The Martyr

If you find this the author is, very likely, dead. Maybe in these words will be some clue as to who my killer was, or more likely what. Yes, what. I won't be killed by a man or a woman, not a scorned lover or a double crossed friend. If I should die it will be at the hands of something that goes bump in the night. We, as a society, have been convinced that monsters don't exist. Ghosts, goblins, zombies, werewolves, and vampires aren't real. After you read this, you won't believe me. You might think it is a brilliant work of fiction, but every word I write from this point on is fact. Well, not every word, I have to change names and places for my own protection and, as much as you may not believe it, your protection as well. This old typewriter is the only place I can put down my thoughts and experiences, computers are tools of the enemy. Sure there are a group of people like me who have decided to share their knowledge of the monsters lurking in the shadows across the internet, but they can be traced. Witness1 always says "You can never take too much care," he needs to follow his own advice. They really are everywhere. I can see it now, and I can scream at the top of my lungs and no one will listen. So I'll tell my story in this book, maybe you can make them open their eyeS.

November 2007:

"Tanya" and I lived in a run down apartment complex, a slum. We had a drunk for a landlord and illegals squatting all around us. The building was about fifty years old, the wall paper was peeling from its placing, the tiles in the hall were cracked and broken or missing all together. We'd have to step over winos to get to our apartment, and once inside we still couldn't find any true comfort. It didn't matter how many candles or sticks of inscense we burNed we couldn't get rid of the smell of urine and booze. That really didn't matter to us though, cause out little slice of paradise was covered in empty bottles and needles. It was cheap, which was good cause we were too stoned to afford more. We did about everything you could imagine, from weed to heroin, it didn't matter as long as we were high. "Tanya" got mugged, and smacked around a bit on more than one occasion while coming back from the liquor store she worked at. She had the most motivation among the two of us. She left me passed out in a pool of vomit, and I haven't seen her since. I wonder what she's doing these days. Wonder if she would believe the things I've seen...

January 2008:

Heroin has taken the only person I could relate to. It turned me into a monster, not like the ones I'm writing about, but a monster just the same. A couple months after she left I turned violent, it wasn't my nature, but I had to take drastic measures to keep my high, and my shit-hole apartment. One night I beat the living hell out of this kid. He looked rich and cocky, he looked like he deserved it at the time. Now I wish I would have never run across him, now I wish he could forgive me, now I wish I could thank him. I beat him so bad you couldn't recognize him from his school yearbook picture. All for twenty three dollars and a tickEt to a concert. That concert changed my life.

Everyone inside the club was anxious. The opening band, as usual, was shit. I took the opportunity to hit the restroom and get stoned. The guy leaving the room as I entered caught my attention. He was slightly out of place in a goth crowd. Sure, his black leather pants and crumbled velvet shirt fit the scene, but his hair was blonde and he had a strange twinkle in his eye. Something about his presence made me feel at eAse. It’s sort of funny how I felt at ease then, and would later see the truth.

Wading through the crowds of people as the feature band took the stage, several people caught my eye. The man from the bathroom was standing against a wall towards the bacK, he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the band. Instead he was scanning the crowd. I thought at the time he might be club security. There was a group of burn-outs, much like myself, in the middle snorting something, I’ll admit I was tempted to join them. Aside from them it was a normal concert crowd, except for the girl. She was definitely eye catching. She couldn’t have been more than 115 pounds. Her hair was black with streaks of green, slightly pale skin, and full, bright red lips. Her eyes were devious and mysterious. Needless to say she had a flock of followers.

After several songs, I noticed the man on the wall had moved. I searched the room to find him, I was not surprised to see him next to the stunning woman. For a moment I watched as they moved with each other. His hands around her waste and her ass grinding into him. I shook my head and closed my eyes, knowing I never had a shot. Just as I did the music changed, well not the music itself, but the lyrics. They weren’t what they were supposed to be. The crowd was singing along, they got the lyric correct, but the speakers blared out “BLOOD SUCKER.” My eyes shot to the stage and to the lead singer, who didn’t seem to notice his error. I could read his lips as the song continued, he was not saying blood sucker, but the speakers still shoutEd those words. My heart began to race and I looked back to the man and woman grinding near the back. He caught my eye, and winked and smiled. The smile had fangs, and bit into her shoulder. I was frozen in fear for a moment, my mouth agape. Finally, I ran towards the pair. Seeing this deviant, this vampire. The words sounded false in my head, but at the same time undeniably true. Her head leaned back, her eyes were shut, one hand was at her breasts, she was in pain…or so I thought. The predator’s hands had free reign over her paralyzed form, caressing and groping, all while he drank from her.

Looking around and seeing no other option, I tackled the fiend, ripping him away from the girl. She screamed and cursed and stumbled to the floor. My hand seemed to glow as I punched the prone monster beneath me. I could feel his flesh burning with every blow. His eyes grew wide and he hissed, I was filled with dread. And fell off of him. He kicked me we both stood and ran to the door faster than anyone I’d every seen. Faster than any human ever could. Panting, I tried to catch my breath, and turned to look for his victim. She was still on the ground, I could see the maRk on her shoulder and the slightest trickle of her blood. I offered her a hand, knowing I was the hero. As I did so, her eyes were filled with rage. She spewed a line of obscenity at me and cursed me for stopping him. I stood, dumbstruck, as she began to smack me, repeatedly. She yelled and called to the crowd that she was being attacked. They responded, I don’t know how many, it could have been o1ne or four or ei8ght, but they joined in her violent outburst. Before I could react I was on the floor, with boots in my side and against my head. I saved her from that thing, and she made me a martyr…

(Thanks for reading this little slice of fiction. I intend to continue the story in later issues of the newsletter. I hope you enjoyed it, and would love to hear your comments and criticisms.)

By Jess Phillips