Doctor Death wafted into the bedroom and hovered over him, gesturing for Sean the Vampire to get on with the retribution intended for him.
Sean hesitated. It felt wrong to kill a sleeping naked man, somehow unfair.
Sean looked around the bedroom. Next to the bed sat a wheelchair. In a corner stood several canes. The components of a black tuxedo littered the floor. An empty bottle of vodka and a water glass stood on a table by an overstuffed easy chair.
Too much time passed for Doctor Death. He wanted to see Sean rip the serial killer apart. He wanted Sean to sever the bastard’s head from his neck. He thought Sean spent too much time thinking.
Doctor Death entered John Smith’s body at the base of his exposed spine and spread his molecules throughout the man’s cells. John Smith shivered. The ghost moved into John’s brain, hitting his pain centers.
Smith screamed, clutched his head, rolled over, and moved to the edge of the bed. Doctor Death left his head and floated before him.
“You again,” said John. “Will I never be free of you?”
“You will be tonight,” said Doctor Death. “Meet my friend, Sean.”
John looked over his shoulder. He grinned when he saw Sean.
“So the burned marshmallow spook found a stooge,” said John. He stood, hobbled around the bed, and held out his hand to Sean.
Sean grasped the man by the back of the wrist and pulled it to his nose. He sniffed, closing his eyes as if he were checking the bouquet of fine wine.
John watched him without pulling away, swaying on unsteady legs.
Sean led John to the wheelchair and helped him to sit. He locked gazes with John.
“Don’t hypnotize him,” said Doctor Death, “he doesn’t deserve such kindness.” The ghost swooped between Sean and Smith breaking the contact of their minds. Sean fell onto the bed, rolling over and burying his head into the pink stuffed animals.
“Treat him like meals on wheels, you wuss.” In his agitation with Sean, Doctor Death fluctuated like heat waves on hot tarmac.
“The crows have finally come to bring me home,” said John. He looked from Sean to Doctor Death and laughed.
“You may rightly call me Death’s messenger,” said the ghost, “for I have brought Him to devour your filthy soul.”
“I have no fear of Death, and I have no fear of you and especially not him.” John gestured to the prone and still Sean.
“It’s my fault,” said Doctor Death, “I have not set the stage properly.”
Doctor Death vaporized and seeped into John Smith’s head once again. He was not capable of moving things (even though he kept trying), but he could take over the essential building blocks of matter, confusing their function and thus affecting the physical world.
In this case, the pressure on John’s brain caused him to bleed from his ears, nose, and tear ducts.
The metallic scent of fresh flowing blood roused Sean. His canine teeth grew to their killing length. He sprang onto John Smith’s body, tearing open his neck and ripping out his voice box just before a scream bubbled to John Smith’s lips.
The serial killer died too quickly for Doctor Death’s taste, but by the slurping and gulping sounds Sean made while feeding, Doctor Death could tell at least Sean would be satisfied and full.
Sean had been so hungry and depleted that he drained John Smith’s body in record time. He had also been an unusually sloppy feeder. Blood covered the entire front of his body. He looked around and did not see Doctor Death, so Sean went into Smith’s huge bathroom and took a shower. Wrapped in a towel after drying off, he gathered his filthy clothes and went in search of a laundry room and the Ghost Toasty. (You gotta love a vampire that cleans up after himself.)
The washing machine was off of the kitchen. Sean put his clothes in to wash the blood off. Good thing he dressed in black, he thought to himself. There would be no stains and no need to buy new clothes to go out in public again.
He found his ghostly companion in an elaborate office.
“The man was very organized,” said Doctor Death. “I found his will. He left everything but the kitchen sink to his brother.”
“You did not tell me he had living relatives.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Then the government will put all of his possessions on sale,’ said Sean, “and the country will view his estate as a great act of patriotism.”
“No,” said Doctor Death, “I have other plans.”
“What have you to do with it?”
“My name in life was David Smith,” said Doctor Death. “John Smith was my older brother.”
“You had me kill your brother?” Sean paced around the office. His urges wanted him to lunge at Doctor Death, but you can’t kill a ghost a second time.
“Family killing runs deep in my family,” said Doctor Death. “For the love of my life, he needed stopping.” He tried to move a library card laying on the surface of the desk. It didn’t budge. “You needed to feed. The situation was just common sense.”
“Your latest idea,” said Sean, “what is it?”
“Being dead, I couldn’t even blackmail anyone here in California to bring me back from the grave to inherit,” said the former David Smith.
“A stethoscope to your rotting corpse will prove the fact simply enough,” said Sean. He paced the room, looking at the well-stocked bookshelves with envy.
“Don’t look so smug.” Doctor Death swooped around Sean’s head. “It will work.”
“What?”
“You will be my resurrected son.”
Sean stopped moving and stared at the ghost.
“John killed my infant son, but no one reported the child’s death. John wrapped his lifeless body in bubble wrap, put it in a box, slapped postage on it and mailed it to me when I was in South America working. My son’s death is what drove me to do crank and ultimately kill myself. You will take over my son’s identity and inherit my brother’s wealth.” Doctor Death nodded at the incredulous Sean.
“Kismet.”
* Tobias Smollett: But we are sorry ... to consider Mr. Pratt's writings as 'purely evil' ... we should really look upon this author's departure from the world of literature as a good riddance of bad rubbish.
Didn't see that coming.
ReplyDeleteIt did escalated rather quickly.
Delete