by Christopher J. Obudho
Hell, I don’t know. You’re telling the story.”
“I guess you’re right. It’s just kinda hard to explain . . .”
We were sitting on a park bench down the block from our office. The sun was shining and the birds were chirping. John loved to come outside and watch people walk around. He considered himself a professional “people watcher”. He told me he was “fascinated with all the different shapes and sizes of people that inhabited planet Earth.” I humored him as much as I could without showing the utter boredom I felt when he started on one of his philosophical diatribes.
I had just finished a ham and cheese sandwich I picked up from the deli around the corner. John had his yogurt, toast and carrots again today. He ate the same thing for lunch every day. You can see John is a “different” type of guy. Oh well, he’s my friend.
Today’s story was different, though. He was telling me about his escapades from last night. He had gone to a bar and met a couple of guys that invited him to a party. There wasn’t much action – girls – at the bar, so he agreed.
The three new friends set out for a potential hotspot where it was rumored there was a 5-to-1 ratio of girls to dudes. They couldn’t contain their excitement as they entered the club. It was absolutely hopping; loud music, hot girls and plenty to drink. They started out together at one end of the bar then figured that their chances of success would increase if they split up.
John went left, Jason, the blond financial advisor, went right and Bruce, the six-foot tall personal trainer, stayed at the bar. “Operation Girl Hunt” Phase 1 was now in full operation.
After two hours of buying drinks, screaming over the loud music and smiling fake smiles that hurt their cheeks, the three studs hit pay dirt. Jason and Bruce were roommates at an apartment complex not too far from the club, so Phase 2 was implemented.
Back at the apartment, the three guys figured that the smoothness of the operation at the club would work here, so when the door closed they split up in three different directions with their new “friends.”
The apartment was pretty big. It had nice high ceilings, two bedrooms, a spare room Jason and Bruce used as an office/game room, two bathrooms and a spacious living area. It was decorated in modern bachelor style: sports memorabilia on the walls, a well-worn brown leather couch and large screen TV.
Jason and Bruce winked at each other as they headed for their respective rooms. The girls didn’t even bat an eye. They just followed their “man.”
John sat down on the couch and invited his girl to sit down next to him. She quickly complied. From his seat on the couch, he could see down the hallway to the two bedrooms where Jason and Bruce went with their women. He hadn’t been sitting there too long when he saw Bruce walk out of his bedroom with his new friend and creep into Jason’s. Kinky, he said with a wry smile. Not his kind of thing, though.
Well, now it gets weird, so I’ll let John tell you the rest.
“So I’m just sitting there, you know, kissing, touching, you know: making my moves. I was getting her going pretty fast and . . .”
Ok, ok. Sorry. Let me cut in on him. He tends to get pretty graphic when he’s describing his “exploits”. Even worse, he gets long winded. If I don’t move him along, you’ll never hear the weird part of the story. I ask him to skip to the meat of the story.
“Oh, sorry. So, anyway, about twenty minutes later, I hear two screams coming from the bedroom. You know, the one that Bruce went into with his chick. It wasn’t the kind of scream that I expected to hear, if you know what I mean. And it wasn’t a woman’s voice either. It was one of the guys. My girl was still all over me. She didn’t seem to care that someone was in obvious pain. So I pushed her off of me. She gives me the stink-eye and I ask her if she heard what I heard.
“She – I just realized that I forgot her name – tries to play it off. She, hell, I’ll call her Julie, said that they’re probably just getting a little wild. I think it’s more than that and I tell her that I’m going to go in and see what’s going on. She calls me an idiot. I don’t respond because I’m bigger than that, ya know?
“Anyway, I start walking down the hallway towards the bedroom. I turn around and look at Julie. She’s lighting up a cigarette. It’s one of those girly brown ones. It’s probably strawberry-flavored or something. Disgusting. She doesn’t seem to be the least bit interested so I keep moving towards the door.
“I don’t hear anything until I get right in front of the door. It sounds like, well, it’s kind of hard to describe. It sounded like someone massaging a hunk of salmon with olive oil. A moist, almost sucking sound was coming from the room. I had no friggin’ clue what was going on. I mean, I’ve had my share of good lays but I’ve never heard this sound before.”
He’s in full reenactment mode now. His arms are flailing and his eyes are bulging as he continues to describe what happened next.
“. . . So anyway, I reach out towards the doorknob. I’ll just peek in to make sure everything’s alright. I’m no pervert so don’t worry. I turn the knob as slowly as I can. It turns about halfway and I look back towards the couch in the living room. Julie is flipping through a TV Guide! I can’t believe it. She’s really fuckin’ cold-blooded!
“Back to the door: I turn the knob completely and push open the door slightly. I can see both guys lying on their backs on the bed and both girls on top of them. It’s dark so I can’t see who is who, but the position they’re in is really strange. It’s not one that I’ve ever seen.
“The girl closest to the door has her face in one of the guy’s stomachs and is moving her head back and forth and up and down. Her long hair is draping down over his body so I can’t see exactly what she’s doing. The other girl is doing pretty much the same thing to the other guy – Bruce or Jason – except she’s sitting on his stomach and they’re face to face. Her hair is in the way, too.
“I push the door open a little wider and it creaks. Both girls look up with a start. Oops! In the split second that the door gave me away and I tried to close it and back up, the closest girl was off the bed and coming at the door. She didn’t seem to even touch the ground! One minute on the bed; the next she’s at the door.
“When she gets to the door, her face is within inches of mine. I’ve never seen so much blood! It was covering her face, running down her chin! Blood bubbles were popping out of the corners of her mouth as she hissed at me. Her eyes were a ghastly green and red; like satanic Christmas tree balls. The pretty face she came into the apartment with was long gone. All I could see was rage, evil, and what looked like in that brief moment, hunger, in her eyes.
“I have to admit, I let out a pretty sickening scream when our faces were inches away from each other. I turned to run back towards the living room and hopefully to the front door. The speed she used to get from the bed to the door didn’t give me much hope, but I was going to give it my best shot.”
At this point, my mouth has dropped open and I’m staring at him blankly. Was he drunk now or when he was in the apartment?
“. . . As I got to the living room, Julie was still flipping through that damn TV Guide. What the hell was she doing? I thought as I ran past her. I started to scream for her to get the hell out, but as I rounded the corner to the door, I noticed that she was looking at me with almost the same evil look on her face that the other whatever-it-was gave me.
“I’m slipping and sliding on the wood floors. Clawing to get to the door, right? So I’m almost to the door. I get my hand on the doorknob and start to yank it open when what felt like a ton of bricks landed on my back. I turned my head slightly and saw both of them were on top of me scraping at my back with razor sharp claws and trying to bite me! After what seemed like an hour – but was probably only about twenty seconds or so – it all stopped. I must have blacked out.”
* * *
Ok guys, I’m back. John is finished telling me his story from last night. Like you, I’m convinced this is just a dream he had induced by eating fucking yogurt, toast and carrots every day, not getting enough exercise, and drinking WAY too much. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, because he’s been having a rough couple of weeks at work, his parents are getting a divorce, and he’s still trying to fight with the IRS about some audit or something. But, come on.
I mean, shit, two hot vampires attacked him. Please. That’s just a little wacky don’t you think?
Hang on, he’s saying something else.
“Check this out, man”, he says.
John really has no shame. He’s sitting next to me on this public bench on a busy street half a block from our office and without any warning whatsoever, he bends over at the waist and lifts the back of his shirt.
I nearly choked on my Diet Pepsi. Son-of-a-bitch!
He told me he knew I wouldn’t believe him so he decided to show me the scars and bandages on his back. This is fucking incredible! I’m speechless. He pulls his shirt back down and sits back. Those wounds looked pretty painful. They seemed to be healing, but they still looked nasty. I don’t know how he can put any pressure on them.
John looks at me and answers the question my eyes betray. He says they don’t hurt that much because he’s been popping pain relievers all day. I’m still speechless.
The questions flood my brain. What happened to the girls? What happened to those two guys? How did John get away? Again, he must be reading my mind because he starts to tell me.
“When I woke up, I was back at my place, lying on the sofa on my stomach. You can imagine I was pretty tripped out about what had happened and how the hell I got out of there and back to my apartment. I felt like I had a bad hangover. When I stood up, pain shot through every inch of my body. I struggled to get up and stumble to the bathroom and popped, like, half a bottle of aspirin. I managed to bandage myself up and take care of the cuts that I could reach. I have no idea what happened to Jason and Bruce. Pretty weird, huh,” he asked with a shrug.
Weird indeed.
I ask him if he thinks he should go to a doctor. He says no. What about the cops? He should at least file some sort of police report. No. He just asks me to come by his place after work and help clean some of the other wounds. I’m so stunned, I agree.
* * *
Later that night, after a thoroughly disgusting hour of removing and reapplying bandages and spreading on antibiotic ointment, John and I are sitting on the couch watching a basketball game. Our alma mater is up by twelve so at least we can both relax and enjoy a beer with the game.
I finish my second beer and John asks if I want another. How could I refuse, huh? He tells me he has to go to the bathroom and points to the spare room he uses as a home office. He’s got a small spare refrigerator in there where he keeps extra beer. He must be all out in the kitchen.
The door to his office is closed which is odd, but I don’t take much notice of it. I’ve been here a thousand times, watching games, playing poker or having a drink and the doors are always wide open. Hell, there are usually clothes strewn all over the place, dirty dishes piled high in the sink, and all sorts of things out of place. But not tonight; he was a regular homemaker.
I open the door and walk in. The shades are drawn and it’s a little dark in here. Where’s that light switch? Here it is.
I click the light on and there are three women inside the room. One is sitting on the corner of John’s desk. She’s got on a black miniskirt and bright red halter-top. The second one is sitting behind the desk with her black stiletto high-heels on the desk pointing directly at me. The third was standing behind the girl in the black stilettos. They were all staring at me, but didn’t move a muscle. I, on the other hand, nearly jumped out of my friggin’ skin!
The one standing behind the chair looks familiar. Where have I seen her before? “Hi.” I say nervously.
They don’t say a word. Their eyes never leave mine. I swallow hard and take a step back towards the door. Now I remember her! I haven’t met her before, but I’ve heard about . . . her . . . from . . . AARGH!!!
* * *
What . . . happened . . . ? Head throbbing . . . can’t . . . move . . . can’t . . .
I slowly open my eyes and John is standing over me. What the . . . ? He’s saying something I can barely understand. It’s really hard to focus. I know I’m on my back, but I don’t know what’s going on or where I am. I start to pass out. Vision blurry, mind cloudy, can barely hear . . . feel . . . weak . . . what’s . . . happening . . . ?
“Hey pal, can you hear me? Stay with me, don’t fall asleep. Thanks for coming over buddy. The girls were getting hungry and I figured you’d be a great appetizer before we go out tonight. Thanks for being such a good listener. I can really spin a great yarn huh?”
“Hurry up girls, the night is young.”