Dead Men (and Women) Walking Read online

  Eric opened Graham's door ever so gently and peaked in. Graham was still talking to his sister as he walked into the kitchen. Eric swiftly opened the door and shut it with care, making sure to take off his little device. He crawled over behind Graham's couch and stretched his body out along the length of the nicely made piece of furniture. As Eric listened to the rather monotonous conversation, he took his shoes off and tucked them neatly under the couch so he could move around easier if the need arose. Eric took a quick peak around the couch to watch as Graham opened his freezer to find something suitable for dinner. Eric took care of the next potential problem that could hinder him later. He reached over to the lamp table and unplugged the wire from the phone and the wall and rested behind the couch again.

  Most people didn't realize that they had so many instruments around the house that could spell their own doom. In a day and age where people carried guns and knives, Eric really saw no need, though the occasional blade did come in handy at mealtime. He folded the phone wire back on itself, halving its length and tying one end together. He then wrapped each end around his hands 3 times. Eric's garrote wire was now at hand.

  As Eric listened, Wilson told his sister that it was dinnertime and he wanted to have a shower and eat before she came over. Soon enough, the mobile phone was turned off and Graham approached the couch. Eric tensed his legs, ready to shove the couch away from the wall and into the detective, but there was no need. Wilson's coat landed on the edge of the couch, its top hanging over the edge and touching the cannibal's head.

  Graham took off his shoes and his vest and put them next to the couch. Eric soon heard the snaps that he was waiting for; the detective was taking his gun holster off and laid it on the couch, gun still safely within. As Graham walked off down the hallway and into the bathroom, Hicks reached around the side of the couch and unsnapped the gun from its enclosure and put the device under the kitchen sink. Hicks was momentarily startled as he heard the bathroom door open and he readied his wire, but thankfully, the detective walked into his bedroom at the end of the hall for some clothes.

  Now that Eric had some time, he looked around the kitchen of his new home. It was very spacious and there was plenty of countertop space, marble finish, no less. Eric's finger ran down the marble to the edge of the oven. As Hicks looked inside to see what was cooking, he pulled open drawers until he found the utensils lined neatly in separate trays. He pulled out a filleting knife and pushed the drawer back in. Pain was a necessary thing in these times. Though pain would Eric's deed be completed, through his will, would the pain come to a head for the detective. Eric opened the oven and pulled out the pan of fajitas. He sat them on the side and opened each one in turn, taking care to not tear their half-frozen skin. After several slices of the knife, Eric picked up the pieces of his own flesh and deposited them within the meaty wraps. Once he put them back into the oven, Eric took a quick look around in Graham's bedrooms, finding them to be suitable for the times ahead. Graham was an ordered individual and kept all his belongings in neat order. This was another essential quality that Hicks was looking for, because it helped the transition so much.

  Resting back behind the couch again, Eric began to listen to the detective as he came out of the bathroom and into the living room again. Graham turned the television on and the 6:00 p.m. news was on. The final test was about to take place. Would Wilson make Eric proud? Would the detective take the steps of Hicks before him? The sound of the oven's door opening prompted Eric's full attention again on Wilson. Would he eat one there, right in the kitchen where the Offering took place? No, it was not to be. Graham didn't take a bite in the kitchen, preferring to have his meal and watch the news at the same time. As Wilson sat down, Hicks wanted to cry out, to embrace his soon to be comrade. The process was so close to being complete, to being realized.

  The top news story of the night focused on a recent finding in the Thames River. As Graham sat up and at his meal, he listened closely, as did Eric, who at that point was ecstatic at the fact that the Offering of his flesh had been taken freely. The case about the dead body of Mr. Hicks wasn't over yet. The morgue assistant's car and body within were dragged from the river a little while ago. Preliminary reports suggest that the boy was dead for at least a day or two but the police weren't confirming anything yet. The media was taking the story in various directions, but the most common theory was that someone else -- possibly one of Hicks' cannibalistic friends -- came to get his body and the morgue assistant was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Eric risked a look at the side of the detective's face from the side of the couch. "No, this wasn't some friend. This was Hicks. God I don't know how, but it was Hicks." Wilson had passed the test. Instead of thinking in the terms of regular men, Graham decided to look beyond Man's logic and conclude the impossible, however improbable.

  After Wilson swallowed the food in his mouth, Eric felt the wires in his hands one last time, and lopped them around the detective's neck in one smooth stroke. "Hello Graham!" said a slimy voice from behind the couch. "I do hope you haven't missed me too much over the last couple of days." The detective was struggling to bring his upper body up to gain some kind of leverage on the smaller man, but it was no use. Hicks had pinned his feet under the couch and was using Graham's own weight against him.

  Graham's mind was racing along at top speed while trying to slip his fingers under the wire that threatened to cut off his air supply. How did Hicks get in the apartment? How did Hicks even found out where he lived? Graham's back was arched and he was nearly falling over backward due to the pressure Hicks was putting on his neck, but he knew that if he didn't stay in the position, he could well strangle himself. Graham realized that his gun was only an arm's reach away and instead of trying to stop him, Hicks actually moved along the back of the couch to let the detective realize that his gun was no longer where it should be. Hicks started talking in an overly excited voice to his new friend.

  "I truly can't believe you actually wanted to know, Graham. To be able to share with you the delights of my kind is an honor above almost all others. To actually have you, the leading investigative officer of my case, be the one to realize that this world holds truths that no mortal logic can dictate was truly an accomplishment. You asked me, why we cannibals ate the flesh of others. Such a weighty question! To answer in short, we eat the flesh of the living to survive, to grow powerful, and to live. Our sustenance is the flesh of man, our drink, his blood. And you, my new brother, have tasted one of mine tonight.

  Graham started his struggle anew as the cannibal sought to poison his mind. The big man kicked out at the coffee table and sent his food flying all over the floor. He jerked one last time but the preternatural strength of Hicks was far too much for the large man to overcome. As Graham leaned back on the couch to ease the pressure, Hicks continued.

  "Oh come now, surely you noticed those little extra pieces of meat I put in your food while you were having a shower, yes? You don't? Look at my arm, detective, and let your eyes do the talking. What ...you don't believe me? There, over by the television, you can see a piece of my arm hanging out of your meal. That's right; I've cut myself just for you, Graham. I've bled for you because I care about you. We're going to go far, you and me."

  Graham's eyes were fixed on the open wounds upon Hicks' arm. It looked like a knife that just cut off long thin pieces of flesh caused the wounds. The wounds weren't bleeding though; they didn't look like they had bled at all. "You did say you wanted to know how it felt, so, now that you've actually tasted the flesh of your fellow man, please, tell me how it feels Graham. Does it invigorate you? Do you feel dirty, like you've broken some sacred bond with God? Does it frighten you that another man's cooked flesh was indistinguishable from your own dinner?" Graham's arms began to shake in the air as Eric pulled just a little bit harder.

  Graham's body finally began convulsing violently. Hicks released him and stood behind the couch, watching his soon-to-be brother of flesh losing his life. In a way, Eric greatl
y admired Graham's stamina throughout this little episode. It was a nod to Eric's ability to pick someone to change. Thick, blackish red foam poured from Graham's mouth as Hicks began to speak again.

  "Like it or not brother, you're going to find out what it's like to be one of us, to be of the Undead. You see, you've tasted my flesh, and it's so much more than just meat off the bone. It carries with it the curse of death itself, a curse I've given to you. From now on, you'll know what the Feast is all about. Blood will be your water but flesh, glorious juicy flesh of the living will be your sustenance. Without it, you'll slowly lose your mind over the years, becoming a monster not fit even for hell, but with the flesh of others, you'll become so much more than you once were. The physical boundaries of a mortal's coil you've been tied to will be all but erased. Your body is dying, yes, but you'll get over it. We all have, to one degree or another. The Urge, we don't."

  Graham vaguely heard the words Hicks spoke. His body was racked with pain. A poison in his belly was spreading to all of his limbs, to his heart, to his very mind. Barely able to move and not able to think coherently, Wilson moved his eyes to see Hicks leaning over him, smiling. Wilson began to feel some dread sensation that his soul dared not admit. "There's no need for talking, my friend. I know what you're thinking. Your mental fugue will clear with time. It's always the same with the Urge in the beginning. You must feed your sickness to get better."

  Graham's eyes glossed over as an almost opaque yellowish liquid filled them. Eric's eyes had changed as well, giving off a yellowish glow where he looked. The large man had stopped moving now; he could only lay on the floor and take the world as it came to him. Eric left the man on the floor and began to pick up the scattered pieces of his flesh that were kicked on the floor. Once he was done, Eric sat behind Graham's head and cradled the newly changed cannibal.

  "Here Graham, here is the flesh of your brother. Yes, that's it. Chew it, swallow it, and see how simple flesh combats the Urge. This is the most important lesson of all for us. We must feed to subdue the Urge, but we mustn't let the Urge overcome us, or it will destroy our very souls. That's right, all down the hatch." Eric fed the man the last vestiges of the gathered flesh from the Offering and helped the new corpse to sit on the couch. "You stay there for now. I need to get this place cleaned up. We do have company coming over, after all."

  In order to not alert their meal when she arrived, Hicks cleaned Graham up with a wet towel and put new clothes on the new horror. Hicks' emotional attachment to Wilson had changed dramatically within the past hour. Just as Hicks was brought into the darker recesses of the moral pits of humanity by someone else, Hicks was now nurturing someone else who asked after why such things were the way they were with cannibals. Eventually, someone would ask Graham the same question, and the answer would be juicy sweet in the telling.

  FIRST BORN

  By Brian Jaime

  A muddy foot, blistered, bruised and bleeding, stumbled across the forest floor. Tattered britches made way to the worn body of a withered man. He exhaled and inhaled rapidly, doing his best to keep going. Frequently, he would look back behind him as if he was checking up on an advancing predator. He was thin, worn and dirty. His filthy hair clung to his sweaty unkempt face.

  He struggled to remember who he was, where he had come from and why he was running. His mind raced with empty thoughts. All he knew was that he had to run. He had to keep going and get as far away from the direction from where he had come. He didn't know why. He just knew that he had to.

  Somewhere behind him, a flock of disturbed birds flew out from a thicket of trees. Had he been followed? He paused, only for a second, to study the dense forest. It was quiet. Sunlight crept in from the loose canopy above. He hesitated and then crept back slowly, the chill of a cool breeze swept across his bare neck.

  The pain came instantaneously; beginning on his neck's left side and working its way across his chest and down his spinal column. His body surged with discomfort and he fell to his knees. Grunting, he gnashed his teeth and searched for the origin of the malaise. His ears rang and his mouth grew cottony and bitter. He stood up, arched his back and continued further, passing through thin trees and low brush.

  The forest gave way to a clearing, a meadow of wild flowers and tall grass. He dashed out into the sunlight and staggered across the field until he came to the side of a narrow, dirt road. His feet flopped under him and he hit the rocky earth head-on. His vision swirled and, all at once, everything went black.

  "He's doing much better now," a voice said.

  "Oh, Sabine, I do hope he comes around soon. Your father aims to call the constable if he fails to wake through the night."

  "Do you think he's a criminal?" a younger voice said.

  "No, Zacharie, I doubt he is. Now no more talk of pillagers and foragers. Off to bed with you."

  The man slowly opened his eyes. He could see a tubby woman ushering a small boy into an opposing room. A young girl was using a small towel to clean his wounded feet. The sensation was more than he could handle and his left foot twitched. The girl sprung back and then noticed that he was awake.

  "Oh, sir, finally you are able to join us," she said. He did not speak. At that moment, he didn't remember how to talk. His mouth was still sore and dry.

  "We found you out near the Old Forest just past the meadows."

  She smiled at him innocently. "Mother!" she called. "Mother, the gentleman is awake!"

  Her mother rushed into the room carrying a large pitcher. She placed it on an old table and leaned over her patient.

  "What is your name?" the pudgy woman demanded.

  "Wa-wa-water..." he managed.

  "Fetch him a cup," she told her daughter, "His memory is weak. We'll let him rest until your father comes in."

  The water quenched his parched mouth and he settled back down on the makeshift cot. Slowly, he dozed off to visions of torture, blood and beautiful women.

  ----------------

  "The time is upon us..." an unfamiliar voice echoed through his mind. He snapped up. The pain from his neck coursed throughout his body. He sat for a moment and then searched for the origin of the mystic voice. The room was dark and empty. He felt the left side of his neck and discovered it had been bandaged with rags. Two voices, just outside of the chalet, drew his attention and he snuck to the window to investigate.

  "The poor man is practically an invalid," the old woman said.

  "Isabelle, he has puncture marks on the side of his neck," her husband responded.

  "What are you implying, Victor?" She eyed him suspiciously. "Surely you're not talking of vampires."

  "They kill our cows. They kill our horses. What are next, our children?"

  "The man..." she began.

  "This man will have to leave as soon as he awakens." He turned away from her and continued sweeping the small porch. His wife, having been put in her place, grabbed a bucket of feed and placed it on a shelf below the window. Inside, the man ducked in fear of being seen.

  High above the home, a flurry of activity traversed the starry night sky as three seductresses circled the air waiting for the right time to attack. The eldest of the three sniffed the air and wheezed. The other two stopped and hovered in adoring silence.

  "The time is upon us," she said. Her companions smiled at each other. "It begins."

  An icy breeze blew the front gate open. Victor stopped and felt a cold chill.

  "Isabelle," he whispered. His wife did not hear him; she continued straightening the window's ledge. He turned and saw the first, the eldest, of the three female vampires advancing upon his house.

  The other two were closing in from the sides, one only feet away from his unaware wife.

  "This property has been blessed," he said.

  "The ramblings of an old preacher are of no concern to us," the eldest vampire hissed. Her younger sisters giggled shrilly.

  His wife looked up, startled by the vampire to her left. She dug into the bucket of feed lifting out
a handful of seeds, which she tossed at the blonde creature. The vampire seethed and dropped to her knees, picking up the scattered seeds. Isabelle turned back toward her husband who was busy tossing a ring of garlic, which had hung on their front door, around the neck of the third vampire. The demon struggled with it and toppled over, vomiting bloody chunks all over the sleeping tulips. The middle vampire smiled and advanced on the couple.

  "I am not so easy," she said with narrowing eyes.

  "Your look says otherwise," Isabelle fired back.

  "You," the vampire said, pointing at the frumpy woman, "You will feel much pain."

  "You cannot enter our property without being invited," the man protested.

  "Correction," the bloodsucker said, "I cannot enter your house. Your property, well now, that's something else."

  She progressed toward them, brandishing sharp fangs and claws.

  The man backed away from the curtained window as he heard the bloody ferment of the doomed doublet. He felt the side of his neck perplexingly. He was a vampire?

  "What is it?" Sabine said from behind him. He turned sharply, not knowing what to say. "Where are my parents?" she pleaded.

  He said nothing, only looked to the window. The girl followed his eyes and ventured to the thin pane of glass. Her brother crept up next to her, rubbing his eyes. He yawned and tugged at her nightgown. She could see her mother lying on the ground.

  "Come sisters. Eat while the blood is warm," an unseen presence said.

  A blonde woman knelt next to her mother and tore into her belly, drawing out a handful of gore. She held it, like a bunch of grapes, and feasted.