—
Chapter 30
“David and the Marine”
Ferndale
—
It was freezing. The temperature reached a high of 19 degrees F, and dropped fast as the sun set. Now, at 17:34, it was already 8 degrees. That didn’t stop David Shiffle, who was entrusted with a very important assignment for his clan. The elders were still upset about the unsanctioned attempted killing of the underaged Marcie, who eventually did die, at Creepy College.
As a chance to redeem himself, they trusted him to get the victim of the annual March celebration. This was the only sanctioned kill of the year, when a confirmed virgin would be bled, with everyone partaking in drinking blood from a living victim. Afterward she would be killed as a sacrifice to the dark god Moloch, who would bless them with good health for the rest of the year.
He already scouted her house, and the elders had checked her records with both Marine Corps and civilian medical records, and she was in perfect health and a virgin. At age 36, Jean Guspin was as strong as an ox, a trucker who could out lift most Olympic powerlifters. It would not be easy to take her, and David Shiffle was nervous. He was parked in front of her modest single-level house on Second Avenue, and he watched through her bathroom window for signs that she was hitting the shower after work, which she did every day at 18:00 on the dot.
The window had no curtains or blinds, so he already knew that she was no prize.
Big, bulky and reminiscent of a pro wrestler—the male kind, not the female—she had short hair, mean eyes and breasts with pierced nipples, and they were flat, sagging down against her abdomen like thin cardboard, which made David sick. He also knew that he would not drink her blood any more than he would have sex with her. She looked like a bulldog.
But, because he was a stupid young man, he sat in his pickup truck and watched with his window down for the bathroom light to come on. And since he was really stupid, he’d parked across from a streetlight, so he was readily visible. And that hardly mattered because he had a blue Mohawk haircut with blue glitter, had piercings everywhere, all of which glinted in the light every time he moved. And if that wasn’t enough , he was a mouth-breather and he put large plumes of steam into the air every time he exhaled, and his old Chevy pickup truck was burning oil, and smoke poured from his tailpipe, so anyone who didn’t know where he was probably hadn’t gotten home from work yet. He checked his watch. She was late. He turned the truck off and got out with the intention of asking her when she was going to take her shower.
She had put little effort in clearing her sidewalk, not since the White Hurricane, and there were two 6-foot tall walls of white ice flanking both sides. They were smooth from repeated melting and refreezing, but he didn’t register the danger they posed or concealed.
He dialed Matt’s number. Matt was the leader of the clan, and as the highest elder did not register that David Shiffle was ten years his senior. He had an estimation of David as the world’s perfect idiot. He used David for menial chores like making coffee at the meetings.
And ever since the incident at Creepy College, the meetings were held only as weather permitted and then, by fewer numbers.
Someone was picking them off like flies.
David was the only survivor of the animals that tried to drink the underaged girl’s blood, all of them having died on site. If any lived to leave the place, Matt didn’t know about it. He punished David Shiffle for his participation, but he also knew that his clan was finished, and David would not return with the Virgin Jean Guspin. She could tear his head off with her thumb and forefinger.
Since Creepy College , no fewer than ten members of the clan had died, and none were natural or weather related. Someone killed them, although he didn’t know how because even their families didn’t know.
“What’s up,Matt?” David said into his Nokia phone.
“Dave, what the fuck ya want? You know where you’re supposed to be!”
Matt was younger and only as tall as maybe four feet, six inches, but David was terrified of him. He never felt at home or accepted anywhere but with the clan, so Matt’s threats to kick him out were something he took seriously.
“She’s late. What should I do?” He asked.
“Wait, you ding-a-ling. You have to be careful with this one. Gotta surprise her.”
“How?”
Matt disconnected the call.
“Shit!” David yelled, unaware that his immediate regret at yelling was wasted, because he was already being watched.
In the canyon of ice that was her sidewalk, he had to turn sideways to navigate the trench. When he reached the stoop, just a flat concrete pad by the door, he looked through the window beside the door and jumped back as he saw a face, a terrible, ghastly face, staring back.
Then he realized that it was his reflection and he tried to open the door. It was locked, and a voice from inside his head said, David, you are my favorite son. You must act quickly to get your task accomplished. Forget the door. She knows you are here.
“Who said that?” He asked, checking his phone to see if it was Matt playing a trick on him. But nobody was connected. “David, your moment is passing. You must climb upon the ice and crawl to her bathroom window. She leaves it unlocked. Hurry!”
“Okay!” David whimpered, not knowing if it was a trick or if Moloch himself was talking to him.
He looked up at the ice wall to his right and tried to jump up and get a handhold at the top, but it was too smooth, and his long nails broke off as he slid back down, landing on the concrete with the back of his head.
Everything went wonky, his vision tunneled and dimmed, and when he recovered, her door was open and she had the bad end of a shotgun stuck to his nose.
“The fuck you doing,” she demanded, and by god, she was way uglier up close.
“I—I just—”
“Shut up!” She yelled. The voice of a man. this kept getting worse. He looked at his broken nails and couldn’t decide which hurt worse, those or his head.
“This time sound off like you got balls!” She demanded and pumped a shell into the chamber.
“Not with that thing pointed at me,” he insisted.
“What’re you doing here?” She asked, moving the muzzle off to the side.
He had to think up a lie fast, and he did: “I was passing by the other day and I saw you gettin in your shower. I mean I saw you strip. The window steamed up after that.”
“I knew it!” She bellowed, “A peeping Tom! Betcha jacked off in your truck, too. Pervert!” But then, without a pause or a breath she said, “That’s hot.“
She put the shotgun inside against the wall, then reached down to help him up. “Saw ya hit yer head, you okay? Come inside, lemme see.”
He was trapped. He followed her inside, she led him to an armchair, helped him to sit. She gently ran her fingers over his scalp and said, “No egg, you’ll be okay. Let me get some Tylenol for ya.”
When she was gone, he tried to get up and run for the door, but he couldn’t move. He was sore and cold and lame. She brought a glass of water and two Tylenol, he thanked her and took them. She got mushy: “You’re welcome, love. Didn’t catch your name. I’m Jean.”
“Dave,” he said.
“When the Tylenol kicks in you’ll feel better, Dave. Then I will show you what you wanted to see so bad.” She smiled and he saw her teeth. He’d gone fishing on the bank of the Back River once and seen pebbles the same exact size, shape and color of her teeth. And she leaned close to kiss him and her breath smelled like back River by the sewage plant. He gagged.
“You might really have a concussion,” she said sympathetically. I’ll get you some ice.
She came back after filling an ice cap for him and she asked if he really wanted to see her naked. He said “Yeah, you got nice tits.”
“You really think so? I hate them. I want a boob job. But if you like them, I guess I can put it off. You wanna see ’em, dontcha? I will let you do anything you want to them.” And she began to unbutton her shirt, and he wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. By the third button down he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra and he felt a twitch between his legs!
No, no, not now! his mind raged.
But as she shrugged out of the shirt and dropped it to the floor, he was beside himself with rage: he had the boner of all time struggling to get out of his jeans! She said, “You really do like them,” and added, “Take it out, I wanna see it.”
She didn’t wait. She leaned over and unzipped him and brought it out where it stood at full attention. “Wow,” she said. “Now you just wait until I’m out of the pants, and we’ll make love like we’re the last two people in the world.”
As she bent to step out of one leg, he’d had enough humiliation, and he reached into a pocket to retrieve a two-shot palm pistol. He aimed at the top of her head and pulled the trigger. A loud POP sounded, and he jumped up, screaming like a little girl. The second bullet dribbled out onto the carpet where two of his fingers already lay, and she stared, not comprehending at first, then saw the leftovers of the gun in his mangled hand and screamed, “You motherfucker! I’ll shoot your fucking head off!” And she went, stark naked, to the door. Her shotgun leaned against the wall but before she knew it, he was running sideways toward the street. She let loose with buckshot but missed because the ice walls were too narrow.
She ran after him, and he saw that his truck was gone! Someone had stolen it! He had to keep running. He turned right, heading for Hollins Ferry Road, while she reached the end of her sidewalk and pulled the trigger again.
It was another miss, but she wanted revenge, so she made it back to her house, while he turned right at the top of the hill and saw a church two blocks away. He didn’t make it. Two things, black smudges in the streetlights, seemed to form into what looked like people, but they radiated menace and he turned back, because even a shotgun was better than facing what he just saw.
A car was coming and he waved for it to slow down, with his penis still sticking straight out despite the pain in his hand, and of course, the car didn’t slow down. He made a gesture as if he had a gun in his pocket, and the driver stopped, but his forward momentum made him run right into the grille with his erection, and it bent in a right angle at the middle, swelling immediately in a purely painful way.
The driver’s door opened, and Jean Guspin, not a stitch on her, got out and she aimed the shotgun. Davide did an Olympic Games-worthy jump over her door, hitting her so hard that she was knocked down in the street between her car and an ice bank. He stepped on her, got into her car and took off, running over her head with the rear tire. He felt the car bump and laughed.
Now he really was a murderer, and he had to get out of the area fast and dump the car. But his hand and his penis hurt, and to help him concentrate, he lit a Newport. He used his good hand to dial Matt, but got his voicemail instead. Frustrated, he threw the phone out the window then raised it to let the heater warm him. It was a good car, a Malibu, and he figured that if he could get to Route 100, he’d make good time. Headed back toward Howard County and home, he heard the voice again. “You disappoint me, David. You had such promise.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he said to the voice.
Just over the county line he took an exit and pulled into a shopping center parking lot. Here he would abandon the Chevy and call Matt again. He forgot all about throwing the phone away; the pain was terrible and it was a tossup as to which hurt more, his head, his hand or his dick.
He didn’t notice the shiny orange Stingray following him. When he got out, cradling his wounded hand, with two cauterized stumps where fingers used to be, a striking blonde got out of the 1973 Stingray. She smiled and said, “You’re having a rough night,” and he was hoping she could help him. She had a beautiful smile.
“You think you’re a vampire, is that so?”
“I am a vampire,” he said, showing her his fangs.
“Like hell,” the woman said sarcastically, and closed on him. Now her smile was gone. When she clamped down on his neck and began to slurp blood, he had nothing left. He couldn’t even scream.
Hippie, still recuperating with Lilith at his side, lay in bed resting, and suddenly went rigid. The vision of a woman biting a man was so real it must be true, and Lilith hugged him, her head resting on his chest. She said, “Husband, I see her, too. Do not be worried. We will face everything together.”
And he kept seeing her, the woman who just killed a man wiped blood from her mouth with a tea towel she must have had with her. Because she planned on killing him and drinking his blood.
She became aware of Hippie watching her remotely and grew angry. She shut him out and gave him a headache, and he went downstairs and begged Sandy to give him something for it. She did, but the relief was very short-lived.