DEFENDING THE PEN
It’s all about murder . . . romance – writing it!
I post flash fiction, book announcements, interviews, and the things I love.
Careful . . . you may end up the victim . . .
of fun!
"It's a fake graveyard, for heaven's
sake," I yelled at the officer at my door.
"Then, please explain why we found your husband
buried underneath the fake zombie?" He answered with a question I had no
answer for.
I backed up into my living room and fell into the
easy chair. The officer followed.
Startled, confused, and unbelieving, I finally
understood. "This…this is a joke. You and Cooper cooked this up as a
Halloween prank. Didn't you," I said in relief. "Funny. Too, too
funny."
"No, ma'am, this is no hoax. Your husband is
being tended to by forensics now. He's definitely dead. The coroner confirmed
that just minutes ago."
"But how do you know it's Cooper?"
"Fingerprints. Plus, he called 911 last
night. Said we'd find him there this morning, and that you were
responsible."
"No," I said with a smile. "Cooper
couldn't have. I killed him two days…."
I hear the
siren's song and long to be in my lover's arms.
She haunts
me on land and sea. Beautiful, sultry, and true. Kisses that taste of honey. A
body that gives all and more.
The siren
tempts my soul with sweet promises, the serenity of a tropical island. Blue
skies, fruit, and fish prepared just so and vows that she'll always be at my
sexual beck-n-call.
However,
I've heard a rumor. Once my beauty's satisfied, I'll be put out to pasture
until dinner's next call.
Seriously, though,
I'm wholly against being on the menu after just one ball.
They say you're safe during the day. But I can attest
that it's not true. At a carnival when I was two, a sweet-looking clown made me
smile. Then quickly disappeared with me in a pouch.
Twenty years later. I'm the clown. Red hair, red nose,
and a pouch ready to go. I can make them laugh too. And the perfect child I
will have soon.
But Mommy's overly protective, so I follow them home.
Distracted and on the phone, her sweet little guy will be mine soon.
One day he'll delight the crowds to find his perfect
child.
I've found your abode. It didn't take long. Your
heavenly scent was easily followed.
A lovely Victorian. I was shocked it was hidden so deep
in the woods. Please come out, my dear. The night is so beautiful. The moon is
high, and my hunger for you grows.
Don't fear. I could never hurt you. You'll be a
queen. You'll sit at my right hand and be mother to our young whelps.
We met by chance, but our coupling is blessed.
Please, dear heart, come to the door. Don't make me huff and puff and blow your
lovely house down!
The fog is gathering again. Evil lives in its
depths. And I know I'm a victim. Last Halloween, while on my way home, the car
suddenly stopped. I had plenty of gas, and the battery was new. But no matter
what I did, the damn thing wouldn't start.
A mile yet to go. I could do that. I'd be home in
fifteen minutes. I gathered my belongings. Right before stepping out of the
car, I saw the fog. It was approaching fast. Blowing in waves like thick smoke
pushed by an otherworldly wind. There was no breeze, but watching it move belied
that.
I locked the car door and ran home. My heel caught
and broke. I kicked my shoes off and continued barefoot. Superstition about the
fog urged me forward.
But something grabbed me from behind. I was at his
mercy.
A knife slashed my cheek. I kicked backward and
somehow got free. I raced to the door, key in hand, and I was inside just as
the fog reached my porch. The clock chimed midnight.
I was bloody, but I was alive. And the fog had
disappeared.
Tonight, a year later, it's Halloween once again.
The temperature keeps dropping, and the fog has surrounded
my house. Death's come to finish the job.
The chill of fear brittles my bones. I close the
curtains, check all the locks, and return to the dining room to ensure the
patio door is double-locked. But I'd already done that several times. I was on
edge, unable to think straight. Terror had me in its talons.
As the clock began the countdown to midnight, I
breathed a sigh of relief. But then noticed the fog seeping in from every crevice.
Even locked doors wouldn't keep death out. He's come for me again. I ran to the
bathroom shower and turned on the cold water. Surly, cold water will kill the
fog and keep me safe. Just a few more chimes till midnight…
The next
morning:
"That psycho slasher has struck again,"
the police officer tells the detective as he walks into my house.
Gray clouds and, occasionally, a mysterious gust of
wind would stir the frozen snowflakes into weird dances that haunted Sarah
daily. No sun, no birdsong, just the occasional crack and shattering of an icicle falling from a great height and the unusual gurgle of air escaping from
the lake were the only sounds that filled her days.
Sarah did her best to chase the blues away. Singing
her favorite songs, Sarah serenaded the ice-filled gorge for her peace of mind
and the echoing accompaniment. Sitting atop the rock in her favorite fishing
spot, she sang as she fished for the fresh dinner she'd planned for Chet's
return. He said he'd be back in a week, if not sooner, either with the rescuers
or just to return to her because the mountain was still socked in.
Sarah hadn't heard the sound of one plane or chopper
the entire week, even though she'd spent hours listening. Meditating, praying, and
visualizing, to no avail. She had not been able to manifest anything positive, but still,
she held on to hope.
She stared over the lake, wondering about Chet's
location when she heard his voice.
"Sarah, you really need to be more
careful. Pay attention. Be prepared, he's coming."
Out of the corner of
her eye, she saw Chet approaching and turned to greet him, but a sudden yank on
her fishing pole had her jerking her attention back to the lake. The rod went
flying. She grabbed for it but lost her balance and slid off the rock straight
down onto the ice. Chet's
makeshift cast on her broken ankle gave way, but so did the ice. Sarah slipped
through and into the cold wetness. The pain surging through her body was
nothing compared to the intense shock of the water as it consumed her.
She fought with all she had to get back to the
surface. But murkiness, tangled reeds, heavy clothes, and a heavier parka
weighed her down. Her lungs felt like they'd explode before she would recognize
which way was up. But she let go of a lung full of air and watched the bubbles
ascend. She kicked off the rocky bottom with her good leg, and with her parka
half on and half off, she broke through to the surface. Grappling to find a
handhold on the ice and laboring not to be pulled back into the icy water by
the heavy parka. She took a deep breath and yelled for Chet. But he was nowhere
to be seen. Maybe he'd gone for some rope. Calming herself, she removed the
water-soaked coat and threw it toward the rocks sticking above the ice on shore
that were out of her reach. After three throws, she managed to secure the hood
of her parka over a large stone. Sarah pulled herself from the lake and across
the rock-filled icy shore.
Breathless and unable to find her crutches, she crawled
back to the cave. She knew how deadly hyperthermia was, and her only goal was
to get to safety and warmth. But as she dragged her broken foot along the
ground, the rest of the splint, mostly gauze, sluffed off. But a section became
caught on a stone. She stopped to tear the rest of the makeshift cast off,
which left her leg unprotected and made her movements even more painful. She
took a moment to catch her breath, pray, and look around. Where the hell was
Chet? She knew she'd seen him. She knew she heard his voice.
But a deep silence covered the area. No wind, not even
a rustle. The pain in her leg was becoming worse. Even more than she remembered
of the initial break. She laid her broken leg across her good leg. Just as a
chill wind blew a swirl of snow like a dust devil at her. The clouds darkened, and
lightning and thunder shook the gorge. Giant icicles by the dozens crashed
to the ground, and blowing snow twirled and blew in all directions.
Darkness had fallen so quickly that it was as though
someone had turned the lights out or closed the curtains. Sarah shivered and
thought her bones would snap from the instant brittleness caused by the Arctic
chill. Then her entire body began shaking uncontrollably. Her extremities
burned as though they were on fire, and then they grew numb almost
simultaneously. She gathered her strength and pulled herself backward with her
hands and arms. She let her good leg protect and haul the broken one.
Eventually, she made it to the entrance of the cavern.
Sighing in relief, she suddenly froze in place. The
howl of a wolf, something she'd heard several times since the crash, stopped
her cold. The cry was close. This time, the wolf was closer.
She looked up. Atop the cliff was a gray-black wolf,
his vicious fang-filled grin intimated at the terror he couldn't wait to
inflict.
That's when she realized that Chet wasn't coming
back.
