Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection Read Online Free PDF Page A

attendant pauses, turns. She reaches up, brushes a finger beneath her nostrils, pulls it before her: stained a crimson red. And then she can taste it running along the contours of her lips.
    “My God…” She forgets about the woman as she turns and begins unraveling toilet paper for herself. The woman stands quietly, rubbing her eyes.
    The pilot turns to go into the cockpit when a sight greets him. He stands rigid, staring out at the passengers. They are speaking in rough whispers. Blood is trailing down their noses. Some of the older children begin to cry, too. Mothers and fathers try to help them, but their blood runs down to their chins. A wave of shock rushes over the pilot. He sticks his head back inside the bathroom: “Give me a roll of toilet paper. Now.”
    “Hold on a minute…”
    “God. Just give me a roll.”
    “We’re bleeding here, dammit.”
    “ So is everyone else ,” he whispers crudely.
    She looks at him, toilet paper stuffed under her nose. “What?” Her voice is stuffy.
    “All the passengers… Their noses… They’re bleeding.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “No.”
    She hands him a roll. “Try not to use it all. We didn’t stock in Germany.”

    Anthony Barnhart
    Dwellers of the Night
    23
    He moves passenger-to-passenger, handing out strips of toilet paper. The roll is dwindling, and the toilet paper isn’t helping: it doesn’t help the bleeds clot, and the blood just keeps coming, soiling the toilet paper until it is bleached red and damp with moisture.
    “Mr. Pilot! Mr. Pilot!”
    He turns to see a young woman with frizzy hair in 2nd-class, hollering for him.
    “Give me a minute, okay?” he pleads, trying not to sound agitated. Her voice is shrill: “Please! It’s an emergency!”
    She’s going to scare the shit out of everyone . “Everyone’s bleeding, ma’am. Just wait your turn, okay?”
    “It’s not me,” she says, despite the blood trickling from her nose like a broken tap. “It’s my baby. She’s bleeding from the eyes.”
    He hurries over, excusing himself from the other passengers. “Let me see.”
    The infant is cradled in her arms. Its nose is bleeding, and droplets of blood are appearing at the corners of the baby’s eyes. He gently brushes them away with the tip of a strip of toilet paper. Tears are streaming down the woman’s face. He imagines she is a single mother, flying alone. Frightened. Scared. Hell, everyone is scared. He imagines the infant is all she has. He curses himself for thinking so deeply. She’s just a passenger on his plane. He assures her he’ll call a doctor, and that—He stops midsentence. The tears are continuing to flow from the mother’s eyes, but now they are tinted ruby-red. Blood .
    Cries dance throughout the airplane. He turns and sees an old man standing. “My eyes! My eyes! I can’t see!” he shouts. The old man swivels around, and the pilot sees—to his ever-increasing horror—blood coursing down the contours of his cheeks. More and more people are beginning to panic, standing in their seats. The French waitress at the back of the plane rushes past him, yelling for help. The Latino waitress finds her, and both of them are bleeding from the eyes. The pilot forgets about the infant and her mother. He races down the aisle. “Everyone please sit down! Please be seated! We’ll take care of you as soon as we can! Please sit down!” He reaches the flight attendants. They are hysterical, crying, hearts hammering. Terror grips them. He pushes past them, rushing to the cockpit. Richard no doubt has heard the commotion, and the pilot wonders why he hasn’t done anything. He is ready to prepare for an emergency landing in Boston.

    He enters the cockpit. The copilot is standing, facing the monitors. His hands are raised over his eyes. He doesn’t respond to the man’s presence.
    “Richard?” he asks tentatively, suddenly afraid.
    No response.
    “Richard?”
    Nothing.
    He moves forward, cautiously, reaches out, grabs him