“Unh! You scary little blood sucking fuck!” His breathing racing, his heart beating against the skin of my breast. Heart beating against heart.
I sneak my hand down there, my right hand. I reach inside my leg, my right leg. Wetness there, I gather on my fingertips.
“Nixie! Nixie!”
I raise my hand to my nose. Blood. I know the smell. My blood. My blood is on my fingers. I have blood.
Do I dare to taste it? Is it blasphemy?
“Nixie! Ohmygod I love you! Ahh!”
Jets. Jets from his cock inside me. Love. His body goes stiff, rises above me; trembling in every little bone. His neck stretched over my ear, shaking with his pleasure.
I taste my fingers.
It is my blood. My own. It is bitter, and it is mine. I feel it rising in me. His lips. His tongue in my ear, licking, biting me, moaning with his relief. I want to bite him. To bite him! I long to bite him! The waves of pleasure rise again, bursting, blotting out everything. My teeth. My teeth. Deep. Taking it in, all in, sucking. Greedy. Blood in my mouth.
Whose blood is in my mouth? There should not be blood in my mouth!
Oh no. Oh God no. I am saved. It cannot be. It cannot. God would not let it happen.
NO!
I’m saved. Jesus saved me. He did. We had a deal!
He is lying on top of me, all limp and vacant and hollow. He has left me again. Where will I chase him to now? I slip my teeth, now familiar and long, from his skin and a small angry trail of blood follows after. I can barely move, the fading pleasure in my hips, turning bitter, the feeling of the blood within. I roll to the side and tumble the carcass off of me.
Kuschelbaer … no. I bury my face in his cold belly and scream my agony into his skin.
Oh God. You should have killed me instead. You should have killed me. If only you had killed me instead when you could have. I’m so alone. I feel so confused. I can’t think, everything is happening too fast. Who am I? Am I supposed to be the girl or the demon? I should be dancing somewhere, am I late? Why am I naked? Where is my baby? Will the Unicorn come and call my name? Why can’t I live on the moon?
Come back to me. Why are there no tears? I want my tears. There should be tears for him.
My … my big snuggly bear, kuschelbaer, don’t leave me again. Oh no, oh no, oh no … dance with me.
I want to kill something. Kill it slowly. I want to feel my teeth in something and hear it cry and beg to God for its life. Jesus! Lying bastard Jesus!
Blood.
Over by the trees, further down the river, the whisper of blood is on the air. Under the smell is a bright feeling of pain. There is pain and there is blood and there is an emotion I can’t understand anymore.
Walking through the high grass of the field between tree groves along the river bank. The bright moonlight on my skin. Without love or hope of love, I am exactly who I am meant to be. I am transforming. I am becoming glorious. The whore of Babylon riding the beast. When people see me they shall worship me. The grasshoppers jumping away from me as I pass. High above, crows are crying for me, poor black angels. The night air leading me. I am home again. Somewhere God is shaking His fist at me.
Baaa baaa baaa.
Weil ich Jesu Schaflein bin … Freu’ ich mich nur immerhin …
I am Jesus’s little lamb. Ich Jesu Schaflein bin.
Baaa baaa baaa. Hop hop hop.
I am Jesus’s little lamb chop.
Baa baa baa. Chop chop chop.
Blood scent coming from those trees beside the water. But there is this funny sound. I lower my head and listen carefully and there is a slap … slap … slap … not of skin on skin, but something else. And the sea smell of tears. Now I move like the hunter. I am the Angel that withers hope. I am Death become woman. Cry you crows! Cry for little Nordchen. Here he is, here in the trees, I see him.
He is sitting back in the shadows under a tree. His skin is bare, naked like me. The smell of the blood on his back and on his shoulder, is shaped in streaks, cuts and welts. He is on his knees and he is whispering in the silly baaa baaa baaa language and his arm moves, crossing his chest. His hand rises – slap! Leather cords across his back. Blood on steel balls. Is it Jesus whipping himself? If this is Jesus I’ll punish him for lying to me.
He is hurting himself. I’ve seen these things before. But it is only the preacher man. In the grass near his knee, the bitter smell of blood on steel again. That must be a knife. Yes, on his bare thighs there is a row of cuts. As I move in close behind him a man smell, the smell of his cum. It’s different from the smell of Daniel, drying sticky on my thighs. But there is no woman here, only himself. I remember sometimes meeting men like this in the past. Angry, dangerous men. They are fun to kill.
“Hallelujah … Oh my Lord Jesus, deliver me … Abba abba hey yeah … yeah, reprove me, oh my Lord. Reprove my flesh from lust … Abba Eloi Adonai …”
His eyes are closed and he doesn’t see as I reach down and pick up his knife. His blood is on the blade. I lick the blade and taste his blood which is already a little stale. This is a lonely tasting man.
If it had been any man but this one, I would have his head dripping from a tree by now to comfort me. But I am curious about him and I am terribly confused and I want to kill every creature in the world so that I can be alone but there so many things that must be killed and … and … and he must tell me why I am not saved anymore which I think might have become a good thing and God has abandoned me instead and I must keep killing people now and … and … and – why?
I shut the blade and let him hear the sound so he will notice me. At the sound, he turns suddenly and stinks of shame. He is looking at me wide eyed, but he can’t see me the way I can see him. There is a bloody lash in his hand, and his legs and belly are covered in sweet smelling cuts. I want to tear him into food for owls and crows. But I want to lick his body and weep in his lap. I feel so confused.
“Who’s there?”
“Help me, sir.” I step around into the small patch of moonlight between the tree shadows and let him look at me. His knees are apart and his sex is erect and making the man smell.
He throws down the little whip, glances down at the grass where the knife was. I hide my hand behind my back. “Where …” He looks up, fearful. He sees me in the light, small pale, big breasted and nude. “What are you?” He jumps to his feet, stumbling backwards. “What are you? Who sent you here?”
“I smelled your blood.” As I say that, there is a new puff of fear from him, and his wounds bleed a little faster. The smell is confusing me and filling me with light and my head with noise. The winds of the Holy Ghost are roaring in my ears. Above me enraged angels are descending blowing trumpets. “Why did you do that?” I point at his wounds.
“Who sent you? God? Satan? Why are you like that?” Pointing at my nakedness. “Are you tempting me? Jesus has forgiven me for what happened in the motel.”
I want to cry. I want to kill. I want to die. I don’t know what I want. “Why are you like that?” I wave at his bloody cuts and welts. “Are you trying to tempt me?”
“I know you. You were the girl with the devil.”
“I know you,” I say. “I’m the girl with the devil.” I begin clawing at my face. I want to tear the flesh off my skull and show him my grinning skull, but he steps forward and takes my hands away from me.
“What happened to you?” he says.
I’m still holding his knife, hidden in my hand. I should maybe give it to him, I think. But not yet. “When you die, sir, what will happen to you?”
“What is your name? Tell me your name.”
“Nixie.”
“You want to know what will happen when we die? Where will you spend eternity, Nixie? Where?”
“In Hell.”
“No, Nixie, no. You’re saved by the blood of Jesus—”
“No!” I yell at him. “I’m going to Hell. No matter what.” My shoulders are shaking and my head is bowed. His arms are around me and he d
raws me close. “Where will you go when you die?”
“Heaven,” he says. His hands pass gently down my back and he holds me tighter. “When Jesus shouts and the rapture comes I’ll go straight up to Heaven to be with Jesus. Won’t you?”
“No.”
“Haven’t you accepted Jesus as your savior?” His hands are moving gently down my arms to my waist. I can hear his heart now, which I could not hear before.
“I tried.” His hand is lifting my breast.
“Then you’ll be with the Lord, together with me. You’ll be in Heaven, Nixie. You will be with me together in Heaven as Jesus promised.”
Now his other hand is at my other breast, touching me. His man smell is strong. “But, I want to be with Daniel.” I feel so confused. Then I remember the blood. “Why did you do that to yourself?”
“Jesus has forgiven us of all our past sins, do you believe me, Nixie? And the Lord forgives us our future sins even before they’re done. Do you trust me, Nixie? Even if we be weak in the eyes of God, we are forgiven by grace alone. Do you believe that?”
“No …” I whisper. “I don’t.”
“I’m not perfect, Nixie.” His fingers move over my nipples. “What we’re doing, this will be our secret. Do you trust me?”
“No …” I whisper. “I don’t.” Gently, I push him away from me.
He raises his arm, points his finger and says, “Get thee behind me!”
“Get thee behind me?”
“Satan!” He shakes his hand at me. And points again. “Get thee behind me, demon! I cast thee out in the name of Jesus Christ.”
I fall on my knees. I spread my arms wide for the devil to leave me.
The preacher man comes towards me, stands in front of me, towering down imperiously. His cock is in my face and it’s bobbing with his heart beat. “I command you …” he sighs. “Obey me. Obey me. Adonai – abbba laba elehu abba. Abba.”
I am waiting for the devil to leave me. For the peace to come and heal me and make me a good girl for Daniel again so he will come back to me, and the angry angels beating me with their lightning will leave me alone. Alone! Alone! I close my eyes and wait for the miracle.
I feel something soft and hot brush my lips. The angels go away. I open my eyes and his cock is in my face. Pray. Pray for me.
Prey. Prey for me.
Overhead the stars are falling and the moon is turning as red as blood. The earth is crawling with dumb bastards. The night sky is ripped in two with thunder revealed to me. I am the Dragon of God. I am the Wrath of God made rampant. I am the one true way. I am Death made perfect. The prey is not perfect. I will make him perfect.
I stand up slowly, silently so as not to startle him. With one hand I soothe the stiff penis, to relax the prey. I feel him become languid. The prey has closed his eyes and is moving his cock inside my fist. I’ve seen it all before so many times. It’s all so tedious. The prey is ready now. I flip the knife open and the smell of the prey’s blood fills my head. “Abbbaaa … Adonai … adaonai … hallelujah …” he whispers.
My hand lets go of his cock, strikes out and grabs his throat. The prey’s eyes pop open. “I am not possessed by a demon.” I lean in and scream at his face, “I am the demon!”
I squeeze. His lying tongue that tricked me into killing my Daniel pops out. A swift cut with the knife and his tongue falls in the grass. This is a good little knife. Now he won’t trick me with lies.
“Du!” I say to the prey in my Holy Ghost language. “Du sollst den verdammten keine falschen Hoffnungen machen!” He is beating at my hands, and his struggle excites me more and more. The sound of his heart pounding in my ears fills the sky and the dancing trees. Crows – cry for him! Where is his God now? The blood running down his gullet is strangling him.
“You are going to Heaven, jah? Do you think? First you must share a moment with me in Hell.” He’s trying to shout and cannot. I slip the knife up and inside his left rib and in a fast high motion run the blade along his rib bone, slashing the diaphragm. Now he can’t draw a breath or cry out. It’s nothing. It’s an old trick.
I will not have his blood. That is not the message he will carry to God for me when he trudges to the gates of his Heaven. No. I have had the blood of the most sacred lamb, which I swore I would never touch, and there is no one worthy to mix with the blood of my kuschelbaer. I will not drink again. Ever. I didn’t know this until now. I only just thought of it. I hear the man wheeze and bend over.
God has a message for me. What can it be? God must explain to me why I feel so confused. I will read the future!
The prey swats at me with his limp hands. I ignore him and push the blade sideways into his belly now and cut straight upwards, avoiding the tough belly muscles which are too much work for the little knife to saw through. Red and blue intestines puff out like balloons. There is this tough membrane that covers them and you must cut through this membrane and free them – like so, and then pull them out – like so. But gently so that he does not die and escape Hell with me.
Now I let him fall. Boom.
I watch him crawl for a while crying and dragging himself. His guts are getting all sticky dirty in the dry pine needles. I think he is trying to hide behind the tree. There is no hurry, it takes some time to die this way. Come here, sir. What a bad evening you are having. Well, I am having a bad evening also. I grab his ankle and pull him backwards and his guts are covered with pine needles now like a bakery treat. I look at his entrails, watch his convulsions as he flops his arms. I pull apart some of his intestines, looking for patterns. I want to read them, I want to see my fortune in them as Grandmamma did, but she didn’t teach me how. I wish she were here to help. He slaps his hand at me. Slaps at his guts, maybe trying to gather them back in. I pull the ropy, sticky things apart a little, trying to peer at what is beneath, looking for some hope in the future, and his back arches as though with pleasure and he makes a sucking sound with his lips. I think there is something there. There is a message there, how do I read it? Oh this man! He just won’t lie still.
I punch him hard in the face to make him behave. I sit on his chest.
What are you seeing, sir? Only some naked girl? Or are you seeing my absence of humanity, do you think I am not like you at all? Are you proud you are not like me and you’re bound for the Heaven and I for the Hell; do you think you’re superior to me because God loves you more, do you? Do you see poor lost Nordchen in me at all anymore, or only a devil? Do you see the real me? Tell me, who is she?
He will not answer me. Do you see, Daniel, it is only a pig’s blood on my hands. I don’t lie. It’s all going rotten and I can’t stop it. I’m so confused. Do you feel there is any hope for me, sir? He will not answer me, he is so useless. I take my knife and cut off his lips and now he looks like a clown. Stupid man. Stupid useless man. Do you like that?
I turn the knife around and knock out his front teeth with the butt of it, but it makes me feel even more confused.
Don’t you see, sir?
I would have found you anywhere you went. We belong together.
Suddenly I am filled with rage, a blind and bloody rage towards this man and his God. I cannot remember my name I am so filled with hate for this person. Where are my tears!
Two fast chops with the knife in the neck and I let the fountains spray over me. I stab him over and over in his face and his eyes and his mouth and his neck and his chest. Ah! Ah! Ah! Like tenderizing a beef roast – oh God!
Oh God. I never made a pot roast for my man.
Oh my love, forgive your Nordchen. You would have loved my sauerbraten. You would have.
I want my tears. Why are there no tears? Give me my tears!
I shower in his warm blood. The useless prey did not know how to cut himself good with this knife – but I do! The smell of the blood fills my senses and I want to kill every living thing in all the world one by one.
I want everything to stop and be quiet. I’m so confused. The stars are falling. I want to be a
lone! What if the people find me here – leave me alone! Time to think about the years all gone, all lost. But I hear the echo of voices drifting through the trees, are they the people? Is it the Unicorn come to call for me? No – I don’t think. Do ghosts smell? I don’t know. Why? Why don’t they all fade away? Leave me alone. Alone! Alone! Alone! Why don’t they leave me alone?
“Harold?” A young woman’s voice, high and thin. “Harold? Are you over here? Are you done?” She is coming, waving a flashlight.
She comes close and she is carrying something wrapped in her arms in a blanket. I stand up to greet her and to be polite to her. I’ve seen this girl. “Harold …?” The flashlight shines in my eyes. “So – you’re that whore he’s been fucking!”
She swings the flashlight at my face and I dance back from it. She can’t move well because of something in her arms that smells like Harzer cheese. We are alone. I show her the knife, but the flashlight is shining on my body and she sees my glory. I am the dragon. I am the lamb of salvation, washed in the blood of a fool. I spread my arms wide and I feel them turning into huge feathered wings to sweep me up to Heaven to be with kuschelbaer. She sees the prey and her scream stops in her throat. “What happened?”
Why do people ask stupid things? I am filled with the Holy Ghost but she is not looking at me, she asks stupid things instead of worshiping my glory. I must speak in her language so she can understand instead of using the Holy Ghost language. I point the knife at her commanding as I did before to the prey. “Thou shalt not give false hope to the damned!”
She starts to scream, really screaming now. The blanket in her arms slips away – and I see him – it is the baby boy. This woman, I know her! The baby looks at me, he sees me. His eyes! He should not be looking at me that way. His eyes fill me with terror. The horror of it sweeps over me. It is unbearable!
“Love me,” I plead to the baby, my voice cracking, backing away from him in fear and shame. “Please love me too.” I look down. Somehow I am covered in blood. So much blood. He must not look upon me!
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