A Mixed Bag of Blood (2 page)

“Yes?” she asked, answering the phone.

“When’s it going to happen?” Brad asked, his speech somewhat slurred.

“Soon.”

“I paid a lot,” he said, staring at his left wrist, where his hand used to be.

“Patience my dear. All in good time.”

“I’m not sure how much longer I can wait. I need this to be over. I’ve marred my body for this, sacrificed more than enough. I want results.”

“Losing an eye and a hand is a small price to pay for what you asked.”

Brad felt as if tiny spiders were crawling across his flesh, his anger quickly fading. “Fine,” he said, trying to sound stern. “Just get it done.”

* * *

Mindy rode her new bicycle every day and slept, hugging Bumpkins--her new teddy-wolf, close to her heart every night.

Three weeks after his daughter’s birthday, Martin and his family sat at the kitchen table, enjoying a splendid, home-cooked meal.

As darkness fell across the land and the full moon glowed brightly in the night sky, Bumpkins began to stir. Its nose twitched as its limbs wiggled; unnatural life starting to flow.

The plush animal was nestled, like a newborn, between two fluffy pink pillows on Mindy’s bed. Its body began to grow—arms and legs elongating. Claws, like fine daggers, protruded from its paws. The soft brown fabric that was its fur, lengthened, becoming shaggy like a mangy dog’s. The onyx button eyes turned crimson, as if filled with blood. Fangs, menacing, long and thick like that of a saber toothed tiger’s, grew from its mouth.

At full length, and very much alive, the creature let loose a low growl, saliva dripping from its maw like a rabid beast. Raising its head, it sniffed at the air. The creature’s targets were nearby.

Having only a few hours of life, the full moon its power source, the wolf-creature galloped out of Mindy’s room and down the carpeted steps.

It halted at the bottom, seeing its victims ahead. How lucky it was that all its prey were together in one area. The beast charged, its claws ripping up the parquet flooring.

Martin’s wife, who had been carrying a ceramic tray filled with chocolate cake, screamed when she saw the creature. The tray fell, shattering against the kitchen’s tiled floor. Pieces of cake crumbled and scattered like soil from a potted plant.

Martin turned around in his chair, his face paling in utter astonishment. Within seconds the wolf-thing was on top of his wife, its jaws clenched around her throat, tearing it open. Blood spewed from a punctured artery as the wolf chewed.

Mindy screamed as Martin grabbed a chair. He brought it up over his head, slamming it down on top of the wolf’s head. The creature howled in annoyance before swatting Martin across the room, his body colliding with the sheetrock wall.

Dazed, but very much aware, Martin watched as the beast devoured his daughter, her cries quickly silenced. Martin was screaming, his mind unable to comprehend what it was seeing.

The wolf-thing, its face caked in red gore, revealing pieces of his wife and child, their clothing too, howled.

The beast approached Martin as he cringed against the wall, all but giving up, wanting to die.

The creature raised its paw to strike a killing blow when it froze, then slunk to the floor as if it lost its bones. Rolling over dead, it shrunk, once again becoming a cute little plush toy.

* * *

Brad watched television that night; the story he’d been waiting for presenting itself. The reporter spoke of a grisly scene. A young girl and her mother were savagely attacked and killed, allegedly murdered by Martin Biggs. Husband and father to the deceased. Brad watched as Martin was dragged away in handcuffs, covered in blood. He kept repeating that his daughter’s stuffed animal, a wolf, did it. It was dangerous and needed to be destroyed.

Brad picked up the telephone and dialed the old woman’s number. When she answered, he simply said, “Thank you. Now my family and I can rest in peace.” He placed the .45 caliber handgun to his head and pulled the trigger.

The Booglin

It was two p.m. on a Saturday afternoon and Carl was in the bathroom trying to dislodge a booger that had been stuck up his nose all day. He tried picking at it, using his finger and stretching the nostril to widths it had never been stretched to before. He used tweezers when the finger proved ineffective, but gently, as he was afraid he’d scratch the sensitive membranes and bleed profusely. He blew repeatedly after the tweezers try, as hard as he could, until it felt like someone had pounded on his skull with a sledgehammer. Nothing worked and he was forced to give up.

For the rest of the afternoon, he tried ignoring the stubborn snot, yet it was constantly bothersome and even painful at times. If he didn't know better, he'd swear the booger was gnawing on him.

Now it was eight p.m. and his dinner guests, including his blind date, Beth—his best friend Fred’s girlfriend’s friend from work—were sitting at his dining room table.

It wasn’t exactly a blind date from Carl’s end. He’d cheated with the help of Fred, Fred having shown him a picture of her on his cell phone. Carl’s eyes had widened at seeing her and a small amount of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth.

When Beth arrived at the house that evening, she looked even better than the picture. Carl thought he was being set up for failure, for Beth was surely too attractive to be interested in him. She was his picture-perfect woman: long silky blonde hair, voluptuous lips, striking sapphire eyes, and a body that would make any man want to blow his load just by looking at her.

All throughout dinner, even with the stunningly beautiful Beth sitting across from him, Carl was unable to get his mind off the excrement in his nose. The right nostril was completely blocked from the ability to draw in air. At one point during the meal, his nose began to make a high pitched whistling noise every time he breathed.

“Excuse me,” he said, standing.

He used the bathroom in his bedroom instead of the one in the hallway, wanting to be as far from the dining room as possible. If he had to make noise, like grunt or cry out in pain, he didn't want his guests hearing him.

He took a cotton swab from the cabinet and shoved it up his right nostril. He twirled it around like someone operating a cotton-candy machine, trying to gather pieces of snot. He pulled it out, examining the dark green members that had accumulated on the bulbous cotton tip.

Using the other end, he re-inserted the cotton swab and began prodding at the real problem—the all-day-annoying globule of mucus. He shoved the swab upward with force, jabbing it, hoping to dislodge or rupture the thing. He squinted in pain, eyes watering, as he stabbed the inside of his face. He kept poking the rock-hard booger, but only wound up getting the cotton swab stuck. He frantically pulled on the Q-tip, but it wouldn’t come out. It was as if something were holding onto it.

Grabbing a bottle of saline solution, he squirted the salty fluid up his nostril. His eyes continued to tear. While tugging downward, his biceps bulging and arms shaking as if electrified, the swab finally came free.

The swab’s white tip was colored a bright red. He assumed the amount of force he'd used had ruptured the sensitive membranes in his nasal cavity. He tossed the bloody swab into the waste basket, hoping he hadn't caused any serious damage to his nose.

Staring at himself in the mirror, he spoke to the booger harshly, “I want you out of my fucking nose.”

Frustrated and realizing he’d been gone from the dinner table for quite some time, (he didn’t want Beth thinking he was taking a dump) he opened the mirrored cabinet door and took out the stainless steel tweezers.

Confident he would make them work this time, he jammed them up his nose, ignoring the pain, and latched onto the lodged piece of snot. He pulled with all his might.

The pain was immense, his eyes watering again to the point tears streaked his face. He grunted, holding his breath as his face turned scarlet. He continued to pull, praying that the thing would come out. Finally, after so many hours of annoyance—and at times agony—the troublesome booger came free.

Carl yanked the little bastard out, his arm coming down swiftly at the sudden release. He smashed his elbow against the faucet, hitting his funny-bone. Immediately, his forearm was engulfed in tingling numbness. The tweezers fell from his fingers and tumbled into the basin with a soft clatter.

After trying all day to free himself of the booger, he had to see the thing. It had to be a monster. But he’d only managed to catch a glimpse of the gigantic green ball as it slid down the drain.

“Damn!” he yelled, pounding his fist against the sink’s countertop.

Red splats of blood began dotting the sky-blue porcelain sink. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he saw a crimson river flowing from his right nostril. It dribbled over his lips and down his chin, causing his goatee to glisten.

He grabbed some sheets of toilet paper, wadding them up into something resembling a large joint, and stuck it up his nose. In a way, Carl was glad his nose was bleeding. He could use it as an excuse as to why he had taken so long.

After a minute, he carefully removed the tissue paper. Like the cotton swab, the toilet tissue was saturated a deep red. Carl’s nose felt as if it had been raped by a giant’s finger. His nostril was raw and tender.

Even though he knew it would pain him, he pinched his nostrils together to stop the flow of blood. He couldn’t remember if he was supposed to lean forward or back, so he remained level and stared straight ahead.

He walked out of the bathroom and opened the door to his bedroom. “Sorry guys,” he yelled. “Got a doozey of a bloody nose. I’ll be right there.”

“You okay, dude?” Fred yelled back.

“Yeah. Be right out.” Carl closed the door and went back to the bathroom. He lowered the toilet's lid, sat.

After a few more minutes of keeping his nostrils pinched, he went to the mirror and checked on his nose. It had stopped bleeding. He cleaned away the blood from his mouth and rinsed his goatee. Satisfied, and desperately wanting to get back to his guests--Beth in particular, he left the bathroom after rinsing the sink.

* * *

Its surrounding climate had suddenly gone from a warm, secure area with lots of food to a cold, rigid, and wet area. The booglin was angry. It had lost the battle and been discarded. It seethed with rage, its tiny nostrils pulsating like an agitated bull's. Then its host—the bastard—had tried to drown it as it attempted to climb up the pipe. The booglin had almost died.

The squishy creature shook itself off. It stood up on its hind legs. Using its sharp claws, it tried climbing out again, but the metal pipe proved impenetrable. Looking up, it found a loose hair dangling from the drain. Leaping, it grabbed onto the single blonde lock and climbed out.

Standing over the drain proved dangerous as the booglin was hit with a large water droplet from the dripping faucet. It scurried up the side of the curved porcelain sink. The climb was slippery, but it managed, using its soft, sticky flesh to roll itself out.

Starting out as a microscopic germ, the booglin was a relatively new species. It had been born in a small underground weapons lab in Nevada. Careless security measures led to the germ’s release. It attached itself to dust molecules, pollen, or whatever it could until it was inhaled by someone. That someone had been Carl while in a taxi on his way to his home.

Once the germ had settled into the warm nasal cavity, it transformed—using the host’s blood and mucus—into the small creature known as a booglin. Absorbing the human's DNA it had acquired, the creature grew arms and legs and gained the intelligence to wreak havoc.

Cold and angered that it had been evicted from its home, the booglin leapt off the countertop and hit the tile floor with a splat.

Boneless, the hardest part of its body made from hardened mucus, the creature was up and moving within seconds, entering the bedroom.

Traveling across the carpet proved cumbersome, the long strands of fiber like dense jungle growth. Dust and debris clung to the creature, slowing it down.

Reaching the bedspread draping against the floor, the booglin cleaned itself off and quickly climbed up. It traveled across the mountainous folds of the unmade bed and hid under a corner flap of one of the bed’s pillows.

* * *

A few hours later, the wine and beer consumption was in full effect. Carl was buzzing; his inhibitions doused like a tiny flame. He was having a great time with Beth, laughing, flirting, and enjoying the tender, blasé brushes of her hand against his wrist and knees on occasion.

Like high school sweethearts, Fred and Jenny got up from the table. Holding hands, Jenny winked at Carl and said, “We’ll be in the guest room for a while. Don’t wait up.”

Carl felt a twinge of jealousy, but hoped to have the same luck with Beth. “I think the couch would be a more comfortable place to sit and enjoy our drinks,” he said to Beth, who immediately scooted back her chair and stood. She picked up her drink and headed over to the living room.

Sitting on the couch, the two of them alone, their light-hearted conversation and laughter abruptly ceased. The air between Carl and Beth seemed humid and alive with electricity. They caught each other’s stare. Carl tilted his head and leaned in toward Beth’s plump lips. Beth obliged him by accepting and reciprocating the kiss. They were soon embracing, arms and hands running over shoulders, necks and chests. Together, they acted like two starved porn stars that hadn’t had a good fuck in months.

“We should head to a more private area,” Beth suggested as Carl began kissing the side of her neck and cupping her left breast. He barely heard her words—his brain almost completely controlled by his genitals.

He pulled away and stood, the bulge in his pants not as embarrassing as it might’ve been had he not been a little drunk. Beth remained seated and looked at the tented area. She smiled.

Lifting her hand slowly, she unzipped Carl’s pants. She reached inside, staring up into his eyes with a mischievous grin on her face. Carl let out a gasp as her warm hand gently took hold of him and pulled his rock hard penis through the opening in his pants. She jerked it once, then lowered her mouth over him.