The Red Eyed Bull

Fisher Morgan had been called to his old family friends Martha and Eugene Jackson, for what he had thought would be more of a social visit. He hadn’t arrived thinking he would use the old talents Fisher had once thought would be the talent he would die before giving up. Only to realize these talents would be the very thing that would slowly begin to take his sanity, then finally walking away from the trade before it could take away is mortal soul.

If Martha and Eugene Jackson had told him their wild tale over the phone, Fisher wouldn’t have called them crazy, but he would have used every possible excuse to avoid confronting their problem.

He sat in their humble living room with a cup of tea in his hands. Fisher had to use great force to keep his hands from shaking.

How does this keep following me? Fisher wondered. When will I ever be free of this?

Martha leaned forward in the arm chair next to Fisher, her eyes tired and filled with desperation. It was seeing this expression (one that could only be brought on by immense fear) that Fisher began to rethink his own fears, even if he knew he would be a fool to do so.

“We can’t take much more of this, Fisher.” Martha pleaded. “They keep us up at night. Screaming and howling all through the night until dawn approaches. Worse…we’re afraid of them deciding to come into the house, to come after us, after the babies. Please, please will you help us? Just help us.”

The babies, his baby brother and sister; three and a half year old twins Rose and Vander; the acknowledgment of their place in all of this quickly changed everything about this problem for Fisher.

He looked from Martha to Eugene, who by now was well into his third whiskey with his eyes cast down upon the floor, eager to be away from this topic of conversation now that topic was out in the open.

Fisher sighed, then turned back to face Martha.

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”

The air outside was cold enough to make Fisher’s skin break out into hard goosebumps, even though his heavy winter clothing. The wind also picked up and blew through his thick black hair, causing it to fall into his face. His steel toed boots crunched over the dry leaves on the ground. The fear in his heart had moved up into his throat, making it difficult to breathe. But Fisher continued to move toward the source of the trouble, no matter how much he wanted to turn around and never come back. Fisher had to do whatever he could to make sure the twins were safe. He had done so much to ensure their safety after his mother died, leaving them with no one to care for them other than Martha and Eugene. Fisher had done everything possible to shield them from his line of work. What Fisher was doing now, wouldn’t be any different. Martha and Eugene had become Rose and Vander’s surrogate parents, but that didn’t mean Fisher’s job as their older brother had ended. As far as he was concerned, it would never be finished.

The weight of his bag steadied him, made him feel secure as he approached the feed lots where the bulls were kept. Fisher’s heart was now in his ears. However, unlike the last time he was in this kind of predicament, Fisher wouldn’t let it stop him from what he needed to do.

In the feed lot, Fisher could see three large bulls standing around, eating, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

They’re all use to it by now, Fisher thought.

He walked closer, slow and careful not to make too much noise, and to be ready for anything. The closer he got, the more he could see, which only added to his growing state of unease.

The splayed carcass of a bull lie steaming in the cold air at the far end of the feed lot, ripped apart with bare hands and teeth. Very recently, Fisher could see from the fresh warmth of the blood and organs scattered around the bull.

Fisher looked closer at the bull, its eyes covered with streams of blood only just beginning to congeal. The fear was still in the bull’s red eyes. Death hadn’t come easy for him, that much was expected with what Fisher would be dealing with tonight. These things never made death easy for anything they came across.

A guttural screech rang out into the night, making Fisher stiffen and look toward the sounds further down the feed lot. Following these initial screeches came a sound much deeper, one filled with pain, the sound of another bull being slaughtered.

Fisher could smell the fresh blood just as it hit the air. He stood up and walked towards the sounds, which now consisted of the shrieks of these monsters, the wet ripping sounds of flesh, and the final cries of the bull.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes for Fisher to find the next victim and its attackers.

There were five of them, all hovering over the freshly slaughtered bull. Their clothes, the long hair of the two women, the hands of each of them were drenched in black fresh blood. Their pointed fangs, even being drenched in the thick dark blood could be seen at Fisher’s distance. The points of their fangs reflecting flashes of the moonlight, cementing what Fisher already knew he was dealing with, and making him certain of what he needed to do next.

Fisher opened his bag; a wooden stake, a necklace of garlic, and his mother’s crucifix.

Even if Fisher considered himself retired from the hunt, he always made sure he had his bag with him and that it was fully equipped with everything he would need, just in case.

Both the crucifix and the necklace of garlic around his neck, his hammer and wooden stake in his hands, Fisher held his head up and took a deep breath.

“HEY!!” Fisher yelled.

All five heads turned, like a pack of startled coyotes.

The clouds shifted, bringing out more moonlight to illuminate every detail about the vampires standing in front of them as if they stood under stage lights.

Three of the five faces Fisher recognized.

The man and one of the two women in this trio looked like the youngest of the three, when really they were over five hundred years old.

Simon, tall with white blond hair that was now spotted with specks of blood was from Romania. He got his preferred meals from hookers who walked the streets at night, desperate enough for their own survival they would gladly get in the car with a man who looked both too polished, yet completely rabid all at once.

Elisa, originally from the UK, came to the US sometime in the 18th Century. Her preferred feeding method being the seduction of men who were believed to be rapists on college campuses who hadn’t been caught, saving and mixing their blood with bottles of expensive red wines.

Or so this is the information Fisher had been given over the years about these two by different whistle blowers while hunting them down.

The third Fisher recognized was older, but younger than the others in her time spent turned. This woman was his mother, Jackie; turned only three years before by a vampire Fisher had never seen again; all because he hadn’t been able to save her. If he had saved her, the twins who were only six months would have been killed.

Jackie looked at Fisher with the slightest look of recognition, but more in the one might recognize a good meal being offered to them. She was feral at this point. She was too young in her change to be anything other than a glorified coyote. His mother stepped towards him, despite a hissing screech from Elissa, warning Jackie to back up. Though mostly feral when feeding, Elisa was seasoned; less unhinged and knew when to back off. Jackie had little if any self-control. Elisa’s warning had done little to stop Jackie’s approach towards her son. She kept moving, looking at him, walking forward, and licking her lips and fangs as she did so.

Hands shaking, Fisher held up the stake, Jackie not even bothered by the sight of it.

Oh Dear God, why does it all have to end this way? Fisher thought as he approached Jackie.

She grimaced at the garlic and crucifix, but the blood lust in her eyes remained. Not all too different from the red eyed bull Fisher had seen on his way in.

Fisher mumbled the Lord’s Prayer under his breath, crying as he did so, then ran and tackled his mother.

Jackie screamed, screams which echoed into the night. She tried to scratch him, bite him, cringed away from the garlic and crucifix, but Fisher fought her hard enough to be able to place the stake just above her heart, and then with all his strength bring the hammer down.

The shrieks that rang out couldn’t be clearly distinguished between Jackie and Fisher. It all blended together in a chorus of pain and grief.

Standing over his mother’s body, Fisher looked over at the four remaining vampire, his hair wet with the blood and sweat, hanging in his face.

“Get out.” Fisher demanded through clenched teeth.

The remaining vampires looked to each other, then scattered, realizing who was in charge here now.

A shower, some rest, but no interest in food whatsoever, Fisher felt ready to be off again, unlikely to return ever again.

Before he left at damn, Fisher stopped at the doorway of Rose and Vander’s bedroom. They had been asleep this whole time, Martha had told Fisher after he returned to the house. Fisher wasn’t surprised. The sounds of these things were among the first sound the twins had ever heard. Three and a half years old and they had already experienced so much. Fisher could only hope that with putting the stake into their mother’s heart that Rose and Vander would finally be left alone.

Though this was his hope, Fisher wasn’t optimistic.

Fisher walked out of the house and into the morning mist. The air was still thick with the smell of blood from the red eyed bull.

The End