MurderLove – a story

This is a story that was first published in an issue of the defunct CTHULHU SEX. And, can I tell you that I HATE the funky way WordPress fucks with stuff I cut and paste from Word. Can I do that? UGH!

MurderLove

She looked up at the clock and, realizing what time it was, swore aloud and spun out of the chair she’d been waiting in. She was a blur, moving so fast that the chair tips backwards and bounces its head against the linoleum with a loud thud that pulls across her nerves and echoes in her mind. She ran from the kitchen, swiveling as she went to turn and flick the overhead light off – darkness, she wanted darkness, and the more of it she could get the better. Outside she heard the sound of a car turning into the drive and coming to a stop – shit; she’d waited too long. She had sat there at the table, pushing a cigarette around without thinking, playing over how this all would happen, and now she’d pushed things so that she had to be perfect or everything was lost. All the planning, all the preparation, everything she’d done adding up to nothing. She had to be quick if she was going to pull this off.

She turned, paranoid now, and backed into the living room, turning off the lights as she went, making sure it was good and dark in the house, good and dark, and reaching behind her to find what she’d placed in the corner for this very moment. Outside she heard the engine of the car cut out and knew it was only a matter of a minute, maybe two until he’d be in here, until he’d be at her, all hands and mouth and maybe this time not just those weapons but a knife. Or a gun. A grim smile lit her face as she moved deeper into the darkness of the house, into a corner and waited, her nude form slick with sweat as the front door slowly opened and the heft of wood reassuring her that her plan was flawless. In the darkness she smiled.

“Hon…honey, where ya at? I’m home. Hello? Hello? Anyone here? Shit…can’t see a damned thing. Hon? Hon are you here?”

Silence.

Stillness.

Nothing

The man closed the door behind him and squinted into the darkness to make out any shapes, anything that might be his wife, a light, or anything that might trip him up as he stumbled around blindly. He moved forward slowly, carefully, dropping his briefcase as he went, one hand feeling the air before him for the chairs, the table, whatever stood hiding before him waiting to grab his ankles or lash out at his thighs as the other hand slid down to the bulge in his pants pocket. Off in the living room there came a sound, something faint, like the sound of movement, though it could be any damned thing, but it was a sound nonetheless. Hearing this he moved off in that direction, his heart beating heavily in his head, his body slick with sweat, and his left hand not straying far from his pocket and what he had there. He heard another sound and quickened his pace, wanting some sort of sign that if he wasn’t home alone that he was at least hearing things, but as he entered the living room his feet tangled in the legs of a chair, her damned designer chair she just had to have last fall, and he fell forward heavily onto his chest, forcing all the wind from him and blackening the darkness completely. But as he was falling the air above him was cut as though something had moved through it quickly, just missing him. Dizzied but conscious he tried to shake the fall from his body so he could think more clearly. What was that he’d just seen – sure that he had seen a flash of something in the darkness as he fell, something tall and pale. He rolled over, body throbbing now, and looked around, looking for anything, everything that might be hidden in the dark and ready to strike. His heartbeat was harder, the sweat sliding down along his body, the air suddenly thick and his mind just clearing the fog of the fall.

He wasn’t alone.

Dammit, it was a trap. A trap.

His hand reached into his coat pocket just as the lights snapped on again and there, above him stood his wife, body naked, eyes and hair wild, her body shining with sweat and an axe held high above her – she looked like a statue. A mad war goddess ready to kill humanity.

The moment before impact lasted forever in their minds.

He pulled his hand free from the coat and almost laughed as he risked taking his eyes off his wife and looked to see he had pulled the banana she had packed for him to eat for lunch free. A banana of all things.

“Whoops, wrong pocket I guess. Damn…”

The axe swung down and split his face in two. The blade dug deep into his skull and spilled a thick red paste along the linoleum in an ever-increasing pool. His body twitched slightly and, tensed, and was still, and above him his wife smiled, her hands loosening their grip on the axe so she can stand back and look at her work.

He was beautiful in death, perfect, his body twisted up with the chair, his face now halved by the deep dark gorge where an axe had sprouted, an almost playful smile at his lips, and there, almost hidden, buried in blood and bone, the brain she’d come to fall in love with so many years ago. She smiled more broadly and knelt beside him, her hand playing over his brow, dancing in the thick red goo that slipped from the wound and across his ruined face. When her hand was thick with the gore she lifted it to her nose and took a deep breath and then ran her tongue over it, unable to control herself. She ran the hand across lips and under her chin, across her throat, over her breasts and down across her belly and lower. She sighed as she touched herself, the heat of the blood and thrill of the kill sent a wave of shivers over her that caught in her chest and quickened her breath. She closed her eyes and ran one hand between her legs and the other across his shattered face and groaned. Perfect. Her body quivered and a long moan escaped her. The house watched her touch herself, the shadows and the things in it jealous.

“I got you…I finally got you this time…”

Silence.

“You’re mine…all mine…”

Silence.

“Aww, nothing to say? Or are you just pouting?”

She ran her hands across his broken face and frowned. It wasn’t as fun when he pouted.

“Yes, ok, you got me, you really, really got me that time…ya happy?” He was pouting, but she could tell in his voice that he was hiding a smile.

She opened her eyes and he smiled up at her, the axe that had split his face now splitting his smile down the center.

“I woulda had you if you wouldn’t have packed this damned banana.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, really. I had my gun in pocket, but I forgot which one…”

“You mean the gun I replaced with that banana?”

“Oh you little…”

“Who, me?”

He pushed himself onto his elbows and raised an eyebrow at her.

“You mind getting this thing out of my skull? It’s giving me an awful headache.”

“And then what?”

“Well…I think you know what…you won, you won and I am yours…”

“Yes…I won, and now, and now…”

He smiled but that smile turned to a wince as she pulled the axe free of his skull. The woman pulled the axe free and brought it to her lips and slid her tongue out and across the stained blade, giggling, knowing how she was teasing him, as she tasted the thick, salty blood and let loose a chuckle as he watched her toss it across the floor and against the wall. He laughed, though he winced as soon as he did, the laugh a sort of gurgle that was split just like his face. He was a pretty lucky guy, he figured. Her body shimmered with sweat as she straddled him, the blood drying to black on her and he couldn’t resist any longer and leaned forward to lick it off of her chest. She moaned and her twin hearts beat harder and lit up a deep purple in each thigh as her eyes twisted in their sockets, running the rainbow of colors he knew meant her mind was already in the bedroom. She bent forward and kissed the open spot where the axe had been, letting her forked tongue slide out and into the wound, then out of the valley, and then back into it, moaning at the taste of his sweet blood. His body warmed beneath her touch and turned bright red, the tentacles sliding out of their hiding places along his wrist and unfurled across the floor. His eyes rolled back into their sockets as he felt tingling warmth across his face that place as his wound closed and healed. Sensed his twin hearts beating more quickly. And felt his skin roll, shiver, and change as she changed. Her long black tongue slipped from between her lips and slid through the blood on his closing wound and her smile stretched unnaturally across her face as it too stretched and her nose receded to leave another mouth with another eager tongue. He smiled as she helped him to his feet, kissing her deeply as she removed first his tie, and then his shirt, the buttons on it popping free and letting his scaled skin breathe as the eyes across his chest coveted her feathered bosom. He felt her hand slide to the bulges in his pants and kissed her ear softly.

“Mine…all mine, and you have to do exactly as I say, those are the rules…”

He smiled into her suddenly white hair and laughed, eager to see what she’d want of him this time.

“Ahhh, but wait until next time love…I, I have something wonderful planned for you, I was just saving it for a special occasion…”

“Will it kill…or just hurt?” She grinned into his chest.

“Oh it will kill you love…it will definitely kill you…”

“God I love you…”

“I love you too…”

…csr…12.20.00…

Author: Chris Ringler

Writer, blogger, reviewer, artist, arts and cultural events coordinator, and semi-professional weirdo. Author of a heap of books from horror to fairy tale to kid's.

One thought on “MurderLove – a story”

  1. I remember reading this a long time ago…didn’t you want me to try and find it at Barnes and Noble, and the one near me didn’t have it? Fortunately I didn’t remember how it went, I only remembered as I was reading it this time around. So, I was surprised all over again! Kudos, my friend…kudos.

    Like

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