by Jon Athan
Daisy sighed and nodded—you're right, of course. She pulled Lucas' head back over the backrest. She watched as his eyelids flickered. She pulled on his jaw and opened his mouth.
Christopher gasped and Kiara screamed as a thick blob of blood and saliva spilled out of Lucas' mouth. The slimy mixture of dark blood and saliva landed on his chest, then it rolled down to his lap. His tongue had been cut off and several of his teeth were violently removed. His gums were mutilated, mushy and bloody. His entire mouth was painted red with blood.
Nina stared at her boyfriend, eyes dilated with fear. She couldn't believe it. It felt like a scene from a horror movie. Is it real or fake? Is this all just one big movie?–she thought. The situation was jarring. It addled her brain, it broke her heart. She watched as Daisy dumped some stew and meat into Lucas' mouth.
Lucas coughed and gagged, choking on the food. The stew, along with more blood, fell out of his mouth and landed on his lap. The young man barely stayed conscious.
Nina whispered, “What the hell is wrong with all of you? You... You're killing us.”
Daisy returned to her seat. She placed a napkin on her lap, then she began eating.
Micah knocked on the table and said, “Now that you've tried my wife's cooking... How'd you like it? You heard it yourself, Chris: Daisy always gets her hands on the finest meats in town. Did you enjoy it?”
Christopher scowled and said, “Don't call me 'Chris,' you bastard. We're not friends. We can never be friends. You shot me! You... Damn it, look at what you did to my girlfriend!” He glared at Daisy, breathing deeply through his nose. He said, “The food tasted like shit. Fuck you and fuck him.”
Micah responded, “I'm trying to be a good guy here. I welcomed you to my home, I put food in your mouths... Daisy didn't do anything to deserve your hatred.”
“She helped him,” Kiara said. “Chris, he... he handcuffed me and tortured me, and she didn't even try to stop him. They're evil. They're so evil!”
Christopher said, “I know, I know. There's another one around here, too. She's a fucking monster.”
“They tried to collect my saliva—my fucking saliva!”
“They're insane. We have to–”
Micah slammed his fist on the table. The silverware clinked and the stew rippled with the blow. The room became quiet.
The sheriff said, “You should be ashamed of yourselves. Daisy and Esther worked for hours preparing this meat. They hacked and sawed all morning to cook your little friends, and you can't even show a little gratitude?”
Christopher furrowed his brow and asked, “What did you just say? Lit–Little... friends?”
“James and Carlos. I believe those were their names anyway.”
Christopher stared down at the stew and stuttered, “You–You co–cooked our friends? You... You fed us our friends?”
With a deadpan expression, Micah responded, “Yes.”
The guests gagged and cried. Kiara retched and tried to force herself to vomit, but to no avail. Christopher, on the other hand, vomited with ease. Nina blankly stared at her bowl of stew, struggling to think clearly. Lucas didn't say a word.
Daisy shook her head and said, “Settle down. Please, settle down. He's lying to you. He's lying.” The guests, except for Lucas, glanced over at her. Daisy clarified, “It was pork. It's the best pork shoulder I could get my hands on.”
Christopher and Kiara glanced over at each other, baffled by the confession. Nina stared down at the stew. Pork, she thought.
Before they could sigh in relief, Daisy frowned and said, “We... We used some of your friends' blood for the stew, though. I... I don't know if Micah added anything else, but I used pork. I swear.”
Micah cackled as his guests gagged and retched again. He said, “Daisy, I don't think they appreciate your honesty. Please, go into the kitchen and bring my special drink.”
Daisy sighed in disappointment. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin, then she walked into the kitchen. The sound of plates and cups clinking emerged. After thirty seconds, the housewife returned to the dining room with a glass milk bottle filled with a gooey liquid. She placed the cold bottle on the table in front of the sheriff, then she bowed.
Micah grabbed the bottle and said, “Thank you, darling.” He turned his attention to the table and said, “This is it. This is the last bottle of saliva. I could kill all of you now, but I thought I should have an audience for this. My father was a showman. He cared about our family, he worked for the people, but he had a bit of an ego. It never hurt anyone, though. I need to follow in his footsteps. I need to complete his mission. Ladies and gentlemen, you are now about to witness a prophecy come true.”
***
Micah stood from his seat. With the bottle in his hand, he slowly walked around the table. He walked past the dead tow truck driver and Lucas. He stopped behind Nina. He stared down at her, as if he were considering something. He shook his head and kept moving. He walked past the other couple, then he sat down beside Kiara.
The sheriff held the bottle under Kiara's mouth and nodded, as if to say: go on, drool for me. Kiara, fearing for her life, reluctantly drooled into the bottle.
Micah smiled and said, “Thank you for making this easy for us. I'll never forget you. You have my word on that.”
Micah pulled a switchblade out of his pocket. With the press of a button, a four-inch blade protruded from the handle.
Christopher hopped in his seat and shouted, “Stay away from her!”
Kiara cried, “Don't hurt me. I didn't want any of this to happen. Please, we... we were only supposed to watch a few movies. Please, I'm–”
Mid-sentence, Micah thrust the blade into the side of Kiara's neck. A stream of dark blood jetted from her neck, like oil from a blowout. The blood streamed down to her shoulder and chest. A bubbling sound seeped past her quivering lips. Blood frothed in her throat and foamed out of her mouth. Her jugular, which was punctured, appeared to be throbbing.
Kiara convulsed on the chair, but the rope kept her seated. Her eyes rolled as she choked on her own blood. She couldn't speak or scream. One sentence echoed through her mind: Christopher, I love you.
The sheriff pulled the blade out, causing more blood to squirt out of her neck, then he stabbed her again. The blade penetrated the center of her throat. He wiggled the blade to maximize the pain and widen the wound, then he pulled the knife out. He tossed the switchblade on the table, then he wiped his hands with Kiara's napkin.
With the chair bound to him, Christopher hopped closer to his girlfriend. He cried, “Kiara, look at me. Baby, I love you. You hear me? I love you. I'm so sorry, Kiara. Please don't die. Don't leave me...”
He grimaced and whimpered. He could see it in her eyes—the hollow look of death. His girlfriend passed away.
Christopher said, “You psycho... How could you do this? Why did you kill her? Why?!”
Micah grabbed his bottle of saliva and walked back to his seat. He said, “You weren't around when I told them about my father. Long story short: in a dream—more like a vision, really—my father told me to drink the saliva of forty women to become immortal. To be exact, it's the saliva of forty dead women. This is Kiara's saliva. She's dead, so now it's worthy of my consumption.”
Still disoriented and befuddled because of the drugs in her system, Nina said, “You're just crazy... This... This is all insane. What is happening?”
Micah nodded at Nina and said, “I would have killed you, too, but that's not necessary. I only need forty, not forty-one. Like I said, this wasn't personal. Now, I think it's time to finish my father's request.”
Micah tossed his head back and chugged the saliva. His Adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed the cold drool. The slimy saliva tasted a bit salty, but he didn't stop drinking. He breathed through his nose, refusing to stop until he consumed all sixteen ounces.
Christopher and Nina watched in disbelief. They shook their heads and sneered in disgust. The man was actually drinking a dead woman's
saliva.
Ahh—Micah loudly exhaled as he finished the drink, as if he had just quenched his thirst with an icy soda. He placed the bottle on the table and leaned forward. He raised his hands and stared at his palms, then he glanced at his arms. He expected a massive change, but it didn't happen. He didn't feel different, either. He cracked a nervous smile.
Time, he thought, I need to wait a little, right? A minute quickly turned into two and he still remained the same—a big disappointment. A broken breath escaped his lips and the side of his mouth twitched. His hands trembled uncontrollably. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't form a single word. He babbled, spewing dribble out of his mouth like a baby.
The sheriff glanced around the dining room with wide, zany eyes. He looked as if he were about to cry, rosy-cheeked. All eyes were on him and it was humiliating.
Christopher and Nina stared at him—angry, disgusted, frightened. Daisy held her hand over her brow and frowned, blatantly disappointed.
Micah stuttered, “Th–This is wrong. Something... Something's not right. I did what I was supposed to do. What happened? Why... Why didn't it work, goddammit?!”
The sheriff threw the bottle at the wall beside Daisy. Daisy winced and cowered as the bottle shattered into a dozen pieces. He raised his bowl over his head, spilling some stew on his hair and shirt, then he flung the bowl at the floor. The chunks of meat rode the blood-red wave of stew across the floorboards.
Nina watched his tantrum, eyes wide with fear. The sheriff was calm throughout most of the day, so she was surprised by his actions. From her drug-induced perspective, his movements also appeared slow and distorted. She could see every ripple on his loose shirt. His screaming sounded slow and deep. The sound was muffled, as if she were listening to it from underwater.
Christopher seized the opportunity. While the sheriff was distracted, he scooted forward with the seat attached to him and grabbed the switchblade. He was saddened by the blood on the knife—the blood of his long-time girlfriend—but he knew he had to escape in order to survive. Hiding his hands under the tablecloth, he sawed into the rope around his wrist.
Micah screamed as he threw another bowl on the floor. He grabbed the bowl in front of Kiara, then he hurled that bowl at the floor, too. A puddle of stew and meat formed next to the table. Like a wave at shore, the puddle rippled as the liquid flowed under the table.
Daisy cried, “Micah, please stop. It's okay. It's alright. Don't do this. Just let us–”
“I did what I was told!” the sheriff yelled. “I drank their saliva for years! It's not fair!”
As the tantrum continued, Christopher cut through the rope around his wrist and freed his arm. He passed the knife to Nina.
He whispered, “Hey, look at me. Nina, look at me. You have to cut yourself free. Now.”
Nina rapidly blinked as she nodded in agreement. She struggled to understand the severity of the situation, but she knew she had to escape.
As Nina cut her restraints, Christopher inconspicuously untied the rope around the rest of his body. He glanced over at Kiara and sobbed. Blood still leaked from Kiara's throat. The sight tormented him.
As he grabbed the tablecloth, Micah shouted, “He lied to me!”
He pulled the tablecloth off of the table, dragging all of the bowls and silverware with it. The sound of ceramic plates shattering and spoons clinking exploded in the room and echoed through the house. Stew, meat, broken dishes, and silverware covered the floor.
The sheriff stopped himself as he grabbed the edge of the table. He scowled as he spotted the knife in Nina's hands as well as the sliced rope.
He shouted, “Esther! Esther! Get your ass up here! We're killing these bastards!”
As the sheriff drew his revolver, Christopher exerted all of his energy and lifted the heavy table at an angle. The slanted table blocked the sheriff's view of Nina. Still, Micah pulled the trigger and fired one round through the table. Nina shrieked as the bullet struck the floor beside her, missing her by a foot. Daisy held her hands over her ears and retreated into the kitchen.
“Fuck you!” Christopher barked.
Sweat streaming across his neck and brow, he turned the table onto its side and pushed it towards the sheriff. He stumbled through the room, slipping due to the stew and meat on the floor. The bullet wound on his leg, which still bled, didn't help him. He fought through the pain, though.
As soon as she cut her last restraint, Nina rushed forward and helped him. Her broken leg caused her to stagger, but she was able to stay on her feet. On its side, they carried the table and pushed it towards the sheriff, as if it were a large shield. They tried to throw it over Micah. Instead, the table became stuck between the parallel walls to their left and right, trapping the sheriff in a corner.
Micah stood on his tiptoes and stared over the table. He slinked left-and-right, trying to keep track of his defiant guests. He fired another round through the table. The bullet whooshed past the survivors.
Christopher threw Nina's arm over his shoulder and said, “We have to get out of here.”
The pair hobbled towards the door, then they stopped. Over Micah's screaming, a clunking mechanical sound seeped into the room. The sound grew louder with each passing second. Nina loudly swallowed the lump in her throat as she struggled to identify the noise amidst the chaos. Christopher recognized the sound, though.
The young man whispered, “Oh, shit...”
Christopher and Nina staggered back as the door burst open. Esther entered the dining room, a chainsaw raised over her head. The chainsaw easily ripped through the top of the doorway as she ran into the dining room. She teetered as her bare feet slid on the puddle of stew. Still, she managed to swing the chainsaw down at Lucas.
Nina screamed, “No!”
The chainsaw tore straight down the center of Lucas' head, vertically down the middle. Lucas violently trembled on the chair, but the rope limited his movements. The chair wobbled left and right, creaking and groaning.
The chainsaw tore past the space between his eyes, then it came to a grinding halt as it reached the tip of his nose. His head was nearly split in half—vertically. Blood cascaded across his entire head and streamed down to his torso. The blood also rained onto Christopher and Nina, who stood near Lucas' chair.
Lucas' eyelids flickered and his eyes rolled. Hissing and snorting sounds emerged from his nose, too, but he wasn't breathing. His brain was visible through the massive gash on his head. Shattered bits of his skull, like shards of glass, were trapped in his skin.
The survivors were shocked by the attack. They had never seen anything like it before—not in movies and definitely not in documentaries. Nina couldn't help but sob. What did they do to you, Lucas? Why would they do something like this?–she thought. Senseless acts of violence rarely spawned rational answers, though.
From behind the table, Micah shouted, “Get them, too!”
The sheriff would have shot them himself, but the potential crossfire was dangerous. He didn't want to shoot Esther after all.
Esther placed her wet foot on Lucas' thigh, then she tugged on the chainsaw. The heavy tool was jammed in his skull, choking on blood and brains.
Christopher said, “We have to go.”
He wrapped his arm around Nina's waist, helping her keep her footing. The couple cried as they limped past Esther and Lucas, saddened by the death and terrified by the violence. They walked through the doorway and headed down the hall.
As Esther took two steps towards the door, ready to give chase, Micah shouted, “No! You need a weapon! Get the damn chainsaw or go to your room and get something else!”
Esther dug her fingers into her hair and shook her head, frustrated and confused. She cried as she ran back to her chainsaw. Micah tackled the jammed table, trying to push himself out of the corner.
As he tried climbing over the table, he shouted, “And give me a hand over here!”
Chapter Sixteen
Escape from the Wakefield House
>
Bouncing from wall-to-wall, Christopher and Nina hobbled towards the front door. Nina barely recognized the dimly-lit house, but Christopher knew it well. He couldn't forget James' violent death. They limped past the door under the staircase, they stumbled past the living room archway and library doors, then they burst through the screen door.
A cool breeze caressed their moist bodies, a rush of fresh air filled their tired lungs. Insects chirped, branches groaned, and bushes rustled in the pasture. A wave of darkness swallowed the desolate area with the sun's departure. Only the moon and the stars illuminated the Wakefield house on that clear night.
Nina's eyes widened as she spotted the cop car to her right. She grabbed the handrail and limped down the porch steps. She hoped to escape using the same car that brought her to the house. Christopher focused on the tow truck parked next to the police cruiser. He stumbled down the steps, grunting and groaning due to the pain reverberating from his shot leg. He limped his way to the truck.
As soon as she opened the passenger door, Nina wrinkled her nose and turned away. The smell of ether stained the back seat. She leaned on the door, shifting her weight away from her broken leg, then she peeked into the car. To her dismay, the keys were nowhere in sight. He still has them, she thought, I can't escape this place.
As he limped towards the front of the tow truck, Christopher beckoned to Nina and said, “Come here. I have a–a plan.”
Visibly disoriented, Nina teetered closer to the truck. She said, “The cop car. We have to take the cop car.”
“No. I came here in this truck. We need to get Dylan's keys.”
“Who the hell is Dylan?!”
“He drove me here in this tow truck. He was in the dining room with us. He was... He was the dead one. We have to sneak back in there and get his keys, then we can drive out of here.”
Nina grabbed a fistful of her hair and cried, “No! I can't... I can't go back! Please, don't make me go back in there. I'm begging you. Let's just–”
Nina's eyes widened and she stopped speaking. Christopher's eyes widened, too. Fear emerged in their eyes. The sound of a roaring chainsaw echoed from the house. The pieces were easy to link: Esther retrieved her chainsaw and she was ready to kill.