Demons and Other Inconveniences

by Dan Dillard

  *****

  These thoughts make me happy. On the surface, I seem like a happy man. You might find the smile currently on my face eerie given what you’ve read…but in public, out in the real world, you can’t hear my thoughts. This fact allows me to live next door and work in the same office. I am at the mall where you shop, in your church, living next door or down the street. I teach your children, babysit them and I examine your when they are sick. You vote me into office and watch me on television. I deliver you mail. I am behind you, next to you, and across the street.

  Do you, dear reader, hold me in contempt for these thoughts? Or deep down, do you love me just a little for having them…relish them a bit, because you have similar demons? Will you worry when you look into my eyes knowing of my visions? Am I painting your portrait in beautiful reds?

  For the moment, the rubber band is taught but has room to stretch. The beast is full, fed adequately by the barbaric painter who is its keeper…but he will soon hunger.

  ..ooOOoo..

  THE WRONG PLACE

  Do you remember your first time? Of course you do. We all remember our first time. A magical, wonderful memory that played out exactly as we’d hoped. Right?

   SO THIS IS where it happens.

  The scent overpowers, consisting of shit, coffee and alcohol flavored piss, air freshener, hand sanitizer, and the cheap pink soap that seems to be in every public restroom. If I breathed deeply enough I could detect hints of sweat, bad breath and a multitude of colognes.

  It’s not much to look at, this room—shiny, contractor-grade ceramic tile in white with navy blue and hunter green stripes running just above the sinks, nothing striking. Utilitarian mirrors, toilets, stall doors, fixtures… how dire. The place hasn’t been cleaned in weeks. Maybe they come in and pick up the trash, wipe the sinks, but never really clean. A little steam and a gallon of bleach, then a coat of paint and this might be usable, but it will never be acceptable.

  I had envisioned a romantic atmosphere when I chose this path, something dark and older—less… janitorial, and much less offensive to the olfactory sense. I envisioned Paris. This had all the charm of a toaster, somewhat contemporary, completely functional and inoffensive, aside from the smell, to just about everyone. There’s no class, nothing memorable and every ounce of my being screams that this will not do, but when opportunity knocks you should answer lest you shall regret it always. 

  Here we would meet for the first time. I admit this: The thought of unexpected reactions excites me. This place is not where anyone would choose to die. This place will provoke such reactions and I will use my newfound reflexes, my new abilities to experience a most amazing moment, my moment, for the first time. A short kiss, just enough to raise my heart rate, just long enough to silence my prey before the fun begins.

  Inspection.

  Is she worthy? Perfection is the only acceptable criteria. The rest would be discarded as so much refuse. She must be uncommonly good—as bountiful a feast for the eyes as I am. I won’t eat wild animals so why should my standards for human meat be any lower? Sometimes I catch myself staring in the mirror at myself. She must equal me as I am now beauty. What was once lost, now is found. I have strength, poise, clear skin, vitality and something else that was not there before—danger. I was unseen by most, now I will be unseen by choice.

  There is one down side which I can’t seem to shake. My hunger controls me, taking my dignity until I might master it. For now, it is necessary to follow my task through to the end. I understand this condition is only temporary, and in years to come it will fade. As for now…wait… someone is through the door.

  Her perfume precedes the cigarette smoke that billows in behind her. She is lovely. Tanned skin, blue eyes and the palest of hair, she is tall and well dressed and looks at me in a friendly sort of way. I eye her like a predatory cat and move in quickly face to face and give her a quick sniff. Her smell is pleasing and she gives me a look of approval, so I kiss her deeply, hands on her cheeks thrusting my tongue into her beautiful mouth—staring deeply into her eyes. She looks back in shock, but that melts into amusement, then excitement. The kiss tastes like whiskey…and ash.

  Damn.

  This one is flawed and simply will not do. Not for my first. I release my embrace and push her off, disgusted with my weakness. I should’ve known, should have sensed. Her fuck you stare lands upon me for a moment, and then she continues into the stall to finish her business. A brief moment and one annoying flush later she exits. I wash her filth from my hands with the institutional pink soap.

  She says “If you change your mind, I’ll be here all night,” and leaves with a look that is part embarrassment, part want.

  I don’t look up. I must take greater care. The quarry provided by this hole will undoubtedly average in the unsavory, and I question my chosen hunting ground. But it must be tonight. Tonight has that cool calm that I need, my mental state is sharp and my eyes and head are clear. This is it. This has to be it.

  When I was taken, it was quick and sticky in the alley behind this very club. She was respectful and as choosy as I am. I should’ve left town after that. Should’ve known better than to stay here, in a place I so hated. In fact, had I known then what I know now, I would’ve been looking for the trouble that found me…would’ve gladly started earlier.

  The night is perfect, but this is the wrong place.

  As I dry my hands to leave—relieved to exit, the door swings again. The same waft of cigarette smoke makes me feel ill. No perfume this time, just shampoo and lotions, a very clean smell. A vision this time, something spectacular, exotic. Better the other, this one is simply breathtaking. She is possibly mid twenties, maybe as old as thirty—it’s difficult to tell in the dim and jumpy fluorescent lighting. She has stunning green eyes which are not contacts, smooth, olive skin and crazy raven-black hair. She is muscular without a hint of masculinity and would have intimidated the former me. She could be like me, a creature like me, if only her blood didn’t smell so strong…so alive. She glances at me and I flash a smile, a look she reciprocates. Her smile is genuine, not catty or at all flirty.

  I approach with less daring. My heart races slightly and I stare into her eyes. Something flashes in them, fear or perhaps energy of another sort. She turns, squaring her shoulders to mine. I move in closer and she does not back away. A fight perhaps? Maybe she will struggle.

  “I’m here with someone,” she says.

  An odd admission. I move closer. She stands her ground, only glancing at the door. I gain another inch, inhaling her. She pleases me.

  “Maybe another night?” she says.

  “It has to be tonight,” I reply.

  Her hands go up in a gesture of fear, holding me off. I grasp her by the shoulders and press my lips to hers, my tongue probing. She is not receptive at first, but relaxes in time, taken in by my own scent. I remember the hypnotic quality my taker’s scent had over me.

  Her clothes and hair are sexy and tasteful and her body is well tended to. I shove her into one of the stalls and open her blouse as she unbuttons mine. I stop her.

  “You first,” I say.

  She agrees and finished the job on her own, hanging the garment from a hook on the back of the stall door. I feel something like heat build inside me, but I am cold. Her body is firm. Mine is firmer. Her skin is smooth, not a blemish to be found.

  She is the one.

  I look into her eyes and allow my hands to wander, to feel her. She is warm, relaxed, and is now enjoying my advances, reciprocating them. My hunger grows, like an orgasm on the verge of spilling over…the only path to release lies in her spilled blood. Hands, lips, tongues, grinding bodies, erect nipples, hot breath. I am spinning, losing control.

  I kiss her neck, first one side, then the other. My hands grope and she moans ever so lightly her hips buck against me.

  Now she is mine.

  Once more my lips are on her neck. I sense the warmest place and bite hard. She
gasps once, more with ecstasy than pain and as I suckle the hot blood from the open wound, she convulses with violent pleasure, her body vibrates for the duration, her fingers grip my back, my buttocks and then everything about her goes limp.

  Satisfied, I prop her body up on the toilet and listen for any witnesses. With one last look at her flawless corpse, I leave her. I don’t know her name. Someone does. Some poor soul on the other side of that door will be heartbroken and alone this evening and they will miss out on my magnificent specimen. My first.

  I look in the mirror and wipe a tiny drop of blood from the corner of my mouth. I check my makeup. There is a pink tinge to my cheeks and a sparkling quality to my eyes that wasn’t there moments ago. I smooth my outfit, adjust my cleavage and straighten my skirt before making my way out of the restroom into the sparsely populated club. The wild rush of adrenaline from my first meal as part of the undead fills me. My senses, however, are not dulled but refined.

  There I spot my whiskey flavored friend at the bar ordering another drink. As I come to her I stop and brush my hand along her cheek and look at her with a smile. She follows me out the door. I’ve dined on perfection. Now, I want something sinful.

  ..ooOOoo..

  NEVER JUDGE A BOOK

  Sometimes, you’re having a really good day, and then something screws it up. Maybe many things screw it up. This is one of those days, but like the title says…

  If you squinted, you could look directly into the gleaming white grin on Jack’s face. It radiated like the sun at noon. He untucked his shirt and pulled the fabric up to his nose to breathe in the scent of Heather’s perfume. He’d only just held her–just kissed her for the first time. What a kiss. What a date.

  It was two o’clock in the morning and he was in love and it showed in his every action. Jack all but skipped down the concrete path that led from her front porch to the mailbox and finally, to the sidewalk. He turned and walked south towards home, eleven blocks away. Jack walked, completely unaware something was watching him. Something hideous and hungry shadowed his every step. The crunch of dry leaves under its stalking foot caught Jack’s attention. He paused, raising one eyebrow.

  “Hello?” he said.

  He turned this way and that, seeking the source of the sound and was still smiled like a goof.

  “Must be my imagination. I’m in love, Crunchy Sound, and you can’t screw that up. Not tonight!”

  Jack continued along, following a guardrail on his left. It shielded him from the ravine looming on the other side. He looked at the houses on his right, some with lights on, some already shut down for the evening. With each home he passed, the stranger got closer. The sound of its heavy breathing filled Jack’s ear and once again he stopped. His smile faded.

  “Hello?” he said. “This isn’t funny. Who’s there?”

  Nothing.

  “Hellooo,” he sang with no response.

  He walked a few more paces. The sound of the other footsteps hid within his own.

  “Who the hell is that?” he shouted.

  A low rumbling growl answered him from a patch of shrubs on the opposite side of the road. Jack peered into the darkness and saw nothing. He quickened his pace. At once the bushes rustled and a large shadow burst through. It howled a warlike cry and rushed toward him, muscles and fur.

  Half-man and half-wolf, it closed the forty-foot gap in less than one second. Jack was frozen in place and screamed like a child. The wolf-man leaped, teeth bared, foamy drool running off of its lower jaw. Just before impact, Jack dropped to the ground squealing. The creature missed him in mid flight, but caught one trailing paw on the guardrail before plunging, tail over bitey-end, down into the ravine, landing with a pronounced thud.

  Jack gathered his strewn wits and peered over the rail into the darkness. He didn’t hear anything and wasn’t about to wait around for the monster to climb back up if it wasn’t dead. He stood and hurried to the other side of the road feeling safer next to the suburban homes.

  “Are you all right?” an anonymous voice said.

  Jack saw the silhouette of someone in the upstairs window of the closest house.

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” he said.

  “Whoa! You’re a dude? You sounded like a little girl. What a bitch,” the voice said just before slamming the window.

  Jack stood, embarrassed, and wanted to reply, wanted desperately to defend his honor as a man, but that voice had been right. He’d bitched out. He’d cowered. Of course, it was a huge, hulking monster, wasn’t it? He hadn’t seen clearly, didn’t really look now that he thought about it. He had ducked to the ground for what might have been no more than a dog.

  That shadow didn’t look like a dog.

  He walked, giving one last look to that upstairs window. His pace notably faster, Jack intended to clear the last eight blocks in record time, but without running. He kept his head down, and in the light from the street lamps, he saw the joints in the concrete and counted them to occupy his mind.

  A dull scraping sound caught his attention and brought his focus back to reality. Looking up, he noticed a person wheeling a large trash barrel from the corner of their driveway. Jack breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of another obviously human soul.

  “Evening,” he said as he approached. “Great night for a walk.”

  The man in shadow settled his load and looked in Jack’s direction. “It certainly is.”

  He leaned an elbow on his trash barrel and watched Jack approach. Jack took one last look over his shoulder as he entered the driveway.

  “Since you’re out here, think you might give me a hand? I’m an old man, and I’m havin’ a hell of a time with this.”

  Jack considered the man for a second. He was slight of build and older. His hands shook with frailty and he was out of breath as he spoke. He’d hardly moved the barrel ten feet.

  Why would he be rolling a full can back into the house?

  “I heard some animal noises out here, just minutes ago. Thought maybe coyotes were out again. I didn’t want them tearing my trash up. Those buggers made a terrible mess some weeks ago. Thought I’d put it back in the garage and roll it back out in the morning,” he said.

  “Ah. Good idea,” Jack said.

  “Yeah. Didn’t figure on gravity when I decided to pull it back up the hill. Other way is s’much easier.”

  Jack nodded, and the old man’s eyes turned wildin the light of the street lamp.

  “You hear anything?” he asked.

  Jack had no intention of regaling the public with his werewolf tale. Nor did he want to end up in a straight jacket.

  “No,” Jack said.

  Rather than explaining any further, he tipped the old guy’s barrel onto its wheels and pulled it up the driveway towards an open garage door.

  “What brings you out tonight? I ain’t seen you around before,” the man said, keeping one eye trained on the rolling can.

  “First date. With your neighbor, just down the road there.”

  The older man cracked a smile and nodded.

  “You mean Heather? Such a sweet girl. Have you known her long?”

  Jack grinned, love back in his heart and his eyes. His cheeks warmed with redness.

  “We work in the same building. Have for a while.”

  As they passed from the dark night sky into the fluorescent lamps of the garage the older man appeared pasty white with sunken black eyes. His skin looked moist and the grin on his face was made of receded gums and long stalks of brown teeth. Jack felt his flesh crawl.

  “Can you just roll that over there, by the water heater? I do thank you for the trouble.”

  “Sure thing,” Jack said.

  A loud crash at his back caused him to spin around to see the man had yanked the safety pull and slammed the large garage door to the ground.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jack yelled.

  “I’m worried for you. I don’t know what you heard or saw out here.”

&n
bsp; Jack’s brow furrowed, his eyes crazed and large.

  “I told you. I didn’t see anything.”

  The old man cocked his head and his mouth spread into an eerie grin.

  “I’m not sure I can let you leave,” he said.

  The red rims of the man’s eyes stood out in the pale light. Jack reached in his pocket and grabbed for his cell phone.

  “Can’t let me leave? What the hell does that mean?” Jack asked nervously.

  “You might have heard something. Maybe you know something,” he said with his lips drawn back, revealing those awful teeth.

  Jack gripped his phone, pulled it from his pocket and dialed 911 while the crazy man watched.

  “What could I know? What are you talking about?”

  “For starters, maybe you know what’s in that trash bin,” he said.

  Jack thought about the weight of the barrel and felt queasy as he considered its possible contents. The creepy old man continued.

  “I haven’t my work. I can’t go to prison. They’ll never let me out to finish my work.”

  “Work?” Jack said.

  He had achieved full panic…and in his panic, he noticed the blood. It stained the man’s pants leg in long smears, as if he’d wiped it off his hands the way a kid wipes dirt or food on their jeans. Jack eyed his cell phone, hearing a faint voice say, “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

  The old man heard it too. He reached into his pocket and pulled a large folding knife from within the fabric.

  “Give me that phone, boy.”

  Jack ran to the door that led into the house and exploded through it into an utility room. The smell of rot overcame him and he had to cover his mouth and nose so he could breathe without puking. He kicked the next door open.

  “911 operator. What’s your emergency?” the operator repeated.

  It sounded as if it was coming from another world. Jack stumbled into the kitchen which was brightly lit and smeared with red older, brown streaks. Chunks of flesh and organ dotted the counters and the floor. Jack’s shoes slid in the mess-covered linoleum. Hacksaws and other bladed implements lined the counter and the small dining table. Something on the stove bubbled and boiled, filling the air with the stench of cooked meat.

  The man with the knife lumbered behind him, clumsily slashing the blade in the air. Then, as if by luck, the killer slipped and cracked his head hard on the floor. It didn’t knock him unconscious, but he slowed long enough that Jack was able to push through another door to an open hallway that appeared to lead to the front door. An exit! He screamed into the cell phone.

  “My name is Jack! I’m in a house on Fairbanks Street! A man is trying to kill me!”

  He ran full force at the front door and got it unlocked in time to open it before the knife-wielding mad man caught up to him. His feet tangled as he pushed through the door screaming full volume. He tripped and fell, tumbling onto the front lawn.

  “You causin’ me a lot of trouble, boy,” the man said.

  His chest heaved and he gulped air in between each word. Jack struggled to gain tread and stand but first rolled over to face his captor. The stalk-toothed psycho stood tall above him with the knife palmed comfortably and ready to strike.

  Tires screeched around the corner and an engine roared as the police squad car rolled down the street, lights flashing and siren barking. Its brakes locked in front of the only home where a pale sweaty man stood holding a knife over the head of another man who cowered on the ground.

  “Drop your weapon and put your hands where we can see them!” the officer shouted.

  “I can’t,” the psycho said with a half smile. “I’ve got work to finish.”

  Jack covered his face with his hands and the sweaty murderer arched his back and prepared to plunge, gripping the weapon with both hands.

  BANG! BANG!

  Two reports screamed from the policeman’s sidearm. The old man rolled backwards on his heels and fell dead on the front porch.

  “Are you all right, sir?” one officer asked.

  The second one stayed in the vehicle and be called in the incident.

  “Hell no I’m not all right!” Jack said.

  He told the story, but left out the wolf thing that had attacked him earlier. All thoughts of Heather were gone. Instead, he thought he was going to pack and catch the first flight to Hawaii. There he might stay drunk until his money ran out. That is, if he made it home.

  Jack finished giving his statement and told them to look in the house, especially the trash can in the garage, and the mess in the kitchen. Other officers arrived on the scene and began investigating.

  “I can give you a ride home, sir,” the officer said. “If necessary.”

  There were only seven blocks left, but given his luck thus far, it could’ve been a thousand miles.

  “That’d be great. I’ve had enough adventure for one evening,” Jack said.

  “I imagine you have.”

  Jack got in the squad car and was relieved when the door closed and the policeman entered on the other side. It was a short ride to his house. There, he could lock the door, set the alarm and have a beer…or twelve beers.

  “Some strange shit’s been going on around here. Odd calls over the past few nights. You see anything else tonight? Anything weird?” the officer asked.

  “Isn’t that freak enough?” Jack said.

  “Right. Look …you want me to check your property before you go in? It’s no trouble.”

  Jack didn’t need any more surprises.

  “Thanks,” he said. “That’d be great.”

  The cop parked the cruiser in Jack’s driveway and stepped out of the vehicle with his flashlight drawn.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  The officer walked to the front door and checked it. It was locked. He turned and gave Jack a wink and a thumbs-up before he walked around side of the house to the chain link gate. The flashlight beam disappeared for a time, and then shone on the side of Jack’s neighbor’s house. The beam disappeared again. That time it stayed gone. Jack waited, growing uneasy. It took a five full minutes before he opened his door to yell and check on the officer.

  “Hey!” Jack said.

  The sound of crickets and a light breeze through the trees was the only response.

  “Hey, you ok?” he shouted.

  The flashlight beam came back through the gate and approached the cruiser. It wobbled in an odd way, not the level and purposeful beam as before. The pace was all wrong. Jack couldn’t clearly see the cop holding it, but something was there. Something that didn’t walk…it shambled. He slammed the car door and watched the figure as it came into light cast by the street lamps. It was his policeman friend, only gray in the face and bleeding badly from the neck and right arm. Jack watched the flashlight drop to the ground as the thing with the badge leveled off its service revolver at the patrol car and pulled the trigger.

  The projectile shattered the driver side window and lodged in the dashboard. Jack scrambled to open the door again and backed away from the car. The police-thing fired again. Bang! Bang! Bang! Then click, click, click.

  Jack ran to the front door and shoved his key into the deadbolt turning it and pushing into the house with one lucky, fluid motion. In his front coat closet was an aluminum bat. He opened his front door just as the slow moving zombie-cop was navigating the steps.

  “Braaaaaaiiins,” it moaned.

  Jack brought the bat down on the creature’s skull with a wet Thump! Again and again until the monster fell to the ground, its head shattered. It shuddered a time or two before it stopped moving.

  “Yeah!” he shouted, still smashing. “Take that you sick freak!”

  Jack’s joy turned again to paranoia. Something in his backyard had done this to the cop, and it was likely still back there. He ran to the police car, bat in hand, and turned the key in the ignition. The sedan roared back to life. Ready for anything, Jack drove off. His plan was to first grab Heather, second f
ind a suitable place for the night. He would reassess things once the sun was up.