Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Blood Drunk

He moves through the streets like a wrecking ball, crashing into everything and anything in his way. Eventually, he crashes into a garbage bin and tumbles hopelessly to the ground in a heap. He lies there for a few moments before noticing her standing in the shadows, watching him. Then, he awkwardly pulls himself up onto all fours.

“Enjoying the s-show?” he slurs.

“I wouldn’t call it much of a show, more like ‘white man go boom,’” she replies in a thick European accent.

“Well, fuck you, missy!” he says as he clumsily gets to his feet. “I don’t need your shit, I-I-I…” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as he violently empties the contents of his stomach across the footpath. For a few moments afterward, he stands there swaying back and forth, groaning. Finally, he draws back through his nose and spits out a large wad of saliva, snot, and vomit onto the ground. Then, he uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his mouth.

“Well, that was very civilised. You could’ve at least done it in the gutter.”

“W-W-Who are you, my mum? Because lady, I’ve got issues with that bitch.”

“I’m not surprised you have. I’m sure she made her exit from your life as soon as she was able to. Was it when they cut the cord?”

“What, so now you’re a comedian? I’ve heard farts that are funnier.”

“Oh, sugar, you’re breaking my heart. Here I am trying to connect with you, when all you’re doing is pushing me away. And love muffin, men have been doing that to me my entire life, while also making themselves easy targets, and I can’t resist easy targets,” she says with a laugh.

“Fuck you!” he yells as he stumbles forward and slams into the wall. He collapses to his knees as the whole world begins to separate into three distinct versions of itself. He shakes his head, trying to pull his vision back to one workable world.

She continues to laugh as he picks himself uneasily off the ground and back to his feet. “Honey, you need to go somewhere you can sleep this off. Being out here in your state is dangerous.”

“Says you? What are you doing hanging around in the dark for anyway? You some sort of vampire?”

“Was it my accent that gave it away?” she says, smiling a toothy grin.

“This another one of your lame-arsed jokes? Because I preferred the fart you did earlier. Wait, that was me, not you.”

She laughs. “I’m sorry, pet, but the jokes are over. I’m hungry, and it looks like you’re on tonight’s menu,” she says, licking her lips.

“I’m not a fucking blood donor, BITCH! Go find another poor sap to take for a ride,” he says as he swings a poorly aimed punch toward her. With little effort, she easily outmanoeuvres his attack and sends him crashing to the ground once more with only a slight push. The ground hasn’t even connected with his face before she is on top of him. With inhuman strength, she pulls his head back and grabs a large handful of hair.

He tries to fight her off, but in his state, she is too powerful. It’s then that he feels her teeth dig into his neck like a shot of electricity. Desperately, he tries to scream, but nothing comes out as he collapses into unconsciousness.

When he finally opens his eyes, his head feels like it’s been used as a punching bag for the last few hours. Ever so slowly, he pulls himself up onto his elbows and looks around the small cell he’s found himself in.

“W-W-What the fuck?” he mutters to himself as he squints his eyes, trying to focus on the world beyond the bars.

“Mister Ross,” a voice says from the other side of the bars. He looks up at Officer Lance Darcy, who stands there with a broad smile on his face and a cup of coffee in his hand. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Mister Ross. You gave us quite a fight last night. It seems you thought you were fighting vampires when we found you stumbling about. It took four of us to wrestle you to the ground, although with a blood-alcohol reading of one point six, I’m not surprised. Your blood was pretty much alcohol.”