"Thirst"

Stephen's feet dragged through the scorching sand as he staggered along the side of the road. His body was a lather of sweat. The sun beat down upon him. He was weak with thirst, but resisted the temptation to drink the heated contents of his water bottle. He didn't know how long it would bebefore he came across any sign of civilization. He realized with dismay that he was lost. His foot slid out beneath him as he stepped on a sign half-buried in the sand. He fell backwards and landed on his bum. 

'Shit!' The sand burned his back through his shirt and he winced at its touch. He looked across at the smooth metal of the sign that had caused his fall. His anger was dismissed with the realization that it was an advertisement for a roadside coffee shop that had succumbed to the elements. He looked around and made out a house on an overlooking hill.

'Great.' He smiled through cracked lips. 'I hope someone's home - I'mdying of thirst.' He quickly made his way towards the distant building. Stephen approached the house. The paint on the building was almost non-existent. The gray wood of the walls and verandah lay at the mercy of the sun. Heat shimmered from the tin roof. A dilapidated doghouse stood against the side of the house and a mangy, old cattle dog waddled out to greet him. 

He grinned at the fat dog. Its presence was an indication that the house was occupied. The yard was a wasteland of dirt and rubbish. Old tires, rusting cars and a litter of junk surrounded him as he made his way towards the red-painted door of the house. He quickened his pace, eager to get a drink, his hope flaming at the thought of moisture. He almost ran up the stairs and embraced the feeble shade offered by the collapsing roof. He wondered how much money he had in his wallet. He decided that he would call a taxi as soon as he had quenched his searing thirst. 

He knocked loudly at the door. 'Come on, come on - someone be home.' The house was silent. He looked at the windows, searching for any sign of life. Thick, stained curtains hid the inside of the house from view. The dog sniffed his leg and licked his sunburnt-skin with a hot tongue. He stepped away, repulsed and knocked on the door again. 

His heart leapt as he noticed the handle of the door turning. He could not hear anyone inside. It was as if the door was opening of its own accord. The door creaked and swung open. A stale stench of decay escaped out of the open doorway, rising from the bowels of the residence. Stephen looked into the blackness of the house's interior, his thirst screaming. A shadowy silhouette stepped out from behind the door. 

'What da ya want?' A haggard face poked itself into the shadows of the verandah, and a small, twisted man with a leathery, unshaven face regarded Stephen with watery eyes. Stephen noticed the fellow's back was hunched. 

He blinked with shock as he thought he saw the man's misshapen spine move of its own accord beneath the man's jacket, like a serpent under his clothes. The old man's clothing seemed out of place, given the house and the heat of the day. He was dressed like a butler in a faded black suit and white shirt. 

'What da ya want?' The man repeated with a snort. Stephen noticed that one of his eyes was white and blind. 

'Sorry. I'm Stephen, and I'm lost. I was wondering if I could possibly have a drink...' 

His sentence was cut short. An ear-pricing scream erupted from the shadowy-depths of the house. The old man looked over his shoulder with annoyance, and swore softly. Stephen, startled and alarmed by the urgency of the cry, pushed past the old man and thrust his way into the musty depths of the house. The screaming continued. Stephen became frantic and rushed towards it. The old man called after him, abusing him for his intrusion. 

Stephen rushed through the house. The building was dark and uncomfortably hot. The windows were shut and the place stank of old sweat, and decay. He felt revolted, and realized suddenly that he was trespassing. The cry of desperate human pain drew him uncontrollably towards the back of the house. He entered the kitchen. A naked woman lay on her back, strapped by her wrists to the kitchen table. Stephen looked on with horror, staring at the dark forbidden regions of the woman exposed before him. Blood flowed freely from her and dripped upon on the floor. A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, pushing him violently against the wall. 

'What the fuck da ya t'ink ya doing?' The old man glared up at Stephen with one furious eye. The woman on the table cried out in pain. Stephen broke free from the old man's grip and backed into the kitchen. 

'What's happening?' The old man bunched his fists. 

'Edgar don't.' The woman yelled desperately. 'The baby! The baby's coming - Help me!' 

'Git out of 'ere boy. If'n ya don't, you'll regret it,' Edgar snarled. 

'What's happening?' Stephen was stunned by the scene before him. The woman did not seem to be much older than he was, and she was clearly giving birth. That she should be strapped to the table seemed unnatural - Stephen was instantly suspicious. The woman looked at Stephen with tearful eyes. 

Edgar roughly took her hand. 'Shut it Amy. Push it out girl! Push it out!' 

The woman's face tightened with pain and she whimpered. Blood spurted out from between her legs. Stephen became frantic: 'For God's sake - get an ambulance! Where's the phone?' 

'Der's no phone boy - no amb'lance. Amy want it dis way.' 

The woman's sobbing continued unabated. 

'Where's the car. You have to have a car. For pity's sake man - she's dying!' 

Edgar looked over his shoulder and stared at Stephen with his unblinking eye. He smiled, a wicked grin, full of malice and hate. Blackened stumps of teeth glistened past his scabious lips. 'No car 'eder boy! We be alone.' 

Stephen ran from the house. He desperately circled the building, searching for something, anything that might provide a means of escape. Amy's cries followed him as he ran. He could find no car. The house was surrounded by junk and rusted-out vehicles. There wasn't even a bicycle with which he could flee. Stephen suddenly felt afraid. He feared for himself and for the girl inside. The dog sat on the porch and chewed greedily on its anus, unconcerned as to the visitor's plight. Stephen began to run down the dirt road, away from the house. 

Amy's screams reached out to him and halted him in his tracks. He stood there, panting, and looked back towards the cries. The screaming increased in intensity. 'I can't leave her.' He staggered back towards the porch. 

Stephen groped his way along the shadowy hallway. He burst into the kitchen. Edgar stood across the room, his back to the door. As Stephen watched, Edgar viciously struck the prone girl across the face - blood spurted from her nose as his fist connected. The girl wept and blubbered at the blow. A glistening black head poked out from between Amy's open legs and looked at Stephen like a bloody, open wound. Edgar struck Amy a second time. 

'You bastard!' Stephen rushed across the room and punched Edgar in the back of the head. The twisted, little man stumbled at the blow and fell sideways, striking his head against the kitchen bench as he fell. 

Stephen rushed to Amy's side. The girl looked up at her rescuer with bloody eyes. Stephen fumbled with the straps that secured her to the table. Edgar lay immobile at his feet. 

'I'll have you out of here in a minute.' 

Amy's voice was a whisper: 'You shouldn't have done that. He was only trying to help.' 

Stephen was unable to believe his ears. 'What? Help? You're mad. He's sick - a sick fuck! I'm getting you out of here.' He released the strap and reached across the table for Amy's other hand. Amy cried out beneath him: 'It's coming. Edgar stop it - don't let it come!' Her voice contorted into an ear-piercing shriek that tore through Stephen's skull. 'It's comin!' My God - it's coming!' 

Stephen released the second buckle. Amy continued to scream and sat up upon the table. Her hands reached down and lifted a bloody bundle from between her legs. She lifted a baby high above her head, its umbilical chord trailing behind. 

Stephen didn't know what to do. He had never seen a birth, let alone been present at one. Stephen looked at Edgar on the floor. He was so still. Blood ran from a savage wound in the old man's temple. 'I've murdered him! Shit, I think he's dead.' 

Amy chuckled. Stephen was confused and disturbed at the sound. He looked at the baby; its skin was a jet-black colour, the colour of the sky on a moonless night; its body was coated with a slimy skin of gore. The baby was still and did not move. Stephen feared that it was dead. 

'We have to get you help.' Stephen took Amy by the arm and tried to help her with the baby. 'The baby's not moving.' 

Amy smiled weakly. 'Its fine. It only needs to feed - its alright' 

'Its not alright.' Stephen was afraid. He had been unable to save the child from its unnatural and perverse birth, and he was sure it had died as a result. 

'You killed Edgar.' Amy turned on the table, the baby grasped firmly in one arm. Stephen tried to stop her from sitting fully up. Amy grabbed him around the neck with her free arm. 'Help me.' 

She slid from the table; the lifeless baby pressed against her chest. Stephen tried to support her. He was desperate not to crush the child. Amy pulled towards him and hissed. 'The baby needs to feed.' She laughed, and Stephen screamed as Amy opened her mouth, revealing a cluster of savage, filed teeth. The girl pulled his head downwards, lifting her naked body upon him; her lips caressed his neck; her teeth ripped into his flesh. 

Stephen struggled and stumbled backwards - he couldn't break free! The girl was too powerful, and held him securely in an iron embrace. Blood shot out from a torn artery in his neck and sprayed across the room. Stephen crumbled upon the floor; his strength fading as his heart pumped his heated blood out upon the floor. 

Amy's clawed fingers pinned Stephen by the neck onto the floor. Stephen couldn't move and lay there like a trapped animal. He mouthed a pitiful cry for help, yet, he couldn't speak, all he could do was bleed. He looked at Edgar's dead body by his side and wept. 

Amy took the black child from her bosom and pressed it against Stephen's bloody neck - blood spouted across the child's forehead. The baby's eyes opened at the blood's warm heat. Stephen gasped with terror as the child looked down upon him with crimson orbs. Amy pressed the baby against his throat and the child began to drink. 'Like I said, it just needs to feed.' 

Amy grinned - a savage expression. 'The poor things dying of thirst.'

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