Bogleech.com's 2015 Horror Write-off:
Born in Blood
Submitted by Jackson Hinkle
I've always liked blood. I guess that's a lie; I've liked blood from a young age. A lot of shrinks would say that's why I like blood so much now, but I think that my love was always in me. It just so happened that I met my true love at a young age, and we haven't grown apart. It's rather hard to get away from something that's in you, after all.
I think my first experience with blood was when I was six. I was in my dad's workshop. It was a renovated basement, and my father was always working on some carpentry project or another. I wasn't careful while I was playing, and I cut myself on a saw. A single dot of blood appeared on my finger, like a bright red cherry in the flourescent lights of the basement. I felt the pain moments later, and nearly cried. But still, the blood was so bright and pure in that moment.
Anyways, work was fine today. More loads of samples to test, more bunches of diseases to diagnose. Paperwork was relatively light, so that was nice. I thought I'd love my job, but apparently you shouldn't mix work and passion. Maybe I should get out of the hematology department. Don't expect me to keep this regularly.
God, work is annoying sometimes. Fix this, print that, 'Will, can you run out for coffee?', don't forget to buy the ink for the system that's gone fully digital! I just want to work with blood, damn it! Leave the paperwork to a secretary! Still, it isn't as bad as it could be. Working summer jobs in college and highschool is even more of a bore than this.
I remember when my father forced me to get my first job. He said that I was getting too obsessed with animals and the wild, and that I needed to learn some responsibility.
I think we both know what was happening in those woods, and it frightened him. The way I went in happy, and left in a rush with different clothes on. I remember it like it was yesterday; I'd go out into the woods, and grab some animal. It was usually a squirrel or possum, but if I was lucky and quiet, I'd manage to get a deer. I used to use my father's rifle, but it wasn't good enough. I got a knife, snuck up carefully, and stabbed them to death.
I'd revel in that blood. Dance in it. Practically bathe in it. Then, when the high went away, I'd take care to bury to carcasses. Then I'd put on a new set of clothes, and return to life as normal. Normal teenagers don't need to do that. It seems horrible now, but now I know better.
The temptation's still there, but I control myself. Besides, I only indulged on weekends, like all teenagers and their sweethearts.
More bloodwork today. Two with HIV, three with HepC. It's too bad that I have to deal with so much bad blood. So tempting, but getting a disease won't help me much. I could forge some documents and steal some blood, but that would inevitably lead to some issues when the administration catches up with me. Unlike my other doctoral colleagues, I've fully accepted digital records and the internet. Some people are so stubborn when it comes to their habits. Making a change is hard, sure, but when it's for the better it can make life so much easier! In the meantime, I've been sating my hunger in other ways. Snuff does wonders, and is so much easier to find than it was when I was a bit younger.
Snuff doesn't work anymore. Four years of it, and it doesn't work anymore. Fuck.
I've found a new way to sate myself. I know that, as a doctor, I am morally obligated to use the best possible methods when working on somebody. That's why I chuckled when I began to let my blood. It seems so preposterous to us that somehow, taking somebody's blood would save them from disease. Yet the doctors back then were doing the thing they thought was best for the patient and themselves. I'm doing the same thing, the best thing for myself. I put my blood into some bottles so that I could save it for later.
The sight of blood is so exciting when I finally get to work with it. Almost makes all the paperwork worth it. I've noticed that my pupils have been dilating since I've started letting blood. It's probably nothing. Now I have a kind of ritual after work. I'll set my coffee, then I'll start up the shower and wait for it to get hot. When the shower reaches the right temperature, I carefully strip down, and pick up a bottle of blood. I then, I bathe in it. I let the blood mix with the water, diluting it into this bright pink. I give myself a baptism in blood, pouring it over my head and body. It's about then that I climax. Then I clean myself off with a towel and go back out to get my coffee, which has boiled by then.
Mostly paperwork this week. Boring, boring, boring. Barely any blood work at all, just more paperwork and lab results. Supply of blood running low. Still able to keep up the daily ritual. No sign of any problems with plumbing yet, so that's good. Septic tank shows minimal signs of my activities beyond the normal.
fuCK. i leet to mch out. i think i'll be fine th o gh don't want to taake rks again ned new way
FUCK FUK fuck lost somuch blood i'm swearing into a n inanmiete bjetct on upside, filled fridge with bottles shud last for two months yay me no work today need too sleep and bandage
One isn't working anymore. I've started to need to get two bottles to get off. This is a disturbing revelation to me. The supply will only last me through the month at this rate. In other news, my pupils have seemingly dilated even further, probably as a result of the accident. It also seems like my veins and my blood vessels are more prominent, but that might just be me being paranoid about the whole thing. Work continues to go as normal. A bit more blood work in the past couple of days, which is always good. I've also sent in a request for a secretary to do my paperwork for me so that I can just sign off on the required things.
About halfway through the supply. I don't think I can even see my iris anymore.
I stole some blood from the office that didn't test positive for anything nasty. I bathed in it that night. Some of it fell into my mouth. A lot of it did. It tasted like iron and rust and salt. It tasted excellent. I feel like I'm gaining weight. My stomach is protruding outwards like a cannonball. My veins almost look darker. A light purple as opposed to blue.
Felt sick today. Woke up vomiting. Didn't go to work. Bathed in blood. Felt better. Blood tastes good. Entry 13 I've been sick over the past couple of weeks. The only way I feel better is more blood. Problem. I've run out of blood. I've also been laid off of work because I keep not showing up. That's the biggest supply in the state cut off from me. I need a solution, and fast.
I killed a man today. He was a prostitute. I picked him up off the seedier side of town, gave him a hundred bucks and a ride to my house. He wasn't very talkative. Quiet type, takes the money and does his job. Once we got to my house, I invited him in. I don't think he was the smart type either considering that he trusted me. Then I grabbed an old pipe that I had taken from my shed. I saw the fear in his eyes. I beat him over the head with it. His skull crumpled inwards like a tin-can. Blood poured out. I tried to avoid staring at it too long, for fear of being tempted. I still had work to do. I dragged him to the shed, and began the process which I had devised. First, I grabbed his feet and strung him up by a rope that I had put into the ceiling.
I took a knife, and opened up the femoral artery. I drained his blood into bottles, one by one, until he was completely exsanguinated. They filled up the plastic in a deep red color. Then, I went about the process of hiding the body. I cut his body apart at the joints; that was no easy task, considering how hard sinews and bone can be. However, I managed to slice through in the end. I dug a rough tomb beneath my basement before hand, in preparation for the main event. I threw the pale limbs in there and covered them with dirt. I've started drinking the blood instead of bathing in it. It still gives me the high, and it's a lot more efficient. My veins have darkened even further. They now run with a deep color, almost like my blood is congealing in my veins. My stomach feels weighty and distended, like a cannonball pregnancy.
My arteries are empty when I do not drink. It feels like I am sluggish. Like I'm coming off a hangover. My eyes are completely black now. My arteries and veins look the same. They protrude and bulge at my skin like streaks of graphite pencil. When I drink blood, they squirm and move with new life like worms in a carcass. I keep on twitching. I don't know why. It seems like my muscles are going crazy. I need to keep drinking to make them stop.
Shit. I drank, and kept on drinking. I couldn't help myself. I drank through the whole supply, My veins look like tattoos now, extending deep into my skin. I don't know why. I need another one.
I found another mark. He was a prostitute too. This time from a different, slightly higher class part of town. He wasn't as easy as the other, but I managed to convince him to come back to my house. This one saw my coming though. He pulled a knife on me. He stabbed me twice in the gut. He pulled it out, and it looked like something rotten had been stabbed. It was black and viscous with shiny, unrecognizable detritus covering it. I didn't feel a thing. He threw the plank out of my hand. I bit him in return. I tasted the blood on my teeth, and felt truth. Something living. Something pure, bright, cherry red. I suckled on it like a babe to a mother. He pushed me away, and stabbed me again. I felt nothing. I bit him again in the neck. I tore at his vocal cords till he could no longer breathe or scream, and lapped at his jugular. I drank deep into his bottle till none remained.
I felt better. Already I could see the black slits he had left closing and healing. I needed more.