Mosquito
Short Story: Earl, a man with a dark past gets more than he bargained while observing people for story ideas.
“Every person has a different history. People pass us by every day, and we think nothing about it. Did you know that the average person will walk by 36 murderers in their lifetime?” said Earl as he observes a few people walking by in the hotel lobby. Earl is an overweight man with sandy grey hair in his 50s. He takes a sip of coffee. “Can you imagine that? Thirty-Six murderers in a lifetime.”
Maggie smiles, “The circle of life.” Maggie is an athletically built woman in her 20s. She is wearing a business-style red dress.
“Scary,” says Earl. “Are you here for a business conference?”
“I’m here for a conference. I am not sure if I would call it business.”
“What kind of conference is it?”
“It is an empowerment type thing.”
“An Anthony Robbins-type deal?”
“Not really: a little different. Are you attending a conference?”
“No, I like to observe people. I stop by places like street benches, hotel lobbies, coffee houses… I sit and observe people.”
“Why, so you can kill them?”
Earl laughs. “No, nothing like that. I’m a writer. I observe people, and it gives me ideas.”
Maggie’s eyes widen. “A writer. Impressive. Have you written anything I might have read? Any books?”
“Books?! I wish. Nah, nothing like that. You may have read some of my stuff, though.”
“Like what?” asked Maggie.
“Do you receive a lot of junk mail?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then you may have read some of my stuff. I am a copywriter. That is a nice way of saying I write junk mail for a living.”
“I didn’t know they pay someone to write junk mail.”
“Yes, they do, and it pays well. Hey, when is your next conference?”
“A couple of hours.”
“Do you want to hang out?”
“Where?”
“Have you been to Nashville before?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Good. I can show you around some of the tourist spots—places like the Parthenon and Music Row. You don’t want to come to Nashville and just go to a hotel conference. You want to experience the city while you are here.”
“I would like that.”
“Great. I promise I’ll have you back before your next conference.”
“Sounds good.”
Twenty-Five Years Earlier
The sound of pounding meat can be heard coming from a bedroom. The house is rundown and a mess with half-eaten food and trash on the floor.
Elijah, an eight-year-old black boy with his shirt off, approaches his mother’s bedroom. Southern Rock music can be heard blaring from the bedroom.
The pounding of meat is louder the closer Elijah approaches the door. Elijah opens the door and sees Earl raping his mother’s headless corpse.
Earl is thinner, and his eyes look wild, and demonic. There is a table of cut-up cocaine beside the bed and cocaine powder under his nose.
“Mommy!”
“Hey, boy,” said Earl.
Elijah is holding a .45 magnum. He aims the gun at Earl and shoots. Elijah misses Earl and hits the painting of Jesus on the wall behind him. The gun knocks Elijah backward, and he drops the gun.
“Stupid kid.”
Elijah gets up and runs. Earl chases him. Elijah almost makes it to the front door, but Earl grabs him before he can turn the knob.
Earl drags Elijah down the hallway and throws him into the bedroom. Earl grabs the gun and aims it at Elijah.
“Please, sir,” said Elijah.
Earl pulls the trigger, and Elijah’s brain splatters all over the bedroom walls. Earl wipes the sweat off his brow and looks at the mess in the bedroom: two headless corpses and cocaine. He wipes the cocaine off his nose and looks at the painting of Jesus. The bullet went right through the center of Jesus’ head. Earl grabs a crucifix necklace that is hanging on the edge of the painting. A small mosquito lands on Elijah’s body and drinks blood from Elijah’s corpse. Earl smacks the mosquito, killing it.
Earl and Maggie walk across the street and into the parking garage. Earlier, it was a bright, sunny day, but now the weather feels chilly, wet, and damp—typical Tennessee weather. One day you are swimming, and the next day you are wearing a jacket.
“Where’s your car?” asked Maggie. Earl points to a 1970s green, rusty van with tinted windows. It looks like the van in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie.
“I’m in the van,” said Earl.
“You expect me to ride in that?” asked Maggie. “What were you saying earlier about serial killers?”
Earl laughs. “It is just a van. And to be a serial killer, you must kill three people.”
Maggie smiles. “How many have you killed?”
The grin on Earl’s face disappears.
“Just two.”
“You sure about that?”
There is a suspicious mood that washes over the both of them and lingers there. Maggie seems hesitant to get into the van. Earl opens the door for her.
“I have to admit that I’m a Texas Chainsaw Massacre fan. When I saw this van, I knew I had to have it. Is that a crime?” Earl asks.
Maggie gets inside the van.
“Let’s go check out the tourist sites,” says Maggie.
Earl grins, gets inside, and starts the van.
The crucifix necklace is hanging on the rearview mirror of the van. Earl looks at the crucifix.
“Maggie, do you feel like people can change?”.
“I guess people can, sure.”
“I mean really change, or are we enslaved by our personality and the dark tendencies we may have?”
Maggie kisses Earl.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“I just wanted to kiss you. Is that a crime?”
“No, it’s not a crime. I just thought we were having a philosophical discussion.”
“I like the way you smell.”
“You can thank cheap aftershave for that.”
Maggie grabs Earl’s crotch and squeezes.
Earl holds her hand. “Stop! I don’t do well with sex. I have issues. I haven’t had sex in years.”
Maggie grabs his crotch again.
Earl swats her hand away.
“Please stop. I know it may sound stupid but when sex and drugs are in the mix, I turn into something else. I turn into a monster and I don’t even recognize myself.”
“I don’t think it is stupid at all. I get it.”
“I don’t think you do.”
Maggie reaches for Earl again, and he swats her hand away.
“Stop swatting me!” said Maggie, slumping down into the seat.
“You, okay? You look sick. I’m not rejecting you; it’s me. I have a problem. I have regrets.”
Maggie closes her eyes and leans her head back. It is like she is in sexual ecstasy. She opens her eyes, and her eyes have turned black. There are what looks like thousands of tiny black eyes within her eyeballs. The skin on her forehead splits in two, and her black eyes slide to each side of her head. Earl watches in amazement and fear.
Maggie’s mouth becomes elongated. It looks like six thin needles, but the needles combine to make one. Maggie sheds the rest of her skin and clothes like a snake. Long slender wings sprout out of her back. She turns and looks at Earl. His face is pale and white. He sees the real Maggie: she is a mosquito.
Earl tries to open the door, but Maggie is too quick for him. She stabs him in the neck with her long, slender spear-like mouth and sucks his blood. She drains him dry until he looks like an old worn-out prune. Earl no longer must worry about becoming a monster because he is dead. All the life has been drained out of him.
Maggie transforms back into her human self. She looks at herself in the rearview mirror and puts on some red lipstick. She looks at her watch, thinking that time sure does fly by. She has an empowerment conference to attend. She opens the door and exits the van. A small mosquito lands on Earl’s hand and sips the last few drops of blood that his body has left.
Oh my what an unexpected twist.