Dangling Limbs

“Oh, just one sip, one sip for old times sake” imagined Bub while salivating through his devilish grin. Allowing this taboo notion to linger would do him no such good, however. As you see, this grin doesn’t belong to just anyone, it just so happens to belong to one of those monsters classified as things that go bump in the night, rightfully so. The things we don’t talk about in hopes that our mental negligence would cease their existence, the opposite of Santa Claus. If only it works that way, but quite the contrary. And it was on this night Bub considered piercing the veil between the world of the living and not so much as dead, but very well hidden. It has been so long since Bub had such forbidden fruit, well mostly forbidden that is. Bub wasn’t just any regular o’ monster, oh no. In his prime, he was a formidable presence. A thousand nations of men might have bent the knee if he would have granted them that luxury during his conquests. But that was long ago, and no king rules forever. 

Bub being a lifetime estranged from his prime, was still capable nonetheless just on a much smaller scale. It was a peculiar thing he thought, his waning power, how he longed for his past life and envied his brethren that had been granted a release from their mortal coil. He was unsure if his own coil ever ended or if it kept twisting indefinitely, sharing the same shape as an infinity sign. “Such is my never-ending atonement” pondered Bub. A lifetime full of monstrous deeds, but what else was he supposed to do, he always played the cards he was dealt and by god did he play the game well. But all debts had been paid, all scores had been settled. Retirement was never on his agenda, but his mind has been devoid of any passion for such a long time, retirement was long overdue. 

That was until a certain commotion woke him from his seemingly eternal slumber. Such a sound had been so absent in his life he almost thought he must have dreamt it. The pitter-patter of feet, his favorite body part of all. He couldn’t comprehend what made feet so exquisitely delicious, but his taste buds had decided that fact for him many many years ago. A treat he hadn’t feasted on regularly in a millennia. Nonetheless, his senses and appetite peaked as each footstep reverberates through the house, invoking a more animalistic part of himself. Bub could make out 3 unique footsteps, 3 potential victims. He thought his carnivorous tendencies were behind him, commonplace in alcoholics, he had abruptly quit cold turkey decades ago. But once again aflame smoldered in him, one not so easy snuffed out.  He had taken shelter in this dilapidated house, commended myself to solitude for his crimes. Atonement was what he sought. A test was about to be administered, one in which Bub doubted he would pass.  

Upon awakening and listening attentively to the footsteps, from under the floorboards, something became rather apparent. A child was laughing and approaching his safe haven at an alarming rate. Without any time to collect his composure, he could feel the life force of a small human radiating from directly above him. Such a human could be no older than 5, while the thought of his own age raddled around like a limp body loosely secured in an old rattly rollercoaster. Bub hadn’t thought about his own age from as far back as he could remember, having survived ice ages and global extinction events left and right. His inner monologue was cut short from all three presences converging into a singular location, atop him. His home lay slumbering just like him for all these years, why now had these intruders entered the premises today. 

Bub recalls picking out this house as if he had done it just yesterday. The house had been rather elegant at first glance, pristine white columns decorated the exterior, such beauty he hadn’t seen since his time in Rome prior to the Peloponnesian war. A plantation-style home, deep in the south, fewer neighbors in the south. The interior was littered with the finest furniture and antiques on this side of the world. It always reminded him of some of his travels throughout his lifetime looking at these old nick-nacks gathering dust. This house might be perfect for Bub but that is not to say this house didn’t have its own history. It just took a keen eye to see the itty-bitty bullet size holes scattered throughout the hallway, and the bedroom he took up residence in. Whatever had happened here which Bubs himself was never quite sure had kept the location unoccupied year on end. Luckily for the future residences, there was no ghost hellbent on torment and revenge, but feasibly something much worse.      

Ruckus rang out for days on end in the home Bub was now sharing with his unwelcome house guests. A strange irony crossed his mind that more likely than not he was, in fact, the lingering presence looming over this house. But he had claimed dominion over this house as much as someone without a deed could. A house he had become intimately fond of during his withdrawal from the world of men. His quiet companion that dare not judge nor shame his past deeds, having housed its own fair share. But now it’s halls were full of commonplace laughter from a bustling child and an all but forgotten sound, love. Had Bub ever felt love he pondered for a second, love had escaped him his whole life, a card he was dealt face down it would seem, perhaps to reveal itself at a later date.   

Almost a week of hiding passed before Bubs felt comfortable leaving the floorboards late at night, not that he cared for venturing out in the first place. Not a vampire pre say, Bubs still enjoyed the level of seclusion granted from his voluntary tomb. An unbearable amount of bugs shared the space but creepy crawlies laid no siege to a mind like his while he nestled within the floorboards. Humans, however, were something not so easily shaken free from his consciousness. In particular, the boy who had now shared his prison with him, Billy. He had learned the kid’s name from the other guests at his fine establishment, deeming himself the caretaker of this house in his eyes. In a rather odd turn of events, Billy’s bedframe lay parallel to Bub’s usual spot, an ethereal bunkbed of sorts. Bub’s hunger was insatiable, not that he required any substance to maintain himself. Each passing night listening to Billy’s parents tuck him in followed by the regurgitated cliche night after night “don’t let the bed bugs bite”. If only they knew who could actually bite in the night. Bub’s was the one with tenure at this location and his eternal lifespan maliciously reminded him that these guests were transient to this world and more importantly, to his house.   

A day or so passed, rather uneventfully. One thing remained constant however, the newly reacquired hunger within Bubs was steadily creeping towards maddening levels. Like a soon to be ex-sober man sitting outside his favorite bar waiting for divine intervention, he was slowing losing a grip on his cherished sobriety. A drunk was always driven back to the drink, you could ask any given bar patron on a Thursday night. Rather or not to take the sip was entirely up to him. “A sip to wash his parched throat perhaps” he found himself thinking day in and day out. But that sip had a name and parents, a line of thought he never really gave any concern to till now. Deep down he knew a glass of Billy on the rocks would tickle his fancy just as much as any given nameless person unlucky enough to had crossed his path previously. “Wasn’t he rehabilitated, was that not the whole purpose of this lifestyle” he found himself questioning when the hunger sedated to grant him a fleeting moment of clarity. To drink or not to drink, that is the question.

Late on an incessantly raining day, Bub made one fatal mistake. Having heard his guest’s car undoubtedly depart towards town earlier that day, Bub set out to metaphorically stretch his legs.  However content he was to bide his time under the floorboards, he still missed the only comfort he had known in such a long time, heirlooms from forgotten eras. More recently they brought back memories of when he wasn't forced to share this godforsaken house. Before the urge to take a sip came back in full force. Earning his one hundred plus years sober chip was no small feat, yet here he was ready to throw it all away. That damn child caused so much delirium, it consumed his thoughts relentlessly. He let his mind wander on the trinkets of a distant age. However, there was no telling how early his visitors would arrive home to thwart this most needed mental retreat. It must have been the excessive rain and thunder that blocked their arrival, but a sudden sound of front door unlocking sent Bub into a panic. Not one to give off much sound with his movements in the first place, he was able to sneak back into his hiding spot almost undetected.

 Billy just so happened to be booking it towards his room as well. Presumably to play with his toy truck, which had grown to be the bane of Bub’s existence from the neverending, overdramatic sounds it produced on cue. The slightest shift in the floorboard settling into its predetermined place set young billy off into hysteria. Fight or flight kicked in for Billy and flight was the only logical reaction in his prepubescent mind. Billy’s feet didn’t react as hastily as his brain, unfortunately. Billy’s adrenaline skyrocketing his need to escape this situation caused himself to throw caution to the wind and book it for his parent’s room. Navigating clumsily through the valley of toys claiming dominion over the floor, he inevitably tripped over his toy Tonka truck causing a gaping wound to envelop the upper part of his right forearm caused by the impact of striking the wardrobe adjacent to his door. Still overcome with fear, he scrambled to his feet and left his favorite truck behind to fend for itself. 

The scent of fresh blood lay there tantalizing Bub if he could just taste it even that would quench this thirst. “No harm no foul right,” he thought to himself. He wouldn’t have to kill anyone and could still silence the incessant nagging in his mind. His sobriety would still be in check, but such an action would be a slippery slope, even he knew that.  He tossed the idea around in his head, concluding to stay put in case the parents returned to check on their son’s ridiculous claim, moving floorboards.

Once the rain and billy’s tantrum ceased, the father figure of the house escorted billy back to his room. Unfortunately, he was unwilling to jack up the floorboards on his 5-year-olds unrealistic commands. His voice was reassuring nonetheless, calming billy down while humoring the child by checking for monsters in the typical spots. Floorboards are often overlooked if only he listened to his son’s Tell-tale heart and checked them. The bedtime routine followed like clockwork and before long billy was off to dream of anything besides the shifting boards at his feet. Creeping out ever so slowly which Bub’s had grown accustomed to long before living at this house, he made his way to the pool of blood that had begun to congeal. The blood lay there sketched into the hardwood, reminding Bubs of an abstract painting he once saw. The pattern of blood in front of him was truly random, yet in this randomness, there was a beauty. If this thought was provoked by his maddening thirst or his artistic side of himself did not matter at this time. All that mattered was the blood.  

Drip...Drip...Drip...having been so preoccupied with the first semi-fresh blood Bubs had seen in what felt like forever, he almost missed that ambient sound. “How long has it been since that song had played for his eager ears?” he couldn’t help but think. Every drip mimicking fallen sand in his hourglass of sobriety, bringing it closer to its end. He stood there as each drop brought euphoric tastes to the tip of his dying tongue. His taste buds were all but shriveled up, on the verge of extinction which had been the plan until this very night. The drips continued at a rhythmic pace, such a song carried only one connotation, a dance with death. Bub’s begun to peak over in the direction of the sound to confirm the source of this intoxicating tune, it was Billy. Billy’s arm was dangling over his mattress, there unmistakably was the culprit. His arm producing that sweet nectar, shamefully going to waste on the floor. His bandage soaked from his battle scar had surely lost its absorptive property, cascading blood down to the floor. The blood reminded Bubs of the rain earlier that afternoon that had set off this series of rather unfortunate events, for both parties.         

Almost by a force outside of his own volition, Bubs was propelled towards the young child’s place of slumber. “How violently rude it would be to wake the child for my own selfish needs” whispered Bubs to himself. Still, he was clinging to his fleeting sobriety like one does a loved one before departing for a late-night business flight. Billy lay there, his blonde hair sprawled out on the pillowcase. His fair complex and symmetric facial features would surely make him a heartthrob if allowed to live past tonight. The twin size mattress he was firmly tucked into had been the focal point of Bub’s eyes for the last few minutes. The decision had been all but made for him when Billy opened his glazed over eyes to interlock with Bub’s otherworldly optical appendages. Billy must have thought he was still dreaming as his first. He proceeded to blink and rub his eyes with the hope that whatever was before him was just part of a hangover from his subconscious dreaming mind. Billy would be granted no such comfort, and as the shape stayed solidified in front of him, terror crept in. A terror usually reserved for this pg-13 movies he sometimes watched with his parents. This, however, was no movie and the rating was about to surpass anything he was allowed to watch, he surely thought.      

Moonlight was all that illuminated the room that was currently the scene of a stare-off. Neither Billy nor Bub had uttered a word. Billy froze in fear due to the realization that even if he screamed his parents could not possibly reach his bedroom in time to save him. Presumably, his best course of action was to put on his overabundant childhood charm and hope for the best. While Bubs flipped a mental coin over and over in his head, weighing the pros and cons to each outcome of the event unfolding in front of him. It was true that no man had ever seen his face had lived to tell the story. There was no tale of him from any reputable source, existing only in folklore. But he was not seeking publicity like a shameless Hollywood has-been. He lacked a sponsor to consider violating by breaking his sobriety which might have been the crutch he needed. Inner turmoil ceased his mind like crude oil left unchanged for too long. 

Abruptly a voice chirped up, “Hi, I’m Billy, what’s your name?” said Billy with as much macho-ness as a 5-year-old child could muster. Taken back by the boys want to converse with him, for the first time in his life Bubs was tongue-tied. Clearing his throat for the first time in forever, Bub’s replied: “You can call me Bub”. Dust had pushed its way through Bub’s larynx as he uttered his first words out loud in a tremendously long time, polluting the air around them both. The dust created an almost smokescreen and both figures lay silent waiting for the dust to settle.  As the dust blew out the propped open window, clarity was restored and oddly enough Bubs could see that Billy was smiling. Usually, people ran in terror or prayed to whatever god they believed in when his gaze was on them, but not this 5-year-old boy. “It was rather refreshing to have someone to talk to even if they were about to become a midnight snack shortly,” thought Bub. 

“What is Bub short for,” said billy once again trying to mimic undoubtedly some action hero from his favorite movie.  “Bub is short for Beelzebub my dear friend, but need you to concern yourself with that any further,” answered Bub in his spectral tone. The mere reminder of his full name reminded him of something else, his own nature. The smile had all but disappeared from Billy’s face from the course and unforgiven inflection in Bub’s voice. Bub had unmistakably scooted closer and closer to the side of Billy’s bed. Bedside manners were never his strong suit but he could pass as an orderly at your local insane asylum. Billy had noticed a shift in Bub’s body language as Bub’s eyes came fixated on his wound. Billy could sense a level of conflict within the monster in front of him even with his unlearned social skills. Worst case scenario came knocking at the door in billy’s head and he knew his unwillingness to open the door was a moot point. “Where did you get that wound, my dear friend? That bandage is simply not enough, mind if I help?” questioned Beelzebub. Dread ping-bonged around Billy’s mind almost as quickly as his eyes darted back and forth on the abomination standing in front of him. 

The hourglass had filled deadly to the other side, sobriety was a foreign concept in Beelzebub’s mind. As each drop of blood hit and soaked deeper and deeper into Billy’s light blue comforter, so had Beelzebub’s mind dropped deeper and deeper into obsession. The howling of wind piercing through the night was all that could be heard as the combatants stood silently once more. Billy extended his shakey, sweaty, still actively bleeding arm as a makeshift peace offering towards Beelzebub. If only he knew this action would awaken something primal within his chamber mate. Billy’s arm was now dangling in front of the mattress, still dripping sporadically. Obscured to Billy, it was directly over where Beelzebub stood. The ecstasy that came from each droplet splashing against Beelzebub’s translucent bare feet was unfathomable. The skin on Beelzebub’s shivering like a lotto winner when their numbers were read off. If there was any doubt in his mind about his actions going forward, the blood speckling his feet had doomed Billy’s fate. 

A faint red hue had begun to encompass all of Beelzebub skin. His normally pale flesh now seemed to regain its former color, awakened from the blood, undoubtedly. Billy was not blind to such metamorphoses, the color draining from his own face from the stark realization. Each second extending his arm out felt like an eternity and the only thing stopping BIlly from withdrawing his offering was the notion that it might not be there if he tried. Billy reverting back to his normal voice cowardly asked: “ Are you going to hurt me, Bub?” “Hurt was subjective,” Beelzebub thought and would try to make this as painless as possible for the boy he had not wholeheartedly wanted to devour moments prior. But the blood was too intoxicating, he was off the wagon. The equivalent of a single shot of the strong stuff was coursing through his veins. And how often were alcoholics content with just one drink? The bar was all you could drink tonight and Beelzebub was not ready to pass up such a deal. 

Beelzebub stood there a moment longer looking down on this poor innocent child. “Was he ready to snuff this boy’s life out of this world? What if this boy was destined for greatness” all questions that held little merit against an intoxicated fool. An impending feeling of the bar closing drew him to make his decision. Opening his jaw as so unbelievably wide a snake would be envious, moments later the top half of Billy was gone. His limp arm lay dangling over the cover of the bed, disconnected due to the absence of a torso. No scream had left billy’s mouth before his untimely departure from this world. Beelzebub had made quick work of BIlly within a blink of the eye. He left his favorite delicacies for last, Billy’s feet. Once a safe haven for a scared boy, Billy’s bed now lay empty. The blood that had drenched the room in its red crimson hue, had all but been licked clean by Beelzebub’s tongue. That poor boy had left Beelzebub beyond the point of inebriation. For a recovering addict that tantalizing fruit was always the most potent. Beelzebub had drank till his stomach was content, his long-forgotten power returning.  For him, making quick work of the parents sound asleep in the room down the hall was a child’s play. Overconsumption lead Beelzebub to retire early that night, choosing the boy’s bed as his place of rest for now.

 “I shackled myself to this forsaken house to avoid this entire situation, how could it be my fault?” Bubs thought as he jerked back into consciousness. Guilt washing away with every self reassuring thought. A junkie was quick to blame the dealer instead of themselves for overindulging, after all. He could get back on the wagon this time for real. After this travesty, no one would live here for another 100 years. And at that time, he would be better. He would be the ideal host after all this was undoubtedly still his house. Bub found himself missing the lively sounds of the house from his recently departed house guests. The silence was unbearable, being trapped within his own thoughts every waking moment. Atonement for his actions he figured and set forth back into his favorite part of the house. He looked for an empty spot in his cabinet that shelved the numerous wonders from around the world. A space was perfect for his newly acquired trophy, he carefully laid the Tonka Truck next to the house's collection of heirlooms and went back to bed.