This story is by Josh Resinger and was part of our 2023 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
Somewhere in the shadows, water laps against a wooden post, sloshing back and forth with the soft waves. From inside the rickety old warehouse on the wharf, the sound is calming. Peaceful even. What Corey is here for is anything but peaceful or calming.
His heart slams into his chest and sweat beads his upper lip, hidden under the navy ski-mask. Behind a couple of wooden crates, he and his childhood friend lurk. A broken skylight above lets in enough of the moon’s blue hue to see the abandoned structure.
Wooden beams run criss-cross along the ceiling with sheet-metal wall panels rusted from age and the salty sea air, surrounding a concrete floor. Empty crates are stacked around the room, remnants of a bygone era when these docks were the bustling epicenter of supply lines — before the mobs had seized control. Now these buildings are either abandoned like this one, or drug and weapons caches.
A narrow wooden box about the length of a small dinner table sits squarely in the middle of the moonlight; a set of chains wrapped around it, secured by a padlock.
Corey listens to the water and fidgets with his cross necklace to keep himself from hyper-ventilating.
“It’s all good, C.” Desmond whispers.
From outside a seagull caws, and Corey tightens his grip on the pistol feeling heavier with each passing minute.
“Hey, we’re good. Yeah?”
Corey closes his eyes and nods.
“If you ain’t up for this, you gotta let me know.”
“No,” Corey’s voice comes out in a gruff-sounding gasp, “I’m straight. Just nervous.”
Corey opens his eyes. Desmond looks back at him from behind a black mask. In the light, Desmond’s brown eyes are so dark that they look black. Tonight, with only a single beam of moon offering any light, they look like two glossy black beads.
Corey closes his eyes again, playing with his necklace, and listening to the waves. He hears Desmond shuffle to the wall behind them, no doubt peering out of the broken vent that overlooks the street.
“Is he here?” Corey asks.
“Nah.” Desmond says. There is a long pause before he continues, “Let’s go over the plan again.”
Corey nods, eyes still closed.
“I go left to block the door, you go right and box him in.” Desmond says. “You got it?”
Corey nods, his eyes still shut tight.
“Open your damn eyes,” Desmond hisses. Corey looks at his friend. “We got one shot at this, ya feel me?”
“How do you know Nos is going to be alone?“
“We been over this. My boy overheard some of Nos’ guys talking ‘bout a shipment coming in tonight. Nos is coming personally to get it.”
Corey glances at the chained box in the middle of the room. “I get all that, man. But, how do you know he ain’t bringing back up with him?”
Desmond sighs. Corey knows he’s frustrating his friend, but this isn’t his world. Before Corey was born, his father used to run with the Spiderz until going straight. In fact, Corey’s father had gone as straight as possible, starting a gang ministry on the upper-west side. Problem was, the Spiderz still ran most of the upper-west and, unlike Corey, Desmond didn’t have anyone to protect him. Desmond, like so many others, was recruited young.
If not for Corey’s dad leaning on some old ties, Desmond might not have survived this long. After Corey’s dad died, Desmond was fair game and he wanted to move up. Taking out the leader of the Spiderz’ biggest rival would do that for him.
“Ain’t this the dude that offed your pops?” Desmond asks, his frustration clear.
Corey grits his teeth.
“Drained his blood. Left ‘em on the church steps. I thought you wanted some revenge?” Desmond asks.
Corey doesn’t have to respond; they both know the answer. Now that he’s here, though, he’s not sure.
“You don’t have to pop him, I’ll do that. I just need you to cover me. I can’t ask the crew ‘cause they’d take credit. You’re the only person I can trust for this,” Desmond says. “And I know—“
A high-pitched whine cuts Desmond off and both boys scurry to the vent. A midnight black, Mercedes-Benz S Class pulls to a stop on the street, the headlights already off.
“That’s him,” Desmond says.
“How do you know? Not many people have seen him, right?” Corey asks.
“Nah, but that’s his ride. My boy told me.”
Corey watches as the door opens and a lone figure gets out. Draped in a long black overcoat with a matching bowler hat, the figure moves toward the warehouse. Desmond scampers back to the crate, waving for Corey to follow. Corey watches through the vent for a few more seconds. When no one else exits the car, he follows Desmond.
Rusted hinges squeal when the visitor enters. When he steps into the moonlight, he has already removed his hat and coat and is pulling off a black dress shirt. A pale, skeletal torso hunches over the box in the center of the room. Chains rattle as he unlocks and tosses them to the side. He throws the lid open and stands to full height. Nos is tall with jet black hair that falls to the nape of his neck.
Desmond motions to move. Corey takes two deep breaths, tucks his necklace into his sweater, and follows Desmond’s orders.
They round into position; Desmond on the right, Corey on the left.
“Sup?” Desmond says. Three successive explosions pierce Corey’s ears and bounce off the rafters.
Nos falls to the floor. Desmond wastes no time, fumbling for the hacksaw in his backpack. But Corey can’t take his eyes off of the open box.
As Desmond struggles to pull the saw from his bag, Corey walks toward the crate. Inside is thick, black dirt. He reaches for it.
“What the hell are you doing?” Desmond snaps. “Let’s get his head and get out of here.”
“Look at this.”
“A box of dirt?”
“There’s something here.” Corey notices what looks like a white rock and starts to brush the dirt free. He stumbles backward, hand over his masked mouth, bumping into Desmond.
“Bruh!“
“Look!” Corey grabs Desmond’s arm and yanks him toward the box. A slender arm lies in the dirt.
“Sick freak!” Desmond says. “What does that say?”
Desmond points at some letters on the inside lid, half covered by dirt.
“N. O. S.” Corey wipes dirt away with his sleeve, “F. E. R. A. T. U. Nos Feratu? Is that his full name?”
“Who cares? Let’s just—“
The arm goes rigid.
“What they hell?” Desmond half asks.
Corey starts digging. He digs until a young girl’s face appears. She has a mask strapped around her mouth. Corey follows a tube attached to the mask to a small oxygen tank.
“This sick mother fu—“
“She’s alive, Dez. Help me!” Corey continues digging.
“Corey.” Desmond says behind him.
Corey feels for a pulse, noticing two punctures on her dirt-caked neck.
“Corey!”
“She’s weak but alive—”
“Corey, look at this!”
Corey turns. “What?”
“I put three in that fool’s chest…” Desmond says, looking at the floor, “…why isn’t there any blood?”
Corey looks at the ground. Not only is Nos’ body missing, but there is only concrete where a pool of blood should be.
A low, guttural noise starts echoing around them. It grows with intensity until Corey realizes what it is. Laughing.
“Pathetic mortals.” A fiendish voice booms. It sounds to Corey like the voice is surrounding them. He raises his pistol and spins one way, Desmond the other, both aiming into the darkness.
“So emboldened by your weapons without knowing what it is you are hunting. Or what is hunting you.”
A shadow swoops behind Corey and with it, Desmond is gone. Gunshots penetrate the night, followed by Desmond’s nightmarish scream. A horrific crack brings silence.
“Dreadfully rude” the voice says, “to interrupt my dinner. But, she’ll hold for dessert.”
Nos steps into the moonlight, dark crimson dripping from his pointed chin. He locks glowing red eyes on to Corey and smiles behind a hooked nose. Two long, bloodstained fangs glint in the moonlight.
Corey staggers backward as Nos advances. He pulls the trigger until the gun clicks. Nos’ smile widens.
Corey trips over Desmond’s backpack and crashes onto his seat. Nos pounces and bares his fangs. He grabs Corey by the collar of his sweatshirt, but instead of an attack, Nos recoils in pain. Tendrils of smoke rise from Nos’ boney hand and Corey sees the indistinguishable mark of a cross charred on the palm. He looks down to find his necklace dangling outside his sweatshirt. Nos growls and rushes to the box. Stunned, Corey can only watch as the monster snags the girl and vanishes into the night.
Corey yanks his mask free and stares into the darkness. He hears water lapping against a wooden pillar somewhere, and the sound is unsettling. Terrifying even.
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