Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre Read online

  “I th-th-think we sh-sh-should g-g-get the s-stuff and g-g-go n-n-now.”

  “Look, man, shut the fuck up!” screams Marty, sticking his blade directly to Donald’s throat. “I will stick you, you shit head, do you understand me? I-will-stick-you, then kick your lifeless body. Understand me, boy?!”

  “O-o-o-k-k-kay, m-m-man.”

  “Man, get the fuck outta here before I kill you!”

  Donald wastes no time leaving as he wipes his perspiration and runs out the apartment. Marty just smiles and lies back on the couch amongst the stuffing he tore out. A minute later, Silas strolls out of the back room with his belt undone and pants hanging by his thighs.

  “Whacha been doing back there, Silas?” asks Marty.

  “Markin’ my territory. Where’s Donald?”

  “Man, he freaked out and ran,” answers Marty.

  “What! You let him go?!”

  “Yeah,” says Marty.

  “Man, get yo white ass up and get him before he goes to the cops or somethin’.”

  Marty sighs, then reluctantly stands and looks at Silas.

  “Don’t worry, relax, my brother. He ain’t gonna get too far,” Marty says, folding the rusty blade, and then calmly strolls out the door. Once outside the door, Marty hurries; the thought of the police frightens him much more than the thought of retribution from Silas. In his mind, he knows he can always kill Silas if he gets out of hand, but going back to prison isn’t in his plans. As he sticks his head out the front door, he sees a shadowy figure running up the street. Before Marty can scream out to see if it is Donald, the sudden sound of someone running away from the building comes from around the corner. He quickly runs to the side of the building to see another shadowy figure walking toward the long since abandoned O’Keeffe and Sons Sheet Metal Factory. He looks back as the other figure goes beyond sight. Marty then turns back to the second figure, hoping it’s Donald.

  “Hey, Donald, is that you? Hey!”

  “M-m-man, l-l-leave me alone!”

  With a sigh of relief, Marty begins friendly tactics to get Donald closer.

  “Look, dude, we need you to come back to carry some stuff. You said you would help us out if we hooked you up with some dope. We’ll keep our promise.” The figure slowly drifts away in the large shadow cast by the huge factory. “Yo, man, don’t ignore me! I’m just lookin’ out for you.” There’s no response. “Muthafucka, now I’m gonna kill you,” Marty mutters quietly, unfolding his knife and giving chase.

  The factory is a massive empty building that reeks of a foul stale odor. There is shattered glass everywhere. The night wind sends an eerie whistle throughout the complex. Empty beer cans and bottles of cheap wine litter the concrete floor. The only light is from the lonely full moon that peers through the dilapidated ceiling. A mist of dust travels the factory, settling on the old machinery. The air is thick and almost smothering. Makeshift newspaper mattresses occupy dimly lit corners. Rats scatter as Marty storms past their nest.

  Boldly Marty chases after the figure into this dark dungeon-like place, hunting the figure down. The moon makes an evil gleam in his eyes.

  “Donald, I know you’re in here!” he shouts. “Why don’t you come out so we can talk about the dope we got for you. See, you made me spoil the surprise. We already had the dope for you. We was just waitin’ to give it to you.” Marty stands for a few moments, waiting for a response. There is none. He peers around in the dark.

  Suddenly a small, sharp piece of broken glass stabs him in the arm.

  “Aw shit!” he screams. “What the fuck you think you doin’, boy? You don’t know who you messin’ with! You see, that weakling role I play on the streets is just an act so I can set people up, like them bitches. Now you about to see the real me!”

  Marty grips the knife tightly. Taking silent steps, he cautiously walks into the shadows. The figure darts swiftly in the background, into another corner. Marty sees this movement from the corner of his eye and smiles. “I see you, man. Why don’t you come here? Maybe we can work this shit out.” He folds his knife and puts it into his back pocket, then pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

  Lighting up his cigarette and taking a big puff, he stares around. He hears Donald’s frantic breathing somewhere. He believes he has Donald cornered. He takes his time pulling a few deep drags. Catching a glimpse of the trickling blood flowing down his arm, Marty becomes infuriated. “Damn, man! I see you ain’t tryin’ to work this out, so I’m left with no choice but to cut your fuckin’ heart out!” Smashing the cigarette under his ragged shoe, he pulls out his blade again. “Awright! Now it’s time to party.”

  Marty again brandishes his knife, while picking up a bottle and hurling it into the shadowy corner, where he thinks Donald is hiding. The bottle smashes. Glass flies everywhere. The figure darts away, with Marty giving chase again. Running around and between old factory machinery, Marty keeps the figure closely in front of him. His heart is pounding with the chase. He picks up bottles as he passes them and hurls them at his intended victim. Missing the figure, the bottles smash against the walls and concrete floors, mini explosions echoing throughout the halls. Marty laughs and smashes more bottles against the walls. Panting heavily now, his lungs ready to explode, Marty yells, “I see ya. I see ya. You ain’t gettin’ away!”

  The chase lasts only a few minutes. It ends with Marty slithering like a snake through a half-open window into an alley on the far side of the factory. Exhausted, Marty crawls out, plops on the

  credit to: drakhenliche ground, then begins to laugh and cough as the figure stands in front of him, barely visible. “Thought you’d get away, did you?” Marty asks sarcastically. The shadowy figure drifts backwards, deeper into the veil of darkness. “Come on out now,” Marty shouts, “and take your medicine, boy!”

  Out of the darkness, a black raven emerges. It stands motionless as it investigates its surroundings and watches Marty collect his breath.

  “Get out of the way, bird!” Marty yells, while walking toward the dark corner. The bird impedes his progress by roaming in front of his every step. “I said get out of my way!” he screams, threatening the bird with a brick. His threats are to no avail; the bird does not budge. Marty hurls the brick at the raven. The brick stops mid-air, inches away from the massive bird. Marty’s eyes pop wide. Then the brick vanishes. As a winter breeze rushes through the alley, Marty clutches his arms, trying to stay warm while he gazes at the bird staring at him. “What did you do with that brick?” The bird’s eyes light up like a brilliant emerald flame. With merely a glance at this strange phenomenon, Marty is subdued. The bird backs into the shadow and all that can be seen are the blazing eyes, the body no longer visible. Abruptly, the eyes split into four, then six, and they keep splitting. Marty is stricken with fear. He can’t move.

  Without warning, a large bolt of lightning flashes across the heavens. With a thunderous rampage, a huge downpour instantaneously develops. Rain pours down on Marty. The thunder begins to rage, with the winds forcefully pushing Marty back and forth. The wind whips him in the face. As he stands there, looking at the three dozen pairs of emerald flame-filled eyes, he begins to back up toward the window he crawled through. He takes one step back, crunches a bottle under his feet and staggers, slips on the rainy pavement and falls, then gets up and takes another step back. The heavens open the cloud gates wide, allowing the leviathan of all lightning to strike just above the factory. Marty ducks. He stops moving backward, hearing the lightning sizzle the sky. He cowers. The thunderous bolt of pure energy blows out all the remaining windows. The alley, once darkened by shadows, illuminates. Marty’s eyes fill with tears of terror as the leviathan reveals the secret behind the darkness. He swiftly drops his rusty blade, turns, and begins to run.

  He dashes through the alley while the dozens of gleaming eyes watch him.

  In their grisly stance, they stand perched upon garbage cans, others on trash bins. Their lazy blood-red tongues dangle to the side, enhancing t
heir sick, menacing grin.

  Behind Marty, in the no longer hidden corner, a pack of rainsoaked jackals looks amongst each other as if to determine who will get the first bite. Ghoulishly, they salivate and stare at their escaping meal. Like a steel bear trap, their teeth fit perfectly together as thick slobber creeps in between. Their fiery eyes remain focused as Marty gets closer to the escape window.

  His pounding heart weakens him as he stumbles to the ground with barely enough energy to lift himself. Hoping he has outrun the pack, he looks back to see how far away he is. To his unfortunate surprise, the pack is sitting directly behind him, watching him struggle. They take another look at each other with their flamefilled eyes, then flourish their razor-sharp canines. Hindered by the treacherous rainstorm, Marty, reaching for the open window, slips, crashing down in front of the pack of demons.

  “Calm down...just calm down,” Marty pleads to them as he reaches out in an effort to calm the animals. Without warning, he is attacked voraciously. A few attack his head and body; others go for his throat, tearing it to pieces. Blood fountains into the air as his arteries are abruptly severed. Being sprayed with blood does not bother the pack. They continue their kill. Marty makes no sound as his legs are chewed off. He looks up at the falling rain- drops, and as they mix with the thick blood on his face, he prays death is on its way. His last precious moment of sight is brutally interrupted. One of the jackals sees his eyes as a delicacy over- looked by the others.

  This jackal’s attack is a feeding frenzy. Some members of the pack prolong the onslaught, while others drift back into the darkened corner, their mouths full with chunks of dangling flesh and warm, salty blood.

  The rainstorm subsides just as quickly as it started, with the heavenly clouds opening their windows, allowing the moonlight to venture through. Eventually all the jackals find their way back to the dark corner.

  Once their bodies are no longer visible, the fiery eyes begin to come together, finally ending as one pair. From this pair of eyes emerges the monstrous raven once more. With its belly visibly filled, it plucks wickedly at some remaining flesh lying on the concrete. It then strolls over to the torso of the lifeless carcass. With a sudden burst of energy radiating from the raven’s fiery eyes, the brick once thrown at it appears suspended in mid-air. Without hesitation, the brick hurls itself, smashing into Marty’s half-eaten face, which lies soaking in blood and rainwater.

  Peering at the night sky, the radiant beast launches itself into the clouds.

  4

  M

  eanwhile, at the apartment, Silas waits for the return of the two. Sitting on the couch like a drunken old man, Silas relaxes as if waiting for his wife and children to return home. The apartment is in disarray; drawers have been torn away from the furniture and flipped over, pouring their contents onto the carpet. Heaps of clothing and trinkets waiting to be sold to the highest bidder fill garbage bags. Pillows are torn with their goose-down filling decorating the beds like snow.

  “Where the hell is he? Shit, he can’t do nothin’ right,” Silas says to himself, as he sits on the couch with his hand in his jeans, fon- dling his testicles. “I’m hungry. What else is here to eat?” He peels himself up from the couch and heads for the kitchen. After slamming most of the cabinets open and closed, he takes another look into the refrigerator.

  “Wow, looky here. A whole fuckin’ turkey! I don’t remember seein’ this.” He gives his groin one good scratch, then reaches down for the 10-pound turkey that lies on a bright silver platter.

  The turkey is lavishly decorated with peas, carrots, celery, and a host of other vegetables. It is exquisitely stuffed with a mixture of breads, meats, and dark brown gravy. Silas licks his lips all the way to the table. As he drools over the turkey, the lights in the room suddenly dim then flicker like a sudden power surge. Silas stares at the fixtures as his heart skips. In the bedroom, unseen by Silas, the feathers on the beds begin to stir as if a window has been opened. The lights return to normal, and Silas redirects his attention.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a meal like this.” While smiling to himself greedily and using a large fork that he finds lying on the counter, he begins to gorge on the nutritious meal. Tearing off the legs and wings, he eats as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks. As he finishes each juicy portion, he throws the bone on the floor, then continues his feast. His lips are wet with fat and saliva, his beard is a trap for any morsel that misses his mouth. Stabbing the bird repeatedly, he searches rigorously for his mouthfuls. Midway through his meal, he hears a strange noise at the window. He stands, then walks to the window, holding his fork like a weapon. Looking out the window and pressing his face against the pane, he sees nothing. He pans left to right and spots only a dilapidated fire escape swaying slightly in the gentle evening breeze. Silas returns to the table and continues his feast.

  His hunger pangs satisfied, he wipes his face with a pillow and leaves the table. All that remains is the silver platter with a pile of bones and half-eaten vegetables.

  Sitting on the couch, he passes gas and belches while rubbing his stuffed belly. Looking at his hands and the gravy stains on his once clean v-neck T-shirt, he decides he’ll take a quick shower. Walking toward the bathroom, he stretches and yawns, scratching his arm pits and face, stepping over the artifacts Marty smashed during his rampage through the apartment. Silas first stops at the kitchen, grabbing the longest kitchen knife he can find. Just in case the two women walk in on him, he can make quick work of them.

  Heading toward the shower, he carefully steps over his pile of defecation, being sure not to ruin his sneakers. He removes his clothing as soon as he is in the bathroom. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he pulls back the flowered shower curtain and steps in. Slowly turning the marble knobs, he steps to the side to ensure a comfortable water temperature. Once it is to his liking, he steps in between the smooth streams of water. Silas quickly notices the used washcloths beside him on the shower bar and, reaching over, takes one. Staring at it, he expresses a faint smile, then lays it on his face, taking a deep breath like the true pervert he is. After soaking his face with their feminine aroma, he gives himself a thorough wash.

  When he steps out of the shower, Silas notices a strong breeze coming from the front room. Quickly grabbing his knife, he investigates. Dripping wet with a towel wrapped around him, he cautiously walks out to the front room. At first, he finds it hard to figure out where the strong gusts of wind are coming from, so he begins to follow the whistling noise to its origin. As he walks closer and closer to the dormant fireplace, he realizes that this is the origin of the wind. The upper air vent has opened, causing some of the soot to scatter on the thick lightly colored carpet. Relieved, Silas kneels down and reaches his hand up to try to close the vent. He stumbles around until he grabs what he thinks is the handle.

  credit to: www.tomituri.hu “Ouch! Goddamn it!” Cutting his hand on a long rusty nail, he draws back a bloody finger, but the cold wind forces him to try to shut the vent again. He reaches up as far as he can, but soot and other debris fall on his arms and neck.

  Unseen by Silas, a pair of watching eyes glare at his stumbling arms from the top of the chimney. Looking down, they begin to travel down the chimney, getting closer to his arms.

  “Damn, where is it?” he grunts. “There’s got to be a handle to close this fuckin’ thing!”

  The eyes get closer, becoming blood-shot, like an animal preparing to sink its teeth into its prey.

  “This must be it.” He feels a small knob.

  The eyes get closer.

  “Hell, this better be it. My arm’s gettin’ tired.”

  The eyes descend farther.

  “Come on, baby, close for Silas!”

  Closer...closer...closer...

  Slam! The sound of the closing vent echoes up the chimney.

  “Shit, that was a pain in the ass. Look at this,” he complains as he brushes the ash off his chest. “I got dirt all over me, now I got to wash my ass all ove
r again.” Walking back to the bathroom, he removes his towel to try to remove some of the debris from his hair. Standing in front of the mirror, he does not see the watchful eyes spy on him from around the corner. The eyes stare at his nude body with mischievous intentions, then they begin to glow. They have decided that the mischief shall begin.

  “Shit, my stomach’s gettin’ hot. Damn! I shouldn’t have wolfed down that bird so fast, now I got cramps.” Silas bends over, holding his stomach. Looking down, he notices a small drop of blood drip from his belly button onto the white tiled floor. Before he can stand, another drip quickly follows, another, then another. He then covers his belly to stop the bleeding.

  “What the hell is goin’ on? Why am I bleedin’?!” As he ques- tions this unnatural occurrence, his hand begins to throb, then to overflow with blood that pours onto the floor. Pain quickly diverts Silas’ attention; his head feels as if it will explode any second. He grabs it and screams as his ears begin dripping crimson. Blood spatters the white floor and Silas’ feet. His naked body is soon covered with the red liquid, which begins to flow out of his eyes and mouth. Choking on his own blood, he grabs his throat instinctively. He wants to stop it. He wants to clear his throat, but more and more blood bubbles out. He then turns and begins to stumble out of the bathroom. His feet slip on the bloody puddles. He slides into the wall, slams his head, and drops clumsily onto the floor. Dazed, Silas gets up, dragging himself to the door.

  The angel of darkness stops his progress. The black raven stands in the doorway, proud and arrogant. Though it’s a monstrous figure, Silas is in too much pain and agony to think clearly or be frightened by anything. Grasping his throat, vomiting blood and half-digested vegetables, he steps over the large bird, whimpering in pain. The unscrupulous animal quickly snatches Silas’ manhood.