Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre (4 page)

ater that evening, when the night is clear and beautiful,
a dark dreadful haze sweeps the foundation of Home
Liquors. This is holy ground to its homeless patrons. No

place else offers its comforts. Magic can be found within its walls.
Here, each bottle contains wish-granting genies. You are not
homeless after these genies have their way with you. Have another
sip, and you are a wealthy housewife waiting for your Wall Street
husband to come home for dinner. Have another and the clutter
that engulfs you is transformed into a green backyard filled with
children’s toys. Keep drinking and the world is waiting on you to
get up. If you are confused or trapped, you will find that these
potions will clarify, and the trap will be easily broken. And when
you awaken, you can start all over again.

Melissa lies back on a large pile of old Mad Magazines with a
large bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette in the other. Today, they can afford the good stuff. Within
the shades of Independence Park, Melissa feels safe. She peers
into the sky as the night clouds open their doors and allow the full
moon to peek through. The stars glimmer as their halos lightly
powder the surrounding night. The evening is warm and calm as
many of the other homeless stargazers find comfortable corners
and awe the mystical heavens.

Sarah is across the street from the park, enjoying a heated polit
-
ical debate with some of the others. Sometimes it’s about the bad
economy. Sometimes about the mayor being a pedophile. Tonight,
Rex, one of Sarah’s old drinking buddies from their time stealing
wallets from johns down by the wharf, and living together in a
shack under the docks, is ragging on about the President.

“The President ain’t shit!”
“Fuck you, Rex, you don’t know shit!” Sarah declares.
“Yo mama don’t know shit!”
“Wait a minute...wait one minute, you don’t call my mother stupid!”

Melissa laughs. She loves hearing Sarah go on and on and getting ready to punch out one of the men. As she softly drifts off to
sleep, Melissa listens to their comical debate, growing louder and
louder. She displays a gentle smile and cuddles up with her bottle,
letting her worries all go, allowing the Jack Daniels to take full
effect. Allowing it to take her to another place.

As she sleeps, she feels an inner peace she hasn’t felt in years.
Her mind is clear and relaxed. Her soul and inner strength become
one as she lies on a white puffy cloud. Doves fly about and land
on her shoulders as she admires them. More and more of them
come. So beautiful and graceful, they gently whisk around this
cloud kingdom. Their feathers descend from above like large elegant snowflakes, rhythmically waltzing from the sky, landing on
the cloud-covered floor. Melissa is wearing a long silk dress; its
lace is stitched together by golden threads, and carefully placed
beads dance along those threads of gold. She is dressed as if she
is about to be wed, but to whom?

Melissa sees a large bed of flowers, like she used to see at home
in Erie. These are even lovelier than those ever were. White roses.
She has never seen white roses so majestic, so delicate, as they
gently sway in the clouds. Each small cloud carefully hugs each
flower as it benevolently passes. As she reaches down to touch this
symbol of beauty, a dove gracefully lands on her arm. Looking
directly into her eyes, it flutters off. A small distance away, it lands
on a long slender object that appears to be ice. The dove tries to
balance itself, but it falls to the cloudy floor. Melissa begins to
walk over to see what has happened to her little friend. She gets
closer and closer.

Suddenly Melissa can’t help but scream. A blood-soaked hand
with gaping maggot-filled wounds offers up her feathered friend.
The bloody hand floats up until it is only inches away from
Melissa’s terrified eyes. And then gradually and brutally, the hand
crushes the dove to death. She hears the dove’s soft cries slowly
turn into silence. In the awful quiet, Melissa feels her heart stop
beating. She wants to cry out but realizes something is keeping her
jaws clamped shut. Her throat has gone bone dry.

Just then, a devilish, loathsome voice makes itself known.
“Come to me! Melissa!”
“Missy, Missy! Wake the hell up so we can go look at that apartment!” Sarah towers over Melissa, trying to wake her from her
restless sleep. “What’s wrong? You look like you have been scared
to death.” Melissa leaps up.
“I’m okay,” Melissa says, gradually regaining her senses as she
wipes the thick wet slobber from the side of her face. “I had a bad
dream, real bad.”
“About what?”
“I don’t remember. My heart is racing like a bat outta hell, and I
can’t even remember why.”
“Well, I’m gettin’ kinda tired of picking your butt up,” Sarah
says, lifting Melissa to her feet. “Come on, let’s get outta here and
check out the pad the old geezer set out for you.” Sarah helps to
brush the dead leaves and trash off Melissa’s jeans, and they head
to L Avenue.
The watchful eyes follow as the two stroll up Wilson Avenue
toward L Avenue. With their liquor and laughter, these two women
cannot grasp the evil that lurks within their shadows.

n the Ironbound section of the city, two women, embracing
their liquor bottles, approach a small brick building. The sounds
of the city seem to drift far away from this lonely corner. This

desolate area is composed of some old abandoned factories and
burned-out buildings. The nearest inhabitable building is blocks
away. Large puddles of water encompass the quiet building. The
two think this is strange, because the storm was two days ago, and
most of the water around the city has already evaporated.

“Is this the place?” asks Sarah.
“I think so. This is L Avenue and it says 202.” The small apartment building isn’t more than three stories. Melissa is captivated
by the outer front doors, which are made of a thick wood, with
magnificently detailed carvings depicting a battle between two
groups of angels. The doorknobs are made of an opulent brass
that mirrors like glass. The stairs are made of bricks situated like
the keys from a grand piano.
The pair approach the door, peering through the diamondshaped windows located in the center of each door.
“The bells are inside. See if the door is open,” says Sarah. With
a polite push, Melissa opens the outer door. Once they are both
inside the tiny walkway, they begin looking for a buzzer for Mr.
Nicholas. Sarah becomes angry when they can’t find it.
“I knew he wasn’t about shit, that little…” Before Sarah is able
to develop another colorful depiction of Mr. Nicholas, he opens
the inner doors. He is dressed in the same attire from earlier, and
with a charming smile, he motions the two women inside.
“Hello, Melissa, I didn’t know you were bringing company.” He
seems slightly disturbed but maintains his tranquil manner.
“Yeah, well, you know we got to look out for one another, I’m
just watchin’ her back,” says Sarah as she stands with authority,
looking out for her young friend.
“That’s fine, now let’s go upstairs and see the apartment.”
“Hold on for a second. Who are you? I know what you told me
earlier, but what is this? Why are you and this lady, Mrs. Harris or
whoever--who I can barely remember--so interested in me?”
“Please calm down, Melissa. I told you before, we just like to
help. Look, if you don’t want the place, just say so, but at least take
a look.” The man seems to enjoy this slight outburst, and with his
crooked grin, he turns around and begins to guide them up the
narrow stairway. Sarah bends toward Melissa’s ear and whispers.
“Missy, calm down, let’s just take a look. It would be nice to
sleep on a bed with springs for cushions instead of newspapers.”
“Yeah, let’s go see.”
“Where you get this mean streak all of a sudden, Missy?”
“I’m just tired of people tellin’ me what to do, that’s all.”
The three walk up to the third floor. The floor is made of
wooden boards that creak at any slight pressure. The walls are dark
burgundy accented by a wood trim border. Dark golden wallpaper
creates a picturesque landscape throughout the dimly lit hall. At
first glance, the hallway looks unkempt, but actually it is cleaned to
perfection. There is a strong spicy scent in the air that causes the
two women to cough slightly.
The old man stops at one particular door. Reaching into his
pocket, he pulls out a long skeleton key that fits perfectly into the
antique lock. With one sharp turn to the right, the lock unlatches.
When the door opens, a luxurious domicile is revealed. The
women gasp in awe. Their nostrils fill with the aroma of lit vanilla
candles as they walk into the immaculate room. The furniture is
of an ancient Anglo-Saxon period. The draperies look as if they
are made from the finest silks of India. The dim light accents the
deep maroon color of the tapestry and furnishings.
Mr. Nicholas quietly stands back, grinning widely, and displaying all thirty-two of his yellow-stained teeth.
“We can stay here?” Sarah’s eyes bulge like a child’s on Christ-
mas morning.
“How much we gotta pay to stay here?” Melissa’s grin suddenly
turns sour with the thought of owing someone.
“You don’t have to pay anything, just stay a while and rest. I’m
not using the apartment, and there is no reason why it should collect dust.”
“You could charge someone a shit-load to stay here. Why don’t
you do that?” asks Sarah.
“I don’t need money. Plus, I haven’t done many good deeds
in my life, so I decided to do one today. Here is the key, enjoy
your stay, and I’ll look in on you from time to time,” he says, and
nonchalantly tosses the key to Melissa. “Don’t worry about your
neighbors. Most of the rooms are vacant. The occupants of the
rooms that aren’t empty do a lot of traveling. I’m sure they will
come and introduce themselves when they feel it is appropriate.
You’ll find plenty of food and other necessities around. Any ques-
tions?” Mr. Nicholas pauses as the two women continue to wan-
der.
“No. Thank you. I promise we will take good care of this
place.” Melissa’s voice becomes nervous with gratitude. Since she
left Erie, she never thought she would ever have a place to call
home again.
“Enjoy your stay, ladies, and don’t worry about the utilities.
They are taken care of, but there is no phone or television.”
“That’s fine,” says Melissa.
The old man exits, closing the door.
As he strolls down the hall in his charismatic manner, he comes
across a large water bug attempting to turn itself over. He gently
kneels down as if to assist. Staring awkwardly, he seems intrigued
by the insect’s struggle. In a soft whisper, he speaks to the insect.
“Do you need help, my little friend? You do believe I’m your
friend? Don’t you?” he asks, while tilting his head parallel to the
floor and the struggling insect. In a joking tone, he quietly whis-
pers, “I love all of God’s creatures. I am here to help. What can I
do for you today? First, allow me to introduce myself.” In a low,
deep, loathsome voice, he begins, “I am the serpent that grants
wisdom...the beast that grants desire...I love to tell...I am a warrior for the fallen...angel.” He rolls his head back and forth as a
thick, black serpent-like tongue shoots out of his throat, toward
the water bug. It leaves a slimy trail that mimics that of a garden
slug crossing cool pavement. His serpent-tongue is split at the end
like a medieval dragon. Forming two tiny daggers, it begins bru-
tally piercing the body armor of the helpless insect. Each pointy
end acts independently. As one thrusts into the body, the other
severs the head, leaving a slimy residue on the mortally wounded
insect. “Now there...I told you I was a friend. See how I helped
you end your miserable life.” Sucking the black organ back into
his deep throat, he points his long, white pinky fingernail and uses
it to shish kabob the lifeless carcass. He slowly guides the snack
into his mouth. Carefully chewing his friend, with a bright grin,
he mutters, “What a juicy little morsel you are.” Sucking his other
four fingers, he nimbly rises and continues down the hall.

“No, I mean, why would someone go through so much
trouble for someone he doesn’t even know? What makes
him think we won’t rob the hell out of this place? We wouldn’t do
that, but how does he know we wouldn’t?” Melissa replies.

“I wish I could tell you, but like he said, don’t look a gift horse
in the mouth. Let’s enjoy it while we can, which probably won’t be
for long.” Sarah gets caught up in the excitement of having a place
to stay, and soon she forgets Melissa’s quick personality change
back at the restaurant. “Will you look at this place. It’s beautiful.
Look at this stuff. It looks so expensive,” Sarah says as she marvels the elegant furnishings. They walk around the extravagantly
decorated room, touching each piece of furniture with a tender
stroke. “You said things were going to be better. I guess you were
right.”

“This is the life, Sarah,” Melissa says with elation as she plops
down on the thick, puffy couch.
Meanwhile, Sarah ventures deeper into the apartment to see
what other surprises await them. The kitchen is fully stocked with
all types of meats, canned goods, spices, utensils, pots, and pans.
Sarah salivates as she grins and laughs with jubilation. The bed-
room is no different; it is furnished with the finest detail. The big-
gest and softest canopy bed Sarah has ever seen awaits. A sweet
lemon-spice potpourri aroma engulfs her. A bathroom of wondrous proportions captures Sarah’s senses. Drawing back the
flower designed shower curtain, she steps into the shower fully
clothed, then gently kisses the tiled wall. Slowly, she turns the marble knobs and is swept away in the clean, warm streams of water
as it cascades through her hair.
In the living room, Melissa lies back, happily taking a gander at
the artistic designs that encompass the room. Clasping her hands
behind her head, she prays this is not a dream and hopes things are
really getting better. Just look at this place! Melissa, you’ve finally
found a home, a real home. Maybe things really are changing for
me finally. After five years on the streets, it’s about time. Seriously,
I don’t think I could have survived another dark night out there,
hunting in the alleys for food, living like a wild animal. I wonder
how my family is…my mother…my father… I haven’t talked to
them in a long time. I wonder if they miss me. I wonder if they
even know I’m alive. Probably not. As soon as I get a good job,
and some money in my pocket, I’ll go back to Erie and prove I’m
alive. That I’m not a failure. I’ll prove it to everyone, my father,
and my neighbors, and my so-called friends, who didn’t even try to
help me find a place to stay, I’ll show them. I’ll show all of them.
Melissa closes her eyes. She drifts into a comfortable sleep, as she
begins to remember some of the good times at home.
“Look at me. Clean as a whistle!” Sarah stands in the hall just
outside the bathroom with her locks brushed back, beads of water
rushing down to land on her chest and shoulders. A beach towel
covers her from the breasts to the knees. Swinging one hand
wildly as the other holds the towel in place, Sarah spins like a ballerina. Melissa can smell the scented soap emanating from her
body. Melissa looks up at Sarah, who reminisces a detailed picture
of her bathing experience. With a quick roll of her eyes and neck,
Sarah begins, “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve taken a
shower in a clean, private bathroom? I’m tellin’ you, when I saw
that bathroom, I almost peed on myself. I just jumped into the
shower and turned the water on. It felt so good. The tile was made
out of these tiny little squares that looked like rock candy. Shit, I
even licked one to make sure it wasn’t real candy. Girl, I just let
that soothing, warm water flow all over me while I lathered up
with some of that fancy soap and washed all my troubles away.”
With a deep exhale, she slowly sits on the couch. Melissa stares at
Sarah with a questioning look.
“What?” Sarah asks.
“You know, we’ve known each other for what...over three years,
and you still haven’t told me your story.”
“Because there isn’t much to tell,” Sarah says, expressing a slight
temper.
“Look, don’t get pissed, I just want to know more about my
best friend. I mean...we spend all our time together looking out
for one another, and you still haven’t told me your story.” They
both spend a few long seconds staring at each other. Sarah leans
forward, sitting both her elbows on her knees. She props her
hands under her chin, takes one more deep breath, and with a solemn tone, begins the painful journey through her past.
“I guess I met Malcolm when I was about 24; he was a podiatry student, and I worked at Broad City Bank in Philadelphia.
He would come in the bank all the time with his gentle attitude.
With the sweetest, gentlest eyes I had ever seen. Somehow, he
would almost always end up at my window, cashing his work study
check, and, with a carefully poised smile, he would say, ‘How are
you today? Things going okay? My, you look fine. I’ll see you next
week.’ This man was so beautiful to me. Without even knowing
him, he seemed to be all I needed. All I ever dreamed about in
a man was all wrapped up in Malcolm. He was about six foot,
180 pounds, had elegant brown skin, the loveliest curly hair, and
a handsome, kind face. Believe it or not, I started making sure
that he would see me. Don’t laugh! I mean, I started taking my
lunches late around his payday, just hoping to speak to him again.
Just hoping he would show up. When I did see him casually stroll
into the bank, walking that cool walk of his, strutting his stuff, my
heart would flutter like a love-struck schoolgirl.
“As fate would have it, one day after work, I stood on the
corner waiting for my bus. Just standing there on the street staring off into space when he walked right past me. Girl, my heart
stopped! The urge to speak to him was overwhelming. ‘Hey, mis-
ter,’ I said, and the words almost clogged up in my throat. ‘Hey,
mister, you can’t speak?’ I put on the most refined voice I could
find. He turned, looked straight at me, smiled, and he ended up
being all I thought he would be. From that moment on, my life
was like a dream. We would go on these long nightly strolls down
Penns Landing, where all the other couples would hang out, just
to cuddle while enjoying the erotic breeze off the twilight-reflect-
ing waves. Sometimes, I would go to his apartment, just knock on
the door when he wasn’t expecting me, bringing him food when
I knew he had to study and probably wouldn’t be able catch a
decent meal. You know how men are, right? He was so proud of
being a student doctor, talking all the doctor talk about all types of
surgeries, diseases, and using words I couldn’t even begin to pronounce. He’d talk about his future plans right down to the letter. I
felt I’d finally achieved something. I felt I’d finally met the man of
my dreams.”
Sarah takes a long, peaceful breath as one tear finds its way
down the side of her nose. She lets it drop, then wipes it away
with her fist. She briefly cups her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut,
then continues in a sobbing voice.
“My mother loved Malcolm. She absolutely loved that man.
Everyone at work thought he was Dr. Perfect. I did too. I spent the
next four years of my life catering to this man. We lived together
for three of those years, and, of course, I was always hoping that
he would pop the question, and that we would get married,” she
resumes, her tone increasing in strength. “Every time I would ask
that bastard about marriage, he would hem and haw, and come up
with some lame excuse, some old clever shit to shut me up for the
time being. I remember it clearly, hearing him say shit like, ‘Look,
baby, I love you. I know you want to get married, and we will. I
promise. When I get my practice together and start making some
real money, that’s when I’ll be ready. Please, just be patient with
me.’ Like a dumbass, I believed him. I listened to that bullshit for
years.
“Then came the knock at the door. There she was. This twentyfive-year-old heifer standing there with this little boy of at least
three, and my, but wasn’t he the absolute spitting image of my goddamn man! She went on to tell me about their plans to get married
and settle down together. She’d come because she thought that
she should confront me; she was tired of him procrastinating. See,
she knew all about me. Every little thing. Every second I looked
at her, I wanted to rip her throat open, tear her eyeballs out, but
I realized when I looked at that little boy of hers that it wasn’t
her fault. Shit, she wasn’t the one supposedly in love with me
-Malcolm was! After she left, I felt my heart had been wrenched
out of my chest and stomped on. I went to the bedroom and piled
up all of his little electronic gadgets that he loved so much. He
loved all that shit, girl! I didn’t forget the big ones either, like his
three-thousand-dollar computer set up, or his thousand-dollar
camcorder, the two laptops, and all his nice doctor suits, half of
which I bought. I put it all on top of and around his precious big
screen TV, the one he sat in front of and worshipped every damn
night, then I poured two full gallons of bleach all over everything,
making sure each of my man’s gadgets got a good dose. I took a
hammer to whatever I thought needed it. After that, I ate a steak
dinner, and sat and waited for my man.
“I knew his little girlfriend hadn’t told Malcolm that she had
come to see me. Because at six o’clock right on the dot, he walked
up the stairs, opened the door, and doused his cigarette as if he
had no worries. Not a single damn care in the world! I hid in the
closet, and he walked right past me. I guess he was going to figure
out where the strong smell of bleach was coming from. I waited
until that asshole was right in front of me, and then I jumped out
at him with all my strength. I had to have stabbed him ten times
too, before I choked on the blood that splattered in my mouth.
That shit tasted good! I dropped the ice-pick, grabbed my purse,
and got the hell out of there.”
Sarah lights up a fresh cigarette and takes a deep drag. She stares
off into space, until Melissa begins to get uncomfortable with her
friend’s silence.
“Were the police looking for you?”
“I guess so, for a while at least. It’s not like the bastard died, so
I wasn’t America’s Most Wanted or anything.”
“What did you do after you left the house?”
“You’re lookin’ at what I did. I withdrew all the money I could
off my credit cards and ATM, and got on a bus straight to anywhere.”
“What about your family or friends?”
“I didn’t have much family at all. My mother and I didn’t get
along from birth. I had no daddy. And as far as friends go, none
of them were worth shit. That’s why it was so easy to spend all my
time with the asshole. I didn’t have anyone else. After my money
ran out and I couldn’t find a job because I was too scared to really
try, I just started living anywhere I could.”
“How you know he didn’t die?”
“I would call the hospital pretending to be his sister, and at
least one of the nurses would update me on his condition.” With
a wicked smile creeping across her face, she adds, “I often wonder
if he’s sitting scared to death, thinking I’m coming back to finish
the job. I hope so, it would give me such gratification to know he
is constantly looking over his shoulder, running scared for the rest
of his life.” With a slight pause, she begins again, “What’s your
story, Missy, why did you really leave?”
“What about your mom? Do you miss her?”
“Yeah, I do, but it’s too late now...she died a few years back
from breast cancer. She didn’t care for me much, anyway. She
probably didn’t even miss me one day after I left.” With a few
sniffles and a small steady stream of tears, Sarah quickly switches
the spotlight back to Melissa. “Again, I repeat, what is your whole
story, Missy?”
“I told you everything there is to know about me. My father was
this big reverend in Erie, and he had some strange ideas on how to
raise his children. He preached constantly. Preached day and night.
I got so tired of hearing that Old Testament shit coming out of
his mouth that I couldn’t think straight. So I just started hangin’
out with all the outcasts of the neighborhood, every hoodlum,
stray kid, and school slut, and I just did whatever they did. I would
steal, break into homes, rob old ladies’ purses, I didn’t care. Nothing was too low for me. I’d steal so I could sell things to the local
pawn shop and buy dope. I even robbed the offering a few times
so I could get some weed after church.” Pausing for a minute,
she arranges her thoughts.”Now that I think back, there may have
been a reason for him to kick me out of the house.” She takes
a deep breath. “Reverend Hobbs from the Christian Church on
Tipper Street!” Melissa lowers her voice to slightly above a whisper, and continues. “The nicest man you ever want to meet in the
entire town of Erie, that is, until you tell him you’re pregnant by
him. Yeah, that’s right, it’s true, we’d do it right there in the pulpit.
Right there in the front of The Blessed Mary Mother of Jesus.
I’d have one leg on the organ and the other on the podium. I
don’t think his wife and six kids would have appreciated me giving
them another sister or brother. So, of course, the good Reverend
Hobbs paid for the abortion. Plunked the cash for it right in my
hands. When the doctor asked me about the father, I said I didn’t
know.” Speaking sarcastically, she grins. “Mysteriously, my father
throws me out two days later when I get home from a party.” She
peers up at the ceiling. “All I miss are my sisters and my mom, to
tell you the truth. To hell with old Rev.”
Melissa’s voice lowers to a loud whisper as she begins to drowse
and fall asleep.
“You ever going back?” Sarah asks.
“I don’t know...maybe,” Melissa replies. She yawns. Then quietly, they both snuggle into their seats and fall fast asleep.