by Aiden James
He fully understood Genovene’s recruitment of the Kenney brothers to bring about the rebirth of the Blood Star was as sinister as Ricardo De Gallies warned it would be a century and a half earlier. He also realized he now had a choice in whether or not to die nobly by refusing to tell her anything. Or, he could take his chances with her and give up the information she demanded. Either way meant only a slight chance of survival, given her cruel reputation. In the end, he gave in to his primal instinct to live, to try and survive at all costs.
“It’s in my locker back at the gym!” he blurted out, crying and begging her to leave him unharmed.
Her face seemed affected by his terror, as if a moment of conscience had taken over. She told him she would spare him so much as a scratch on his manhood. All he had to do was reveal the correct combination to his locker.
“It’s 2-24-16-13-8!!!” he told her quickly, between anguished sobs.
“What was that? Tell me slower this time, Deshawn,” she instructed, speaking sweetly while her claw remained poised, its prickly points drawing a small trickle of blood.
“I-I’ll t-t-try,” he told her. “T-two...Twenty-f-four...S-s-sixteen...T-thir-r-teen...E-e-eight.”
“2, 24, 16, 13, and 8. Very good, Deshawn!” she said, and then smiled, revealing a mouth full of very sharp teeth. Her compassionate look from a moment ago became one of intense amusement. What Jeremy once said about this monstrous witch being the vilest creature ever known to humankind made complete sense.
She might not have been able to read his thoughts, but she certainly gathered something from the acquiescent look on his face. She chuckled softly and then opened her mouth wide. Thick saliva dripped from her teeth and lips as she prepared to take a very big bite.
Deshawn whispered a prayer for deliverance, and then he screamed.
***
When Lavernies Wheatley stepped inside his apartment, it took him a moment to get the attention of Cecil Edwards and Rondell Thompson, his longtime roommates. Friends since high school, they chose to attend the University of Alabama since fairly close to their hometown of Jackson, Mississippi, and the only big school in the south where all three were granted full-ride scholarships.
Cecil and Rondell finally looked up from the latest version of Madden football they’d played nonstop since yesterday when they finished their sophomore year’s schoolwork.
“Did you say Martisha Jones is up there with Deshawn?” asked Rondell, pointing above him.
Lavernies nodded enthusiastically, and Rondell slapped Cecil on the side of his head with junk mail collected from their campus mailboxes earlier that day.
“Oh, that’s cold, Dawg! I told you it was her hanging out by the stairs this morning!”
“What makes you so sure it’s her and not some skanky ho, like what he’s brought home to his crib here lately?”
Cecil grabbed the junk mail out of Rondell’s hands before he could hit him again.
“This ain’t no average poohtang come to play here!” said Lavernies, sounding irritated. “Ain’t ya’ll feelin’ me?? Turn that shit off and come over and listen!!”
He hurriedly motioned for them to follow him over to a corner of the living room that sat directly beneath Deshawn’s sofa upstairs.
“Sh-h-h!! Check this shit out.”
Amid the classic soul tunes Deshawn preferred, they heard moaned phrases like ‘Oh, Desha-a-ww-n-n!’ and ‘Yeah...that’s it Baby doll!’ Rondell and Cecil’s eyes grew wide.
Telltale footsteps and the raised volume of the stereo indicated things were getting hot and heavy in the apartment above. Normally where the three bowed out as far as spying on Lavernies’ older brother was concerned, they didn’t today. Not with the rare opportunity to witness the type of event that college legends were born from.
Deshawn’s bed began to rock with the sounds of extreme passion. Suddenly everything stopped, which made them think the couple had muffled their orgasms. To Lavernies this didn’t make sense, since Deshawn and his other conquests never worried about what the neighbors thought. There should be plenty of panting to follow, along with the usual ‘God that was so amazing, Deshawn!’
Discussing this amongst themselves, Cecil thought he heard someone crying upstairs, softly. Was Deshawn too much for the poor girl? Lavernies recalled how some females later gossiped about his monstrous ‘equipment’. Along with the sobbing sounds, however, was a woman’s laughter. The timbre of the woman’s voice seemed quite different from Martisha’s.
The whimpering intensified.
What the fuck?? It’s Deshawn!!!
Alarmed, Lavernies ran upstairs to check on his older brother’s welfare. He hadn’t reached the apartment yet when everyone heard Deshawn’s death screams. After pounding furiously on his brother’s door, Lavernies raced downstairs to find something to bust through Deshawn’s lock. Meanwhile, Cecil and Rondell stood frozen to the floor, their eyes locked onto the ceiling beneath his bedroom. Particles from the aggregate ceiling drifted toward them.
“Quick, ya’ll! Help me find a hammer!!” shouted Lavernies.
Shaken from their stupor, his roommates set out to help him. Lavernies rummaged through one of the kitchen drawers, and Cecil checked the toolbox located under the sink. Rondell searched the closet inside his bedroom. He had just removed a duffel bag and suitcase when a steady dripping noise drew his attention to the ceiling. He screamed.
A crimson wave spread quickly across the ceiling. Lavernies and Cecil ran back upstairs with a pair of claw hammers to break down the front door to apartment A203. They shrieked Deshawn’s name while Rondell stayed downstairs, sobbing as he struggled to hold the kitchen phone steady enough to dial 911.
Part VII
Sweet Home Alabama
“Jack!... Ja-a-ack!!... Ja-a-a-a-ck-k!!!”
The feminine voice echoed around him. Jack sat up, peering into the dimness. In the sparse light from a straw torch on the wall above his head it looked like an underground catacomb or dungeon. He could make out cut-stone outlines of archways and stairwells. To his right, a tall staircase led to an immense iron door. Flickering firelight seeped through the door’s barred windows.
“Ja-a-a-ck!... O-h-h-h, Ja-a-a-a-ck-k-ie-e-e B-o-o-y-y!!”
The voice came from just beyond the staircase, maybe less than thirty feet away. He craned his neck to get a better view. A soft glow emanated from that area. When he tried to stand up to get a better look, he couldn’t. His arms and legs were held fast by iron bonds. All the while the mysterious voice grew closer, giggling as if aware of his vain efforts to free himself from the heavy clasps upon his wrists and ankles.
The glow became brighter until he made out the outline of a lantern, held by a beautiful black lady whose appearance seemed familiar. The lovely woman stood in a gondola presently steered by a pair of diminutive servants. He recognized them as miahluschkas, which he had learned long ago were mythical protectors of the southern Native North Americans. The vessel stopped once it reached him, gently bobbing back and forth in a narrow canal between him and the tall staircase. The dark water hadn’t been visible to him, but now sparkled in the lantern’s glow as it splashed up against the gondola and the stone walkway.
“Who are you?” he asked the woman.
“What do you mean, who am I?” she replied, smiling smugly.
Her voice sounded rich and mellow, completely unfamiliar. She chuckled sardonically while Jack tried to figure out her identity. After allowing him another moment, the mischievous woman offered her help.
“You’re not going to give up already, are you, Jackie boy? Certainly not, with all of these clues surrounding you!”
She motioned up the staircase and to the area around her.
Maddening, he knew the malevolent nature of this person quite well…just not the voice. For some reason every time he tried to identify her, his mind went blank, like some prankster had short-circuited his mind. After a sudden sharp pain inside his head, something cold and slimy shifted on to
p of his hair. Alarmed, he tried desperately to free his hands so he could reach up and grab whatever was imbedded into his skull.
“Here, allow me to help you,” said the woman, her smile now one of amusement.
She stepped off the gondola and moved over to him, her satin red dress shimmering in the lantern’s light. When she stood next to him, he noticed her gorgeous figure so enhanced by skin-tight attire. He heard a puckering noise as the pain in his head ceased. The woman showed the menace to Jack, a revolting crab-like creature whose grayish claws and fangs twitched angrily as it pulsed within her grasp. Part of his bloody scalp was still attached to the creature’s fangs and around its mouth.
“Don’t worry, Jack, it didn’t eat much,” she said. “Besides, it’s not like you’ve been using your head here lately, as it is.”
Immediately he knew her identity, squirming desperately to avoid her.
“Get the fuck away from me, Genovene!” he shouted angrily.
“Ah, it looks like someone is finally ready for our featured program to begin, don’t you agree, boys?”
She looked over her shoulder at her two cloaked assistants, who merely nodded in response, their faces shrouded in darkness. The woman stepped to one side of Jack, who pushed himself as far from her as possible. She brought her hands up to her face, and the tips of her fingers suddenly became sharp talons. With these she carved a deep and bloody line from the tip of her forehead down to her crotch. She then peeled away the skin and clothing, stepping out of it as the grotesque ripping sound resounded throughout the area. He nearly retched witnessing this.
As unlikely as it would seem under normal circumstances, a grim certainty that the supple skin, hair and other contours she now wadded up into a ball and threw into the water belonged once to a real person. If enough time to think about it, he thought he might eventually figure out who this unlucky lady had been. Even now as Genovene turned back to face him, trickles from the victim’s blood and other tissues covered her own shapely nakedness and streaked her brilliant white hair, making her more repulsive than ever.
Unperturbed by his disgust, she gazed down at him, her expression one of complete satisfaction while the miahluschkas dressed her in a less revealing black satin gown that covered her feet.
“I’m really not a big fan of pretending to be something I’m not—regardless of what you think, Jack,” she told him, coolly. “But, I must say I’m much better when I’m a white bitch as opposed to a black one. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Too appalled to respond, he glared at her and tried to muster as much telepathic malice in her direction as possible.
“Very good, Jackie boy!” She applauded. “That’s a wonderful use of your brain’s energy, and I can tell you’re going to enjoy the next portion of our show quite famously!”
She whistled shrilly into the air, and the heavy iron door atop the staircase slid open. Urei and Quan, her enormous personal guards he met long ago, stepped out to the very edge of the top step, as they awaited her bidding. Behind them, the fiery glow intensified, like a sudden blast of air ignited the fire’s source.
“Urei and Quan, is Vydora ready?”
“Yes, Genovene…she’s ready to begin roasting the prisoner!” they called back down to her, opening the heavy iron door wider.
This had to be a dream…a fucking nightmare, he told himself. As horrifying a nightmare as he ever experienced since first escaping her imprisonment so many years earlier. This event luridly horrible, all he could do was wait until he woke up...unless the nightmare that came for folks who died in their sleep had now come for him. If so, then surely he would die knowing first hand how Genovene’s dragon prepared her food. He began to contemplate the inevitable, and whether it would be worse to be seared and still alive when Vydora took her first bite of him, or if being charred slowly to a crisp might be the better way to go.
“You’re so silly!” chided Genovene. “We’re not going to eat you, Jackie boy! No, no, no.…It’s fish night at Vydora’s Grill, and the house special this evening is broiled Oscar!”
Straight away, Dr. Mensch screamed for Quan and Urei to let him go. Even before Jack heard the heavy bonds affixing the professor’s body to the wall just inside the doorway, he knew it was too late to save him. Vydora’s enormous head came into view. The dragon roared, revealing her razor-sharp teeth to the terrified professor, who cringed while the entire area shook from her rage. Just before the monster delivered his sentence, he looked down at Jack.
“Goddamn you, Jack!!” he screamed. “This is YOUR fault, you ungrateful son-of-a- bitch!! You’re next, and I hope she makes you suffer a hell of a lot more than me! Not just you, but your miserable grandfather and that fucking useless brother of yours, too!!! May you join Deshawn! Yeah, that’s right you little shit, he’s dead and you’re personally responsible for—AHHHHHH!!!!”
Dr. Mensch’s words were cut off as Vydora breathed an intense orange and blue flame that lit the professor’s body from head to toe. He continued to scream and shriek in unimaginable pain, a human torch that wouldn’t, or more likely couldn’t, die. Meanwhile, amid Vydora’s roars and Oscar’s screams, Genovene calmly turned her attention back to Jack.
“He’s right about one thing. Part of the blame for his suffering sits squarely on your shoulders, Jack.”
She looked back toward the top of the staircase, smiling as if enjoying a beautiful sunset.
“It’s actually one of those corporate things where if he looks good, you look good, or visa versa when things turn to shit,” she observed, returning her gaze to him. “Really, he should’ve just said ‘no’ to the offer of eternal life in a younger body. Such a thing can be wonderful when everything goes right, but to think he’ll be suffering like that for...well, I guess forever by your standards!”
She chuckled and tilted her head slightly, eyeing him wryly.
“Like I said, it is your fault to a large degree,” she continued. “We both took a chance on you, and your fucking moral conscience got in the way. Please don’t think your sniveling Essene pals are going to protect you from my family’s wrath. I see you’ve already met my uncle Bochicha’s servants. If you screw this up again, we’ll take more drastic measures to stop you, which certainly will mean I won’t be quite so nice next time! As an added caveat, maybe I’ll take it easy on Oscar and let him cool down at some point, before his entire essence just burns away into an even worse state of nothingness. It’s all up to you, Jackie boy!”
Genovene moved over to the gondola and motioned for the miahluschkas to hand her a pair of hat-sized baskets. They did so while conversing in a strange language Jack remembered from his previous encounter with them, as a young teenager.
“Alas, our program is near its conclusion,” she said, turning to face him one last time. “Let’s be glad for the time we’ve had together, shall we? And to definitely end our little meeting on a positive note, I’d like to leave you with a relatively harmless, warmhearted joke—something to brighten your day!”
She giggled to herself as she laid the baskets down directly in front of him.
“Here’s a riddle for you. What’s black and white and red all over?”
He said nothing. Instead he trembled, fearing what other horrors she had in store.
“Oh, come now. You’re no fun at all, Jackie boy!” she scolded playfully. “Humor me and take a guess.... Here, I’ll help you. Is it a bloody newspaper? Or, perhaps, it’s a bloody Zebra? I suppose you’ve heard those before. But, wait! Maybe it’s a bloody Eskimo pie! All right, all right, I’ll get to the point of this. It’s a….”
She opened the boxes and pulled out the severed heads of Deshawn Wheatley and his grandfather, Marshall Edwards, setting them down directly in front of him.
“It’s a bloody Deshawn and a bloody Marshall!” She laughed heartily. “This is truly delightful, don’t you agree, Jack? You do get the gist of this, don’t you? It’s the whole Negro and Caucasian thing that you humans make way too big a fuss over
. After all, to us, everyone tastes the same!”
Suddenly, Deshawn’s head came to life and started crying. When the head noticed Jack sitting nearby it addressed him.
“Jackie, this shit’s real, man!” Deshawn’s voice told him. “There’s no way to explain how bad it is here, but you’ve got to get away, man! Don’t let this fucking bitch do to you what she’s done to me! Save yourself, and save Jere—Ahhh, shiiiittttt!!!!”
Surprised and angry, Genovene grabbed Deshawn’s head and threw it across the waterway until it splattered like a pumpkin against another stone wall. Before it did, the voice of Deshawn bravely pleaded for Jack to call on Elohim to save himself and Jeremy, and for Him to have mercy on Deshawn and the souls damned throughout the millennia by His cursed Children.
“You know I really liked looking at his face, and a shame I won’t be able to do that anymore. But, I’ll get over it,” she deadpanned. “Besides, my first cut from him was the best. I’ve got that one in a box by my bedside in case I get lonely at night, if you know what I mean.”
She leaned in close to Jack’s face and gave him a wickedly seductive wink. Horribly overwhelmed, he began to whimper. If truly just a dream, he prayed to wake up now. He looked down worriedly at his beloved grandfather’s head, grateful it hadn’t stirred.
“Not yet, Jack. But he’s to come soon, for I have special plans for him,” said Genovene. “Think of your dear old grandpa as an insurance policy you don’t want to cash in on. As I warned you before, don’t fuck with me. One more brilliant idea on your part and I’ll see to it his fate makes what Oscar’s going through seem like a ‘walk in the park’ by comparison. You got that, Jackie boy?”
He nodded fervently, hearing Dr. Mensch’s screams of agony that had yet to diminish. He intended to cooperate fully with whatever she wanted from him.