Born of Bloodlust

by R.T. Allenson


I asked him what happened to his father for I knew the circumstances behind his disappearance was too similar to Mr. Morgan’s death. There were clues – a package, a wrench, and the inaudible wailing that accompanied my dreams.

My mother told me that I was psychic but I didn’t know the extent of my abilities. Despite this, I knew with a measurable amount of clarity that his father was the one born of bloodlust.

The boy shook his head angrily and glared at his mother. “I don’t know anything about dad and I’m not telling a stranger!” He had bruises all over his arm and his mother too seemed to have been subject to the same amount of cruelty his father had given them in the past. I smiled weakly and he took notice of this.

“I’m okay, you know. I’m not afraid of him anymore.”

“So, will you tell me then?” I asked, “Tell me where your father was that day.”

He sighed and clenched his teeth. “Okay, okay. But after this, I’m going home.” He glared at his mother who was muttering something under her breath. “We’re going home, mom.”

His mother nodded and silently urged him to tell the story.

The boy cleared his throat and started retelling the events of that fateful day.

It was the usual Saturday morning, well, usual for us. After father finished berating and beating mom, he took his truck and the package he had to deliver to your address. Mother was trying to tell him that the front tires had holes in them. It was the Jones’ kids who did it, always have been, but he would have none of it and smacked mother right across the face as he left.

I was over by the window, waiting for their morning arguments to finish. I saw dad leave the truck and I swore that I’d make him pay for what he’s done. 

Anyways, that was about thirty minutes before I started walking to school. I was actually in good spirits then, but then I saw dad on the curb near the corner store. He was parked by the store talking on the phone; I don’t think he noticed me because he didn’t seem angry even when his eyes nearly met mine. 

“That was probably me.” I interrupted, “I called your father to tell him I was planning to have the package delivered somewhere else.”

“Well he probably didn’t like that.” the boy calmly replied, “He slammed on the gas as soon as he dropped the phone.”

Anyway, I followed him the best I could without being seen. Traffic was unusually heavy so I was able to tail him well until he reached The Grove. I think that’s where he lost control because I heard this screeching tire sound and the sound of metal scraping the road.

When I reached the foot of The Grove, I saw the truck all wrecked and leaking oil. I was hiding in the bushes when I saw father pry himself from the wreckage, his shirt torn and all bloodied. He cursed himself, still carrying the package, but he was now brandishing his oversized monkey wrench. 

It was pretty sad seeing him to be honest, but I don’t know. I felt happy that he was suffering. I felt something joyous fill me seeing him all painted with blood. Anyway, as he was loping towards the street, he must have dropped the package. I don’t exactly know ’cause his back was facing me. He m-must have seen something cause something about him changed.

He bore this huge grin on his face – the kind of angry grin that you make except the edges of his smile was near all the way to his ears. It was scary. I’ve never seen him so angry before. He was still holding onto the package when he suddenly bolted onto the street like a madman.

The boy was trembling now. I could tell he was afraid.

H-He went to m-mister Morgan’s place and started banging on the door like a madman. A lot of people saw what was happening and hurried away as if they knew what exactly was going to happen. The minute mister Morgan opened the door, father smacked him with the monkey wrench and started pounding on his head like a mad killer. T-There was blood everywhere and father was laughing like this crazy person.

That l-lasted for quite a while until the police arrived and shot him down. I think they shot him ten or twenty times before he died. He nearly got to one of them with his wrench and I could have sworn he’d kill all of them before he fell. I was hiding somewhere, I don’t remember anymore. But I saw everything.

I sighed, placing my hand over the boy’s head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you saw everything. It must have been terrifying for you.”

He nodded. His mother drew him close in a hug. “I’m sorry, young man. My boy, he shouldn’t have seen these things. I don’t think his father deserved this, but I’m glad it wasn’t us who he bloodied with that wrench.”

I bid them goodbye as they left Laurence’s office. I shook my head, “They didn’t provide much that we already know.”

Laurence chuckled beneath his breath, “Still, it’s amazing that something as simple as that stone mirror could inspire such wickedness to a person. Would you say it was a success?”

“Oh, it’s more than a success.” I quipped, “Mr. Morgan isn’t dead, but he now has the same strain of bloodlust in his body. It’s almost as if it was a transferable disease.”

“A disease of madness,” he added. “Feverish madness, of bloodlust. But there’s nothing new to it I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The disease is already inside of men, inside all of us. The mirror, as boring as it sounds, is just a way for people to see what’s beyond their flesh. Something in it drives us mad, and a lot of scholars don’t know what it is, but I believe it is something simple and primal. It’s something that runs in the blood of every man.”

“The capacity to do violence.” I said, “We’re all born of bloodlust, I suppose. How am I not surprised. It’s a rather unremarkable trinket then.”

Laurence pulled something out of his bag. It was the stone mirror in all its abhorrent glory. “See for yourself.”

I tried to pry my eyes away but something in it beckoned – called to me like it was the heaven we all want to see. And indeed, it was unremarkable, if not unassuming – the cold surface gently distorting my face as it whispered, as much as it could, the secrets of old Earth and mankind.

I couldn’t help myself when I grabbed the lamp from his desk and brought it down on his skull. I couldn’t help myself when I instinctively went for his neck and tore it like a mad animal hungry for flesh. All I could think of was why.Why such joys are now lost to the world at large.

The window was open and the wind called to me like a mother looking for his child. I took a leap and everything was made clear. I didn’t even mind that my legs were broken from the fall.

All I know is that I need to share this revelation with the world, and I need to do it now.

Based on a dream 12/14/2015

 

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