In Creeps The Night

by Natalie Gibson

  “Get off,” I wheezed, futilely. Tentacles like smoke wrapped around my neck and squeezed my throat. My head was jerked back as the blackness poured into my mouth and down my gullet, cutting and scraping as it lacerated my vocal chords.

  My voice! It was my livelihood! I was a singer and had poured years of study into perfecting my voice! I could not lose it! It was everything! My hands flew up to beat at the shadow, but batted at air. The attacker had no form.

  I drew a breath to scream but only pulled the foul blackness deeper, my lungs drowning in the sulfuric smoke invasion. I kicked and writhed, trying to break free from the strangling pressure that pinned me into the mattress, but could not find purchase against the dark sheets that ensnared my legs.

  Head pounding and vision spotting, spasms rocked through my chest, a last panicked seizure for air that would not come. Slicing pain deep in my throat, a fiery laser snipped at the strands, and with a fountain of warm, gurgling fluid, the pressure released and hot blood bubbled over my lips and down my cheeks. My lungs filled with the fluid. I gasped for breath, but there was only blood.

  My vision darkened and the blackness took me.

  Something woke me. I blinked at the harsh light. Something was pressed against my mouth and nose. I raised my hand to bat it away and saw tubes and needles pumping something into my veins. I panicked and tried to sit up. Hands pressed my shoulders back to the bed.

  “Mrs. Proffitt, you are okay. You are in the hospital and we are taking care of you.”

  I turned to the sound of the voice and saw a kind face smiling down at me. I scanned her apparel and saw a stethoscope around her neck and a nametag clipped to the pocket of her scrub top. I settled back into the pillow.

  “Do you remember anything?” she chatted as she punched buttons on the pump connected to me by tubes and tape.

  I shook my head.

  “Well, in time, perhaps.” She held my wrist as she stared at my abdomen. After a minute she moved to the foot of the bed and picked up a clipboard, wrote something on it and then smoothed the sheets.

  She smiled down at me, tapping the pen on her bottom lip. She hesitated, chewed on her lip for a second, and then said, “I heard you sing once. My boyfriend took me to a concert at Julliard, and you sang the most angelic rendition of The Prayer. I’ll never forget it.” Her brow fractured into sadness.

  I wondered if she had broken up with her boyfriend, so stricken was her countenance. A memory niggled at me. A stench, a heaviness, and a deep gravelly sentence. “Your voice, it must be silenced.”

  A dream. A nightmare. Surely.

  I locked eyes with the nurse. The truth lingered in her sad expression. No! No! It can’t be true! I wrenched the oxygen mask off and clenched the rails at my sides. My breath scraped over my vocal chords and searing pain flared deep inside my throat. I pressed out to speak but only breathy air spilled from my mouth, no noise.

  I clawed at my neck, trying to find whatever silenced me. Nothing. I drew a breath to scream, but only wheezing poured from me. I emptied my lungs in the attempt and began to cough and gag.

  The nurse lowered the rail and took my hands, forcing me to look at her. “I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”

  I slammed my head against the pillow, tears streaming into my ears and screamed my pitiful whispers.

  The crone stood at the door and peered in the small rectangle of a window at the woman thrashing in silence. Never more would she touch hearts and souls with her voice. Never again would spirit song be released into the world through this vessel. Never again would demons tremble in fear at the sound of her blood song. She was silenced. The crone smirked, turned and wandered down the hall to take the report of success to her coven.

  FIRST THERE WAS the dark. It surrounded me like a blanket of oppressive blackness, suffocating me with every breath I drew into my body. I had no name and no past. I just existed in the dark. Alone.

  Then came the hunger. It started as a small knot deep within my stomach, progressing through my veins until I was filled with a severe need. I had to find a way out of the dark but first I had to work out how to stand. On fire from within, my limbs betrayed me, frozen in place, and nothing I did could coax even the slightest movement.

  I lay there in the dark, cold despite the burning fire. The silence was deafening; my eyes saw only darkness. Cocooned in hard-packed earth I felt sure that my body was not betraying me; it was the ground that kept me in place. I concentrated and willed my body to move.

  Summoning what little power I could take from the hunger coursing within me, I felt my left hand twitch. My nails tapped over the hard-baked earth. With a scream of relief I found myself crouching at the edge of the hole my body had been trapped in. I forced my hands deep into the earth as I enjoyed the feeling of movement once more. It felt good after being confined for so long. I relished the power my body displayed. The darkness no longer a suffocating blanket but a warm comforting shroud. I moved forward, my inner senses on high alert guiding me through the darkness.

  I stretched out my arms, and my fingertips brushed against stone. I was still confined underground. A breeze blew gently across my face, bringing with it scents and tastes I had long forgotten. Following it, I moved forward.

  The closer I came to freedom the more the hunger gnawed at my belly. The ground ahead was bathed in a cold light that soothed my skin. It did not dampen the fire within but did give me comfort and allowed me to continue. I would have to find something to eat soon.

  Suddenly I was standing at the start of a vast wasteland. The clouds shielded me from the last of the sun’s rays. My eyes drank in the sights around me: open ground, a far-off forest, birds flying high above me. Nothing escaped my vision. I was free. Ducking low, I moved forward and soon found I had nothing to fear. I moved like the wind, fast and low. Within seconds, I was at the tree line.

  Standing surrounded by trees, I was safe. I stood for a moment, enjoying the feel of the wind flowing around me. Then I heard it. Dum dum. Dum dum. A soft rhythmic sound. The fire within me rose at its call. In the distance I glimpsed foliage moving. Something passing through the forest. Food.

  Using my new skill, I moved silent and fast toward the disturbance, not knowing what I would find. Dum dum. Dum dum. Dum dum. The sound echoed round my ears, getting louder as I drew nearer. At last I saw the object of my hunt. A man. I appeared in front of him and he screeched in shock. I punched a hole into his chest then ripped out his heart and watched as it beat. Once. Twice. I brought it to my face and inhaled deeply as the host slowly collapsed before me.

  Salivating, I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into the warm muscle. Blood trickled down my throat, increasing the voracious fire. I realized my mistake. It was not the source of the beat I should have eaten but the blood that flowed within. The paltry amount I consumed did nothing to quench my need. It only made it stronger. I screamed into the night and ripped into the carcass on the forest floor, my anger unbound. Soon the body was unrecognizable and I was calm enough to assess my needs.

  The man must have been heading somewhere. Maybe if I continued on his path more food would become available to me? I climbed up to the canopy to search for signs of civilization. Listening carefully, I could hear the gentle dum dum of more hearts. I smiled and crossed the canopy, letting the wind carry me forward through the trees. Branches moved to let me pass; animals cowered in the shadows.

  Nestled in the woods was a small village of timber-framed huts. Streets were empty of life but I could feel it pulsing behind the closed doors. I leapt from the tree and landed at the edge of the first house. Crouching, I gathered the soft earth in my hands and brought it to my nose, inhaling the scent of life that I was about to claim. I strode up the steps and pushed open the door and entered the dwelling. The old couple inside startled from their evening meal. The fire within me exploded with need and I saw it reflected in their eyes as they stared, open-mouthed at my presence. I snatched the male by his shoulders. Drawing him toward me, salivating,
I bent to his neck. My teeth punctured the soft flesh and I felt warm glorious liquid pour into my mouth. The fire in my belly arose, meeting the blood as it cascaded down my throat. I could control myself no longer, digging with my teeth, severing an artery in the process. Blood spurted everywhere: my chest, my face but no longer down my throat, as I screamed in frustration.

  Tossing this now-empty vessel to one side I turned to the woman crying in the corner. I strode forward and lifted her scrawny frame from the ground, bringing her closer. I paused, inhaling her fear. With care, I sank my teeth through her flesh to the vein beneath the skin. Blood pulsed down my gullet and I managed enough control to quench my initial thirst. As I dropped her empty shell to the floor I could feel her blood flow through my veins; sluggish and pitiful, it did little to calm my inner fire.

  Far from sated, I moved through the village looking for signs of younger blood. All I could hear was the slow dum dum of old hearts waiting for death’s sweet embrace. I slunk toward the last house in line; I would finally find a food source worthy of my attention.

  Standing on the porch steps I focused all my energies forward and searched for signs of life within. I wasn’t disappointed. I threw open the front door and marched inside, taking in the family scene with one look. Recognizing my intent, the man rushed forward with no fear for his life. I dispatched him with a quick snap of his neck, not needing his blood now that I had something more tender to focus on. The woman grabbed the small child and pushed her toward the back door but I would not be stopped. The woman quickly met her end.

  The child stood, eyes wide in shock, unaware of her fate. I needed her blood yet I wanted her fear too. Leaning down until my face was level with hers, I smiled, exposing my sharp fangs.

  She screamed. I bit into her neck, gulping down the sweet blood within.

  My inner fire was subdued.

  For now.

  “EEEEEEEAAA…”

  A woman’s scream ripped through the house as lightning flashed. Thunder rolled and the pipe organ began to play its first hallowed notes.

  “Excellent,” Mike cackled madly. “Everything is unfolding according to my plan.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, you’re so melodramatic,” Carla sighed. She caught her boyfriend by the face and planted a wet kiss on his makeup-covered cheek. “Come on, Dracula. Our party guests are arriving.”

  Mike made a dive for Carla’s elegant neck with his fake fangs and she deftly dodged his advance. Girl Scout costume or not, if she let him nibble her neck they’d never answer the door. Their new house was set for the biggest Halloween party ever. They had thought of everything, from the spooky sound effects to the cobwebs surrounding the dance floor.

  The doorbell rang and Mike hit play on the stereo remote. The first unmistakable bars of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” piped through the speakers and the happy couple danced their way to the front door. They spent the next hour greeting a hundred of their closest ninja, nurse, nerd, and naughty nun friends as the revelers invaded their house.

  Two drinks into the party, after a scantily clad bumblebee blonde gave Mike the eye, Carla pinched him and growled in his ear. “If you’re looking for honey, you’re eying the wrong honey-pot, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, I know where my fangs can get some honey…” He leaned in to bite her and she let him this time.

  “Is this everyone?” she asked. “I thought Parker was coming?”

  Mike’s best friend was indeed missing the festivities. Parker, a makeup artist and self-proclaimed occultist, lived for Halloween. He spent weeks prepping gory masterpieces of horror. Since they’d met in the seventh grade, Parker had never failed to wow with his costumes.

  “I’ll text him. He was all mopey yesterday,” Mike said. “I think he and Samantha broke up again.”

  “Again?” Carla rolled her eyes. “What does he expect when he gets obsessed with those weird books and ignores her?”

  Mike typed into his phone and sent the message:

  RU coming? Tons of hotties!

  Half a beer later, Mike’s phone buzzed in his pocket. The return text simply read:

  Addresss?

  Carla looked over his shoulder at the message and shot him a puzzled look. “Is he high? He’s been here four times since we moved.”

  “Maybe he’s at Sam’s place. As long as he gets here, I don’t care.” Mike fired off their house address to Parker’s phone and waited. When the doorbell rang two hours and three drinks later a thoroughly buzzed Carla and Mike opened it together.

  “You...” Mike gasped, “sick son of a gun!”

  Parker stood in their doorway in the best costume of the night. Ancient black threadbare clothes hung off his gray-mottled skin, with a long hook nose and black watery eyes disguising his face. It wasn’t the greasy black hair or impossibly long fingers that made his costume so unique. It was the mouth full of razor-sharp needles for teeth, complete with red gummy gore stuck in the cracks of his gums, which made the costume.

  “Holy cow,” Carla said in disgust. “That’s awful. What are you supposed to be?”

  A whisper-thin voice croaked out, “I am ghoul. Thisss isss party?”

  “You’re twisted, man. You know that?” Mike laughed and shuffled his friend into the house past the crowd that had gathered to check out his costume. “Get this man a drink! He’s four behind.” A chant of “shots, shots, shots” erupted and Mike lost sight of Parker in the pack of fiendish creatures heading toward the bar.

  Carla took Mike by the arm and turned him around. “Did you see his eyes?"

  “Yeah,” Mike said. “Maybe it was the costume contacts.”

  “No. He’s been crying.” Carla was sure of it. “They broke up.”

  “That would explain why he’s late. I’ll go talk to him.” Mike started after his friend until the bass drop of his favorite song blasted from the sound system. “After this song.”

  Carla shot him a look of disapproval, but didn’t protest as he dragged her onto the dance floor and surrounded them both with his cape. They bumped and grinded for twenty minutes, getting lost in the alcohol and the moment. Mike was just slipping his hand under Carla’s Girl Scout skirt when he heard the scream.

  “Eeeeeeeaaa…”

  “Quit messing with the stereo!” Mike looked around to see who was fiddling with his sound effects, but the partygoers—three sheets to the wind and having a grand time—ignored him. The phone in Mike’s pocket buzzed him back to reality.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this…” The voice on the other side was garbled and impossible to hear over the bass beats. Mike hung up but the phone buzzed again ten seconds later. He looked at the number this time and paused. Parker was calling him.

  “Babe, it’s Parker. He’s going to bail if we don’t find him.” Mike and Carla left the dance floor and made their way toward the front door where the noise and crowd thinned out. The door was open and Mike could see Parker’s distinctly macabre costume leaving the party.

  “Parker!” Carla called. “Are you leaving already?”

  Parker turned at the edge of the porch and faced the couple. Despite the watery eyes and trickles of fake blood covering his chin, his ghoulish-gray face beamed with happiness. The cold black orbs locked onto Carla and roamed inappropriately over her sexy Girl Scout costume.

  “Wonderful party. Bzzz. The honey wasss deliciousss,” Parker mumbled over the prosthetic teeth.

  “That cute little bumblebee?” Mike didn’t believe it.

  Parker nodded and stepped away into the dark. “I will be back. Next year. For cookiesss.”

  The last syllable stretched on as Mike’s cheeks flushed red in anger. If Parker thought he had a shot at Carla, he was sorely mistaken. He was about to shout something inappropriate when his phone rang again.

  “What?” Mike shouted.

  “Is this Michael Grodoski?” A deep voice on the phone said.

  “Cut the crap, Parker. I can still see you.” Mike did indeed see Parker
, but the long black figure wasn’t holding a phone. It was mingling gleefully with the children in the street, still out trick-or-treating.

  “This is Sergeant Boone, SFPD,” the deep voice growled. “I’m calling from Parker’s phone. He wouldn’t get into the ambulance until I promised. He says ‘I made a terrible mistake. Don’t invite him in.’ He kept on repeating it. Does that make any sense?”

  “What ambulance? Is he…”

  Another scream ripped through the house. There was no mistaking this one as a sound effect. Mike grabbed Carla’s arm and dragged her through the house toward the shriek. The music shut off abruptly and panicked onlookers mobbed the doorway to the master bedroom. Mike shouldered his way through the crowd.

  “Get out of the way!”

  He and Carla burst through sobbing masses and saw the blonde bumblebee stashed in the back of the closet. Carla immediately retched and emptied the vodka and cranberry juice from her belly.

  The poor little bumblebee was murdered. Her guts, from ribcage to belly button, were eaten to the spine by something with very sharp teeth. The purple, finger-shaped welts ringing her neck stood in perfect contrast to her deathly-white face.

  “What’s going on there? What happened?”

  The Sergeant’s voice on the phone shocked Mike from his horror. He raced through the house and into the Halloween night. He searched everywhere for the ghoul, running like a madman, knocking over children and parents alike. He stumbled and fell, the alcohol finally taking its toll. The creature was gone. Vanished into the black.

  Its words burned in his mind.

  I will be back. Next year.

  For Carla.

  A FLY BUZZED desperately as it flew to and fro across the stuffy room, one second drawn like a moth to the naked flames of the dozens of candles scattered haphazardly around the room, only in the next to stop dead as the heat encroached onto its body and it changed direction.