In the Blood

by Tim Simmons

“They always ask why,” Koryn sighed, pacing slowly around the table and twirling a lock of her long hair around her finger. “I always love to answer them, too. I hope you have a few minutes for my answer.”

“You won’t get away with this! I have connections!” The man on the table was struggling furiously at the leather restraints. In the anemic glow of a solitary light bulb, he could see little except to know that he was in some sort of basement. A large mirror hung on one wall to his right and a smaller table littered with odd implements sat off to his left.

“An ancient secret was suppressed and, over the centuries, finally expunged from written history. It has been systematically eradicated from not only the written record but the collective memory of the common man, as well. But after years of contemplating the facts, I have finally put the pieces together.” She paused for effect. “Mr. Lansing, have you ever wondered why so many people in the book of Genesis lived to be hundreds of years old but gradually lost their longevity?

“Do you think the Tree of Life in Genesis was a literal tree? Or, was it an allegory for the truth that could not be allowed to propagate? You see, the Tree of Life was simply a placeholder for the real reason Methuselah and so many others lived so long. God, or should I say the elite, had to keep the rest of mankind from partaking of this secret.

“Why do you think the animal sacrifices of old were finally abandoned? Because the elite knew. It was merely one step away. They had to keep the truth for themselves. Oh, the animal sacrifices weren’t nearly as effective, true, but as they say, one thing leads to another. Besides, seeing all that blood so often wasn’t very conducive to hiding the truth.”

“You’re crazy!” whimpered Lansing.

“I might have thought the same before so many pieces fell into place. The sacrifices of old were based on an earlier belief that there was life in the blood, for when the blood was spilt, life abandoned the unfortunate victim. Only later did they become focused on the propitiation of deities and other such nonsense.

“The truth is a well-kept secret among a handful, and only traces of the truth remain in the historical records, but once you’ve placed the pieces on the table, Mr. Lansing, they make quite a startling picture. Do you recall what Jesus allegedly said as recorded by the evangelist, John, regarding himself? ‘Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood you have no life in you.

“That sounds a bit like cannibalism, don’t you think? It was the drinking of human blood that gave rise to this saying thousands of years later. But of course, no one in Jesus’ day took it literally, because the truth, by then, was only a mist hovering transparent in a dark cave, a spider thread between two trees at night.

“This is only the tip of the iceberg, Mr. Lansing. Shall I show you more?” Koryn asked, gliding her index finger across the man’s exposed arm.

“Look, let me go. I have money!” begged the man.

Ignoring his plea, Koryn continued her explanation. “In the sixteenth century a group of people known as the Brotherhood also managed to resurrect this forgotten knowledge and became rather infamous in so doing. To squelch the truth, legends and fairy tales had to be invented: vampires, Mr. Lansing. They couldn’t have the common man drinking blood and living forever, could they? So the elite few twisted truth into half-truth and one by one the Brotherhood inexplicably... vanished.

“Even today the efforts of the elite are becoming more apparent. Why do you think they drain the blood from animals before preparing them for market? Why the sudden push to avoid red meat altogether? Why do they actually pay you for donating blood? Do you really think all that blood is destroyed beyond its expiry date?

“I could go on but I’m sure you see the truth by now. The elite want nothing less than to make damn sure that everyone else stays weak and dies young while they live on through the centuries,” Koryn said, staring straight at Mr. Lansing.

“The truth? To live forever, one need only drink human blood. But how often? How much? It is my belief that one should partake every day. Perhaps a glass, maybe two.” Koryn turned and looked at her reflection in the wall mirror. “It’s been fifty-three years now since I first started, Mr. Lansing. What do you think? Do you think I’m pretty?”

“My God, you can’t be serious!”

“There’s life in the blood, Mr. Lansing, and now it’s time for my daily dose of life!” Koryn raised the scalpel. Screams died as one life drained into another. Precious blood! It is only fitting that one life lost is another gained.

Koryn felt invigorated after draining the glass and closed her eyes, breathing the air deep into her lungs. She placed the empty glass onto the table and walked over to the mirror. The woman in the mirror ran her supple fingers through her long, dark hair — hair as deep and rich as the finest mahogany. In the dim light of the basement, she stroked her smooth cheek with the back of her hand and turned a bit to the side, smiling. “Not bad for eighty-four,” she said.

Satisfied, Koryn turned from her reflection and slowly made her way to the top of the basement stairs. Upon reaching the door, she paused. Her long, gray hair swayed softly as she turned to look back at the dead man. “Good night, Mr. Lansing,” she said and flipped the light switch with a wrinkled, bony finger.

Yes, there was life in the blood. She was sure of it.

Copyright © 2008 by Tim Simmons

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