Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor

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Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor Page 21

by HC Hammond


  Right about now, if Harold’s sense of time were on the mark, it should be getting on towards mid-afternoon of the next day, but he wasn’t certain. Time slipped away from him twice while he slept. No windows in this lab. A mixed blessing since Harold was pretty sure Donald would leave the blinds open just to torture him. Yet, he couldn’t exactly see outside. No clocks on the walls and Harold didn’t really have a need for a wristwatch. Didn’t appear that Rufus managed to keep hold of his wrist watch while answering the call of nature either.

  Harold checked the arrow in his coat sleeve. It might come in useful later, against Donald or the werewolf should Harold start looking like a good meal instead of a cellmate. Cradling newly wounded hands against his chest, Harold did the only thing he could, he dozed off.

  While it seemed impossible to get to sleep again in such a miserable state, Harold slipped down into the nether realm of dreams, his subconscious mind only slightly aware of the snuffling movements of the werewolf and the bright, florescent lights.

  This time he dreamt of the soothing orbed casino lights and tinny cha-ching of slots. Orlen’s silhouetted body danced towards him swaying in rhythm to the background noises. Those lovely orbs darkened to bright red and broke apart, scattering around Orlen with dizzying orbits. Familiar annoying ants pinched at his irritated skin and Harold remained locked in place on the floor, curled into his fetal position. Oh he’d love to rip her apart… but that would make him such a naughty boy, TUT, Tut, Harold. Orlen leaned forward over him, exposing throat and all for him while she stared through pitch black eyes. Harold, you naughty boy, where were you, where are you Harold? We had a deal Harold. Her fiery red lights rushed at him, buzzing around his flesh.

  Come and get me you bitch. But oh, so naughty, and she tutted him more. Where are you Harold? Naughty boy, where are you? She came closer. Her perfectly made up face was a dry, cracked landscape of peeling, edges and between those edges flowed rivers of darkness, round black beetles with red-dotted eyes.

  Harold, Harold, she whispered without opening her mouth... Shut it, he snarled. You want me. Come to Phenochem. She smiled and the dry landscape of her face crumbled away, spilling loose the darkness and millions of tiny beetles ran over Harold’s body covering him, eating him away with their tiny mandibles.

  He came too with a scream, writhing and twisting to get the insects off and then he remembered and looked around the yellow-white light of the laboratory cell. Rufus was back to himself, or a semblance of it and sitting propped into a corner.

  “Oiy, whatcha doing?” He barked good-naturedly. While Harold slept, Rufus transformed. He’d torn strips of fabric from his already ripped pants and wrapped them around his hands. Shaggy, dirty and bleeding from his rough worn palms, the wolf man seemed surprisingly calm about his current predicament.

  Still swiping his hands across his chest for imaginary beetles, Harold nodded absently. He realized that his chains were gone. He glanced out into the laboratory and saw it as empty as before. Donald must have removed them while he slept and headed back out again. His hands and arms were peeling skin, but healing and the flesh didn’t sting anymore. His back was still pretty stiff though and his hunger had settled into the dull ache of his stomach while he dozed. Harold slid down the wall to plop on the floor.

  “Hey,” Rufus barked again, “you got anything to eat? I think I smell bacon.”

  Harold looked at the wolf man. He might have to use the silver-tipped arrow sooner than he thought.

  “I don’t have any food.”

  “Oh,” the wolf man sniffed the air disappointedly, “Maybe Donald will bring something to eat when he comes back. I’m famished.” He finished by licking his lips eagerly.

  “I’m not going to eat anything that bastard brings.”

  “Why not?” Rufus asked.

  “Poison, drugs, experimental treatments, spit,” Harold said, “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  Rufus tilted his head at Harold, looking almost comical in his befuddlement, if it weren’t for the topic of conversation.

  “Donald wants to make us better.”

  “You still think that,” Harold laughed, “We’re locked up in a cell. Donald hunted you down and, and… that’s not even the half of it.” He sighed. It was getting difficult to form coherent thoughts with his body running out of energy and his mouth running out of spit. He crawled over to the small sink beside an equally small toilet and drank from the faucet for a long time. He could at least pretend his shrunken stomach was filled with blood. He did feel better with a full gullet.

  Harold drained his bladder while he had the chance. There wasn’t exactly a lot of privacy around here and it felt weird with the wolf in the room, but he’d had to pee for hours or days… Business taken care of, Harold headed to the cell door. He could feel the wolf man watching him and he ignored the creature. Next time Donald would come after Harold and he personally did not want to experience whatever the man had in store.

  Donald’s nifty full spectrum lighting saved him last time, but if Harold could somehow break the bulbs or get into the ceiling maybe he could rush Donald when he came into the cell. Harold looked up with hands on his hips, the ceiling was at least ten foot high and Harold had yet to figure out flight.

  “Hey Wolfie,” Harold called, "Get your hairy butt over here.” The wolf looked up from the nails he busily cleaned with his teeth. Or was he cleaning out his teeth with those extra-long nails?

  “What?”

  Harold gestured to the ceiling. “I need a boost.” He sighed, “If you don’t mind.”

  The wolf scrambled up, but approached warily, glancing between Harold and the ceiling. He shook his head, “You shouldn’t be messing around in here.”

  “Oh come on man,” Harold said, “Do you know what Donald has in mind for me?” He stalked over to the window and pointed at the gleaming metal chamber across the lab. “That’s for me if I don’t get out of here.”

  The wolf man still looked unconvinced. Of all the stupid wolf traits, this one was loyal even in the face of death.

  “If Donald decides he can’t fix you, you’ll end up there too,” Harold said, “Do you want to die?”

  “Of course not,” the wolf man said. He looked indignant now. “I have a problem, but I’m not suicidal.”

  Smartest thing you’ve said today, Harold thought. Although the wolf’s choices in friends didn’t exactly support this guy’s statement. Harold gestured for a boost up and this time Rufus complied, hoisting Harold up with a hand sling. Whew boy. The wolfman’s hygiene left something to be lacking up close. Harold let him know too, but Rufus only said he hadn’t a chance to get to a shower in the past week or so.

  Several rows of bulbs lit the room, the standard fluorescent were on and those not on were the full spectrum lights. The bulbs alternated between fluorescent and full spectrum. This double-lighting system ran above the entire cell. Harold could only assume the control panel outside allowed Donald to choose which of the lights were on at any point in time and in any part of the holding cell. Harold touched one of the recessed light bulbs. A plastic disc held in place by a heavy metal ring covered each socket. Harold tried prying the ring loose, but no go. The plastic covering didn’t look too strong.

  He braced himself with one hand on the ceiling and yelled at Rufus to stop moving around, then pressed his thumb upwards against the plastic. It gave a little. He pressed harder until it snapped inwards. He pulled out the shards, letting them fall to the floor.

  “Watch it,” Rufus muttered, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Harold reached into tap the bulb with his fingers. It didn’t turn on, nothing burned him, nor did it burn to touch the thing. Guess Donald didn’t think any of his guests would try to disable the lighting system.

  “Donald uses full spectrum lighting to keep us from rushing the door.” Harold muttered as he gently unscrewed the bulb. “I’m fixing it so they won’t turn on next time he drops by.”

  “Success
,” Harold said, pulling the bulb from its home. He jumped down from Rufus’ grasp and presented the light bulb. Rufus frowned at it.

  “You’re just trying to get out of here right?” The wolf man asked. “I’m not going to help you hurt him.” Emotions played across his face, he looked both concerned with widened brow and angry with up curled lips.

  Harold wanted to point out Donald was trying to hurt Rufus and would continue to do so, even if he chose not to hurt back, but he still needed the wolf man’s help.

  “I just want to get out of here,” Harold said, “We’ll rush the door, push Donald in here and lock him in.” Harold laid the light bulb in the corner behind the door where it wouldn’t be seen by Donald.

  “After I leave you can do whatever you like,” Harold said, “kill him, eat him, head out on your own, let Donald go, whatever, but let me get a good head start.”

  The wolf man regarded him with serious brown eyes.

  “Alright sure.” The wolf held out a grimy, bandaged hand for Harold to shake.

  He felt inclined to refuse the dirty paw, but this was a long way from their first meeting in the warehouse. If Harold kept up the camaraderie, the wolf just might opt for self-preservation next time he met up with Donald. Perhaps there was hope for Rufus yet.

  They looked up at the remaining lights. “How many of these are we going to unscrew?” Rufus asked.

  Harold laughed. They’d need to repeat the procedure another dozen or so times, just to be certain the lights wouldn’t block their path of attack. Although, they did have the time on hand.

  The two of them moved slowly through the rest of the task. Both were injured and tired, and all this up and down stuff exacerbated Harold’s lightheadedness, not to mention Rufus’ hands. Halfway through his hands started bleeding again and Harold was hungry enough to consider it and Rufus certainly grumbled enough to make him want to do it.

  They collected fourteen bulbs in the end, each placed carefully against the wall by the door where they wouldn’t be seen by Donald when he came in. Harold and Rufus pushed the broken shards of plastic into the corner, cleaning up as well as they could. It looked at first sight, like everything was in place. Unless Donald stood at the far end of the glass window or glanced up at the ceiling, he wouldn’t get a glimpse of the mess.

  Task completed, each retired to their personal corners of the cell to wait Donald’s next move. It was a slow couple of hours. Harold mulled over his recent behavior and relationship with Maria. Did he really keep her out as she had said? They hadn’t spoken much in the past few months. Harold felt like he’d been pulled every which way but up in the past couple of months. Nearly one hundred years of successfully living a quiet, although bloody, life as a vampire and suddenly everyone wants a piece of him. Been on the job a few years. Been in the same city for his whole life and he knew or thought he knew all of its streets and secrets. He’d barely lived past the normal human lifespan and was already bored to death. All that familiarity got to a guy after a while, made him a little careless, especially when he didn’t have any new challenges.

  So, maybe Harold created his own challenges by getting sloppy on the job. Letting on to others what he did most nights and even getting caught in the act.

  On some level he must have wanted a change, to break free of the old rut. He wanted the challenge. Well, he sure as hell got it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Donald rolled into the lab on a high. He looked refreshed. He looked happy. He looked to Harold and Rufus trapped as usual in their shared cell and called out a hello, to which Rufus actually smiled and waved.

  Harold scooted into a kneeling posture on the balls of his feet, watching Donald move deeper into the lab. The silver tipped arrow protruding slightly from his left sleeve with his strip of clothing pulled away and hand carefully shielding the arrow from view.

  Rufus got up too, but into more of a wriggly glad to see you position. He’d completely forgotten their earlier conversation about electric chambers and watery demises. Harold might be on his own with this escape attempt or on the defense from two sides instead of one.

  “I’m so glad to see the two of you are still alive.” Donald wandered over to stand in front of the cell. Hands in his trouser pockets and knitted cardigan on over a button up, he could have been a version of Mr. Rogers, from the dark side of the neighborhood.

  “Sorry,” Harold said, “We didn’t feel up to biting each other’s head off today.”

  Donald made a face at Harold and turned to Rufus to greet him in an equally inane way. The wolf man stood up, using the walls for support, talking happily with the man.

  Harold just wished he’d get it over with and open the door for that promised interrogation.

  “Hey,” he called, “why don't you feed us something. I’ve been waiting for a table for days here.”

  The remark had the effect of drawing Donald’s attention, which Harold wasn’t so sure was a good thing. Donald grinned at Harold for a very long time before turning away from the window and moving out of view.

  Rufus eased closer to the window, rubbing the palms of his hands on torn, dirty pants and licking his lips. “Do you think he’s going to get us something to eat?”

  “No.”

  “I haven’t eaten since last night.”

  “Really,” Harold muttered. More recently than he’d eaten at any rate. “What’d you have?”

  “I think it was a banker,” the wolf man replied, “He was pretty rich.” Rufus was at the window now, nose pressed against the glass, fogging it up with his open mouth as he stared intently at whatever Donald was doing in the lab.

  They were going to be waiting around for a little longer. The balls of his feet hurt from kneeling on them so Harold shifted back into a seated position on the floor. He rewrapped the arrow and slid it back into his sleeve.

  The thought of a meal sounded really good right now. Harold found himself sizing up the werewolf. In human form, mostly anyway, he was weaker than a vampire, but Harold was already pretty weak from lack of food and his injured shoulder held him back. He didn’t know if he could really take down Rufus for a dinnertime snack. Heck, he didn’t know what could happen to him if he ate werewolf for dinner anyway. He was already infected with the same virus. It would really suck if he had to worry about his time of the month on top of not being able to go out during the daytime, not to mention it would severely curtail his productivity and confuse his diet. Would he eat flesh? Would he eat blood? Would he eat normal again?

  Werewolf blood might not have any effect on him. Or, it could completely cure the vampirism and make him into a werewolf. Which was better?

  Rufus excitedly called Harold over, tapping the glass and practically wagging a not as yet existent tail. “I think he’s actually getting food for us,” the wolf man said.

  It wasn’t likely, but Harold got up anyway. As he got to the glass, his mouth went dry and his fangs twanged. Sure enough, several bags of blood, real blood, not the fake artificial stuff lay on a counter next to where Donald was hunched over a mini fridge. Harold felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to actually try Rufus for dinner.

  Donald stood up with a couple packages of ground beef and saw them at the window like kids at the candy store. Right then Harold felt weak, and angry with himself for hoping Donald might throw a couple of pints his way.

  As Donald held up the ground beef and pointed at it for the wolf man beside him, Harold resolved not to be distracted by the food. Though, immediately the thought was overpowered by cruel hope for kindness.

  Harold grabbed the wolf man by the shoulder. “Don’t fall for it,” he hissed, “When he comes to the door it’s our chance to get out.”

  Rufus looked at him dumbly, drool slipping out of the corner of his mouth. Harold shook the wolf man back to reality and a small amount of recognition glinted in the his eyes. Rufus pulled out of his grasp, grumbling for the vamp to calm down he’d be all right when the time came, as long as the vampire didn’t t
ry to hurt Donald.

  The thing was, Harold found his eyes drawn back to the bags of blood on the table, he didn’t know if he’d be okay when the time came. They stood at the window watching Donald, with Donald knowing they were watching him as he dumped the meat into a big stainless steel dog bowl. A special bowl for Donald’s special class pet, at the very least that had to stick on wolfie’s craw, but one glance at the werewolf let Harold know he didn’t care what the meat came in as long as it came to him and soon judging from the rivulets of drool seeping out of the man’s mouth.

  Donald pulled out a vial of liquid and mixed it up in the meat with his bare hands. It was almost certainly a drug of some kind, sedative probably for the werewolf and he didn’t care that they watched him put it in. A hungry dog will eat about anything you know.

  A smug, self-satisfied smirk on his face, Donald cleaned raw meat from his hands at a small sink, drying them with a towel, he moved over to the blood. Donald tossed the towel aside and casually picked up a pint of blood. He also filled a syringe with the same clear liquid and cast a knowing look at Harold, just before jamming the pint of blood with the syringe and injecting it with the sedative. Harold’s lips curled back involuntarily. It was plain insulting. Yet, in all likelihood he’d pounce on the blood within hours of Donald tossing it at him.

  Donald repeated the act with all remaining pints of blood on the table, so there’d be no avoiding the drug if Harold wanted a snack. He wondered at what cost the snack would come if this didn’t work, with his luck it was a sedative and he would probably wake up in the chamber right as Donald flipped the switch.

  Donald slowly placed it all on a tray, arranging the bowl and violated blood before walking the tray to the window in front of the cell.

  “Dinner is served,” he said.

  “No thanks,” Harold muttered, turning away from the window, “changed my mind about the quality of service.”

  “Now Harold,” Donald said, “I went to special effort to prepare this meal. It’s O-negative, your favorite.”

 

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