Amy’s Story: Part 2

(To read Part 1 first visit Survive: Amy’s Story)

Recap:  Our protagonist, Amy, awakens to darkness.  She’s hanging, from rusty shackles, that are biting painfully into her bleeding ankles.  Confused and alone she drifts in and out of consciousness.  She tries to remember what led her to this hell.

Conscious once again, Amy heard nothing.  She began to sort the snippets of memory, she had recalled…the cabin…a phone call…Rudy… barking and growling…a loud explosion…

Slowly, ever so slowly, the pieces fell into place and Amy was able to remember the sequence of events that had led her here…

***

Amy and Rudy finally arrived.  The snow storm had made the roads treacherous, so the two-hour trip had turned into four.  Amy called Sky, not wanting her worry.  Sky’s voice greeted her after the third ring.

“Hey you!  Yeah, I’m talking to you…the person with the phone growing out of their ear!  Obviously I’m unable to attach mine, so leave a message and “yours truly” will call you back.  If you’re lucky.”

Amy rolled her eyes. 

“Okay…the greeting is getting a little old…why don’t you change it already…”

 “Listen, didn’t want you to worry.  The roads were hellish, but Rudy and I made it to the cabin in one piece…err…maybe I should say two pieces…hmm… Anyway, we’re here, we’re safe and we’re sound.  Try to be good while I’m away.  I know for you, that’s quite the challenge!   Call me when you get a chance.  I love you, babe…bye.”

In spite of herself, Amy smiled, and tossed the phone into her handbag. 

Rudy, eager to escape the confines of the car, licked the closed window.  Amy reached for the passenger’s door handle, “Poor baby, how dare mama keep you cooped up for so long!” 

Rudy jumped into the undisturbed snow and rolled vigorously.

 Smiling, happy to see her golden so excited, she gathered her handbag, suitcase and easel and trudged through the deep snow towards the rustic log cabin, she and Sky had built together. 

The musty air, that had been trapped inside for months, assaulted her nose, causing her to pause for a moment, but Rudy nonchalantly padded past her and went inside.  He busied himself sniffing here and there, as Amy opened windows to let in fresh air.  A cold snowy breeze rushed in and Amy breathed it deep into her lungs.  Looking around at the rustic walls, she felt a peace she hadn’t known for a long time.  Secretly, she thanked Sky for insisting she take this week to rest, recover and perhaps, begin a new painting.  God knows she needed recovery, after barely surviving the horrors of the previous month.  Immediately her mind began to replay each horrific scenario; the letters, the calls, random gifts…the home invasion… 

“Stop it Amy, ” she chastised herself and willed her mind back into the present. 

Rudy, sitting on his haunches, stared at her and shifted his head sideways trying to understand what, “Stop it Amy” meant.  Amy noticed his quizzical look, laughed and ruffled the golden locks atop his head.  All at once his confusion dissipated.  He gave her hand a quick lick before padding away in search of stinky new smells. 

The cabin, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, was so isolated that cell-phone reception, became a dream that never came true.  So Amy, a lover of antiques, had purchased an old rotary phone, from a local flea market; and hung it on the wall, beside the entrance that opened into a  small kitchen.  The entire cabin was small; other than the kitchen, it contained only 1 bedroom, a bath and a cozy den with a stone fireplace and a cedar mantle.  It was a perfect “weekend get-a-way” for her and Sky. 

Rudy barked, startling Amy.  He anxiously scratched at the screen door that led outside.  Thinking he had to pee, Amy opened the door to let him outside.  Simultaneously the phone hanging on the wall began to ring.  Amy knew it was Sky returning her call.  She picked it up on the third ring and immediately said into the receiver, “Hey babe!  It’s beautiful here!  You should see the snow!”  

The voice on the other end replied, “Amy, listen to me.  Lock the door!” 

Amy recognized Sky’s voice, but Rudy’s incessant barking garbled her message. 

“Damn it Rudy, hush up!” 

In response, Rudy’s barking deepened with guttural growls, making it impossible for Amy to hear Sky.

 “Wait a minute, I’ll be right back,” she said into the phone, and then laid it to rest on the wooden table, they used to eat their meals.  As Amy walked toward the screen door, the voice from the phone, begging her to not open the door, went unheard.   

The screen door squeaked when it opened.  Amy stepped outside, and stood on the wooden porch.  Rudy, only a few feet from her, crouched low and snarled baring his sharp canines.  Amy felt a wave of uneasiness, for she knew Rudy, her happy-go-lucky retriever, rarely growled.

Amy scanned the edge of the woods looking for anything that would explain her dog’s vicious transformation.  Seeing absolutely nothing, she knelt and began to coax Rudy to come to her. 

“Come on boy…it’s okay…” 

A shadow, flickered quickly past her peripheral vision, before she could turn to see what it was, Rudy lunged in her direction.  Gnashing teeth and a deafening BANG were last things Amy remembered. 

Afterwards, came darkness.

***

Amy, cold and naked, hung from her shackles, her tears followed gravity’s path, to mingle with the earth below.  She tried to say Rudy’s name, but the duct tape, stretched tightly, across her mouth, sealed her lips shut.  She wondered what had happened to Rudy.

Amy did the only thing she could; she hung alone in the dark, a piece of meat, awaiting its captor.

She heard only the sounds of silence.

***

to be continued…

(To Read Part 3 Visit Here)

Daily Prompt:  Heard

 

 

 

The Angry Entity

The following is my participation in “One-Word-Prompt” and “Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.”  (175 word count; photo compliments of Barbara Taylor)

 

photo-20160530071502073

Nye stared at the apartment where “it” had happened.  He was thankful for the body of water between; but the barrier did little to quell his fear.  Slowly he let his mind replay the events of that night.

The moment he emptied the last box, the clock struck midnight, and then a knock at the door.

“Strange…” he mused.  Curious, he opened the door…nothing.

“Even stranger…”  he said aloud.

Two minutes passed…another knock.   Again, nothing.

This repeated twice more.  Nye, finally threw the door open and yelled,

“Stop knocking or come the hell in!”

It came inside.

Immediately, he felt the evil entity.   Nye ran for the door, but the door closed and the lock turned.  A window opened and he felt himself being pulled towards it.  Horrified he watched as  five bloody claw marks ripped each arm.  Each time he resisted the jagged gashes grew deeper.

Screaming, he passed out.

Hours later, paramedics lifted Nye into the ambulance.    Nye overheard one say  “Poor bastard, probably threw the razor-blade out the window.

***

Entity_by_lostknightkg-d515tnc
Entity by lostknightkg-d515tnc.jpg

“Stay Creepy My Friends”

Visit my other blog Redhead Reflections

(Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story from a single photograph.  The challenge:  It must be a complete story and word count cannot be over 175)

Siren’s Song

Siren's Song

Max’s stare was blank but his body was filled with longing.  Her song was the epitome of desire.  In all of his 50 years, Max had never heard anything to compare.

The first time it had happened, Max had been suffering from insomnia.  Sleep, always his distant friend, remained aloof long into the witching hours, and so, out of utter boredom, he had done the unthinkable…. he had walked barefoot to an empty dock, boarded his Irish Lady and taken her out into the calm sea waters.  Max knew sailing alone, especially in the dead of night, wasn’t the smartest thing to do; however a stifling loneliness prodded him to  curse all warnings and tuck them away into the deepest recess of his mind.

At first, all was quiet, save for  the wind’s gentle tug on the mainsail and the small waves kissing the sides of the Irish Lady.  With the waters so calm, Max relaxed by the rudder and enjoyed his cigar without interruption.  Nearing the end of the smoke another sound began to mingle among the wind and waves.  The mé·nage à trois slowly married and became  a sweet seductress caressing and whispering within his ear.

At first, Max wondered if another boat was near, but a quick 360 proved that he and his Irish Lady were the only ones upon the water.  As the song grew louder, he relaxed and was eventually enveloped within the soprano’s beautiful serenade.  The woman’s voice was soft and gentle and even though Max knew it to be strange he felt no fear, only a peaceful sense of longing.

“Strange…” he whispered, “so…so strange.”

The Siren’s song warmed him and put him in a blank trance  until it slowly left as it had come, leaving only the sounds of the wind and waves.  Max had stayed out another hour hoping to hear her voice again but it never came.  Disappointed he turned his Irish Lady and went home.  The moonlight sail proved cathartic, for he had slept like a baby once he was home and under the covers of his bed.

Max went out every night for the rest of the week and sure enough he was rewarded with his sweet siren’s song.  Never, not even once, had he any inkling  to jump overboard into the arms of some beautiful bare breasted mermaid.  Just the opposite, he laughed, her voice had made him feel warm and completely safe.

Fearing he was losing his mind, Max had promised that each night would be the last, only to break the promise the following night.  And so, here he was, once again, sailing under the milky way awaiting the siren’s song.  With each night his desire to hear her grew until tonight it was a consuming fire begging to be quenched.  Minutes faded into hours with no sign of his siren.   Max, unwilling to give up, continued to sail the dark waters like a mad animal ravenous for his prey.  Finally it became obvious that his siren was not coming.     Utter loneliness squeezed his heart so hard it physically hurt, but he had  no other choice but to turn the Irish Lady and head back home.

Max went straight to bed but once again sleep was a stranger. He lay awake in his bed watching the breeze flutter the curtains of the open bedroom window.  He was filled with the fear that he’d never hear his siren again.

“Why hadn’t she come?” he whispered into the nothingness.

Faintly…ever so faintly a voice…her voice… like a whisper drifted through the open window.   His heart quickened, and  quickened all the more, when he realized her song was gradually getting louder. Finally she sang to him right outside his window and just as it had been upon the water her voice soothed him.

Entranced he lay there listening until her song came to an end..  At first he was afraid she had gone but then he heard her breathing and he knew she was still there.  He thought it impossible but her breath outside his window was sweeter than her song.  Gradually her whispers of breath became heavier and huskier until his siren sounded like a woman consumed with orgasmic pleasure.  Max filled with need and he wanted her to come inside and slip beneath the covers with him.  Somehow he knew she couldn’t come inside until he offered an invitation.

He was about to beckon, only to be interrupted by her moaning…

“…Max…I came for you, I came for you upon the waters, but I couldn’t find you.  My heart hurt… my soul cried, and my body ached for you… and so, I have come to you, Max…please…please bid me come in…”

Max, throbbing with the pain of desire, could wait no longer, said, “Come to me.”

The screen that separated her from his room began to tear slowly from top to bottom.   Max looked for her presence, but could see no one, only the slow rending of the screen. Once it  reached its decent a head flowing with long black hair slowly emerged.   Max strained to see her face, however, it was downcast so that her hair fell forward and long. The figure climbed through the window and then stood naked within the moon’s glow. Her long hair fell strategically to cover her breasts and cascaded over her body to hide everything but the perfect rounding of her hips and the length of her legs.  Standing like this she didn’t move and  Max wondered if he should go to her; however, as if she heard his thought, she began to slowly move toward him.  Once at the foot of the bed she stopped to stand silently, her hair, still covering her face, had parted just enough to expose the nipple and swell  of her left breast.  Feeling as if he could wait no longer, Max begged her to come to him.  Once the plea left his mouth she disappeared.  He presumed she had vanished until he felt the rustle of the sheets around his feet, and he knew she was about crawl underneath the covers. Slowly he felt her womanly body inch its way over his until she lay full upon him.  Her body was warm and soft and she eased her softness over his hardness until he was totally consumed within her flesh.    She began to slowly move upon him.and he thought he would die.  Consumed in desire he arched upward and ran his hands over her buttocks, up the small of her back, and ever upward until they held each side of her head. .  His fingers entangled within her hair and slowly he was able to push it up and over her face, and in that instant his siren let out a blood curdling scream.  Max opened his tightly closed eyes and saw a hideous hag writhing in pleasure above him.  Her mouth, unhinged hung long and low, and rocked side to side like a metronome.  Horrified he watched as her jaw stretched even longer so that he looked down the black bottomless pit of her throat.  Feeling the pull this dark abyss, Max  looked to his siren’s eyes to beg for mercy, but her bulbous eyes were even blacker than the pit and he knew they contained no mercy.  Unimaginable pain wracked his body as he felt himself shrivel to a liquid that poured down her throat.  The hag hungrily drank every portion of him until all that was left was damp spot upon sheets.

Slowly the hag’s sagging mouth closed and turned into lips the color of rose buds; and her black eyes grayed and morphed  until they were the color of the Mediterranean Sea.  A beautiful naked women left Max’s bed, drifted through the torn screen and disappeared into the sea mist  that lay beyond.

The Blue Balloon

(The following is my participation in today’s one-word daily prompt:  Buddy.)

creepy-balloon-man-alice-gipson
Photo borrowed from Fine Art America

It was the blue one…always the blue one, and there was only one in the bunch. One blue balloon for one little boy.

The balloon man searched for his next buddy.

He pushed the cart of balloons and watched them all with a curious eye.  Children everywhere…the carnival had indeed, proved to be a smorgasbord of easy picking.

“Eeny meeny miny mo…Harry, Timmy or Jimmy Joe…  ”  He secretly snickered at the rhyme but was careful not to let his excitement show.  

He scanned his options searching for his Harry, Timmy or Jimmy Joe.  Finally his eyes landed upon the redhead who had strayed from his mom.

Bingo!  The winner-thought the balloon man.

He reached for the blue balloon, and handed it to the lost little boy.  The boy saw the balloon and reached in the air…

Then in a flash of blue, the boy is whisked away!

Blue lights are flashing everywhere, and the balloon man is sucking dirt from the ground.

The winded officer, on top of the clown, spoke into his shoulder mic, “We Got him!  The son-of-a-bitch will kidnap and hurt no more!”

The blue balloon drifted up and away…and then was gone.

***

“Stay Creepy My Friends”

Visit my other blog Redhead Reflections

(The Blue Balloon was previously published as The Balloon Man at Redhead Reflections)

(Photo borrowed from fineartamerica.com)

 

Possession

Possession

Ghost ChildI was quite the unusual child.  No one dared speak it out loud, but none-the-less, it ate upon their brains like a canker sore.

“Different…,” they’d say.  “Just a wee-bit queer…for my like’n.”  Then they’d catch me looking at them and their faces would blanch white, as the cotton they were picking.

I enjoy making them uncomfortable.  I enjoy hearing the rhythm of their heartbeat quicken.  It makes me alive within this skin.

It’s a funny thing to feel so alive when scaring others to death.  I almost get giddy with the pleasure.  Once I almost smiled but  I never let them see me smile.

One day I’ll leave this village, but not until I’m finished with them.  I never leave a job undone.  I stay until the end…and sometimes it takes oh so long for the end.

The end makes me sad.  After the end there is no fear and it’s the fear I miss most.  And so I stretch the means to defer the end.

I try to linger as long as possible, but, alas, the end is always inevitable.  So when the job is done, I lay them to hell and spill dirt over their faces…and then…then I can smile.

I wonder the woods, for beyond yonder hill, my new family awaits.  The cabin is bright and I knock at the door.  When it opens they invite me in and  my job begins all over again.

Generations have come and generations have gone, and yet I’m still here…still the same unusual, girl of seven.

Yes, this always remains…

I’m never alone, for this body I possess, will always be my home.

***

Home is a person.  If you’re lucky, home is yourself. __ Duchess Goldblatt 

[Please visit my other blog Redhead Reflections]

Angel of Death

angel-of-death-bw-david-dehner

Angel of Death Photo by David Dehner

 

She watched him from her place of containment.  Sure enough, he had “the mark” and so she fled her confines to mingle among the chaos of the crowd below.

She felt his stare.  Knowing this to be her cue, she covered the ten steps, separating them and asked with a timid voice, “Care to dance, handsome?”

As usual, the stranger’s eyes filled with suspicion, but once he saw her shy smile, he tossed doubt away, and  accepted her soft hand.  In an instant their bodies melded and he was consumed with unquenchable lust.  He wanted her, but the intense craving terrified him. Sensing his resolve, she crushed him closer and huskily growled, “My poor…poor beast..not use to being controlled…”

Slowly she pulled away…but only enough for him to look into her black eyes.  In them, he saw the innocents he had hurt screaming his name and coming for  him. Terror squeezed his heart until it burst and then the beast fell to the ground.

She let the corpse drop to the floor and then she faded into the picture hanging on the tavern’s wall.  The caption underneath read, “Angel of Death”

(Word count 175)

(originally posted as “Mark of the Beast”  in Redhead Reflections in the participation of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers)

The Book of Death

(The following short story was first published at Redhead Reflections my other Blog)

0707ephr9_600x5461 Tuesday began as any other boring day in the life of Annie Smith.  The alarm clock rang at exactly 6:45 am which gave Annie at least two wacks at the snooze button before she had to be up promptly at 7 am in order to make it to her job at the Martin County Public Library.  As usual, she stumbled to the shower for a quick body rinse to begin the awaking process which ended after her second cup of coffee.  Coffee, toast and one boiled egg and she was out the door of her small apartment, down the three flights of stairs, to stroll to the nearest bus stop.

Sure enough the drab Library was just where she left it the night before.  Annie inserted her skeleton key and thus began her lonely 8 hour shift.  Annie had always been an introvert, so this job suited her personality; however, as of late, she’d been experiencing a feeling…something akin to loneliness.  As much as she tried to shake the alien feeling, it clung to her and periodically invaded her thoughts throughout her 8 hours as librarian. The feeling, like an intrusive grain of sand in her shoe, pestered her ever so softly, just enough for her to know it there.

Yesterday, while at work, Annie had been so irritated by the feeling that she found herself strolling the romance section scanning the books on the shelves.    She noticed one particular book was jutted out a fraction more than the others.  Annie reached for that book and whispered the title  aloud in the empty library… “I Have Come for You”  She had opened the book’s worn cover and read the first sentence of chapter one: “Annie, oblivious to the precipice before her, fell head long into a seduction that would forever alter her lonely life.”  Shaken by such a personal application, her hands that held the book quivered until the book fell to the floor.  She stared at the open book, lying on the floor, for what seemed like hours.  Finally, she bent down to retrieve the book and saw that the left page of the book was blank but the right page contained the heading for chapter two which read…“There is no escape…I will have you.”  Annie had laughed nervously, and then shook her head in unbelief, as she put the book back into its place upon the shelf.

Today, as Annie strolled from one computer to the next, making sure each green light was lit, the whole scenario from yesterday seemed ridiculous to Annie .  What an absurd idea that the book had been personally speaking to her.  She giggled loudly with the thought.  Startled from the sound that had escaped her lips, she quickly put her hand to cover her mouth.  She looked around to see if anyone had slipped in through the front door.  No, the tiny library was as empty as when she had walked inside a half an hour ago.  For some reason Annie was frightened by the sound of her own laughter.  She couldn’t help but think that the shrill cackle had come from the lips of someone going mad.   No one else was here, so it had to have been her laughter.  Surely, she was not mad.  The thought rested uneasy within her psyche.

“Oh Annie…don’t be so stupid…,” she nervously berated herself and walked rather jerky to toward the comfort of her plush office chair.  The chair was one thing she had insisted upon when she took this job.  It was soft and firm where it needed to be to conform perfectly to her slightly overweight form.   Annie placed the palms of her hands on the desk and began to sit, but before she completed the final descent into the beloved chair she noticed something out of place.  There, lying atop the keyboard of he computer, lay a book.  Her faced blanched white because she knew it was “the book.”

“What the fuck?”  Annie never cursed but the word had come from her mouth as if she had been saying it all her life.  Her exclamation was loud but she didn’t care.  She didn’t care if someone was there to hear her profanity because nothing mattered to her exceptthe book lying on her desk.  Slowly she picked it up and instantly felt compelled to turn it’s pages to chapter three.  She did.  Glaring at her from page 117 were the words… “Don’t look behind you…” Annie’s heart quickened in her chest.  She desperately wanted to turn around, just to prove that they were only words on a page, but she dare not. Her heat began to beat even faster and once again the cackle of laughter filled the library. Annie heard it but was unaware it belonged to her.  Her mind raced with fear and wonder as to what the book would say next.  Slowly she turned the pages of the book until she came to chapter four.

Annie closed her eyes, too afraid to look.  She squeezed her lids so tight it was painful. She wouldn’t look…she couldn’t look…NO, she told herself…but alas she was overcome with curiosity and so she opened her hurting eyes to see a blur scribbled across the page.   Her heart beat wildly as she waited for her eyes to focus.  Finally her vision cleared and she read the sentence, “Annie…can you feel my breath upon your neck?”  The words brought on chills that crawled all over her body.  Tiny beads of sweat covered her already clammy skin.  She could feel a rhythmic draft of air upon her neck.  It touched her and then it was gone…touched her and then it was gone… Each time it came back to her it was warmer.

Something inside, perhaps sanity, told Annie to burn the book.  It pleaded for her to “…take it outside now, strike a match and burn the fucking thing before it was too late!”   But the breath kept touching her. It slid down her neck to caress her breasts.  Her nipples hardened and her heart beat even faster.  Again the voice inside pleaded with her to burn the book, but Annie turned a deaf ear.  The breath was too warm, too erotic.

There were two more chapters left in the book and Annie knew she was destined to turn to each one.  Desiring more of the feelings that hugged her body, she turned to chapter five with fervency, wondering where the breath would take her next.  Under the heading of chapter five she read,  “Annie…feel my hands touching you…”  Annie gasped as the breath upon her body became hands wooing her to ecstasy.  Deep inside her she heard the remnants of a distant voice saying something…something she barely recognized as…matches…or…fire?  Annie didn’t care. She only cared about the hands stroking and begging her to turn to the last chapter.  When the thought of…yes I will…formed in her head, the book fell open to the last chapter of it’s own accord.

4b45734f3ea305c41966b4754d10be82Annie’s eyes were closed but this time she didn’t need to read the words on the page.  The words of the book became sound and spoke to her in a man’s voice.

“I’m here for you.”

His voice was smooth as honey.  His hands, still warm upon her body, slowly turned turned her around.

“Open your eyes.”

And so, Annie obeyed.  She opened her eyes to stare into a hooded black hole.  The hole, shrouded by the hood, was so dark that she thought it to be empty, but then it smiled.   The white of its teeth broke the darkness and slowly morphed into a “Cheshire” grin of jagged fangs.  Her desire instantly turned to terror.  The thing gnashed its teeth, taunting her.  Annie screamed into the shrouded hole and her heart burst red with blood.  Her last thought was, …the book…I should’ve burned the book.

One month later:

“Yeah, they said it was’a heart attack”  Roger scratched his head and added, “…hmmm…but I ain’t so sure.”

Katherine, the new librarian,  looked at the janitor,  “What do you mean, you’re not so sure?”

“Well, I ain’t never seen a face of death quite like that one…sum’ing just wasn’t right.  It was like she’d seen…” he paused a second to shake his head slowly, then spoke in a hushed tone,”…it was…it was like she had seen sum’ing that scared the life right out’a her.”

Katherine smiled kindly at the janitors whispered words, and tried her best to quell his fears, “Don’t you worry, Mr Roger, I’m sure there’s nothing at all to be afraid of in here.” She let her eyes scan the mundane emptiness of the library and added, “nothing at all, except maybe, boredom.”

“Yes, ma’am, you right about that…this place can get kind’a lonesome.”

Katherine watched as Roger shuffled out the front door leaving her alone in the library.  She wasn’t afraid of being alone.  On the contrary, the introvert inside her welcomed the solitude…just more time for reading, she thought.

Katherine stretched within her comfortable chair and stifled a yawn.  Wondering what the thermostat was set on she got up to check but stubbed her toe on something beneath the counter.  She looked down to see what it was but nothing was there.  Figuring her toe had shoved whatever it was further under the counter she got on her hands and knees to  see.  Sure enough lying in the dusty darkness was a book.  Katherine seized the book and rather clumsily stood to get a better look.  Turning the tattered book in her hands she read its title, “I’m Here for You.”

“My goodness!  How long have you been hiding under there?”

Forgetting about the thermostat, Katherine sat back down into the plush chair and blew the dust from the book’s cover.  As she stared at the book she felt something akin to loneliness.  Quietly she whispered, “What the hell,” and opened the book to chapter one.