Bleed On Me

by McKenzie, Shane

  “It’s my mother’s. Or was anyway.” Chris squeezed his fists and remembered playing in the front yard while his mother did her work inside. It was Todd that had convinced her to start doing all her shoots at her home, to save money he said. And Chris would do everything he could to keep his mind off of it, though he knew what was going on within those walls. When the male actors would leave, some of them would try and talk to him, try to be overly nice as if they were feeling guilty for fucking his mother while he played with his Ninja Turtles in the front yard. But he would ignore them, couldn’t look them in the face. He even threw a Shredder action figure at one guy, split the skin of his forehead open.

  But he never blamed his mother. Before Todd had convinced her to do her work at home, to turn the upstairs into a studio, Chris never saw evidence of her profession. It’s all Todd’s fault, he told himself. He ruined my life.

  “What the fuck you doin’ livin’ in them low income ass apartments when you got a place like this for?”

  “It’s…complicated. My mom…she died. And I just didn’t feel right being here anymore. Wanted to go somewhere I could be alone, somewhere my asshole stepfather wouldn’t show up all the time.”

  Spade clicked his tongue, nodded. “So that peckerwood that’s chasin’ us, that’s who you talkin’ about?”

  Chris nodded.

  “He rich or somethin’? Rollin’ around in a beamer, livin’ in this big ass crib. He make movies or some shit? A lawyer?”

  Chris sighed. “I really don’t feel like talking right now. Remember those fucking demons chasing us? I’m sorry if I’m not in a Q and A kind of mood.”

  Spade chuckled, nodded. “You right. What we do now?”

  “Just park the car close to the house. We need to get inside, get ready.” Chris’s hands began a steady throb again, spilling blood over the floorboard and seat. “They’re coming, getting closer.”

  Spade looked over his shoulder, frowned, threw the car in park and got out. Chris followed, letting the blood flow freely, doing nothing to slow it.

  They jogged toward the front door together, Spade with a slight limp, rubbing the area on his shoulder where the tentacle had emerged from. The cloth of his shirt was torn up, covered in black and red.

  “I saw things. When that shit started to take over me? My head filled up with some shit I can’t even describe.” He snickered nervously. “Shit I ain’t seen in my worst nightmares. Fuck, man, I don’t think I’ll ever sleep right again.”

  Chris pulled the spare key out of the ceramic turtle, same place it had always been. He unlocked the door, then paused, turned and faced Spade. “And how do you feel now?”

  “I feel…weird. Kinda like I’m hungover or somethin’. But I’m straight. Whatever evil shit was up inside of me, it’s gone now. You killed it. But my shoulder? My hand?” He shook his head and bared his teeth. “Hurt like a motherfucker. My gums too.”

  Chris reached out with his bleeding hand, grabbed Spade’s shoulder. The man winced, but nothing happened: no sizzling or growling. “All right, let’s get inside.” He looked back toward the car. “Wait, grab your guns. You’re gonna need them.”

  “My guns? What the fuck they gonna do? It’s your blood that gets them motherfuckers, not no bullets.”

  “Just trust me, okay? And hurry…they’re almost here.”

  As Spade jogged back toward the car, Chris wiped blood over the door and frame of the house, then ran to the windows and did the same. He knew he didn’t have time to hit every door and window in the place-the creatures were too close-but he did the best he could. His palms beat like they each had their own heart, and the blood never stopped.

  Spade returned holding a pistol in each hand, his pockets stuffed with bullets. “Now what?”

  “Follow me.”

  The second they walked into the house, the smell hit Chris and he staggered a bit: his mother’s perfume. Spade took slow steps, spun as he went, taking in the expansive domicile. He tittered, rubbed the back of his head.

  “This some straight up Scarface shit right here, dawg. For real.”

  “Yeah…but there’s no time for a tour. We have to…” Chris stared up at the staircase, remembering his mom walking up those stairs over and over and over again. Her studio took up the entire second floor. She always wore a pink robe when she went up there, and Chris remembered fighting back tears on more than one occasion as she ascended, Todd locking arms with her, her male co-star chuckling and following them. It wasn’t until he was well into his twenties that it stopped bothering him so much, though now that he stood there, he didn’t think he’d ever really been okay with it.

  “Oh, shit. Looks like your stepdaddy got a thing for ol’ Tanya Dicksuckinlips Taylor. She was in the first porno I ever seen, man. I slapped my shit silly just-”

  “She was my mother. This is her house, and she’s dead now. Don’t go off on all the sorrys and the I-didn’t-knows, all right? Heard it all before. We got other shit to worry about.”

  Spade smiled, then straightened his mouth, nodded. “True. So what’s the plan, man? You lead, I follow.”

  “We gotta go upstairs. And we have to do it now, those things-”

  The click-clack came from the front door, which Chris had left open by mistake. Once he’d entered the home, drowning in memories, all else was forgotten, and as he stared at the centipede woman scuttling over the front porch, his stomach dropped, but he squeezed his hands into bleeding fists and faced her.

  “We’re heeee-yer.” She tittered as she weaved into the home, nipple antennae waving, crab legs clicking as they tapped over the floor, carrying her through the door. Her eyes shone bright and a sharp smile stretched impossibly wide.

  But as she passed over the threshold, the only thing that came through was a mutilated corpse covered in blood and gaping wounds. The woman’s body splashed onto the ground, motionless, a pool of blood forming around her.

  The spinal crab legs were left behind, along with her teeth and antennae.

  They can’t come through the front door.

  “What the fuck happened?” Spade said.

  “I spread blood over the doorframe. The windows too, but there’s a lot more I couldn’t get to.” The shrieks and roars of the others sliced through the air, but they stood on the front lawn, in the driveway, unwilling to get any closer after witnessing the woman’s fate. “There’s no time. They won’t hold off forever.”

  “What the fuck we gonna do now?”

  “Upstairs. Let’s go!”

  Chris took one more look out the front door. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them out there. All looking for him, coming to claim his soul.

  Chris took the stairs two at a time, Spade limping up behind him, and they headed for the balcony.

  ***

  The body’s memory, this Todd, told Red that this was his home. Not his, but the whore’s. Inherited it from the whore, from Chris’s mother.

  And the whore’s spawn bled over the entrance.

  Red stared at the sizzling hell flesh lying in heaps outside of the door. “Check the other doors and windows.”

  His brothers looked at one another, not one of them rushing to follow his last order. Their crimson eyes fell on the front door, and they shifted and whimpered. After an eternity of waiting, none were in a hurry to be sent screaming back to hell. “Do it now!”

  They dispersed and surrounded the house. Red stood in front, staring into the open door. He knew Chris wouldn’t just wait inside and hide. The whore’s spawn knew what he could do now, knew he had the power to destroy them. Chris would make a stand, but Red planned to overwhelm him.

  He doesn’t have enough blood to kill us all.

  A gurgling shriek tore through the air as more hell flesh was melted off at the front window, then another. But beyond that, he heard glass breaking, wood shattering, and he knew they were close.

  This ends now. And then the world.

  ***

  The shattering glass induced a
shriek from Spade, and he spun on his heels and faced the stairwell. “Ah, shit. They in the house.”

  “Empty your pockets. The bullets…hurry up!” Chris ran toward the stairs as Spade obeyed, metal clinging behind him as the ammunition hit hardwood flooring. Chris ran down the stairs, saw the creatures lurking in the living room, the kitchen. He swallowed his scream, then one step at a time, as quickly as he could, he wiped blood on each step as he ascended.

  Something giggled and growled behind him, and Chris checked over his shoulder to find the four-armed man, his head littered with snapping and chuckling mouths. It lunged at Chris, but slipped on the blood-slick steps, it fell backward and rolled in it. The demon choked and muttered as the teeth fell away from its head, blood pouring in thick bursts. Its extra arms melted off, flopped on the floor before liquefying.

  Chris shuddered, then continued up the steps, wiping each stair. More of the creatures came for him, and more were sent back to hell, leaving a tattered corpse to roll down the steps.

  Spade watched Chris, not moving, his eyes as wide as pool balls. He had both guns out, pointed, hands shaking. “H-how many?”

  “Too many.” Chris ran into the main room in the studio through the swinging double doors, smeared blood over the doorframe and backed away. “Did you load the guns already?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “Unload them. Those bullets won’t do shit.”

  “But you said…!”

  Chris fell to his knees above the small collection of bullets on the floor, rubbed his hands together like he was keeping warm by a fire. Fresh blood poured over the ammo, smothered them like gravy. He dug his fingers in, swirled the bullets to make sure each one was covered. Spade emptied the guns and added to the pile, then stood back and laughed.

  “Hell yeah.”

  Intestines waved in the air beyond the doorway, extending from the first floor, and though Chris couldn’t see him, he knew George had arrived. One by one, the fleshy tubes placed a demon on the second floor over the banister, their red eyes splashing light into the studio.

  A small girl in a purple dress approached them, her body split in half vertically down the middle, starting at the top of her head down to her belly. Each half opened up, her body like a giant alligator’s head, teeth long and jagged. She took one step through the opening, and her body fell through, internal organs spilling out into steaming piles on either side of her.

  The other creatures roared in frustration, flailed limbs and snapped jaws.

  Spade loaded both guns, handed one to Chris. “Let’s show these motherfuckers the deal.”

  Chris nodded, squeezed the hilt of the gun. Part of him wished he had a squirt gun, or a super soaker, but for now, this would have to do. “You know a prayer or something?”

  “Hell nah.”

  “Me either.”

  They stepped toward the doorway, the horde of beasts growing thicker by the second, but none willing to cross the threshold.

  Spade fired first. The bullet tore a hole into an elderly woman’s chest, right between the lamprey tits. She crumbled into a heap instantly, the circular jaws falling away and spinning like quarters before melting.

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, bitch!” Spade fired again, and again. Each bullet dropping another demon.

  Chris joined, exorcising the demons with blood-coated bullets. Tattered corpses hit the floor, flesh sizzling and popping. Demon limbs, teeth, claws bubbled and liquefied.

  Both guns clicked empty. Spade dropped down, started reloading as Chris stared at the remaining monsters as they began to run away, a couple forgetting about the bloody staircase and tumbling down as lifeless cadavers. Chris stepped closer to the barrier, his body tingling all over like a million tickling feathers.

  “What you doin’, man?”

  Spade’s voice was a distant sound, and Chris turned away, trudged across the room, headed for the balcony door. He made a mental note to wipe blood over the balcony doorframe, but stepped outside and faced the yard. The night was cool, soothed his aching body. The air was alive with the shrieking and roaring of the demons, the yard and street beyond covered with them. Their hellish bodies thrashed in unison, like an ocean of evil flooding the streets.

  “Whore’s spawn!”

  Todd’s voice. He stood atop the stone fountain in the middle of the yard, arms outstretched, long claws extending from his fingertips. A pointed tongue flicked out of his mouth as he grinned with glistening, pointed teeth. His left eye gleamed white and was pushed deep into his head.

  “This is only the beginning! Your world is ours now, and there’s not enough holiness in the world to stop us now!”

  The sea of hell vibrated more vigorously now, their shouts and growls deafening. Chris looked down at his hands. Blood exploded out of them, washed his feet in red, but no matter how much there was, he couldn’t kill them all.

  Todd’s right. I can’t do shit to stop them. It’s over.

  Tears streamed from his face and he collapsed backward, covered his ears to block out the sickening laughter, the infinite growling.

  ***

  “Say, man! Where you goin’?” Spade watched as Chris strolled across the room and out the balcony door. As soon as the doors opened, he heard them. All the fucking monsters outside, what sounded like a million of them, and he nearly shit himself.

  There weren’t many bullets to begin with, just what he could stuff in his pockets, and with both guns loaded again, only a few remained. But he jumped to his feet, a pistol in each hand, the grips sticky from Chris’s blood. His fucked up hand screamed with pain, and he could barely hold the gun, but he forced his fingers to tighten.

  He hoped Chris was out there raining blood on those cocksuckers, but he wasn’t about to go outside. Hell no. He backed away, clenching his teeth as the creatures screamed with laughter and hissed and snarled. The nightmare images flooded his mind again, tore at his brain like termites through wood.

  Blood. Bodies. Torn flesh and entrails and rape and shit and bile. Fire. So much fire. He could feel the heat on his skin, taste the burning flesh on his tongue, smell the shit and blood. Surrounding all of this were the creatures, the demons, enjoying the anarchy, bathing in pain.

  But above everything was another presence. Something that, even thinking about it, caused Spade to piss himself and mutter under his breath, shaking his head and knocking the gun barrels against his forehead.

  The Master.

  Spade backed into something, blinked away the fog, then realized he was looking at the entryway to the room he was just in. The room protected by blood. And now he stood outside of it.

  Oh fuck.

  Before he could make a run for it, something wrapped around his waist, lifted him into the air. The gun in his injured hand fell from his grasp, clattered to the floor; he nearly dropped the other, but caught it with both hands as he was flung across the room, smashing into the handrail of the stairs. He rolled down, bouncing over the shredded bodies, slipping over blood and slimy innards. When he hit the bottom, his momentum flung him headfirst into the floor, cracking his skull against it. Stars and black spots twinkled in his vision and his mouth filled with blood.

  “The Master has seen you, Spade. And he wants you for himself. He’s tasted your flesh and craves more.”

  Spade winced, clenched his teeth as he rolled onto his back, blood trickling down his face. George hung in the air like a ragdoll, his intestines lifting him high, writhing around like worms on speed. His eyes shone, and he smiled so wide the corners of his mouth split along his cheeks and bled black.

  More of the creatures stepped forward, licking their lips, snapping their claws. Spade forced himself to his feet, and found his hands empty. He quickly searched for his gun, but found only ruined flesh and blood along with wooden shrapnel and shattered glass.

  An intestine whipped toward him, but Spade jumped out of the way, slamming his stomach on the stairs and knocking the wind out of him. He struggled for breath, b
ut quickly clambered up the steps, desperate to get away. He knew if any of these things touched him, the images would come back, and without Chris to save him, he didn’t know what happened after that.

  Lying on its side in the middle of the staircase was the pistol. Spade gasped when he saw it, tried to leap for it, but his foot slipped on a smear of blood and he came up short, knocked the bottom of his chin against the edge of a stair and clicked his teeth together.

  Something jumped the handrail and landed just in front of him, and he looked up to find the thing that had stung him at his apartment-what used to be his homeboy Craig but was now this scorpion headed freak-hissing at him. The thing got on its hands and feet, crawled down the bodies that covered the stairs toward him.

  “No!”

  Spade almost ran back down the stairs, but more of the things waited for him, and all the while George cackled. An intestine swung out, smashed the handrail to splinters, then another reached out and wrapped itself around Spade’s chest, constricting one arm against his body.

  “Your suffering will be endless. Exquisite. The Master will rape your soul for eternity.”

  Spade’s breath was squeezed out of him as the intestine tightened, but he pushed himself forward, toward the pistol, toward the scorpion-headed demon.

  George tightened his grip again, so tight Spade thought he’d puke up his own guts, and just as he reached the gun, the other demon leapt onto his back, stung him in the back of the neck.

  Spade tried to scream, but a dry whisper came out, and as the stinger penetrated him deeper, dug into him, he reached out with shaking fingers and grabbed the gun. He tried to turn his head to get a look at the thing on his back, but couldn’t quite turn enough. His lungs begged for oxygen, and it felt like his eyes were about to burst. He swung his arm backward and poked with the gun until he felt it hit flesh, then pulled the trigger.

  The demon shrieked at the same instant a fiery tunnel was dug into Spade’s shoulder. He felt the stinger pop free and the weight of the monster fall away.