“Excuse me,” he said, standing.
He used the bathroom in his bedroom instead of the one in the hallway, wanting to be as far from the dining room as possible. If he had to make noise, like grunt or cry out in pain, he didn't want his guests hearing him.
He took a cotton swab from the cabinet and shoved it up his right nostril. He twirled it around like someone operating a cotton-candy machine, trying to gather pieces of snot. He pulled it out, examining the dark green members that had accumulated on the bulbous cotton tip.
Using the other end, he re-inserted the cotton swab and began prodding at the real problem—the all-day-annoying globule of mucus. He shoved the swab upward with force, jabbing it, hoping to dislodge or rupture the thing. He squinted in pain, eyes watering, as he stabbed the inside of his face. He kept poking the rock-hard booger, but only wound up getting the cotton swab stuck. He frantically pulled on the Q-tip, but it wouldn’t come out. It was as if something were holding onto it.
Grabbing a bottle of saline solution, he squirted the salty fluid up his nostril. His eyes continued to tear. While tugging downward, his biceps bulging and arms shaking as if electrified, the swab finally came free.
The swab’s white tip was colored a bright red. He assumed the amount of force he'd used had ruptured the sensitive membranes in his nasal cavity. He tossed the bloody swab into the waste basket, hoping he hadn't caused any serious damage to his nose.
Staring at himself in the mirror, he spoke to the booger harshly, “I want you out of my fucking nose.”
Frustrated and realizing he’d been gone from the dinner table for quite some time, (he didn’t want Beth thinking he was taking a dump) he opened the mirrored cabinet door and took out the stainless steel tweezers.
Confident he would make them work this time, he jammed them up his nose, ignoring the pain, and latched onto the lodged piece of snot. He pulled with all his might.
The pain was immense, his eyes watering again to the point tears streaked his face. He grunted, holding his breath as his face turned scarlet. He continued to pull, praying that the thing would come out. Finally, after so many hours of annoyance—and at times agony—the troublesome booger came free.
Carl yanked the little bastard out, his arm coming down swiftly at the sudden release. He smashed his elbow against the faucet, hitting his funny-bone. Immediately, his forearm was engulfed in tingling numbness. The tweezers fell from his fingers and tumbled into the basin with a soft clatter.
After trying all day to free himself of the booger, he had to see the thing. It had to be a monster. But he’d only managed to catch a glimpse of the gigantic green ball as it slid down the drain.
“Damn!” he yelled, pounding his fist against the sink’s countertop.
Red splats of blood began dotting the sky-blue porcelain sink. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he saw a crimson river flowing from his right nostril. It dribbled over his lips and down his chin, causing his goatee to glisten.
He grabbed some sheets of toilet paper, wadding them up into something resembling a large joint, and stuck it up his nose. In a way, Carl was glad his nose was bleeding. He could use it as an excuse as to why he had taken so long.
After a minute, he carefully removed the tissue paper. Like the cotton swab, the toilet tissue was saturated a deep red. Carl’s nose felt as if it had been raped by a giant’s finger. His nostril was raw and tender.
Even though he knew it would pain him, he pinched his nostrils together to stop the flow of blood. He couldn’t remember if he was supposed to lean forward or back, so he remained level and stared straight ahead.
He walked out of the bathroom and opened the door to his bedroom. “Sorry guys,” he yelled. “Got a doozey of a bloody nose. I’ll be right there.”
“You okay, dude?” Fred yelled back.
“Yeah. Be right out.” Carl closed the door and went back to the bathroom. He lowered the toilet's lid, sat.
After a few more minutes of keeping his nostrils pinched, he went to the mirror and checked on his nose. It had stopped bleeding. He cleaned away the blood from his mouth and rinsed his goatee. Satisfied, and desperately wanting to get back to his guests--Beth in particular, he left the bathroom after rinsing the sink.
* * *
Its surrounding climate had suddenly gone from a warm, secure area with lots of food to a cold, rigid, and wet area. The booglin was angry. It had lost the battle and been discarded. It seethed with rage, its tiny nostrils pulsating like an agitated bull's. Then its host—the bastard—had tried to drown it as it attempted to climb up the pipe. The booglin had almost died.
The squishy creature shook itself off. It stood up on its hind legs. Using its sharp claws, it tried climbing out again, but the metal pipe proved impenetrable. Looking up, it found a loose hair dangling from the drain. Leaping, it grabbed onto the single blonde lock and climbed out.
Standing over the drain proved dangerous as the booglin was hit with a large water droplet from the dripping faucet. It scurried up the side of the curved porcelain sink. The climb was slippery, but it managed, using its soft, sticky flesh to roll itself out.
Starting out as a microscopic germ, the booglin was a relatively new species. It had been born in a small underground weapons lab in Nevada. Careless security measures led to the germ’s release. It attached itself to dust molecules, pollen, or whatever it could until it was inhaled by someone. That someone had been Carl while in a taxi on his way to his home.
Once the germ had settled into the warm nasal cavity, it transformed—using the host’s blood and mucus—into the small creature known as a booglin. Absorbing the human's DNA it had acquired, the creature grew arms and legs and gained the intelligence to wreak havoc.
Cold and angered that it had been evicted from its home, the booglin leapt off the countertop and hit the tile floor with a splat.
Boneless, the hardest part of its body made from hardened mucus, the creature was up and moving within seconds, entering the bedroom.
Traveling across the carpet proved cumbersome, the long strands of fiber like dense jungle growth. Dust and debris clung to the creature, slowing it down.
Reaching the bedspread draping against the floor, the booglin cleaned itself off and quickly climbed up. It traveled across the mountainous folds of the unmade bed and hid under a corner flap of one of the bed’s pillows.
* * *
A few hours later, the wine and beer consumption was in full effect. Carl was buzzing; his inhibitions doused like a tiny flame. He was having a great time with Beth, laughing, flirting, and enjoying the tender, blasé brushes of her hand against his wrist and knees on occasion.
Like high school sweethearts, Fred and Jenny got up from the table. Holding hands, Jenny winked at Carl and said, “We’ll be in the guest room for a while. Don’t wait up.”
Carl felt a twinge of jealousy, but hoped to have the same luck with Beth. “I think the couch would be a more comfortable place to sit and enjoy our drinks,” he said to Beth, who immediately scooted back her chair and stood. She picked up her drink and headed over to the living room.
Sitting on the couch, the two of them alone, their light-hearted conversation and laughter abruptly ceased. The air between Carl and Beth seemed humid and alive with electricity. They caught each other’s stare. Carl tilted his head and leaned in toward Beth’s plump lips. Beth obliged him by accepting and reciprocating the kiss. They were soon embracing, arms and hands running over shoulders, necks and chests. Together, they acted like two starved porn stars that hadn’t had a good fuck in months.
“We should head to a more private area,” Beth suggested as Carl began kissing the side of her neck and cupping her left breast. He barely heard her words—his brain almost completely controlled by his genitals.
He pulled away and stood, the bulge in his pants not as embarrassing as it might’ve been had he not been a little drunk. Beth remained seated and looked at the tented area. She smiled.
Lifting
her hand slowly, she unzipped Carl’s pants. She reached inside, staring up into his eyes with a mischievous grin on her face. Carl let out a gasp as her warm hand gently took hold of him and pulled his rock hard penis through the opening in his pants. She jerked it once, then lowered her mouth over him.
Carl wasn’t prepared for the suddenness of such a wonderful act and almost came. He grabbed her head and slowly pushed her away before pulling her up and locking mouths with her. “Come with me,” he told her, then took her by her hand and together they headed down the hall to his bedroom.
* * *
Scowling at its previous host, the booglin watched as the two humans merged together as one. The world around them was now cut off. Their spirits were intertwined in ecstasy. The booglin waited patiently for its moment to strike. Revenge hung on the small creature’s mind like a tasty meal, a palpable delicacy. It waited. And waited. Finally, while still in the act of procreation, its former host taking the woman from behind, her face pressed into the pillow, moaning loudly, the booglin scurried toward her. It approached her face—the woman’s eyes closed—and jumped into her left nostril. The woman’s nasal passage was smaller than the man’s and much cleaner, but it didn’t plan on staying long. It had a task to perform and that was all.
It crawled slowly up the woman’s nostril, careful to avoid knocking into any hairs or use its claws for purchase. The last thing it wanted was to get blown out. Luckily, the woman was breathing out of her mouth.
* * *
Beth was close to another orgasm. Carl had been a master with his tongue and equally talented with his penis. From teasing, to hard thrusts, to slow deep penetrations, he was driving Beth wild. For a moment, she thought she’d felt a tickle in her nose. It made her want to sneeze, but the orgasmic explosion in her loins quickly removed any further thoughts about her nose.
* * *
The woman’s breathing and pulse had intensified until finally slowing down, returning to a more normal state. The booglin had moved with stealth-like precision, working its way into the woman’s sinus cavity.
Ready to exact revenge, the booglin reared back its claws and sunk them into the female’s sensitive tissue, penetrating deep and gouging bone.
* * *
Carl was lying next to Beth, his body glistening with sweat, when she sat up screaming. His slowing pulse was jolted back into overdrive. He bolted upright and turned toward her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders. She didn't react. It was as if she couldn’t hear him. Her hands covered her face. She was crying and begging for the agony to stop. He got to his knees and again asked her what was wrong. When she didn't answer, he gripped her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face.
“My head!” she cried, her eyes squeezed shut. “Hurts like hell!” She pulled away from Carl, putting her hands back to her face, holding the bridge of her nose. Blood began pouring out of her nostrils, dripping onto the bed.
“Hold on,” Carl told her. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
Beth continued to writhe in pain, rocking back and forth. Her screams grew louder, the pain intensifying. Beth’s pleas made Carl’s chest hitch and balls shrivel.
He picked up his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.
Loud banging erupted at the bedroom door.
“What’s going on in there?” Fred asked from the other side of the door.
“Beth,” Carl answered, waiting for the operator to come on to the line. “She’s sick or something. I’m calling 9-1-1.”
As soon as the operator came on the line, Carl began explaining the situation. It was hard to hear the woman over Beth’s screaming, but he got through it, finally giving his address. He was told to stay on the line, but Beth’s screaming was worsening. He dropped the phone and went to her.
* * *
The booglin had dug its way through Beth’s skull, its razor sharp claws easily cutting through bone. The gelatinous brain tissue stood before it. The booglin’s body shook with the woman’s screams. Putting its nose to the grey matter, the booglin inhaled. Its appetite whet, the booglin sunk its claws into the woman’s brain and scooped out a nice chunk before devouring it. Feeling the woman’s screams intensify, the creature began relentlessly digging. It tore through the soft tissue as if it were made of jell-o.
* * *
Carl watched as Beth’s screams dwindled. Her body seemed to relax. It was as if she'd been given a sedative. He held her upright by her arms, the limbs lifeless.
“Beth?” he asked. He stared into her eyes as they seemed to glaze over, appearing to focus on nothing. Her body grew heavy. She was dead weight and slumped forward like a heavy sack of grain.
Carl laid her down on her back. “Beth?” he squeaked, feeling for a pulse on the side of her neck. There was none. Blood covered her face, glistening like rich cherry syrup. He wiped it away from her lips and performed mouth to mouth and chest compressions. Nothing worked. Beth was dead.
* * *
The ambulance arrived ten minutes later. Beth was unofficially announced dead, but the paramedics would bring her to the hospital where a doctor would give an official time of death.
* * *
Twenty-four hours later, the coroner was leaning over Beth’s corpse, peering into the nasal cavity. He didn't understand how so much damage could occur naturally. Burst embolism? The amount of tearing and blood loss pointed toward something else. Some kind of parasite?
The coroner studied the interior of the cadaver’s nose and nasal passages, including the sinuses and frontal lobe region. Having spent a number of hours examining the body and remaining just as baffled as when he’d first seen the damage, he decided to call it quits for the day.
On his way home, while driving along Route 9, he began to feel an uncontrollable itching in his nose.
Eaten Un-Alive
The vampires were starving and the zombie uprising was the cause. Zombies had no rules or limitations, and they spread like a plague. The vampires, having stayed hidden in the shadows for centuries, had kept their numbers small. Discrepancy had been paramount to their survival. The food supply was limitless. Now, humans hid like the dying breed they were, and to make matters worse, the blood bags had become aware of the vampires. The sun-fearing creatures remained hidden no longer, having become as desperate as their cattle.
Remington spat after draining another rabbit. The taste was awful, bitter and lacked the proper nutrition his kind needed. But it would have to suffice until he found a human.
He lay back against one of the moldy bales of hay in the old barn, finally able to relax. The place was in a remote part of the countryside. He’d seen only a few undead in the area, which he’d easily dispatched, though having to rely on animal blood was making him slower and weaker than he’d ever been.
He glanced around him and chuckled at the sight on his left. A pile of white, gray and brown blood-smeared bunny corpses lay beside him. He was Bunny Slayer, a fierce and formidable foe to the furry, grass-munching critters, sucking them dry like a giant vacuum of doom.
Remington had loved cities, New York his favorite, next to Venice. He loathed the countryside. The open fields, the long boring roads, and the lack of food were intolerable, but the cities had all been overrun with the undead.
With the night still young, Remington fled the barn, deciding it was time for a real meal. He’d consumed enough animal and vermin—yes, he’d resorted to that at times—blood for a vampire’s lifetime and deserved better. He would go house to house and search relentlessly for food.
* * *
It had been two hours since he left the barn and he’d found nothing but rotted corpses and zombies. The pathetic creatures couldn’t even figure out how to open a door or climb a set of stairs. One time, for fun, he’d plucked the eyes from a zombie and watched as it fell over furniture and collided into the walls of the house it had been in. He’d laughed so hard that night.
But for such witless creatures, they sure wr
eaked enough havoc. Zombies were the vampires’ cockroach.
Having not seen a human in days, he walked brazenly down the road. Normally, he’d prefer to stay in the shadows of buildings or trees. The world may have changed, but it was still wise to remain hidden, for humans were more dangerous than ever now.
Getting ready to give up, having searched a number of houses and finding them vacant or with undead life, Remington heard a female’s voice.
He cocked his head and listened. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, another indication he wasn’t receiving the proper nutrition, but it was coming from a farmhouse off to his right.
He traveled swiftly and as quietly as possible down the dirt drive, and then hid behind a small copse of bushes. The house’s windows were dark, the place appearing as deserted as all the others he’d visited tonight. It didn’t mean much of course, as most homes had no electricity. The humans kept their generators and lights off, for a lit home was often an invitation for unwanted guests, both human and otherwise.
Seeing no one outside, he ran up to the front door and began pounding at it.
“Please,” he cried. “I need help. My friends were just killed by a pack of zombies.” He continued banging on the door until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps on the other side of it. The locks clicked; there were a number of them. The door flew open and he found himself face to face with the end of a double barrel shotgun. A balding, heavy set man with a scraggly beard and wearing jean overalls was holding the weapon.
“Don’t shoot,” Remington cried, recoiling. He stepped back and hid behind his arms, trying his best to appear like a mortal.
“Dad,” a young girl’s voice sounded from behind the man. “Let the guy in.”
The man kept the weapon trained on Remington, eyeing him with obvious mistrust.
“Please, sir,” Remington said, his voice jittery. “May I take shelter in your home?”
A Mixed Bag of Blood Page 2