A SHORT HORROR STORY
IN OUR BLOOD
“Will you please stop laughing?” I asked Frances in an exasperated tone.
“Why would I do that?” Frances said with her eyes still fixed on her laptop.
“Because I’m watching the news,” I said. “And the news is about the devastation brought by that typhoon. A ship sank and more than a thousand people are now feared dead, a bridge collapsed killing ten people and a flashflood killed hundreds of people. Libu-libo ang namamatay sa paligid natin pero nakukuha mo pang tumawa.”
“What do you want me to do? Weep and slash my wrist?”
“You can at least be silent while the news is going on.”
She smirked. “Why would I be affected? I don’t know those people. ‘Pag ako ba ang namatay, maaapektuhan sila? Tatawa rin ang mga ‘yan habang nakaburol ako. You’d be better off ignoring them.”
“Frances, every death mustn’t be ignored,” I told her. “Dapat tayong malungkot tuwing may mamamatay kahit hindi natin kilala.”
“Then cry alone, ate. Malulungkot lang ako sa isang kamatayan ‘pag ako mismo ang namatay.”
Frances was my younger sister. She was twenty seven. I was two years older than her. She was a single mom with two kids fathered by two different guys who both quickly abandoned her after learning that she was pregnant. She was a bum while I worked my ass off in a call center. She was lazy. She lived off the small inheritance left by our parents. Everyday, from dusk till dawn, she either watched TV or sat in front of her computer surfing the Net, chatting with her friends and flirting with guys while me and a nanny took care of her kids. I already told her that guys were repulsed by single moms who were lazy, who still could not live independently, who preferred to always have fun than to try to find ways to earn and save money for her kids’ future. But she would hear none it. She continued to be a bum and she continued to shamelessly pursue guys on the Internet, guys who repeteadly rejected her.
Frances not being affected by other people’s death bothered me.
Our late father was a serial killer. Only me and Frances knew it.
I think the urge to kill is in our blood, our dad would always tell us. He had this insane belief that if you regularly drank human blood, you would become immortals like the vampires.
It’s the reason why vampires are immortals, he loved to tell us.
And Frances shared this belief. She believed that drinking few ounces of blood of people you murdered everyday for ten years, you would become immortal and you would never grow old. The souls of the people you killed would be yours after drinking their blood. They would help you become immortal. Our father had been drinking human blood for seven years when he met a fatal car accident.
Two nights ago, I found a bottle filled with human blood in Frances’ bedroom.
Frances hummed while turning her laptop off. “I met another cutie, I sent him my bikini pics, tingnan ko lang kung 'di siya maglaway do'n,” she giddily told me. “Forever young, I want to live forever young,” she sang while walking towards her room.
After a couple of hours, I crept inside Frances’ room. She was sleeping like an angel. I tiptoed to her bed, picked up one of her pillows and started choking her with it. She put up a mighty fight—she kicked and tried to move the pillow away from her face— but I was determined to kill her. I only lifted the pillow when I was certain that she was dead. Her eyes were open and surprisingly vacant.
I picked up my cell phone and called up a close relative. “Patay na si Frances, tita, binangungot siya,” I informed her. I put the phone down and went back to the living room and waited. I turned the TV on. A news about a massive vehicular accident was being aired. Fifteen people were already confirmed dead. My heart got broken again.
Every death must sadden us, that’s true.
Except Frances’ death…
There’s always an exception to a rule. end
“Will you please stop laughing?” I asked Frances in an exasperated tone.
“Why would I do that?” Frances said with her eyes still fixed on her laptop.
“Because I’m watching the news,” I said. “And the news is about the devastation brought by that typhoon. A ship sank and more than a thousand people are now feared dead, a bridge collapsed killing ten people and a flashflood killed hundreds of people. Libu-libo ang namamatay sa paligid natin pero nakukuha mo pang tumawa.”
“What do you want me to do? Weep and slash my wrist?”
“You can at least be silent while the news is going on.”
She smirked. “Why would I be affected? I don’t know those people. ‘Pag ako ba ang namatay, maaapektuhan sila? Tatawa rin ang mga ‘yan habang nakaburol ako. You’d be better off ignoring them.”
“Frances, every death mustn’t be ignored,” I told her. “Dapat tayong malungkot tuwing may mamamatay kahit hindi natin kilala.”
“Then cry alone, ate. Malulungkot lang ako sa isang kamatayan ‘pag ako mismo ang namatay.”
Frances was my younger sister. She was twenty seven. I was two years older than her. She was a single mom with two kids fathered by two different guys who both quickly abandoned her after learning that she was pregnant. She was a bum while I worked my ass off in a call center. She was lazy. She lived off the small inheritance left by our parents. Everyday, from dusk till dawn, she either watched TV or sat in front of her computer surfing the Net, chatting with her friends and flirting with guys while me and a nanny took care of her kids. I already told her that guys were repulsed by single moms who were lazy, who still could not live independently, who preferred to always have fun than to try to find ways to earn and save money for her kids’ future. But she would hear none it. She continued to be a bum and she continued to shamelessly pursue guys on the Internet, guys who repeteadly rejected her.
Frances not being affected by other people’s death bothered me.
Our late father was a serial killer. Only me and Frances knew it.
I think the urge to kill is in our blood, our dad would always tell us. He had this insane belief that if you regularly drank human blood, you would become immortals like the vampires.
It’s the reason why vampires are immortals, he loved to tell us.
And Frances shared this belief. She believed that drinking few ounces of blood of people you murdered everyday for ten years, you would become immortal and you would never grow old. The souls of the people you killed would be yours after drinking their blood. They would help you become immortal. Our father had been drinking human blood for seven years when he met a fatal car accident.
Two nights ago, I found a bottle filled with human blood in Frances’ bedroom.
Frances hummed while turning her laptop off. “I met another cutie, I sent him my bikini pics, tingnan ko lang kung 'di siya maglaway do'n,” she giddily told me. “Forever young, I want to live forever young,” she sang while walking towards her room.
After a couple of hours, I crept inside Frances’ room. She was sleeping like an angel. I tiptoed to her bed, picked up one of her pillows and started choking her with it. She put up a mighty fight—she kicked and tried to move the pillow away from her face— but I was determined to kill her. I only lifted the pillow when I was certain that she was dead. Her eyes were open and surprisingly vacant.
I picked up my cell phone and called up a close relative. “Patay na si Frances, tita, binangungot siya,” I informed her. I put the phone down and went back to the living room and waited. I turned the TV on. A news about a massive vehicular accident was being aired. Fifteen people were already confirmed dead. My heart got broken again.
Every death must sadden us, that’s true.
Except Frances’ death…
There’s always an exception to a rule. end
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