Chicky, drama, Heavenly, love

Darling

darling

The redolence of centuries old inks and dust rose to my face as I opened the aged, leather-covered grimoire that had been handed down by my ancestors for eternities. I took in the essence of all the women before me, as I turned the thick hand-made pages until I reached the first blank page. Flattening the book open with the pressure of my hands, I took in a deep breath and focused on Mother before inking the quill. The golden glow of the bricked firepit along with the candle nearby gave off enough light to begin my message.

   Mother,
                           I miss you. Today, of all days, I wish you were here.
                          It did not work. And so, today, I will be setting him free.

I placed my hand over the written message, cleared my mind, blocked the echo of the dripping water behind me, and allowed the written thoughts to go to Mother, wherever her spirit may have been at the moment. I hoped, sitting with me.

The scent of roses drifted up from the book. The message was received.

I softly closed the book, said thank you, and stood to tuck it into the cellar wall amongst the rest of the tools I use to practice my craft, hidden from view for reasons of forbidden witchery. I ran my finger down the empty bottle that just yesterday housed my newest possession, one very expensive cinnamon stick. My head lowered to mimic my heart, for I used it to create a potion yesterday to make myself beautiful for he who did not show.

Accepting my fate to never find love, I begrudgingly made my way up the cellar stairs and into my bedroom. I pulled the box from under my bed, sat on the floor and opened it for the first time in twenty-nine years. Inside it was a folded sheet of parchment paper that instantly brought me back to this very room where I sat with my mother on a smaller, child-sized bed…to write my very first ever spell.

Mother sat next to me holding the candle above the paper that sat upon my lap.

“What do you want your husband to be, dear?” she asked six-year-old me with an excited smile.

The embarrassment came up and out of me with an uncontrollable giggle.

“Handsome,” I said, which came out more like a growling troll saying “Hnsm”.

“Write it down, Dear.”

As I sat with my memory, next to my bed, I opened the paper to reveal the five words needed to complete the spell. All in red crayon:

HANSUM
TALL
MAJICAL
KIND
DARLING

It was the last one that tugged at my chest.

“Darling?” Mother asked with a sly smile. “You want someone to call you Darling?”

“Yeees,” I said looking at the paper so I wouldn’t have to look at her.

“Why would you want that?”

“You know!”

“Because your father calls you Darling?”

“Ye-heh-es,” I said, the word separated by uncomfortable giggles.

“Well, then, Margery, write that in there!” Her arm around my shoulders gripped tighter for a moment. “Now,” she said, “repeat after me.” She paused until I looked at her. “And, so it is done.”

“And, so it is done.”

“Fold it up, put it in this box that has been handed down from my mother and her mother and so on. You will meet your husband on your thirty-fifth birthday.”

The name Darling always brings the memory of my father forward in my heart.

*****

I stood, looking over the bridge to the calm water below. It was my duty to release this man to whomever he had chosen over me. Life had intervened and given him to someone else, and in order for them to be happy, I had to release the spell to the river. This act would break the energy chord that had quietly connected us for twenty-nine years. My heart hurt as I released the paper and turned to walk away.

Despite the reason I was there, Heritage Park was quite beautiful that day. As I walked the trail, the breeze gently cleared the saddened energy I had carried with me since midnight, sixteen hours ago. Birds sang their own love songs. A song that I had accepted would not be mine. I looked up at the full trees as their leaves danced back and forth. The wind picked up with a large gust going one way and then another and then yet another, causing something to float past my face and to the ground. I lowered myself, adjusting my long skirt, to pick it up. It was a folded sheet of parchment paper. I began to open it and saw five childish words in red crayon, but they weren’t mine. Then a set of black boots and tanned breeches stood before me.

“I apologize, Darling, but the wind seems to have taken my note and passed it to you.”

My heart skipped. Could it be? I thought to myself. I slowly lifted my face to look to his. The arch in my neck confirmed that he was certainly tall.

“My goodness. You are quite lovely, aren’t you?” He said as he offered his hand. Once I stood, the most handsome man I had ever seen handed me a note. “I believe I got your note as well.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling the heat fill my cheeks.

“Cheeks like roses and eyes as blue as the ocean,” he said, gently touching my face.

I shied my head down. Realizing I still held his note, I offered it to him.

“Please, read it,” he insisted.

I looked at the words written by a child that read:

BEUTIFULL
BLU
NICE
ROZE
LUVLEE

“It would seem, Darling, that our love spells have crossed paths,” he said with a smile. “Is today your birthday, Lovely?”

“It was yesterday,” I said as I swam in his deep brown eyes.

“Happy belated birthday, Darling. My birthday is today,” he said with a smile as he took my hand and we continued our walk together for the rest of our years.

….end…

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drama, horror, thriller

Seven Days (part 2)

PART 1

PART 2:

Elizabeth was sure that if there were such things as Murmer Men, her, Connor and Kenny were likely standing directly on their entry to our world. Second thoughts to this adventure had passed her half a mile ago. She was on her thirtieth thought. And then her thirty-first. They were thoughts on auto replay like those 24-hour YouTube videos that play the same skit over and over. We should go back. We’re going to die. We should go back. We’re going to die. We should go…  Her thoughts were interrupted with a long, low groan. All three of them stopped setting up the tent and looked through the falling rain at the miles of forest that surrounded them.

“Did you hear that?” asked Kenny.

“Just a frog,” said Connor. They both pointed their flash lights at Elizabeth who didn’t say a word.

Her eyes just looked at them, large, terrified. Then she pushed the words out, “Frog. Stop being a girl, Kenny.”

Connor was the last to bend down and squeeze into the tent. His boots were covered in the muddy rain water as soon as he stepped in. Elizabeth and Kenny watched his reaction to the amount of water that was in the tent until they all blew out laughter like balloons, releasing the tension of terror that had accumulated for the last few hours. The fact that they were even in that tent was just ridiculous. They looked up to see water seeping through the top, and noticed the smell of mud and muck had intensified in their tiny area while Elizabeth and Kenny sat in what could, at that moment, be used as a kiddie pool.

“It was a tent… for my bedroom,” she admitted. “I was five.”

Connor sat halfway on Kenny before sliding down beside him in the water. “My ass is going to be all wrinkled by the morning.”

“Why do I feel like we’re going to drown in this thing?” asked Kenny.

Elizabeth slapped the water around her legs, trying to angle it at Kenny. Kenny splashed back. Connor joined in, accidentally dropping his flashlight into the water. They heard a quick zzzt and his light was out.

“Connor!” they both yelled. A thump noise emanated between his shoulder and Elizabeth’s fist.

“Shit!” was his only reply.

“It’s eleven-fifteen,” said Kenny. “forty-five more minutes.” They took turns looking at each other.

“I was six,” she started. Kenny and Connor waited for her to continue. “I was six when I overheard my mom and dad talking about them. About the Murmer Men. She was ten when she saw one.”

“Who, your mom?” asked Kenny.

“Yeah,” she wiped water from her forehead and hit the tent roof as though that would stop the leaks.

“A Murmer Man?” asked Connor.

“Yeah.”

“Bull,” said Connor.

“I never got to meet my Grandmother. She died when my mom was ten. That’s when she saw it.”

There was silence for a moment.

“No, you’re trying to get us going,” said Kenny.

“Have either of you ever met my Grandma??”

They both looked at each other, then at Elizabeth. There was another groan. It was a little closer this time. Elizabeth tried desperately to remember what a damn frog sounded like.

“I saw two frogs doing it before,” said Connor.

Kenny forced a nervous laugh. “Gross,” he said.

“You guys don’t have to believe me,” she said. “I guess we’ll all know tonight.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Eleven-thirty,” said Kenny.

“Thirty more minutes,” said Connor. “That’s when they will come out and feed. Who wants some jerky?”

“Really?” said Elizabeth. “You want to eat now when they are going to be here in thirty minutes?”

“Might as well fatten up for them!”

“Just so you know, I’m going to push you out first if these things are real!” her eyes stayed on Connor.

“I’m actually hungry,” said Kenny as he maneuvered into his bag and passed chunks of dehydrated beef to each of them.

They listened to the rain pouring over the tent while chewing in silence. It was eleven-forty-five when they heard the next groan which had a touch of a growl and sounded more like a “mmmmmmrrrrr”. In timing, all three looked below them before looking at each other.

“Was that?” Kenny’s eyes were large.

Connor nodded.

Elizabeth could feel her heart beat in her chest. “Yeah. It sounded like it was…” she jumped up, backing into the top of the tent. “What was that? Did you feel that? Something just moved underneath me!” Tears started to fill her eyes. “What was that?” She could now hear her heart thumping in her ears.

“Nothing, I didn’t feel anything”, said Kenny. “But I heard something…under us.”

“Bull, you didn’t feel anything. You’re just messing with us again, Liz.”

“No! No, I’m not! Something is down there. We should go.”

“Out there?” Kenny said.

“Yes, we can’t stay here,” she said as she unzipped the tent, pointed the flashlight out before poking her head out and then looked around. She saw something to her left in the muddy water. There was a trail of water in the shape of a V, kind of like a beaver makes when pushing a log through a stream. But it was raining, so all the animals should have been tucked away. And the trail was too wide for an animal that could hide beneath two inches of water. A new trail formed in front of her, going in the same direction. There were two of them. And again, she heard the “mmmmmmrrrrr”. She ducked back into the tent and zipped it.

“Calm down, Liz,” said Kenny. “You’re going to pass out. Breath slower.”

“There’s something out there. For real. I’m calling my mom.”

“No!” said Connor, “You’re going to get us in trouble!”

She pulled her phone from under her poncho and started to dial, but Connor reached up and knocked it out of her hands.

She tried to catch it before it fell in the water. “No!” she yelled while her and Kenny reached into the water for it. By the time they pulled it out, it was dead. She glared at Connor.

His eyes were huge while his hands waived in front of his face. “Liz, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break your phone. I just can’t get in trouble again. I’m sorry!” His head was knocked down to the left with her right fist.

“We’re going to die, Connor!” She punched is face back with her left fist. “It’s all your fault! We’re going to die!” She felt the tent move as Kenny stood up and grabbed her from behind.

“Liz, stop!” he said. “Stop it!”

Connor grabbed his face. “I’m sorry, Liz.”

Kenny let go as soon as she calmed down a bit.

She plopped down in the cold water. She hated that water. She hated being there. She hated Connor for making them go. “What time is it?”

“Eleven-fifty-eight,” Kenny said, head in his hand. “Maybe you didn’t really see anything.”

“I did!” she said. “Maybe Connor should go out there. He’s the one that wanted to see them so bad. Maybe they’ll leave us alone after feasting on him.” She moved her leg in an effort to kick Connor, but the confined tent saved him from another one of her blows.

“You want me to go out there? I’ll go out there. You’re right. I do want to see them.” He got to his feet and unzipped the tent. “Kenny, give me your flashlight.” He took the flashlight and directed it out of the tent. “I don’t see anything.”

“Good, then get out.”

“Liz, maybe he should stay in here.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t,” she said.

Connor climbed out of the tent and stood outside with the tent door open, hand gripped to the tent zipper, just in case. “I’ll let you guys know if I see anything.”

“Give me your phone,” Elizabeth said to Kenny.

“My mom took it, remember?”

“Ugh!” She punched the water.

Outside the tent they heard “mmmmmmrrrrr” and then Connor saying “What the…” Then there were two or three of the same noise, right outside the tent. Elizabeth and Kenny backed a few inches into the wall of the tent.

“Guys?” Connor squeeked as his hand gripped tighter onto the door’s zipper. Then he started to scream as his body was yanked to a lying position and then pulled forward with instant speed. The tent followed behind him, his hand still clenching it tight, with Elizabeth and Kenny trapped inside. They screamed as they tried to keep their heads above the water while falling over each other, bouncing over bumps and hitting – what they assumed to be – trees. Then it all stopped. All but Connor’s screams which continued outside the tent until they faded further and further away.

End Part 2

PART 3

Chicky, horror, thriller

Murder and Flowers-flash fiction-thriller

I am quite exhausted of hearing the fact that men are serial killers. I mean, how often do we hear of a woman serial killer? Sure it has taken place in the past; however, names of serial killers that come to mind are Jack the Ripper — I love him, by the way — and Jeffrey Dahmer, the man who never let his murders go to waste. Ate them up, yummy. But, never does a woman’s name come to mind when one thinks of serial killers. There is, of course a reason for that. See, the old saying holds true. “Anything a man can do…a woman can do better.” Of course there are plenty of women serial killers out there! We just don’t get caught!

“My dear, I am so pleased you could make it to my home this afternoon. How did you find your way?” I ask the seventeen-year-old darling who sits uncomfortably upright in my kitchen chair. Her long blond hair is thick and reminds me of the yarn-haired dolls I mutilated as a child.

“Do you mean did I find my way here okay?” She adjusts herself in the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t quite understand the question.”

I lean forward in my chair, placing my face within two feet of hers. I breathe her in, filling my lungs to capacity. Flowers. She smells like fresh cut wild flowers, and my body begins to tingle with excitement. But I must control myself. “Yes, Dear, how did you find your way?”

“It was okay. I didn’t use GPS, if that’s what you mean. I did as you requested and picked up a map from the store and found my way here from that.” She smiles. “That’s the first time I’ve ever used a map. I won’t have any problems driving your child around while you are at work.”

“Oh good, good. And did you also leave your phone at home so you would not be tempted to use that GPS?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And where does your family believe you are right now?”

“At,” she pauses, her eyes slightly squint and her head tilts a little to the side, “a…a job interview.”

“Splendid, Dear, splendid, as right you are!”

She looks around the room a little more closely now. She even leans to her left to get a view of the family room. It, as is the kitchen, is spotless and filled with expensive furniture and beautiful, breakable artifacts. Dare I say, she looks a little…uneasy. Delicious.

“Where…” she starts. “Is the child I will be a nanny to here? I don’t… I don’t see any toys.”

My heart is beginning to race, and I feel slightly lightheaded from the rush that is beginning to flow through my body. Her pupils are growing larger, and her skin… Is it a shade lighter? Yes. “Oh, I keep everything in Jacob’s room. He’s sleeping in his crib right now. Through those doors.” I point to the double-entry door behind her. “Go see him, but shhhh, try not to wake him,” I say with my head tilting down in admiration of my “baby Jacob”. She looks uneasy, but stands and does as she is told. I follow with soft footsteps behind her.

The doors are silent as she opens them. A blue, boat-themed room is displayed before her. And in the middle, there is a white crib with a bundle of joy inside. Joy is in the heart of the beholder, after all.

An odor fills the room that was not there earlier. It is an odor that I am quite familiar with, yet not at all fond of. I am certain she must smell it too. She, however, will not be familiar with what the smell is. And, of course, she will be her most polite and not even mention it. Wonderful girl.

She looks back at me before approaching “Jacob” as if to get final consent to approach my love.

“Yes, Dear, go on. Go on!”

She quietly places her face over the crib, looking at the bundle below her. She can’t see his face, of course. Well, I know why she cannot see the face. There simply is not one. But she does not know that yet.

“I…I don’t see him. Is he in the blanket? I’m afraid he may be suffocating. I can’t see his face.”

“Oh, Dear, he is fine.” I give a slight chuckle. “But, please, feel better and remove the blanket from his face.”

“Oh no. If you think this is okay, I’m sure it is.”

“You had better move the blanket…just in case. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to little Jacob.”

She reaches into the crib and begins to tug at the wrapped bundle of blue and white striped cloth. And that is my cue to pull the blade from under the rocking chair cushion. I stand closely behind her. She is God awfully slow. She is a careful one, isn’t she? Then she stops. She does not move. I listen. I lean in closer and listen. She does not breathe. Yes, she sees what is in the cotton cover. The blood-stained, cotton cover. And there. There it is. Oh yes! Her scream. It makes me feel… And there it is again. Another scream. …so alive. I feel so alive. She turns and tries to run, but how can she with my knife in her chest? She tries to gasp, but she can’t breathe at the moment.  Her eyes fill with fear. Tantalizing. I soak that in before pulling the blade from her. Hunched and trying to hold her blood in, she moves toward the door. I skewer her back, the knife sliding easily between her ribs, but grazing the bone just enough to feel the dull grind as I pull it back out. She screams.  There, now she is breathing again.  Good for her!  She continues to hobble to the door. And I quickly slice through her soft flesh, anywhere–doesn’t really matter where–until she falls to the ground. Blood is everywhere, as though an artist has splash-painted red acrylic into a pattern only he understands. She has fallen and is nothing but a whimpering pile of blood-drenched flesh. She watches as I move toward her, her body no longer allowing her to do much else than stare up at me. I slice her wrist and watch the blood flow.

I don’t know if they are coherent at this point. Certainly in shock. But coherent? I’m not so sure, but I talk to her anyway.

“Got ya. Didn’t I? Everyone feels so safe when interacting with a woman. There is never a second thought about safety. Ever. You didn’t think about safety, did you? You silly, silly girl. You even left your phone behind. Something I’m quite certain you would not have done had I been a man. No one will ever trace you here now.” I pause. “How did you like the bundle in the crib, by the way?” I walk over and grab the decaying arm from the crib. “Do you recognize it? This arm?” Not that I expect her to answer. She just stares as I waive it “Hello” in front of her face. “It is your mother’s arm. Her interview was earlier this morning.” Her eyes glaze over. She is gone. Exquisite. That moment of departure is what I live for. I wonder if her mummy just pulled her to heaven. Who knows.

I guess the sexist fact that men have the stigma of being serial killers is a good thing. People trust me because I am a woman. Therefore, I am permitted do much more killing than they ever could. And because I am a woman, and so very clever, I will never get caught.
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Written by Sheryl Marasi
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