“Black doesn’t Stain”
Introduction:
A farmer traveling down a wooded road. He spies a beautiful hitchhiker and her infant so he picks her up.
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“BLACK DOESN’T STAIN”
by tcs1963
Her skin was pale white, almost to the point of glowing. She was hitchhiking, with her thumb stuck out like a well-lit signpost. Her left arm cradling a small bundle very gently but protectively.
I noticed her because her skin contrasted against the dark night sky. Almost as if luring me to pull over, like preteen children trusting the molester in a dirty white work van, holding a handful of candy.
I had never stopped to pick up hitchhikers before and as a matter of fact, I was always warned against it. But I literally couldn’t pass this young lady by. Helping her seemed utterly paramount.
Her beauty called out to me like some sort of Siren’s Song. Making my anxious feelings of fear push to the back of my brain, along with my logic.
Along with her alabaster skin, this young lady dressed very uniquely. Like she had stepped off the front of your favorite gothic or punk rock album cover.
The light breeze sweeping her hair across her face. The flowing raven black locks curling willy-nilly around her face. Making her look innocent but dangerous at the same time.
Her tiny body was completely enveloped in a black leather duster type jacket, hanging down almost past her knees. Accenting the little black dress underneath. It finished off her tough look like she could be in some kind of motorcycle club.
The only part of her that was neither black nor white was her lips, which were a deep blood red. Scary dark and wet like a wild animal that had just eaten a rare piece of meat.
This odd combination of dress, which would have looked unnatural on anyone else, had the opposite effect on her. So she wasn’t surprised that the first car that stopped held a man. An older farmer style man to be exact.
“Where ya going?” the old man yelled gruffly through an open window.
“Anywhere,” she softly muttered. Pulling the bundle in her arms tighter to her chest. “Anywhere but here.”
She walked up to the rusty green truck door and paused, as though she was trying to decide whether to get in or not.
“What are ya waiting for?” he said shoving the door open for her, “Get in.”
She smiled gratefully, her pointed teeth accidentally poking out between her lips. Then she slid into the worn leather seat.
“So where are ya from?” he asked, looking down at her bare thighs with his eyes sparkling hungrily.
The woman just gestured with her head toward the forest and continued as if she were feeding the child in her arms. Suckling noises coming across the seat, spurring the old farmer’s imagination of young succulent breast.
“Not very talkative are you?” the unkempt old farmer mumbled in a tone that was almost inaudible to himself. But she caught every syllable.
She just glared at the farmer, hunger and anger were getting the better of her. Her eyes were pits of darkness sparking with anger, as her instinct kicked into overdrive.
“So how come you are wearing all black?” he asked. ” Did someone die or something?”
She gave him an odd look, partly puzzled and partly surprised. Thinking to herself that he was quite nosey for his age, and then wondering if he would scream in fear.
But before she could answer his question, a piercing wail filled the air. It was coming from the bundle of cloth, clasped against her chest.
The inhuman scream continued as the woman began unraveling the cloth. One layer off, then another, and another, until finally, the child was naked.
There, beneath all of those layers and blankets, lay a scrawny baby boy, not a particularly beautiful baby, but a baby all the same.
“Ain’t ya going ta shut it up?” he yelled, just loud enough that he could be heard over the baby’s wail.
“He’s hungry,” she stated abruptly.
The man looked at her expectantly, as though waiting for her to do something to quell the screaming infant.
She just sat there, her ghostly white breast resting on his lips. She was looking right back at him with that piercing gaze of hers.
With a sigh, the farmer leaned over and wiggled his pudgy fingers in front of the child’s face, trying to amuse and pacify the child.
For a few seconds, it seemed to be working; the little boy’s sobs slowly quieted, and he began gazing hungrily at the old farmer’s dirty fingers.
The child watched them go back and forth. Then slowly the baby opened his jaw wide and slammed it shut on the largest of the man’s fingers. Severing his thumb.
The man screamed, slamming on the brakes. Cradling his hand and staring at what remained of his thumb in shock.
Within seconds the infant boy began wailing again, spitting out the remnants of the finger he had been gnawing on.
“Now look what you’ve done!” The lady shouted angrily.
She shoved the finger back into the baby’s mouth and began moving his jaw up and down, forcing him to chew it, the whole time oblivious to the man’s endless screaming.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you,” she said, turning to the man.
Her words were returned by his silence and a look of fear and confusion. His screaming silenced and he fumbled with the lock on his door.
Scrambling, he had almost gotten the door open when the woman grabbed his arm. His blood sheeting across the windshield.
The woman’s strength surprising him, her steel-like grip was near impossible to break. So his constant struggling to get some distance, only made him weaker.
She nonchalantly brushed away the hair on his neck and dug her canines into the smooth delicate flesh of his throat.
In seconds he stopped struggling, semi-conscious. His eyes wide as he realized his fate was sealed.
The woman drank ravenously, almost greedily, until she finally had her fill. Her insatiable hunger sated for the time being
She then pressed the child’s lips against one of the two punctures that were still oozing blood droplets. The baby took two reluctant swallows and stopped his suckling.
She pressed the child against his bloody throat, but to her vexation, he would not suckle anymore.
Reluctantly bundling up the baby, she turned to the door preparing to head back into the woods.
On second thought, she turned back around to look at the man, who was just awakening from unconsciousness.
“You wanted to know why I wear black?” The man groaned. A groan that the woman took for agreement.
Moving towards the woods she quipped, “Because black doesn’t stain.”
The End…
