The Blood Knows

by Erik Gustafson

said aloud, her lips barely above the water line.

  It all already seemed like it happened so long ago, as if she were remembering something that happened to somebody else. She wasn’t going to let herself cry, just stew in the tub with her anger. A glass of wine would be most welcome.

  She slipped into a deeper state of relaxation.

  Alice didn’t hear the bathroom door ease open. Alice didn’t notice the long shadow moving across the bathroom wall. She did hear the metallic scream of the shower curtain being jerked off its hooks in one pull.

  Alice let out a high-pitched cry of terror. Mitch was standing before her, wearing a blue fedora containing a single black feather. He curled his lips up and exposed most of his teeth making him look like he was hissing. He was also brandishing a butcher knife.

  “Tonight is your special night, sweetheart.”

  Alice shriveled to the far side of the tub, clutching her breasts. “Get out of here!”

  “You don’t understand.” He dropped down to his knees so he was eye level with her. “I’m here to make it all better.”

  Alice lunged forward and thrust all the water she could at Mitch. Before the roar of the water could settle, she followed up with a fist to his face.

  His blue hat fell off and he wobbled back.

  He stepped into a wastebasket and sat down hard on the toilet.

  Her heart was pounding but that instant was a chance to escape. Alice scrambled to her feet, bubbles streaming down her skin, and stepped one foot out onto the wet floor mat. Her eyes monitored Mitch carefully while she climbed out of the tub. This retreat both took forever and was beyond risky but there was nothing else to do, unless waiting to be killed was an option.

  Mitch kicked the small trashcan off his boot as her second foot cleared the tub.

  He vaulted off the toilet and backhanded her in one motion. She pin-wheeled in midair, fell back, and splashed into the water. Her head smacked against the wall. As pain rang out in her head, she slid down into the water.

  Mitch shook his head and banged the back of the blade on the tub. “You are stubborn.”

  Alice kicked her legs wildly as if she was operating a paddleboat. Water was everywhere.

  Mitch thrust the silver knife forward, she dodged, but the blade sank deep in her thigh. Blood streamed into the water. Alice looked over at Mitch as if she didn’t realize what was happening. He kept pushing, the water turned red as her thrashing churned the mixture. Her hands flailed at Mitch’s large hand and the knife.

  He jerked the knife out of her leg leaving a long red gash. Alice collapsed completely into the tub, her eyes rolled back, and her world went blurry.

  “It’s okay, the blood knows,” he purred in her ear and smoothed her hair with his free hand.

  His hand plunged into the water and scooped out the black stopper. The water gurgled and began to drain.

  He turned to finish the job, but the glimmer of the knife roused her attention and she bucked the knee of her good leg into Mitch’s arm. There was a loud clink as the tip of the dagger hit the tub behind her.

  Alice’s scream propelled her momentum as she rose from the rose-colored bath water, landing on top of her attacker. He stumbled back and cracked his head against sink cabinet. Alice grabbed the first thing she saw- an aerosol air freshener can. She drove it into his forehead repeatedly. As she pummeled him with the can, she kept seeing Mike’s face instead of Mitch’s’ and that only encouraged her fury.

  Mitch stopped moving and his face was bulging and bloody. Alice sat panting atop his still chest. “Creepy asshole,” she shouted and tossed the metal can to the floor. She crawled to the bedroom leaving a streak of blood as she went. Locating her blouse, she tied it tightly around the wound. She picked up her cell phone to call for help only to find it completely dead, then quickly discovered that there wasn’t even a room phone.

  In the tub, her blood swirled down the drain as it mixed with the warm bath water. The mixture raced through old, cracked clay pipes under the yard.

  The roots from the trees in the yard reached into the pipes through those cracks like crooked, wrinkled fingers of greedy witches. The roots feed from Alice’s blood as it sloshed through the plumbing. The dormant roots twitched as they welcomed blood in the water once again.

  The writhing tentacles soaked up the blood.

  Above ground, as if a wind had suddenly picked up, the trees behind the motel began to shiver and sway. The trees became aware and the branches frolicked under the smiling moon. Blood was slowly coursing through the inner bark and climbing the trees.

  Alarmed owls jumped to the sky and flew into the night. Squirrels scurried down the trunks in a panic and escaped down the hill. Nesting birds took flight and vanished.

  Inside the motel, in the lobby, the largest of the crows blinked its black eyes. Then its head turned toward the window, eyeballs gleaming like jewels. The bird shuttered. It bellowed a tremendous caw! The other stuffed creatures around the room began to stir on their perches; stretching sleepy talons and flapping stiff black wings. At once, the room became dark as the crows filled the space. They began circling, like scared bats.

  The trees continued to sway and they all quickly became synchronized.

  Looking for a phone, Alice limped to the lobby wearing only a towel. As she pulled the door open, the fluttering murder of crows flew past her.

  One by one, the stuffed crows emerged from the motel in a long, ominous line.

  Alice hobbled back out of the lobby and watched as the crows circled the trees. The swaying trees moaned like mourners crying at funeral.

  The crows settled in the branches and began pounding their long beaks into the bark. Pasty red goo oozed up from the tears in the bark and the crows suckled the red drops of Alice’s blood.

  After the feeding was over, the crow’s eyes were blazing red. They rose into the sky and flew out over the interstate, unseen by the cars and trucks traveling in the night. After they departed, the trees slowed down and stood motionless in the dark as if nothing had ever happened.

  Evil enchanted wings pumped for hours.

  Alice’s angry blood burning in their veins, the crows found themselves above an apartment complex over 300 miles away. They circled the parking lot several times then, like a black lightning bolt, exploded through a window. Fragments of glass rained into the living room and pattered on a leather couch and recliner.

  The birds cawed out.

  The black stream of birds shot down a dark hallway. Not slowing, they rammed the door at the end of the hall. The door held as several of the birds thumped into the wood and fell to the carpet. Tiny black feathers stuck to the wet door.

  Not phased, the birds stood up on skinny legs, pranced back down the hall, and took flight again. The avian battering ram continued until the door splintered.

  With possessed passion, over time the birds tore holes into the door rather than getting it to open. The black crows crawled through the shredded holes in the door and stole into the bedroom.

  A naked man stood in front of a closet door. He gripped a bat tightly with both his hand.

  He was wide-eyed and shaking. The spawns charged. He ducked and swung the bat at the same instant. There was a great swoosh.

  A crow shot into the nearby mirror like a baseball from a line drive. The silvery glass spider-webbed. The bird dropped to the dresser and lay motionless. The man smirked and let out a high-pitched but short laugh. Seeing the bird stand and flap back toward him cut the celebration short.

  The other birds were circling him and spurting chucks of red vomit from their beaks. The fowl mixture splashed onto the man.

  “What the- ?” he started but was cut off by a scream from the closet. “Stay in there, Kathy!” the confused man shouted, wiping smeared blood out of his eyes.

  “Caw! Caw! Caaaaw!” the crows seemed to mock him with their chanting.

  On
e dove out from the parade and flew in close. It ripped a strip of skin off of the man’s stomach. The crow swallowed the chunk of flesh and arced back around the room for another attack.

  The man yelped like a wounded dog and dropped the bat.

  A sense of doom flooded his mind. The wrath of sharp talons and hooked black beaks overwhelmed him. One landed on each shoulder and pecked, in unison, deep into the sides of his neck. Two lines of bright red blood ran down his chest and legs. He was a marionette with cut strings: his hands flopped limp at his sides and his legs gave out. He dropped to his knees.

  He looked back at the closet with droopy, sorrow-filled eyes, and fell forward.

  The crows danced and ripped away at the carcass.

  Their black feathers glistened with blood.

  Drooling and drunk, the gluttonous crows sensed another heart beating and stomped across the carpet. The accordion-style closet door folded open without resistance. Inside, a naked blond-haired woman squatted under neatly hung clothes.

  She was screaming and sobbing.

  The flying demons streamed into the closet as if they were iron and she was a powerful magnet. The wild birds pecked and clawed at her, ripping her to shreds and tearing away ribbons of skin. She swatted at the giant birds and screamed. One huge crow’s black beak was pounding so furiously into an exposed femur that it cracked and lodged itself in the bone. Blood splattered everywhere.

  She fell backward into the depths of her homemade coffin, crushing shoeboxes and pulling clothes