In-Flight Meal pt. 2

At first, he thought maybe he just had the wrong angle, but through the dim glow of the dash, he could see himself reflected over the headrest of the driver’s seat. It had to be an optical illusion of some kind, but before he could work it out, the car stopped.

Mr. Long got out and walked around to Tony’s door. He opened it and stepped off to the side assuming the professional chauffer position. “Here we are Mr. Pace.” Tony looked out and up at Mr. Long. Mr. Long stood perfectly still, staring straight ahead. Tony slid from the car keeping as much distance between himself and Mr. Long as he could.

Directly in front of the car the Dark Flight Airlines MD88 sat with its engines idling. It looked enormous from Tony’s perspective. As much as he’d flown, this was the first time he had ever been on the ground looking up at an aircraft of this size. He had looked up at plenty of the fifty passenger puddle jumpers where you would walk out on the tarmac and up the steps to the plane, but never one like this.

The words Dark Flight Airlines ran down the side of the sleek silver plane in black letters about six feet tall. They started out in sharp block font slanted slightly forward as if they were leaning into the wind, then trailed off to where the ‘S’ of Airlines flowed out like black satin flapping in the wind.

Red lights on the back of the wings and tail slowly flashed in unison alternately bathing Tony in an eerie red glow then back to darkness. He could see light in the small windows running along the length of the plane, but at this angle, he couldn’t see in. A set of stairs led up to a mobile jetport against the plane to allow access inside.

Tony heard a thump and physically jumped. He spun around to see Mr. Long with his hand on the car’s door, grinning at him and for the first time, actually looking him in the eye. Tony knew it had to be the shadows created by the red lights, but he could swear Mr. Long’s nose was sharper and more turned down than before, and his thin white lips now looked to be struggling to cover his teeth.

The red light faded out, and Tony saw Mr. Long’s pupils grow to large black circles. The red lights flashed back on and reflected from Mr. Long’s eyes like an animal. Tony’s heart was thudding in his chest, and he felt gooseflesh crawl up his arms.

“Mr. Pace. Please hurry. We can’t wait forever.” Tony turned to the sound of the voice and =saw what appeared to be a nicely built woman silhouetted in the doorway at the top of the steps. Her pleasant voice momentarily took some of the edge off Tony’s nerves, then he remembered Mr. Long, his shining eyes and bulging mouth. He turned back half expecting to see him bearing down on him with long searching fingers, but Mr. Long and the black Cadillac were gone. “Mr. Pace?” Tony looked back up the steps. “Is there a problem?” Yeah, a whole shit load Tony thought and headed up the steps.

***

As it turned out, the woman was nicely built and had the looks to go with it. Her coal black hair flowed behind her in a thick ponytail. Her dark eyes danced above high cheekbones and a perfect smile. Her black uniform was form fitting and low cut. Finally, things were starting to look better.

“It is very fortunate you were able to make our flight Mr. Pace. At this time of night there isn’t much available.” There didn’t seem to be anything sinister in her voice, which was a big relief and an excellent change from Mr. Long. “My name is Alex, and I will be taking care of you tonight.” Her smile widened a bit, and Tony could see her teeth were perfect too. Almost too perfect, like dentures, but there was no way a hot looking woman, of what looked to be about twenty, could have dentures. Tony decided to just accept it as an added bonus to a beautiful smile, and the idea of Alex taking care of him tonight sounded like an excellent plan indeed.

“Thanks Alex. I’m glad I made the flight too.” Tony looked directly into her dark eyes and found it difficult to break away. It was almost hypnotic. He felt himself trying to say something else when she stepped into the plane breaking the momentary trance.

“Welcome aboard,” Alex said.

Tony blinked, dismissing the feeling as nothing more than her intoxicating looks and the weariness of a long day. “Ah yeah, thanks,” Tony said, stepping through the doorway.

Just when he thought things couldn’t get any better, Tony looked at a plane full of first-class seats. Two wide leather seats on each side and far enough apart Tony thought they were probably fully reclining. The wider seats and the fact they were only two per side reduced the total capacity of the plane to about fifty, and most of the seats were empty. An attractive couple in the front seats looked up at Tony, smiled, and then looked back down at their magazines. Tony smiled back and looked at his boarding pass for his seat number. 13D Exit row. Even better yet.

He started down the aisle towards his seat. An older man, sharply dressed, smiled up at him from 5B. Two teenage girls, that looked like they were twins, sat in 8A and 8B. They were both looking at him, then one whispered something in the other’s ear, and they both giggled. They looked back up at him with a look that told Tony maybe he still had it at thirty eight after all. Tony smiled back and went past. Rows nine, ten, eleven, and twelve were all empty.

A man with chiseled features and dark slicked back hair sat in 13A. He was wearing a black dress type T-shirt outlining his muscular chest. A tattoo of a snake weaving its way in and from what looked like a goat's skull donned his right arm just below the sleeve. He wore dark sunglasses, which made it impossible for Tony to tell if he was looking at him or not.

Tony nodded a hello towards the man and got no reaction. Nice guy Tony thought. He looked past row 13 at the remaining seats and saw only an older couple that both gave him a casual glance. He threw his overnight bag under the aisle seat in front of him and slid over by the window.

He looked at the operating instructions on the exit door. It displayed a series of pictures portraying a dark figure pulling down the T shaped release handle and pushing the door out. The last picture showed the figure stepping from the opening while looking back. Something about the figure’s long skinny arms and odd shaped head made the skin on Tony’s arms prickle. He looked closer and thought he could see two small red dots on the figure’s face.

“How’s your seat Mr. Pace?”

Tony sucked in a breath and about dropped his boarding pass.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you Mr. Pace,” Alex said apologetically.

“That’s all right, don’t worry about it,” Tony said. “I’ve just had a long day.” He leaned back in the seat, trying to settle his heart. The seats were as comfortable as they looked, and Tony knew it wouldn’t take long to fall asleep. “It’s great. Thanks.” Alex smiled and walked back towards the front of the plane.

Tony took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew he had to get a grip on himself before somebody decided he was a terrorist and kicked him off the plane. He glanced down at his boarding pass still folded up in his hand. He unfolded the heavy paper and really looked at it for the first time. In the top left corner was Dark Flights inked out in the same script as on the side of the plane. Directly below that was the flight number, date, origin and departure time. Under this was the departure gate of DF1, the destination city, and in print so small Tony had to squint to read it, were the words In flight meal will be served. In flight meal. Tony chuckled. He hadn't' seen that since the late nineties.

His stomach gave a low rumble and Tony realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the Quarter Pounder meal at eleven thirty that morning. He had no idea what the meal might be, but the way everything else was laid out in this plane he figured it would be pretty good.

Folding the boarding pass, he slid it into his shirt pocket and glanced over at 13A. His sunglasses were close enough to his face Tony couldn’t see his eyes, but with his head tilted slightly forward he assumed 13A was asleep.

A soft tone bonged from a speaker above Tony’s head, followed by the smooth and pleasant voice of the pilot. “Welcome aboard Dark Flight Airlines. I’m Captain Winters. We’ll be cruising at 37,000 feet and have an expected flight time of approximately one hour and forty-five minutes. The air up there should be smooth so as soon as we reach our cruising altitude I will be tuning off the seat belt sign so that you can all move about the cabin.” Tony heard the engines rev up and felt the plane move forward. “We will be number one for take off so Alex please take your seat.” Tony crossed his legs in the roomy space between the seats and looked out the window.

A good distance from where the plane was now taxiing he could see the small lights of the main terminal and the dark shape of the tower looming behind it. Beacons slowly flashed on the top of the tower, and Tony could see light spilling from the windows, but it was too far to make out anything inside. Blue lights, sticking up from the ground in small wire cages, flashed past below him as Dark Flights Airlines flight number DF3332 rolled towards the main runway.

The plane made a sharp right turn revving the engines to full throttle as it straightened out. Tony felt himself being pushed back into the soft leather seat and closed his eyes. DF3332 roared down the runway, lifted its nose and magically raised all eighty tons of itself into the air. He was already drifting off to sleep as the wheels bumped into place in the belly of the plane.

***

Mr. Long was looking at him through the rearview mirror in the long black Caddie, except the only thing visible in the mirror were two shining red orbs surrounded by a burning yellow. Tony went for the door handle only to find the inside of the door was completely smooth. No handle for the door, no button for the window and nothing to unlock it. The car came to an abrupt stop, and Tony had to put his hand on the front seat to avoid being thrown into it. He looked up and could see Mr. Long’s pointed ears poking out from his thin gray hair.

“Is there a problem Mr. Pace?” Mr. Long’s voice was low and guttural. He slowly turned his head to look back at Tony. As he turned, Tony could see his features come into focus. They pulsed with a red light that seemed to come in from everywhere. It was like the sky was filled with blood red lightning.

“I… I…” Tony tried to scream, but it felt like his throat was full of mud, and nothing came out but muffled grunts. He clawed at the door and felt his fingernails catch on something peeling two of them back. The grotesque face, with a nose that looked more like a beak, was grinning back at him. Large pointed teeth gleamed in the pulsing red light.

Tony pushed himself as far back in the seat as possible. Instead of the sleek smooth feel of leather, the seat now felt and smelled more like the soft rotten flesh of a bloated corpse. Suddenly, black wrinkled hands with ragged yellow nails burst through the seat behind him and gripped his arms, sucking him back into the fleshy material. Another hand pushed out, sending a spray of black gore spattering across the inside of the car. It slapped its wet palm across Tony’s forehead and yanked his head back stretching and exposing his neck.

He jerked and thrashed, but the black hands only tightened further. Mr. Long’s grin widened. Clear globs, made pink by the strange light, dripped from two-inch long canines. Tony felt his eyes bulging from their sockets and could hear the tendons in his neck snapping like rubber bands. Mr. Long lunged. Jaws snapping so fast Tony could hear the teeth making a whirring sound as they raced toward his stretched out throat.

***

Tony woke up willing himself not to scream. Huge beads of sweat clung to his forehead and trickled down the sides of his face like salty pearls. At first, he was disoriented and didn’t know where he was, but the soft bumping of mild turbulence and the constant low roar of the jet engines brought him back to reality.

In-Flight Meal pt. 1

“Oh come on, it’s not even raining! How can there be a two-hour weather delay? There’s no way I can wait that long.” Tony Pace had a decision to make. Should he be shitty or nice about this little set back in his plans? Sometimes nice worked and sometimes shitty did, and Tony had been doing the travel game long enough to know there was a time and place for either method.

He looked close at the US Air agent across the counter. She had short brown hair, was about twenty pounds overweight, had either a huge bug bite or a rather impressive zit on her left temple, and her breath reminded him of raw meat. None of that mattered though; it was always the eyes that told the real story. Tony shifted his gaze from the red bump on the agent’s left temple to her eyes.

It only took a second to know. Shitty it is. It had nothing to do with the color, size or shape of her eyes, it was the fact they were looking over his shoulder and said in a very loud voice she couldn’t give one shit less if he made this flight or any other within the next two weeks.

“Ok, listen. I have been jacked around ” Tony also knew when it was time to start dropping the F bomb, and he wasn’t there yet, “ for the last three hours. Your 'accommodating' airline has seen to it that I have been bumped and delayed to the point where the chance of making the biggest sales call of my life is almost nonexistent. I know for a fact you can get me on another flight that will get me to Chicago tonight.”

Tony was on a roll. Little Ms Ticket agent was getting that most uncomfortable I’ll do anything to get this guy out of my face look. “The only reason you wouldn’t get me on another flight is to try to save a billion dollar company a couple of hundred bucks. Now you can either try to find me another flight or I can stay here and continue to give you my opinion in increasingly higher decibels for as long as it takes for you to be accommodating!”

“Well just wait one minute Mr. Pace. I didn’t say I wasn’t willing to help you.” The agent looked around anxiously apparently to make sure the always curious crowd wasn’t making its way toward the loud voices and out of the ordinary action. Tony noticed what she was doing, and at close to midnight, he didn’t think there would be much chance of a crowd developing even if he decided to drop the ol’ F bomb in large, lavish waves.

“There is one airline that may be able to accommodate you.”

Ah yes, shitty wins again, Tony thought.

“It’s called Dark Flight Airlines. They only offer red-eye flights and sometimes have one or two openings. I’ll call to see if they have anything available.”

Tony had never heard of Dark Flight Airlines, but at this point, he didn’t really care, as long as they could get him back to Chicago in time to get at least a few hours of sleep before his appointment.

“Thank you,” Tony said, making sure the agent knew that now she was helping, he would make life much easier on her. She clicked away on her keyboard, staring intently at the monitor.

Tony looked around the nearly deserted airport. Tulsa never was very busy, but there were usually more people than this. Fifty feet down the counter, a couple of people were using the American Airlines self-serve kiosk and talking in low tones. A little further, a blue uniformed custodial type was easing a squeaky wheeled trashcan across the tile floor guiding it with the handle of a broom or mop sticking from the can. The trashcan was draped with a bright yellow canvas pouch holding an assortment of brushes, cleaning fluids, and discarded magazines.

The couple at the kiosk left, leaving the squeaky wheels and the clicking keyboard the only sounds to be heard. Tony felt an odd case of the creeps working its way in and pushed it back.

“Kind of quiet around here…” Tony looked at the tag that dangled from a red cord worn around the agent’s neck. “…isn’t it Anna?” He was trying to undo some of the shitty mood he had bestowed on her just moments ago, but the way she didn’t even acknowledge him, told Tony it wasn’t working.

“Okay, they do have availability. It’s a window seat. I assume that will be okay for you Mr. Pace?” The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable, but Tony knew he had that coming.

“Yes Anna, it is. Look, I’m sorry I got kind of nasty with you, it’s just that I’ve had a long day, and this meeting really means a lot to me. I appreciate you taking the time to get me on... Dark Airlines?”

“Dark Flight Airlines, Mr. Pace, and it was my pleasure to do so.” Anna handed the boarding pass to Tony. When he took the card, he inadvertently touched her hand. Her fingers were so cold Tony had to force himself from wincing. He looked up to see her smiling at him. There was something about that smile Tony didn’t like. It wasn’t just fake, it was knowing. Like when someone has one up on you, but telling you would spoil all the fun.

“The flight leaves from gate DF1, and you better hurry Mr. Pace, the plane has already boarded. I have a feeling they will wait for you, but you never know.” Her smile widened, which only enhanced the feeling she knew something he didn’t.

“DF1? I didn’t know Tulsa even had a DF concourse.” Maybe that was the joke. Maybe there wasn’t even a Dark Flight Airlines, and she was just getting shitty with him on a much higher level.

“It’s a small sub building off the main concourse so you will need to take a shuttle. Like I said, they only offer red-eye flights so they don’t really warrant one of the main gates.”

“How do I get to the shuttle?” If one even exists, Tony thought. I’ll probably end up outside the airport and get arrested by security before I even –

“Mr. Long will take you,” Anna said, glancing behind Tony.

Tony turned around. It was Mr. Long all right, Mr. Long, Dark and Ugly. Mr. Long stood easily over six foot four, and his black suit made him look more like an undertaker than an airline worker. He returned Tony’s stare standing with his hands clasped in front of him in a gesture you might see a chauffer take while waiting beside his car. The fluorescent lighting reflected off a mostly bald head rimmed with white hair. His deep set eyes were hidden in shadow, and a long hooked nose hung out over thin white lips.

“This way, Mr. Pace.” Mr. Long’s deep monotone voice broke the silence as he stretched out one pale hand. Either this was one very elaborate joke or there really was a Dark Flight Airlines, and he really was going to get to Chicago tonight. Tony turned back to try one more time to reconcile with Anna, but she was gone. He looked down the line of counters, and saw no one. Somewhere in another part of the terminal, he could just hear the squeak… squeak… squeak of the blue uniformed custodial guy's wheeled trashcan.

Tony bent down and picked up his overnight bag. “I guess she was in a hurry to-” but Mr. Long was already walking away, taking long slow steps, hands still clasped in front of him. His black polished shoes clacked on the hard tile floor. Tony followed him, this time not able to push back the creeps.

***

Midway down a long corridor, Mr. Long opened an unmarked metal door and stepped through. A few feet from the door, a set of steps led down to another door Tony assumed opened to the outside. There were about fifteen steps, which Mr. Long took as slow and deliberate as he walked. One bare bulb at the top of the steps and one at the bottom provided the only light. Strings of drifting cobwebs adorned the unpainted block walls where they met the ceiling.

Tony couldn't imagine this was the only way to the shuttle. Even if Dark Flights only offered red-eyes, there should still be enough people to constitute a real live entrance, and what about security? How do you just walk out on the tarmac without even going through a metal detector? Tony thought, hoped, it would be at the DF concourse, which would bring some welcomed normalcy to this whole thing. Tony smiled, realizing this was the first time he actually wanted to go through security. Taking a deep breath, he took the first step down.

“So how is security over at DF? Think they will hold me up much?” Tony’s voice sounded empty and dead in the narrow damp stairway. Mr. Long either didn’t hear him or didn’t care to respond because he just continued his slow step by step decent to the lower door. Tony couldn't believe he was actually following 'Lurch' to some unknown terminal of the Tulsa International Airport just to get a sales opportunity.

Of course, this sale would mean a whole new lifestyle. A lifestyle most people could never know, a lifestyle most have only dreamed about, a lifestyle worth dealing with a freakazoid airport guy and some obscure airline. Tony tried to drive these thoughts home as he descended the dark steps behind the strange tall man in the dark suit.

Mr. Long got to the bottom of the steps and pushed open the door. Tony was about eight steps behind, but could see the door did open onto the tarmac. Mr. Long, like the good host that he was, held the door while Tony came down the rest of the stairs and stepped through.

The shuttle, as it turned out, was a black Cadillac. The body style gave it a late 70’s look, but it was in excellent shape. Mr. Long, Dark, and Ugly let the door to the stairs swing shut with a bang, walked over to the car, and opened the back door for Tony. As he held the door, he stared straight ahead, never making eye contact and not saying a word.

The dome light in the car was dim, and deep shadows filled the backseat. To Tony, the open door didn’t look inviting. Instead it made him feel like he was being given a ride to the slaughterhouse, and he was the livestock. “Nice ride Mr. Long. Is it yours?” Tony walked over to the car and looked in.

“No. We should get moving Mr. Pace. You don’t have much time left.”

Tony looked at Mr. Long and thought he saw the faintest bit of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but if it was there, it disappeared as quickly as it formed. Yeah? What’s so funny, Mr. L.D. and U? You and Ms Anna pulling a good one on me? Tony wanted to yell this in Long’s face, but decided it would probably be better to keep it to himself and just go along with their little joke.

He tossed his bag in the backseat and slid in. Once inside, he winced. The inside of the car smelled like a combination of Old Spice and what? He wasn’t sure. Something that reminded him of his garden. Tilling? Maybe freshly turned dirt? Now that would be a first, Old Spice and dirt. Tony felt his stomach roll and thought for sure the weird ass smell was going to make him puke.

Mr. Long pushed the door closed, a little hard Tony thought, and walked around the front of the car. With the dome light out, the inside of the car was pitch black. Tony looked out the window and saw the surrounding area to be just as dark. The thought of an airport not lit up like a mall parking lot sent the first real thread of something like concern through Tony's veins. Mr. Long opened the driver’s door, sat down behind the wheel and started the car.

The engine was so quiet Tony wasn’t even sure it was running until they started moving. The main terminal with its comforting lit windows slipped away behind them like a silent movie as they rolled onto a tarmac as dark as a tomb.

He blindly ran his fingers along the armrest of the door searching for the window button. “Hey Mr. Long. How can I get a little air here? I can’t seem to find the button and-” The window slid open a couple of inches letting in the relatively pleasant smell of jet fuel and asphalt.

He leaned over to look into the rearview mirror. “Thanks Mr. Long. Not sure what it was, but it was just a little-” Tony felt his balls retreat into his body. There was no reflection of Mr. Long in the mirror.

To Be A Monster pt 5 (written by Mark Jackson)

Cheryl not only felt her eyes leave their sockets… she heard them. The pain wasn’t as excruciating as she feared when they swelled and then shot from her skull to dangle on the sides of her down-turned face. The pain was more of an ache, but the worst part was the pop, pop sound and the cold sensation of air entering her head through two new openings that should never exist.

At first, her vision was like watching a TV with a skipping signal. She saw Gwen, then the sky, then back to Gwen, and then the pale faced onlookers, which she registered as moving her way. When her eyes settled on their stretched optic nerves, thin veins sprouted from the dangling orbs like strands of blue thread and fastened themselves to Cheryl’s forehead.

Her head, still in the upside-down position, stretched away from her body on an elongating neck with a series of snaps, crackles, and pops. She pushed herself up on her hands and feet into a rather ugly, yet well formed crab walk position. Her breasts, now pointing toward the sky from her concave chest, burst open loosing a mass of squirming black tentacles while stiff tufts of bristling hair cropped up on various areas of her body. With her mouth now up and the top of her head down, her hair hung in what appeared to be a blood matted beard.

“Damn Cheryl, you really look like shit,” Gwen said, smirking.

Taffy laughed while the crow offered up an unpleasant chuckle.

Things were not going the way Cheryl had planned... no, correction, that was the understatement of the year… this was a complete fuckeroo if there ever was one, and now on top of everything else, her stomach was rolling like a mother fucker. Shaking it off, she tested her mobility. She took a shambling step and nearly fell in a heap, but managed to catch herself with her newly positioned hands / feet.

“I will have to say, George, that is one of the most ridiculous monsters I’ve ever seen.”

Cheryl twisted her head to see the onlookers from the funeral home join the party. She wondered why these crazy fucks weren’t running home to mamma when she realized they were all semi-transparent and in various stages of decay. The one who called her pathetic had a majority of her face sagging down on the front of her black dress. George, whoever the fuck that was, had a hole in the top of his head the size of a tennis ball like he had taken the chicken shit way out of life.

“That she is Gladys, that she is,” George said, nodding his ruined head. The others joined the nodding and Cheryl saw the nose fall off a rather large black man and into the front pocket of his shirt.

She focused her attention back on Gwen. “You fucking bitch. You brought this on me didn’t you?” A stabbing pain racked her abdomen with such force she nearly collapsed. “Don’t even tell me I’m starting my period. Monsters are not supposed to have periods. They’re supposed-” Another cramp hit her with a vengeance and she felt something swelling in her intestines.

“Unbelievable,” growled Taffy. “What an idiot. Of course, I don’t know why that should surprise me after having to live with her stupid ass for the last five years.”

Gwen reached down and affectionately stroked Taffy’s blond fur. “Come, come Cheryl. How can you say I brought this on when you were the one who just rolled over and went back to sleep leaving me to choke on my own vomit.” As if to emphasize this, Gwen coughed spewing pale orange fluid from her mouth in a chunky spray.

“You’re the one who couldn’t hold her booze,” Cheryl hissed. “What was I supposed to do? Take the drinks out of your hand? Pump your fucking stomach?” Another cramp hit Cheryl and this time it was punctuated with a rather large wet fart.

“And classy too,” Taffy said, rolling her eyes.

“You see Cheryl, thanks to you, my spirit was cursed to spend eternity walking the earth with a throat full of puke. You know how hard it is to pick up a cute dead guy when all you can do is gurgle out puke breath? It’s damn hard.” Gwen coughed again, peppering George’s black suit with flesh colored chunks. George looked down, plucked off the biggest piece and popped it in his mouth. But before his could chew it up, it dropped through a hole under his chin and stuck back on his suit. Cheryl grinned and continued.

“However, all was not lost as I was able to make a deal with someone who has become a very close friend of mine.” She winked at the crow, which winked back. “A sort of two for one deal so to speak.”

“Yeah? Well I think that’s bullshit because if you really had a throat full of puke you would just be gargling away like you did that night I left you laying on your back. You sounded like a damn percolating coffee pot, and I couldn’t wait for it to stop so I could go back to sleep.” Cheryl winced as another cramp hit hard below the navel. Despite the pain she was starting to get a feel for her developing form. She took a couple of quick steps to one side, then the other, her hands and feet making dull thudding sounds in the thick grass.

“Oh, that the beauty of it, Cheryl. Thanks to you killing your little brother I was credited with one of the two hell bound souls needed to complete my deal, so now I’m only coughing up puke every few minutes, which is not bad, but not good.” She smiled as if humoring herself, “You know poor Billy never was one to believe in God and Satan, but I’ll bet he has a whole new perspective on it now.”

Cheryl couldn’t care less if Billy was with God, Satan, or the fucking man on the moon. Right now, her situation was the only thing that mattered. “And what if I don’t kill anyone else? What then?” Cheryl stretched her neck, bobbing her head up and down like an ostrich. She glanced at the suited up zombies who all wore smug grins on their rotting faces. She made a quick move in their direction dissipating two back to whence they came and causing the noseless black dude to knock Gladys down to the ground with a squish.

Gwen laughed. “See, you’re starting to like your new self already, and as far as you not killing anyone else… that’s like saying I haven’t been tasting my last Quarter-Pounder with cheese for the last six months.”

Cheryl was only half listening to her cousin as the pain in her guts increased to near apocalyptic levels. She was reminded of the time she had taken on the Eat the guacamole burrito as big as your head and get it for free challenge and spent the next five hours glued to the toilet. She started crab-walking in tight circles screaming and cursing, all to the amusement of the crowd. Stopping suddenly, she arched her back, which was really her stomach, and pushed.

She had never had a baby but if she had, she felt sure this was worse. Other than the fact this was popping from her ass, what appeared to be the top of a head crowned, stretching her bung strings to an impossible diameter. Something brown and hair covered slipped out, shooting from her ass and passing through the spirit of the black noseless guy before he had time to yell ‘you crazy mofo bitch’. Gwen jumped back stepping on Taffy who cursed her existence, and sending the crow squawking from one shoulder to the other.

Grunting and screaming, Cheryl pushed again, this time resulting in a world class episiotomy ripping its way from her stretched-out bung clear to her swollen mud flaps as Billy’s skull popped out and landed on the ground like rotten gourd. Partially liquefied brains spilled from the eye sockets forming a gray pool around the grinning skull.

Cheryl stared at the expulsion thinking how wrong she had been to ever call Billy a little shit.

“Now that looks rather tasty,” Taffy said strolling over the mess.

Cheryl twisted her head and cocked back her neck. She couldn’t believe this damned cat. Oh Taffy, you’ve made two major mistakes in my book. One is having ever been born, and two-

The fat cat walked up to Billy’s skull, giving it a sniff.

-is getting within my striking distance.

Cheryl shot her head forward while stretching her mouth open as wide as a bear trap. With one great snap, the only remaining evidence of Taffy was its fluffy tail dropping to the ground.

“It’s too bad cats don’t have souls,” Gwen said in matter of fact tone. “or my part in these theatrics would be thankfully over.”

Cheryl crunched up the cat, enjoying the hot juices as they ran down her throat and then swallowed it in two great gulps. Best pussy I’ve ever eaten, she thought, licking her lips. She then focused her forehead mounted eyeballs on Gwen and decided she didn’t give two shits if Gwen got what she wanted or not. After all, her own needs were the most important and although she hadn’t become the monster she had in mind, she was still a monster. The urge to kill and the need to feed was quickly becoming a major priority… hell, it was becoming the only priority, and her first order of business was to finish what she’d been dreaming about when this whole idea was conceived. Do away with her pathetic excuse of a mother.

Turning, she ran with amazing speed through the cemetery entrance and onto the road, her hands and feet pistoning in perfect synchronization. She couldn’t wait to see the look on her mother’s face when she tore her throat out with one big bite. As a matter of fact, she might just-

The sound of an approaching car made her stop.

***

Rita Gadowski, aka Cheryl’s mom, turned on to Bird Road, which ran past Fern Cliff Cemetery. Bob, her husband, road shotgun and looked causally out the side window.

“Where can they be?” Rita mumbled, using a finger to pick a piece of Captain Crunch from her teeth. “I know our Billy wouldn’t be out all night unless that girl of yours put him up to it.” She knew this had to have something to do with Cheryl. Stupid little bitch was always causing trouble.

“Now don’t be give me all the blame for that girl. Hell, as far as I know she’s not even mine. Probably spawn of that damned Charlie’s Chips guy you always had making deliveries when I wasn’t home.” Bob said while picking out his own chunk of breakfast.

“Just shut up Bob and keep an eye out for them.” Rita thought about rebuking his statement, but being as the dumb bastard might actually be right about the Charlie’s Chips man, she decided to leave it lay. She pulled around the curve at the cemetery entrance and wrinkled up her face in disgust. “What in the hell is that?” she asked pointing her teeth-picking finger at the shambling thing on the road directly in front of them. It looked like a giant hair-covered crab, but where in the hell would-

“I think it’s a rabid wolf or something, and I suggest you hit the gas,” Bob said grabbing the dash with both hands.

Rita didn’t think it looked anything like a rabid wolf but Bob’s idea of running the thing down was the first good idea she heard uttered from his pie hole this year. Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, she jammed the accelerator to the floor.

***

Cheryl heard the roar of an engine jumping into passing gear and spun her head around just in time to see her mom’s 1988 Buick Lesabre bearing down on her. You have to be fucking kidding me was Cheryl’s last thought as the chrome bumper hit her at 50 mph.

Her head snapped forward slamming on the car’s hood before whipping down and under the car’s chassis. A sound like a fifty-five gallon drum of Kentucky Fried Chicken being ran through a wood chipper erupted from under the car while inside, Rita looked like she was about to lose her Captain Crunch. Never slowing, the car bounced its way over Cheryl’s crumpled form and sped out of sight, leaving a trail of gore and skin behind it.

The mass of arms, legs, and worm-like tentacles lay glistening in the sun. Dark streams of blood ran across the asphalt soaking into the cracks and crevices as they went. In a flutter of wings, the crow landed beside Cheryl’s broken neck and looked into her only surviving eye. The orb responded by shifting slightly in the crow’s direction. In its reflection, Gwen could be seen walking up behind the crow.

“Well, is she dead?”

“I’d say about one breath away,” the crow whispered. With that, the dark bird beat its wings together expanding and shifting its form. Before Gwen stood a man wearing long black robes. A heavy hood cloaked his features.

The last ray of life bled from Cheryl as the man in the dark robes reached down a taloned hand and ripped the girl’s black writhing soul from her body. Her essence screamed and squirmed but made no escape from the man’s claws. He tilted back his head and sucked it into his mouth like a cancerous smoke.

“Hey,” Gwen exclaimed, running her tongue over her teeth. “My mouth tastes great! So what do you say Mr. Crow, or whatever your real name is, you doing anything the rest of this century?” She ran her tongue over her teeth again, this time a little slower.

The crow man grinned. “Mr. Crow is fine, and as tempting as that sounds, after making my delivery I need to meet with a couple of teenagers tired of carrying around their heads, which were decapitated in a drunk driving incident. I think they might be interested in a little deal I have in mind to make the man who killed them pay for surviving the accident.”

“Your loss,” Gwen said winking and then shimmering out of existence.

The crow man observed the mess on the road with the look of an artist backing away from one of their finest finished paintings. “I do love my job,” he said. Then in a rustling of robes, he turned back into the crow taking flight over the tall pines stretching up from the cemetery grounds.

To Be A Monster pt. 4 (written by Allison Bohac)

Cheryl rolled over onto her back, groaning, flinging one arm over her face so she wouldn’t have to look up into the bright eye of the sky. She rubbed the scrap of flannel between her fingers, felt the way the blood had made the fiber stiff and dry around the edges. Billy had on a flannel shirt last night, didn’t he? She thought it over, trying to come up with a picture in her mind. Yeah. Yeah, he did. His pajamas. Because she’d hauled him out of bed.

Right. Okay. She had this all sorted out, no problem.

She got up into a sitting position, moving slow, trying to keep anything from protesting too loudly. The muscles in her arms and thighs felt like stretched out rubber bands. A quick check, though, and she was satisfied that none of the blood on the headstones belonged to her. Her skin was smooth and whole, and just starting to turn pink on her bare shoulders from the sun. A line of red bumps, as angry and tender as a rash of poison ivy, twisted up around the inside of her left calf. It itched like a belt of mosquito bites.

So if the blood definitely wasn’t hers, it didn’t bode well for Billy. She tugged the flannel between her fingers, tried to ignore the way her hands trembled from just the effort of sitting up. Christ. What a mess.

Everything after the bird had started up its poetry slam again was one big black hole. She had grabbed for Billy, had crashed landed on the ground, and that was all. If her brother wasn’t here, then what was the next logical conclusion? Even if that was him splattered around the headstones, that still left a lot of Billy unaccounted for. She ran a dry tongue along the inside of her mouth, over her teeth and up around the gums, worked up a pool of spit, hawked and spat it onto the grass. It came out sticky, faintly pink and tasting like a mouthful of copper pennies.

She put a hand on her belly, tried to figure out if it felt fuller than usual, the kind of after Thanksgiving full. It didn’t make a lot of sense—the idea that she had, you know, eaten her brother sometime between blacking out and waking up naked in a cemetery— but it was just behind the talking bird in that department, so...

She patted her stomach, reached down to absently scratch the rash on the inside of her leg. Hey Billy, you in there?

“Wouldn’t scratch that, if I was you.”

Cheryl started, looked up and dropped her arms to cover her chest. It was like in those dreams, when you found yourself naked at school in the hallway between periods. Only she was naked in a graveyard. And covered in blood. Which was technically kind of worse, but in a weird way, kind of better, too.

She expected to see a groundskeeper, or someone arriving early to pay their respects and strangely unperturbed by the sight of a naked girl sitting on the grass. But the only living thing she saw was Taffy, crouched low on the ground some ten feet away, eyeing her, tail twitching and body tense. She was trying to remember what the cat was even doing out here in the first place when comprehension dawned.

“Oh, Jesus, was that you?” She groaned, pressed her fingers into the bridge of her nose, trying to head off the headache that was brewing back there behind her eyes. Her head hurt, sharper and more intense than she would have thought possible, almost like someone was digging their way out of her skull with a pick axe. If she wasn’t careful, she might just have herself a Scanners moment here in the graveyard and join Billy across the headstones. “No. No no no. This Dr. Doolittle shit has got to stop.”

Someone chuckled, and she didn’t bother to open her eyes to see if it was the cat. “Besides,” she said, trying to focus on something outside the pain of the headache and figuring her voice was as good a thing as any, “you’re not the talking animal I need right now. I was hoping for something with feathers and a penchant for shitting on cars.”

“You’re talking to birds?” Another chuckle, and it came out heavy, and fat, and just the fucking way it would sound if Taffy could talk. She opened one eye and the cat was staring back at her. It tilted its head to one side. “That strike you as a little…crazy?”

“Oh, trust me, it’s crossed my mind.” She got her hands under her, pushed herself off the ground. The graveyard tilted and spun, and she had to shut her eyes and pull in a few long breaths through her nose. Her stomach felt like it was sloshing around inside her, and she imagined what it would be like to throw up now, to spray little bloody Billy-chunks all over the manicured grass.

Taffy watched her slow ascent. The cat had that look on its face, that smug cat look. God, she hated cats. “Where you off too?”

“I got a bird to find.” Fuck, her leg itched. It felt like there were ants crawling around down there, under the skin. Had she stepped in poison ivy last night, during their mad run to the graveyard? She thought it over as she bent down to examine the rash. The skin was an angry red, flushed and swollen with blood, the surface bubbled into blisters all along the length of her calf. Scratching it had opened some of them up, and a thin, bright ribbon of blood ran down her ankle and along her foot.

Great.

The world kept pitching and rolling as she walked, so she must’ve been a sad sorry fucking sight, staggering through a graveyard naked and bloody and trailed by a fat housecat.

They—the two of them, cat and girl—were almost at the south wall of the cemetery, a low stone wall topped with heavy cast iron spires, and Cheryl still didn’t really have a plan. Scale the wall and make a break for home, ducking into the bushes whenever a car drove by and hoping that nobody was out early watering the roses? It looked like that was her only choice. She hoped Mom wasn’t up yet. She still needed to come up with a good story for Billy’s whereabouts, and she was just too fucking tired to figure it all out. Maybe she could just eat Mom, too. She really needed an instruction manual for this monster gig, but the bird was nowhere to be seen.

Taffy yowled, low and alert, and Cheryl looked up, startled. Someone was moving among the graves, at the crest of the hill back the way they had come. It was a girl, thin and pale with hair so blond it was the color of milk gone sour. The raven was settled on one shoulder, head bobbing as the girl walked.

Cheryl stared after them. Taffy came up by one ankle, rubbing against the bare skin there. The cat was purring, soft, more of a vibration than an actual sound.

“Must be strange day, to make the dead get up for a stroll,” was all he said, but Cheryl didn’t wait around to ask him what he meant, didn’t stop to question what she was seeing. She was already running, the grass cool and sharp against the soles of her feet, shouting, “Gwen!”

The girl didn’t stop, and didn’t turn around. She was heading north, toward the gates of the cemetery and the funeral home that sat just inside them, an old two-story colonial house with the kind of big wraparound porch you associated with bed and breakfasts. Cheryl saw the wind pick up Gwen’s fine hair, lift it away from her neck and shoulders. The night they’d kissed—in Gwen’s parents’ basement, for the first time and the last time—Cheryl had put her hands on that neck, felt the shift of Gwen’s collarbone under the skin, fragile as a bird’s bones.

When Gwen had shoved her back, her nose wrinkled and mouth twisted up angry, they’d had a fight, the kind that started with shouting and arm waving and ended with the two of them getting royally, stupidly wasted. Gwen, too small to hold the Cointreau well, had passed out on the couch, and Cheryl had gone around the room, with the world spinning just as bad as it was now, picking up her stuff and hurling into a duffle bag. She’d finished off the Cointreau and switched to the Skyy, the only other thing her aunt kept in the cabinet below the bar. Eventually, she’d collapsed in her uncle’s chair and slipped into a weird, heavy sleep herself.

She’d woken sometime in the early morning, maybe only an hour later, maybe as little as a half an hour. Gwen, passed out on her back with her head titled up to show the pale line of her neck, was making a strange, burbling sound, mouth open, her body twitching like someone experiencing a low grade seizure. Cheryl could smell it all the way across the room; the sharp, sour tang of puke.

She remembered thinking, very clearly, before she drifted back into the oppressive dark of a drunk sleep, Let her. She deserves it.

Gwen seemed impossibly far ahead of her, even though she was walking and Cheryl was running as best as her wonky vision would let her. Everything was shuddering in and out of focus, like one of those indie art films shot with a handheld camera. She caught her foot on the edge of a plaque set into the grass and went down like the dumb blond in a horror movie breaking a heel while running from the serial killer. She scattered the memorial that had been propped up on the grave, the dried up stems of flowers and one sad, scruffy teddy bear that smelled like mold and wet stuffing.

She landed on her elbows, but it was her leg that suddenly flared up, the pain lighting up along the length of the rash like a fuse set on fire. She twisted around to look. The skin was bubbling like a pot of water coming to boil. Underneath the blisters, the muscle was ballooning up, distending, stretching the skin tight across it. Where she had scratched the skin open, something was pushing its way through. She saw thin, dark feelers emerge, waving gently, questing in the air like the heads of earthworms pulled suddenly from the ground.

This wasn’t what she had imagined at all. It fucking hurt, spreading now up her legs and she could feel something inside her writhing around, grinding against the bones of her ribcage and hips. Her stomach bloated, filled out, and the arm she was supporting herself with gave way and left her sprawled on the grass. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, but the rhythm was off, heavy and erratic and not the steady beat she had taken for granted all her life.

And then Gwen was there, leaning down to look at her, her long pale hair curtaining her face. The raven was there, making a low chuckle in its throat, and Taffy, too, twining around Gwen’s legs.

Cheryl found she couldn’t look Gwen in the face, so she focused on the raven instead. “You—this—this isn’t what I fucking wanted! I did exactly what you, you asked for! I killed my brother for you!”

“And ate him, too,” Taffy said mildly. “But that doesn’t trouble your conscience none, does it?” And it grinned the smug cat grin again.

There was a succession of cracks and her ribs gave way, chest collapsing as the support went. Cheryl found she didn’t even have the breath to scream, though she wanted to, more than she’d ever wanted anything. Her vision blurred, went dark around the edges. Please, let me pass right the fuck out. Please.

Gwen reached out, put a hand on the concave slope of her chest. She was smiling. If there was any pressure from the dead girl’s hand, Cheryl couldn’t feel it over the pain. She noticed for the first time that even now, five months dead, Gwen still smelled like the puke that had killed her.

Cheryl twisted as her spine popped, bent her backwards. “Please, Gwen—I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--“

But it was the raven who answered her. “Gwen’s not kindly disposed toward you these days.”

It was getting harder to breathe. Lying the way she was, Cheryl could see the feelers extending from the split edges of her skin, over a foot long now and squirming across the grass. She reached out and grabbed one and yanked on it, trying to tear it out. It was soft, and stretched under the pressure. She felt it pull hard at something deep inside her leg, and the pain came on like a flash of summer lightning. She dropped it with a cry, and it snaked away from her.

“This isn’t what I wanted! I wanted to be a werewolf, you assfucking shit!” she howled.

The raven rustled its feathers, settling back on Gwen’s shoulder. “As I recall,” it said, “you asked to be a monster. I think you’ll find, child, that there are many kinds of monster in the world.”

Gwen’s eyes flicked away from her, to something behind Cheryl’s head. Cheryl let her head fall back to follow her gaze, tried to ignore the fact that her neck shouldn’t be able to crane that way.

On the porch of the funeral home, a small group of people had gathered. The men wore suits, the women dresses and skirts in somber colors. One small girl with honey-colored pigtails clutched her mother’s arm. Their cars lined the driveway by the cemetery entrance, parked in neat rows.

They were, all of them, staring out into the cemetery at the twisted, twitching thing on the grass, wide-eyed and with the blood drained from their faces.

To Be A Monster pt. 3 (written by Jezzy Wolfe)

"Mffmmm," Billy mumbled. He squirmed under the covers like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

"Come on, you grunt, get up!" She dodged a comic book that catapulted at her head. It bounced off the door jamb and landed at her feet. A hunched werewolf graced its cover. "I'll drag your ass if I have to."

Billy sat up on one elbow, squinting at her. "Have you been smoking crack? I ain't goin' anywhere with you. Mom and Dad will kill us and I ain't got no death wish. Leave me alone." He fell back on the mattress and pulled a pillow over his face.

Cheryl considered holding the pillow down.

No, that freaky-ass bird wants me to bring Billy to the graveyard. Fuckin’ A! She leaned against the doorway, racking her brain. What could she use to lure Billy out of the house? The damn kid didn't care about anything except baseball, comic books, and the stupid cat.

Taffy.

She tiptoed through the hall to her parents' room, though the surround sound buzz of snores covered her footsteps. Taffy usually slept on her Mom's feet. Lucky for her, both parents slept under the influence of Ambien. She peeked in the room.

Sure enough, there on her mother’s feet like a spewed hairball lay Taffy. The cat's yellow eyes opened slightly, revealing yellow slits that locked in on her. As she approached the foot of the bed, it flattened its ears and a low growl replaced its purr.

"Here, kitty kitty," Cheryl crooned.

Taffy whined and hissed. As she reached for the fat fur ball, it screeched and bolted from the bed, shooting out of the room so fast it threw her off balance. She barely avoided falling on her mom's legs. Punching the air in lieu of a frustrated scream, she trailed the beast through the house.

"Damn cat, where the hell are you?" She sang softly as she searched under the couch in the living room, Taffy's favorite place to hide. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

A smelly breeze whizzed by her head. She stood too quickly and tripped over the coffee table. "Okay, so let me re-phrase that...I won't kill you." She perched on the couch and waited. Taffy would inevitably pass her again, and when she did...

A bundle of fur rounded the corner of the sofa and zoomed past, but Cheryl's lightening fast reflexes went into action. She snagged the cat by its tail, wrestling it into submission, despite its flailing claws. A few scratches were not gonna stand between her and her ultimate goal. Once she transformed, Taffy would be nothing more than a snack.

But for now, Taffy's fate was merely a night outdoors. She opened the front door and dumped the cat on the porch. They stared each other down until Taffy relented, hunched her back, hissed dramatically, and stalked off the steps. The bait was set.

Billy slept with the pillow still covering his head. Cheryl toyed again with the notion of smothering his pesky ass, but aside from the raven's explicit demands, she didn't relish the idea of carrying his dead weight to the graveyard. She pulled the pillow off his face and shook his shoulder.

"Wake up Billy, it’s an emergency! Taffy got out of the house. I need to get her inside, but she won't come to me."

"That's cause you're so mean to her." Billy pulled the comforter over his head.

Cheryl sighed, growing impatient as she tugged it back down. "Yeah, I know. But I'm worried about her. I saw a raccoon out there earlier. She could get hurt."

Billy shot up immediately, springing out of bed. He grabbed a baseball bat and shoved his feet into his sneakers. "Raccoons have rabies!"

"I know!" Cheryl smiled, but when Billy met her gaze she drew her eyebrows together and rung her hands. "I hope we find her in time!"

"Well, come on, slowpoke!" He didn't bother to grab a jacket. Instead, he bolted out the front door before Cheryl made it through the living room.

***

"She's over here, Billy!" Cheryl led her brother away from the house, towards the cemetery. She waved wildly as he crawled from under a bush. He was so intent on rescuing Taffy that he didn't notice where they were until she coerced him through the iron gates.

He stopped in his tracks as she beckoned him from inside the entrance. "Are you sure? I don't know about this—it’s trespassing."

"So?"

"We'll get in big trouble."

"Then blame Taffy! But if she get’s away again…" Cheryl said dramatically. “Did you know if a cat gets bitten by a rabid raccoon, they shoot it on sight? They don’t even check it first.”

So gullible. His big eyes watered and he wiped his nose on his blue flannel pajama sleeve. She almost felt sorry for him right then.

Don’t you want to be a werewolf? Anything worth having is worth the sacrifice. She pulled her shoulders back and recovered her determination. He was, after all, her payment. Soon I will be unstoppable!

“I think I hear her. Follow me,” she said. Retreating to the shadows, she listened for the sound of Billy's sneakers close behind as he crushed fallen leaves and twigs in his pursuit. "Come quick, Billy! I got her cornered!"

Cheryl sat in front of Gwen’s grave as Billy emerged from the trees. He froze.

"Look what I found." Patting the ground beside her, she said, "Have a seat, little brother. Wanna see Gwen?"

"Gwen's dead, you idiot," he snapped. Suddenly his skin drained and his eyes widened. Pointing to something over her shoulder, he whispered, "What's th-that?"

She glanced behind her, and saw the raven perched on Gwen's tombstone. "Just a bird." She shrugged.

"It's creepy. Make it go away."

"Don't be a baby, Billy. It's harmless. More afraid of you than you are of it." She swatted her hand at the raven, but the damn thing snapped at her finger. “Hey! What’s the big idea?”

"Now now, my dear, this is not the time for games. You are almost ready for your induction. Bring him closer so the ceremony may commence." Its eyes glowed red as it rustled its wings impatiently.

"Shh!" Cheryl hissed. "Are you crazy? Don't tell him that! He'll run away!"

"Who the hell are you talking to?" Billy clenched the bat with both hands, taking one step in her direction. His eyes were twice their normal size and she could see the bat trembling across his shoulder.

"He cannot hear me, dear. I was summoned here at your bidding. By your desire do I orchestrate, and only your ears are tuned to the correct frequency."

“Uh, hate to break this to you, Bird Brain, but I didn’t summon you.”

“Indeed? And what of the blood you shed? Such powerful lust is hard to misinterpret.”

“But that’s not why I killed Gwen!”

“You killed Gwen?!” Billy’s voice was a prepubescent squeak. “I’m telling Mom! You’re gonna be in so much trouble!”

“Billy, wait!” Cheryl jumped to her feet as he stumbled back.

He swung the bat twice, so fast it hummed. “You’re crazy! Stay away from me!”

“It is time,” the raven called. “You know what to do now.”

Billy bolted, disappearing into the shadows, forcing Cheryl to give chase. A sharp stabbing pain lanced her chest as she charged after him. I really need to start exercising, she mused. The air thickened as her hands closed over his shoulders. So thin and fragile in her palms, like the wishbone on a Thanksgiving turkey.

I could rip him in half.

She pulled him against her chest and wrestled the bat from his grip. He screamed as he struggled against her.

“Shut up, you little asshole! Someone might hear you!”

“Good! Poli-”

She clamped her hand over his mouth. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “Calm down and listen, will you?” He stopped squirming and she uncovered his mouth. “ I didn’t kill Gwen.”

“But you said…”

“You take everything so literally! Damn, lighten up already!” She loosened her hold and he shrugged out of her arms. “You need to relax,” she snapped.

“You need to get your head checked, you psycho!” He lunged for the bat.

“Uh-uh, tough guy. I don’t think so.” Cheryl rested the bat on her shoulder. “It's not polite to hit your sister.”

“It’s not polite to kill your cousin!"

Billy turned to run, but this time Cheryl anticipated his move. She snagged his elastic waistband and he toppled over as his flannel bottoms wrapped around his knees, pulling her off balance. The ground shifted and lurched, and she fell, losing hold of the bat.

She was stronger and bigger and could easily overpower her brother, but he was faster.

The raven’s voice cut through the trees, chanting the familiar verse with lilting rhythm:

“Blood, it calls for blood.
Through thick, through thin
The Centuries’ crawl begins…”

***

Warmth woke her. Not just any warmth, but the delicious sensation of laying directly in the sunlight naked. Cheryl moaned, stretching lazily, and relaxed. She cracked open her eyes.

Her bedroom ceiling had been replaced by a crisp blue sky. The glaring light stung her eyes. Shielding them with the back of her hand, she pushed up on one elbow. She was laying in thick manicured grass. Limestone and marble markers all but glowed in the daylight, jutting out of the ground around her at displaced angles. Rusty burgundy smudges painted many of the tombstones, trailing drips pooled in the grooved letters. A rotting metallic odor assaulted her nostrils, forcing her stomach to flip-flop with nausea. I think I’m gonna be sick.

She sat up and winced as a sharp pain squeezed her skull. Her arms and legs protested with throbbing aches. Eyes clenched tight, she sat still until everything quit spinning. God, I feel like I died. What the fuck happened? Looking down, she realized she was completely naked.

And covered in blood.

She yelped and searched the ground around her, but her clothes were gone. Breathing deep to fight down the vomit bubbling in her throat, she crawled on all fours. Encountering strangers while she ran around a cemetery bloody and naked was not an idea she particularly relished. Mercifully, the cemetery appeared deserted.

In her disoriented and queasy condition, she didn’t realize she was clutching something in her hand until she pulled herself up against a granite cross.

It was a scrap of bloodied blue flannel.

To Be A Monster pt 2 (written by Zombie Zak!)

Was it digging? Or scratching? Or was it something else slyly creeping through the brush? Or maybe it was something overhead?

Cheryl was unsure, but the night was so rife with potential for opportunity and change that she figured she had to find out. Besides, it could be somebody spoiling her cousin's rest; and that would not be cool.

"Blood, it calls for blood.
Through thick, through thin
The Centuries' crawl begins."

It was softly spoken, simple in tone and tenor. She heard it clear but at the same time, thought just as easily that it could have been the wind. It made no sense. Why would anyone be out here other than Cheryl and Gwen? This was their special place.

She thought it came from over there; but then, a second later, it was over here. She couldn't see anything clearly within the woods, the wan glow of the moon hidden by the overhead canopy. The faint shimmer of a distant light left on in the chapel was cold solace in the deep absence of contact within these dreary woods.

"Blood, it craves the blood.
Renewal, rejoice, resurgence
As the red rain begins again."

"Fuck me running; where are you? What are you trying to do here? Get yourself whooped? I'll do it; just try me! I ain't afraid of you, you ignorant piss-ant! I'm a monster and I'll rip open your chest and feed on the bits inside! Show yourself." Cheryl didn't yell; it was obviously unnecessary, but the need to speak forcefully was very compelling.

"Blood, it is drawn to the blood.
By birth, by death, in this life
And beyond the veil it crawls."

For a brief moment, she glanced back at Gwen's resting place. No sign of movement, not a blade of grass out of place; but she needed to be sure. She had to know that Gwen was still safely nestled in her bed of dirt, neither waking nor moving about, nor sharing this night with her. Moreover, she had to know that it wasn't Gwen who was the one talking right now. And if it was Gwen who was unlimbering with the lyric content, what would Cheryl think she’d do? She gave it a brief thought and marked it as unknown.

"Blood, as it flows from the living
To the labored lands below the moon
We flock to this moment, Morrigan's Boon."

Morrigan? What?

Her History teacher, Mr. Mondrose, liked to throw out drivel like that every now and then; was that it, some anime type character goddess of something or other? Wasn't she something to do with those fallen in battle and their lots cast in life? Maybe it was he who was out there with all this weird rhyming crap? Cheryl wasn't sure, but she didn't want to wait for long to find out what kind of perverted old fart he was.

"Blood, we feed upon the spoils of battle
These wicked souls we predate upon
And birth of the monsters we drum on."

Monsters? Now that sounded more interesting.

"I'm curious. You had me at monsters. Please tell me what's going on. I don't understand; but I would like to." She looked calmly through the trees and the underbrush, trying to find a source for the voice and the quiet commotion.

"Blood, thick as tar and filled with bite;
Simple tricks this creature for this night.
Stay far, far, far from the blind light."

"OK, I'm all for the weird and wacky what the fuck thing you've got going on right now, but for the life of me, I can't understand a word you're saying! All this poetic sing songy stuff is making my head hurt. Could you just talk in plain English? Would that be so hard?"

"Blood, in time, the die will be cast,
The bones rolled and the deal struck,
By evening's end, the light will be aghast."

"You should know, I've always hated Shakespeare and all the rest of that crap that they make you lap up in high school! It's a crock of craptacularness, is what it is. So, lallalalalalalal, I can't hear you …" Cheryl moved closer to her cousin; the close familiarity of family soothed her taut nerves in this unfamiliar game of cat and mouse.

"There is no end, but in the beginning, one wonders what will be after this cast has been put upon us." The voice came from a very specific source, she could tell. It was above her, and to the left. There; on the branch, there was a raven. She could see it, clear, precise, outlined by the splatter of moon glow through a break in the trees. It cawed once to mark its point.

"Can you feel the pall, child? Can you feel how it pulls at the strings that you call your life? Can you feel how it digs into you and rips apart those simple things that you once called happiness? Can you see the dark, crawling monstrous manifestation sliding beneath the soil of your time? The terror, oh how it must eat you up."

"Terror? What are you talking about? And besides, you're a bird, what do you know about anything except pecking?" Cheryl stood cautiously eyeing the creature that had manifested itself in this grotesque manner. Barely keeping a grip on her nerves she waited for the next thing that it might have to say. It was a freaking talking bird, and worse, it was talking to her. This was bad, really bad.

"Child, I know many things; I am many things. I am the wind, I am the dust. I know of the secret things that children harbor like lust beneath their breast. These secrets are like pages from a book, for I; and I read them with avarice. Would you like to know the story that your life reads?" The raven swiveled its eye to regard young Cheryl closely.

"No. As a matter of fact, I just want you to go away and leave us alone." She looked around for a rock, anything that she might be able to throw at this obnoxious bird.

"Soon enough child …"

"And stop calling me that!"

"Indeed, very well. Soon enough, my dear, you will leave this place. But there is going to be a price. The question thereupon, will be will you pay it? You've come so close to the truth, but do you have the strength to go all the way to find its conclusion? Will you be willing to take the next step to becoming what you want to be?"

"I'm all a-twitter, waiting for the punch line, here. My expectations are all tingly and full of moistness."

"Hahaha; sarcasm, chi.., dear. I am amused; this is good. Now, what is it that you want most?"

Cheryl thought about it for a second. She knew what she wanted; she knew that it consumed her with a passion that would strike others with cold dread. But what she didn't know was what admitting it to this creature would do. Alone, in the night, with Gwen and this bird that couldn't be a bird, amongst the trees, with the moon shining balefully bright. What the hell …

"I want to be a monster. I want Gwen to be proud of me. I want to shake up the establishment and make a mark that no one will forget."

"Very nice, younger one; very nice. I believe I can work with that."

"Hunh?"

"Well, I see that you've already taken the first step. You have committed to the womb of Earth, the sacrifice of both blood and love; of someone dear to you. Are you ready to take the next step?"

"Uh, yeah; sure, I guess." Cheryl tripped over her words, trying to stay connected to what was going on.

"Excellent. Do you still hold a measure of her spirit in your hand?"

"What?"

"Ahh, yes, I see that you do. The tears shed earlier upon remembering your friend will nicely do. Now, just stand over there, yes, yes, by the headstone. And we'll begin." The eyes of the raven began to glow a garish red. It was an odd sort of color, a deep red buried beneath furrows of black; it stood out quite cleanly against the night sky.

"By the pricking of thy brittle bones
By the soundless screech of thy horns
Be they silent or foregone
Be they full of fear or scorn
Know that this here vessel
Becoming born
Is the kindred
I have torn.

From a womb of blood and hate
To this creature I can relate
That no other of this land
Can take this creature by its hand.

And thus, as I have said
A monster you shall be.
This creature all will see,
Your friend, surely Dead."

The night air felt cold and coarse, as the bird's chanting came to an abrupt stop. Cheryl stared at the bird, inquiring with a look that wanted to shout out: "What, that's it?" But she held silent. There was the possibility that this creature would actually be able to help her, and that was a good thing in her book.

"And that would be ..?"

"Done, yes indeed; we are done. Now, there is but the task of my asking my boon, my price, payment for services rendered."

"Uhm, ok. I’m confused. You haven't done anything yet. What price could you be asking for?" Cheryl looked around, down at herself, and found nothing had changed. She felt a drop in her gut with the thought that she was being played for a fool.

"Too true. But you have yet to agree upon the price. How can I give you the benefit of my Gift, if you have yet to agree upon the exchange? We deal fairly here, in the Woods, the Sacred Grove as it were."

"Uhm, alright. So, then, what's the price?"

The Raven paused, cocking its head, "Your brother."

"Oh, fuck, go ahead; you can have him. It's not like I want him anywhere near me. He's a gimp."

"No, dear; not like that. Like Gwen. Here. In the Grove. As you have done your girlish friend, so too, I would like your brother; and not as neat as you had done with her. He needs to be messy, full of angst, angry fearful energy. It needs be wet and scattered bits everywhere. Loud, even. It needs be tonight, before the sun rises."

"Uh, so let me get this straight. You want me to lure my brother back here and splatter him all over the place?" She shifted where she stood, looking carefully into the trees trying to see if anyone else was also about. She decided to play along. Besides, Billy needed a good scare anyways. This would do nicely. And it would be funny.

"Precisely, my dear. Do you think you'll be able to do that?"

"Uh, OK; what the fuck? It's not like I'm getting anything else done tonight."

"Excellent. I will look after your friend here."

Cheryl turned around to head back the way she had come. She paused for a moment, with a brief caress of the stone marker before leaving; making sure that Gwen was resting comfortably. She took the long route, avoiding the possibility of meeting anyone out in the open. It took some time longer than she expected, but she got home without event. Quietly, she snuck into her room, the lights were off and she was sure that her mother was already asleep, conveniently having forgotten about her daughter for the time being.

Without making any noise, she crept to her brother's room and opened the door. In a soft, almost hissing whisper, she asked, "Hey, Billy, do you want to come with me and see Gwen? She's in the woods waiting for us. It'll be like a picnic. Come on, let's go."

To Be A Monster pt. 1 (written by Gregory L. Hall)

Cheryl always loved monsters. That’s why she didn’t mind it when the giant spider reached down from the ceiling and bit her mother’s head off. Its drool-covered fangs dug deep into the twitching woman’s shoulders and when it pulled, there was a simple clean pop that briefly echoed in the kitchen and down the hall. Her mom spun in circles, neck spewing thick waves of blood as her arms reached for what was no longer there like a man trying to hold his hat on in a wind storm.

Even when the body hit the floor, Cheryl didn’t react much beyond quiet boredom. So her mother was dead now. The bitch was always yak-yak-yakking away as is. Clean up this kitchen. Please go get a job. Where is your head, girl?

Well, it’s not down a mutant spider’s throat, that’s for damn sure, Mom.

Cheryl stirred her tomato soup with her finger. It burned but pain kinda turned Cheryl on. It made her feel alive. She stared back up to the ceiling but the spider was gone now. The teenager wasn’t sure where it came from or how such a hideous creature even existed but that wasn’t her problem. Explaining to the world why her mother’s decapitated body was laying in a blood pond located on a cheap linoleum floor was going to be the issue. Why did these slaughters have to be so goddamn messy all the time?

“Are you listening to me?” that old familiar voice cackled with disdain. “I am your mother! And your father and I are sick and tired of you doing nothing with your life! This is your senior year in high school…if you pass! And you don’t have any friends. Any hobbies. Any ambition. What are you going to do with your life, Cheryl? Certainly not stay here for the rest of your days!”

“I won’t be, Mom,” the detached girl almost said loud enough to be heard. “I think I’m done with my soup.”

Cheryl got up from the dinner table and shuffled out of the kitchen purposefully denying her mother any eye contact. Where was a real giant mutant spider when you needed one?

She crossed through the living room which always smelled of cat piss and Febreze. The cause of both lay on the heavily cushioned chair before her. The fat feline hissed at the sloped shouldered girl making it clear who truly owned the household. While it was common knowledge even to visitors that this was Taffy’s chair, and could only ever be occupied by Taffy, Cheryl thought differently. To her, it was always an opportunity to play her favorite game. Cats in Space.

Cheryl scooped up the round and squishy furball and threw it across the room. It banked against the far wall with a loud thwack and bounced ass first on the floor disproving the rule that cats always land on all fours. Skip a meal or two, you fat fuck, and you might be able to find your feet, Cheryl chuckled to herself.

“Oh my goodness!” the voice cried from the other room. “Was that Taffy that hit the wall? Cheryl! Was that my Ms. Taffy?”

The grinning teenager hit the stairs before Mother could burst into the living room full of confrontation. She heard her mom’s whining voice coddling and cooing comfort to the disgusting orange beast in a way Cheryl had never heard herself even as a child. The cat meowed melodramatically which amped up Mother’s concern. Next time I aim for a window, Cheryl sneered. She slammed her bedroom door to block the soup opera out.

No hobbies. No ambition. Her parents had no clue. Cheryl picked the copy of Necrotic Tissue off her bed and gently filed it with the rest of her horror fiction collection. She flopped down on the old mattress and stared at the night through thin yellow curtains. Forget about imagining monsters around every corner. They weren’t getting her anywhere. The spider didn’t eat mom’s head in the kitchen. The silent serial killer didn’t drive a machete through her math teacher’s torso outside in the parking lot. And Jason Wolter, the most gorgeous guy in school, didn’t get devoured by a pack of chupacabras after gym class. It was all a waste of time.

Cheryl made a crucial decision then and there. She would do anything to become a monster herself.

The Goth kids in her town seemed cool but the whole vampire thing was so overdone. Now it was more about undead prom dates that looked like a Jonas Brother with fangs than it was about true blood draining hell-creatures like in 30 Days of Night. Witches were beyond cliché. Zombies were always awesome but who wanted to be a shambling decaying corpse on purpose?

Werewolves. That was what she wanted to be. Lycanthropic bliss. That way she could have the best of both worlds. An invisible high school nothing during the day. Carnivorous killing machine at night. She could spend her time simply taking names as people shit on her day in and day out. Then as the moon rose, she would hunt them down and ‘correct’ their view of her over a nice meal.

Her bedroom door burst open. “Dude, did you throw Taffy again?”

“Don’t you ever knock?” Cheryl cut at her little brother with monotone angst.

“Mom is on the phone right now with Dad. You are so going to get it when he gets home from his business trip. I mean like ‘grounded for life’ and ‘kicked out of the house’ trouble.”

“I can’t be condemned to both, asshole. Just get out of my room…”

Her brother flipped her the finger and quickly spun around to make his exit before he fell victim to the wicked girl’s next attack. Cheryl hopped up in bed.

“Wait! Billy! Come here for a minute. I actually have a serious question to ask you.” She waved him closer. The boy hesitated, trying to read her intentions and compromised on putting his weight on his back leg in the doorway.

Cheryl smiled. It hurt her face but she did it anyway. “You’re into science and stuff like that. Have you ever heard of a case where someone could actually um, transform into a more animal side of their self?”

“Like rabies?”

“No. Not like being infected and acting crazy. More like growing hair all over their body and getting fangs. Being able to see at night or track down prey with their sense of smell?” Cheryl shrugged in an honest attempt to connect with her younger sibling.

“You mean like a werewolf?” he asked with a crack in his voice.

“More like a were-woman…”

A chuckle escaped Billy’s gapped teeth. “Geez, Cheryl, that’s a whole different kind of animal! I see them all the time down in Mount Vernon! You can go to Sweden and get an operation for that! ‘Werewolf’ means a man who’s a wolf. ‘Were’ meaning ‘man’. So a were-woman would be a man-woman. Is it someone you have a crush on in school?”

“Shut the fuck up, retard!” Cheryl hissed. “Get the fuck out of my room!”

“That’s two of the #1 Bad Word on Mom’s list! You are so in trouble now!” Billy screamed as if to send a direct message downstairs to the matriarch of house law. He saw Cheryl reach for her lamp and he was down the hallway screaming even louder.

Fuck this and yes I said it again, the dark teenager muttered to herself. In seconds her mother would be yelling her name soaked in venom at the bottom of the stairs. It was a dance the family never seemed tired of doing. Well, tonight was different. Cheryl knew her purpose now and when she found out how to achieve it, they all would be sorry. She only had one other stop to make. She had to see her cousin.

She was the only person on earth Cheryl could trust. Gwen was the only person who knew and kept Cheryl’s one big secret.

She grabbed her jacket off the bedpost, climbed out the window and was gone.

***

The night was colder than Cheryl expected. October chewed through her clothing as the full moon threw a frigid spotlight on her. But this was the only place Gwen would meet her. Cheryl found her cousin was even colder than their surroundings.

“Look, I’m sorry about coming out here so late. I’m sorry about a lot of things.” Cheryl’s chin dropped to her chest. “We don’t talk near as much as we used to. I guess that’s my fault.”

Gwen said nothing.

“We used to have good times, remember? Getting high out behind your dad’s shed or stealing my mom’s booze from her liquor cabinet? We shoplifted a lot of great stuff from the Mall. Snuck into the movies all the time…” Cheryl hoped her only friend would laugh or at least smile but she was left talking to herself. “I know. You really didn’t want to do most of those things but you did them for me. I guess I’ve always been a bad influence.”

Cheryl broke from Gwen’s masked emotions and stared off at the surrounding trees. They looked like lanky eavesdroppers eager to hear her confessions.

Vulnerable tears welled up as she kicked the dirt at her feet. “Please don’t hate me anymore, okay? Just say something. Anything. We were soul mates, Gwen. We were. Want to know a secret? An embarrassing one? I know you’ll keep it because that’s one promise you’d never break, no matter how much we’ve drifted apart. You’re still the only person I’ve ever kissed. You know, romantically. That’s pretty sad isn’t it? I’m a high school senior and I’ve only ever made out with my cousin, who just happens to be a girl as if I wasn’t pitiful enough.”

Gwen was like a stone.

“I’m such a loser. No offense to you.” Cheryl felt the blood rush into her cheeks and the sweat pool in her palms. “Look, the reason I came here is because I need advice and you’ve always listened to me and you may be the only person who can give me the answers I need. Okay, I’m just going to say it. I want to be a monster. Don’t laugh…”

Cheryl sucked the air deep into her lungs to compose herself in front of her cousin’s ridicule. “I’m a nobody. I want to change that! And I know you already think I’m a monster but I mean being a real one. But it’s okay. I understand. I just figured with where you are now, you’d be able to help me.”

The young girl pulled her jacket tighter and stared down at the tombstone. “I’m sorry I killed you. I really am. Thank you for never telling anyone it was me.”

As she turned from her cousin’s grave, a faint sound caught her ears. The sound of someone digging.