Read Online The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) by R. Scott VanKirk - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R. Scott VanKirk
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pupil.
Max's attention was drawn away from the skull when he unconsciously put his hand up to his head and touched the cut there. He yelped at the unexpected pain and drew his hand away. It was covered in blood. He looked down at where he had woken up. Head wounds were known to bleed profusely, and his had not tried to buck the trend. There was a puddle of blood there. It had pooled away from him toward where the head had landed. Where the head had been, there was a circular spot clear of blood. The clear area was actually considerably bigger than the head. It was decidedly odd and a bit chilling as he contemplated what might have been taking place while he was out.
To test his theory, he searched around for the bra. When he found it, he went over to Old Bone, and gingerly picked it up using the bra cups as hand protection. He tried to ignore how the eyes kept trying to follow him. He took it over and set it down in one of the areas where the red liquid was rapidly being absorbed by the wooden flooring. He stepped back to watch.
The blood under and around the head started reversing direction. It oozed back out of the wood and started forming small beads. Soon the beads grew and started rolling to the contact point of the neck and floor. Once there, they were absorbed into the neck. It wasn't a quick process, but he stared at it with gruesome fascination. In a nightmarish time lapsed and reversed vignette, he watched as each little bead of blood absorbed seemed to fill out the head a little more. It was a bit like the special effect used when the liquid Terminator pulled himself back together. Max's gaze was interrupted when a sluggish stream of blood from his head wound flowed across his left eye.
He cursed and grabbed a towel that had been Old Bone's nest. He gingerly brought the towel to his head. As he pressed it there, he found his gaze resting on Old Bone itself. He walked over to stand next to the head and then he tilted his own head over Old Bone and squeezed his saturated hair onto it. A few crimson drops landed on the skull and were absorbed right into it. He didn't know if he was fascinated or disgusted. It was sort of like his father's piranha. It split the world into two groups. When people found out that his father fed it live goldfish, there were two reactions: “Oh cool!... Let me see!” and “Oh gross!... Let me see!”
Whether it intrigued or grossed out, it certainly grabbed your attention. Max wanted to continue his experiment, but common sense and pain caught up with him. He was bleeding, broken, and he needed to get himself to a doctor. He patted his head gingerly with the towel and tried to wipe off the majority of the blood from his hair, neck, and face. When he was done, he dropped the soaked towel and painfully wrapped another over his head like a turban. He'd never thought about it, but clearly, one-handed Sheiks had it tough. He did the best he could, which was not terribly good, and then grabbed his bra-pads, picked up Old Bone, and put him on the couch facing the television.
“Sorry about that Old Bone. I don't mean to keep tossing you around like a soccer ball. I have to get to the hospital and get this taken care of. You're looking better though.” As an afterthought, he placed the blood-soaked towel next to the living anatomy demonstration watching him from the couch. Who cared if it ruined the couch? He could get another. He said, “Here, maybe you can suck on this while I'm gone. Hang tight, I'll be back tomorrow.”
He left the music room, entered the dark main hall, and limped to the front door. It seemed like more and more places on his body were hurting. His hand had started throbbing fiercely, and he had bruised or torn something in his hip. Just as he was reaching for the door, he heard footsteps on the stairway behind him. With a rush of adrenalin, he quickly hit the light switch so he could see. As soon as he flipped the switch it crackled and popped, then a line of fire
Max's attention was drawn away from the skull when he unconsciously put his hand up to his head and touched the cut there. He yelped at the unexpected pain and drew his hand away. It was covered in blood. He looked down at where he had woken up. Head wounds were known to bleed profusely, and his had not tried to buck the trend. There was a puddle of blood there. It had pooled away from him toward where the head had landed. Where the head had been, there was a circular spot clear of blood. The clear area was actually considerably bigger than the head. It was decidedly odd and a bit chilling as he contemplated what might have been taking place while he was out.
To test his theory, he searched around for the bra. When he found it, he went over to Old Bone, and gingerly picked it up using the bra cups as hand protection. He tried to ignore how the eyes kept trying to follow him. He took it over and set it down in one of the areas where the red liquid was rapidly being absorbed by the wooden flooring. He stepped back to watch.
The blood under and around the head started reversing direction. It oozed back out of the wood and started forming small beads. Soon the beads grew and started rolling to the contact point of the neck and floor. Once there, they were absorbed into the neck. It wasn't a quick process, but he stared at it with gruesome fascination. In a nightmarish time lapsed and reversed vignette, he watched as each little bead of blood absorbed seemed to fill out the head a little more. It was a bit like the special effect used when the liquid Terminator pulled himself back together. Max's gaze was interrupted when a sluggish stream of blood from his head wound flowed across his left eye.
He cursed and grabbed a towel that had been Old Bone's nest. He gingerly brought the towel to his head. As he pressed it there, he found his gaze resting on Old Bone itself. He walked over to stand next to the head and then he tilted his own head over Old Bone and squeezed his saturated hair onto it. A few crimson drops landed on the skull and were absorbed right into it. He didn't know if he was fascinated or disgusted. It was sort of like his father's piranha. It split the world into two groups. When people found out that his father fed it live goldfish, there were two reactions: “Oh cool!... Let me see!” and “Oh gross!... Let me see!”
Whether it intrigued or grossed out, it certainly grabbed your attention. Max wanted to continue his experiment, but common sense and pain caught up with him. He was bleeding, broken, and he needed to get himself to a doctor. He patted his head gingerly with the towel and tried to wipe off the majority of the blood from his hair, neck, and face. When he was done, he dropped the soaked towel and painfully wrapped another over his head like a turban. He'd never thought about it, but clearly, one-handed Sheiks had it tough. He did the best he could, which was not terribly good, and then grabbed his bra-pads, picked up Old Bone, and put him on the couch facing the television.
“Sorry about that Old Bone. I don't mean to keep tossing you around like a soccer ball. I have to get to the hospital and get this taken care of. You're looking better though.” As an afterthought, he placed the blood-soaked towel next to the living anatomy demonstration watching him from the couch. Who cared if it ruined the couch? He could get another. He said, “Here, maybe you can suck on this while I'm gone. Hang tight, I'll be back tomorrow.”
He left the music room, entered the dark main hall, and limped to the front door. It seemed like more and more places on his body were hurting. His hand had started throbbing fiercely, and he had bruised or torn something in his hip. Just as he was reaching for the door, he heard footsteps on the stairway behind him. With a rush of adrenalin, he quickly hit the light switch so he could see. As soon as he flipped the switch it crackled and popped, then a line of fire
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