Hallowe'en: The Drunken Severed Head Tells A Creepy Tale!

Hello, creeps! Here's a scary story the DSH wrote in high school, then dusted off in 2004 and expanded it. I hope it you have fun reading it!

The Monster

Stephen was ready to place the blood on Dracula's lips. The moment of final transformation was at hand. Literally. In Stephen's hand was the bright red liquid that waited to be daubed on the vampire's mouth. After so many long hours the anticipation would be over. Over! And the king of the unliving would take his rightful place among--

"Whatcha doin', Stevie?" Stephen was so startled by his baby sister he almost dropped his brush. He had been so absorbed in painting his monster model that he had not heard her come up behind him. What was she doing in HIS room, anyway?

"None of your business, Carly! Get out of here, brat!" Dracula was almost finished and ready to be on the shelf with the rest of the Aurora monsters, completing the whole set of plastic horrors, and NOW she wanted attention? In his entire ten years he had never known a more annoying little girl.

"You're bein' mean. Mom told you to be nice so she can conc'trate on her work. She doesn't want 'any problems'." He remembered the warning. Their mother was a very strict disciplinarian. She insisted she had to be. To care for her two children and also work at home was very difficult, especially now their father was gone. She had to see to it that a domestic peace was enforced at ALL times.

"If you would just get outta my room, Carly, then there wouldn't be a problem." Stephen turned his back on her, picked up a CASTLE OF FRANKENSTEIN magazine, and began to read, hoping he could bore his sister out of his room.

But Carly was not to be deterred. She enjoyed bedeviling her brother so very much, ever since he had popped off the head of her Midge doll, drew stitches on it, then glued it to the shoulder of her Barbie.

"OKAY, I'm goin'...," she lied. Closing the door to make her brother think she had left, Carly crouched behind the end of Stephen's bed. After a few minutes--an eternity to Carly--her brother returned to painting Dracula's fiendish face. This was her chance! Springing forward, she pushed Stephen's arm, causing him to smear a blob of red paint on the model's head, making Dracula resemble Ronald McDonald. Laughing, Carly ran out of the room as fast her little legs would take her.

After three exclamations of some parentally-forbidden "bad words", Stephen sighed. It took a lot of willpower to keep from going and grabbing his sister and smacking her BUT GOOD! Instead, he grabbed a rag, and cleaned the vampire's visage. He finished the paint job, then, with a slight smile, gazed at the model for several moments. "Now to get that OTHER monster," he thought.

Stephen picked up his copy of Dick Smith's "The Monster Makeup Handbook" and proceeded to make himself into the ghoul he knew would terrify his sister. Bad skin texture, fake eyes made from cardboard and colored-pen ink, and the plastic fangs that he'd bought at the 5 and 10. Putting on an old windbreaker, he snuck through the house. Wearing his Keds on the deep,
Frankenstein-green shag carpeting meant he could be as silent as the family cat who padded back and forth in boredom through the house. His mother was in the basement, doing her work. Nothing would save Carly from the scare he was going to deliver!

Carly's door was open. There she was, heedless of the goblin behind her, playing with her dolls. She had forgotten all about what she had done to Stephen's model. Perfect. She was off her guard. Stephen took one long, thumping step, leaning down, while letting out a deep growl. Carly jumped with a loud yell, then screamed when she saw the alien intruder. She tried to escape to her closet, but the creature blocked her. She tried to run out her bedroom door, but the arm-waving, growling monster kept getting in the way. At last, after several attempts, she was able to get past and run to the protection of her mother.

Stephen sat down with a soft plop! on the thick carpeting. Under the creature features he wore the expression of a prisoner awaiting sentence. "Why does she always have to tattle-tale?" he asked no one in particular. In his mind he replayed the sight of his sister running, trying to escape, pure and agonizing fright on her face. It made him tingle to remember it.
Suddenly, this was replaced with the real, less welcome sight of his angry mother. His teary-eyed sister stood by her side.

"Damn it, what is wrong with you two? Are you my children or changelings a witch left me? Carly Jean and Stephen Mark Varga--my two very own demons! Don't you know that I can't work with you two fighting!? You know how important what I'm doing is! I've explained it over and over! I home-school you and give you everything you need or want to be happy, and STILL you make this kind of trouble for me?" She glared at them with a basilisk stare. I don't think so! Remember what I said? You HAD your last warning! I'm putting a stop to this nonsense RIGHT NOW!" Reaching behind her, their mother closed Carly's bedroom door with an awful seriousness.

"NO!! NO!! MOM, NO!! PLEASE!!" both children pleaded. But their cries were ignored as the punishments began. High-pitched screams rang through the house. It didn't matter. The house was on a hill, and no neighbor would hear and investigate. Soon the house would be quiet and still, just as Dr. Varga required.

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Dr. Varga wiped off the last traces of blood from her face and neck. The warm washcloth felt good on her clammy skin. She felt her fangs slowly retract into her skull until they appeared to be normal human canine teeth. Well, the blood loss will keep Carly Jean unconscious for awhile, she reminded herself. She had been careful not to take too much blood from her daughter. If Carly had died--well, there was a chance that she would end up with the same addiction as her mother. An addiction Dr. Varga had gotten from the children's father, the aristocratic Hungarian who had so charmed and mesmerized her in medical school. The irresponsible bastard. The memory of staking him last year after she found him in bed with the baby-sitter came to her mind. The son of a bitch!...Running around on me after giving me HIS damn habit. She leaned closer to her microscope. "But I'm SO close to finding a cure," she muttered.

For her two children to take away time from her work, well, it justified the strong punishment she'd had to administer. Carly Jean, at six, was a little too young to know better. But Stephen! He was old enough to begin to develop some self-discipline! She sighed, and sat up. Though she wouldn't admit it, she felt guilty for using her strength to twist his head off. But no matter; she had the lab equipment to fix things--AFTER she had gotten the chemical analysis she was working on done.

She caressed the matted hair of her son's head, laying there in its tray. "I gave you life, son--I can take it away and give it back as I see fit, until you're eighteen." Maybe, someday, she could find a way to alter personalities to make them mature and responsible. Then the children would no longer misbehave, AND they could have their father back. But that was work to begin another day.

THE END

copyright 2004 Max Cheney