‘Blood Moon’ – By Mark T. Bates (The Curious Dark #5)

‘Blood Moon’

A short story …

By Mark T. Bates

(2025)

***

It’s the turn of a new decade, and there’s a killer at large on the streets of New York. A prowler you might say. A monster seemingly choosing prey at random, plucking victims from the sidewalks and back-alleys when they’re alone after dark. A murderer who removes the soul from the bodies of those unfortunate chosen ones. A seemingly motiveless killer.

The victims of this murderer vanish without a trace, a string of mysterious disappearances plaguing the unsolved cases bureau of the local NYPD. Even the national FBI investigators called in to assist with their expertise in criminal profiling and forensic psychology are completely baffled. They have no idea who this killer is, or why this killer does what it does. The killer is me …

It’s January 1980 and the moon is full. The Wolf Moon … my Blood Moon. And it is everything to me. I drive these streets, just one of a thousand taxi drivers melting into the background of the metropolis. Nobody paying us any attention until they need a ride home, and that suits me fine. I like being a backdrop, it serves my kind well. I like being nobody who can melt into insignificance. But I am somebody. I am the reaper.

Each corner of this city has a story to tell, my story. They call me The Coyote, because I hunt for my prey at night. Each time somebody goes missing in the city, they say; “The Coyote has got them.” And they’re often right. I am a master of the death I purvey. And once a suitable subject enters my domain, believing they’ll be taken home safely in order to sleep off a night of excess, I lock the doors of my yellow cab. Camouflaged as it is within the night of the city … and they are mine.

There are many quiet places that a taxi can visit in this city after dark. Quiet places where I can complete my work with the privacy it deserves. When I turn off its lights, my car will be completely invisible. I’ve adapted this vessel, the spiders-web as I like to think of it. It’s completely sound-proofed for one, and the thin disposable plastic wrapping that covers the rear seating, is paid no attention when my passengers enter with little more than the sanctuary of bed on their minds. Foolish really, and the last mistake they will ever make.

From here they are helpless, little more than a mouse dropped into the tank of a hungry snake. And like the mouse, it will take them a little while to sense that all is not right. They pay no mind at first to the irregular route I drive, until they no longer recognise the streets upon which we travel. They’ll start to shuffle a little awkwardly on the creaking plastic of the sheet they sit on, staring aimlessly out of the window as they do so. But even then, the horror does not truly sink in. Why would it?

My Blood Moon is full and its desire needs feeding. Sacrificial prey acquired by its loyal servant will be placed in the dull glow of the night for its shadow to suckle. If only they could appreciate the significance of their destiny? It is mid-evening and the streets are already darkening, wrapped in winter’s cold embrace. It may no longer be New Year’s Eve, but this is the city and the bars are still full of life.

In my vehicle I slowly stalk the streets, imperceptible to all apart from the occasional person who raises a thumb or blows a whistle in my direction. But for now, I ignore all who try to flag me down. It is not yet time for me to take my passenger on their final journey. I am not yet ready to open my door to their endless oblivion, nor am I seeking money on this evening at the peak of the lunar cycle. The cycle of the Wolf Moon … my Blood Moon.

Tonight, I seek only fulfilment of the flesh, and the immortal offering I will make to the moon. I wait patiently until the witching hour, moving through the streets with the grace of a shark as it moves through water. Watching as the people of this night come and go, waiting for that one loose straggler that gets left behind. They may be alone because their friends want to continue partying whilst they are thinking about work in the morning.

They may be alone because they have argued with their lover; the tears on their face will always give this away … and they will taste so much sweeter if their adrenaline has been pumping. They may be alone because of intoxication, no longer able to find their friends in the crowded bars of down-town Manhatton or Soho. These vulnerable sacrificial lambs taste the most succulent to me, and are also far easier to subdue when like the snake, it is time for me to strike.   

But while the evening is young, I will simply enjoy the moon while it delivers to me its morbid visions. On each street corner I pass, I see the ghosts of those whose lives we have absorbed before. And they see me; the terror still etched on their faces. I have amassed quite a collection of souls over the years. But still, I remain a faceless entity to those who would seek to end my reign of terror. The Coyote.

I see the faces of my victims exactly as they were at the moment they drew their final living breath. Works of blood-splattered art that only a master of his craft could create. Oh, how the memories coming flooding back as I look upon their wretchedness. Memories that the energy of the moon transmits only to me, as it opens a visual portal to another realm; The Blood Realm.

Each victim of mine appears at the exact spot I first picked them up from. Desperate looks upon their shattered faces, unable to comprehend the time and space they occupy between life and the afterlife. Souls lost in the shadows. Unfortunately for them, a violent and unnatural end at my hand means they are damned to wander the earth, only visible to the one who took their flesh.

And how I enjoy watching them as I drive these streets which run red with the blood I have spilled. Sometimes, the alleys I have returned to time and time again seem over-crowded with the bodies I have claimed. For the moon guides me, the moon calls me, the Blood Moon is inside of me. My history of carnage is beautifully visible on this night, and I revel in what I see. Bodies badly beaten, as is the way when I become enraged and lose myself in the moment.

My victims curse me as I drive by, for they recognise my cab as I crawl beside them with the window down. And I also see the pain in their eyes, as asides from me the living pay them no attention. Walking through them as if they are nothing. Invisible ghosts, which is really all they have become. The reality is their mortal bodies are scattered and buried. Some near, some far, some resting at the bottom of the ocean.

But I cannot dwell only on the past. The Blood Moon demands fresh meat, and the hunger inside of me demands it too. The evening draws on and my beloved tormentor becomes even more visible as the sky darkens to an infinite blackness. I drive, and I drive. Watching, waiting patiently as I prowl the back streets of New York. The streets that tonight, belong to me. They call me The Coyote, for I am the true Blood Hunter.

Rain drops start to hit my windscreen, delicately at first, then more vivacious as I engage my windscreen-wipers. It will soon be time, and the wet weather will see people just that little more desperate in their search for safe passage, once they empty onto the streets from the dive bars and strip clubs. Paying even less care than they normally would as they hastily enter the dry sanctuary of my vehicle, their final ride.

It happens to be just before midnight when I see her, the one. She is walking alone at speed, holding her handbag over her head, her make-up smudged. She has separated herself from the crowds of the street and takes refuge in a doorway, stopping to light a cigarette. I pull my cab over close to her, and illuminate my light to let her know I am accepting custom.

She slowly peers across the road and clocks my car. It is as if I’m waiting just for her. She looks around, I’m the only option she has right now. Discarding her cigarette into the gutter she runs through the rain towards me. Opening the door behind my driver’s seat she climbs straight in, her hair dripping wet.

“Where to?” I turn and ask, smiling as the door closes and locks behind her.  

“Take me home,” she pleads …   

*** End ***

Copyright 2025 Mark T. Bates

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A version of ‘Blood Moon’ first appeared as part of Crystal Lake Publishing’s ‘Shallow Waters’ series on their Patreon page (Nov 2024).

Mark T. Bates – Writer Bio

From a young age, Mark immersed himself within the world of genre storytelling. Devouring paperbacks from the likes of Stephen King & Clive Barker, while immersing himself in the movies of John Carpenter & David Cronenberg. All combining to lay the foundations for a life-long love of Horror, Fantasy & Sci-Fi, which has naturally transcended into a passion for telling his own tales.

Particularly drawn to the craft of short-story writing, Mark is inspired by the Night Shift and Skeleton Crew collections from King, Barker’s seminal Books of Blood, and stories from a diverse pool of authors including Chuck Palahniuk, Philip K. Dick and Joe Hill. 

Mark has had a number of short stories appear online as part of Crystal Lake Publishing’s Shallow Waters series, and his eerie post-WW2 tale – ‘A Burnt Offering’ – appeared on The Dark Corner blog.

His creepy supernatural-horror novella – ‘The Curse Of Six’ – released in the autumn of 2025 via RDG Books Press, while his mystery-thriller novella – ‘A Slow Decay of Flowers’ – has been signed by Baynam Books Press … and arrives in 2026.

Mark can be found online in all of the usual places!

‘The Curious Dark (Vol.1)’ – by Mark T. Bates