3 - Bloodling at the Dollar Store
1022 Words
Harold actually enjoyed the dollar store. They might not have the brands with the most recognition, but if you weren't picky, you could buy most of what you wanted (and certainly everything you needed) and put far less strain on your wallet than normal society accepted.
It was while he was in the soda isle that the Bloodling, in the form of a red and black spider about the size of a soda can, broke out from under the shelving and bit deeply into the rubber sole of Harold's shoe.
"Guyhaa!" he screamed, and tried to shake it off.
One of the workers came over from where he was stocking laundry detergent the next isle over. "Huh. That's a big spider." he said. "Stop being a wimp and just step on it." He then returned to his drone work, utterly forgetting that he'd seen anything unusual.
Harold, for his part, flailed around with his leg, denting the metal shelving in several places. Harold was no slouch, for all that he avoided using his gym membership. He found himself strong enough for most of his household chores. But all of his hurried attempts to smash the Bloodling failed to injure it.
In fact, they seemed to be serving only to upset it.
Now, please understand that while Harold had Seen Things, and Heard Things, and definitely Smelled Things that normal mankind just didn't see or hear or smell properly, that he didn't encounter new supernatural things on a daily basis - yet.
So while he'd seen wolves big enough to ride, and sometimes an elf or two dancing in the park, this manner of assault just was something that DID NOT HAPPEN.
So when the Bloodling finally got its fangs out of the sole of his shoe, and finally came free, Harold made a run for the kitchenware isle. The Bloodling, being a Bloodling, had no problem keeping up, and ripped the right leg of Harold's trousers while trying to strike his Achilles tendon.
He had been envisioning smashing the thing with a skillet, but it was both surprisingly agile and resilient.
"Hey!" the store manager yelled from behind her cash register. "You break those floor tiles, you're buying them, pal! Same with that pan." She looked right at the Bloodling, and would go home later that night, describing to her husband how some loon was just unable to hit a spider the size of his thumbnail.
And they would enjoy a laugh, because that's what mortals did when they encountered the supernatural.
Harold flailed away until the Bloodling got its fangs into his wrist. With a sucking noise, it sucked enough blood out to disable the entire arm. Physically impossible, of course, but one knows how little that matters to supernatural entities, even those as minor as Bloodlings.
However, even Bloodlings can eat only so much so fast. Having filled both its stomachs, the Bloodling curled up behind some towels to get some sleep. Harold had no such luck, having lost the use of one arm, and feeling woozy from his sudden anemia. Still, he knew that he had to keep up appearances; somehow, normal people could see and interact with him just as the supernatural could.
He was on the border between worlds, and could suffer consequences from either side. So, in addition to the things he'd been planning to buy, he purchased a new skillet. And instead of driving home, he drove to Old Marishka's.
Old Marishka wasn't just Marishka who was old, the Old was part of her name, part of her identity. Calling her Old Woman or Marishka would be akin to talking about Ed and wondering why people didn't immediately think of Thomas Edison, inventor of the light bulb. Old Marishka was many things. Like Harold, she could see and affect both worlds. Which, coupled with her knowledge of herbs and medicine, made her the ideal friend when one had an injury from the other world, the world beyond modern medicine.
"Beh." She said to Harold. "You are back. What do you want now? Potion to make a bunny-woman fall in love with you?"
"First, I never used that potion." Harold said. "And second, her love lasted about four hours or so."
"And then your stamina gave out, eh? Bunny-woman went back to her people? Never saw her again?"
"Her name was - is - Rita, and we still text each other." Harold said.
"Eh, I had a wild ride with a bunny-male, but for twelve hours. One hour of frenzied lovemaking, one for each constellation of the zodiac. I was younger then..."
Harold gripped his right arm, the immobilized one, in his left, presented it to Old Marishka.
"What, you donated a pint of blood, and they couldn't take it from your whole body?"
"Old Marishka, you know what did this to me. It was a spider, but the size of..."
"Ah, you lived." she said, slapping his pale hand. "Did that hurt?"
Harold shook his head. "Feeling is coming back, but slowly. That registered as pressure, but no, not painful at all."
Old Marishka slapped him across the face.
"Ow! THAT hurt." Harold said.
"Good." she said, "That means that Old Marishka knows now what has happened to you. What shape did it take?"
"Spider." Harold said, twitching the fingers at the end of his drained arm. "What was it, really?"
"Something more." Old Marishka said. "Something of the old bloodlines. Or the new. This Old Marishka does not know. But it must be only a Bloodling, or you would now be dead."
"So, Old Marishka, do you have something that can help? I'd really like to go to work tomorrow."
"Tut, tut, tut. First, Old Marishka needs sleep. Something one earns in old age. Second, this is not a thing for teas and poultices. For this, you will need to see the dryad."
"You mean druid, right?"
"No, this is not right. When Old Marishka says eagle, she does not mean parakeet. When she says dryad, what she means is dryad. You want to save the arm, you will go to see her, tonight."
- Writer
