Mind Hemorrhages: Dark Tales of Misery and Imagination

by Dane Hatchell

  Thoughts that she might have gone to tell the Reverend he was acting lewdly outside her window made him worry he might have acted hastily. He realized he needed to stop listening to the little head between his legs and forget about the girl. He needed to just take the money and run.

  Jim dried off and returned to his room, blew out the candle, and got in bed. Elisa never showed up, but thankfully neither did the Reverend. It was too early to put his plan in action, so he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  He awoke to crickets chirping and looked at his watch. It was after 2 AM. Time for him to make his move.

  After dressing and sneaking across the yard, he entered the kitchen through the back door. The old wooden floors creaked underneath his feet. Ever so slowly he moved, step by step, until he reached the corner, and stood on his toes to get the jar behind the ceramic rooster.

  The metal top scraped against glass as he twisted it off. The noise sounded ten times louder in the calmness of night. He resumed his task more slowly, until the lid came off in his hand. In all, he counted over eighty dollars in the jar. It was probably the life savings of the humble Reverend.

  Placing the jar back on the shelf, Jim was nearly to the door when he heard Elisa whisper his name.

  Jim froze in his tracks. His mind raced. He turned and saw her holding a candle a few feet away. “Oh. Hi, Elisa,” he said softly. “I . . . I couldn’t sleep. Came for a glass of milk to help.”

  She turned her head to the side. “I’ll get you one.”

  Seeing her voluptuous figure pressing against her nightgown made his little head influence his better judgment once again. “Say, get you one too, and we’ll have it outside under the stars.”

  After she poured the milk, he took her by the hand and led her out. Jim leaned close by Elisa’s side, letting her hand go, and then slipped an arm around her waist.

  “Are you happy here? Living with you Ma and Pa?” Jim asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be happy?” she asked.

  “Life on a farm can be hard. You ever get a hankering to go to a big city? Maybe you should go to Hollywood. You’re pretty. You could be a star,” Jim said.

  “Hollywood is sin city, my Pa says. Only a Jezebel would parade herself that way across the big screen.”

  Jim finished his milk, took Elisa’s glass from her hand, and set both on the ground. “Why don’t you come away with me? I ain’t going to Hollywood. I’m going down south to work. You could come with me. We could get married and have children.”

  “Pa says I can’t get married. He says I’m cursed, and that I’ve got to live out here on the farm for the rest of my days,” Elisa said, without emotion.

  “Cursed? Why the only curse I see is that he’s got you hoodwinked on staying here. You’re young and beautiful. You need to leave your parents, just like Adam and Eve’s kids left them. Be fruitful and multiply or something like that.”

  Elisa frowned. “You shouldn’t be talking such nonsense. That’s the Devil talking.”

  “The Devil talking? Why, I tell you what, I saw you looking at me when I was bathing out here. You liked what you saw. I know you did. I know women, and I know you want me.”

  Elisa took a step back. “Jim! What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  Jim stepped toward her and gazed intently. “I can see with my own two eyes what kind of girl you are. Now, why don’t you come on into my room? I can make you feel real good.”

  Elisa turned her head from one side, then the other. “Pa says, if thy eye offends you, pluck it out.” She reached in a pocket of her nightgown, and pulled out a kitchen knife.

  Jims face lit up in surprise. The moonlight reflected off the blade as she thrust it up under his left eye and into his brain.

  ***

  “What are you making there, Sweetheart?” the Reverend asked Elisa as she was working on a project at the kitchen table.

  “I’m making a jacket for my People-corn,” she said, tying a knot in the last stitch and biting it in two. “There. I’m finished.

  “People-corn, what’s that?” he asked.

  She got up from the table and went to the kitchen sink. An ear of corn lay on a towel next to it, a small pair of pants wrapped on the bottom end. With her back to her Pa, she put the jacket around the mid-section and straightened the clothing out. “There, it’s finished. What do you think? Ain’t he pretty?” She turned around and held the People-corn for him to see.

  Adorned to look like a miniature human, the ear of corn was complete with two of the bluest human eyes pinned to the top end, just under a tiny straw hat.

  The Reverend shook his head and said to himself, “I warned that boy.” Working the field would have to wait. He had another grave to dig behind the barn.

  The End

  Need

  Zelda had spent most of the first twenty years of her life alone. Not to mean that she was on an island somewhere void of human contact. She was alone in the world of normal.

  The world of normal walked in step to the same beat: fashions of the season, tunes on the radio, slang language of the day. Her ascent into puberty was a stairway straight into isolation. The girls around her changed, becoming creatures of beauty, passion, and mirth. While she stood on the outskirts of notoriety, hidden in plain sight as boys looked past her as if she weren’t even there.

  The four walls of her room became her refuge and the only friends she had were the books on the shelf. She filled the emptiness inside with food. Anything in plastic wrap or a can would do. It was the void she needed to satisfy, not the palate.

  Her life came to a defining moment in the summer between high school and college when she took a stroll down one of the less traveled hiking paths at the state park.

  Zelda had been walking with her mind lost in a dull gray world of her creation, on a path at the bottom of small hill. She heard screams of agony from nearby and froze in mid-step. It almost sounded animal like and made the skin on the back of her neck tingle. As the cries of anguish faded, she distinctly heard, “Help me,” from a withering voice.

  Her sense of obligation won over her fears. She made the slow trek up the hill.

  A handsome boy near her age lay in the middle of a spray-painted pentagram. His clothes looked fairly new and clean. Not even a hair was out of place on his head. It was as if he had lain on his back to take a nap. An odd looking ceramic pitcher set to his left side and a small fire burning in a bowl to his right. A tattered leather bound book next to him was open to a page with yellow highlighted passages.

  Zelda could tell just by looking that he was dead. His body was no longer surrounded by the aura of life. She had never been around a dead body before and was surprised she wasn’t more afraid.

  The wind blew her hair across her face. She brushed it out of the way while gingerly stepping toward him. Once by his side, she knelt down between the book and his body.

  The wind kicked up again. The pages in the book flipped as if an unseen force rapidly turned them. She picked the book off of the ground and opened it where a thin red ribbon was sandwiched between the pages.

  The words looked familiar and foreign at the same time. Scanning them quickly, she guessed the writing was Latin. The passages highlighted in yellow intrigued her. She placed her index finger under the first word and began to read aloud, “atrum sol solis orior oriri ortus, incendia est frigus, orbis terrarum inter mihi nex, ortus est totus.

  The foul smell of sulfur bit at her nostrils. Acid welled in her throat. She became short of breath and forcefully inhaled to fill her lungs. A sense of power flooded through her body. It was as if her brain had been fractured all of her life and something inside was shoving everything into place.

  Zelda placed her hand on the boy’s left cheek. The coolness of his skin moved her in an unnatural way. Something unknown to her conscious mind drew her nearer to him. As their faces met, she realized it was the unique smell of death pulling her. With her face just inches from his, she closed her eyes and
breathed in slowly and deeply. She opened her eyes and marveled at the hue of his pale cheeks and red-blue lips. She felt her warm breath bounce off his cheek and back into her nostrils. It filled her with want and desire.

  She placed her lips softly on his and gave him a gentle kiss. Her eyes swelled with tears.

  She kissed him again. Harder this time. First on his lips, and then on his cheek. She then dragged her open mouth and tongue across his face until her face was sliding in wetness against his.

  Zelda bit his lower lip and severed it from his mouth. She chewed the lip slowly, letting the taste of his dead flesh roll over her tongue, savoring the texture and flavor of the raw meat.

  What she was doing was one of the greatest taboos in human society. But there was nothing in her mind telling her what she was doing was wrong. Nothing in her mind screaming that this was madness and to stop.

  She swallowed the lip and wiped the spittle from her chin with the back of her hand. Chewing through his cheek proved to be more difficult. Her teeth were unaccustomed to tearing through fresh meat. The cheek had a different texture than the lip, but it was equally as pleasing.

  Zelda fed until she could eat no more. Then, cleaned herself up as best as she could with tissues from her purse. Rationality returned, and she had fled the scene thinking that her life would forever be changed. For the better.

  ***

  The demon that had entered Zelda during that lazy summer afternoon was comfortably hidden in her subconscious. It relished the experience of inhabiting a host and to walk among the living again, and more importantly, feed on the dead.

  Drifting through the eons, the demon had witness the advancement of man. And much to its displeasure, the modern day burial practices had made feeding more difficult. No longer was its host able to raid a remote cemetery under the cover of darkness and pull from a shallow grave a tender, fetid corpse. Modern security and science with all its rank chemicals made its age old practice of eating cadavers a thing of the past. But its hunger still had to be satisfied.

  Zelda applied her eyeliner and finished with a coat of lip gloss on her pouty lips. When she looked in the mirror, it no longer reflected the unkempt, self-loathing societal reject of two years before. Her radical new diet and exercise regimen had brought out the hidden features of her natural beauty. Instead of attending college, Zelda enrolled in a nursing program that allowed her to work off hours in the hospital to support herself until she earned a degree.

  A lot of things had changed over the two years. The taste for testosterone rich meat gave way to that of estrogen. Her supply of meat from her last victim was gone. Tonight she hoped to rectify the situation. It was Saturday night and all the lesbian bars would be full of adventurous, loose women waiting to find solace in another’s gentle arms.

  Zelda slipped on a pair of her sexiest shoes and checked herself in the full-length mirror one last time. She wanted to look as desirable as she could. A ghoul’s gotta eat, you know.

  ***

  Zelda met Caroline on the dance floor. The blaring music in the dark bar with the rays of cascading colored lights dulled the senses. The alcohol didn’t hurt either. Zelda had been careful not to drink too much and had been nursing a mojito since she had arrived. She put on her most extroverted party face and danced alone, looking like an unattached carefree girl that was easy to meet.

  Caroline had danced her way toward Zelda. Despite the darkness, Zelda was mesmerized when Caroline looked at her with those large eyes through long lashes. Her full face was framed by high cheekbones and her wide mouth made her look . . . delicious.

  The two danced a few songs together until they were dancing close enough for their bodies to touch. The connection was made. Caroline took Zelda by the hand and led her to a table away from the distracting music on the dance floor.

  The two had spent almost an hour talking. They were on their second drink together, complements of Zelda. She had made the trips to the bar to get herself a mojito—minus the rum—and a drink for Caroline too. She added a little rohypnol she stole from the hospital to Caroline’s first drink.

  Zelda had been waiting for the eyelids on those large beautiful eyes of Caroline’s to droop. So far, she hadn’t shown any effects of the drug. Zelda would usually be driving her victim home by now and wondered if the drug was past its expiration date.

  The bar was packed with plenty of available women. Which made a petite, young blonde two table’s away stand out from the rest. She was alone, looking out of place. Zelda felt her staring at them with more than a common interest.

  “What is it with that girl over there,” Zelda tipped her head to her left.

  Caroline took a sip of her drink and darted her eyes in that direction. “Oh, I’ve seen her before. Her name is Rachel somethingorother. In the past, she and another couple of guys would protest in front of the bar carrying signs. Just a bunch of holy-rollers trying to stir up trouble. I’ve been seeing her come here alone recently. She doesn’t mingle, and she doesn’t drink. I think that she’s just confused about her own sexuality and doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

  Zelda smiled and took Caroline by the hand. “So, my lovely, do you think she’s stalking you?” Zelda let go of her hand. “Your hand is like ice.”

  “Sorry, I’ve been holding my mojito with that hand,” Caroline said, looking down at the table. She closed one eye and thought for a moment. “You know, I have been seeing that girl out a lot lately. Not just here. I thought it was just a coincidence, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe she is a stalker.”

  Zelda shot a stern glance at the blonde. “I don’t know, but she’s starting to creep me out.”

  “Then why don’t we go back to my place? I have locks on my door,” Caroline said, smiling.

  Zelda smiled back, everything but the drug kicking in was going to plan.

  ***

  Caroline parked her car in the garage, opened the car door for Zelda, and then the door into her house. “Won’t you please come in?”

  There was something in the tone of Caroline’s voice that made Zelda hesitate for a moment. Caroline’s expression beckoned her to enter. Zelda stepped over the threshold hurriedly, fearing she might be perceived as being rude.

  The door opened into the living room. It was tastefully decorated with dark wood and leather furniture. It gave Zelda the feeling of stepping back in time where old British men would go to sip after dinner drinks and smoke cigars.

  Zelda heard the jingle of keys and the mechanical sounds of lock cylinders turning and bolts sliding into place. There was something final in the way the locks clicked. A hollow sound as if a vault had been shut. Zelda started to feel vulnerable, unlike the predator she had learned to become.

  “What’s the matter, Zelda? You’re not having second thoughts are you?” Caroline said as she removed her shoes. She walked in bare feet slowly toward Zelda and held her with the embrace of her penetrating gaze.

  Zelda’s wide eyes softened as she relaxed. “No . . . .”

  Caroline kissed her gently. Zelda stood with her eyes closed and her mouth open as Caroline pulled away, and let her dress drop off her shoulders and then down to the floor. Dark makeup had hidden the true color of her skin. Her naked body was pale and lifeless. Zelda was in a trance and didn’t feel compelled to ask why.

  Caroline led Zelda into the bedroom and removed her clothing. The bed was covered in clear plastic. The plastic crinkled and pulled at Zelda’s skin as Caroline laid her down.

  “Here, let me go down on you first.” Caroline grinned evilly. Her canine teeth grew longer. She slid her face down to Zelda’s thighs and pulled them apart. Caroline placed her mouth between her legs and punctured a femoral artery. She drank deeply. Blood pulsed in to her mouth with each heartbeat.

  Three loud banging noises followed a crash from the rear of the house. Caroline was fixated on her primordial need to feed and reluctantly tore herself away from her nightly meal.

  Boots pounding wooden floors in
the hall sent Caroline springing up from bed. The light in the bedroom clicked on, and she was face to face with three intruders. All dressed in black military camouflage.

  Caroline gave them a hiss—showing her blood-stained fangs. Zelda awoke from her trance and cried out in surprise.

  Rachel, the blonde from the bar, followed two men. One of the men stepped away from the others and pointed a neon green plastic Super-Soaker water gun at Caroline and wet her down.

  She wiped the water from her face with her hand and crossed her arms. “Let me guess. Holy water, right? And you added garlic juice. Now that is some stinking ass shit.”

  The man with the Super-Soaker took a step back and turned to the other man behind him.

  “Look what you’ve done to my floors. This is real ebony wood. Do you have any idea how much it cost?”

  The man tossed the water gun aside and charged Caroline, with the other man following closely on his heels. Caroline brushed the rushing man away like he was an insect, slamming him against the wall. But the other man surprised her when he raised a short silver spear with a sharp wooden point on the end. He drove the spear into her chest and pinned her against the wall.

  “Are we too late? Has the girl been drained?” Rachel asked.

  “She looks alive. Go see about her. Looks like the vamp is still alive too,” the second man said. The spear had missed Caroline’s heart, entering too high. She was impaled against the wall.

  Rachel went to Zelda’s side. “That’s a nasty looking bite you have on your leg. Did she feed very long?”

  Zelda looked at her wound. “No . . . not long. I think.”

  “We had to be sure about her before we could break in. There’s a night vision camera set up outside that window,” Rachel said pointing. “When we saw the fangs come out we decided to go in. You’re safe now. Thanks to God’s grace you’re safe.” Rachel gathered Zelda’s clothes and handed them to her.