Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre (15 page)

Melissa’s eyes slowly open. She takes a hard look at the white
bandages that are spotted with blood. Remembering what she did,
and, more importantly, why, she closes her eyes tightly.

Morgan sits on the bed, placing the tray on the floor, then
speaks with a low voice.
“I know you’re pregnant.”
Melissa’s eyes promptly open. Her dark brown pupils gaze for-
ward.
Morgan’s voice is still low and kind.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll still be here for you.”
Her eyes roll smoothly toward him. Melissa speaks with a low
voice.
“I was raped.”
Morgan sees the movement of her lips, but can’t make out the
words she formed.
Feeling dry mouthed, she takes a deep swallow. She speaks once
again.
“I was raped.” Saying it louder causes an overwhelming sensation of misery that overpowers her calm demeanor. An outpouring of tears suddenly flows like tiny rivers. Her face flushes, and
her mouth is squeezed tightly shut. She tries to cover her face,
to hide her downpour of emotions from Morgan. In response,
he seizes her arms compassionately. Opening them wide, he gently slides in between to embrace the terrified woman. Melissa
squeezes him tightly, praying to never to let him go. Shutting her
eyes, she hears his heavenly voice.
“I’ve loved you with all my heart since the first day I laid my
eyes on you. As you lay there motionless, my soul cried out for
your safe return. Why I feel this way, I’m unsure.
“I see how you look at me, but I am too frightened to do anything. I don’t know what to say, what to do.
“Each time I come home, my heart flutters with joy, knowing I
will be greeted by your lovely smile. There are times I lie in my bed
dreaming, wishing you were by my side, then angry that I have not
yet expressed my emotions to you.
“I love you, Melissa.”
“Melissa, are you okay?” Melissa is brought back to reality.
Morgan’s voice, still calm and soothing, does not compare to
the compassionate voice she has just imagined. Tears still pour
from her eyes as she continues to hold Morgan next to her
heart.
The next few days come and go swiftly. Time seems to zoom
past. Melissa spends most of her time thinking, wondering, should
she have this child? Should she allow it to be born, to come into
this world? Counting back in time, Melissa realizes the baby must
be about three months old. She doesn’t know who to ask for
advice, with Sarah gone now. She knows what Morgan would say,
if she asked him. Morgan remains steadfast to the idea of keeping
this child. Each time Melissa even mutters the word “abortion,”
Morgan remains adamant to his beliefs. “Abortion is wrong, there
is a life inside you, it would be like murdering a small child.” The
guilt trip he lays is thicker than the densest fog.
The two talk continuously for hours, day after day. Sometimes
they quarrel and get into heated arguments. Sometimes their conversation is the gentlest Melissa has ever experienced, with a man.
Through it all, day after day, Morgan is there, watching over her,
never leaving her side. Melissa often asks, “Don’t you have to go
to work?” He always answers, “I took some time off.” Or he says,
“You’re all that matters now. I’m here for you.”
Melissa’s confusion is calmed by Morgan’s gentle nature. And
slowly her confusion fades. She knows deep down inside she loves
the child that grows within her body, no matter what circumstances created its life. So with the help and encouragement of
Morgan, she decides against abortion.

elissa kneels in front of the flowerbed. Digging up old
roots in the sweltering heat, she doesn’t notice the peeking
eyes from within the bushes. Using her forearm to wipe her

dripping perspiration, she stands to wipe off her dirty knees. Her
pink visor blocks the sun’s powerful rays as she views the immaculate garden. Her pregnancy is not yet obvious, so she wears a
cottony white tank top with matching shorts. After a few deep
breaths, Melissa kneels back down.

The peeking eyes survey the house, then peer back down at
Melissa as she continues her gardening. With predatory movements, they float back and forth just beyond Melissa’s sight.
Dipping back into the bushes, the unknown being assures itself
Melissa is still within striking distance. The decision is made; the
being steps silently out from behind the tallest bush. Its approach
is quiet and slow, with only its shadow giving away its position. It
moves closer with Melissa still unaware. Closer it comes, almost
within pouncing distance. Now within arm’s reach. Melissa suddenly feels its presence as it is now upon her. She grips her gardening tool tightly. She knows that Morgan always announces
himself before approaching her from behind. Melissa abruptly
spins around as she stands.

The attractive older woman quickly puts her hands up.
“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Melissa, slightly blinded by the sun, squints at the woman while

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to point this at you. You just surprised
me.” Melissa brushes her hands against each other to remove the
excess dirt. “Can I help you?”

The middle-aged woman expresses a soft smile. Her hair is
brown with streaks of natural gray that accent her light brown
eyes. She stands approximately five four, wearing a sky blue sun-
dress. She speaks in a passive voice.

“Maybe you can. I was looking for the Lowery boy,” she states,
as she peers suspiciously at the house, then back at Melissa.
“I’m sorry, he’s not here,” Melissa answers.
“And who might you be?”
“I’m a friend of Morgan’s.” Melissa is feeling uneasy as the
woman looks at her as if she has just committed a crime. “Would
you like something to drink, it’s awful hot out here.”
“No, thank you. Would you happen to know when the Lowerys
are due back from Florida?”
“You mean, Morgan’s grandparents?” The woman looks at
Melissa as if that was an extremely dumb question. “I don’t know
when they’re comin’ back. But I can tell Morgan you came by.”
“Tell him Mrs. LaSalle. The Lowerys volunteer with me at the
YMCA. I’ve never known them to miss so many meetings, much
less leave town without telling anyone. I’ve left countless messages
on that damn voicemail. Why has no one has returned my calls?”
Her voice has become increasingly irritated.
“I’m sorry I can’t answer your questions.”
“When you speak to Morgan, you be sure to let him know that I
want the address and phone number where they can be reached.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll give him the message,” Melissa answers. The
woman storms her way back onto the sidewalk.
The watchful eyes return, peering down from the rooftop of
the house, watching Mrs. LaSalle leave.
Walking a few houses down, Mrs. LaSalle steps into her old,
gray Chevy. She doesn’t see the watchful eyes swooping off the
rooftop and into the sky, maintaining a fixed gaze upon her car.
She starts her car, then casually drives off. The eyes dash in and
out the tops of the towering trees. They listen closely as they
focus on her heartbeat; it’s slow and steady. They feel and hear
each chamber as it opens and closes, allowing the vital fluid to
pass and nourish her body. They listen as her blood pours unrestricted through her thick veins. Monitoring her breathing, they
feel the steady flow of oxygen as her lungs fill and expel the invis-
ible element. The muscles of her hand tense as she controls the
car. She cannot fathom the danger that hovers above.
Flashing through a few radio stations, she finds one that helps
to comfort her angry mood. With a slight smile, she begins singing
along when suddenly she hears a light tapping on the roof of her
car. Looking up through her windshield, she tries to get a glimpse
at what could be making such a strange sound. The sound halts.
The radio station becomes filled with static. Turning the small dial,
she attempts to tune to a clear station, but she cannot find one.
Lurking directly behind her, the watchful eyes gaze steadily at
the back of her head. They begin to mimic her heartbeat, then
her breathing, becoming a faint echo of her life. Switching the
static-filled radio off, she listens closely to the vague sound of a
heartbeat. Feeling the probing presence in her back seat, she turns
abruptly. She sees nothing. They peer directly into her eyes as they
float unnoticed.
The watchful eyes begin to take over her bodily functions. First,
they slow her breathing. She swerves slightly, grasping her chest
and feeling her breaths becoming shallow. Mrs. LaSalle quickly
pulls over to the side of the road. Bending forward and tightly
gripping the steering wheel, she hopes this isn’t a heart attack. Her
voice is low and panic-stricken.
“I can’t be having a heart attack. I’m perfectly healthy,” she says
as she begins to cough. “I can’t breathe.” She attempts to open the
door, but it is mysteriously jammed. Still grasping her chest, she
gapes wide, trying to obtain as much air as her lungs will allow. She
continues to cough. Then suddenly her breathing returns to normal. Relieved, she lifts her head, taking a few deep breaths, and
smiles. Catching a few more light breaths, she peers out her win-
dows to view the quiet park. Her hands, shaking from fear and
shock, vibrate the steering wheel.

Before she can put the car in drive again, she hears that soft
heartbeat once more, but this time it becomes increasingly
louder. Her heart begins mimicking the sound, increasing its
strength along with the beat. Grasping her chest once more, she
feels her heart pounding against her chest. She attempts to open
the car door again, more urgently this time. Her skin becomes
a flushed dark pink. Blood fills her vessels. Her eyes widen and
are blood soaked. Her lips become a bright red. The veins in her
aged hands begin to pulsate uncontrollably. She feels her body
heating up. She starts screaming, but her energy vanishes, and her
screams become nothing more than loud moans. The temperature in the car rises. The windows fog. With her brightly polished
red nails, Mrs. LaSalle grasps the seat, tearing into it. Her nails
are ripped from her fingers as she struggles. They now dangle
alongside her bloody fingers. In relentless agony, she looks into
her rearview mirror just before it fogs and sees a hideous, devil-
ish monster sitting on her back seat, grinning at her. The creature
is small, like a young child. Its body is blood-red and skinless,
smooth and slimy. Its bright blue eyes quietly stare at Mrs. LaSalle
as she continues to struggle to get out of the car. Her eyes over-
flow with pure terror as her skin starts to smoke, then begins to
burn. She screams, but the car has become soundproof. The car
windows are fogged with a cloudy tint, the outside world is shut
out. Her dry coughs become wet with thick blood. Blood pours
onto her sweat-soaked sundress and as she coughs, it spews onto
the dashboard. Her skin begins to peel and slough off, revealing
deep red muscle.

The baby demon smiles, enjoying this eerie spectacle. It raises
its snout to catch the aroma of the burning flesh, then licks its
thin lips, trying to secure a taste. From the excitement, the small
horns on its forehead ooze a yellow bubbling liquid. The little
creature sits patiently, however, like a child awaiting the return of a
parent. Its terrifying blue eyes glare at Mrs. LaSalle as she is being
tortured slowly, but the back seats distract them as if this is its first
time in a vehicle.

Without warning, an unforeseen force places the car in drive.
The little demon sits unaware as the car begins to speed uncontrollably. Mrs. LaSalle struggles to douse the flames by slapping
her head and arms frantically. The blood spewing from her mouth
increases with each heartbeat. Struggling out of control, she slams
her head into the dashboard, knocking herself unconscious. As
she lies there, the little demon peeks over the front seat to look at
the woman. Smiling, it reaches out to touch her melted hair and
skin, then covers her eyes.

The bright sun beams directly into the car, blinding Mrs. LaSalle,
and waking her up. With the car at a stable speed, her hands remain
steady on the steering wheel, her back flat against the seat. Look-
ing down at her clothes, she sees no blood. Looking at her arms,
she sees no burns. Looking at the backseat, she vaguely remembers the little demon. Taking a few nervous breaths, she squints
through the bright sunrays when she is tapped on the shoulder.
Standing beside her is the little demon with its wide sadistic grin.
She screams in horror. The bright sunlight dims. Directly in front
of her stands an electrical pole. The car abruptly slams into it. She
is hurled through the windshield. Her head smashes into a steel
spike protruding from the pole. Her body quivers violently; her
central nervous system shuts down.

As the woman dangles on the pole, a skinless finger wipes
through the flow of blood gushing from her crushed face and
smears it across it, mixing it with a stream of blood that is rushing
down the pole from her open skull. The little monster makes no
sound. Climbing down from the wreck, it strolls casually into the
cover of bushes.

The car begins to smolder, then quickly bursts into flames. The
fire extends from the sides of the crushed hood, then catches Mrs.
LaSalle’s dress. Her body is torched. The fire produces a thick
black smoke. Flames continue to rise up the pole.

One of the many police cars is in sight of the burning vehicle. The policewoman inside decides to speed even faster, hoping there’s someone alive. The car explodes as she comes to a
screeching halt. Stepping from car, the policewoman views the
unearthly spectacle. The electrical pole burns in the form of an
immense crucifix. Looking at the enormous flames, the officer
experiences an ice-cold chill. A strange, ghostly laughter echoes
from the surrounding woods. The officer spins, instinctively
drawing her 9MM, peering into the dense trees. The laughter
emanates from everywhere, resounding from the lowest shrubs
to the tallest treetops. The astonished officer stares into the dense
woods.