Crimson-soaked Carpets

Sergeant Keensburg was no stranger to the stench of death. Spend enough years looking at corpses and plucking evidence from a scene, and eventually your nerves calm and all you can smell is iron. Damn, stick with the force long enough, and you can even have lunch before heading over to the scene—which is what Keensburg usually did before arriving. Today was one day he was glad he hadn't.

He clapped a hand to his mouth as he entered the hotel room. A clammy sweat coated his face, and it took damned everything he had not to throw up. All manner of sinew, bone, and viscera covered the walls, the furniture, the floor, even some of the leftover food.

In instances like these, it was important to remain calm and levelheaded. As an officer of the force, it was his job, his duty to ensure the safety of the citizens.

Even so, his legs desperately wished to run away.

Keensburg steeled himself, then approached one of the few officers who was still detailing the evidence. The man's hand shook as he took notes on a pad of paper. The creases of his hand collected sweat, and he removed his hat several times.

"What have you found so far?" Keensburg asked as he flashed his identification.

The man's chest rose and fell steadily. He leveled his gaze at the room, pointing to various aspects of the room with the eraser of his pencil as he spoke. As he detailed the pure evil and malice of the crime, the picture became cleared, but at the same time, more muddied.

"Is it true?" the officer asked when he was done.

"Is what true?" Keensburg pocketed his badge.

"That this is… part of a series of crimes?"

Keensburg paused. He was never one to divulge the details of crimes or ongoing cases, but the man was on to it. It bore all the hallmarks of the prior slaughters they'd been investigating for the last few months. To make matters worse, he'd seen this cop before. He'd been there to catalogue evidence for a similar crime. It was no wonder he was one of the only officers in the room.

"I'm not at liberty to say," Keensburg said, kneeling down to examine the blood soaked into the carpet. He slapped on a pair of latex gloves and pressed his first two fingers into the substance. It squelched.

"I understand," the officer muttered.

"Were you able to identify the victims?"

"No. But we were able to find teeth. We've sent them up for analysis."

"Good. Can you have them sent to my precinct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Keensburg," a gruff voice said to his right. Keensburg turned his head toward the source to see an older man with sharp gold eyes and a healthy beard that was beginning to gray. He wore a cowboy's hat that bore roses around the base, and a poncho with elaborate reds and oranges depicting flowers wreathed together by what appeared, to Keensburg at least, to be vines.

"Krawl."

---

Maxis scrolled through his history of texts with Olivier while he waited for Ren. As much as he admired Ren's, well, free way of living, he hoped that by now that he'd at least have a stronger respect for punctuality. Such things used to bother him, but after a while he'd just learned to accept that Ren was never going to arrive on time. Ah, well. At least it gave him time to reflect.

The passenger door suddenly flew open, and Ren jumped into the seat. Maxis put his phone between his legs and started the engine. "Man, I should've just gotten my old phone fixed. This thing sucks."

Not even an apology.

Maxis chuckled. "Your new phone works just fine, what are you talking about?" he asked as he shifted the vehicle into reverse and looked over his shoulder.

"Dude, it doesn't even have a fingerprint sensor." He turned the phone around so Maxis could see it, but Maxis didn't even grant the phone a glance. He was driving. "See those rounded edges? Those are so fucking stupid. My finger keeps slipping off the edge and I mistype shit constantly." He retracted his phone and began to scroll.

"Good thing there's an autocorrect for people like you," Maxis snickered. He shifted the car into drive and made a right onto the street.

"Yeah, real funny. Next time you send a ducking message, maybe then you'll get it."

"I don't rely on the autocorrect. I learned how to spell years ago. If I spell it wrong, a simple red underline shows up instead. It's a better app, anyway."

"Dude, you got an app like that?" Ren said with what Maxis thought was a hint of jealousy.

"Yeah, super helpful stuff."

"Nerd," Ren chuckled.

"Just don't forget who's buying your ammunition," Maxis said before violently swerving to the left. Ren yelped and dropped his phone on the floor. "Whoops."

"Yeah, ha ha, very funny." He snatched his phone out from under the seat and wiped away from the dust and dirt. "Oh hey, let's not tell anyone about this, all right?"

Maxis frowned. "You don't want to tell anyone at least where we might be going? I get the whole 'trying to keep the job a secret' thing, but what if we got hurt? No one's going to know where we are."

"We'll be fine," Ren said, shaking his head. "If June or Sunny found out, they'd be on our asses before you know it and we'd never even know. No, I don't want them to get hurt."

"You're not even remotely concerned?" Maxis frowned. He turned on his left signal and turned into the left-hand lane, coming to a stop at the light.

"Of course, I am. But we can handle it."

Maxis wondered if Ren really believed that. Ren was rambunctious and hardheaded sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. Despite his lack of book smarts, he was much more street smart than people gave him credit for. He knew which gangs to look out for, as well as how to evade theft and avoid confrontation. Ren tapped his left foot against the floor—a habit Maxis learned was his way to alleviate stress and anxiety.

Maxis turned onto the next street and pulled into the parking lot on his right. It was dinky, and the street was in dire need of repair. But it housed one of the only gun stores nearby.

"All right, we're here," Maxis said. He turned off the ignition and retrieved his keys. "Stay here like a good little boy, and hopefully the guy'll sell us what you need."

"Bite me. He's such a tightass, anyway."

"That tightass provides the ammunition to your only useful power," Maxis reminded him. Ren used to shop here all the time, but after a confrontation with the store owner, he was no longer welcomed. He didn't see what went down, but judging from the words Ren used, Maxis assumed the store owner was in the right. "A little kindness goes a long way."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just hurry it up." Ren sunk beneath the window so as to hide from the owner.

Maxis chuckled. "I'll be back shortly."

---

Olivier stretched her arms and cricked her neck from one side to the other. The hum of the laundromat helped keep her from going out of her mind while she scrolled from story to story, video to video on her phone. A sigh escaped her lips as she leaned on the table, gazing out the window toward an old hotdog cart with the glare of the setting sun.

The man, Sethel, who managed the cart asked that she watch it while he went out for dinner. She'd known him for as long as she'd been going to the laundromat and seeing as how he'd given her a few hotdogs on the house, she wasn't about to refuse a favor. Besides, he was a Nosferian like herself. It was important they got along.

Click.

"Hm?" Olivier looked up and over to her right where her clothes were drying. The light had turned off and the machine stopped. She sighed. But as soon as she moved to stand up, the machine resumed its cycle and the light's scarlet glow returned. "Ancient machine," she muttered, returning her attention to the cart outside.

The cart's dented metal and chrome finish was tasteless at best, and she often spent time wondering how it could be improved. By the time she saw Sethel again, she'd usually forgotten or decided not to divulge what she thought. He was an opinionated man, and one who would not stop talking once he found a topic he enjoyed discussing. So Olivier restricted her time spent with him, electing to—

Thunk!

Olivier frowned. The noise had come from her unit. "They better not charge me if it breaks," she muttered as she turned her head toward it. It sounded as if something heavy was inside. The machine continued to hum and whine until at last stopping. "What a piece of junk."

Olivier bowed her head and glanced at her phone. Even if Sethel hadn't put her up to watching his cart, her phone was almost dead. She knew the way back to her apartment by heart, but she knew better than to drain the entirety of the phone's battery. Funny thing she'd learned about life was that it was often better to have something and not need it than to need it and not have it.

She scrolled past her screensaver, shook her head, then clicked the power button. The screen turned black, and as she raised her head, a faint image on the screen caught her attention. "What the?"

When she looked back down, a face had appeared behind her shoulder. Two dark sockets and pointed teeth stared back at her. Red streaks and sinew covered the face haphazardly. A stench like months-old meat assaulted her nostrils.

She turned around and shrieked.

The creature swept one lengthy claw toward her, and she ducked, falling backwards under the table with a hiss. The claw sailed past her into the other machines to its side, tearing through them like butter. The creature jerked it back, but the claw wouldn't budge. Tendrils of flesh coiled around the arm that had embedded itself into the machines and pulled. The claw was extracted with a sickening crunch, mending and reforming before her eyes. Blood and flesh flowed out of the dryer units, creating pools on the floor.

"W-W-What the fuck!?" Olivier screeched.

She had to move. Why couldn't she stop shaking? Why did her body refuse to move?

The scarlet moved as if it had a mind of its own, wriggling and twisting toward the malformed beast in front of her.

If she didn't move, she was dead.

New flesh appeared, creating tendrils and webs of meat between the bones. A human spine poked out of the 'back' of the abomination.

This was her last chance.

A disgusting heat flowed out of the creature's mouth. It was hungry.

Fucking move!

Olivier crawled backward on her hands and feet. A whip of flesh stretched toward her, snapping the table in half. She squealed, then stumbled onto her feet, snaking and ducking behind the other units to her left. Another tendril whipped through the air, cleaving through the upper half of the units. The broken parts fell to the floor with a crash, and as the creature retracted the appendage, she saw hints of bone within, sharpened to a fine edge.

The creature lurched forward and descended into a large mass of meat and bone and cartilage. With alarming speed, it wriggled toward her like hundreds of hungry worms.

"Eeeyaaah!" she screamed, shoving the door of the laundromat open.

The Denizen crashed through the glass of the store's window, landing beside her with a squelch. Olivier rounded the hotdog cart and tipped it over toward the mass of flesh. Dozens of uncooked dogs spilled onto the sidewalk, and the creature's scarlet mass encompassed the cart.

What the hell is that thing!?

A blood-curdling belch erupted from whatever orifice the creature possessed, and after a momentary interest in the cart, it resumed its chase toward her. A terrified hiss escaped her throat, and she urged her legs to move as fast as she could. The streets were empty at this hour, but even so, she found that whenever she tried to speak, her throat refused to work. It was no magic or ability of the creature; her body simply refused to do what she needed it to do.

"Stay away from me," she barely managed to whisper, her voice hoarse and dry. She dared not look behind her, but the creature's noises were growing louder, more prominent. A police station loomed a few blocks down, and as her eyes widened with relief, a wet appendage wrapped around her ankle and pulled. "No," she hissed as she tripped. Her cheek hit the ground, and before she had the chance to wince, the tendril pulled her away into a dark alley.

"No, no, no," she breathed.

She was flung around like a ragdoll, thrown to the ground where the wall was much too high for her to climb. Her back hit the ground with a bone-breaking force, and the unholy creature lurched toward her, its dark urges radiating off its body. Or what remained of it.

"Oh please God," she said, the heels of her shoes scraping against the tiny pebbles on the cement. She scrambled away on her hands and knees until her back hit the brick wall. The Denizen's flesh dismantled and rearranged in a series of clicks, crunches. The flesh adjusted, creating new muscles and cartilage until a large cylinder with sharpened teeth lined the ridge. "How the fuck?"

Canines continued to puncture through the meat within, creating a large tunnel of teeth and pores. The stench was indescribable.

Olivier balled her hands into fists, and tears of blood began to stream down her face. The Denizen's 'mouth' reeled back, rotating while a guttural hiss escaped the creature's mass.

"Get the fuck away from me!" she bellowed, shutting her eyes. A cool chill filled her veins. As the Denizen lunged for her, a shield of steel erupted out of the blood she'd shed. The metal created a wall between her and the creature. The fleshy Denizen's mass thumped against the metal. She looked up, horrified to see such a large dent in the structure. One, two, three strikes against the structure, and the creature had already torn a small hole through it. A scythe of bone cleaved through the metal, creating a clean hole for which the creature began to ooze through toward her.

Olivier hissed, dodging the incoming tendril of flesh that had found purchase in her shield. The sharpened appendage sailed past her, drawing a line of blood down her neck. She clapped her hand to the wound, rolled to her right, then formed a long blade of steel from the blood on her hand. The shield she'd created moments before disappeared, and as the creature caught on, she sliced her blade at the incoming tendril the Denizen sent toward her. The steel cut through the flesh, though with more difficulty than she'd anticipated.

Wicked fast and disturbingly eager, the Denizen whipped a second tendril, then a third, then a fourth. Each of them reformed faster than the last, increasing at a speed that Olivier she'd be unable to keep up with forever. With a quick movement, she shuffled the blade to her other hand and ducked to evade the next attack. She lathered the wall beside her in the blood leftover on her palm, and rows of rotating saw blades emerged from the crimson surface.

The combination of the creature's attacks and her sudden saw blades caused her enough fright that she fell over, concentrating on the blades. The creature was slowly dismantling them, but it was enough to keep it busy. Seeing her opportunity, she stood up and bit her hand. Warm, fresh blood poured out of her wounds, and she sprayed the crimson upon the walls on each side.

"Eat this!" she cried as more saws emerged. Blood and flesh sprayed over the contents of the alley, creating a disturbing sight of bone and viscera. Despite her seeming control over the fight, the creature simply reassembled itself each time her blades cut through its flesh. Its frustrated wails filled the air, and she began to step backward.

Her concentration was waning. She'd used too much of her blood to supply her Jitter. Vertigo overwhelmed her, and soon she struggled to continue standing.

I have to run. It's only a matter of time until it breaks free.

She shook her head, and as she concentrated on the saw blades, she pictured the event in her mind and turned tail. She sensed the blades slowing as the distance between her and the Denizen widened. The police station was her only hope. She soared through the streets as fast as her legs would allow. Every step closer was another blade dismantled by the Denizen.

Meters separated her from her destination, and she dismissed the objects she'd summoned through her blood. She shoved her way past a boy in a tan suit, grabbing him by the arm and stumbling to the ground with him.

"Hey, what's the big deal?" the boy cried, rising to his feet.

"Don't go out there!" Olivier screamed, her voice finally hers again. "There's a Denizen out there!"

The boy frowned and glanced at the front door. He patted away the dust from his coat, then peeked outside. "Lady, there's nothing out there."

"I swear to you! There was this horrible creature of flesh and bone! It chased me and tried to eat me!"

The boy blinked.

"Little lady, are you okay?" a gruff voice from behind her asked. She looked over her shoulder to see a decorated officer in flamboyant colors and a poncho. A healthy head of graying hair framed a weathered face set with gold-colored eyes. A pair of skeletal arms crossed over his chest in addition to his normal set, and Olivier briefly wondered if they were props.

Olivier swallowed. "There's a Denizen out there!"

Krawl looked past her at the door, and the boy shook his head. "I believe you." He looked back at her and proffered his hand. "Why don't we have a talk about what you saw?"