Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre Read online

  Sarah is across the street from the park, enjoying a heated polit - ical debate with some of the others. Sometimes it’s about the bad economy. Sometimes about the mayor being a pedophile. Tonight, Rex, one of Sarah’s old drinking buddies from their time stealing wallets from johns down by the wharf, and living together in a shack under the docks, is ragging on about the President.

  “The President ain’t shit!”

  “Fuck you, Rex, you don’t know shit!” Sarah declares. “Yo mama don’t know shit!”

  “Wait a minute...wait one minute, you don’t call my mother stupid!”

  “Then don’t pretend the President ain’t shit!” Melissa laughs. She loves hearing Sarah go on and on and getting ready to punch out one of the men. As she softly drifts off to sleep, Melissa listens to their comical debate, growing louder and louder. She displays a gentle smile and cuddles up with her bottle, letting her worries all go, allowing the Jack Daniels to take full effect. Allowing it to take her to another place.

  As she sleeps, she feels an inner peace she hasn’t felt in years. Her mind is clear and relaxed. Her soul and inner strength become one as she lies on a white puffy cloud. Doves fly about and land on her shoulders as she admires them. More and more of them come. So beautiful and graceful, they gently whisk around this cloud kingdom. Their feathers descend from above like large elegant snowflakes, rhythmically waltzing from the sky, landing on the cloud-covered floor. Melissa is wearing a long silk dress; its lace is stitched together by golden threads, and carefully placed beads dance along those threads of gold. She is dressed as if she is about to be wed, but to whom?

  Melissa sees a large bed of flowers, like she used to see at home in Erie. These are even lovelier than those ever were. White roses. She has never seen white roses so majestic, so delicate, as they gently sway in the clouds. Each small cloud carefully hugs each flower as it benevolently passes. As she reaches down to touch this symbol of beauty, a dove gracefully lands on her arm. Looking directly into her eyes, it flutters off. A small distance away, it lands on a long slender object that appears to be ice. The dove tries to balance itself, but it falls to the cloudy floor. Melissa begins to walk over to see what has happened to her little friend. She gets closer and closer.

  Suddenly Melissa can’t help but scream. A blood-soaked hand with gaping maggot-filled wounds offers up her feathered friend. The bloody hand floats up until it is only inches away from Melissa’s terrified eyes. And then gradually and brutally, the hand crushes the dove to death. She hears the dove’s soft cries slowly turn into silence. In the awful quiet, Melissa feels her heart stop beating. She wants to cry out but realizes something is keeping her jaws clamped shut. Her throat has gone bone dry.

  Just then, a devilish, loathsome voice makes itself known. “Come to me! Melissa!”

  “Missy, Missy! Wake the hell up so we can go look at that apartment!” Sarah towers over Melissa, trying to wake her from her restless sleep. “What’s wrong? You look like you have been scared to death.” Melissa leaps up.

  “I’m okay,” Melissa says, gradually regaining her senses as she wipes the thick wet slobber from the side of her face. “I had a bad dream, real bad.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t remember. My heart is racing like a bat outta hell, and I can’t even remember why.”

  “Well, I’m gettin’ kinda tired of picking your butt up,” Sarah says, lifting Melissa to her feet. “Come on, let’s get outta here and check out the pad the old geezer set out for you.” Sarah helps to brush the dead leaves and trash off Melissa’s jeans, and they head to L Avenue.

  The watchful eyes follow as the two stroll up Wilson Avenue toward L Avenue. With their liquor and laughter, these two women cannot grasp the evil that lurks within their shadows.

  credit to: tobisagt

  ASYLUM

  In the Ironbound section of the city, two women, embracing their liquor bottles, approach a small brick building. The sounds of the city seem to drift far away from this lonely corner. This

  desolate area is composed of some old abandoned factories and burned-out buildings. The nearest inhabitable building is blocks away. Large puddles of water encompass the quiet building. The two think this is strange, because the storm was two days ago, and most of the water around the city has already evaporated.

  “Is this the place?” asks Sarah.

  “I think so. This is L Avenue and it says 202.” The small apartment building isn’t more than three stories. Melissa is captivated by the outer front doors, which are made of a thick wood, with magnificently detailed carvings depicting a battle between two groups of angels. The doorknobs are made of an opulent brass that mirrors like glass. The stairs are made of bricks situated like the keys from a grand piano.

  The pair approach the door, peering through the diamondshaped windows located in the center of each door.

  “The bells are inside. See if the door is open,” says Sarah. With a polite push, Melissa opens the outer door. Once they are both inside the tiny walkway, they begin looking for a buzzer for Mr. Nicholas. Sarah becomes angry when they can’t find it.

  “I knew he wasn’t about shit, that little…” Before Sarah is able to develop another colorful depiction of Mr. Nicholas, he opens the inner doors. He is dressed in the same attire from earlier, and with a charming smile, he motions the two women inside.

  “Hello, Melissa, I didn’t know you were bringing company.” He seems slightly disturbed but maintains his tranquil manner.

  “Yeah, well, you know we got to look out for one another, I’m just watchin’ her back,” says Sarah as she stands with authority, looking out for her young friend.

  “That’s fine, now let’s go upstairs and see the apartment.”

  “Hold on for a second. Who are you? I know what you told me earlier, but what is this? Why are you and this lady, Mrs. Harris or whoever--who I can barely remember--so interested in me?”

  “Please calm down, Melissa. I told you before, we just like to help. Look, if you don’t want the place, just say so, but at least take a look.” The man seems to enjoy this slight outburst, and with his crooked grin, he turns around and begins to guide them up the narrow stairway. Sarah bends toward Melissa’s ear and whispers.

  “Missy, calm down, let’s just take a look. It would be nice to sleep on a bed with springs for cushions instead of newspapers.”

  “Yeah, let’s go see.”

  “Where you get this mean streak all of a sudden, Missy?”

  “I’m just tired of people tellin’ me what to do, that’s all.”

  The three walk up to the third floor. The floor is made of wooden boards that creak at any slight pressure. The walls are dark burgundy accented by a wood trim border. Dark golden wallpaper creates a picturesque landscape throughout the dimly lit hall. At first glance, the hallway looks unkempt, but actually it is cleaned to perfection. There is a strong spicy scent in the air that causes the two women to cough slightly.

  The old man stops at one particular door. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a long skeleton key that fits perfectly into the antique lock. With one sharp turn to the right, the lock unlatches. When the door opens, a luxurious domicile is revealed. The women gasp in awe. Their nostrils fill with the aroma of lit vanilla candles as they walk into the immaculate room. The furniture is of an ancient Anglo-Saxon period. The draperies look as if they are made from the finest silks of India. The dim light accents the deep maroon color of the tapestry and furnishings.

  Mr. Nicholas quietly stands back, grinning widely, and displaying all thirty-two of his yellow-stained teeth.

  “We can stay here?” Sarah’s eyes bulge like a child’s on Christ- mas morning.

  “How much we gotta pay to stay here?” Melissa’s grin suddenly turns sour with the thought of owing someone.

  “You don’t have to pay anything, just stay a while and rest. I’m not using the apartment, and there is no reason why it should collect dust.”

  “You cou
ld charge someone a shit-load to stay here. Why don’t you do that?” asks Sarah.

  “I don’t need money. Plus, I haven’t done many good deeds in my life, so I decided to do one today. Here is the key, enjoy your stay, and I’ll look in on you from time to time,” he says, and nonchalantly tosses the key to Melissa. “Don’t worry about your neighbors. Most of the rooms are vacant. The occupants of the rooms that aren’t empty do a lot of traveling. I’m sure they will come and introduce themselves when they feel it is appropriate. You’ll find plenty of food and other necessities around. Any ques- tions?” Mr. Nicholas pauses as the two women continue to wan- der.

  “No. Thank you. I promise we will take good care of this place.” Melissa’s voice becomes nervous with gratitude. Since she left Erie, she never thought she would ever have a place to call home again.

  “Enjoy your stay, ladies, and don’t worry about the utilities. They are taken care of, but there is no phone or television.”

  “That’s fine,” says Melissa.

  The old man exits, closing the door.

  As he strolls down the hall in his charismatic manner, he comes across a large water bug attempting to turn itself over. He gently kneels down as if to assist. Staring awkwardly, he seems intrigued by the insect’s struggle. In a soft whisper, he speaks to the insect.

  “Do you need help, my little friend? You do believe I’m your friend? Don’t you?” he asks, while tilting his head parallel to the floor and the struggling insect. In a joking tone, he quietly whis- pers, “I love all of God’s creatures. I am here to help. What can I do for you today? First, allow me to introduce myself.” In a low, deep, loathsome voice, he begins, “I am the serpent that grants wisdom...the beast that grants desire...I love to tell...I am a warrior for the fallen...angel.” He rolls his head back and forth as a thick, black serpent-like tongue shoots out of his throat, toward the water bug. It leaves a slimy trail that mimics that of a garden slug crossing cool pavement. His serpent-tongue is split at the end like a medieval dragon. Forming two tiny daggers, it begins bru- tally piercing the body armor of the helpless insect. Each pointy end acts independently. As one thrusts into the body, the other severs the head, leaving a slimy residue on the mortally wounded insect. “Now there...I told you I was a friend. See how I helped you end your miserable life.” Sucking the black organ back into his deep throat, he points his long, white pinky fingernail and uses it to shish kabob the lifeless carcass. He slowly guides the snack into his mouth. Carefully chewing his friend, with a bright grin, he mutters, “What a juicy little morsel you are.” Sucking his other four fingers, he nimbly rises and continues down the hall.

  2

  “

  C an you believe this shit, Missy?” Sarah asks. “No, I mean, why would someone go through so much trouble for someone he doesn’t even know? What makes him think we won’t rob the hell out of this place? We wouldn’t do that, but how does he know we wouldn’t?” Melissa replies.

  “I wish I could tell you, but like he said, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Let’s enjoy it while we can, which probably won’t be for long.” Sarah gets caught up in the excitement of having a place to stay, and soon she forgets Melissa’s quick personality change back at the restaurant. “Will you look at this place. It’s beautiful. Look at this stuff. It looks so expensive,” Sarah says as she marvels the elegant furnishings. They walk around the extravagantly decorated room, touching each piece of furniture with a tender stroke. “You said things were going to be better. I guess you were right.”

  “This is the life, Sarah,” Melissa says with elation as she plops down on the thick, puffy couch.

  Meanwhile, Sarah ventures deeper into the apartment to see what other surprises await them. The kitchen is fully stocked with all types of meats, canned goods, spices, utensils, pots, and pans. Sarah salivates as she grins and laughs with jubilation. The bed- room is no different; it is furnished with the finest detail. The big- gest and softest canopy bed Sarah has ever seen awaits. A sweet lemon-spice potpourri aroma engulfs her. A bathroom of wondrous proportions captures Sarah’s senses. Drawing back the flower designed shower curtain, she steps into the shower fully clothed, then gently kisses the tiled wall. Slowly, she turns the marble knobs and is swept away in the clean, warm streams of water as it cascades through her hair.

  In the living room, Melissa lies back, happily taking a gander at the artistic designs that encompass the room. Clasping her hands behind her head, she prays this is not a dream and hopes things are really getting better. Just look at this place! Melissa, you’ve finally found a home, a real home. Maybe things really are changing for me finally. After five years on the streets, it’s about time. Seriously, I don’t think I could have survived another dark night out there, hunting in the alleys for food, living like a wild animal. I wonder how my family is…my mother…my father… I haven’t talked to them in a long time. I wonder if they miss me. I wonder if they even know I’m alive. Probably not. As soon as I get a good job, and some money in my pocket, I’ll go back to Erie and prove I’m alive. That I’m not a failure. I’ll prove it to everyone, my father, and my neighbors, and my so-called friends, who didn’t even try to help me find a place to stay, I’ll show them. I’ll show all of them. Melissa closes her eyes. She drifts into a comfortable sleep, as she begins to remember some of the good times at home.

  “Look at me. Clean as a whistle!” Sarah stands in the hall just outside the bathroom with her locks brushed back, beads of water rushing down to land on her chest and shoulders. A beach towel covers her from the breasts to the knees. Swinging one hand wildly as the other holds the towel in place, Sarah spins like a ballerina. Melissa can smell the scented soap emanating from her body. Melissa looks up at Sarah, who reminisces a detailed picture of her bathing experience. With a quick roll of her eyes and neck, Sarah begins, “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve taken a shower in a clean, private bathroom? I’m tellin’ you, when I saw that bathroom, I almost peed on myself. I just jumped into the shower and turned the water on. It felt so good. The tile was made out of these tiny little squares that looked like rock candy. Shit, I even licked one to make sure it wasn’t real candy. Girl, I just let that soothing, warm water flow all over me while I lathered up with some of that fancy soap and washed all my troubles away.” With a deep exhale, she slowly sits on the couch. Melissa stares at Sarah with a questioning look.

  “What?” Sarah asks.

  “You know, we’ve known each other for what...over three years, and you still haven’t told me your story.”

  “Because there isn’t much to tell,” Sarah says, expressing a slight temper.

  “Look, don’t get pissed, I just want to know more about my best friend. I mean...we spend all our time together looking out for one another, and you still haven’t told me your story.” They both spend a few long seconds staring at each other. Sarah leans forward, sitting both her elbows on her knees. She props her hands under her chin, takes one more deep breath, and with a solemn tone, begins the painful journey through her past.

  “I guess I met Malcolm when I was about 24; he was a podiatry student, and I worked at Broad City Bank in Philadelphia. He would come in the bank all the time with his gentle attitude. With the sweetest, gentlest eyes I had ever seen. Somehow, he would almost always end up at my window, cashing his work study check, and, with a carefully poised smile, he would say, ‘How are you today? Things going okay? My, you look fine. I’ll see you next week.’ This man was so beautiful to me. Without even knowing him, he seemed to be all I needed. All I ever dreamed about in a man was all wrapped up in Malcolm. He was about six foot, 180 pounds, had elegant brown skin, the loveliest curly hair, and a handsome, kind face. Believe it or not, I started making sure that he would see me. Don’t laugh! I mean, I started taking my lunches late around his payday, just hoping to speak to him again. Just hoping he would show up. When I did see him casually stroll into the bank, walking that cool walk of his, strutting his stuff, my heart wou
ld flutter like a love-struck schoolgirl.

  “As fate would have it, one day after work, I stood on the corner waiting for my bus. Just standing there on the street staring off into space when he walked right past me. Girl, my heart stopped! The urge to speak to him was overwhelming. ‘Hey, mis- ter,’ I said, and the words almost clogged up in my throat. ‘Hey, mister, you can’t speak?’ I put on the most refined voice I could find. He turned, looked straight at me, smiled, and he ended up being all I thought he would be. From that moment on, my life was like a dream. We would go on these long nightly strolls down Penns Landing, where all the other couples would hang out, just to cuddle while enjoying the erotic breeze off the twilight-reflect- ing waves. Sometimes, I would go to his apartment, just knock on the door when he wasn’t expecting me, bringing him food when I knew he had to study and probably wouldn’t be able catch a decent meal. You know how men are, right? He was so proud of being a student doctor, talking all the doctor talk about all types of surgeries, diseases, and using words I couldn’t even begin to pronounce. He’d talk about his future plans right down to the letter. I felt I’d finally achieved something. I felt I’d finally met the man of my dreams.”

  Sarah takes a long, peaceful breath as one tear finds its way down the side of her nose. She lets it drop, then wipes it away with her fist. She briefly cups her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut, then continues in a sobbing voice.

  “My mother loved Malcolm. She absolutely loved that man. Everyone at work thought he was Dr. Perfect. I did too. I spent the next four years of my life catering to this man. We lived together for three of those years, and, of course, I was always hoping that he would pop the question, and that we would get married,” she resumes, her tone increasing in strength. “Every time I would ask that bastard about marriage, he would hem and haw, and come up with some lame excuse, some old clever shit to shut me up for the time being. I remember it clearly, hearing him say shit like, ‘Look, baby, I love you. I know you want to get married, and we will. I promise. When I get my practice together and start making some real money, that’s when I’ll be ready. Please, just be patient with me.’ Like a dumbass, I believed him. I listened to that bullshit for years.