Haunted

Three

For thirteen years, he came to me. Every November 1st, he would be there without fail. Rain or shine. War or peace. No matter where I was, no matter what I had going on that day, he would show up and I was bound by a promise to drop everything and go with him. The first year was awkward. Things hadn't changed much. I was still at the same apartment, still going out with Neal and still working as an X-ray tech for the local hospital. Things were so normal that I almost didn't expect him to even show up. I mean, really, I had two conversations with the guy...how much of an impression could I leave for him to come back?

I shouldn't have underestimated him.

He showed up at my door at exactly midnight on November 1st. I was ready to go to sleep but all of a sudden, there he was. We talked for a while but I couldn't keep the tiredness at bay. I fell asleep on the couch but when I woke up, I was in my bed with him lying next to me, lazily playing with a strand of my hair. It was all downhill from there. He forced me to take a sick day at work, since it was a Tuesday, but afterwards couldn't think of anything to do. We ended up talking some more, watching two movies and going out to dinner. Life was going well for him. There had been more instability in the Middle East, more suicide bombers, more deaths. He said he avoided the bodies of American soldiers. They were usually collected by the US military and brought back home to the families. The locals, however, were left out in the desert to rot. And that was when he would swoop in, drink one body, collect the blood of another body in a jug to save for later. He told me that he hated drinking from the dead at first. The blood was cold and tasted old. Like food that had been left out for too long. But then he got used to it.

"Besides," he had said, grinning from ear to ear, "a little loss of flavor is a small price to pay for what I get in return."

I never figured out if he meant getting a clear conscience...or getting me.

The night of his first visit after our deal, he grew restless and angry. It was clear that the day had passed by too quickly for him. Which was more than what I could say for myself. A day had never seemed longer. But if he noticed my discomfort, he made no mention of it. After dinner, he announced that he wanted to go clubbing. At his suggestion, I immediately wrinkled my nose and firmly declined. But it was his day and "no" was never the right answer. So I got dressed and we went. It felt claustrophobic, being in a crowded room with people all swaying this way and that. It was very crowded that night for some reason. I think it was something to do with there being a semi-famous DJ. I could hardly move, yet alone dance. The music was too loud and the air smelled like sweat and cologne. I feared that eventually, someone was going to push me over. But then I felt his arms snake around my body as he stood behind me. I tensed at first. It felt so wrong to be held by someone other than Neal. But what could I do? I let him steer me however which way he wanted. I didn't care if we were in rhythm or not. I don't think he cared either.

Around midnight, he dropped me off at my apartment in his rented car. It felt weird to see him drive a Ford Fusion. It seemed to normal and our situation was anything but. As I was about to get out of the car, he grabbed my left hand and, his eyes never leaving mine, pressed his lips to my skin. I gave him a stony look, a look that he laughed away. Winking at me, he put the car into drive and sped away just as my phone buzzed with a worried text from Neal. My throat was dry and my skin crawled with unease.

The next several years were no better. He continued his flirtations, continued using every excuse to be close to me. Dancing, teaching me to shoot a bow and arrow, pressing himself next to me on the couch as we watched a movie, holding my hand during nighttime walks by the lake, anything and everything he could think of. I felt like a whore. It felt like I was selling my soul, my body, my time—all things that belonged to Neal—to a strange man I couldn't even call a friend. All the while, I reminded myself that it was for a good cause, that I was keeping him from killing needlessly, but who was I kidding? I didn't even have proof that he was keeping up his end of our bargain.