun shrugged and hiccupped simultaneously.
“God, your breath,” said Caesar.
“Party mint?” Twilight was between them, then popping mints into Sir Sun’s mouth. “Get out of here, bro. He’s mine.”
Caesar’s eyes flashed. “Don’t you get close to this creep! Dad would kill me if he knew you were throwing yourself at men twice your age.” He grabbed Ms. Twilight’s arm.
“Ow!” Ms. Twilight squealed, “Leave me alone. You’re the creep, Sid. I just wanna hang out with my friends!”
Sir Sun took the opportunity to duck into the clowns and vampiresses as brother and sister fought.
By the time Sir Sun heard Twilight’s frantic voice, “Where is he? You’re such a jackass, Sid.” he had squeezed through the monster crowd down the hall to the open apartment door where even more ghouls danced. A velvet flash of black feathers passed through the crowd outside the door. It paused, gazing at him. The eyes above the beak sparkled with mischief. Beneath the mask, deep red lips smiled, air-kissed him. Then she brought one long talon to her lips in the shhhhh motion, then disappeared into the monsters.
Velva.
He shoved his way through the crowd towards the door. Several kids blocked the entrance, but Sir Sun was able to peek his head out, catch a glimpse of her. She turned sideways to move through some kids, and when she did, he saw a gleam, a familiar silver gleam with a sharp edge.
Oh, gawd. Not the axe.
By the time he had squeezed through the door, she was gone. The crowd spewed him out into the hallway, he let himself get pushed along down to the corner.
Caesar’s voice from inside said, “Sun Dick! Sun Dick! Come back. Remember? I was going to punch your—”
Sir Sun jaunted past the pole the undead duck had smacked into, then headed straight for Daisy’s door. It was unlocked.
He slipped inside.
It was dark and quiet, except for the gentle thud of bass from Caesar’s apartment. There was an unholy stench, too. He walked down the dark hallway toward where he and Velva had left the dead bodies. He leaned over and flipped on a lamp.
He glanced at the Super’s rotting flesh on the floor. Next to it, Daisy lied with her flabby arms raised over her head. Quarters over her eyes, a permanent scream locked on her lips. Dentures sprawled out of her open mouth, crusted with blood. The slight sound of an insect’s hum was coming from her or rather—inside her. Sir Sun’s flesh crawled.
At the thought, a fleck of black buzzed from her lips, and landed on the tip of her nose. It whisked its little legs together and wiped over its forehead. And that made one thing for sure in Sir Sun’s mind, he was going to smack that fly!
He wondered if Daisy had a fly swatter, but the thought was interrupted by a slight cushiony creak behind him. He recognized the sound as couch springs. He turned slowly, very, very slowly.
A giant bloody duck crouched, holding one hell of a butcher knife.
The duck said something.
It was difficult to comprehend. Sir Sun guessed several of its teeth were missing. “I’ve been waiting for you—Quack! Quaaaack!” the electronic quack took over. “Prepare to—Quackkkkkk!”
One thing was for sure—dead duck was most definitely undead.
25
Beast Uncaged
Undead Duck stood in the shadows. Blood crusted over its beak and fake fluffy feathers. The shape of its knife stood out in contrast to the soft features of the costume. What frightened Sir Sun wasn’t the shape of the knife, but the manner in which the undead duck wielded it—as if it was ready to kick out some ninja moves. Although the moves would never compare to Ah Lam’s ninja moves. Sir Sun frowned, not just at the memory of Ah Lam, but at Undead Duck.
He could hear it breathing. It wasn’t the harsh breath of Darth Vader’s force, rather rapid intakes and exhales. What was under the mask used to be human, a rational thinking human being. Whether a rational human being would put on a rubber duck costume and run into a pole was a question to ponder in itself. But this, this was no longer human. It was not rational. It was undead. It was rabid. It was a lump of flesh relishing its revenge.
An Undergrounder.
Sir Sun carefully reached for his pocket, feeling for his shears. He was glad he hadn’t tossed them into the blackberries by the river.
Undead Duck took a step forward. His knife glistened in the dim glow of the lamp. “Murrddderreerr…” It hissed.
Sir Sun took a step back from the scathing wrath of Undead Duck. He clenched his weapon. “I promise. We weren’t going to drown you in the river. I—You hit your head and—” But his lame explanation went unheard.
A sound came from Undead Duck. It didn’t resemble a quack, but a guttural cry of a beast ready to pounce on its prey. It tensed, crouching into attack position. It howled its accusation once more. “Murderer!”
Sir Sun’s skin prickled. He froze in place, dropping the shears. He recognized the voice. Flabbergasted, he asked, “Miss O’Hara?”
Undead Duck growled, sprang into the air, the butcher’s knife held high. Before it had time to plunge it into Sir Sun’s flesh, a surge of metal rose in the air and then sank—THUNK!—deep into the duck’s skull, setting off the electronic quacker once more. Quuacckkk! Quack! Quack!
Undead Duck landed on its feet, the axe sticking out of it’s giant rubber skull.
“Fuck! Miss O’Hara—fuck!” yelled Sir Sun, grabbing his head, pulling his hair. He was confused. Was the Undergrounder Miss O’Hara? And who had put the axe in her head? “I’m so sorry.” He said, “I am so, so sorry.”
There was a pause, a moment. And Undead Duck dropped its knife. It made a dull thump on the carpet. And the rubber beast fell face forward, the beak crumbling to the side on the floor. The axe still stuck in its skull, and a fresh river of blood waterfalled off the rubber into the carpet.
Sir Sun raised his eyes to his savior.
Shimmery black feathers enveloped her arms. A raven’s mask covered her face; her large eyes gleamed through its peepholes, lively and mischievous as a real raven. Red, dark lips pursed beneath the beak. “Don’t be sorry, Darling. Don’t ever, ever be sorry. Life is too short for regrets.”
She shook the raven mask from her face, her dark hair cascaded forward about her feather shoulders.
“Velva,” Sir Sun said. Dazzled by her beauty. Dazzled by her danger. Just plain dazzled.
A dot of blood smeared across her cheek like blush. She smiled, but it was no ordinary smile. It was a beautiful twist of full lips and carnivorous white teeth, of the moon and the stars, and violent, violent Velvet.
She put both hands on the axe handle, pushed her heel into the duck’s chest and twisted the axe’s blade the way one might pull a knife from an avocado seed. The skull gave, and she threw the axe head over her shoulder like a lumberman, and delicately stepped over the now, very dead duck to Sir Sun. She was wearing a black lace-up corset, her belly bare. A velvet miniskirt clutched her hips followed by fishnets and heels.
Sir Sun said, “Thank you, I thought I heard Miss O’Hara’s voice. I—”
“Shhh...” she put her finger to her lips, and took another step closer, her hips moving in one seductive motion. She leaned over and snapped the lamp chord out of its socket.
Dark.
He pointed at the floor, Daisy behind him, dead duck in front. “What are we going to do about—”
“I said shush.” Now she was in front of him, a curvaceous shadow. She drew her finger to his lips, silencing him.
He tried to read her face, and asked himself over and over if it was really what he was seeing. Lust.
She still held the axe over her feathered shoulder, with her spare hand, she hooked her fingers into the top of Sir Sun’s trousers and pulled him close, their faces an inch apart.
Adrenaline zipped through his blood, even more so th
en when he was confronted by Undead Duck. His body responded immediately to her smell, to her closeness. To the heat pouring from her body.
They were surrounded in an apartment of death, of innocent spilled blood, and yet Velva was more alive than ever before.
Mischief twinkled in her eyes as if she could read his thoughts, and she brought her lips to his. Her tongue parted his mouth like a vine bursting through the dirt, searching in hunger, in need of the sun.
He groaned and kissed her back. Hard. He plunged between her strawberry lips, his tongue piercing itself on her carnivorous teeth, the pain felt good, and he explored further, deeper.
He felt his pants button pop, his zipper lowered, and the hand of a goddess grip him.
“I can’t wait any longer,” she breathed into his mouth and pushed his pants over his hips.
And then his hands were all over her, feathers, velvet, corset lace, tearing and ripping, and then the smooth cleavage of her breast. He slid his hands under her butt and lifted her, bringing his mouth to her nipple, licking and nibbling.
She drew back and pushed him away. “No. Set me down,” she commanded, lifting the axe from her shoulder.
Dangerous Velva. Demanding Velva.
Unable to reply, breathing hard, Sir Sun let her slide down him until her heels touched the ground. He eyed the axe blade. “What—”
“On the carpet. NOW.” She shook with desire, shivered while feathers and darkness cascaded around her body. A dark angel, she commanded the night that revolved around her.
Sir Sun licked his lips, glanced at the axe again. “I don’t understand.” His hands still clutched her bare hips, his thumbs on the soft indent of her belly, her skirt scrunched midway down her ass and pubic bone.
She stepped back and pointed at the floor. “Do it.”
He let go of her. Slowly he lowered, his lips inches from her body. He exhaled hot breath across her neck, breasts, ribs, teasing her skin. He slid to his knees in front of the dark feathered angel, his face at her belly button.
He gazed up at her face between her torn corset, amused at her game. The axe still slung over her shoulder, and he hoped it’d stay there.