Sinister Scribblings - Volume 1

by Matt Hickman

  Heading onto the landing, she whistled again. Sarah hadn’t felt this way in ages. She was happy. Less than a few months ago she had thought it was all over. Sarah and Clive had been arrested fleeing the scene, red-handed and covered in fresh claret. Making a run for it through the back door, they had found the police waiting for them.

  The police pumped 75,000 volts through their bodies before they succumbed. The court case had been quick and brutal, from prosecution to sentencing in less than forty-eight hours. It was unheard of. Luck had been on their side though, as no connections to similar cases in other counties had been made. The jury had deliberated for less than five minutes before the guilty verdict was handed down - life imprisonment at Weston Grove Sanatorium. The next morning they were packed off in a secure police vehicle, headed for the sanatorium. Halfway across town the wagon had been passing through a junction when a school bus jumped a red light and crashed into the side. The van flipped onto its roof and the back doors sprung open. Seeing all those children crying and bleeding on the bus had felt like Christmas arriving early for Sarah.

  Thinking back to the crash always made Sarah smile. Life threw everything at her but she always ended up on the right track, the path of the righteous abused. Walking down the hallway she stopped outside a door. A bright pink flowery sign on it said Anna. Turning the handle Sarah swung the door open. The room was lit by a single night light casting its pink glow over the darkened corners. Sarah flicked the light switch and bright light bathed Anna’s room.

  Sarah ignored the wardrobe and headed straight for the bedside cabinet. Grabbing the door handles with both hands, she hauled it to the side to reveal a small wooden door embedded into the wall behind it. A small sliding shutter sat halfway up the door. Sarah knocked. No answer. She knocked again, nothing.

  “Anna, open up. It’s me, mum.” She whispered soothingly. The shutter moved two inches to reveal a small pair of blue eyes.

  “You’re not my mummy.”

  “Course I am poppet,” Sarah cooed, “It’s time to come out, the bad people have gone.”

  “You look like mummy, but you don’t sound like her.” The shutter slammed closed.

  “Come on Anna, open for mummy,” Sarah brought the knife up to just below the shutter.

  “You are not my mummy,” Anna screamed from inside.

  “Anna, look at me. Open up please, its mummy.”

  “But you don’t sound like her.”

  “I’ve been screaming sweetie; it changes your voice a little. Please Anna, you’ve gotta believe it’s me,” Sarah readied the knife in one hand and placed the palm of her other against the end of the handle. The shutter started to slide open.

  “Keep it closed Anna,” a voice shouted from the doorway. Sarah span on her heels to see the policeman from earlier, standing in the doorway. He had his pistol drawn and levelled on her chest. The shutter slammed shut again.

  “You stupid fucking pig,” Sarah hissed.

  “Drop the knife or I will fire.”

  “Bully for you, you want a fucking medal?” She stepped closer to the side of the bed.

  “Take one more step and I will shoot you.”

  “No you won’t.” Sarah took another step.

  “That guy downstairs, he’s your partner right? Well he ain’t breathing any more, he’s dead.”

  “So fucking what?” Sarah climbed onto the bed, “You can’t shoot me, it’s the law. You have to play good cop.”

  “There’s one thing…” the policeman raised the gun.

  “Oh, what’s that, you cunt?” screamed Sarah as she lunged for the policeman.

  The cop pulled the trigger; the gun hammered and recoiled into his palm. The bullet flew straight through Sarah’s left eye, exploding out the back of her head in a mist of blood.

  Doracula

  By

  Daryl Duncan

  1

  My name is Doreen. I am a vampire. How’s that for an introduction? I also enjoy wearing woman’s clothes. It’s what I do and have done for as long as I care to remember. I wasn’t always as open about my desires and before we go any further, I am strictly heterosexual. I have nothing against gays, if I had friends, I’m sure there would be a few gays among them, but I will always desire the love and touch of a woman. That, of course, doesn’t happen very often because the desire for their blood usually outweighs the other, more animalistic urges. You just can’t have it both ways, unfortunately.

  So, now that you know me a little better, let me explain a few things. I was born thitrty years ago in this very castle. My mother left not long after. She told my father that she couldn’t stand to look at such an ugly child a moment longer, or at least that was what my Father used to tell me. I hope he was joking.

  My Father raised me. I had no idea what he did for a living but he worked nights. We couldn’t afford a nanny or childcare so I had to basically look after myself from a young age while he went out each night to work. I never knew how much he got paid for his work but he always came back looking vibrant and refreshed. I envied him. I wanted to work nights someday when I got older and still look as cool as him. I had inherited his pale skin and dark hair but not his grace and manner. That came later. Let me tell you how it all that changed for me.

  2

  I woke up screaming in agony, crying out for my Father. He came into my room, calm, poised, not in a panic. He stood there as I rolled around the A-Team mat on the floor beside my bed. I told him I was dying and do you know what the fucker said? ‘I know’. I mean, nice parenting there, Dad. A little help would be cool, but it didn’t come. He left me to writhe on the floor, my skin burning, tightening against my bones. My teeth cracked and fell from my mouth and my gums felt like they were on fire. He was a blur to me. Just the image of him, folded arms and that pale face holding a smirk. Darkness. Death.

  I woke up a few days later. I had died. My Father knew I would die and that’s why he stood by and let me. When I was feeling up to it we had dinner one evening, a local villager named Bradshaw. Before my death, I would have protested. I would have shown my Dad the specials on at the Foo-King Chinese and demanded delivery. It was all so different now. The desire for fresh human blood outweighed all the Special Chow Mein in the world.

  Bradshaw wriggled and cried on the table my Father had bound him to. He was crying and making no sense whatsoever. He seemed like a likable sort, if there was such a thing from that village. I stood up and stared at him, until he caught me staring. He licked a tear that was about to drop from his top to bottom lip.

  “Please, let me go, I’ve done nothing wrong,” he said and for a big guy, his voice was very squeaky. Perhaps Father had tied the ropes too tight around the sack area.

  “Silence.”

  My Father had spoken. He winked at me and I tried to hide a smile. He was being the dramatic vampire, all for our guest's displeasure.

  “Derek, would you like to do the honours?” my Father asked, long white hands outstretched. It was my time. Only spoiled by the smell of shit coming from Bradshaw’s Levi jeans. The guy was scared. Who wouldn’t be? Plucked from under the Capri he was working on, and taken away by two vampires in the still of the evening.

  I traced my finger along the tips of my teeth. They tingled. My tongue was like a fish on a dry shore. The thought of the guy’s blood was making me dizzy. I moved closer. His head shook back and forth. He wasn’t crying anymore. He was long past that. I placed one hand over his face and leaned in.

  I must have passed out. My Father was shaking me. I tried to focus.

  “Derek, can you hear me, Son?” he said. I wiped my eyes and Father came into focus.

  “Yes. What happened?” I asked. My lips and all around my mouth were sticky.

  “You over-indulged but that’s fine. It always happens the first few times. You will learn to take what you need and move on. Now gather yourself together. We must celebrate,” he said, as he glided away from me in that way that he did. That was a look I had to perfect
. We left Bradshaw’s body to stink and retired to the living room.

  “So why did you never tell me before? I assumed you worked nights in a factory or something. All this time you’ve been out hunting?” I asked sipping from a glass of Bradshaw. Father sipped from a glass of vintage, some buxom bird from a few years ago whose blood he had kept in a cask and matured.

  “You cannot expect a young mind to accept the fact that they are indeed a vampire. It takes that certain moment in a man’s life to make things clear and absolute. Do you know this now, my son?”

  His voice was gold. I sipped my Bradshaw and nodded, slow and steady like a man does. We enjoyed our drinks and watched the fire as it burned to a few golden embers. Just over the hills, miles ahead of the village, the sun had begun to creep up and it was time for sleep.

  3

  So, there you have it, not all of it, but a little taste of how I came to be. That was many years ago now and my dear Father is no longer with me. Yeah, I know, Vampires are supposed to live forever but it isn’t always the case. After that the nights were glorious. We would go out hunting together, a Father and Son team, always preying on the unsuspecting. The guy coming home from the pub to a grumpy wife. The kid that had just bullied another kid. The cop who was doing tricks with his colleague's missus. We tried to keep it interesting. We tried to keep it fun.

  The thing is, although I was enjoying my role as a vamp, there were other feelings that I just couldn’t avoid. We took a plump bird from her car one evening. I opened the door and Father pulled her out. She had been eating a takeaway in the car outside her house so that her husband wouldn’t find out. She kicked and spat and some of her burger relish squirted onto my shirt. She was a pig, to be honest, but when we got her back to the castle, I couldn’t help but be fascinated by her top. It was an off the shoulder blouse thing with a big wolf embroidered over the breast pocket. It was just fabulous and a little daring.

  We drank her and my Father retired to his study to write some letters. I lingered on. I needed to touch that top. I needed to feel it’s nylon splendour against my own smooth skin.

  I heard Father’s footsteps pacing back and forth upstairs. I had time. I untied her wrists and placed her arms up to the side of her head and then pulled the blouse up over her big gut and breasts and pulled it off. Her heavy frame slumping back to the table with a thump. Thankfully, the top had remained blood free. We were tidy feeders. I folded it carefully and went to my room. On the way past my Father’s room, I could hear him muttering to himself. He was an avid letter writer and got frustrated sometimes by his own prose. I felt like saying goodnight but decided not to. The smell of the perfume-soaked garment was driving me nuts. I closed the door behind me quietly and sat on my bed. Yeah, that’s another thing, we don’t sleep in coffins. I mean, come on, why the fuck would you when there are perfectly comfortable beds for sale? You people really need to stop watching so many movies.

  I laid the top on my bed. I lit a couple of candles and I took off my shirt. It just felt right doing so.

  Before pulling on the blouse, I held it against my chest. It was glorious. It felt like nothing I had ever felt before. I was a killer. I murdered to feed my dark hunger, but I also desired nylon product against my person. In a few seconds, I had pulled the top over my head and down across my body. It almost killed me. I fell backwards onto the bed in pure ecstasy. It was like years of repression now seeped from my pores. The dried blood from the blouse’s last owner cracked as I smiled the biggest smile I could manage. I closed my eyes, knowing that when I woke up I would be a changed man, a different person. I felt complete.

  4

  Father knocked my door several times before I answered it, keeping out of sight and popping only my head around the door.

  “It is time, son. Come,” he said, tapping his wrist although we didn’t wear watches. I nodded. “Two minutes. I’m just getting ready. Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I ask you something?” I said without really knowing what I was going to ask him. “Do you think it would be okay to wear something other than the suit and cape tonight? I mean, it’s stylish and all but it’s a bit old-fashioned.” I knew he wouldn’t understand.

  “But we are Vampires. We have certain principles and traditions to uphold. These people today with their picture movies and televisions ruining our image, making a mockery of a centuries old race of beings. Just wear the cape. It’s time to go.”

  That was his last word. I nodded and closed the door. I could hear his footsteps going downstairs. He wasn’t gliding. That usually meant he was pissed off. I quickly took off the blouse and got dressed in my usual nighttime attire. I checked myself in the mirror and felt like an idiot.

  5

  It was after midnight and we lurked in the alleyway behind a local bar in the village. It smelled of human piss and there was some rustling among the many black rubbish bags that lined the wall. Humans were filthy fuckers. A lone drunk stepped out of the exit and stumbled up the alleyway. I went to pounce. Father stopped me, reaching his arm across my chest. “Not yet. His blood stinks of cheap ale. This will not satisfy our desires this evening. We need something with class. Wait, here comes someone now,” he said, lowering his arm. I watched as this guy came strutting out of the exit wearing the most amazing suit I had ever seen. It was cream coloured and accompanied by a white shirt, buttoned only half way up and a thick chain of gold hung around his neck. The guy didn’t just walk past us, he strutted past us like he was King of the Village. I liked him. He amused me. Father nodded. We followed him.

  It was a different kind of kill. We didn’t take him to the castle. Instead, we took him to a little park area just outside the village.

  “My God, you guys look fab, where’s the party?” he asked as we dragged him off the main street. Father looked at me. He was confused. I wasn’t.

  “We are vampires and you will offer up your blood this evening,” my Father said and the guy just laughed. He was beyond drunk and acted like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Hey, not so rough. I’m up for a party. You guys rock. Brothers?”

  “This is my son.”

  “So cool, man, out with the old man for the evening. I’ll tell you something, those outfits are out of this fricking world. You need to hook me up with your tailor. Now where we heading?”

  That was enough for Father and he yanked the guy back with his flowing blonde locks and ripped his throat out in one bite. I watched. Even as he feasted, I just couldn't bring myself to indulge. Don’t get me wrong, as the blood flowed, my teeth tingled, my stomach yearned for some but something about this guy’s attitude got me thinking.

  “Son?” said Father, blood dripping from his clean-shaven chin. I didn’t reply and walked off towards the castle. He followed but said no more. As we crossed the fields I could hear screams from the village.

  6

  A splendid fire was roaring in the hearth the night I finally declared myself to Father. He was sat in his favourite chair, enjoying a glass and a fine cigar. I walked slowly into the sitting room, coughing slightly for attention. “Good evening, Derek,” he said, without turning around. The smoke curled up over the high back of the chair. I took a moment and then spoke.

  “Father, Dad, I have something to discuss. May I have a moment of your time?” I said, expecting him to offer me the chair opposite. I was glad when he didn't.

  “Yes, Son, of course, but the sun is coming up. It will soon be time to retire,” he said. The ice in his glass slid downwards. He was out and stood up to get a refill. It was my moment. In all of my twenty-one years, I had never been frightened of anything. As I stood there, my whole inner being exposed and radiant. I knew what real fear was.

  I stepped from the darkness and into the light of the fire. My sequined dress shimmered and danced by the glow of the flames. My blood red heels shined so brightly. I stood before my Father. He said nothing. I began fixing the red bobbed wig I had stolen from a shop in town the previous week. It didn�
��t need fixing but I had to do something. I felt like running from the room. My father’s eyes bore holes through me. His face was stone. Paler than usual.

  With dry lips, I spoke. “Please say something. Dad?” He walked to his drinks table. He had a couple of decanters containing various victims. We need fresh blood to survive, to feed, but my Father was old school and still enjoyed the finer things in life. He likes to drink important people; majors, politicians, kings, but I did not ask him what blend he was on tonight. He filled the glass to the brim. The glass shook a little in his hand. I hoped it was his old age and not his temper beginning to boil. With caution, I stepped back a little, my heels scraping on the varnished wooden floor.

  “I have nothing to say. It is time for sleep. You will feel different in the morning. That is not what I suggest. It is what I demand. Go.”

  So that was it. No harsh words. Just blanking it out until evening and hoping that it would go away? Had he no idea how long I had struggled with myself? I could see the first few rays of the sun catch the dust just under the curtains.

  “Father. I need you to listen. I cannot live like this any longer. I need you to accept who I am. I am still your son but I want to be called Doreen, not Derek,”

  The glass shattered into a hundred pieces as it hit the wall, just under Grandfather Dave’s portrait. I almost jumped out of my porcelain skin and stepped back, snapping my left heel off.

  “So you mock me. I give you life and a cause. This is how you repay me? Look around you Derek,” he said, hand motioning towards all the portraits around the sitting room.

  “These are the great Vampires who came before you. Creatures of stature, knowledge, wealth of character. These are the men you should look up to. You are the last of our race and you stand before me like this?”