Blood
The blood first appeared to her as a couple of droplets beside her pillow one morning when she awoke. She reacted in disgust as expected and swiftly checked herself for any wounds, or any source of bleeding. She found nothing and went about her day without much thought or worry.
The second time it appeared, she heard it first. She was just getting out of the shower when the telltale drip drip drip of a leaky faucet caught her attention. She fiddled with the shower knobs for a moment before making her way over to the sink and peering into the porcelain basin. She had automatically recoiled at the sight of scarlet splatter marks that clashed harshly against the pale surface of the bathroom sink. She watched as another drop of blood dripped from the faucet and splashed against the sink before she quickly turned on the faucet, watching with relief as the water washed the offensive liquid down the drain.
Several more times throughout the week, she ran into instances of mysterious blood. She found it smudged against surfaces, smeared across the pavement, and splashed against buildings. It occurred so frequently that it was beginning to send her pulse racing every time she saw the ruby hue in unexpected places, and a chill went racing down her spine when the blood went unnoticed by other people.
But that had only been the beginning.
One morning, she bit into her breakfast sandwich and immediately recoiled as the unwelcome iron taste flooded her mouth. And then she dropped the sandwich to her plate and leapt to her feet in horror as she watched blood ooze from her breakfast in thick, nearly congealed streams. She gagged and retched, but the taste stuck with her throughout the day. She spent the next several days methodically checking everything she ate but never found the blood.
Several nights later, she laid awake for six hours as the sound of dripping echoed around her room and she watched as blood trickled down the corners of her room in long, endless streams. Her palms grew clammy throughout the night as she imagined the blood pooling into her plush carpet, staining it with red. The sight of its pristine appearance did nothing to quell the nerves in her stomach the following morning.
She floated through her days, fading in and out of reality as she awaited the blood’s next appearance. She wondered when it would come to her and in what fashion it would appear, her body practically vibrating with fear at the thought of it. With every day that it stayed away, she only grew more and more anxious, more and more agitated. She knew that she couldn’t allow herself to grow too comfortable or complacent. She knew that the moment she relaxed, the blood would come back, worse than before.
It was at her part-time job, scooping ice cream at her local ice cream joint, that it finally came back.
She had been serving customers all day, barely able to conjure up so much as a smile, let alone any sort of friendly customer service. Just as she had handed a small child his ice cream cone, she turned back to the next customer and froze in her tracks, a horrified gasp rushing sharply from her lungs. In her shock, she stumbled backwards, her feet tripping over each other and sending her straight to the floor. She hardly registered the pain rattling through her bones from the fall; her terrified eyes remained on the person in front of her. She watched helplessly as their eyes, two empty gaping sockets, spewed fountains of hot blood in endless gushes. They surged forward as she went crashing to the floor, opening their mouth as if to ask if she was alright. But no words came out – only more blood. It surged out of them like vomit, coating her in the liquid from head to toe. And she could do nothing but scream.
Author Bio
Brenna Doyle, She/Her, CSU San Marcos, Literature and Writing Studies. Brenna Doyle is currently studying at CSUSM in order to break into the editing and publishing world. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, writing, baking, and taking care of my two kids.