Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor

by HC Hammond

  “If you don’t keep in touch,” Zork hissed, “I’m going to track you down and eat you.” It saw Harold and waved him over. Before Harold knew it he was shaking a very weak and bony hand. A shiver ran through him at the touch and he pulled away as soon as was polite.

  The creature’s sallow skin pulled back to reveal his boney jaw and shiny, yellow teeth in an attempt at smiling. By now he was literally nothing but skin and bones, having not eaten since before Harold even came to the program.

  “This bastard is graduating,” the slug said, “managed to slip past Donald’s bullshit meter. If I could get out of here… ” Zork let the sentence die in a wisp of air from its body. Several other group members looked at the skeleton with a desperate kind of envy, each having his own reasons for being stuck here and for wanting so badly to leave.

  “Matty,” Zork addressed the skeleton, “I want you, first thing, to go get yourself a good, heavy meal!” This broke the tension and even earned a few dry chuckles.

  “We were taking bets on how long it would be before we could see through you.” Laughter erupted around the skeleton. Harold smiled, but he couldn’t really get into the games. He was worried. This skeleton was the first to graduate since Harold joined FEBs. What would happen to this creature when he left?

  A day later, Harold slipped into the booth opposite Zork for their usual dinner meeting. The slug once again had its face buried in a piece of pie. It looked like its second piece, or maybe third, so far. Bits and pieces of crust stuck to the creature’s moist skin like a weird kind of alien acne. Zork’s needle sharp teeth worked delicately, despite their gruesome appearance. Zork had a bizarre set of movable fork tines in its mouth. Each long needle moved independently to nibble off the topmost layer of pie, shaving away crust. As they worked, its vertical mouth opened wide and flat, allowing its now clamped teeth to pull the pie inside. Harold heard it slurping and swallowing each bite, a few whistles of what could only be gourmand pleasure mixed in with the cacophony of sounds.

  Harold could imagine that same scraping, scooping and slurping mouth clamped on his back or the back of some other poor sap. Shaving the skin and muscle away layer by delicate layer as Zork the flesh eater partook of yet another satisfying meal. Because, despite its slight appearance, despite the humor and sarcasm, despite the fact it was corralled and followed constantly by G-men, Zork was still a flesh eater at heart. Same as Harold, as the rest of those, things, in the joke of a group they attended every week, it was a kind of monster. Even if this particular monster also liked blueberry pie.

  Sitting at the bar of the small diner were Potts and Bergstrom whom so recently coerced Harold into spying on the Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers group. Bergstrom pulled down his dark shades, revealing those voids he called eyes and grinned at Harold. His stomach churned with a sudden influx of acid as he got the impression they might approach him later tonight, but Harold didn’t really have anything on the group beyond old Skellie’s graduation. Although, he was currently holding a juicy tidbit about certain missing blood units from work. Maybe he could work out a deal.

  Zork’s eyestalks stared straight at Harold despite the creature’s face being plastered to a rapidly depleting piece of pie. Having eyestalks were quite the advantage. Zork twisted, bent and turn those stalks in every imaginable direction. It could even look in two separate directions at once. That feat of natural selection made Harold a little queasy when he tried imagining seeing in front and back at the same time. He probably wouldn’t know whether he was coming or going.

  The slug grunted at Harold. A clear sign to get on with the discussion. These weekly buddy meetings didn’t seem to do either of them much good, except to get the slug out of the halfway house. Harold just couldn’t see his way towards confessing his deepest fears and secrets to this creature.

  “How’s the pie tonight?”

  Zork grunted again in what Harold took to mean it’s great but what does it matter to you, you bloodsucking vampire.

  Harold sneered. He didn’t really need the attitude tonight.

  “Get your slimy face out of your food,” He snapped and regretted it. For the slug went very still and very slimy and suddenly had a lot more teeth. The back of Harold’s hand twanged where Zork had bit him so many weeks ago.

  Zork straightened up to stare at Harold. A long black tongue slipped out of its mouth and circled that gaping maul, sweeping up crumbs and bits of pie as it went, even stopping to sweep clean each of its eyestalks from the base of its head to the ends of its eyeballs before completing the circuit and retreating back into Zork’s mouth. The mouth remained open however, each of Zork’s needle-sharp teeth moved of their own accord, twitching and rippling in a gruesome wave. Only Harold, for just a moment, feared the wave’s end would involve Zork flying at him from across the table and flaying him. Did vampires taste any differently from normies? He’d never tried it himself.

  The slug turned its left eyestalk towards the counter where the two Gees were hanging out, drinking coffee and talking the kind of talk G-men always talk. He figured they were the only reason he wasn’t getting a rip roaring case of needle sharp teeth in the ass.

  “Listen you sack of blood, sweat and stupid. I get out of that shack they call a halfway house three times a week. Once to go to that damn psych job of a group, once for poker night every Saturday and now to see your pale stupid face every Wednesday for “buddy” talk,” Zork said. It shifted in its booster seat and turned the eyestalk back to join its counterpart in glaring at Harold. “While we’re here I’m going to enjoy every damn minute of pie, coffee and large breasted waitress I can get my slimy stalks on. If you ruin this for me I will hurt you. Now,” Zork delicately looped an eyestalk around the handle of its coffee cup and lifted it to its mouth for a loud slurp, “my buddy, how did your week go?”

  Harold was saved by the waitress from having to form an intelligent response. She placed a glass of ice water before him revealing the cleavage from those same breasts Zork had just mentioned as she bent forward. Zork’s stalks got all wide and tangled up in themselves when the waitress repeated the bend to top off his coffee cup. They weren’t even the same species. Harold didn’t get the appeal for the slug.

  They were still squeezing themselves several seconds after she stood and walked off. It really was pitiful. Harold tapped his own glass of water with his spoon to get the lusting creature’s attention.

  “Zork,” Harold said. He figured he had questions for Zork about Skellie and so far the creature had been nothing but distracted.

  “Zork, I don’t give a jack squat about your living situation,” Harold said, earning a sharp look from the slug. “As far as I’m concerned you and your freaky shit can go back to the planet you came from and the world would be one less freak better off, speaking as a vampire.”

  Harold watched Zork untwist its eyestalks to look at him with what could be described as shock on its alien face.

  “Now, I can easily get up, walk away and continue my own limited, but free lifestyle without ever seeing you again. So, you’d lose one extra night of play time and I’d be free of a slimy turd with teeth. Don’t think for one minute you could hurt me anymore than I can hurt you,” Harold leaned forward baring all his teeth and blood shot eyes in glorious form. He had his own set of sharp fangs too. “You little shit.”

  That got Zork going. Teeth rippled and its sides erupted with a trilling hiss sounding dangerously like a rattle snake’s tails shaking full tilt. They glared at each other in their anger, two miscreants of the night going one on one, an epic staring contest and battle of wills for the dominant position in this bizarre midnight relationship. The first to blink loses.

  Except neither of them got as far as ripping the other apart. A soft cough from the bar area of the diner where Bergstrom watched them both had Zork blinking and the tension disappeared. Just like that, it went from snarling monster to resigned soul, idly rubbing at the radio round its neck.

  “Sorry, I’ve been under
a lot of pressure from them lately,” Zork muttered, gesturing at the agents across the diner. “Not myself.”

  Harold took another long look at the slug. Its black iridescent body covered in twisted swirls of dark grey scar tissue, replete with the ever present collar and guards. The slug was probably the only one of its kind here. All alone on a hostile world.

  “It,” Harold said, “happens.”

  “Does it ever. Doesn’t help that Matty’s getting out soon.” Zork snorted, taking another long draw of coffee. “I’ve been in that group way longer than him and Donald refuses to graduate me. And look,” Zork gestured at its empty plate, “I don’t even have to pretend to eat regular food.”

  Harold frowned, he didn’t realize Zork wanted out that much. In the past, his own problems were on the forefront of his mind. Not much else got through …well, Harold had been pretty focused on himself for years now. Thinking back over his behavior he didn’t know how Maria could even stand it.

  He sat back, picking at one of his fingernails.

  “How long have you been in FEBS anyway?”

  Zork sighed, “A year now. Best time of my life, isn’t that sad.”

  Harold’s thumb made its way to his mouth where he worried at the tip with an incisor.

  “You know it’s funny,” Zork said, “Your government approached me with this deal to get some limited freedom and almost as soon as I started the program, those two started asking me a lot of questions.”

  “Questions?” Harold said around his thumb. He worried it a bit more, biting down just enough to puncture the skin with a delicious shock of pain.

  “Yep,” Zork said, “Stuff about Donald, what happens in group, where members go when they leave. That sort of thing.”

  They spent a few moments in silence. Zork drinking coffee and Harold sucking on his thumb.

  “Did you know?”

  “Know what?” Zork asked.

  Harold pulled his thumb from his mouth and started eyeing an index finger. “What happens on graduation?”

  “It’s a mystery to me. Donald probably gives out a certificate, has them sign some paperwork and off they go.” Zork stared into the middle distance with that same resigned air as before.

  He visibly shook himself. “Anyway, how’s your girl?” Zork asked. “Sort out that little ’I don’t eat food’ thing with her?”

  Harold smiled. Last time he spoke with Maria he’d told her about the feds and before that, having to live at the halfway house. Things were rough, but what else was new.

  “Not exactly,” Harold replied, “She’s actually been pouting over the fact that I have to stay at the house.”

  Zork’s eyes leered at Harold. “Home fires getting cold?”

  “No,” he said quickly, “Don’t get any ideas. I’ve noticed that you’ve noticed her.”

  Zork blew on already cold coffee as movement in their peripheral vision made both creatures blink.

  “Time to go,” said Agent Bergstrom.

  “Eh,” Zork’s stalks swiveled towards the two feds towering over their table, “haven’t finished my coffee yet.”

  “Now.”

  “No,” Zork muttered, stalks cast downward at the table.

  “Now, now, you know what happens when you get rowdy in public. Bad behavior,” he lightly patted something bulky under the front of his jacket, “get the net. Good behavior, get the pie.” He gestured to the empty pie plate on the table. “We can’t have you running around with the local citizenry, even if it’s just a cowardly vamp.”

  Harold didn’t like the way that last remark sounded. He sat up straighter, pressing his hands on the linoleum table and forcing calm into his stomach. Watching Zork this evening, a tiny sliver of pity started to wend its way into Harold’s gut. It felt sharp and unnatural, perfectly similar to the feeling he normally got when out hunting for his next meal. What did that mean?

  “Shut up and gulp it down,” Potts said in a cajoling tone, letting Harold know just how much the creature dressed in Gee man’s clothes enjoyed his bit of business. He grinned wider than usual, if possible, making his jowls divide into two sets of four grinning rolls of flesh.

  The other people in the small diner were getting curious. They turned to look. The waitress hovered at the corner of the counter with her pot of coffee tilted in hand, close to spilling. Even the cook in the back grill had stopped from his never ending stream of orders to stare over the kitchen bar on folded arms.

  Just when Harold thought he’d begin shaking uncontrollably in the presence of these two, Zork downed its coffee and slammed it on the table.

  “Let’s go then,” Zork said, sliding down to the floor. They followed the creature out, Bergstrom stopping at the cashier to pay for their meal.

  Harold leaned back and tried to look unobtrusive. Zork drew way too much attention wherever it went.

  He rubbed his eyes and tried not to think about a three foot slug, or a drugged vampire or a coworker with gambling problems or a lifetime of hurting people. Things were coming to a head. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this situation was bad for any vamp, young or old. The easiest option still seemed to cut and run. Harold had some money stashed away and a fake ID put aside. Not a lot. Contrary to public opinion, all vampires did not accrue vast sums of wealth over the years. There were expenses, of course, and appearances to keep up. He had to pay for an apartment, clothing, education to keep up with the changing world. Not to mention buying food to look like a normal human. At least with Maria around it didn’t go bad in the fridge.

  He could go someplace isolated, where those such as he had an easier time of it. Where there weren’t so many reasons to keep your guard up.

  He was tired of hiding. Tired of the need to lie, the need to show different faces to the world. So many years running, hiding, living amongst these people.

  Why didn’t he just leave? Lit out while he still could and leave all this craziness to the crazy people who ran it. He’d heard of people like him living outside the country, certainly living in a more relaxed atmosphere amongst the old world traditions and superstitions of Europe. Maybe he could go to Denmark, and blend in on the red light district. That’d be cool. He could sell hotdogs on the street corner for 20 kroner a pop and scout out potential meals himself. Surely, no one would miss the occasional tourist.

  Harold could easily see it now. A quick night flight in the cargo hold of a local jet, just to ensure he didn’t get exposed to any sunlight. Slip out in the dead of night. Pick up a few local IDs, exchange his American dollar for the local kronor and get a room above a sex den. A few decades and he’d blend in like a local.

  Though, he’d spent so much effort getting his place here set up. Effort threatened by a few stupid mistakes, stupid lazy mistakes. Oh god, what was he thinking. He didn’t have the brains to outwit an entire government equipped with endless amounts of manpower, cash and time. He probably wouldn’t even be able to keep his job at the hospital. They’d figure out he was taking the blood.

  Harold wanted to run his fist through the nearest wall and generally tear himself up. Things were getting too damn complicated. He couldn’t keep the threads of his world separate anymore.

  Harold got out of the diner and drove home in a self-absorbed stupor, not bothering to change or wash up before falling into bed beside a sleeping Maria. Her warmth, her blood pumping through her body made a familiar lullaby for him. As crazy as it was to bring his food and sex so close together, there was something to be said for the nutritive quality of their relationship. He was fucking sick and Maria had ways of making him feel complete.

  She made him feel real, not just the pitiful shadow of a human male he felt like on most days, cause let’s face it, being a vampire was not all it’s cracked up to be. He didn’t instantly gain charm, wit and the ability to pull in victims like flies to honey once a vampire had sunk his teeth into Harold’s neck. In fact, it made it harder to get a date and most he did attract were rabid freaks that got off on the
idea of him draining them of their life’s blood. The idea never really got him off. It’s a bit like screwing the steak you intend on grilling later. Not as appealing as it sounds.

  Harold traced the ruffled silk sleeve of her nightgown. Soft and smooth, feminine, and sleeping in his bed, even knowing who and what he really was after dark. Maybe a good enough reason to stick around a bit longer. Nothing like love to set a man straight, he thought and pressed a cool kiss against her warm lips. The chill slid through her body. Maria mumbled in her sleep, pulling away from him.

  Chapter Eight

  The next evening, Harold received an unexpected visitor at home. Company was becoming a rather bad habit. The rapid light banging on his door roused Harold from his deep restorative slumber. Maria already up and gone for the day, several hours gone, and his bed felt empty and cold. He fought his way past the blankets and spilled out of bed, pulling his still stained clothes around himself as he went downstairs to get whoever was on the other side of the door to stop the god forsaken pounding. It was still early for fuck’s sake, and the sun still lingered on the western edge of the sky. The light streamed in through the cracks in the downstairs curtains.

  Harold jumped around the cracks of light and positioned himself carefully behind the door. He opened it a crack so the light angled in towards the living room and away from himself and called to see who was on the other side.

  “Hello Mr. Blank.”

  Harold groaned at the cheery, but oh so efficient voice.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time.”

  “Err, Ms. Orlen now’s not the best time. I was trying to catch some sleep before work, you see.” Harold let the sentence trail off as usually served well enough to get the message across to anyone crazy enough to try and roust him out of bed at this time of day.

  It didn’t seem to work for Orlen though. “Oh alright. I’ll just take a moment of your time,” she said, while she moved with surprising strength to push open the door enough to slip through the crack. Small thing that she was, and damned persistent. Harold quickly closed the door behind her to shut out the glaring light. Orlen darted into the living room, head up, eyes taking in the darkened state of the apartment and general air of crappiness Harold strived for in his living conditions. She turned those owlish eyes on Harold and he felt very shabby for it. He shucked off his bloodstained trench coat and tossed it on the stairs, muttering to himself about a bad morning.