26 posts tagged “redux”

Joanne loved playing poker with her friends.
They played for dimes but it was the side bets that made it all worth it.  These were private wagers of some consequence, the details of which were only known to the parties involved.
Dares really.
Already she’d bought heroin at midnight in a very “bad” neighborhood.  She’d had Sheila sell some unwashed panties on eBay.  Marcia had been made to confront her husband’s mistress and convinced the girl to steal from him.  They were all going to Vegas on the proceeds.
Joanne worried that she would back out on the carjacking though.

teeth vampire

January 10, 2003

Marshall was unsure of the details but he knew that Scrumptious was up to something. Knew at least that she was making these non-sanctioned “conversions.” I know this because he enlisted me to spy on her. Shanghaied me actually.

He scared the shit out of me one night. One of the more surreal moments of my new “half life”, as if becoming a vampire weren’t enough.

Loathe to kill, I’d devised a method of “tapping” several victims a night as they slept, just enough to cause a mild anemia.

I’d just dropped in on Mrs. Barnes, a portly woman who took in strays – kids, dogs, cats – didn’t matter really.  Some of the human ones robbed her blind.  She took it all in stride, good-naturedly wishing them well, taking them back in when they were broke again.  I’d never been able to figure out how she managed to keep hearth and home together what with all the stealing going on.

Mrs. Barnes must have weighed 350 pounds.  She was so large I could take a little more from her than the others which meant I didn’t have to tap as many “donors” while making rounds.

Marshall appeared at my side, grinning like the Devil himself.  He plunged his eyeteeth into Mrs. Barnes’ thick neck and drained her quickly. Thankfully she died in her sleep. Sated, he pulled a silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket, dabbed the corners of his mouth, and replaced it.

Having no time for shock or horror I tried indignation. “You’ve no right to my victims!” I hissed. “Isn’t this against some protocol, or rule, or something? And I know I haven’t been at this long but isn’t it dangerous for us to be together – let alone compete for prey?  “My dear Douglas,” he replied, “you have no idea of what you’re doing do you?

Mrs. Barnes looked as if she’d been shrunk inside her skin, which now sagged on her ample frame.  I couldn’t take my eyes off her I was so hungry. “They’re food dear boy. No need to concern yourself over their ‘feelings’. Do you see them worrying about what the cows think when they eat hamburger?” He placed the type of emphasis on the word “food” that people use when talking to the deaf or incredibly stupid.

I hadn’t had a taste in 24 hours and since my preferred method kept my blood intake to a minimum, what with my being all “noble” and not taking life, I desperately needed to break the fast. And now I was starting to ache.  Marshall showed no sign of excusing me or worse – I feared – of letting me live, seeing as I was one of Scrumptious’ conscripts.

I winced, as my body felt as if it would draw in on itself.

Marshall took no heed, or at least faked it well, and asked me the oddest question, “Did you want to become a vampire Douglas?”

I briefly considered checking poor Mrs. Barnes for any residual blood but I wasn’t quite that desperate, yet. Curiously – despite my growing agony - I was afraid of further embarrassing myself in front of Marshall.  As if it were possible.

“I asked you a question, did you want to become a vampire?”

“I wasn’t given much choice now was I? It was a matter of survival.”

“Yes but you knew what Scrumptious was or you at least knew that you should avoid her. Yet you didn’t. You invited contact. If you find this existence so horrible, end it. It’s been done.

He was right of course.  I’d been schooled by the few of “our kind” that I’d met.  Take a ride out to the middle of nowhere, anyplace that was far enough away from the temptation of shelter, and go up like a Roman candle when the sun came up.  A painful death, but quick.  Even glorious I’m told.  And there were other ways I’d been assured.  But I wasn’t ready for any of that.  I’d achieved a tolerance - if not a liking - for my half-life and I wasn’t ready to give it up yet.  Though to be honest, I wasn’t doing much more than existing.  Scrumptious hadn’t bothered to teach me much about being one of the undead.  Though I had the impression (one I didn’t share with Marshall) that I was a loose end she intended to tie.

Marshall offered purpose at least.  Spy on Scrumptious and he’d let me live in peace.  He might even let me into his little “society.”  Again I was left with little choice, not being quite ready to die.
“Can I go now?” I asked after agreeing to his bargain.

“Why leave?  There’s food aplenty here, sleeping right downstairs.”

“Look Marshall, you’ve killed Mrs. Barnes.  Isn’t that enough for one night?”

He smiled that smile again.  “You mean you don’t know?”

“Know what Marshall?” I was annoyed and almost hungry enough to actually let him see it.

“My dear boy, your precious lady is one of the biggest (and I daresay most ruthless) drug dealers in this community.  Her little charity cases are her runners.  They don’t come here seeking succor.  Rather they come for career opportunities.”

I left nothing alive except the animals.

teeth vampire

I’ve always believed in vampires; at least in the possibility of vampires. I’d read about the clubs in Europe where members played predator, even had familiars who freely offered their veins for “sustenance.”  But these “predators” were mere poseurs who often ended up in Emergency getting their stomachs pumped.

Scrumptious gave me a choice, either join her little brood and be a part of her insurrection, or become the evening meal like poor dumb Kenny a few weeks ago. Looks like he'd finally got in over his head.  Like I could talk.  But I had little choice really.

Better to rule in Hell…

Scrumptious personified every woman that was beyond my grasp in college. The woman that wore that little black dress - a perfect size four - like it was painted on. The Fraternity Row Camp Follower. She represented the pinnacle of all my desires, all my class aspirations, in life.

In this new “half life” this un-death, she was a distinct disappointment, beginning with my “transformation.” The promise of erotic pleasure gave way to the reality of virtual cannibalism. She drained me until I was near death and then ripped opened her own vein for me to sup. I had little choice and less time.

She tasted like something old, like warm seawater.

teeth vampire

Cecily's post got me thinking about this short story, begun years ago for a long dead writer's group. Tinkered with additional installments on 100 Words. Judi graciously published the full piece in an anthology a while back.

So I'll post here, warts and all, over the next few days. Halloween's the excuse this time.

Obviously Scrumptious was a kept woman.  No dispute as to why either. From the top of her oh-so-coifed head to the tips of her meticulously painted toenails, the woman was fine.  Doing his utmost to remain discreet, Kenny allowed his gaze to pause over every delicious curve.  Meanwhile Scrumptious moved about the room with the practiced indifference of a woman certain that she could have any man present.  To some she deigned a glance, others she ignored totally.  They were mere trifles to her, these men of power, breeding and standing.
Kenny felt a sudden rush of satisfaction at this revelation.  These high rolling, cream of the crop, kings of the black bourgeoisie; this "talented tenth" were as he was to her, nothing, mere amusements, diversions.  It made his little charade that much more delightful, since Kenny was a pretender, a hanger-on, a mere courtesan who had weaseled his way into the world’s most exclusive inner circle.  If these powerful men only knew that he had gained entrance on the largess of a friend of a cousin of a friend of an acquaintance, they'd have rightly tossed him out on his ear.  But here he was, a second year medical student, pretending to be part of the entourage of some pampered African prince (who hadn't even bothered to show) at THE social event of the season, The Feast of The Mau Mau. 
It surpassed by a mile the occasion when he’d scored an invitation to Tipper Gore’s private birthday party at the Vice Presidential residence. Crashing a birthday party at the home of the second most powerful man in the country was one thing, scoring the Mau Mau was a whole new level entirely.  The Mau Mau were the most secretive and exclusive benevolent organization in black society, eclipsing even the Masons in mystery.  You did not petition the Mau Mau for membership, the Mau Mau chose you.
Even then membership was not assured.  The only thing known for certain was that upon invitation each neophyte endured many and varied levels of rigorous screening and initiation, each pedigree scrutinized from top to bottom before membership was granted.  It was whispered (but so far unproved) that there was one final level of initiation.  A final rite of passage that every man (and many of the women) would have given all they had for - one night alone with Scrumptious.
No one knew what actually went on during that night of nights.  One could only guess. Their numbers were few; six initiates at last count.  But anyone who had tasted the privilege of that singular honor returned changed by the experience. Hence its name, The Transfiguration.  This was the night that Marshall, the Mau Mau's enigmatic leader "lent" the services of his most prized concubine.  Kenny considered the gesture proof of the leader's incredible liberating power.  Here this man freely shared his most coveted possession, supremely confident that she would always return to him.  Kenny had no illusions of ever attaining such stature.  He was grateful to merely bear witness to the spectacle that preceded it.
Scrumptious had spotted Kenny the moment he entered the ballroom.  She couldn't help but notice him.  He was completely out of his depth.  She immediately made up her mind to have him as an “appetizer”.  Marshall's protestations aside she should be allowed to have some fun.  Didn't she do his bidding without question?  Besides she was always discreet.
Scrumptious approached Kenny directly and laid a finger to his lips silencing any attempt at some lame opening line and then put her most perfect lips to his left ear.  She whispered matter-of-factly, "Scrunchious will have you now." (when Scrumptious got this way she became a little light headed, preferring to refer to herself in the third person).  She abruptly turned on her heel and headed for an exit, throwing Kenny a conspiratorial glance over her shoulder for good measure.  Poor Kenny was having a little trouble focusing, tears of joy being what they are.  Fortunately, he was able to catch a glimpse of Scrumptious exiting the room.  He swallowed hard, took a quick glance to assure himself that Marshall (who could have cared less) had not seen what had just transpired and ran for the portal to glory, exiting in time to see Scrumptious enter another door down the hall.  He sprinted this time, all pretense gone.  He entered the totally darkened room and whispered her name. He was swept into an iron embrace.  Felt two pin pricks at the base of his neck.  Felt life rush from his veins.
"Why?" he managed to gasp.  His "lover" raised her head for a moment.
"Scrunchious needed a snack," Scrumptious replied.   Whereupon she smacked her lips and resumed her grisly task.
It was the last thing Kenny heard as darkness washed over his brain.

Bill Robinson invaded my dreams last night. Tapping down an impossibly tall staircase suspended in mid air. He did a devastating routine, set the stage on fire. Tapped until blood poured out like sweat, pooling at his feet. I could barely keep sight of him. He was spectacular.

He finished with a triple flip, landing right in front of me on one knee.

I was nonplussed. “How could you demean yourself, shining it up with that little curly topped white girl?

“I seem to remember,” he replied, “that you spent a good portion of the ‘70’s running around yelling DY-NO- MITE!”

Sammy Davis Junior invaded my dreams last night. Cool sixty’s Rat Pack Sammy. Not the aging hipster that made me wince when I got old enough to understand.

I didn’t make too much of the bit of shining he did with Sinatra. He didn’t make too much of my not having anything approaching talent. He offered to do “Bo Jangles” but I demurred. He did some singing, a little dancing.

We drank cocktails and he scandalized me with tales of the parties. The women, my God, the women. He showed me pictures.

He even let me hold his glass eye.

Duke Ellington invaded my dreams last night looking like the incarnation of God Himself.  Or at least how I’ve imagined God to look.  Duke was all energy and genius barely noticing me for the piano before him but welcoming all the same.

He played a few bars of something light and playful and birds filled the air.  He shifted to something cool and moody and the seas parted for the dry land.  The rhythm section kicked in and there were creeping things aplenty.

Duke sang a riff of something lovely and simple heralding the gardener and her husband.

God smiled.

D.W. Griffith sauntered into my dreams last night, barely suppressing a leer.

"I'm brilliant you know," says he.

I try to ignore him. But he won't go away.

"I made over $18 million on a movie released in 1915. Tickets were only $2 in those days you know."

I pretend to tie my shoes. "I pioneered many of the film techniques still used in making movies today."

I reset my watch.

"The Klan still uses BIRTH OF A NATION as a recruitment film."

Enough. I pick up an errant brick and use it to deliver a savage beating. It helps.

Richard Pryor invaded my dreams last night, walking, pre-coke accident - no scars.

"What the hell's goin' on? I'm not dead yet!"

Yeah but you been sick so long, it seems like it.

"That's low man. So why am I here?"

When I was a kid I used to risk an ass whooping and sneak a listen at your albums. You were a big influence.

"No shit?"

Yeah.

"So this a dream right?" I nodded. "So I can reach into my pocket and pull out a pipe right?"

Rich, that stuff is killing you man.

"Shut up, it's your dream."