Once In A Blu Moon

Once In A Blu Moon

Finale

 

by

 Macie Snow

 

 

 

4:24 a.m.

                 “What the hell is wrong with you people?” I cry, jiggling my hands around trying to free them. After I had discovered that Ron was the son of my sister’s killer, I had made a mad dash for the door. Unfortunately ,Ron had closed the door behind us, trapping me in the wall with them. And I didn’t know the way out. Ron had shortly thereafter handcuffed me in the corner to a metal bar that seemed to be placed there for no purpose other than to handcuff people to it.

                “There’s nothing wrong with us dear. We are perfectly normal.” The man says, placing a small glass vial on the only shelf in the room. It had a whole line of glass vials along it, each one sporting a little white label.

                “How did the girl’s blood taste Father?” Ron asks, throwing me a nasty look.

                Why the hell was he giving me nasty looks? I was the one who should be giving nasty looks!

                “It was a bit dry,” the man says, turning to face us. “She had some anxieties that she kept to herself, which dried her blood out.”

                Clair had anxieties? I shake my head to clear the thought. I couldn’t listen to this guy. Besides, I had more important things to worry about.

                “Perhaps you can find another?” Ron suggests. “After all, the blue moon is not yet through.”

                The man shakes his head furiously and begins flipping through a leather backed journal. “There is not enough time. If you had returned sooner perhaps we could find a victim, but alas, we cannot.”

                “Apologies Father, I could not give away our game to her,” Ron says, nodding his head my direction. “But perhaps she would be a worthy sacrifice?”

                I stare at Ron in horror. Had he just offered me up to his father to fulfill his vampiric fetish?

                The man glances up and looks back down at his book. “She is too old. Her blood will be tainted.”

                “Excuse me?” I cry. “Why would my blood be tainted?” Shutupshutopshutupshutup I scream inside my head. But my sleep deprived body would not listen to my rational side. It was buried deep in a haze of eternal darkness, and blood splattered on white wool. I almost chuckle. What a time for the shock to set in and destroy all rational thought.

                “The blood must be pure,” The man says, carefully reading through his book. “As one grows older, their blood becomes tainted as they let the world sink in. It is why we age, because we lose our carefree demeanor, our innocence.  One cannot live in this world and ever hope to remain pure. The longer one lives, the darker they become. You are no longer young, no longer pure.”

                “Are you calling me old?” I cry. “I’m only twenty!”

                The man peers up at me callously. “That is twenty years too long to remain innocent.”

                “What,” I scream. “The hell are you talking about?”

                The man shakes his head and steps forward, closing his book as he peers into my face.

                “It is very complex my sweet. I do not expect you to understand.” He opens his mouth to say more, but closes it as he takes in my, now ruined, Little Bo Peep costume (or Mary, as I kept trying to insist), and my facial features.

                “What is your name girl?” he demands.

                I see movement behind him and watch uncomprehendingly as Ron places a cell phone sized device on the desk. He notices me staring and frantically waves a hand at his father as he subtly hides the device. My mind spins as I try to identify what he had hidden.

                “Answer me!” the man roars. Ron stares at me, eyes wide, and jerks his head towards his father. Somehow I get the message. Keep him talking. Or maybe that was my survival instinct kicking in. After all, better late than never right?

                “Luna,” I murmur, turning my gaze back to the man, ignoring Ron as he blacks more little boxes around the small room, subtly but effectively hiding each of them.

                “Your whole name,” the man growls.

                “Luna Kimberly Blu,” I spit, glaring into his eyes, meeting his challenge.

                “Really?” The man asks, surprise lighting his gaze. “And I assume you saw the honor bestowed upon young  Clair?”

                “Honor?” I scoff. “You murdered her you bastard!”

                “So you are her sister.” He muses. “When I learned her twin was a boy I was devastated. But they have blessed me with another opportunity. And here you are, right where I need you.”

                “What?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even. Ron had stopped moving around and I glare at him. He was supposed to help me. I was supposed to bring Clair’s murderer to justice. He was supposed to find his mothers killer. I blink and realize that Ron is mouthing words to me. I blink as he mouths them out again slowly.

                Get. A. Confession.

                I inhale sharply, comprehension dawning. He was trying to help me. He had placed voice recorders all around the room. We would have not only evidence, but a confession. That is, if I could get one.

                I wrack my brains, scrambling to find a way to get a confession out of the man who was now, disconcertingly, leering at me.

                “Why does it matter that I’m Clair’s sister?” I ask.

                “They told me that only the pure blood of sisters under a blue moon on all hallows eve would stay pure.” The man answers. He lightly trails a finger up my arm creating a little army of goose bumps that marched after his finger.

                I mentally sort through that very confusing statement and start with the simplest question. “All hallows eve?”

                “Halloween,” he smiles and trails his finger back down my arm.

                “Why under a blue moon?” I ask, gritting my teeth against my gag reflex.

                “Everything is stronger under a blue moon. That is common knowledge.”

                “And why does sister’s blood stay pure?”

                “That is what they told me. They have not lied to me yet, nor will they ever lie. Do you question their wisdom?” he growls.

                I shake my head. “Of course not. I only wish to understand their great wisdom.”

                The man smiles. “Alas! We have not the time for you to learn all their great wisdom.”

                “”Perhaps I could learn some of their wisdom? Surely if I knew the legacy my blood would be used for, it would make me more willing to sacrifice it. And a willing sacrifice would be more pure.” I say, smiling sweetly. “After all, the blue moon does not set until the sun rises at seven.”

                “Seven twelve to be exact,” the man frowns.

                “Of course. And it is only,” I glance at the small clock on the wall above Ron’s head. “Four thirty-five. Surely and hours wait would not taint my blood. In fact, learning of the great wisdom they taught you might even purify my blood.”

                The man’s eye’s gleam in perverse delight. “A brilliant point. Perhaps if I had realized it sooner, the girls’ blood would not have worn off so quickly.”

                I nod, plastering a grin on my face.

                The man step back and pulls up a chair. He sits in the chair and leans back, facing me.

                “The first thing you must know is that they are all-knowing, and they are never wrong. You do not question their word, you do not contradict it. And they can only exist inside me.”

                Comprehension slaps me in the face like a bucket of ice water. I wasn’t just claiming that this man was crazy. He actually was crazy. As in, needed to be constantly supervised, kept on strong drugs crazy. As in, he misses taking his pills and goes psycho and kills people. The only question was, what kind of crazy was he?

                “Unfortunately we do not have the time to educate you about their vast knowledge, so I will merely explain what applies to you.”

                “What my blood is for.” I add helpfully.

                “Right.”

                “And what their blood was for?” I ask, nodding to the shelf of glass vials.

                He glances over his shoulder at the shelf. “Ah, so you were admiring my collection?”

                “Yes, they’re very…..” I search for a description he would like. “Pretty.”

                He laughs. “Yes they are indeed pretty. I had each vial specifically made to match the individuals’ personality. They told me that was the best way to keep the blood alive.”

                “How does that work?” I ask.

                “The glass vial, unique to each personality, keeps their spirit alive. The blood inside is part of their soul, and by matching it with the proper spirit, the blood stays alive inside me.”

                “Brilliant,” I say, turning away from the glass vials of blood before I saw Clair’s. “And you learn their personality by…”

                “Well I have to choose the sacrifice carefully. And leading up to the blue moon I observe them.”

                He was a stalker too. Great. He just kept getting better and better.

                “What about my blood? You haven’t had an opportunity to observe me, and you don’t have a vial for me. Won’t my blood die?” I choke out.

                He shakes his head. “Yours will live with your sisters. She is everything you want to be. Beautiful, innocent, and loved by all. Your blood will bond with hers and live together forever. You need not worry.”

                “So, why must you do this in the first place?” I ask, hoping his answer wouldn’t be ‘because they told me to’.

                “It is the only way.”

                “The only way for what?”

                “I must drink the life of those who are pure. By doing so I will gain their life, and their innocence, thus prolonging my own life.”

                I run that through my head then ask. “So it’s to keep from aging?”

                “Indeed.” He looks at me appreciatively. “It really is such a shame we did not find each other sooner Luna. There is much I could have taught you.”

                I force out a believable smile. “So why do you have to do it the way you do? Wouldn’t it be easier to use a needle in their arm? It would be cleaner too.”

                “I thought that at first too. Honestly I hate cleaning up, that’s why I have Ron clean up after. He’s so much better at it anyway.”

                I glance back at Ron. He had grown pale. I couldn’t blame him either. In catching his father, we had just sentenced him to a life in prison as well. If not a lifetime, then the majority of a lifetime. He waves me on as he open a drawer and starts going through it.

                The man in front of me glances over his shoulder. “What are you doing boy?”

                “Just looking for a pen Father,” Ron says.

                The man shrugs and turns back to me.

                “As I was saying. I thought it would be easier to use a needle as well. And I tried that. But the blood never lasted. I consulted them, and they said that in order for the blood to work, I had to get it straight from the source. Namely, the person’s heart. I go up through the gut because it is easier, quicker, and requires only a sharp knife. Of course it took a few tries to perfect my method. Sadly Ron was too young to be of much help then, so I had to deal with cleanup myself.”

                “How long have you been doing this?” I ask, not looking forward to hearing the answer.

                “Ten years. My dear wife was the first.”

                I shudder. How could this man refer to his wife in a loving way when he had literally ripped out her heart and drank her blood?

                “Why, and please pardon my asking, but why don’t you want to age? Wouldn’t you say that it’s life’s natural course and its beneficial for all?” I ask.

                The man glares at me. “If you are so certain that death is important, we can start yours. Ron, fetch my knife.” The man growls over his shoulder. He stands and pushes the chair back in its place while Ron pushes the drawer shut furiously and dashes out of the room. Unfortunately he blocked whatever mechanism he used to open the door from my view, so escape was still out of the question.

                “Your lesson from them is over Luna Blu. Say your prayers, because they’re going to be your last.”

                My lip quivers before I can stop it and my stomach aches in anticipation of what was about to happen to it. My heart clenches with dread as I realized one inexplicable fact. I was going to die tonight. Luna Kimberly Blu would never see the sun rise again.

 

5:16 a.m.

 

                “Where is that blasted boy?” the man roars, storming around the tiny room.

                I was huddled up against the corner, covered in a sheen of sweat. Anticipation of the pain that was to come had overwhelmed the rational part of my mind, and I could no longer think of anything but my own demise.

                The wall groans, and the door opens, revealing Ron.

                “I am sorry Father, but I cannot find your knife. Nor any knife. They seem to have vanished.”

                “Insolent whelp!” The man screams. “You know where they are!” he storms toward the open door and stops to whisper in Ron’s ear, rather loudly. “If I miss this because of your insolence, you will take her place. Blood be damned. I’ll kill you just for the pleasure of it if I can’t drink her blood.”

                Ron turns a shade lighter as his father storms out of the room, closing the door behind him.

                “You bastard.” I spit, glaring at him.

                He glances down at me, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “My father may be many things Luna, but he is my father.”

                I glare at him as he walks around the room, retrieving his little recording devices. “I won’t play your game.”

                “What game would that be Luna? The game of saving your life and stopping a killer?”

                “That’s my game,” I growl. “Your game is giving me hope and then laughing while I die at your father’s hands.”

                Ron frowns at me over his shoulder. “I’m not going to laugh while he kills you.”

                “But you admit that you’re going to let him kill me.”

                “Of course not. Why do you think I put these voice recorders out? You got him to confess, in a roundabout way.”

                “Excuse me for not spilling his guts. Believe you me, I would love to.”

                “See, now you’re fitting right in.” Ron smiles. He open a drawer and puts them in it, and pulls out a little silver key. “Now let’s get rid of those handcuffs.”

                “Why, so your dad will have the pleasure of the chase?”

                “My father will not lay another hand on you. Don’t you trust me Luna?”

                “No.”

                “Fair enough,” Ron says, reaching around me to unlock my handcuffs. “But I promise you, I am trustworthy. I’ve been trying to find a way to stop my father ever since he forced me to start cleaning up his messes. Now that I have an opportunity, I’m not going to waste it.”

                I rub my wrists and glare up at Ron. “He’s going to be back in a few minutes. With a knife.”

                Ron laughs. “Wow, you really are slow aren’t you?”

                “I haven’t slept for,” I glance at the clock. The hands pointed to the five and the six. It was five thirty. “Twenty four hours. You’re lucky I’m still awake.”

                Ron chuckles. “I would have loved to see the look on my father’s face if you have fallen asleep while he talked about his voices.”

                I frown. “Voices?”

                “You know, ‘them’” Ron frowns at me. “You didn’t actually believe him did you?”

                “Of course not. You wanted a confession, I got him to confess. So….. Why is he” I wave my hand back and forth in front of my face, unable to pull the word out of my muddled, sleep deprived brain.

                “He’s schizophrenic Luna. I figured you would have picked up on that.”

                “And how long has it been since he’s taken his medicine?”

                “He took the last pill eleven and a half years ago and never renewed the prescription. Mom wanted him to overcome this on his own, without drugs. In the end, she was the one who was overcome.” Ron says dryly.

                I say nothing and stare at my hands. A loud noise reaches us and I stare up at Ron, wide eyed in terror.

                Ron winks at me. “Relax, I hid the knives.”

                “Where?” I ask. From the sound of things, there were many knives, hidden throughout the house. How could Ron possibly hide all of them and be sure that they wouldn’t be found?

                “In a place where he’d never think to look.” Ron grins. “The dishwasher.”

                I gape at him. “You hid them in the dishwasher? He’s going to find them! And I’m still going to die!” I wail.

                Ron crouches in front of me and puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.  “Hey, relax. He won’t look in the dishwasher. We always wash the knives by hand, as we do our dishes. He hasn’t touched it since mom died. I promise you won’t die tonight.”

                I sniffle and nod. “So what’s the plan then?”

                Ron smiles and stands, pulling me up with him. “You will hide.”

“What? I don’t want to hide,  I want to help.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Oh, sorry.” I whisper.

 

6:00a.m.

 

                I  carefully step over the squeaky stair Ron had warned me about and step into the kitchen. As promised, the dishwasher stood alone, and untouched. The kitchen was empty. Ron had told me that his father would be frantically searching his bedroom and the gaming room, which was where he hid most of the knives.

                I step to the patio door and slowly, carefully, slide it open. I allow myself only a few inches, barely enough to squeeze through. Once outside I look around and find the stairs. Rushing down the stairs I look around for the bin Ron had told me to find. It was hard to see in the pre-dawn light, but I managed to find the bin. Rushing over to it, I fling the lid open and dig around in it. I feel the smooth wood under my palm and grab it. Pulling it out, I test the weight in my hand. It was sturdy, and heavy. More than enough.

                I close the lid and run back up the stairs before carefully squeezing back in, bringing my new weapon with me. I close the patio door and click the latch softly. I stand there, forcing myself to breath softly while I listen to the silence. I hear a muffled curse word and a crash.

                “Where are they boy?” Ron’s father screams. I quickly but silently follow his voice. “What did you do with them?”

                “I do not know father!” Ron cries. “I cleaned them and put them back where they always are.”

                “What’s your game boy? What are you planning?” the man growls. I hear heavy footsteps and frantic footsteps, both moving in the same direction. Something bad was about to happen, and I had to hurry.

                I make it to the hallway and rush down it, heading to the one room with the lights on. Ron had told me it was the game room, the first room on the left. I cautiously peek into the doorway and see Ron backed up against the opposite wall; the handcuffs still a lump in his front pocket. His father was right up in his face, and Ron already had a busted lip and a cut above his right eyebrow.

                I practically stop breathing as I silently cross the room. This man would no longer get away with his crimes. I stop right behind Ron’s father and hold the bat up in preparation for the coming blow. I brace myself and swing with all my might right as Ron’s father raises a fist. The bat connects with his skull with a solid thunk. He doesn’t move, and a thrill of fear runs up my spine. Had I not hit him hard enough?

                His knees buckle and he slumps to the ground. Ron sighs and stares into my eyes, fear receding from them.

                “Thank you,” he murmurs.

                I nod and gesture to his unconscious father. “Just put the handcuffs on him before he wakes up.”

                “Right,” Ron says. He pulls out the handcuffs and tightens one around his father’s right wrist, before looking around for something to cuff him too.

                “You could put him by the pool table,” I suggest, pointing to the stubby leg sticking out of the bottom of the table.

                “Good idea,” he says. He drags his father over to the table and pulls the cuff behind the table leg before attaching the other cuff around his father’s left wrist.

                “Now that that’s done,” I murmur, leaning the bat up against the wall.

                Ron smiles sadly and pulls an envelope out of his back pocket. Inside was the letter we had written earlier, explaining what had happened, and how to get to the room in the basement. It also detailed where the voice recorders were, on the desk in the basement, and the sad story of how both I and Ron were killed by his father, Roger. I had discovered his father’s name when peeking at the letter he was writing while cleaning the blood off my arm. I had made my own vial of blood, and added it to the shelf, right next to Clair’s. We head to his room and he takes off his Halloween costume while I start throwing clothes in two large overnight bags. When we are sure we have everything we needed, we go back to the game room where Ron pulls out his phone. I adjust one of the bags on my shoulder as Ron dials three numbers on his cell. 911. H places the phone face up on the pool table and we both leave. We climb into the black Lexus ES 350 in the garage and pull out of the driveway.

 

7:30 a.m.

 

                It didn’t take long for to police to find it. The story was all over the radio. Ron and I listened grimly while they said our names, along with Clair’s. We listened while the y listed the charges placed against Roger Gale Schkitz, Ron’s father. We listened to all of it.

                Roger had ruined both my life, and Ron’s. We were both accomplices, Ron obviously, and me because I had helped burn Clair’s body. Which was a stupid move, I now realized. In trying to prevent my parents from discovering Clair’s murder, I had essentially killed myself as well.

                The letter was one the Ron had written as his father. It described in detail what had happened, and it was meant to look like his father had had one sane moment, and chose to turn himself in, sadly not before killing his son and his last two victims.

                Ron had birth certificates, social security cards, even credit and debit cards (apparently Roger had many private bank accounts, spread throughout different banks around the world); any and all legal papers that we would need to create new identities. Because if it was known that we were alive, we would both be wanted criminals. When asked about the papers Ron told me that his father was paranoid even before his first murder and had created false identities for himself and his whole family. Unknown to me, Ron also used to have a younger sister who, ironically, was about my age. I was worried about the car, but Ron assured me that it would not be missed, because it was not officially registered to his father, or himself.

                We would start a new life, together, and try to forget that Halloween night. Luna Kimberly Blu and Ron Gregory Schkitz had died at the hands of Roger. We were no longer those people. We would create new identities, new histories. And together we would never forget that night. Together we would work past it. Whatever we did, we would do it together. Luna and Ron died. They are no more. I am now Clair Anne Kane. He is Gale Jeremiah Mason. Together we will survive. Together we will live for the lives that were stolen.

                After all, things like what we went through only happen once in a blu moon.