The Donor

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A homeless man stumbles upon a dark secret which has been staring us in the we keep living our lives oblivious to it.

P.S - Stephen King I blame you for my fascination with horror.

Submitted: August 27, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 27, 2016



Smiling red drop

“It was one of those times you feel a sense of loss, even though you didn't have something in the first place. I guess that's what disappointment is- a sense of loss for something you never had.” 

? Deb Caletti, The Nature of Jade


"How are you feeling so far?" - the young man looked into his deathly eyes and smiled.

"Good, as long as I gets to eat something after this and the cash." 

"I understand. Don't worry about it. Just a few more minutes and you'll go home happy." 

Except there was no home to go back to. The vagabond lay sideways staring at that bright red line connecting his right hand to that plastic bag propped on a portable weighing machine. He did not know he had so much blood inside him considering he had barely had anything to eat in the last 48 hours. Thanks to the incessant rain, pedestrian traffic had reduced to a trickle literally kicking him in his belly. The corner where he worked with his tin-can hadn't seen more than a handful of people and those who walked by cared the least for a stinky beggar when their clothes were getting ruined by all the unnecessary water. 

But his luck had changed...

Someone had dropped a half-eaten pav bread into his can. Only after hungrily devouring a morsel had he noticed the paper that it had been wrapped in. As he unfolded it, a giant red drop of blood had smiled at him. 

 1 pint of Blood can save 3 lives

Become a Donor at our moving Clinic near Shivar Circle

 *All donors to receive refreshments and Rs. 350 (only for B-/AB-)

He remembered smiling back at it. Any other place in the world would throw him out like a  dirty mongrel out into the street but they would accept him. He had what they wanted...something valuable. Perhaps, the only thing valuable. 

When we had arrived at that red and white Tempo traveller, they had asked him if he had eaten anything in the last few hours. He had lied. 

"All done, sir." The male nurse guy kept smiling as if his eyes had a gravitational pull of their own. "You don't wanna rush now. There, there. Slow and steady. You can collect your glucose drink and bananas from that desk over there. Eat as much as you want, okay ?" He turned to leave.

"Hey wait ! What about the cash ?" - I shoulda asked for it first.

"Umm actually there has been a little bit of an issue with the bank." - He rolled his eyes and nodded his head. "You know how they are. But don't worry sir. We will make sure all our eligible donors receive their due awright ?" - And here comes the smile again. I'm gonna beat his face into mush. 

"No no. I wants my money right now. NOW!" 

"Sir, please. No yelling. You're disturbing the others. Come back tomorrow and you'll get your money okay ? Please."

"You're all the same. Bastards !"

He knew, he just knew they would take advantage of him. Everyone did. Huh, this guy lives on the street. What does he need money for ? He's just trash. Do better being dead haha. But he was not going to back down so easy this time.


Madness never lies

"In a mad world, only the mad are sane."

- Akira Kurosawa


The ragged tarpaulin sheet had been dripping all night. He had sat looking at the drops which made weird shapes and fractals in the puddle by the road. A kid had tried to sail a paper boat in it but the mud had taken over and turned it into a blotchy pulp. 

"Brother, d-do you have s-something to eat huh brother ?" - the retard who used to sleep by his dwelling had returned. He kept moving from one block to another but always came back to this spot. Coz this is where losers hang out, ain't it boy ? 

He looked up at him. People called him Pagla. More often than not he loved to take off his rags and walk down the street bare-ass for the world to see, scouring through every dumpster, looking for scraps and bits of food or whatever. 

"I don't have anything. Stop asking!"

"Y-you don't l-look so good brother."

"Yes coz they robs me. I gave mine blood yesterday to them. They said I gets money but they ran away. No van, no money."

"Th-that big van with red blood on it ?"

"Yes you saw right."

"Uh-I saw that van last night. Behind th-the scrap yard. Uh-I always goes there for food. Always find some."

His eyes gleamed with hope as he heard Pagla's words. "You sure it was that van brother ? Big red smiling drop ?"

"Uh-I knows what I sees."

He believed him. He was mad but he never lied. 


Never ask where the blood goes

“The real thing about evil," said the Witch at the doorway, "isn't any of what you said. You figure out one side of it - the human side, say - and the eternal side goes into shadow. Or vice versa. It's like the old saw: What does a dragon in its shell look like? Well no one can ever tell, for as soon as you break the shell to see, the dragon is no longer in its shell. The real disaster of this inquiry is that it is the nature of evil to be secret.” 

? Gregory Maguire, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West


The scrap-yard felt like stepping into a delirium. Every single object rotting, rusting since the day the world was made. Discarded, forgotten, no purpose to be found in their existence. Broken down vehicles had been crushed and stacked atop one another whispering sad stories of their plight. How many of them had been in an accident ? How many of them still carried the blood of their victims in them ? 

It had been easy to get into the compound through a hole in the fence. The only sound in the dreariness were the silent splotches his bare feet made in the mud and the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain. It was no less than a maze. Shoulda asked him for directions. As he walked a few more steps, his eyes grew wide. Fresh tyre-tracks. He wrapped the hole-riddled rag tightly around his gaunt frame and started following the tread.

The Warehouse sneaked up into his vision as an apparition. The huge, monolithic structure couldn't be more alive than it's surrounding compadrés except for the thin stream of a fume coming out of a crevice at the top. Something stood by the door covered in thick canvas. Has to be the van! He pulled back a corner of the cover and there it was, sure enough. It didn't make any sense. This was the last place in the world where Blood donation volunteers or whoever they were, would work. But the world had stopped making sense to him a long time ago. He just wanted his money. 

He cringed a bit as the door creaked a bit. The opening was large enough for him to get inside. The queasy feeling in his stomach became even more pronounced as he heard voices. His vision was obstructed by ceiling-length shelves which were filled with car-parts and other metal pieces, but he could easily make out faces. The volunteer who had that canned smile slapped on his face, was there. Some of the other male and female nurses were also there, lying on recliners. The smiley-faced volunteer pulled out a red-packet and emptied it into one of the jugs. Wait that ain't no red packet. What are they doing with the blood? One of those packets had his "life-giving" blood. His mind was finding it difficult to grapple with what his eyes were seeing. I don't underst-

"Hi. You looking for something buddy ?" - The volunteer stood right behind him, smiling.

He turned around with a start, struggling to breath - "Wh-what are you guys doing here ?" 

The man took a step toward him, light as a feather. "You are here for your money? Well, I'm sorry that wouldn't be possible really. You see, we were not supposed to meet again. But since you are here, why don't you join us?" - he extended a hand, his eyes gleaming.

"Welcome to our humble abode, for the time being at least. Meet my friends here." - he strode across the room.

All eyes were upon the vagabond as he stood there transfixed, failing to understand the grotesqueness that had unveiled itself. Every one of them had a glass of that thick red liquid in their hands. Some of them even had straws to enjoy every trickle of it. 

His shocked silence was broken by the volunteer's mellow voice. He spoke with that familiar nod of his head - "I know, I know you are confused. Well, its quite simple really. You see its the rains. It has never poured like this in a decade. And are we glad that it did, ha ha." Chuckles from everyone.

"You see, we are not from around here. We are an old race. Some may even call us a dormant species. We hate your world." The smiling visage had been replaced by a metallic tinge in his voice, a slight vibratto in his words. "When it rains like this, we get hungry. You must know hunger, don't you ?"

He nodded. I should not have come here...

"Hunger drags us out of our slumber. There's nothing really we can do you know. There is only one thing that we need." He picked up a glass, the dark red liquid sloshing within. "This beautiful, life-giving force that you people have in such abundance."

"Wh-who are you people ?" 

"We are not like you." He stepped forward, keeping the glass aside. "We strive in filth. Born and bred into the refuse that your society discards. We are resilient. Our anatomies have hardly changed through evolution. We were there when the first mammal made its appearance on this planet. Soon it became difficult for us to live freely so we started to take on other forms. We melted into the crowd, hiding and wary of our discovery, afraid of the weapons that your kind had developed."

His monologue drew him in deeper as it became darker with every sentence. "Although we had made every effort to co-exist within your society, we were incompatible. Soon disease spread, Malaria you called it. We had to kill a few of our own who had gotten out of hand but it was too late. It had become an epidemic. Hundreds started to die. Our source was fading away."

"It was in 1897 that a Doctor came here, brilliant enough to understand the cause for it and passionate enough to save you all. Ronald Ross was his name. We came forward from hiding and helped him find a cure so that your species could live, and so could we. He took our blood for his research and gave us new life. You see, we have always been collectors. Silent, never disturbing this delicate balance." 

"B-but you are human..."

"Oh this ? This is just a masquerade." 

His face came off in his hands. The large kaleidoscopic eyes sparkled against the lights, throwing innumerable colors. The long sharp snout protruded almost a meter from where his mouth was supposed to be. His coat fell apart as a pair of wings folded out. He heard a low hum starting around him. The last semblance of normalcy had been shed just like their skins. There stood the creatures that must defy the imagination of any sane human being. 

This must be a nightmare...a long, unending nightmare. 

"Now you have seen us in all our glory, dear human. How fortunate you must feel ! You are perhaps the only human in the world who knows our secret. But you must understand how important it is for us to keep our world away from yours. Our existence depends on it...on you. You should have left it alone. A donor should never ask where his blood goes. Its just a good deed and for this, we return the favor. Please forgive us..."

"F-forgive you for what ?"

Thats when he felt the sharp prick under his spine. He almost screamed but it was gone in a second replaced by an almost pleasant numbness that had started to spread throughout his body. I can't move. I can't breath... 

His vision had become a blur but he could still make out those large sparkly eyes staring into his soul. "Sleep my friend, sleep a dreamless sleep..."


Author's Note: I have always loved those creature stories that we used to read in Goosebumps growing up. Whatever happened to the simple thrill of an inexplicable being. Whatever happened to such movies as- The Fly, The Thing... Horror as Stephen King says, helps us cope with the real ones. But you have to admit, Horror does induce an undefinable rush. Sometimes, Horror also prepares us for the fact that anything is possible making us realize that the world is a mystery both outside and within. 











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