Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre (5 page)

“Do you realize we haven’t done anything in a month
but lie around, eat, and sleep?” Sarah asks, walking past Melissa,
who is wearing a long T-shirt and carrying a plate of hot sausages
and eggs.

“Yeah, and it feels damn good,” Melissa responds with a laugh
as she relaxes on the fluffy loveseat.
“Hell yeah!” Sarah says, while putting up her hand for a joyous
high five. She plops into a seat next to Melissa, carrying a plate
heaped with hot breakfast. “You know what we should do? We
should have a party for some of the people at the shelter.”
“Sounds a like good idea, but I don’t want too many of them in
here tearing up Mr. Nicholas’ stuff. I mean, he’s probably going to
stop by soon.”
“That’s true, but I still gotta get outta here. I ain’t seen the news
in weeks. You know I gotta keep myself up on current events,
keep myself educated,” Sarah says with a wink and a smile, as she
gobbles down some eggs.
A few minutes later, they both roll out of their comfortable
positions and proceed to get dressed. They have spent the past
three and a half weeks trying to forget their street lives. Trying to
put their sad pasts, and that chapter in their lives, behind them.
Never leaving the apartment, they’ve tried to savor each and every
day as if it is their last. After all, they never know when the old
man is going to come back and kick them out. Shove them both
right back out into the street. They cook, clean, and have conversations that last for hours about the shiny futures that lie ahead.
Their lives suddenly look bright and brand new. The tranquility of
the apartment is a dream come true.
In the bedroom closet, they find some old jeans, sweaters, and
T-shirts that look as if they were left by the previous occupants.
Melissa and Sarah kindly help themselves to whatever they can fit
in.
This morning, Melissa, while slipping on her pants, is suddenly
frightened.
“What the...!” she blurts out as she stumbles backwards. “Look
at that thing, it’s huge!”
“What is it?!” Sarah moves closer to the window.
Perched on the rust-infested fire escape is a huge black raven.
This angel of darkness measures twice that of any city pigeon.
The gleaming sunlight accents its deep, black, immaculate color.
Stepping back and forth and shifting its head, it looks through the
window, probing the room with its dark burgundy eyes. It arrogantly expresses its wing span, which measures several feet, while
releasing a voracious shrill loud enough to terrify an entire neighborhood. Its razor-sharp talons gallantly grip the steel with every
step to ensure the safety of their master. With one last look at
the two women, it launches itself into the heavens with the grace
of a ballerina and the strength of a mountain lion, causing a gust
of debris to slam into the glass. As it vanishes into the bright
sunlight, it again releases a domineering shrill that conquers the
morning sky.
“Wow, what was that all about?” Sarah asks.
“Damn, that thing was big.” Visibly shaken, they both hurry
their efforts in getting dressed. “What kind of bird was that anyway? It looked like a crow or somethin’,” Melissa states as she
quickly slips on her pants.
“I don’t know what kind it was, but it definitely scared the shit
out of me. I mean...did you hear the way it screamed?” utters
Sarah, frightened. “It almost seemed like it was screaming at us.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely time to get some fresh air,” Melissa
responds.

hover over the pair of dice, wishing for miracles. With the expression on their faces, it’s obvious the money lost here will add to
their destitution. Wrinkled bills fill their sweaty palms, their eyes
fixed on the shabby brick wall upon which their dice will strike.

“Hey, get the hell away from the dice, I’m on a roll,” roars Silas,
one of the oldest members of the shelter. He’s a dark-skinned
man with a dark salt-and-pepper beard and mustache. He has
an easy-going smile, but is not at all trustworthy. In his tattered
T-shirt and fresh stolen jeans, he squats down, praying, and spits
on his dice before he releases them against the wall.

“Hey, some of the church people been asking about you and
your girl, Missy. Where you been?” asks Marty, the local busy-
body and leader of the rumor mill. Most people refrain from even
speaking to him, but sometimes he just can’t be avoided. It is said
he uses his thin body to separate people from their property while
they’re still sleep in their homes. With his thief ’s instinct, he tries
to probe for information. “I heard you and her got some loot and
ate at Bess a while back. How’d you two get money to eat good?”

“Why you ask so many damn questions and how you know we
ate at Bess?”
“You can’t just go and cuss people out and don’t expect them
to tell people. Besides, Donna sometimes gives me some food out
the back door. She told me how Missy cursed her out, then threw
up all over the walls and floor in the bathroom. She was pissed
’cause she had to clean that shit.”
“Now, see, you don’t even know what the hell you’re talkin’
about. She wasn’t sick!”
“Look, that’s what I heard,” he says laughingly. “That’s not
important. What is important though is where you two got all that
loot she said y’all had. What’s up, y’all rob somebody?”
“We ain’t have nothin’ but a little bit of money, so get the hell
out of my face, boy!” Sarah screams, aggravated by Marty’s questioning.
“Chill-out, sister! I ain’t goin’ to sweat you no more, just chill
and relax. You know, you black people got a problem with high
blood pressure.” He puts his hands up as if to say, I give up. He
digs his way back through the crowd.
“What’s Marty talking about?” Melissa asks, coming up behind
Sarah.
“Nothin’, he just talkin’ shit like usual.”
“Have you thought about who you want to invite over?”
“No, not yet,” says Sarah.
“Shit, we thought somebody killed you two. Where you been?”
Jackie asks in a loud, proud voice and with a wide smile, coming
from across the street with her hands on her wide hips. “Look at
you two with yo’ clean clothes tryin’ to look all pretty.” She walks
forward to give each of them a hug. “I miss you two. Where you
been? Damn, and y’all smell all clean too, hair done. What the
fuck? You two done went and found jobs?!”
“Naw, me and Missy got a crib for a while. Tell her, Missy.”
“Yeah it’s true. This lady and man got us a place to stay, so me
and Sarah have just been hanging out there.”
Jackie says with a wide grin, “Shit, you need to introduce them
to me, ’cause God knows I need a place to crash.”
“Me and Sarah was thinkin’ about inviting some people over to
hang out for a little while. You can invite the other girls. We’ll have
food, but you gotta bring your own drinks.”
“Bring our own drinks? You know that ain’t goin’ to be a prob-
lem,” Jackie says cheerfully. “When you havin’ this?”
“Friday?” Melissa asks, while looking at Sarah for approval.
“Friday sounds fine,” says Sarah.
“Where you crashin’ at?” Jackie asks.
“Down in the Ironbound section at L Avenue in the old brick
building on the corner, apartment 3B,” replies Melissa.
With a puzzled expression, Jackie wrinkles her eyebrows and
twists her lips. “There ain’t no buildings on L Ave. Not any you
could live in.”
“Well, that’s where we stay,” says Melissa.
“Naw, I was just livin’ on L about a few months back, around
the old factories, and the only buildin’ was this little brick one on
the corner. And that was burnt up. It had no floors, no walls...
nothin’. I should know. I slept in the old metal factory next
door.”
“You’ve got to be confused, you comin’?” asks Sarah.
“Don’t worry about that, me and the girls will be there.”
“We gonna head on out to grab somethin’ to eat. We’ll see ya
Friday,” says Sarah.
“All right, see you there.”
Unnoticed by any of the women, Marty stands close by and
hears the entire conversation.
“I knew them bitches got money, I knew it! And they probably
got more. I think me and Silas gotta check this place out. See what
we can get,” he quietly says to himself as he rolls off the wall,
heading back to the dice game.

ater on that evening, the full moon hangs high in the twilight sky as a group of three men approaches the small
brick building. All wearing tattered jeans and T-shirts, they

raise no suspicion in the abandoned neighborhood.
“This place looks awful nice to be abandoned,” Marty states.
“W-w-what are y-y-you t-t-t-talkin about?” Donald questions.
“Shh! You dumb mutha-fuckas, somebody might hear us, and

you, you stuttering son of a bitch, you only here to help carry shit,
so I don’t even want to hear your mouth,” Silas states with authority.

Unknown to the three men, Sarah and Melissa are not home
and don’t intend to return this evening. They are elsewhere, hanging at some of their old hangouts, drinking. Furthermore, and
more importantly, the three men do not notice the watchful eyes
that gaze at them from above. Watching their every move, the eyes
pan left to right, ensuring they don’t lose sight of the men.

“Ch-ch-check th-th-the d-d-door.”
“I told you, I don’t what to hear your talk, now shut up. I know
what to do!” Silas says while the other two follow him into the narrow hallway. “Damn, they left the door open,” Silas quietly whispers as he gently pushes his way in. “What apartment, Marty?”
“3B,” Marty replies.
The quiet watchful eyes drift, accompanying the men who
stumble in the dimly lit corridor, searching for apartment 3B.
Abnormally large water bugs scurry along the dark burgundy carpet. The trespassers feel uneasy.
“Man, I hate bugs. Hey, here’s the door.” Marty squashes one
of the bugs with his shoe. As he drags his foot to scrape off the
remains, he tries the door quietly, then flicks open his rusty blade.
At first, the door doesn’t open, but as he turns to tell the others,
it creeps open with an eerie squeak that sends chills. The door
opens wide and the well-groomed room is revealed. “They live in
this fancy place?” Marty wonders. Silas steps toward the opening,
stretching his neck for a better view.
“I knew it, I could tell by the door downstairs and the fancy
halls this place was nothin’ but money,” Silas assures himself of a
big score.
“L-L-Let’s g-g-get th-th-the stuff a-and g-g-go...th-th-this place
g-g-gimme the cr-r-reeps.” As Donald trips over his speech and
drools, the other men just laugh at him while they creep into the
bedroom, reassuring themselves the place is empty.
“Man, relax, chill out a bit. We’ll leave soon,” says Marty. He
sticks his knife directly into the seat cushion of the love seat while
he chomps on an apple he discovered in the refrigerator. They
begin looking through the closets and drawers, piling up what they
plan to take and breaking whatever they don’t like. They show no
mercy for the delicate antiques. Silas is the worst of the three as he
urinates and defecates on the beds and clothing while humming
his favorite tune. Marty finds it amusing to stick his knife into
whatever he doesn’t like and rip it apart. He walks around, stuffing
little trinkets into his pockets while at the same time carving his
name into the mosaic furniture. Donald sits back nervously, sensing something is wrong. As if hearing a voice, his eyes widen and
his face fills with fear.
“I th-th-think we sh-sh-should g-g-get the s-stuff and g-g-go
n-n-now.”
“Look, man, shut the fuck up!” screams Marty, sticking his
blade directly to Donald’s throat. “I will stick you, you shit head,
do you understand me? I-will-stick-you, then kick your lifeless
body. Understand me, boy?!”
“O-o-o-k-k-kay, m-m-man.”
“Man, get the fuck outta here before I kill you!”
Donald wastes no time leaving as he wipes his perspiration
and runs out the apartment. Marty just smiles and lies back on
the couch amongst the stuffing he tore out. A minute later, Silas
strolls out of the back room with his belt undone and pants hanging by his thighs.
“Whacha been doing back there, Silas?” asks Marty.
“Markin’ my territory. Where’s Donald?”
“Man, he freaked out and ran,” answers Marty.
“What! You let him go?!”
“Yeah,” says Marty.
“Man, get yo white ass up and get him before he goes to the
cops or somethin’.”
Marty sighs, then reluctantly stands and looks at Silas.
“Don’t worry, relax, my brother. He ain’t gonna get too far,”
Marty says, folding the rusty blade, and then calmly strolls out
the door. Once outside the door, Marty hurries; the thought of
the police frightens him much more than the thought of retribution from Silas. In his mind, he knows he can always kill
Silas if he gets out of hand, but going back to prison isn’t in
his plans. As he sticks his head out the front door, he sees a
shadowy figure running up the street. Before Marty can scream
out to see if it is Donald, the sudden sound of someone running away from the building comes from around the corner. He
quickly runs to the side of the building to see another shadowy
figure walking toward the long since abandoned O’Keeffe and
Sons Sheet Metal Factory. He looks back as the other figure goes
beyond sight. Marty then turns back to the second figure, hoping
it’s Donald.
“Hey, Donald, is that you? Hey!”
“M-m-man, l-l-leave me alone!”
With a sigh of relief, Marty begins friendly tactics to get Donald closer.
“Look, dude, we need you to come back to carry some stuff.
You said you would help us out if we hooked you up with some
dope. We’ll keep our promise.” The figure slowly drifts away in
the large shadow cast by the huge factory. “Yo, man, don’t ignore
me! I’m just lookin’ out for you.” There’s no response. “Muthafucka, now I’m gonna kill you,” Marty mutters quietly, unfolding
his knife and giving chase.
The factory is a massive empty building that reeks of a foul stale
odor. There is shattered glass everywhere. The night wind sends
an eerie whistle throughout the complex. Empty beer cans and
bottles of cheap wine litter the concrete floor. The only light is
from the lonely full moon that peers through the dilapidated ceiling. A mist of dust travels the factory, settling on the old machinery. The air is thick and almost smothering. Makeshift newspaper
mattresses occupy dimly lit corners. Rats scatter as Marty storms
past their nest.
Boldly Marty chases after the figure into this dark dungeon-like
place, hunting the figure down. The moon makes an evil gleam in
his eyes.
“Donald, I know you’re in here!” he shouts. “Why don’t you
come out so we can talk about the dope we got for you. See, you
made me spoil the surprise. We already had the dope for you. We
was just waitin’ to give it to you.” Marty stands for a few moments,
waiting for a response. There is none. He peers around in the dark.
Suddenly a small, sharp piece of broken glass stabs him in the
arm.
“Aw shit!” he screams. “What the fuck you think you doin’, boy?
You don’t know who you messin’ with! You see, that weakling role
I play on the streets is just an act so I can set people up, like them
bitches. Now you about to see the real me!”
Marty grips the knife tightly. Taking silent steps, he cautiously
walks into the shadows. The figure darts swiftly in the background,
into another corner. Marty sees this movement from the corner
of his eye and smiles. “I see you, man. Why don’t you come here?
Maybe we can work this shit out.” He folds his knife and puts
it into his back pocket, then pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a
lighter.
Lighting up his cigarette and taking a big puff, he stares around.
He hears Donald’s frantic breathing somewhere. He believes he
has Donald cornered. He takes his time pulling a few deep drags.
Catching a glimpse of the trickling blood flowing down his arm,
Marty becomes infuriated. “Damn, man! I see you ain’t tryin’ to
work this out, so I’m left with no choice but to cut your fuckin’
heart out!” Smashing the cigarette under his ragged shoe, he pulls
out his blade again. “Awright! Now it’s time to party.”
Marty again brandishes his knife, while picking up a bottle and
hurling it into the shadowy corner, where he thinks Donald is hiding. The bottle smashes. Glass flies everywhere. The figure darts
away, with Marty giving chase again. Running around and between
old factory machinery, Marty keeps the figure closely in front of
him. His heart is pounding with the chase. He picks up bottles as
he passes them and hurls them at his intended victim. Missing the
figure, the bottles smash against the walls and concrete floors, mini
explosions echoing throughout the halls. Marty laughs and smashes
more bottles against the walls. Panting heavily now, his lungs ready
to explode, Marty yells, “I see ya. I see ya. You ain’t gettin’ away!”
The chase lasts only a few minutes. It ends with Marty slithering like a snake through a half-open window into an alley on the
far side of the factory. Exhausted, Marty crawls out, plops on the