Creature of the Night

by Anne Stinnett

  “I wonder if having them drinking blood so soon gave us an inaccurate measure of their potential,” Nodin said.

  “He’s in it now,” Delia said.

  “Perhaps a system of points would give us a more effective idea of who is worthy,” Nodin said.

  “No eliminations?” Edmund said.

  Nodin shrugged.

  “I take that to mean you like this one, Nodin,” Delia said.

  “As much as it is reasonable to like any of them.”

  Emily:

  “So. This is happening. If I disregard the gratuitous bloodshed that’s about to occur, I feel like this might make the challenge better. Easier to survive. Easier for me, of course, because who else could I be thinking of at this point? I’m trying to remember everyone else must be in the same place, that I’m no worse than anyone, and probably still better than Lola. Okay, I heard it; I can see why she called me judgy. They say the first time you kill someone is the hardest. I’m not sure if that’s true. Now that I think about it, I realize that sentiment may have come entirely from old detective novels. For obvious reasons, I hope it’s true. And for obvious reasons, if it is, I have to thank Landon. Landon, if any part of you is still coherent, I hope your pain is over. And I will spend the rest of my life remembering your magnificent composure. I hope I manage to do as well. And if you are in heaven, don’t forget to kiss my dog. I don’t always talk to dead kids, but when I do, I say something obnoxiously sentimental.”

  “Why does she think more foes will be better?” Delia said.

  “For all you are, my dear,” Nodin told her. “You are not a strategist.”

  “If you take offense to that,” Vlad said. “I will kill him for you. But I would like the virgin now.”

  “If I wanted him killed,” Delia said. “I would take the pleasure for myself.”

  Madeline:

  “I’m back. I don’t want to sound like some new age moron, but this feels a bit preordained. I don’t mean by God or anything; I’m an atheist. Maybe more of an agnostic. Point is I had a panic attack in the coffin, and I said some things I shouldn’t have. But it won’t happen again. And when I said preordained, I meant by something more like Fate. It’s like I’m meant to be the Creature of the Night. I missed all the hard stuff. No flying bullets, or eating kids, or whatever. Some of the other contestants are so pissed. It’s pretty funny. I mean, I would have more compassion for them, but they wouldn’t take care of me, would they? Maybe all along the plan was to keep the contestants with the most potential out of harm’s way by eliminating us early and then bringing us back for the last challenge. And best of all, they let us dress ourselves. Obviously, I’m not one of those shallow girls who only cares about how they look, and that was a reference to Portia if anyone missed it, but I feel better when I look like myself. Like my true self isn’t being obliterated by pink wool.”

  “Her true self,” Edmund said. “Does she even know her true self? Why must they all be so self-obsessed? They always assume their true selves are worth knowing.”

  “I must admit,” Delia said, “that does seem to be the case. And I have read extensively on the subject.”

  Ollie:

  “This has been the ride of a lifetime. Not in a good way. I don’t know why I tried to phrase that positively. What’s the point? I thought it was over for me, and now I find out it’s not. I have another chance to win this thing, but if I had a choice, I think I’d rather go home than have to hurt these people. Some of them are good people. And it won’t be just hurting. It’ll be killing. My dad, he was disappointed in me when I wouldn’t help him round up the cattle for the slaughterhouse. I’ve felt like a disappointment to him ever since. And that cancer kid. I couldn’t do it, even though he wanted us to. Shit, I’m not making any sense. I guess I’m trying to say even though I want to win, I’m not sure I have it in me to do what I’m going to have to do. But they put our backs against the wall, and if I don’t have it in me, someone else will. I think what I have to remember is, people aren’t cows or cancer kids. Except the cancer kid was a person.”

  “Did any of you have any inkling that cows are not people?” Nodin said.

  “Actually,” Edmund said. “I did not.”

  “Cows,” Vlad said. “Bleh. Even if they are virgins, not so good.”

  Celeste:

  “I was wrong to come here. Fuck. I don’t want to be here, but I can’t just go home. It says so in the contract. Now, everything’s changed. I need to win. I’m going to win this fucking thing because I have no choice. You know how sometimes you want something for so long and then maybe you get it, or maybe you don’t, but you suddenly realize it’s shit? That you don’t fucking want it? That it, this thing, is the last thing in the world you want? This sucks. But, I need to win. I can do this. I’m fucking back. In every sense. I’m going to rain destruction out there. When I got here, I wasn’t a person who could have won. I wasn’t a person who wanted to win. But I got a look at what comes from the kind of weakness I was lost in, and that’s all it took. I was okay with the thought of being sent home, but home only exists for the winner. And I will do anything. I’m scared though. Look at my hands shake. I mean for fuck’s sake, you can’t just ask everybody to confirm the contact information for their next of kin and leave with no more explanation. That producer is a prick. And the way things have been going, how did they not have those numbers on speed dial?”

  “Did they not know we would see these confessionals?” Nodin said. “That we have seen all of their confessions?”

  “They don’t behave as if they knew,” Delia said. “Although, common sense would dictate anything that was said or done might come to our attention.”

  “Expecting humans to behave sensibly,” Edmund said, “in itself demonstrates an absence of sense.”

  Kannon:

  “I’m going to say it. I’m happy to have the chance to inflict some pain. The thought of killing some of these people thrills me. It’s possible I have some pent up rage. But if this isn’t the appropriate place to bring it, there isn’t one. By the way, fuck you, Dad. For making me prove myself to you and for pressuring me to do it in a way you thought would benefit you. Don’t misunderstand; I’m not any better. But I am finished. With you, that is. If I do manage to win this, don’t wait around for me to bestow immortality on you. And if someday, I do darken your door, you would be wise not to invite me in.”

  “I would take that one,” Delia said.

  “He is marred,” Nodin said. “You have a reputation as one who demands perfection.”

  “Rage translates well when one is seeking pleasure,” Delia told him. “And most of him is still beautiful.”

  “Okay, people,” Chaz said. “That was that. You know what was on each contestant’s mind just before the final challenge. Contestants, listen up. These are the rules: do what you must. Whether you will be held accountable is a worry to savor another time. If you can.”

  “So now, let’s count it down,” Chaz said, and the crowd joined in with gusto. “Three, two, one!”

  The contestants swept into the graveyard. Many of them went for distance, trying to disappear into the set. Some were more intent on arming themselves, but within seconds, everyone had vanished from sight except for Cassie and Lola. Cassie would have been last, but Lola purposely lagged behind her. Lola watched the former dancer struggle across the stage on her crutches, and when Cassie drew near to the nearest tombstone, Lola used a foot to hook Cassie’s good ankle from behind. Having her one useful leg swept out from under her sent Cassie sprawling face first into a stone cherub. Cassie tried to pull herself up. She threw her arms around the little stone angel but only managed to bring it down on her head. Lola snatched the crutch that had fallen from Cassie’s grasp and proceeded to beat her about the head with it.

  “I don’t think that one is a nice girl,” Mildred said.

  “I don’t think they pick the nice ones to be on reality shows,” Hal said.

  Mildred co
nsidered the point but soon moved on to bigger things. “Are those nachos?” She shoved the beagle off her lap.

  “Chicken wings too.” Hal set the food on the table between their burgundy leather recliners. Mildred shooed the dog away.

  “I just don’t like her,” Mildred reiterated. “She’s a bad sort. You can tell.”

  “Now,” her husband chided her, “we don’t know anything about her.”

  “Well, I can see they have knives and swords and a couple hatchets hidden in the graveyard,” Mildred said. “I think it would be kinder to do it quick, don’t you?”

  “Maybe she wanted the first thing she could reach so she could protect herself,” Hal said. He thought it was a reasonable argument, but Hal had developed a fascination with Lola over the course of the show that inspired him to give her the benefit of any doubt. He loved Mildred, make no mistake, but she was a God-fearing woman who lacked what Hal saw as Lola’s dark sexuality. Hal was pretty sure Lola would enjoy getting on top. He scratched his stomach and reached for the basket of chicken wings.

  The contestants were pursuing victory with a fury that was new to most of them. Those that had been eliminated were seizing their chance at redemption, fueled by the knowledge that their lives hung in the balance. Those that hadn’t been eliminated already knew this on some level, but the return of the vanquished incensed them. Not to mention, they were desperate. So, they scrambled for weapons and strategy, ducked behind oversized tombstones that may have held their own names, and when the bodies began to fall, they counted down.

  The first blood of the challenge had gushed out of Cassie’s crushed nose and hit the stage. Cassie was no longer resisting, but Lola swung a few more times for good measure. Satisfied for the moment, Lola tossed the crutch aside and scrambled along the edge of the graveyard until her search yielded a hacksaw. There would be no chance for the tiny dancer to overcome her wounds and rise to victory in the final moments. Lola laboriously worked the saw, to-ing and fro-ing across Cassie’s neck and cursing for want of an ax. Finally, Lola lifted Cassie’s bloody head up and waved it in the crowd’s direction. They rewarded her with an enthusiastic and barbarous chant, but the judges gave no acknowledgment, apparently planning to stay out of it until the bitter end instead of calling it death by death.

  When Lola realized the tickling on the inside of her arm was Cassie’s blood running down it, she tossed the head away. It hit the stage with a squishy thump and rolled toward the audience, coming to rest a few feet away from the edge of the stage. Eager hands reached out for the head, but it hadn’t rolled quite far enough to be accessible to the questing fingers. Reclaiming the crutch with her free hand and gripping the saw in the other, Lola set off looking for a more immediately lethal weapon, stepping over Cassie’s body as she went.

  A few yards in, she found a short sword behind a cherub. Lola dropped down behind the chubby little statue and wrapped her fingers around the blade. When she peeked around the cherub’s behind, Donovan plunged a fileting knife into her jugular.

  Lola turned to gape at her lover and competitor, and Portia popped up from behind a tombstone and took her head off with a scythe. Unlike Landon’s, Lola’s head got some distance from her body. Helped on its way with a kick from Kannon, it sailed into the crowd. After much swearing and wrestling, Lola’s head ended up in the possession of Marlie Foyil, the nine-year-old pride and joy of Stacy and Beth. After the show, the head would go home with Marlie to occupy a place of honor on her dresser. It would stay there until she went off to college, and her mothers would gratefully let it go at a garage sale for seven dollars, even though the sticker clearly said eight-fifty.

  Portia took a swipe at Donovan, who jumped back then easily caught her arm and took the scythe from her on the backswing. Portia yanked her arm free and ran.

  In the middle of a bouquet of pansies adorning the tombstone of Xavier Marks, Stewart had discovered a butcher knife. Thus armed, he made his way to center stage where the crypt was located. He’d climbed atop it while most of the other contestants were still scrambling for weapons. Now, he was stretched out flat and quiet, hoping to stay alive by devoting himself to the out of sight, out of mind school of combat.

  Ganged up on by the height of the crypt and gravity, Stewart had struggled long enough that he had managed to catch Kannon’s eye. Armed with a hunting knife Kannon made a running leap at the crypt. His scaling skills surpassed Stewart’s, and he had both hands and a foot on the crypt roof when Jeff came up on his blind side and stuck a sword through his back. Jeff pulled the sword, tugging on Kannon from the inside until it slid loose. Kannon toppled off the crypt and hit the floor.

  Jeff ran the one-eyed rich boy through a couple more times for the sake of safety and then heaved the body up. He propped Kannon’s back against the crypt, arranged the lifeless limbs for maximum support, and used him to climb onto it. The extra boost he got courtesy of Kannon made cake of his upward scramble. In seconds, Jeff saw his prey crouched fearfully atop the crypt.

  Stewart closed his eyes and used both hands to thrust the knife at Jeff’s face. Jeff cried out and fell. He avoided the blade, but landed on Kannon’s lap and, after some hysterical moments spent untangling himself from the dead man, scrambled to his feet. He thrust the sword at Stewart, who ducked back onto the roof of the crypt and out of reach.

  On the other side of the crypt, Emily and Ollie had come face to face. Emily was clutching a broadsword that was too heavy for her to wield effectively but had the virtue of being long enough to ensure optimum personal space, at least in front of her. Her back was pressed against the wall of the crypt. She made an occasional thrust at Ollie but hadn’t come near to touching him. Ollie was armed with an antique dagger that looked Japanese, and he hadn’t wasted any energy taking swipes while she was still out of reach. But Emily knew she wouldn’t be able to hold the sword up for much longer, and when it became too heavy, Ollie would dash in and skewer her someplace vital.

  Today’s lesson, too late as the most important lessons always are, was that time spent training the body can be just as important as time spent training the mind.

  Emily was almost done. This current dynamic was not going to end well, so there was nothing to do but change it. She firmed up her failing grip and hefted the end of her blade as well as she could so the tip was pointing slightly up and aimed at Ollie’s chest. If she couldn’t swing the fucking thing, she would just run it into him.

  Ollie’s stance changed; Emily knew he could tell she was preparing to move. The fact that he knew it was coming didn’t mean she could change her mind. There were no other options. She had just pushed off the crypt when Ollie clutched his throat. From between his fingers, a spearhead popped through, the shaft coming dutifully behind it. The weight brought the end not still buried in Ollie’s throat down within Emily’s reach. She watched it bob around for a second and finally thought to look up. An arm had been extended over the edge of the crypt, its hand grasping around for the spear.

  Emily found it was easier to swing the broadsword straight up than to hold it extended out from her body. She lopped off Stewart’s arm near the elbow, sidestepping as she did to avoid the resulting spurt of blood and the plummeting appendage.

  Emily had no idea what other weapons of human destruction might be wielded from above, so it seemed relocation was a good idea. The broadsword wasn’t much use to her, but she didn’t want anyone else to have it. She slid the sword under Ollie’s body in exchange for his dagger. Then, she pulled the spear out of his neck and took it too.

  She crouched down and stole a glance around the corner of the crypt to make sure the side was clear. It was. Emily took a silent breath and crept along the wall to the next corner. The coast around the second wasn’t clear. Emily jerked back and dropped down when she saw Portia peek out from behind a tombstone. Emily gave herself a second or two then forced herself to take another look. This time, she could tell Portia wasn’t looking at her, but she couldn’t see who was holding the
actress’s gaze.

  Portia transferred her knife to her left hand long enough to dry her other palm on her pants. She edged out from behind her tombstone and crept toward Jeff. His attention was directed at someone on the roof of the crypt. Portia was two steps away from plunging her knife into Jeff when he sensed her behind him and turned around swinging a sword. The sword only sliced halfway through Portia before getting hung up on her spine, but it was enough. Portia toppled to the stage, tearing the blade from Jeff’s grasp and taking it with her. Jeff made a frantic attempt to retrieve it, but Emily was on him. She snaked an arm around Jeff’s neck and drew the dagger across his throat.

  Brett was near the edge of the graveyard. He’d been crawling around the periphery and had collected a couple of knives and a garrote wire. He’d seen Jeff fell Portia with the Samurai sword, had seen Jeff lose the sword to the grip of Portia’s corpse, and he knew he needed it. Donovan was running around with a scythe, and Brett couldn’t take him if he had to fight in close quarters.