Read Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor for Free Online Page B

Three
     
     
     
                As soon as Harold
walked in the door he knew something was wrong.  It may have been the strange
noises greeting him or the bizarre smells wafting out to the living room from
the kitchen.  It may have been the way things were rearranged in the apartment
or the way the dishes were laid out on the dining room table.  Mostly though,
it was the way Maria kissed him. 
                She smiled a
greeting and sauntered slowly towards him.  Pressed her body against his mucous
and blood covered coat and pulled him to her mouth.  Her lips did things to his
that should be illegal.  Perhaps they were.  He hadn’t really been paying
attention to the law changes lately.  When Maria finally slipped out of his
arms Harold felt wobbly.   
                “I made dinner,
baby,” Maria smiled at him and Harold’s spidey-sense kicked in.  Maria only
acted this nice when she had something up her sleeve. 
                Harold’s sharp
hearing picked up the smooth rhythms of some R&B.  The strange smells,
those of food in the kitchen.  She’d even cleaned the apartment, they only had
a little to clean up, but he liked his stuff scattered about the way he was
used to it being scattered.
                Harold’s stomach
bulged from an impromptu meal snatched on the way home.  A drunk in an alley
with 110 proof running in his veins.  Still alive, but perhaps less prone to
drinking in the future.  Harold even felt little tipsy. 
                “What is on your
coat?”  Maria’s pretty face froze halfway between disgust and horror.  Harold
called it her what-the-fuck face. 
                “I think it’s
blood.” He eased off his trench coat and dropped it on the floor by the door
with a mental note to burn it the next chance he got.  Maria’s eyebrows notched
up about ten centimeters as she stared at the coat.  “I didn’t bite him,”
Harold said defensively, choosing not to mention his dinner. “I could have, but
I really didn’t want too.”
                “Your ear.”
Maria’s voice came out in a high-pitched squeak.  Absentmindedly, Harold
touched it with his punctured hand.  “Your hand.”  Harold stopped, looked at
his hand, and looked at her. 
                “I had a
misunderstanding.”
                “I’ll bet,” Maria
said and stalked into the kitchen.  He stared at her round bottom stuffed into
a tight white dress. 
                “So you made
food?”  He called after her. 
                Maria popped out
of the kitchen with a ladle in her hand.  She pointed it at him.  “Get cleaned
up,” she said and popped back into the kitchen. 
                “You know I’m not
eating right?”  He called again, to no reply.  Harold did as he was told and
headed upstairs to the bathroom. 
                After a regular
shower with thorough checking to make sure his hand didn’t have any broken
needle teeth in it and a thorough brushing of his own teeth, Harold emerged a
new man.  He felt practically human again.  The smells were much stronger now
and he found the table laid out with the “good” china, candles and even red
wine. 
                “Feeling
better?”  Maria asked.  She stepped out of the kitchen with a bowl of salad in
her hands.  She’d recovered her kitten attitude. 
                “Now that you’re
here,” he said, eyes locked not on the salad, but her biscuits.  Maria set the
bowl down and turned to him.  She reached up and straightened his shirt
collar.      
                “You must be
starved, poor baby.”
                “I’m fine,”
Harold said, still distracted by Maria’s low cut dress, “you look delicious
though.”  Harold’s teeth actually tightened. 
                Maria glared at
Harold.  “You’ve been at