Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre Page 15

  “I see how you look at me, but I am too frightened to do anything. I don’t know what to say, what to do.

  “Each time I come home, my heart flutters with joy, knowing I will be greeted by your lovely smile. There are times I lie in my bed dreaming, wishing you were by my side, then angry that I have not yet expressed my emotions to you.

  “I love you, Melissa.”

  “Melissa, are you okay?” Melissa is brought back to reality. Morgan’s voice, still calm and soothing, does not compare to the compassionate voice she has just imagined. Tears still pour from her eyes as she continues to hold Morgan next to her heart.

  The next few days come and go swiftly. Time seems to zoom past. Melissa spends most of her time thinking, wondering, should she have this child? Should she allow it to be born, to come into this world? Counting back in time, Melissa realizes the baby must be about three months old. She doesn’t know who to ask for advice, with Sarah gone now. She knows what Morgan would say, if she asked him. Morgan remains steadfast to the idea of keeping this child. Each time Melissa even mutters the word “abortion,” Morgan remains adamant to his beliefs. “Abortion is wrong, there is a life inside you, it would be like murdering a small child.” The guilt trip he lays is thicker than the densest fog.

  The two talk continuously for hours, day after day. Sometimes they quarrel and get into heated arguments. Sometimes their conversation is the gentlest Melissa has ever experienced, with a man. Through it all, day after day, Morgan is there, watching over her, never leaving her side. Melissa often asks, “Don’t you have to go to work?” He always answers, “I took some time off.” Or he says, “You’re all that matters now. I’m here for you.”

  Melissa’s confusion is calmed by Morgan’s gentle nature. And slowly her confusion fades. She knows deep down inside she loves the child that grows within her body, no matter what circumstances created its life. So with the help and encouragement of Morgan, she decides against abortion.

  credit to: www.tomituri.hu

  BLACK RAIN

  Melissa kneels in front of the flowerbed. Digging up old roots in the sweltering heat, she doesn’t notice the peeking eyes from within the bushes. Using her forearm to wipe her

  dripping perspiration, she stands to wipe off her dirty knees. Her pink visor blocks the sun’s powerful rays as she views the immaculate garden. Her pregnancy is not yet obvious, so she wears a cottony white tank top with matching shorts. After a few deep breaths, Melissa kneels back down.

  The peeking eyes survey the house, then peer back down at Melissa as she continues her gardening. With predatory movements, they float back and forth just beyond Melissa’s sight. Dipping back into the bushes, the unknown being assures itself Melissa is still within striking distance. The decision is made; the being steps silently out from behind the tallest bush. Its approach is quiet and slow, with only its shadow giving away its position. It moves closer with Melissa still unaware. Closer it comes, almost within pouncing distance. Now within arm’s reach. Melissa suddenly feels its presence as it is now upon her. She grips her gardening tool tightly. She knows that Morgan always announces himself before approaching her from behind. Melissa abruptly spins around as she stands.

  The attractive older woman quickly puts her hands up. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Melissa, slightly blinded by the sun, squints at the woman while

  pointing her garden shovel like a switchblade.

  Melissa quickly realizes her threatening stance and puts the miniature shovel down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to point this at you. You just surprised me.” Melissa brushes her hands against each other to remove the excess dirt. “Can I help you?”

  The middle-aged woman expresses a soft smile. Her hair is brown with streaks of natural gray that accent her light brown eyes. She stands approximately five four, wearing a sky blue sun- dress. She speaks in a passive voice.

  “Maybe you can. I was looking for the Lowery boy,” she states, as she peers suspiciously at the house, then back at Melissa.

  “I’m sorry, he’s not here,” Melissa answers.

  “And who might you be?”

  “I’m a friend of Morgan’s.” Melissa is feeling uneasy as the woman looks at her as if she has just committed a crime. “Would you like something to drink, it’s awful hot out here.”

  “No, thank you. Would you happen to know when the Lowerys are due back from Florida?”

  “You mean, Morgan’s grandparents?” The woman looks at Melissa as if that was an extremely dumb question. “I don’t know when they’re comin’ back. But I can tell Morgan you came by.”

  “Tell him Mrs. LaSalle. The Lowerys volunteer with me at the YMCA. I’ve never known them to miss so many meetings, much less leave town without telling anyone. I’ve left countless messages on that damn voicemail. Why has no one has returned my calls?” Her voice has become increasingly irritated.

  “I’m sorry I can’t answer your questions.”

  “When you speak to Morgan, you be sure to let him know that I want the address and phone number where they can be reached.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll give him the message,” Melissa answers. The woman storms her way back onto the sidewalk.

  The watchful eyes return, peering down from the rooftop of the house, watching Mrs. LaSalle leave.

  Walking a few houses down, Mrs. LaSalle steps into her old, gray Chevy. She doesn’t see the watchful eyes swooping off the rooftop and into the sky, maintaining a fixed gaze upon her car. She starts her car, then casually drives off. The eyes dash in and out the tops of the towering trees. They listen closely as they focus on her heartbeat; it’s slow and steady. They feel and hear each chamber as it opens and closes, allowing the vital fluid to pass and nourish her body. They listen as her blood pours unrestricted through her thick veins. Monitoring her breathing, they feel the steady flow of oxygen as her lungs fill and expel the invis- ible element. The muscles of her hand tense as she controls the car. She cannot fathom the danger that hovers above.

  Flashing through a few radio stations, she finds one that helps to comfort her angry mood. With a slight smile, she begins singing along when suddenly she hears a light tapping on the roof of her car. Looking up through her windshield, she tries to get a glimpse at what could be making such a strange sound. The sound halts. The radio station becomes filled with static. Turning the small dial, she attempts to tune to a clear station, but she cannot find one.

  Lurking directly behind her, the watchful eyes gaze steadily at the back of her head. They begin to mimic her heartbeat, then her breathing, becoming a faint echo of her life. Switching the static-filled radio off, she listens closely to the vague sound of a heartbeat. Feeling the probing presence in her back seat, she turns abruptly. She sees nothing. They peer directly into her eyes as they float unnoticed.

  The watchful eyes begin to take over her bodily functions. First, they slow her breathing. She swerves slightly, grasping her chest and feeling her breaths becoming shallow. Mrs. LaSalle quickly pulls over to the side of the road. Bending forward and tightly gripping the steering wheel, she hopes this isn’t a heart attack. Her voice is low and panic-stricken.

  “I can’t be having a heart attack. I’m perfectly healthy,” she says as she begins to cough. “I can’t breathe.” She attempts to open the door, but it is mysteriously jammed. Still grasping her chest, she gapes wide, trying to obtain as much air as her lungs will allow. She continues to cough. Then suddenly her breathing returns to normal. Relieved, she lifts her head, taking a few deep breaths, and smiles. Catching a few more light breaths, she peers out her win- dows to view the quiet park. Her hands, shaking from fear and shock, vibrate the steering wheel.

  credit to: www.tomituri.hu Before she can put the car in drive again, she hears that soft heartbeat once more, but this time it becomes increasingly louder. Her heart begins mimicking the sound, increasing its strength along with the beat. Grasping her chest once more, she feels her heart pounding ag
ainst her chest. She attempts to open the car door again, more urgently this time. Her skin becomes a flushed dark pink. Blood fills her vessels. Her eyes widen and are blood soaked. Her lips become a bright red. The veins in her aged hands begin to pulsate uncontrollably. She feels her body heating up. She starts screaming, but her energy vanishes, and her screams become nothing more than loud moans. The temperature in the car rises. The windows fog. With her brightly polished red nails, Mrs. LaSalle grasps the seat, tearing into it. Her nails are ripped from her fingers as she struggles. They now dangle alongside her bloody fingers. In relentless agony, she looks into her rearview mirror just before it fogs and sees a hideous, devil- ish monster sitting on her back seat, grinning at her. The creature is small, like a young child. Its body is blood-red and skinless, smooth and slimy. Its bright blue eyes quietly stare at Mrs. LaSalle as she continues to struggle to get out of the car. Her eyes over- flow with pure terror as her skin starts to smoke, then begins to burn. She screams, but the car has become soundproof. The car windows are fogged with a cloudy tint, the outside world is shut out. Her dry coughs become wet with thick blood. Blood pours onto her sweat-soaked sundress and as she coughs, it spews onto the dashboard. Her skin begins to peel and slough off, revealing deep red muscle.

  The baby demon smiles, enjoying this eerie spectacle. It raises its snout to catch the aroma of the burning flesh, then licks its thin lips, trying to secure a taste. From the excitement, the small horns on its forehead ooze a yellow bubbling liquid. The little creature sits patiently, however, like a child awaiting the return of a parent. Its terrifying blue eyes glare at Mrs. LaSalle as she is being tortured slowly, but the back seats distract them as if this is its first time in a vehicle.

  Without warning, an unforeseen force places the car in drive. The little demon sits unaware as the car begins to speed uncontrollably. Mrs. LaSalle struggles to douse the flames by slapping her head and arms frantically. The blood spewing from her mouth increases with each heartbeat. Struggling out of control, she slams her head into the dashboard, knocking herself unconscious. As she lies there, the little demon peeks over the front seat to look at the woman. Smiling, it reaches out to touch her melted hair and skin, then covers her eyes.

  The bright sun beams directly into the car, blinding Mrs. LaSalle, and waking her up. With the car at a stable speed, her hands remain steady on the steering wheel, her back flat against the seat. Look- ing down at her clothes, she sees no blood. Looking at her arms, she sees no burns. Looking at the backseat, she vaguely remembers the little demon. Taking a few nervous breaths, she squints through the bright sunrays when she is tapped on the shoulder. Standing beside her is the little demon with its wide sadistic grin. She screams in horror. The bright sunlight dims. Directly in front of her stands an electrical pole. The car abruptly slams into it. She is hurled through the windshield. Her head smashes into a steel spike protruding from the pole. Her body quivers violently; her central nervous system shuts down.

  As the woman dangles on the pole, a skinless finger wipes through the flow of blood gushing from her crushed face and smears it across it, mixing it with a stream of blood that is rushing down the pole from her open skull. The little monster makes no sound. Climbing down from the wreck, it strolls casually into the cover of bushes.

  Moments later, in the distance, the sirens scream loudly as they approach. The car begins to smolder, then quickly bursts into flames. The fire extends from the sides of the crushed hood, then catches Mrs. LaSalle’s dress. Her body is torched. The fire produces a thick black smoke. Flames continue to rise up the pole.

  One of the many police cars is in sight of the burning vehicle. The policewoman inside decides to speed even faster, hoping there’s someone alive. The car explodes as she comes to a screeching halt. Stepping from car, the policewoman views the unearthly spectacle. The electrical pole burns in the form of an immense crucifix. Looking at the enormous flames, the officer experiences an ice-cold chill. A strange, ghostly laughter echoes from the surrounding woods. The officer spins, instinctively drawing her 9MM, peering into the dense trees. The laughter emanates from everywhere, resounding from the lowest shrubs to the tallest treetops. The astonished officer stares into the dense woods.

  2

  I n the Ironbound section of Newark, an aged hand sifts through burned wood and metal. The sun begins to retreat into the horizon as darkness waits to cast its shadow onto the clear sky. Wearing a long black overcoat with matching shirt, pants, and

  shoes, the only noticeable color of his clothing is the snow white of his priest’s collar. This man of God diligently searches for something of great importance. Allowing his faith to guide him, he ignores the protruding nails and sharp-edged metal. His hands, black with soot, never lose strength as they burrow through mounds of charred debris. Suddenly, there is a sparkle, a small

  credit to: www.tomituri.hu glimmer among the dark surroundings. I’ve found you, he thinks to himself, lifting the chain-held pendant into the air. As the mellifluous sunset reflects off the golden pendant, the priest allows one tear to flow from under his glasses, onto his cheek. The sunset and its magical halo reflecting from his spectacles mask his eyes, but he continues to view the pendant. Another tear finds its way along the same path as the other, as he stands there motionless; his face fills with a sense of urgency. Clenching his fist tightly around the chain, he turns and steps through of the piles of debris. With his arms weary from his intense search, he halts for a brief moment to peer once more at the golden pendant lying in the palm of his hand.

  3

  “ Y ou’re back. Did you get everything?” Melissa asks, watching Morgan walk up to the front porch, carrying a small bag of groceries.

  “Got it all. Lettuce, bread, and rice,” Morgan says, smiling. “This nasty lady came by asking a bunch of questions. I just told her I’d tell you she came by. She wanted to know about your grandparents and the number where they could be contacted,” Melissa says, reaching to help.

  “Mrs. LaSalle?”

  “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s always coming by when my grandparents leave without calling. I’ll go down to the YMCA and talk to her.” Morgan smiles. “Let’s go inside and eat.”

  “All right.”

  4

  Later that evening, Melissa tosses and turns, enslaved by the madness of a sudden nightmare. A steamy sweat forms on her face, wetting her bedding covers. Gritting in agony, she

  flexes her neck backwards, stretching it to the limit. An evil spirit is filling her dream world. It breathes upon her sweaty face, cool- ing it. Her hair sways slightly in the quiet, devilish exhale.

  Within her dream, two armies fight fiercely. Their faces are blurry, their bodies unclear. One side carries long bloody spears, the other golden swords tainted with smooth red fluid. Death for many is eminent. All battle, as if this will be their last, and the victor will now and forever rule. Many release unimaginable screams when their lifelines are severed by quick actions of swords or spears. Bodies are scattered everywhere; it’s a landscape of death and dismemberment.

  Melissa runs to take cover within a blackened cave. She huddles behind a huge stone as warriors continue their quest for dominance.

  Where am I? What is this place? I can’t see my way out. A sudden burst of wind rushes behind Melissa, blowing her hair forward. Following this sudden current, a flock of beautiful white doves exits from the cave onto the battlefield. Melissa stares, watching the doves in awe. They soar off and circle the battle zone, surveying the damage. Then, without warning, they swoop downward.

  Melissa wants to cry out, to warn them. Suddenly each seemingly harmless dove changes quickly into a full-winged being carrying a golden sword. Their faces are still unclear to Melissa, who sits squinting intensely. Each entity enters the battle without fear. Some are sliced to ribbons before taking full form. Others leap into the battle, screaming out war cries that make Melissa’s blood chill with their savagery. Membe
rs of this unknown clan fight to the death and die for each other. Their blood bathes the battlefield and seeps into the ground.

  As Melissa watches the battle intensely, one of the demon warriors suddenly steps from the shadows and greets her. Standing about seven feet, its massive body is red with blood. Its eyes glow a deep menacing green. Its teeth are the fangs of a medieval vampire. Standing there, breathing heavily, it stares down at Melissa. After releasing a fiendish grin, it dashes back into battle, carrying its blood-dripping spear.

  Terrified, Melissa hides behind the immense boulder, when suddenly it begins to release a dark liquid. First, droplets appear racing down the sides. Melissa backs away, still in her crouched position, falling onto her backside. The droplets multiply, creating small rivers pouring down the sides of the rock. Melissa attempts to stand. When she uses the stone wall to maintain her balance, she slips and falls. Her hands feel wet as if covered with water, but when she looks, her hands are totally red with blood as if they have been submerged in a basin filled with it. She opens her mouth wide to scream.

  Frantically she awakens, her body wet with perspiration. Sit- ting up in bed, she wipes her forehead and face. The room is still and undisturbed. Her hair pressed against her face is soaked with moisture. Baffled, she looks left to right. The room begins to spin. Around and around, it whirls at a dizzying pace. Melissa feels her stomach become nauseated. Vomit fills her throat. Before she can release the mixture of food and liquid, the room stops. She grabs her head just before spitting the thick white spew onto the sheets. A sharp pain then races through her abdomen, slamming her back down onto the bed. She grabs her belly with both hands. She recognizes the pain. She felt the same pain in the car weeks ago. Melissa lifts up her gown, suddenly feeling a peculiar sensation. Exposing her stomach, she sees movement; her stomach gyrates as if snakes are just beneath her skin squirming over each other. They swarm as if engrossed in an ultimate feeding frenzy. Melissa’s eyes grow wide. She releases an earsplitting scream. The windows begin to pulsate and slowly crack without shattering. The dresser vibrates, shifting the tiny figurines until they fall to the carpet.