Stay Calm (The Dentist, Part 4 of 5)

…continued from here

“It wasn’t me. Ahem. I didn’t do it. Ahehehehem! I’m not responsible for that girl’s death!

“Oh, who the hell am I trying to kid? Okay, I’ll tell you the whole truth.

“My hygienist and I had an affair. It was torrid and disgusting and it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. But then her friend moved in with her and was all, ‘Make him make an honest woman out of you!’ and ‘You have to get a commitment out of him!’

“It drove me crazy. I did my best to stay calm amidst her demands but it was no good. I finally decided to break it off, and she went off the deep end. She threatened to tell my wife.

“So I made her eat her words. Every last one of them. I watched her brush her teeth for the very last time.

“You know, you’re a great interrogator. I didn’t think I’d ever tell…

“YES DEAR? I’M JUST IN THE BATHROOM! WHO AM I TALKING TO? OH, NO ONE, DEAR! JUST MYSELF. CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS WHEN I COME OUT? I’M ABOUT TO GET IN THE SHOWER.

“I LOVE YOU TOO, DEAR.”

…continued here

Advertisements

Breaking Up

Some women deal with their break-ups by drinking wine, some surround themselves with friends and plot how they’re going to let the air out of their ex’s tires. Me, I’m celebrating with a giant bag of Doritos, a bottle of Coke, and a horror movie.

Jeremy was not a nice guy. He started out okay, as most guys do. Why else would I have dated him in the first place? But as time went on he started in with the digs about my weight. We’d be in bed and he’d squeeze my hips and say things like, “That must be the pizza we had tonight,” or “Have you been sneaking chocolate bars again?” I ignored it for the longest time. But eventually it wears on a gal.

Nope, I’m glad Jeremy’s gone. And now I can sit here with my Doritos and not have to deal with the insults. The fact that I burned off a load of calories burying his body in the back yard makes me feel all that much better.

Wings

I feel them as they approach, long before I see them. The dust from the road beneath the lone streetlight swirls around me. Will the angel that comes for me tonight be dark, or of the light?

I look up even though I know it’s useless. When I squint, a halo appears around the bulb above me, in all the colours of the rainbow.

Before long, I pick up the scent. Sulfur. The angel is dark.

He lands some distance away. Finally he steps into the ring of light on the pavement; he saunters toward me. His black wings folded loosely behind him, he wears all white, as though that will absolve him. We both know his clothes will soon be drenched in my blood.

“Hello,” he says with a smile.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” I reply.

I hand him the sword and he studies it for a moment. “Your weapons are getting bigger,” he muses, speaking to me as he looks at the blade.

“The stakes are getting higher. I suppose your rival will be here tomorrow to clean up the mess.”

“You prefer it that way?”

“I think so.”

“He believes he’s mastered the art of protection.”

I nod. “Now he needs to work on his healing.”

“Let’s give him something to work on then.”

I’m aroused at his first slice down my cheek. Tonight will prove to be orgasmic. A little death, indeed.

#SoCS – Amber and Ash

I sit at the traffic light and watch the amber bulb blink on and off. My car is almost out of gas and I wonder how much longer the electricity will stay running. But does it matter? The slain lay behind me, their brains eaten. Now that I’ve finished off the last of the zombies, I have nothing left to eat. Nothing but ash. And zombie brains.

socs-badge-2015

This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click the following link and join in! https://lindaghill.com/2016/06/10/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-june-1116/

Growin’ Up ‘n’ Misunderstandin’

“But Mama, I wanna see him again. He loves me!”

“You are not goin’ out with that kid, and that’s final.”

“You don’t understand! He’s the peach fuzz on my cherry pie! He’s the whipped toppin’ on my sundae!”

“I never! That’s ‘xactly why you’re not seein’ him again! Talkin’ like that to your own mother!”

“But… but… I’ll die without him!”

“Nonsense! There’s other goats in the barn.”

“Don’t you mean ‘fish in the sea’?”

“Fish? I thought we were talking ’bout Billy! You mean Johnny? Sure, you can go out with him.”

Evil – #AtoZ Challenge

when we met, i fell in love
with you immediately
your cherry red-painted lips
held me captive;
the way they slid
across your smile
and caressed your speech
though i couldn’t hear what you said
from across the room
i had to have those lips
pressed against mine

but you wouldn’t have me
would you?
your lips scorned me
and your body turned away
and i had no recourse
none at all
but to follow you home…

here in your room i hear you breathe
a staccato of sobs as i
squeeze your scarf around
your porcelain throat
and i think
(since you’d taken it off)
i’ll paint your lips once again
that glistening cherry red
so i’ll have no need to see them
the dusky blue
of your sunset moment

Author’s Notes:

1. My torture scenes go back to my Stephen King roots; reading horror was such a forbidden teenage pleasure. I have a classic love/hate relationship with my evilest characters.

2. I have no plans to write Adult Content fiction pieces for this challenge, but it happens, and it’s sometimes beyond my control if I’m to remain authentic to my muse. I will place a warning in the title of those posts which fall under the AC category.

Monster Mash – an 100-word Story

I hate the way you eat your mashed potatoes. It sets my teeth on edge when I hear your teeth hit and then scrape the spoon as you pull it back out of your mouth. Who the hell eats mashed potatoes with a spoon? You have to put your fork down just to eat your fucking mashed potatoes. By God, one of these days I’m going to pick up your steak knife and end your life with it.

“Penny for your thoughts, Darling?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about… work.”

Yeah. How much work it would take to stab you.

#SoCS – A Lifetime of Balls

I woke up this morning to find a bag of balls on my front stoop. They were all the balls I’ve ever owned in my life. Ones I played catch with, with my dad; ones that went over fences never to be retrieved; ones that hung on the Christmas tree during the first year of my first marriage… Right up until the ball I was playing with yesterday – one of the three I was juggling at the kid’s birthday party. Yes, I’m a clown. The only one they missed is the ball on my nose. Of course, I sleep with that one.

The bag of balls is someone’s idea of a dirty trick, obviously. Probably someone I left in the sewer system…

AUTHOR’S NOTE: If I could edit this I’d leave a hint somewhere that shows earlier that my stream of consciousness ended up at a killer clown.

socs-badge-2015

And that’s what SoCS is all about! Check it out here: http://lindaghill.com/2016/03/11/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-1216/

SoCS – Root

“Dig,” she thought as she shoved the spade into the ground again.

“Dig, dig, dig, dug. Doug. It’s Doug I should be digging for. To hell with this root.”

But the root had been the bane of her existence since she moved into the house. Because it was more than a root. It was a stump. The stump of a tree that had been cut down maybe a century ago. God knew what was below it – maybe there was a cemetery down there, like in Poltergeist.

Chunk, went the spade. Chunk, chunk ching!! She hit something. Getting down onto her hands and knees she dug with her fingers until she uncovered something silver. Something shiny. A treasure! Could it be that all this work had made her rich?

With renewed determination she stood and wielded the shovel once again. The silver box was small – it didn’t take much to dig around it. But it was deep, like a tiny coffin that had been buried lengthways. By the time she reached the bottom of it, Doug had come home.

“Hey asshole,” she called to him. “Can you come and help me with this?”

“Go fuck yourself,” he muttered as he marched from the car to the house. He slammed the door behind him.

“Just a little wider,” she mumbled to herself. “And he’ll fit right in.”

***

Two weeks later…

The house had been deathly quiet for so long that it seemed as though noise had given up on her. Doug had woken up while she was still filling in the hole, but she took care of that with the spade. The silver box was the final nail in his makeshift coffin – or lack thereof. It was the deciding factor. Not only did she have the means to cover up what she’d done thanks to her discovery, she wouldn’t have to share whatever was in the box with him. Or anyone else.

It took three days to pry the lid off the box and then another day to figure out what was in it. A pair of glowing orbs, like cat’s eyes lay in the bottom, which was five feet from the top. Tipping it hadn’t worked, nor had turning it upside down. Now the object sat on the table in front of her. It had climbed out on its own it seemed, after she went to bed.

The object – what could she call it? A cat-box? – refused to move from the table. It smelled like toast in the morning, a chicken sandwich at lunchtime, and a steak at dinner. But every time she made something to eat, her food would disappear. Into thin air. The only thing it didn’t touch was her coffee and her booze.

She couldn’t leave the house; she was slowly starving to death. Except.

Every day for the past seven days there had been a note on the table when she woke up in the morning. The note read: if you’re hungry, dig up Doug.

 

This creepy tale is brought to you by SoCS. Click here and join in! Anyone can do it!  http://lindaghill.com/2015/09/18/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-1915/

socs-badge-2015

Deception (SoCS)

“There’s a daemon in the room. Do you feel it?” asked the low-brow ghost, heretofore referred to as LB.

“No,” answered Marie, “I can’t feel it at all. What makes you say that?”

“There’s a disturbance in the air. It’s like a thousand bats are congregating on my forehead. They’re dancing in the space between my frown and my smile.”

“Wait! Yes, I feel it now! It’s like the rain spattering on the window. The beating of their wings…” Marie sighed, slowly exhaling the tension that LB brought with him. “What will the daemon do to me?”

LB chuckled in the dark, ghostly way she was used to hearing after so many years of visitations. “He will surely rape you if I don’t protect you.

“Come. Come to bed with me and I’ll look after you.”

“But,” gasped Marie, “how will you protect me? You are but a low-brow ghost!”

“You must trust me.” His whispery breath gusted gently against her ear.

Marie acquiesced. She shivered beneath the covers. “Am I safe from the deemon now?”

“Of course.” LB curled up beside Marie and mumbled gibberish to her until she went almost mad.

“Stop it! What is this blue language you speak?”

LB was aghast! “Don’t you recognize it? It is the language of exorcising daemons!”

Marie stared at LB–at least as much of the ghost as she could fathom. He was transparent at best.

“I don’t believe in you!” she exclaimed, at which point he disappeared.

Nine months later, she gave birth to a baby – with tiny horns between its frown and its smile.

_____________________________________
This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday.