Darren dropped his bags and collapsed face first into his couch.
As he did, an unpleasant cocktail of scents puffed into his face, but he didn’t care. This was his favourite part of the day, the sweet six hours between night and day shifts. Lately, he was finding the night shifts particularly easy and the day shifts incredibly gruelling, but the thought of saving up for a newer, better apartment kept him going. Darren’s boss had commented on his recent performance and called him a creature of the night, frightfully unaware of how right he was. Darren looked over to his clock on the wall. It read 5.57am. He had an hour before his landlord would be knocking door his door, asking for his overdue rent. Darren felt heavy sleepiness overcome him, and he gave in with no resistance.
There was a violent knocking on the door, and it shook Darren out of his slumber. He was sitting upright, his hand resting on his belly. It felt full and round, and he didn’t know why. Mrs. Cappelli hammered her bony knuckles on the door again.
‘Yeah, I’m coming.’
Darren stood up, his eyes half-open. As he made his way to the door, his foot caught the underside of the rug, sending him flying. He turned around to curse the rug, but the sight of what he saw sucked the breath right out of him. It wasn’t the rug which he had tripped on, but the shrivelled body of Mr. Cappelli. The once chubby Italian man was now almost half the size, his face gaunt and his body drained. There were two tiny crimson puncture marks on his neck, contrasted against his white wrinkly skin on the backdrop of a dark brown rug. Darren let off no scream, but instead a little content burp. To his horror, the flavours in his mouth confirmed his suspicions.
The knocking at the door became more frustrated. He felt each knock like it was a stake through his chest. Darren took several steps in each direction before returning to the body. He pulled Mr. Cappelli’s corpse by the ankle. It was lighter than he imagined it’d be, but not light enough.
‘That’s it. I’m coming in,’ cried Mrs. Cappelli.
The locks unclicked and the door swung open, giving Mrs. Cappelli a very clear an unadulterated view of Darren dragging her husband’s desiccated corpse. The familiar and dark sleepiness tugged at Darren, but he forced it back. No more deaths, he thought. As it did with Darren, the shock stole Mrs. Cappelli’s voice. Her hands covered her mouth, but not her rapidly pulsating artery. With his eyes transfixed on her neck, the darkness swelled up and the sensation of satiation in his belly disappeared. In his mind, he saw his dream penthouse apartment disappear and a grey, barren cell took its place. For the first, but not the last time, Darren spoke to the darkness within.
‘Ok, but only one more!’
