Hemophobia

“One for Boston Bathtub Slasher, Part Thirteen, please.” Marcus said it with only a hint of a quiver in his voice. He pushed his six dollars through the small slit at the bottom of the window to an old man with a nametag reading ‘Rusty.’

“Sure thing, sure thing.” The elderly cashier pushed his glasses back up his nose as he studied the collection of dollar bills and quarters, counting it with his lips moving silently, then opened his register to stash them away. He pulled a paper ticket from a roll and wrote on it carefully with a pen. “You’re one for those horror films, hmm? Never was that interested in ‘em myself; too much blood’n’guts, I guess, but hey, to each his own, I always say!” He handed the ticket to Marcus. “If you’re gonna be wanting any popcorn or such, you’ll have to tell me now.”

Marcus shook his head, a little queasy at the thought of actually eating anything, even popcorn with all that – that stuff being portrayed on the movie screen. One step at a time, he told himself. One step at a time, and maybe when this is over I can finally get some dinner.

“That’s fine, then,” Rusty said with a grin. “My girl usually runs the snacks, but she left for a date, so I’ve got to do it all myself. The wife helps out sometimes, but tonight she’s home with our son’s – that’s our oldest, my son – with his baby. You go right on in and get yourself a seat. I’ll get the movie started just’s soon as I close the front.” He looked beyond Marcus, peering across the deserted parking lot to assure himself that no one else was coming, then pulled a shutter across the window. “You go on in, now,” he called from behind the rickety wooden barricade. “I’ll be along soon as can be.”

Marcus studied the tiny slip of paper in his hand. Bos. Bth. Sl., it said in a neat, cramped handwriting. Admit One. Marcus wondered why the man had bothered. It wasn’t as if there were hordes of screaming moviegoers crowding the ticket booth. For that matter, the theater was only presenting one film, and it had been the same one all week. Only now was Marcus actually working up the nerve to go in and see it.

He glanced around the empty parking lot lit by a few randomly placed streetlamps, across the street to the darkened Super-Mart that was the only large grocery store for twelve miles, and down the road that went straight by the county courthouse in the middle of the town square. There was little traffic, and fewer pedestrians, and it was only nine o’clock on a muggy Thursday night. Marcus thought briefly about the difficulty of finding a meal after the movie with the streets so deserted. That train of thought naturally led him to thinking of all the stories he’d heard, of the chase –

Swooping down on some unsuspecting prey, leaping from a rooftop to bring them down - or better yet, slipping silently out from the shadows, laying a hand on their shoulder when they expect no one....

The attack –

Pulling the prey to you, stopping their struggles, pushing their head to the side to reveal the skin-covered joining between neck and shoulder....

And the feast –

Smoothly lowering your head, breaking the skin, searching out a vein, and being rewarded with a sudden spurt of –

Marcus stumbled backward, losing his balance at the very thought of the stuff. His head spun and he could hear a throbbing, a pounding in his ears. Very deliberately, he took deep, measured breaths in an attempt to get his body back under control.

“It’s okay,” he said aloud to reassure himself. “It’s o-o-kay. A lot of people get nervous at the sight of – of that. I just have to get used to thinking about it, that’s all, and everything will be okay.” That was why he was here, after all. His clan matriarch had made it very clear when they’d left him alone, in this town that was very nearly the middle of nowhere, that Marcus had to begin hunting like the rest or he could not expect to find a home with them any longer. This movie was what he liked to think of as a sort of… introduction. Maybe a “dry” run. He smirked at the thought. If he could just get used to the sight of… of….

“Blood!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, the sound echoing against the empty night. “I can’t stand to think of it!”

“That’s fine, sonny.” Marcus jumped at the unexpected voice. The ticket seller had crept up behind him so silently he hadn’t heard a thing. “Are you sure this is the movie for you, then?” Rusty continued.

Marcus took a last, deep, shuddering breath, and nodded.

“You’d best be getting inside, then, hadn’t you? I don’t mean to rush, but my wife is waitin’ for me at home, and I don’t much like to keep her waitin’ long if you know what I mean.”

Marcus followed the old man into the theater to find a seat for Boston Bathtub Slasher, Part Thirteen.

~ ~ ~

Rusty moved down the theater aisle with his flashlight in hand. The movie was still running, approaching yet another suspense-filled encounter between the frightened high school students and the masked serial killer, but Rusty was just a little worried about his only customer. It was hard to tell from up in the projection booth, but it didn’t seem as if that boy had moved at all during the last hour.

Rusty carefully picked his way along the row of seats, reaching the one Marcus had chosen. He poked the young man in the chest with the handle of the flashlight. “Hey. Hey, there. You alright?”

There was no response. Rusty turned the flashlight on and shined it around Marcus’ face, then waved a hand in front of his eyes. There was no mistaking it – he had fainted dead away.

Blood flowed across the movie screen as the masked killer found another victim. Rusty sighed and decided to let Marcus stay there until the movie was over. No sense in having him complain he hadn’t gotten his money’s worth, after all.

~ ~ ~

Marcus sat up woozily, his head throbbing. A look around him in the dim light revealed the reason his neck and back hurt so badly – apparently, he’d been laying across a couple of theater seats. He thought he could still feel where the armrest had been digging into his spine. He decided to take a minute and sit still until the rushing sounds in his ears subsided into a dull roar.

He felt disgusted with himself. He couldn’t even make it through a single movie. What would the matriarch say? Marcus could hear her high, snapping voice in his head, repeating the words he’d faced all his life….

Good for nothing.

The first time he’d realized he had this aversion to blood had been in his early school years. He had been practicing, along with the rest of his class, on small bags of dyed water until he could puncture them easily with his small fangs. Their teacher had decided that they’d done well enough to merit an in-class demonstration, and had brought in a small chicken to show how a live prey might behave.

Marcus still got queasy at the memory.

He’d managed to avoid being totally ostracized during most of their school years by being one of the best students in his class at silent stalking. He’d even won several intra-mural competitions, but had been disqualified in each for failing to complete the exercise by veining the prey. Eventually the team coach had brought him aside and asked him to take over as student assistant – a position that suited Marcus much better, as he was able to help other students with their training in stalking without ever having to bite a prey himself.

The clan’s matriarch, Elisabet, had never been as accepting of Marcus’ shortcomings, however. Even though his parents had argued that the community must move forward in time, and had, many times, reminded everyone within earshot that the bloodhunt was traditional but not essential, the four hundred year-old leader remained firm in her stand that Marcus would never be a true vampire as long as he “refused to cooperate.” Elisabet had always been convinced that pure stubbornness was the only thing keeping Marcus from joining in the clan traditions, and she made her disdain for him very clear every time the two encountered each other.

Sure, Marcus thought to himself. It’s just stubbornness that makes me pass out every time I see – that stuff. He sighed and unsteadily got to his feet.

He heard something behind him, and turned to see the old man, Rusty, coming down the aisle.

“You all right there, kid?” Rusty asked. “I was a little worried about’cha…. Looks like you fell asleep in the middle of the movie!”

Marcus was sure the theater man knew the truth and was fudging it to spare his feelings. “Yeah, I’m fine. Guess it wasn’t my type of show.”

This was the perfect opportunity, he realized. With the theater deserted, and the old man standing so close, Marcus could have his mission fulfilled before Rusty knew what was happening….

His head starting to spin, Marcus wobbled on his feet. “I’d – I’d probably better get going.”

“Suit yourself,” the old man said. “See you around!”

Marcus nodded, carefully so as not to upset his balance, and headed up the aisle to leave the theater.

~ ~ ~

He wandered the streets for an hour and a half. Occasionally people would pass by – the streets, oddly enough, were busier than before, and it seemed that late on a Thursday night must be the preferred time for social wandering - but he always found an excuse not to go near them. These were in a group; too risky. That one was walking too fast. This girl looked like his older sister; the implications of biting her were more than Marcus could handle. Too old. Too young. Too under-a-street-lamp.

Marcus was nearly ready to give up and call it a night when he happened to turn down a side street that seemed perfect for completing Elisabet’s orders. The streetlamps flickered dimly, providing little light, and the houses were run-down, with peeling paint and dirty windows. He wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that the neighborhood was abandoned, as desolate as the area looked. A solitary car turned the corner several blocks ahead, failing to use the blinker, and an elderly woman walked alone some ten yards in front of Marcus, trailing a fold-up basket on wheels with several full plastic bags inside and a purse resting on top. She hummed an odd tune to herself, loudly enough for him to hear.

The young man steeled himself. It was now or never, he thought. He slipped from shadow to shadow silently, using every ounce of the silent stalking skills he’d been known for in school. Marcus tried to make himself ignore what he was about to do, forcing himself instead to think of it as a challenge, one of the dares to eat a bug or taste something nasty that he’d seen often when younger. Or, he told himself, he could think of it as just water. A dark, thick… sticky….

With a wordless cry, he flung himself forward, hoping to just get it over with before he could realize what he was doing. The woman turned, frightened, as the noise woke a dog sleeping in a nearby yard. The woman shrank back, Marcus advanced, and the cruel-looking animal jumped from its place and flew at them. Marcus leapt backward, avoiding the dog, but the woman was not so lucky. She fell to the ground with the weight of a full-grown Doberman pressing into her as the basket clattered on the sidewalk beside her.

Forgetting that he’d been about to attack her himself, Marcus ran to save the woman from the snarling, snapping dog. It took him several feints, dodging in and out, before he was able to catch hold of the scruff of the dog’s neck and hurl it away. Then he leaned over the woman. “Are you okay?”

She moaned, her eyes fluttering open momentarily before closing again. Marcus could hear the dog growling behind him, and started to turn to face it. As he did so, however, he caught sight of the woman’s arm. More specifically, he saw the bloody wound on the woman’s arm where the dog had mauled her. Marcus managed to turn and fling an arm out, catching the Doberman sharply across the muzzle and knocking it to the ground with a yelp. Cursing the dog, the woman, and the name of Vlad, Marcus spun down to the sidewalk in a descending sea of black.

~ ~ ~

A few moments later, the town’s lone police car, staffed with two of the five local officers, cruised slowly down the street. The two men were joking back and forth when one of them spotted three bodies from his window and cried out.

“Larry. Hey, Larry! Stop the car!”

When Larry pulled to the curb, puzzled, his partner grabbed a first-aid kit, flung the door open and jumped out. Larry quickly threw the gear into park, killed the engine, and followed. He caught up to Chuck bending over three figures on the sidewalk; a young man, an older woman, and a black dog. The dog belonged to the Jensens, a family Larry knew had been warned before about keeping him on their own property. The woman was Mrs. Giuseppe, an erratic personage prone to wandering at night instead of staying home. And the man? Larry couldn’t remember having seen him before – an unusual thing in their small town.

“Hey, Chuck. You know this guy?”

Chuck, busy wrapping a bandage around Mrs. Giuseppe’s arm, spared barely a glance. “Nope, he doesn’t look familiar.”

Larry shook his head. “I’ll be right back.” He headed across the street and banged on the door of a house there. Mr. Jensen soon answered the door in his underwear, with a slew of foul language for the disturbance at such a late hour, and a yelling spat between the two of them commenced. Chuck returned his attention to his patients, one of whom seemed to be coming around.

“You okay?” he asked Mrs. Giuseppe. “What happened?”

She blinked at him, looking something like an owl. “Chuck Simmons? That you?”

Chuck nodded. “What are you doing out so late, Mrs. Giuseppe? You shoulda been at home.”

“I had to buy my lottery ticket,” she said. “The drawing is tomorrow, you know, and I needed some groceries, so I was walking to the gas station when I heard someone yell. The next thing I knew, that wild beast of a dog was attacking me!”

Across the street, Mr. Jensen slammed his front door shut with a final invective. Larry came back to the scene of the crime. “He’ll be over in a minute,” he said, satisfied, to no one in particular.

“What happened next?” Chuck asked, nodding to Larry as he did so to show he’d heard him.

“Why…. I do believe this man saved me!” Mrs. Giuseppe gestured toward the figure laying nearby. “He pulled that vicious dog off.”

Larry, meanwhile, was examining Marcus. “He looks fine to me, Chuck. I’m not sure why he’s conked out like this. Hey. Hey, you! You okay?” Larry shook Marcus, not very gently, and waited for him to come around.

Mr. Jensen stomped across the street in a plaid bathrobe and fuzzy yellow slippers, a ferociously angry look on his face. He bent to lift the unconscious body of his dog, hoisting it upward with a grunt, and carried it back to his house without a word to either of the two cops.

~ ~ ~

“And so, it looks like you’re a hero.” Chuck concluded.

Marcus couldn’t quite believe his ears. When he’d come to after fainting for the second time that day, it was to see this police officer bending over him. Marcus had been quite sure that he was about to be arrested, hauled away, and locked in a cell. Horror stories of all the terrible things that could happen to one in a prison had floated through his head, making it impossible for him to run or react at all – as it turned out, this was a good thing, since it seemed the policemen weren’t about to arrest him after all. They’d taken him back to the police station where a doctor looked at his head, but he hadn’t been accused of anything.

Hearing the story from the old lady’s point of view, however, gave Marcus an uncomfortable feeling at the account of his so-called heroics. He really hadn’t been trying to save her; he’d just acted on instinct. If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he’d acted on instinct and a desire to avoid having to bite the woman…. Anything was better than having to taste blood. Well…. Marcus gingerly felt the lump on the back of his head from where he’d hit the sidewalk. Maybe… maybe almost anything.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Chuck said. “We’ve warned Jensen before to keep that monster chained up – it’s a vicious creature, you know, and it’s threatened people in the past. I don’t think it’s actually bitten anyone before, though…. Not many men would have stood up to a mad dog like that.”

The not-quite-a-hero winced at the word ‘bitten.’ “Yes, well, I think I’ll be going now. Places to go, things to do, you know how it is….”

“Not so fast!” Larry entered the small room. “You can’t go yet.”

Marcus tensed, ready to run out if he had to. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong…. Mrs. Giuseppe wants to see you and thank you in person, that’s all. You shouldn’t leave without talking to her.” Larry nodded toward the hall. “She’s in the next room.”

He supposed he’d have to meet with her, although he’d rather not face the person he’d tried to attack. Marcus got up slowly. “Okay.”

Mrs. Giuseppe looked like she was recovering. Her arm was a little worse for wear, but Marcus was grateful to see that all hint of blood was covered by a clean white bandage. He stopped just inside the door and waited for her to speak.

“Well there, my boy. Let’s have a good look at you.” She peered at him, scrutinizing every aspect of his appearance. “Kind of scrawny, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” Marcus said. He didn’t know exactly why he felt the need to apologize, but something about her manner made him sure that the elderly lady was not a force to be trifled with. He bore up uncomfortably under her gaze until she nodded, satisfied.

“I’ve been looking for a trustworthy person to help me at the store,” she said. “You might do nicely.”

“What – kind of a store?” Marcus asked cautiously. He wasn’t sure he wanted anything more to do with this town, and it stung that she thought he was trustworthy. He was anything but.

“Knick-knacks, jewelry, pottery, that sort of thing. We often get tourists through here on their way east, and I do a fairly brisk business over the summer. I’ll give you a job there.” Her expression made it clear that she wouldn’t take no for an answer at all easily, and Marcus suddenly realized who she reminded him of.

Her facial expressions, her stern eyes, all together it felt as if she would expect the sun to rearrange itself to fit her day – exactly like Lady Elisabet. Marcus groaned. It wasn’t enough that old women harassed him at home; now they had to bother him everywhere he went! All he’d wanted to do was get this one mission over with, prove himself as a worthy member of his clan, and go home again….

Marcus stopped himself in mid-thought. He was stuck in this town until he managed to bite someone, and he’d need money for living quarters, food, and….

“It’s a deal!” he cried, and he stuck his hand out towards Mrs. Giuseppe before he could second-guess himself. She shook it with a surprisingly strong grip.

“That’s settled, then. What’s your name, boy?”

“Marcus. Marcus Livingston.”

“Well, Marcus, here’s the address of my store. You stop by tomorrow, and we’ll get things all set up.” She handed him a business card out of her purse. “I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

Marcus took this as the dismissal it was obviously intended to be, and nodded to Mrs. Giuseppe as he left. He waved to the two officers, who hollered that he should come by when there wasn’t an emergency and chat with them, and left the police station.

So it wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind; or for that matter, what Lady Elisabet had in mind. It didn’t matter so much what she thought right now – after all, she’d said he couldn’t come home until he managed a bloodhunt on his own, and Marcus had a suspicion it would take him quite some time to work his way up to the bite. He’d have to get used to the sight, and the thought, of blood before he could think of drinking any himself….

In the meantime, he knew just what he’d do with his first paycheck: buy another ticket to Boston Bathtub Slashers, Part Thirteen.

*~*


As it says in my profile, I thrive on honest, constructive criticism! Positive comments are always appreciated, of course, but knowing what *didn't* work for a reader is what really lets me improve as a writer. If your words are polite and well-meant, I promise not to take offense! ;-D