The Beast In Lockup

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Halloween night left Smith tired and drained. But his duty as an officer came first before his feelings of exhaustion. It was about ten p.m. when he finally made his way into the police station for night duty.

"Well, well, well, Smith, it's about TIME you decided to grace us with your presence!" A sarcastic statement rang out through the middle aged cops' office from a beet red mouth, in a deep, backwoods tone of southern drawl. "Guess yew decided to come on in after all, huh Blondie?"

"Sorry I was late, Sarge," apologized a handsome, twenty something blond Smith. "I had to put Trish to bed. She had a really weird nightmare about some black guy killing a bunch of people here in lockup. She said I had blood on my shoes or something."

Sergeant Kent lit up a cigar and leaned his large, doughy frame back in his rolling chair. He spit out a couple of puffs and said "Speaking of n*gg*rs, son," (Smith rolled his eyes at the n-word), "yew should have been here with the one we picked up tonight. Boy, I tell ya, he was a real weird sum bitch. He tried to rob some woman, right there in front of a cop in Old Town, then didn't put up no fight whatsoever when the cop arrested him. I mean really, a big n*gg*r like he was who'd do something like that to a white woman in the middle of downtown Alexandria? You'd think if he was that brave, he'd have a little more fight in 'im then that." Kent drew in a few more puffs and said, "I tell you, Smith, Virginia just ain't what it used to be."

Smith walked over to the coffee pot, poured himself a cup, black, no sugar, then walked over to his desk and sprawled in his chair. "Yeah, Sarge, I guess you think that ever since WE let African Americans out of segregation that the whole world has gone to hell, right?" His flippancy and annoyance were louder than his words.

Kent took offense. "Now you hold on there a minute, young buck, I was doin' this job while you was still in your britches up under your mamma. What, you tryin' to make me out to be some kinda racist? Look, I'm juss calling me a spade as a spade, and a n*gg*r as a n*gg*r. Not all blacks is n*gg*rs, just some of 'em like the one we locked up tonight."

"Hell if I know. I think Daniels threw him down there on the Aryan block, on a count of there weren't no more room with them boys that's going to Lorton. Plus, we figure that if he did some stuff like gat to a woman in plain view, he must have some type of violent tendencies or something. Hell, I guess he can stand one night down there before the Knights come lookin' for him. We can move him with the rest of the blacks come mornin'."

"What! Sarge, he could be killed down there with those Nazi knuckleheads," Smith argued frantically. "I don't care how big he is, he can't put up a fight against four of five skinheads. Look, I'm not trying to tell you how to run this place, but we got to move him out of there, now, or it's going to get ugly down there real fast!"

Just then Officer Capone, a large, 30 something Italian cop, walked into the front office. He took off his hat and laid it and a clipboard on a desk as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his left hand.

"Hey Mafia, what's the name of that black kid you and James picked up an hour ago?" yelled Kent.

"Look, son, I'm being serious. Ole Blondie here thinks we need to move the prisoner for his own safety."

Capone looked down at the clipboard as he leaned against the desk. "Let's see. Hmmmn." He thumbed through the paperwork. "Oh, here he is. B. Lyles. Hmmn. that's funny. I can't believe I didn't get the perp's first name." Capone removed the paperwork on the prisoner and turned it over. "Come to think of it, we don't have anything written down here, other than this name. No height, weight, address, date of birth, nothing. I could have sworn that James and I wrote all this stuff down."

"What!" yelled Kent. "Now Corporal, I know that ain't you forgetting how to fill out some damn paperwork. Jesus, son, you one of the best men I got around here. Responsible! That's why I bumped you up the ranks. You usually have a better head than that!"

Capone was dumbfounded. "I know, Sarge, sh*t! You know how anal James and Copeland are about records. I'm surprised that none of them caught it."

Smith got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Sarge, Capone, work with me here for a minute. What did the guy say his name was?"

Fear began welling up in Smith's whole body. His hands and his voice were shaking. "Uhhh, guys, this is going to sound crazy, but, uh, well, you know my daughter just had a nightmare about some black guy killing people in lockup, right? ? And, uhh, you remember that story the priest told us last week about that time he took confessions on Halloween?"

"Son, that's just some story to scare the rookies!" Kent crushed his cigar in his astray and stood up. "You don't really believe that nonsense, do you?"

Smith took a deep breath, and regained his composure. "I don't know, Sarge. But just in case, I think we should get Father Ryan on the phone, get him out here and go down to the A-block, just to be safe."

"Boy, there better be something to this, or I'm gonna look like a God damn fool waking a priest up this late at night" complained Smith.

"Sarge," answered Smith, "either I'm wrong, and the priest can just come here for me, or I'm right and we are in trouble. If we don't do something fast, we are going to have a big funeral in the morning!"

Five tall, strong, warrior members of the Aryan Brotherhood were sharing a large cell with a rather reclusive acting black man. The black man was bald, tall, strong looking, and sitting in a corner of the cell sitting on the floor. He was staring off into space and muttering some old tune that sounded like a bluesy take on Amazing Grace. Strangely enough, while the white prisoners were in their prison garb, he was dressed in a trench coat, black jeans, a black shirt, black sneakers and black sun classes. He had taken off his black dew rag, which was sitting on floor beside him.

With the exception of a couple of scrawny white inmates in the cell across from them, the six of them were for all practical purposes, alone in a vicious section of the prison that was keep for white psychopaths.

"Hey boy. Boy!" grunted the largest of the five. "What you doing on our block? Don't you know this here part of the pen is for our kind?"

The black prisoner looked up and said, "Oh? Really? And what kind would that be? Other than human, that is." He cut a cheesy smile.

"Boy, this here is A-block. This is the block for the Aryan Brotherhood. The guards know better than to let some spook get locked up in here for too long. Now either they gonna move you out of here tomorrow, or you must be some kinda black billy bad-ass or something, huh?" The large Aryan looked down on him and asked, "Which is it, Boy? Which is it?"

"That's right, they call me Tarzan in here. That's because I'm the white king of this here jungle." Tarzan looked puzzled and asked, "Hey, n*gg*r, how in the hell did you know my name already?"

B. moved down his glasses and made eye contact. "I always know the name of evil, dear sir. It's part of who I am." He turned away, put his glasses on his face, and continued singing and rocking himself.

Tarzan looked around at the others. They were all watching him and B. Soon, the other four Aryans turned from Tarzan and were staring at B. with a strange predatory hunger in their eyes.

"Get up, b*tch. 'B' is for b*tch from now on. That's what you are from now on, my big, black b*tch." Tarzan kicked B. in the leg.

"Yeah," said one of the others. "You're gonna be our kid you black bastard." The rest of the gang stared giggling and getting boisterous.

Tarzan looked down at B. "I how you know how to suck there, B-boy. 'Cause you're sure in for a lot of sucking and f****ng tonight!"

The rest of the pack was getting aroused and restless. A thick, nauseating, hot sweat began filling the room.

B. stood up and cheerfully said. "Why yes, Mr. Tarzan. I DO know how to suck. I've been sucking longer than you've been alive." B. smiled a sick smile and said, "In fact, if I remember correctly, I'm the one who sucked your mother. She is dead isn't she, Tarzan? Didn't they find her dried old body floating near the key bridge? I'm so good that I f****d and sucked your mother to DEATH!"

Anger ran through Tarzan, and he struck B., knocking him against the wall, B. slid down the wall as Tarzan ran over and began beating him mercilessly, and kicking him like a mad man. Soon, the rest of the aryans joined in, yelling and screaming out racial slurs as The two inmates in the next cell cheered them on.

B. was bruised and bloodied, and breathing heavily, but he still appeared to have some life left in him after the pummeling. The four Aryans held him down on the floor, one on each limb, flat on his stomach and naked from the waist down. Tarzan went back to his rack and pulled out a jar of Vaseline. He greased his rising erection up and stood behind the prisoner, who was held motionless on the floor. A tiny pool of blood was forming near B.'s mouth.

"You think you so funny talking 'bout my mamma boy! Huh! Talking 'bout my dead momma! Well by the time I'm done with you, you ain't just gonna be a punk, you're gonna be dead!"

Suddenly, a demented chant started to come out from the aryans. "Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!" The prisoners across the hall joined in.

Tarzan knelt down behind B.'s exposed bottom. "I hope you feel all six inches, boy, all six inches!"

Just when he prepared to mount, he was frozen by what B. said next. "If you stop now, Tarzan, I'll only eat one of your friends and let the rest of you live. Otherwise, Tarzan, I'm killing the rest of them and you will become my property."

Tarzan was shocked. Then he regained his fury and composure. "Boy, you must be sick! Don't you know what I'm going to do to you? Hanley, gag his black ass with your hand so he'll shut up! This coon talks too much!"

Hanley, the aryan who was holding B.'s right harm, placed his hand over his mouth.

Tarzan closed his eyes. As the tip of his erection touched B's rectum, he jumped up at the sound of a blood-curdling scream. It was Handley's voice. Tarzan opened his eyes to find Handley jumping up and down and yelling as a held onto an oozing mass of bloody flesh that was one his right hand. "Oh my God!" he yelled, "The n*gg*r bit my hand off!"

B's face twisted and changed into something utterly inhuman and demonic. He ripped himself up from the floor and threw off his glasses to reveal a pair of glowing red eyes. His teeth became razor sharp fangs and his fingernails became claws. The beat black prey became a demonic form that tore his way through the room. One by one he ripped through Tarzan's gang as if he outnumbered them five to one. He bit through throats, gashed out their eyeballs, and for the finally of the slaughter, he ripped off Hanley's sex organs and threw them at Tarzan's feet.

Tarzan stood their shaking and trembling in a pool of his own urine. The prisoners in the cell across from them literally dropped dead of fright.

"Well, Mr. Tarzan," taunted B. as he found his pants and dressed himself. "Who is the king of your little jungle now?" B. put on his trenchcoat, glasses, hat and dew rag, then walked over to the frightened man. Although Tarzan was much larger than he was, it was clear who now had the hand of power.

"My name is Belial," answered B. "I'm a vampire. Every year around this time I like to get myself arrested in some hick town so that I can get thrown into jail with someone like you. I prefer to select some evil, redneck racist like yourself to pay my debt for me. You see, Kyle, I own YOU now, like you've owned so many others in this prison."

"A vampire always knows the name of someone who is evil, Kyle," said Belial. "Now walk with me. I'm opening the cell and we are leaving."

Like clockwork, two young female guards, one white, one black, showed up at the door and unlocked it. "You ladies disappear now. I don't want you to get found out," ordered Belial. "Just leave the front open so that we can walk out. My power of suggestion will get us through the gate. You all make sure you act like you don't know what happened when Kent and his boys get here." Belial reached into the pocked of his trenchcoat and produced a large envelope. "Inside here are three smaller envelopes. The first two contain your payment. The last is a letter I want you to give, addressed to Kent and his boys, after I leave. Do you both understand me?"

Belial walked Kyle through the prison and out of the front gate with no problem. It was as if none of the other officers saw them.

Soon they walked down the long, winding road to the prison. After a couple of miles, Belial detoured off into the woods. He led Kyle over to a clearing. He told him to strip and lay down. Kyle obeyed without question, helpless to his own fear, and the power of Belial's suggestion and evil.

"Roll over on your stomach and lay still." Kyle rolled over. "Now close your eyes. It will go a lot faster if you close your eyes the first time."

Kyle's arrogance and pride were returning. No way was he going to let some inferior bastard tell him what to do, even if he was a vampire! Kyle stood up and prepared to lunge at Belial. Belial merely kicked him and knocked him twelve feet across the clearing. The crack of the blow signaled broken ribs for Kyle. He laid down submissively, hugging himself, trying to hold his sides and hold in the pain.

Kyle's emotions were soon replaced with fear as a huge beast appeared in the clearing. It looked man-like, with big horns, large bat-like wings, and an expression even more hideous than the one Belial wore when he killed Kyle's buddies.

"I'm sorry Master," said Belial to the beast, "he's a little damaged now. I had to kick him to get him to stay down."

"It's okay" growled the beast. "He's stubborn. You have paid your price to me once again. As promised, my child, I grant you more power so that you will be able to defend yourself against the other vampires." The beast majestically waved a claw and Belial began to glow. Soon, Belial's form returned to normal, and he sat down on the grass. He looked over in Kyle's direction and began to laugh.

Belial got up and walked over to the man, with the demon-thing following close behind. "You see, Kyle, I am a black vampire. Some of your Aryan brothers have been crossed over to demonhood, but they could not put their hatred behind them. They only allow me to prey on black humans and try to kill me when they see me. They have no respect for the fact that I am the oldest living vampire in this area. By the code of our kind, they are in effect, my children, but their twisted human brainwashing makes them think that they outrank ME!"

Belial knelt down in front of Kyle on one knee and continued. "So, I had to hook up here with this creature. He is the result of a love affair between Lilith, Adam's second wife, and Satan, my true master. He has yet to reveal his name to me, but he gives me special powers as long as I continue to bring him humans for his pleasure."

The beast knelt down behind Kyle and put his claws on Kyle's naked back, pinning him to the ground.

The priest, the sheriff, and his two deputies arrived too late. The cell was covered in a pool of blood that splashed on their shoes as they walked about. Two female guards, a black woman and a brunette, ran around the corner. The ladies began to scream in horror at the massacre of the four bloody bodies and various body parts flung around the cell.

"We're too late" said the old Irish priest. "The beast was Belial. He's gone now. And it looks like he took the big one with him."

"Father," said the blond female, "we found this bloody envelope on one of the bodies." She handed it to the old priest.

Father Ryan, Sgt. Kent, Corporal Capone and Officer Smith gathered around in a circle. Father Ryan opened the letter and read it to all present.

"Thank you all for a fully entertaining evening. It's been a long time since I've had this much fun on Halloween. Please be assured that while these fools are dead, I will return Kyle to you with nothing but his pride taken away.

"I hope we can all get together this time next year or in the years to come. Trick or Treat and Happy Halloween, B. Lyles. a.k.a., Belial The Vampire."