by Billy Wells
“How appropriate,” I mused.
After Emily’s body was removed, a peculiar dark outline of where she had come to rest remained on the carpet. The outline resembled a shadow, but with further inspection, there was nothing to cast the shadow. It was a creepy turn of events, but I tried not to let it ruin what had up until then been a perfect day.
A carpenter cleaned and waxed the hardwood treads, and the staircase looked as good as new. Mysteriously, even after the carpet people installed a beautiful red carpet, the dark spot remained. Everyone who came to the house during the investigation said they thought the outline looked like a shadow. I had that piece of carpet replaced, but the shadow remained.
I moved my room to the other side of the house to avoid coming into contact with the shadow.
Weeks passed and the will was finally read. It was confirmed. I was to inherit everything. Tom and Sue were to be the next in line upon my demise. I pretended to be surprised at what I had known all along.
The next day, I told Tom and Sue to vacate my house as soon as possible. Of course, they hated me for throwing them out in the street after so many miserable years together. A week later, I was finally free of the whole family. The entire estate was mine!
After they left, I made a list of all my possessions. I reviewed all my bank accounts, stocks, bonds, etc. I lit an expensive cigar and poured myself an expensive cognac. I sat there for hours and knew that I could be the happiest man on earth.
Suddenly, I thought I heard Emily’s voice. I looked around and saw nothing. I called out, and there was no answer. I was so rattled; I returned all the important papers and checkbooks to the safe in the living room that was hidden behind an ugly portrait of Emily, Tom, Sue, and me. I withdrew a revolver from the safe and searched the house, but after two times around the first floor, I found nothing suspicious. The only sound in the huge house was the crackle of a burning log that I had placed in the fireplace when I was tabulating my great wealth. I was about to search the bedrooms upstairs when I came to the bottom of the staircase and found the shadow on the carpet had disappeared. A chill ran up my spine as I looked about. My heart was beating like a racehorse when I spied the shadow in the middle of the staircase. I felt extremely dizzy and stumbled backward and slumped on a sofa at the base of the stairs.
I awoke sometime in the middle of the night. There were only embers in the fireplace, which was the only light in the house. I turned on a lamp, but it appeared the power was out. I proceeded up the stairs with a flashlight to see if the shadow was still there in the middle of the stairs. It had disappeared.
I moved to the top of the stairs and surveyed the carpet. There it was. The same as it had been at the base of the staircase. The image of Emily’s dead body materialized before my eyes and filled the shadowy outline. I dropped the flashlight and let out a piercing scream. A green glow emanated from her body, reminding me of the horrible green carpet I had replaced. I ran down the stairs and tried to exit through the dining room. The dining room chandelier started to flicker. The thing that looked like Emily stood in the doorway with a hideous grin that curled around broken teeth. The apparition was blocking my escape from the house. She pointed a gnarled finger at me and beckoned me toward her.
I took the elevator to the second floor. When I stepped from the elevator, Emily’s animated corpse reached out for me. I backpedaled away as her menacing fingers reached for my throat. With gnashing, bloody teeth and bulging, dead eyes, she slithered toward me, one foot dragging behind the other. I screamed in horror as I plunged backward and dove headlong into the abyss that was the spiraling stairway. My head cracked on the mahogany treads several times during my descent, and one eye exploded from its socket before I landed in a crumpled, broken heap at the bottom of the stairs.
With my one good eye, I saw her standing in the shadows at the top of the stairs, and I heard the unpleasant shrillness of uncontrollable laughter. Descended the stairs, she stood over me and seemed to savor each of my final gasps for breath. The hellish figure placed her hand on the top of her head and pulled off an incredibly authentic, hideous mask of Emily. I immediately recognized Aunt Sue standing there in a glowing version of the dress that Emily had worn to the grave. The lights came back on, and I saw Tom step into view as I began to lose consciousness.
I heard the pop of a champagne cork, which was followed by uproarious laughter and the intermittent commentary on how laser images and holograms had done the trick in scaring me out of my wits. They were so happy that I fallen down the steps to my death, as they had hoped, which didn’t require them to commit the dirty deed directly. I lay there in a grisly heap as my miserable life went through my mind in a really neat pictorial display.
It was clear that my back was broken since I couldn’t move a muscle. My neck was twisted at an odd angle, but my head was propped up against the final tread at the bottom of the stairs, which left me in the perfect position to see my blood oozing into a pool on the floor with my one good eye.
I wondered if they would repair my missing teeth, my ruptured eye, and my lopsided head before the funeral. Or would there be a closed casket?
* * *
Bedtime Story
Valerie picked up her Kindle, and scrolling through the titles, decided on a selection from Bedtime Stories to read to little Cindy, her wide-eyed five-year-old. They heard the low drone of the TV from the master bedroom.
“Where’s Daddy?” Cindy asked, fluffing her pink pillows. “I want to kiss him good-night.”
“He went out to get something for breakfast for tomorrow morning. He’ll be back soon. Let’s see… How about “Cotton Candy” or the “Three Little Gerbils?” she suggested.
“You already read those two.”
“Sorry,” Valerie replied and continued scrolling. “What about ‘Butterball’?”
“That’s sounds like a good one,” Cindy said, yawning into her pillow.
Valerie leaned back in her rocker and started reading, “Once upon a time, three teddy bears lived in a doll house in Fairy-Fairy land. Papa Bear was very fat, Mama Bear was very thin, and their four-year-old daughter, Powderpuff, was just right. One day, their next-door neighbor, Mrs. Panda, stopped by to see if the Bears would like a pet for Powderpuff. Her cat, Placebo, had just had a litter of kittens.
The Bears were overjoyed when they saw the little ball of orange fur, which was much cuter than any button, and they couldn’t wait to give it to their little princess. They named the tiny feline, Butterball, and placed him in a small basket on the kitchen table.”
Valerie stopped reading when she heard the news commentator on the TV in the other room say, “A partially devoured, unidentified body has been found in central New Jersey. Authorities say it is the fifth attack by the same animal that has been terrorizing the area for the past two weeks. Gerald Kennedy, forensic animal expert, believes an enormous, ravenous dog, such as a St. Bernard, may have inflicted the wounds. The Medford Police and several local veterinarians have not confirmed this assertion. They believe it more likely that a big cat may have escaped from a zoo or traveling circus, but so far, no animals have been reported missing.”
“Why did you stop reading, Mommy?” Cindy asked with a yawn.
“Are you getting tired?”
“No, I want to hear the rest of the story.”
Valerie continued reading, “Grinning from ear to ear, Papa and Mama Bear called Powderpuff to the kitchen to come and see what they had for her. Their little princess scampered into the room and looked at them with excitement and anticipation. Mama Bear raised the blanket from the basket, and Butterball jumped out on to the table.
When Powderpuff saw the little kitten, she let out a deafening, blood-curdling scream that startled her parents and most of all, Butterball, who jumped from the table and darted into the living room.”
Cindy’s stomach growled, and she said, “I’m hungry, Mommy. What do we have to snack on?”
Valerie looked at her quizzically and said
. “You know you can’t eat anything at this time of night. You’ll have nightmares.”
Cindy pouted for a few seconds, but knowing her mother wouldn’t bend, replied, “What happened then?”
Valerie continued with the story, “Papa Bear said, ‘What’s the matter, princess?’
‘Didn’t you see the monster jump out at me from the basket?’
‘That wasn’t a monster,’ Papa Bear explained, ‘that was Butterball, the new pet Mrs. Panda brought for you. He’ll purr if you rub his tummy.’”
“Mommy,” Cindy whined, “you read this story before. I remember it now. Powderpuff says the cat wants to eat her, and Papa and Mama Bear try to convince her that Butterball is a cute, little bundle of fur that wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Do you remember the ending?”
“It‘s the same as that other bedtime story, “The Thing in the Cellar”. They put the cat in Powderpuff’s bedroom and locked the door.”
“Then what happened?”
“They were sad when they found Powderpuff was gone, and the kitten’s whiskers and fur were soaked with blood.”
“Wow! I can’t believe you remember that story; you were so young when I read it.”
“It makes me hungry every time you read it,” Cindy said, licking her lips.
Over the drone of the TV, they heard the howl of a wolf in the black woods that surrounded the secluded cottage. Moments later, when they heard the door to the kitchen open and close, Cindy lifted her head from the pillow and shouted excitedly, “Daddy’s home!”
Valerie knew her daughter was still thinking about Butterball’s feast of Powderpuff, and would be ravenous by breakfast time, but she didn’t want her wolfing down food after midnight, particularly during the full moon. The candles flickered as she put down her Kindle and scurried down the stairs to greet her husband. She couldn’t wait to see what tasty morsels he had in his sack.
A few minutes later, Cindy heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and a growl at her bedroom door. Looking up, she saw her father grinning at her with slivers of flesh stuck between his incisors. His hairy chest was matted with blood and gore.
“You’re home!” Cindy screamed as she jumped from her bed and ran toward him.
Her father threw up his gory claws and waved her off. “Let me take a shower first; you don’t want to mess up your lovely, pink pajamas.”
“What did you bring me for breakfast, Daddy? The bedtime story Mommy read made me so hungry.”
“How would you like some shredded tongue and a juicy thighbone?” he asked tenderly.
“My favorites!” she screamed joyfully with saliva spilling from her jaws.
Her father threw her a kiss and bounded down the hall.
Valerie came to the door with a wet mop soaked with blood, a bucket of red water, and a bottle of Mr. Clean. Pointing to the second bathroom, she said sternly, “Daddy’s tired; he had a long night, and he needs to get up early for his day job. Brush your fangs, and go to bed. You can kiss Daddy in the morning.”
* * *
Claws
“Push harder,” the lead nurse continued to shout as Jackie Muller strained with all her might to deliver their first child. Her husband, Laslo, sat by her side and issued moral support.
The extreme exertion of the labor that had lasted ten exhausting hours had caused Jackie’s face to be beet red.
“I can see the head,” the doctor cried out. “It won’t be long now. Keep pushing.”
Finally, when little Jason was completely free of the birth canal, Laslo saw the doctor’s face turn ashen white. The lead nurse screamed, and the second nurse toppled to the floor in a faint. He rose from his seat and turning to the doctor asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Look at his hands.”
When Laslo saw the gnarled claws protruding from the baby blanket, he thought he might join the second nurse who was out cold on the floor. But, struggling back to his chair, he found a way to steady himself. His wife sobbed into a towel and shook uncontrollably with eyes fixed on the baby’s horrible deformity.”
“Can something be done with plastic surgery?”
The doctor tried to regain his momentary lapse from composure and professionalism, and taking Laslo’s hand, he replied with a bit more optimism in his voice, “I’ve never seen anything like this before, but I’m sure with all the miracles plastic surgeons perform today, your son’s hands can be reconstructed.”
***
Three years later. Jason wore special gloves year round. His father was a poor man who had been out of work and did not have hospitalization benefits. He also had no way of paying the thousands of dollars every doctor charged for the surgery. When he finally found new employment and secured medical coverage, he found the insurance company considered Jason’s hands a cosmetic problem not covered by the plan.
When Jason began pre-school, the other children shunned him as if he had two heads. Although he appeared normal in every other way, his strange gloves caused his classmates to call him names and exclude him from all their activities. His teachers tried to include him, but no one wanted to be around him.
Then one day, Jackie wrote a letter about Jason’s deformity to a TV show that often found a way to provide special treatment for children like her son. In a few weeks, the station notified Jackie a plastic surgeon had agreed to reconstruct Jason’s hands without seeking compensation. The family was overjoyed and hopeful Jason might be able to live a normal life.
After five operations, the doctors reported they’d done the best they could do under the horrific circumstances. Shortly afterward, Jason appeared on the TV program to show the world his new hands. When they presented the before and after shots, the audience applauded loudly. Every face glowed with an optimistic smile for his future. However, his classmates at school continued to treat him the same as they always had, even though he no longer wore gloves and his hands, although somewhat different, resembled the hands of a typical ten-year-old boy.
***
As the years passed, Jason’s hands reverted to the way they were before the operation. The doctors had no idea what could cause such a thing, and knew of no further treatment they could implement to resolve the problem; consequently, Jason, began to wear gloves again. Still friendless and considered a freak, his life hadn’t really changed. Every day was a living hell.
***
As more years passed, Jason’s fingernails curled into bestial points if he didn’t trim them regularly. Also, his fingers were extremely long for the size of his palm and although powerful, they were gnarled like someone who’d had a severe case of rheumatoid arthritis. Clearly, genetics had totally replaced the technology of the plastic surgery.
To make matters worse, Jason’s parents noticed several other abnormal things about their son. His mother caught him eating raw meat from the refrigerator a number of times. He had no plausible explanation for this other than he was hungry and didn’t see anything else in the refrigerator to munch on. He could read the numbers on a license plate further away than anyone else could see the color. He had a very acute sense of smell. His mother occasionally found a dead animal in his room when she tidied up. They bought him a pet, but it wasn’t long before the little mongrel would hide whenever Jason entered the room. His biology teacher reported he was abnormally cruel with the mice and insect experiments in the lab.
***
After graduating from high school, he went away to college, hoping he might make some friends since no one there would know anything about his high school classmates’ rejection. Despite the fresh start, his strange, creepy demeanor and his peculiar routine of wearing gloves to class caused everyone around him to shy away.
***
After finishing college, Jason found a job and relocated five hundred miles from his hometown. His first day at work, he noticed some of his coworkers had huge, visible tattoos and body piercings. One of the secretaries had green hair, and another dressed like a Goth. In his experience, even when ot
hers around him dressed weirdly, it never kept them from persecuting him; however, people in the workplace were much more forgiving about the deformities and abnormalities of fellow staff members. When someone asked about his gloves, he jokingly said he was trying to embellish further the fad that Michael Jackson had started. He quickly added he had a skin disorder and had to wear them. After the first week, no one made an issue of his gloves again.
***
Years passed, and Jason led a dreary, lonely life without a friend in the world. He signed up with various dating services, but once the female candidate saw his picture, she did not select him for a date. He looked too much like a vampire with his abnormally pointed canines and his corpselike complexion, to attract any interest from the opposite sex.
When his parents died in a car accident when he was twenty-seven years old, Jason had to arrange for their funeral and the sale of their house. While packing up their personal belongings, he found a file in their records indicating that a bat had flown through an open window and had bitten his mother less than a year before she became pregnant with him. Shortly afterward, she came down with a strange malady her doctors could not diagnose. She was on the verge of death when her fever finally broke. After the ordeal, she miraculously recovered. A subsequent letter from a Doctor Stoker speculated this nocturnal attack might have caused her son’s odd pallor, pointed teeth, and claw-like hands. Three different doctors scoffed at the one doctor’s notion, and that was the end of the correspondence on the matter. Jason tried to contact Dr. Stoker at the time, but could not locate him. The letter seemed to explain many of the mysteries that had followed him all his life.
In 2012, a serial killer made headlines by murdering ten young women and draining them of blood. The only victim who escaped told police that the killer wore black gloves and looked like a vampire.
One summer night, Jason asked for directions to a popular restaurant from a young woman passerby, but when she saw his face in the headlights of a passing car, she screamed, “It’s him! It’s the vampire! Police! Don’t let him get away!”
