Barely avoiding being struck by Smirnoff, Lenny ordered her to, “Stop it!”
Esther slumped to the floor.
His heart broke for her. He loved her, with all his soul! He didn’t want her to hate him. She should love him by now!
Choking up, he told her, “You don’t hate me, darlin’. You’re just having a bad day. You love me. You need to be happy.” He commanded it, “Be happy.”
She fought back her tears and produced a wan smile.
“That’s better,” said Lenny.
Always knowing exactly what this lusty woman needed, he stripped her naked, before shedding his own clothes and taking her to the bedroom.
After that, Lenny experienced no more problems with his wife. She seemed not just content but truly happy.
He was thrilled to be married to her.
Oblivious to Esther’s secret pain, Lenny lived his dream, certain he’d have another forty-five years of this bliss.
***666***
Esther Gray Langstrom sat home alone with a bottle of vodka, contemplating her miserable life. Lenny was gone for the week, off to Atlanta for a company meeting. She sincerely wished he would never come back. If his plane were to crash, she’d celebrate.
She passionately loathed her husband.
Over the course of the last year, Esther’s identity had been shattered. She was a stranger to herself.
She was raised as a Christian but she’d lost her faith in Jesus. Tonight, she was so filled with black despair, she was contemplating suicide. She no longer believed it was a mortal sin because she no longer believed in God. And she didn’t want to go on living this way.
She remembered the day this nightmare began, almost a year ago. She’d written to the DJ at the local radio station about her situation and Kylie McKinney aired her story as the Daily Dilemma. After listening to the advice of the good citizens of her city, Esther decided she was going over Lenny’s head, to his boss, in an attempt to get him fired.
Then, something inexplicable happened.
It was like she was hypnotized, or mind controlled, or bewitched. She’d never been attracted to Lenny before. He was dumpy, balding, and extremely hairy. Esther liked athletic men, smooth men (particularly Italian men). She’d always found excessive body hair to be a turn-off.
But suddenly, out of the blue, she changed.
Eventually, her arousal got the better of her. It made her bold. She went to him that same night and they had sex for hours. But even as she was screaming with desire, somewhere deep in her mind, she was shrieking with horror.
As unfathomable as it was that she was physically attracted to him, even more unbelievable was the way she always obeyed him. She’d tried over and over to defy him and she just couldn’t. Her body always complied with his wishes, even when her heart wouldn’t. When he told her to Be Happy, she didn’t feel happiness but she faked it.
She couldn’t even find satisfaction by cheating on him because he’d ordered her to remain faithful and she had to dutifully obey.
Esther wanted to die. Either that or she wanted him to die. Sitting at her desk in her study, staring unfocused at the solitaire game on her computer screen, she moaned, “I’d do anything if he’d just die!”
Ester was startled when her computer said, “You’ve Got Mail!”
When she ignored the summons, her computer insisted again, “You’ve Got Mail!”
“Alright already,” she muttered. When she went to her mailbox online and clicked on her email, she saw the title of the newest message was: Fulfill Your Dreams TONIGHT!
***666***
Five minutes later, having read the instructions on how to sell her immortal soul at Hell’s Consignment House, Esther wrote that her greatest desire was for, “Lenny to suffer a slow, painful, debilitating death.”
When she sent her request, however, she received back immediate word that Hell was unable to comply. She was informed...
Lenny Langstrom may not be killed by disease, old age, or any type of natural injury.
Esther frowned. She started to type, why not?, but then her eyes fell on the last prewritten paragraph in her petition.
As a further stipulation to my damnation, I will be granted another 75 years of life (three times my current age of 25), free of any threat from disease, infirmities associated with old age, and all natural calamities.
The epiphany took her breath away.
The great mystery was solved!
She knew how Lenny brainwashed her.
“He sold his soul,” she exclaimed. “Goddamn him!” Then, realizing the irony in what she just said, she brayed hysterical laughter.
When she sobered up, she was chilled to think, That’s how he changed me.
Her head spun with the implications of this. Her hatred for Lenny ballooned to new extremes.
She considered her revenge. He brainwashed her. She should brainwash him.
He corrupted her so she would be attracted to him.
What if she were to fix it so he’d be attracted to men?
Or even dogs?
Esther shuddered, disgusted for the dogs.
Eventually, she shut down the website. When her computer called out over and over that she still had mail, she ignored it.
For the first time in a year, Esther prayed for forgiveness for her sins.
She no longer had any doubt that God heard her prayers.
***666***
When Lenny returned home from his business trip, Ester took him straight to bed.
After they’d had sex (she never thought of it as ‘making love,’ no matter who instigated it), she told Lenny about the cat she had adopted while he was away.
“Please let me keep it, honey,” she begged.
Lenny sighed. “I’m not crazy about cats, darlin’.”
“I know. But he’s so adorable. And I promise he won’t be any trouble. You’ll never even know he’s around.”
“Okay,” Lenny said with a sigh. “I guess.”
Esther thanked him by grabbing him in his favorite place.
He told her, “I never knew you liked cats.”
She secretly loathed felines, almost as much as him. But Esther smiled, because she had a plan.
***666***
It took her two more weeks to build up the courage to do it.
Lenny may not be able to die by any natural means . . . but there was nothing in Satan’s e-contract that suggested Esther’s husband couldn’t be murdered.
She planned to kill him and blame it on a rambunctious cat.
When Lenny came home from work on the fateful night, Esther told him, “Why don’t you take a long hot bath before supper, honey. I’ll even come in and scrub your back.”
Nervous as hell, she held her breath until Lenny said, “Sounds good.”
She paced in the kitchen, unable to sit still as she listened to water pouring into the tub.
When the water finally stopped and she heard the splashing sounds of Lenny getting in, Ester went to get the cat. Knowing how she intended to sacrifice it, she never even named the animal (and Lenny never asked).
Esther took a moment to calm herself, taking deep breaths. She knew she would need to act swiftly, without hesitation. If Lenny was to die, she had to be strong.
Finally, Esther picked up the feline and walked down the hall to the bathroom.
Lenny was sitting in the tub, waist-deep in soapy water. When he saw her carrying the cat, he asked, “What’s up?”
“I’ve got something to show you,” said Ester, placing the cat on the closed toilet.
“What?”
Esther darted out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her. “Be right back.”
“Honey!” shouted Lenny. “What are you doing?”
Sweat dotting her upper lip, her heart quavering in her chest, Esther rushed into her study and picked up Lenny’s boombox, which was already loaded with one of Lenny’s AC/DC CDs.
“Esther!” yelled Lenny. “Come get this ca
t!”
It was an order and her body knew it. Luckily, she was already carrying the boombox. Esther dashed back to the bathroom, where she heard the cat scratching at the door. Entering, she blocked the cat’s escape with her foot and quickly closed the door behind her.
Lenny was annoyed. “What are you doing?” he whined.
“I’ll take care of the cat in a second, sweetheart.” She moved to the electrical outlet that was located next to the sink. Quickly plugging in the murder weapon, she told Lenny, “I brought you some music to listen to.”
For just a moment, Lenny looked at her with suspicion. Esther acted as quickly was she was able, terrified he would order her to ‘stop.’
She shouted at him, “Sell your soul in order to have me, did you?”
His final word was, “I—”
In the next second, her husband screamed as Esther dropped the plugged-in boombox into the tub.
Deadly electric current coursed through the bath. Lenny thrashed and flopped, splashing water all over the floor. The lights dimmed. Steam rose. The din coming from his screeching throat sounded utterly inhuman.
Feeling both horror and unbounded triumph, Esther turned to grab up the cat. She planned to tell the police that Lenny was taking a bath, listening to his boombox as he always did, when the cat ran into the bathroom and knocked the CD player into his bath.
She intended to broil the cat with her husband.
But the black cat squirmed, twisting in her hands to claw her. Surprised, Esther took a single step backward, into a puddle. She slipped and fell into her own death trap.
The house was old and there were no circuit breakers. Fuses eventually blew, stopping the flow of electricity, but not before the Langstrom family— including their new pet— was dead.
***666***
The pain that Lenny felt at death lasted much longer than he would have ever dreamed possible. His soul was fried out of his body, like juices from a steak. Still experiencing strange electric shocks, he screamed a soundless scream.
He was devastated that Esther had killed him.
He felt emanations of pure Wickedness rising up from the darkness below him. Lenny knew that Satan fulfilled his end of the bargain. Lenny didn’t die from disease, old age, or anything natural.
Until he was slain, Lenny was clueless that the deal he made left open the possibility of murder.
His spirit swirled around and around his scorched body, like a tormented dervish. He watched Esther as she fought with the cat. He saw her slip and fall into the electric bath.
The moment she struck the crazy waters, a brilliant shaft of light shined down from above. Seeing the illumination of Heaven hurt Lenny, causing his damned soul to ache.
He watched as his beloved’s spirit rose into the light. He knew she would soon stand before God, where she could explain herself as she was Judged . . . an opportunity he forfeited when he entered into the Devil’s contract.
Earth bled away. Another human soul plummeted into the Abyss.
In Hell, Leonard Lee Langstrom couldn’t remember any of the good times with Esther Gray, but he eternally relived the excruciating experience of her electrified vengeance.
THE END
Edgar Allan Poem Meets Elizabeth Barrett Brownie
It’d been a very long time since Adam last had a love affair.
He’d almost given up hope of ever experiencing romance again... until he met Rachel.
Adam spent virtually every night in the company of a beautiful young woman. He was rich, powerful, and brutally handsome. Women found him to be suave, sophisticated, sensitive, and sincere. He was the kind of charismatic individual every lady wanted to sleep with and every gentleman envied.
He was also wise in the ways of women, knowing what they wanted, what they needed, what they thought. He understood most females in ways they would never understood themselves.
His charms were irrefutable, irresistible.
He could have any woman he desired—except for Rachel.
Rachel had been a real challenge for him.
He was frustrated he hadn’t been able to read her mind yet.
Until he read her mind, he couldn’t know if she was right for him.
Adam first signed online just six years ago, in 2006. He didn’t care much for new technology and only dabbled on the Internet at first, largely using it as a source of news. Then, about six months ago, he discovered a website called Poetry-Verse, where he eventually met Rachel. In addition to The Poet’s Pulpit, the site’s own chat room, Poetry-Verse had numerous message boards where amateurs could post poems on a variety of topics.
Adam enjoyed reading amateur poetry. Most of it was drivel, of course, horrendous to the extreme, but every once in a blue moon, he found someone with the gift.
Occasionally he ran across someone who had the soul of a poet.
Adam believed Rachel was one of those special people.
Four months ago, after enjoying some of her poems on the message boards, Adam went looking for Rachel in The Poet’s Pulpit. Several vigilant nights later, when he finally found her, they chatted at length, eventually taking their conversation private. Using instant messages, they talked for nearly three hours. He was honest about his appreciation of her poetry and she responded enthusiastically to both his praise and his minor criticisms.
They became fast friends.
Since then, they’ve spent many nights together online, 'talking' for hours in little windows.
Rachel was 33-years-old, an attractive blonde divorcee, living in Muncie, Indiana, with her seven-year-old daughter, Deborah. She had been married twice, the first time when she was only eighteen. Soon after she wed her high school sweetheart and they settled into their rat-hole apartment, the bills mounted up, finances got tight, and her hubby started hitting her to alleviate his stress. Rachel took his beatings twice but when he attacked her a third time, she left him for good.
Her second husband was Deborah’s father. Rachel divorced him when he ran off with another woman. He owed Rachel years of back alimony and child support that she never expected to see.
Rachel worked long days as a paralegal. She spent her evenings with her daughter and she occasionally used her nights to write and post poetry.
Adam wished he could write poetry himself. He’d tried and found he had no talent for it. He was cunning and highly intelligent but he was not creative.
Destruction was his forte.
It was thirty-nine minutes after midnight when he clicked his mouse and opened the software that connected him to the Internet. A window opened with his screen name already entered. He typed his password and, thanks to his high speed connection, he was instantly online as Edgar_Allan_Poem.
He smiled when he checked his buddy list and saw Rachel was online. He pulled up an instant message and typed her screen name into it: Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie. He began their private chat by writing, “How are you tonight, gorgeous?”
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Friday night. No work tomorrow. I’m great. You?
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Fantastic.
He waited a moment, then wrote. . . .
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: So. No regrets about last night?
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Nope. :)
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Sweet! :-)
His smiley faces had noses, whereas hers did not.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: So you’re not going to disappear on me again?
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Nope.
Over a month ago, Adam and Rachel first discussed sex. The conversation was fairly raunchy and Rachel became aroused. Then, for about a week afterward, she didn’t talk to him at all. She either stayed offline or just blocked him so he couldn’t see her on his buddy list. Her defensive mechanisms had kicked in. She didn’t like the fact she felt desire for Adam. When she eventually broke the silence and talked to him again, she was distant and cold.
He remained patient, waiting her out, and the thaw wasn’t long in coming. She finally apologized f
or being so standoffish and admitted she’d missed him.
They talked for hours that night in little boxes on their computer screens. That was weeks ago.
Last night, the subject of sex came up again. When Rachel admitted she was horny, Adam vividly described making love to her, plagiarizing most of it from a pornographic novel. He helped her achieve an orgasm (and lied and said he had one, too.) And this time, in the afterglow, Rachel exhibited no worry or guilt.
Adam realized he’d been ruminating and quickly typed . . .
>Edgar_Allan_Poem:Kewl!
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: I just about went CRAZY the last time you gave me the silent treatment.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: I’m sorry. You know I regret that.
His fingers flew over the keys, quickly responding.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: I know. And I understand why you did it. You were feeling vulnerable.
There was a lengthy wait for her next I.M.. Finally, she wrote, “Yes.”
Devilishly, he responded...
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: But last night wasn’t so scary, was it?
Adam never tired of the irony of telling a woman not to be afraid of him.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: No. It was wonderful.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Thanks. I was inspired.
He waited a second before writing...
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: By you.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: ::::blushes:::::
He couldn’t wait to see her blush in real life. Just the thought of the color rising in her cheeks caused pangs of longing. He shook his head, astonished at how she could write that single word and it had an effect on him like a real blush would. He said to the computer screen (to her) “I want you, Rachel. And I will have you.”
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: I know you think all men are pigs and you’re absolutely right, but when we started having cybersex, I was SO nervous. I’d never want something silly like talking dirty to get in the way of our RELATIONSHIP.
The chat window didn’t allow italicized print so he sometimes used capital letters for emphasis, even though typing in ‘caps’ was seen as shouting and considered by most people to be rude.
Fishing in Brains for an Eye with Teeth (Thirteen Tales of Terror) Page 9