emotion_zombie Avi:
Story:
A All Hallow's Eve Tale
Smell of Blood
They said I was mad. They said I was depraved. Don’t believe them, I'm perfectly sane. I mean if I was insane I couldn't tell you what really happened, not so perfectly at least. Sure, murder is murder, but I just couldn't let him live anymore. The way he stared at me, the way he talked to me, love like that wasn't real, couldn’t be real, right? He had to be fake, he had to be false, and I punished him for it. But now he won't let me be!
It was seven months ago, on a horrible stormy Halloween, he (my husband) was acting in his false overly happy persona when the thought finally broke free from the back of my mind. As the wind howled like a banshee in the back ground, I realized his sickly sweet gestures and rottenly sweet tone had to be a mask for his true evilness, a dark and dreary soul that hid just beneath his sugary sweet mask. A mask that lured unexpected people to the doom. That night I decided I would kill him.
It was almost midnight when he went to bed. I had told him I would finish cleaning up after our Halloween party then join him. Though he argued to assist me I convinced him he needed his rest for work tomorrow. He quickly fell into a deep slumber that not even the booming thunder could rouse him from. I slipped into the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife from the new knife kit he had just recently purchased for me. Then I slowly crept up the dark staircase towards our bedroom. The full moon’s light played through the blinds disfiguring the shadows and making them appear to be ghastly demons that guarded him from my deadly intent. But I would not be chased off by those wicked little haunts. I soon entered our room and glared into the darkness.
Our canopy bed's curtain swayed and flowed like a never ending waterfall, impenetrable to all, due to the blowing wind from a cracked window. I stalked forward, hunched low to the ground, like a lioness stalking a gazelle. I drew back the curtains and slipped into bed besides my slumbering husband. I raised the knife slowly, like what you see in horror movies, and then drove it down straight into his heart. His eyes shot open and stared straight at me. He tried to speak but all that could be heard was the gurgling of blood in his throat. But even though I was killing him love still shone in his eyes.
Slowly his eyes glazed over as his life blood gushed out of his wound. It died the bed and his night clothing a crimson red. The blood smelled like sweet whiskey and roses. It was a scent that lingered even as the blood cooled. But I sat there staring at his glazed and dead eyes, there was still love there. Even in death he kept his mask on. And it enraged me, so I stabbed him six more times but the love still remained. I knew I couldn't leave the body there so I wrapped it tightly in the blankets and dragged it down into the basement. I spent the next two hours making sure the body was properly dealt with. Tricks of my trade, if you will.
After this I went to sleep in the downstairs guest bedroom. The next few days passed in a blur then the phones began to ring. All the calls were for him. Of course it shouldn't be surprising he was the youngest CEO of his business ever. After two days of the constant shrill ringing of the phones, I smashed them all. I shattered the phones into thousands of tiny pieces. They were scattered all over the floor, covering it like the blood covered our once happy bed.
The next day was when he came back. At first it was just whispers of his voice I could hear when I slept, hollow murmurs of his undying love. They echoed through our ghostly empty house, haunting me, following me, never letting me rest. Then I began to feel his soft caresses as I slept. Gentle silken caresses of my cheek, bitter sweet kisses, his cold arms wrapping around me. I could always feel his weight join mine on the innocent guest room bed. Two weeks passed this way until I saw his ghostly specter.
It was when I was dressing my self in front of the guest room vanity when I felt his cold arms wrap around me as he used to do when he was living. I looked into the mirror and saw him. His skin was snow white and ghastly pale against his raven black hair. Dark crimson blood trickled down the sides of his pale pink lips. His lips cracked open slowly and whispered into my ear, “Nevermore will we be apart.” His glazed blue eyes still shone with love. I spun away from the mirror but saw nothing.
The smell of sweet whiskey and roses assaulted my nose and sent me careening out of the room. But the scent was unrelenting; it drove me, like a wild animal, towards the basement where it laid waiting. I stared at the perfectly preserved body then decided to bring it up to our living room. There I set it on the floor and unwrapped it. The smell of sweet whiskey and roses filled the room. I sat there numbly and stared transfixed at him. He looked just like the apparition as he lay there dead.
It was there the police found me two days later and arrested me. They were all amazed at how well preserved he was, but what else could they expect from the top mortician in all of San Mateo. The trial went by in a blur; they found me to be insane and locked me away in a little white padded room. It’s rather nice here; except when he comes to visit and whisper, “Nevermore will we be apart.” They said I was mad. They said I was depraved. But don’t believe them, I'm perfectly sane…
emotion_zombie
