the bloodlust ·
8 May 11

It’s a mid-dawn dusty day in a Western in teh States. Possibly Texas, since that is the cliché, but it could be any where mid-west, or even somewhere like Mexico, where more stereotypes of dusty trails with tumble weed spinning across the landscape appear. I’m standing at the back of a house made of old creaking wood. There’s a gathering. I’m not sure at first, all I se is the lanterns are not lit, and the only light is emanating from the front of a room, where voices can be heard. I look around me, in this creaky old house and look through the window to see similar houses. It’s like this town hasn’t moved forward, or it’s stuck in a time that was simpler and more homely than it used to be. Though not if you were of colour I guess.

There is a stair case, I go up it and creak across the floor boards with my weight. Did they hear me? Am I actually here? Am I an observer? I’m not sure right now but I climb up the stairs and it’s dark. I turn on a nearby lantern and it comes on, though the light is too bright, it hurts my eyes but I move forward anyway, seeing black spots in front of me- it’s still rather dark and I can hear the noises from downstairs, clapping and cheering continues. I look forward again, and see orange dots. They look like eyes, but they’re not eyes. They don’t move like eyes, they just pulsate slowly as though a patient suffering from asthma, and having difficulty with laboured breathing. I ponder on what it might be, I’ve never seen anything like it? Alien? Mythical? What the fuck is it? The lantern is about to fade out, I’m not frightened, but I am paranoid, so I put the lantern down nearby and make my way downstairs.

I start to walk down the stairs when I hear cheers of “yeah!!!!”. It must be a celebration of some kind, or at least that’s how it comes across. I continue downwards, and follow the dim light that grows as I get closer to the crowd.

“Hello?!” I shout out – but to no avail, they can’t hear me. Do they know I’m here? I look further in and see a tall haggard man, he looks like he’s in his forties. No, mid-thirties maybe, but I’ve never good been good with years. I look at him closer, he’s shaved but not very well, you can see spots of hair growth across his face. He’s cut himself shaving, must be the old type of blades. Even I found them difficult to use. The blood isn’t seeping though, it’s clotted. It’s darker, almost scabbing. So he hasn’t shaved today. He’s wearing a blue denim shirt, no tassels though, thank fuck.

I thought I was in a country and western drama. He’s also wearing dark blue jeans, tight, like a wrangler’s jeans. He wears a brown belt, but it’s too long and hangs to the side, drooping down. He’s smiling, his teeth are yellow though, like a smoker’s teeth. He even has a tooth missing, maybe two, it’s too dark to tell how many in reality, but his gums are a dark red almost black, they don’t look too healthy. He’s looking down at something, or someone, and his smile is beaming, like his pride and joy has become greater than it had before. Has his income grown? Is he spending his hard earned poker winnings with his friends?

No. I see children, around the ages of eight or nine years old, the room they’re in is wallpapered. It;s floral. I see no woman there, just the man and the children. I look to my right and see a framed picture. There’s no plaque, no inscription, it shows the man, a girl and a woman all looking rather dignified and presentable. With the exception of the man’s teeth. He’s wearing a waist coat, underneath it is a white shirt, and a tie. He looks gentleman-like. As I said, dignified.

The woman, looks unhappy. No, distant would be a better word. She seems troubled, but is staring directly at the camera. Her left hand sits on the little girls left shoulder. Her right hand is laid flat on her lap. She’s wearing a large dress, it looks extravagant, but not expensive. Almost like a mock up. It’s “bouncy”, large and flowing. But her expression strikes me as someone that doesn’t want to be there. She looks, sorrowful, or almost remorseful, “What happened?”, it seems to be the question she is asking. She is not proud, but she gives off an air of superiority, a sense of well being and comfort, if not happiness.

In contrast to the woman, the girl is sitting on her arse, her head touching the covered leg of the woman, with her right hand holding the woman’s left hand on the girl’s shoulder. The girls other arm is flat on her lap, perhaps an imitation of the woman, or perhaps a quirk she;s learned from her. is she mocking the woman? No, she means well. Her smile beams brightly like a thousand suns, she means her smile, and her innocence shines through. This is an obedient girl, an honest girl, someone who does not understand how to do wrong, and yet, she seems corruptible, a pure innocence that demands polluting. Evil wants her. Evil craves her. If evil exists.

It’s wrong, but that’s how it comes across. I pity for her, I feel sorry for her, that one day she may bring this darkness towards herself, out of no fault of her own. I hope she comes through safely. She wears a dress similar to that of the woman, who I now I assume to be her mother, but green in colour compared to the brown her mother wears. It’s a dark green, an emerald green almost. Did they have colour photographs back then? It’s strange, it doesn’t seem to fit in, or feel right. Either being there, or seeing that picture, like it’s a picture from the past, that shouldn’t be there, because I get a bad vibe from it.

I hear popping, like crackers, small fireworks, a car back firing, but it’s coming from the room the noise is in. The man is still standing, but now he’s laughing, he’s leaning back slightly, you can see his belly has grown since the picture, he’s not the slim Jim he seemed to be in the picture. His belly is round, like that of a pregnant woman, although smaller, like a few months in to development. He’s eaten well, a sign of a man who;s had his fill then. The children are all dressed up, they look like they’re going to star in a play about kids who live in cottages, and sing songs and be merry. They’re singing “ring-a-roses”, holding hands and moving around in a circular fashion. The man is clapping, and cheering them on, laughing and bellying. His foot is stamping on the floor, and I can feel the tremors of his quake.

“Hello there!” I shout at the man. Did he notice me just then? I think he did. But he doesn’t acknowledge me wholly. Almost like he;s seeing me from the corner of his eye, but he makes no movement. I don’t see any children of colour, but that doesn’t matter. Or does it? I wonder, is he baiting me? But I’m in modern clothes; I have my trainers on; my casual dockers trousers; a t-shirt on, and hoodie over it. Zipped up partially, I am exposing some of the T-shirt that is yellow in colour. “Surely he noticed me?” I wonder. I look again, he did see me. But he continues his chanting. But he wasn’t chanting before. I don’t know what he’s singing. The kid have stopped singing “ring-a-roses” and they’re chanting too. Something in a different dialect. It sounds ominous, and aggressive, something dark and mysterious. Ancient.

But it draws me nearer, not retract me. I want to understand what they’re saying. The man walks away, but as he turns he sees me dead in the eye, smiles and continues walking. He did see me. What the fuck is going on. Where the fuck am I? I don’t belong here. I look closer in to the room and see that the children have stopped chanting. They’re laughing again, like nothing happened. The darkness lifts a lot, I wonder why, and then I notice the man bringing something in.

It’s a cake, with candles on it. The room is lit up as though a light bulb had just been added, perhaps 80 watt in strength. It’;s bright, but the shadows flicker across the room, as though dancing to the flame light. The flames, however, are upright, and do not flicker. Not even momentarily. It’s a constant flame, one that does not change, or bend or grow, or shrink.

“Blow out the candles” the kids yell.
“Yes dear, it’s time.” But his voice is grave, almost foreboding.

For some reason my heart begins to quicken, and then I see the man’s eyes flicker, a glint of something in his eye. Hope? Fear? Desire? Envy? Rage? Love? His eys flick across the room to me from the corner of his eye and dart back to the girl. I start to sweat, I feel an immense pain crawling up my back. It tightens, a cold fear runs down my body, I feel frozen in time, in space, in the moment. I cannot run, I cannot move, I cannot turn my eyes away from what is taking place. I am being forced to watch, not by my own will, or my curiosity, but by force. A darkness has taken over me, and it wills me to watch, to see, to understand, perhaps. What does it want me to understand? I feel excited now, almost drawn to the feelings of darkness, what is this new found desire, this lust for the dark?

Suddenly I can move again, my heart is rapidly palpitating, I don’t want to stay and watch this, but it’s almost as though I am compelled now, of my own free will. Fight or flight. These are my choices. I decide on both. I’ll watch what happens, then get the fuck out of there. But I know I am letting myself into some dark forbidden territory. This is of my own free will, no control this time, no darkness. No, the darkness remains, but it does not control me. I feel a new sense of urgency, I should leave. I know I should. I watch as the girl blows out the candles, the man turns and picks up the knife, he looks away, and turns back, by which time the knife has cut a small incision in the girls head. The blood drips down her forehead, on to her left eye, and down her cheek. The light goes out, only a dimness remains. I hear voices and chatter.

Not of children, but of darkness. There are voices in the darkness that I recognise, that I have heard before that have haunted me from my childhood. voices that I have never had the strength to confront. Even now, they haunt me at night should I stare in to the darkness, the abyss, the unknown. I run, I run as fast as I can, as fast as my legs will carry me. I break through the front door, fumbling as I do and fall down the small staircase. But I’m outside? Am I safe? My body says no, my mind says “get the fuck up you idiot”. I run again, I see the desert in front of me, where will I run to? It doesn’t matter, I have to get away from here.

My legs carry me further, there are trees, glowing and pulsating down there, over a small hill, but they’re worn and ancient. They’re twisting as they pulsate. I see the orange eyes that I saw earlier, and they pulsate and sped up rapidly,. The distraction makes me fall down a hill way, which leads into the open desert. I hear cries, shrieks, banshee-like wailing behind me. I dare not turn, so I continue you to run, but it;s like running through mud, the sand is deep, my trainers are holding me back but there’s no time to take them off, I have to hurry. My heart is rising, as though moving up my body and forcing itself out of my mouth, I hold my chest tightly it hurts. “Argh fuck!” What the hell is this. I turn now and see a large crowd heading towards me, children, men, women, all with weapons.

Their eyes are black, there are no pupils, there are no souls here. They have all been damned. One stabs another, then one drinks the blood of the corpse, another kills the drinker, and then others come for me, racing towards me, killing each other for my soul, my body, my life. One comes at me with a knife. My heart stops, I feel emptiness now. This is how it ends. He lunges at me, and all I feel is a warmth of liquid on my face, I vomit. It’s dark, and putrid, it smells. I look up and his head is missing, his body falls to the side. I no longer know where his head resides. I breathe again, my heart continues until the father holds the axe up and swings it down, I put my hands up in defence. Then darkness.

I wake up, on the floor of a town, it’s more modern this time. There’s a barn to the right, and an opening into the town. I’m covered in dust. I wonder how I got here. I look onwards, and see rows of pick up trucks. There’s one which says “Sheriff” it seems typical for towns like this. Small country bumpkin towns, home away from nowhere, into nowhere. There are a row of shops along a boulevard, but it’s not trendy it’s homely. I’ve used that twice now, but it’s definitely homely. It’s a well lit street, there are street lamps up and down the street, or road, or whatever they call it. It feels nice, nothing foreboding here. Then I see the trees, they’re there again. I don’t understand the significance. I’m still in the same clothes, but I’m all dusty. I wipe the dust off. I make my way down, and see a sign for a bar. “I’m safe here, right?” I wonder to myself.

I go in. The music stops, they look at me, they watch me as I walk into bar. There’s a mix of white people and black people, some Cherokee. “At least I’m not the only ethnicity around here” I think to myself, trying to find some small comfort in this town, in this bar in the middle of fuck knows where. So what, don’t let them intimidate you. I sit down on a free stool. I sit between a burly man wearing dungarees and a skinny old man who’s too drunk to care who’s sitting next to him. The burly man looks a little retarded, a few cells short of a calculator. The skinny old man is wearing a fedora, he;s so old and wrinkled I can barely see his eyes. Those beady eyes of his peek through though, and he;s drinking what smells like bourbon or scotch. I was never good at telling the difference between the two. Are they same? I don’t know.

The woman at the bar, if it can be called a bar, looks at me in wonderment. As though, “You actually had the balls to walk in here?”. I smile nervously at her, she’s attractive, for an older generation female. Maybe in late 30s, looks marriage-less, childless, living in a small town I guess you don’t get much choice, either to marry or to have a relationship with. Chances are every guy has been with every girl and every girl has been with every guy bar the relations.

The bar is all wooden. There’s a band playing, the lead is a Cherokee. No, none of hem have feathers or wear a cap, and none wear the traditional garb you expect. Everyone is wearing “normal” clothes. Jeans and what not. Some of he elder gentleman are wearing suits. They look splendid, in their own little world, oblivious to the looks of others, to what others wear. I look down at the bar, then up again. I gather my thoughts. I take a breath.

“Whiskey, please.” I say to the bar lady. She looks at me funny, as though I ordered a pickled egg. She takes out a double shot glass, and pouts me a whiskey all the way to the top. The silence is deafening. I take the whiskey shot glass, shaking, trying to steady myself iI use my other hand to help. I drink it in one go. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I say, satisfyingly. Someone laughs, then they all start laughing. The Cherokee guy continues singing his love song, it’s fucking awful, but what do I care I just had double shot of whiskey and didn’t puke. The old man in the fedora looks at me, and nods at me. I nod back in acknowledgement but he doesn’t notice as he turns away. I look at the bar lady again, “Whiskey, please”. She laughs, and says, “Is that all you know?”, “Thank you?” I reply cautiously. She turns away and shrugs her shoulders.

I don’t think I can drink another double straight away, my nerves were shot but the first shot relaxes me and I feel warm inside, slightly happier, almost relieved. I carefully check myself down there. No I didn’t piss myself. “Thank fuck for small favours” I think to myself. But I can’t get those trees out of my mind. First there, now here.

I see an empty seat and a table, I look at it enticing me in. I move over there, carefully avoiding my new found “friends”. The Cherokees give me a strange, almost forgiving look – as though they’ve understood I’ve done wrong and they forgive me. Am I carrying that much guilt with me? Is it that obvious? “Wait a minute” I think to myself, “What guilt?” Maybe it;s remorse, I wonder. They turn away, simultaneously, creepily, and worryingly. I sit down at the table, and stare at my double shot of whiskey. I think of her. It makes me smile. I look at the shot glass again. I run the side of my hand against the table, “Ah fuck!” I shout, no one notices though. A splinter. I see it now, it;s poking out of the skin, I pull it out, but then sneeze and yank it out, it causes a small bleed. The room turns quiet. The music has stopped.

There’s no noise. There;s no silence either. My heart is racing. I hear groans, i hear things moving in the darkness. The voices are getting louder. I dare not look up, I fear what I might see. “Jesus fucking Christ!!!!!” I feel a darting pain my left arm, it;s nothing like I’ve felt before. Except…except when I stabbed myself in the leg. But the pain, is excruciating. It’s, “fuuuuuuuuuuuuck” killing me. Blood sprays across the table, a head rolls on the floor, a limb hits my head, knocking me over. I look at the floor, and see feet moving towards me, the voices are loud and wailing begins. It’s happening again. I see the exit, I run for it. I try to smash through it but fall backwards. Guess they built hem stronger this time. I run forward towards the door as someone grabs my leg, and I kick off not looking down. I scramble for the door knob, my hands are shaking, my body is frightened, I dare not turn around, I dare not turn around, I dare not turn around.

The door opens, “fuck yes!” I think to myself and run out. But there’s nowhere to run. It;s a field, a forest a block of trees, old ancient blocking my path. Pulsating, breathing, the orange eyes are bursting. This is it then. I realise, this is the end. This IS the end. I turn around, and feel something in my gut. I fall to to the floor. It hurts. I hurts so much. It’s like being kicked in the nuts only a hundred times worse, a thousand times worse. Words cannot describe the pain I’m feeling. I puke, I see red. The insects fight for it, killing each other, a blood bath, the winner feeds off the others.

My eyes are fading though. It’s as though there;s a hole in my stomach, and I can’t fill it no matter how much I eat or drink. I feel an emptiness there. And in my heart, I think of her. “Where am I?” I ask myself out loud. “Where you belong, my love” I hear a voice cry back, a peaceful voice though. A gentle voice. I can feel something in my leg, and then my chest but I no longer have the body of movement, I just let it go. I’m too tired to care now. My body feels drained. I see a darkness, and there is no light. I see a darkness and there is no light. I see a darkness and there is no light. Am I dead? Or am I dreaming?