Blood Donors

by Steve Tasane

  There’s more. Adults grow to ten to twelve millimetres. Bedbugs have an extremely tough exoskeleton. Most current pesticides won’t penetrate this exoskeleton.

  Exoskeletons? I blink at Sis like a fool. These guys sound like Armageddon critters.

  And guess what? They hide out durin’ the day, and when night come … well, bedbugs are attracted to body heat and the carbon dioxide in expired air, which is how they find their host. Devious, yeah?

  What you tellin’ me, Sis, is that they sniff us out.

  Hunters. They know ’zackly where you be snoozin’ away, but you can’t feel nothin’ when they bite, on account of them injectin’ an anaesthetic. Then they inject an anti-coagulant, which thin out your blood, make it runny for suckin’ up nozzles. You followin’?

  I wish I wasn’t. I feel sick.

  Sis reads more. As the bedbug engorges, it changes from light brown to rustred. Whoahh! We get paler, they get redder, fillin’ up with our juice. They suck for ten minutes or so. Crazy itchin’ only happen an hour later, once the damage all done. They crawl somewhere nice and dark to digest their slap-up meal. Marsh, you OK? You lookin’ pale.

  We leanin’ closer into each other. Sis is scratchin’ at her arm.

  Listen, Sis, these Megabugs, they ain’t ten millimetres long, they ten inches long. When they slurpin’ your good stuff, they takin’ ten times as much. Imagine five or six of them on you. You be literally dead meat.

  I’m thinkin’ of Soft Stuart, empty, bloodless like a sucked-out ice-pop wrapper. I’m hopin’ Sis thinkin’ the same, but she shake her head, like her brain just ain’t havin’ it. Naah. No way, man. Marshmallow, these bugsies are nasty critters, ain’t no arguin’, and maybe you seen some pretty mean-lookin’ ones, but – naah. No way. We jus’ got a infestation, is all.

  I thought you believed me, Sis.

  She shake her head. Listen, Marsh. Tomorrow your mum and my mum goin’ to teach those council peoples a thing or two about infestations. You get me? Those council men be cleanin’ this place from top to bottom. We ain’t goin’ to have no bugs suckin’ away at us. Don’t know what you saw, but trust me, giant bugs ain’t it. Chill, boy.

  She be yawnin’. I guess this my hint to leave. I ain’t takin’ it.

  I saw them, Sis. We’re in danger. All of us. I can’t protect the whole Finger on my own.

  She tired of this, her voice toughenin’ up like Mum when she nearin’ the end of her tether. Listen up, place as skanky as The Finger goin’ to be hostin’ the ugliest bugs in the city. But ain’t no Megabugs I’m seein’. Who gonna believe you, yeah? If you ain’t got no evidence, you ain’t got jack.

  Evidence. Only one way I’m gettin’ any evidence. The same way by which I ain’t turnin’ into no Bug Supper. By stayin’ awake. By stayin’ up all night, keepin’ watch on my little bro and Ma, and waitin’ for one of them beauties to make an appearance. I will splat that sucker all over the walls.

  But I’m worried. If Sis don’t believe, she ain’t gonna protect herself.

  Sis, you got to promise to stay awake too.

  She sighs. Marshmallow, last thing you oughta be doin’ is stayin’ awake. You stressed, boy. You be needin’ proper rest.

  I fix her the evils. I can’t believe she still ain’t takin’ this serious. I punch the door. Thud. That feel fine.

  What you doin’?!

  I punch it again. Thud. Feel real good. Graze my knuckle.

  Stop it, Marsh!

  You think I’m mental? I punch it again.

  She grab my arm. Stop it!

  AWAKE! I’m writhin’ out of her grip. YOU STAY AWAKE!

  She takin’ me serious now. Boy, you crazy she say, but suddenly she on red alert.

  You listenin’ to me? My face in her face. You listenin’ to me?

  Yeah she nod. I don’ know. I don’ know if she think I’m headin’ for the loony bin.

  How far back we go?

  We go back she admit.

  My fist throbbin’, knuckles sizzlin’ like they got ’lectricity flowin’ through. My friend ain’t gonna get sucked to death by no giant bugs. My fist ain’t goin’ to allow it.

  How far?

  Her eyes take that steely look. We sharin’ enough knowledge. More than words.

  You got me now? I ask.

  I got you.

  You goin’ stay awake now?

  She places her hand over my fists. I feel my knuckles tinglin’ into her palm. Marsh, you know well enough that I always sleep with one eye open. But let me reassure you, I got a secret weapon all of my own.

  Make sure I believe, she leads me through to the kitchen, reaches under the sink. Pulls out a spray can. On it is DOKTOR DOOM.

  Bug spray. I laugh. She lightened the mood. Sis, that’s for normal bugs. These guys are monsters. Bug spray ain’t goin’ to kill none of them.

  She winks. Maybe not, but if I spray it round my bed, it’ll put them off enough to go searchin’ for easier meat elsewhere, yeah?

  She got a point. We touch knuckles. Next up, I need to warn Mustaph, but before I head out, I scribble two notes, to push through the letter boxes of Mr Christian and Sleepy Lady. Each note say the same thing:

  Don’t sleep.

  Sure, I Believe You

  I head down from Sis’s floor, and jus’ before I turn the corner onto ours, I hear voices. I tiptoe to the corner, and stop, and listen.

  It ain’t my nature to be sneakin’ roun’, but one of the voices I’m hearin’ is Compo’s.

  The other voice is my mum’s.

  I guess Sleepy Lady called the Law after all. Lucky for me, Compo was the best they could muster. He ain’t exactly Dirty Harry. But I bet he fillin’ Mum’s head with all kind of dirt on me.

  Can’t quite catch what they sayin’, all hush hush. So I poke my head roun’ the corner jus’ for a sec.

  Comp is in our doorway, handin’ something to Mum. Look like a letter. Same size and shape as the letter she was readin’ this mornin’, got a fancy logo on the back like it from somebody official. Why she showin’ it to Compo? What’s the big whisperin’ deal?

  I wait until I hear our door click close, and Compo ploddin’ back down the stairwell.

  Make my way down to my boy.

  Sure says Mustaph, giant bugs.

  Thank you. Somebody else believe. Now we gettin’ somewhere. You seen ’em too?

  Mustaph stare blankly back. No.

  But you – what? You seen them attack someone?

  No.

  You believe me though? What we saw at Mr B’s?

  Mus frown, lookin’ puzzled. What, those cushions?

  No! I throw my hands up. The cushions were bugs!

  Bugs?

  Yes.

  The cushions we saw … were bugs?

  Yes!

  Oh, OK.

  Put my head in my arms and count to ten. My only option. Deep breath. Mus I beseech. Do you understand what I’m sayin’?

  Sure. You’re sayin’ the cushions we saw at Mr B’s weren’t cushions at all. They were giant bugs.

  He nod his head to show he got hundred per cent acceptance.

  Great. The only person who believe me is someone who’d believe your fingers were fish if you told him air was water. Mustaph would accept Dizzee Rascal was King of England if you told him with a straight face. He’d accept it if you told him with your hands coverin’ your mouth to hide the giggles.

  Mr Bush’s sofa cushions are giant man-eatin’ bedbugs.

  Well, of course.

  Maybe Sis is right. Maybe I am jus’ too wiped. Mum can call me a liar. Sleepy Lady can threaten me with the police, and Sis can ask me to take a proper logical look at myself. None of that matter, I’m safe with my conviction. But the moment Mustapha the Wise One agreein’ with me, I feel like I have it totally wrong. Aaaaaaarrrghhh…

  Wassup? say Mus, dunkin’ his teabag in and out of his mug. Same teabag as earlier. He gettin’ value for money. You worried the giant bedbugs are goin’ to eat
us all alive?

  Yes I whisper. Think I’m goin’ to sob like a baby.

  Ahh he say, suddenly gettin’ it, that’s why you told us to run for our lives?

  Yes.

  He twirlin’ his teabag round and round on its little string while he ponders this. So … they the same as the little bedbugs, only bigger?

  Yes! Think I’m goin’ to slit my wrists with frustration.

  They goin’ to suck out all our blood while we sleepin’, only this time we ain’t doin’ no wakin’ up?

  Yes.

  He sups his tea. Well, in that case I ain’t goin’ to sleep. Consequence of this dawns on him. Aww, man, no sleep! That’s a shame. Sleep is the sweetest thing I got.

  I say You better brew yourself a stronger cup than that if you wanna stay awake all night.

  Oh, I will, I will. He wink at me. You know what? I got me a secret weapon.

  For a moment I think to myself, maybe if Mustaph is my only ally, that’s better than nobody, and maybe he can come up with somethin’ more useful than a can of DOKTOR DOOM, yeah?

  What is it?

  He blow on his tea. It’s already cold! I will throttle him.

  What is your secret weapon, Mus?

  It’s a secret. He wink at me again.

  Mus?

  He look at me and sip his cold, watery tea.

  Why d’you believe me about the giant bedbugs?

  Put down his mug, peer into my eyes. You on hallucinatories?

  You know I don’t do that stuff.

  And you my best friend, yeah?

  You know it.

  Ain’t gonna tell me no lies then, is you.

  That’s it. Ain’t no more to say. I’m not alone.

  Don’t Sleep

  11 p.m. I down Red Bull. I ain’t actually in need of it. I am so wired, I’m leapin’ outta my skin at every creak.

  Here’s me back in my bedroom, but I ain’t got no intention of goin’ to bed. Mum already in bed when I got in. Checked on her straight away. No bugs. I stood by her door, watched for a few minutes as my eyes got used to the dark. Think she was awake, ’cos I couldn’t hear no sleep-breathin’. Think she was lyin’ there, fumin’. Neither of us said nothin’.

  Woke up Con-Con. He think I’m goin’ Lady Gaga. Wants to know all about giant bedbugs like it a littl’un’s bedtime story. Gobble up the gory detail.

  12 midnight I drain a can of Hype. Still ain’t needin’ it. Buzzin’ like a ’lectric fence. Bruv keep makin’ slurpin’ noises from beneath his sheet then gigglin’ like a fool, like it the funniest joke ever in history.

  Check on Mum. She is restin’ now.

  1 a.m. I down the XS. Walkin’ roun’ and roun’ on the spot, wearin’ a hole in the lino. Why we got lino? Why no soft carpet? Giant bugs can come crawl through the cracks in the lino. If they hungry enough, they be flat enough. If they flat enough, they can be hidin’ anywhere. Start feelin’ roun’ behin’ all mine and Con-Con’s posters. Spyin’ under Con-Con’s bed. Con-Con no longer seein’ the funny side. He still awake, but preten’ to be asleep. Tickle his feet. He kick me in the side of the head. That my boy.

  2 a.m. I gulp down the Crunk. What kinda name that for a sof’ drink? Crunk. What goes Ha Ha Ha – Crunk? Man laughin’ his head off.

  Little brother now snorin’ away. Check behind posters again. Pull up the edges of the lino, shine the torch through the gap, squint down, see what I can spot. Look under Con-Con’s bed. Remember I forgot to look under my bed. Pick up the fryin’ pan and stick my head under. Search behind every bit of clutter. Gotta de-clutter. Too much clutter bad for you. Hear a rustlin’ in the closet and pull the door open double-quick to surprise the monsters. It packed with junk. Rip down the mountain of toys, ’cos that where they could be hidin’ themselves. Clatter smash bang, all come tumblin’ down. Con-Con sigh and sit up in his bed. Marsh, go to sleep! Be quiet, man, you’re crazy.

  He not think I so crazy when I stop the bloodsuckers from emptyin’ out his arms and legs.

  3 a.m. Still no giant bugs. Too wired to need to swig the Blufrog. Will save it for later when tiredness kickin’ at me. I’ve pulled out the old photo I have of Dad from beneath my mattress, losin’ myself, thinkin’ about the old days. Picture at a funfair we visited. Three of us on a old-school carousel. Pretty painted horses swirlin’ us roun’ and aroun’. Me in the middle with my arms raised. Mum and Dad got theirs raised too, holdin’ mine up like a Champion Prince. Dad looks like a old swashbucklin’ pirate and Mum a movie queen. Happy Days.

  This day, normal-sized bugs be grievin’ me, attackin’ on all fronts. I got itch bumps along my back and arms and legs. Decide I’m goin’ to hunt for them as well as their giant cousins. Shouldn’t be hard, as they usually swarmin’ over my bedsheet like players on a soccer pitch. I’ve squished seven of them, pop ’em between my fingers like bubble wrap. Sploosh. I’m makin’ a pile in one of Mum’s ashtrays. It be a warnin’ for their big cousins. I pull down my beddin’ and there be a whole crew of them makin’ a break for it along the bedsheet. I squish squish squish. Stinky and messy. I brush my fingers against each other so the body parts all fall onto my Warnin’ Pile. Remember that bugs love books, love doin’ their business on the page corners. I grab Con-Con’s Harry Potters, shake ’em out one by one. Splat. Splat. Fingers a stinkin’ mess. Didn’t think this through. Tell myself Don’t sniff ’em, don’t sniff ’em, but it like when you wipe dead skin from between yo’ little toes. Who in the world got the willpower to resist? The smell similar, but bug smell more bitter, pungent. Second-hand blood.

  Go to the bathroom, scrub scrub. Grab Mum’s nail-file from the cabinet. From now on, the little bugs get the bayonet treatment.

  4 a.m. Call my dog, nice and quiet, rummage his fur for creepies. Sabre look at me like Why you doin’ this in the middle of the night, boy? Believe me, my dog truly used to be a dirt machine. I ’member before Mum called in PEST CONTROL, Sabre itchin’ and scratchin’ like he the Big Top for a flea circus. When I got my face right in there it wasn’t fleas leapin’ about. It was bugs, all bubbled up with blood like he jus’ some furry ol’ KFC Family Bucket for Mr and Mrs Bug and their buglets. My dog deserve better. From then, I gave my dog weekly baths.

  Wasn’t no use. Me and Connor clean as licked plates, dog shinin’ like a Prize Winner, and PEST CONTROL intoxicated every inch of the place. Still them bugs came back, with a grudge and extra gang members.

  Bigger and most definitely badder.

  When I pick three of the little ones off of Sabe’s belly fur and show him the culprits he try and eat the dead ones, but the taste too nasty even for him.

  I hear a noise. I swear I hear a pitter-pat from Mum’s room. Smack my forehead. I am a fool. Ain’t checked on her for – how long? Pick up the fry pan. Tiptoe to her room. Only light, the light from my torch. I see shape of Mum beneath her duvet. No movement. I shine the torch across the floor. No sign of any Megas.

  Mum?

  She don’ say nothin’. She either asleep or dead.

  I sniff the air, searchin’ for their musty stink.

  Mum?

  Damn, I left it too late. Sweatin’ now. What am I gonna do? If Mum is dead and Dad is gone away in prison, who gonna watch for me an’ Connor?

  Me. I’ll watch Connor.

  Who gonna watch for me?

  Mum?

  Listen. Listen deep. I can’t hear no breathin’. I can’t hear no bug pitter-pat.

  Lean close. I can’t see no movin’ beneath the duvet where her chest be breathin’. She ain’t breathin’. Can’t see her face. She got the duvet pulled up. Like Soft Stuart on the stretcher to the meat wagon, just his toes stickin’ out.

  Dead.

  I hear rustlin’. Look down where her legs at, and the duvet has started movin’, all weird. Can’t breathe. Everythin’ caught in my throat, like trapped meat. Squeeze my swollen knuckle roun’ the handle of the fry pan. Slow, smooth, pull up the bottom of the duvet, revealin’ her toes, her ankles, now
her knees.

  No Megabug.

  She shifts her leg, bends her knee. Marsh? Slappin’ her lips together like she half awake. She was jus’ changin’ position in her sleep.

  Damn. She gonna kill me. I ease the duvet back over her feet. Listen close. Hear her breathe deep sleep-breath.

  I hear the pitter-pat, comin’ now from mine and Con-Con’s room. Sabretooth givin’ a whimper.

  This is it. We under attack. My heart hammerin’ like a house party in my chest. Legs won’t move. I look down, see if they been paralyzed by demon bug bites. But it fear gone and paralyzed them. Move!

  I almos’ barge into Mum’s dressin’ table dartin’ out from her room. I’m gonna club with my torch and splat with the fry pan. If I hit the Megas direct, one blow is all it’ll take. Stun ’em, give me time to go for the kill. Boom boom my heart.

  Get to our room, nothin’ here. Sabretooth sittin’ tremblin’ like Scooby Dooby Doo, startled round-eyed look on his face. He wag his tail, slink towards me on his belly, like he thinkin’ it’s him I’m gonna clatter over the head like a baby seal.

  Check the whole room again for Megas, cussin’ my dog. Sabre lookin’ shamefaced and cowardly. Dog that cried wolf.

  I can’t be two places at once. Sabe got to stay awake too and keep guard. Drag him back through to Mum’s room, shut him in. If Megas goin’ to invade the room, they’ll suck at the dog first. He can howl the alarm before they start suckin’ on Mum.

  Sorry, boy. Promise I’ll check on you.

  5 a.m. Connor snorin’ away. Quiet as a bug myself, I pull down his sheets so’s not to wake him. He wearin’ a T-shirt and boxers. His arms and legs are polka-dotted by bug bites. Five or six crawlin’ on him. Make me quietly go nuts, ’cos Connor’s blood be swellin’ their bodies. Every night they suck my bruv’s blood, and mine, and Mum’s.

  They also suckin’ at Mustaph, and Sis, and Big Auntie. All I know, they suckin’ at everyone in the whole block. No one able to stop them.

  And now big bugs. Megabugs, to suck us good and dry.

  Don’t nod off. Don’t close eyes. Do your duty.