There Will Be Blood

Note: This piece was originally intended to be heard, not read. It was written as a radio play for Scream Theater, an annual Halloween show I have worked on for many years. Enjoy!

The forecast calls for rain this evening, but the forecast is wrong. Tonight there will be no rain. Tonight . . there will be blood.

The time has come again. I feel it in the very marrow of my bones. It returns infrequently, staying briefly, but it always comes back. And when it does, I take to the streets, searching for another subject.

I examine my tools closely. They are immaculate, but need a bit of maintenance. An artist is only as good as the tools of his trade, and make no mistake, I am an artist. I’m not prolific by any means, but the nature of my art requires forethought, planning, restraint. I do not begin a canvas without seeing the finished work clearly in my head. But tonight I am ready. Tonight . . there will be blood.

There are safer ways to do this, I suppose, but I’ve always been a tactile person. It’s important to my work to feel, to touch. I revel in the resistance of the flesh as the tip of the knife presses against it. There is exhilaration when the pressure wins out and the blade sinks into the rubbery organs within. I understand the nature of the addict in those moments, and I know how easily one could find themselves a prisoner of such a sensation. But I am cautious. I only occasionally allow myself to experience the intoxicating, coppery scent of the blood as it spills before me. And tonight . . tonight there will be blood.

Some view my work as ugly, monstrous. That is the very point. I reveal the ugliness of the soul. I shine a spotlight on the brutality within us all. But I don’t expect others to understand. No true artist is appreciated in his own time. Accolades are unimportant. They will come years after I am gone. Tonight is all that matters, and tonight there will be blood.

As I walk, I scan the faces of the passersby. Finding a subject is the most important element of the work. I work only at night, late night, and the hours I am forced to keep limit what I have to work with. And then, I see her, and inspiration strikes.

Her skin is pale, almost alabaster in the moonlight. In an instant, I can see the dazzling contrast of her china doll-like flesh against my crimson masterpiece. Sometimes fortune smiles upon us. Tonight, the universe provides. Tonight, there will be blood.

She is alone and unsuspecting. She does not glance back as my footsteps announce my progress. I am almost upon her now, and still she takes no notice of her approaching destiny. I know her type. She trusts that someone is watching over her, protecting her. But she will learn differently, and I shudder with delight as I think of that final look of realization forever frozen on her face. I reach out and our session begins.

She is tiny but spirited. She fights wildly, and I move quickly. I want to end the struggle before the blood flow increases and ruins the pigment of her flesh. I pull her body close to me and bring the cold steel of the blade against her throat. It will be a most insistent lover, and its kiss will be eternal. Tonight there will be romance. Tonight there will be blood.

The knife does it job, and a second mouth opens in the flesh of her throat even as her screams fade. I turn her quickly, tearing the clothes from her torso as I plunge the knife into her belly. I pull upwards, anticipating the spill of the organs as they tumble from her body and I long for the rush of warmth as they lay pulsing, steaming in the chill of the evening.

But something is wrong. There is no carnage. The organs remain in place, and there is no crimson fountain spattering on the cobblestones. I look up in confusion and see the open smiling wound in her throat close itself, as though a set of lips pursed themselves in angry reproach.

I stare into her face and there is no look of horror, no mask of realization. Her eyes are bright and focused on me. And as her mouth opens in a predatory grin, I see the gleam of her fangs in the moonlight. I drop the knife in shock and she grabs me. Saliva drips from her monstrous canines as her mouth fixes itself upon my throat. And as the world grows dark for me, I realize I have been right all along. Tonight . . there will be blood.