Life of the Undead

written by Ray Everly and Neenee Hu

“Drip, drip, drip,” the ticks of each splatter continue to plink down on the table where the bleeding hearts lie, staining the wood blood red. The horrifying shriek of another one of Maphisto’s victims echoes through the air as a pair of sharp fangs plunges into the frail, delicious flesh of a neck.

The crimson nectar runs down Maphisto’s pale chin, fangs and lips bared in an almost feminine smile as he stands. His purplish gray hair flows down one shoulder, tied up to ensure no gore is infected into his curls.

As he slowly discards the corpse with bare, sickly hands, his feet creak against the stone, boots clicking on its little heel. In the light, he looks almost female, with his long hair, slender figure, and dainty eyes, lashes curled at the very ends, dotted with maroon.

He slowly turns on his axis, eyes narrowed as he hums a little tune, dead to time now. His steps grow louder as he strides his way up the stairs, leaving bloody footprints in his wake, slowly fading with each thump of his sole.

He blinks down at the woman who lounges on his couch, her long, dark nails digging into the dusty, ancient cushion. She spins her head around in a way only a ragdoll would act, eyes locking onto his, red on red.

Her flaming, deep hair trickles down her shoulders and skin-tight dress as she stands, slowly approaching Maphisto, her head cocking to the side. Blood slowly oozes from her lips as she closes the distance between them. Her hands roam up his suited chest, and his breath hitches at the touch, sickly face reddening.

“Good evening, my dear,” she whispers, her lofty lips curving into a small grin, nails tracing patterns on the ruffles of her husband’s shirt.

Maphisto swallows and wraps both his arms around her hips, hoping to earn some contact. “Good evening, Velveta.”

She giggles, no, cackles, softly, her claws digging into his throat now, a single stream of pale life’s essence running down the expanse of his neck. His eyes flutter shut, the pain welcoming to a body that no longer feels.

“My, my. The great Maphisto, deterred by a little smile and a pretty face? How… quaint,” she murmurs into his ear.

He exhales sharply. “Only for you, my dear.”

She smiles softly, tenderly, even, as she releases her grip on the grayish expanse of his throat. She runs her talons down his shoulders and gently presses a kiss to his cheek, the lipstick runny and dark.

“I would expect that,” she says softly. “I would expect that from a little lowlife like you. You’d lick my shoes if I told you to, wouldn’t you, my darling?”

He gasps, low in his throat, as his eyes open again, roaming her figure.

“I do not deserve you,” he manages shakily, his nails digging into her hips. “You did not deserve what I did.”

“Oh, but you did it anyway,” she chirps, one fang digging into her bottom lip, drawing her own life in a small trickle. She savors the metallic taste on her tongue, smiling. “You were greedy, and you took me with you. Now, I am damned to live for eternity, and you must suffer with me, my dearest.”

She releases his shoulders and eases herself skillfully from his grip. “No amount of love in our past life could have prepared me to go into the afterlife with you, but I accept it.”

She leans in, noses brushing, hands clasped behind her back. Maphisto’s breath hitches– hoping that no victim, servant, anybody, sees his vulnerability with his wife.

“If you pull another stunt like that, darling,” his dear whispers softly, her grin making his heart flutter. “I’ll skin you alive.”

He swallows, hands reaching back down to grip her waist, feeling her hipbones through the slick cloth. Her lips slowly graze his, eyes locking with her husband’s, as she closes the distance between them. She locks her fangs into his lower lip, drawing pale blood that she laps up with fervor, before her hands travel up his chest, clutching at his ruffles.

He gasps against her lips, eyes fluttering shut as he feels the pain of her bite seep through his mind– a numbing drug to his eternal ache. He pulls her impossibly closer, her fangs retracting from his mouth and instead kissing him with bloodlust, her gaze steady against his body.

A metallic taste fills both their mouths as Maphisto’s blood travels between hungry lips and kisses full of teeth. His fangs catch on her tongue, and she hisses, pulling away.

“Have some control, Maphisto,” she spits. “You’re such a dirty kisser. You should be lucky that I love you as I do.”

He bows his head, still panting from the kiss, nails digging into her hips. “Apologies.”

She huffed, turning on her heel and walking away, leaving Maphisto to listen to the distant click-clack of her platform heels.

He touched his lips, bringing his fingers to his gaze. Blood stained the slender digits, pale pink against sickly skin. He lapped it off his fingers and lower lip, smiling softly.

“I’m the luckiest man alive,” he whispered to his fingers. “Aren’t I?”

The fingers did not answer.

“Does she love me?”

The fingers did not answer.

“Do I love her?”

The fingers did not answer. Nor did Velveta, who was walking off in the distance of their Victorian mansion. All Maphisto saw was Velveta’s hair bouncing as she elegantly walked up the stairs. Her nails slid across the railing with each step, her lips curved in a contented smirk.

He stumbled after her, his heels catching on a loose velvet strand that lay strung along the crimson tile. He instinctively reached out his hand, but she was long gone, a distant, fiery figure heading to her bedroom.

He followed, his feet traveling noiselessly up the swirling staircase, before he caught up to her, sitting at her vanity, smelling of dust, blood, and pomegranates. She rested, her gaze barely traveling from her mirror, hands held poised over her pale lip gloss that lay on her desk. Maphisto coughed, catching her attention.

She stood up, striding over to her husband and catching the ruffles of his shirt between her claws. She tugged him forward, her fangs snagging on her lower lip.

“Trying to buy my attention?” she murmured, cocking her head. “You have to try harder than that, darling.”

His breath hitched as he trembled in her grip, face reddening again. “No, not at all, my love.”

She smirked. “Are you sure?”

He stiffened, going silent, his gaze dropping and roaming her figure.

“Eyes to yourself, darling.”

“Apologies.”

She laughed, poking him in the chest with her nail. “You should be sorry, you insolent waste of sickly flesh.”

He gulped, eyes widening impossibly, welcoming the insult. Despite how much she spat at him, how did she always make it look so hot?

She cocked her head, eyes gleaming with mischief as if reading his mind.

“You find this arousing, don’t you? Little creep.”

He gasped involuntarily, eyes fluttering shut as she gnawed at his jaw.

“You always taste sweeter when you kill.”

He exhaled sharply. “Thank you, my dearest.”

She smiled. “That’s what I would hope from a stupid little ant like you.”

“Of course,” he whispered back, returning the smile shakily. “Anything for my mistress.”