“What the hell do you mean by that?”
While Colby was reading, Luci had pulled the chef’s knife from her bag. Now, as he was still puzzling over her final love note, she swiftly stabbed him in the chest.
He howled, stumbled, and fell to one knee.
“That hurts like fuck!”
He yanked the knife from his chest and threw it away. Blood flooded his white shirt, and trickled out of his mouth.
“You know that won’t kill me.”
Colby touched his tongue to the blood on his lips, then bared his now-revealed fangs in a grin.
“I know,” Luci said with another sigh. “But this will.”
She pulled the pink, sparkly pencil — the one with the fluffy pink end — out from her bag. Then, using the hole she’d created with the knife, she stabbed it into Colby’s heart.
*
Luci knew as she stared down at the pile of goo that had been her ever-so-briefly-vampire boyfriend that she should have brought a shovel and matches. Granted, she hadn’t been exactly sure that the outcome would be so messy.
This was why friends and cellphones were so important.
She also knew that it was seriously unlikely she was going to walk away from all of this with only her heart in pieces. Vampires didn’t just randomly establish contact with teenaged boys via gaming forums and offer them their ancient blood, as well as the immortality that came with it. Certainly not without a long-term goal.
Good thing that no one beat her when it came to executing a plan.
* * *
Meghan Ciana Doidge is an award-winning writer based out of Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. She has a penchant for bloody love stories, superheroes, and the supernatural. She also has a thing for chocolate, potatoes, and sock yarn. Her novels include After The Virus, a post-apocalyptic love story, and the urban fantasy Dowser series. For giveaways, news, and glimpses of upcoming stories, please connect with Meghan on:
Her new release mailing list, http://eepurl.com/AfFzz
Her personal blog, www.madebymeghan.ca
Twitter, @mcdoidge
http://www.facebook.com/MeghanCianaDoidge
*
True Love
E. B. Boggs
Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought of her. He glanced at his computer clock; 5:08 PM. Time to go home.
“Hey Bob, how’s it going?” Pat, his supervisor, asked him.
He quickly looked away and wiped the tears from his eyes. He couldn’t let anyone know he was such a wussy.
“I’m doing well, thanks Pat,” he answered quickly. Pat cocked his head and looked at him curiously.
“It’s been a year today hasn’t it? Since Nora . . .”
“Tomorrow,” Bob interjected, “a year tomorrow.” Pat studied him for a moment before continuing.
“You know Bob, you really should move on. Nora’s not coming back and there are plenty of other women out there who would really like to hook up with a guy like you.”
“You don’t know that,” Bob answered. Pat shook his head.
“I’m pretty sure. A woman might help you get back into the swing of sales again. Your sales have dropped significantly in the last year. Upper management has taken note of that.”
“I’m sure they have.” Bob glanced at his wrist watch. “Okay if I go now? I’m ten minutes past my normal quitting time.”
“Sure,” said Pat. “Why don’t you come over to the house tomorrow evening and have supper with me and Phyllis? You look like you could use a good home cooked meal.”
“Thanks, but no. I’m usually pretty tired by the time I get home.”
“Okay, but the offer stands if you change your mind.”
Bob nodded to him as he put on his coat and walked out of the building. The weather had turned much colder the last couple of weeks. His car was covered in frost. He opened the door and started the car, retrieving his ice scraper from under the front seat and started scratching at the ice on his windshield.
He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up. A woman was approaching him.
“Excuse me, sir?” she said. Bob turned to face her.
“Yes?” he said.
“I’m sorry, but I bumped into your car with my car a little bit ago. I waited to give you my insurance information. I figured you’d be out shortly.”
“What happened? I don’t see any damage. Do I know you?”
“Oh, my car slid some as I was backing out and it hit the rear bumper on your car. Dented it pretty good. And my name is Valerie, I work in receiving. I’m so sorry.”
Bob walked around to the back of the car. There was a sizable dent in the bumper with one end twisted in a slightly upward position.
“Ahh, it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it. It’s an old car,” he said.
“Are you sure? I don’t mind, I mean that’s why I have insurance anyway.” She smiled weakly.
“I’m sure,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get home, it’s getting colder by the minute.”
“Can I buy you dinner some evening? Anything to make this up to you.”
Bob looked at her carefully for a moment. She was attractive, slim body build, looked to be late thirties or early forties. In another time and place he perhaps would have felt honored and jumped at the chance to spend time with her. He shook his head and held up his left hand. He still wore the silver Celtic knot wedding band that Nora placed on his hand all those years ago.
“I’m married,” he said. “Don’t worry about the car. I really have to go now.”
“Sure. I’m so sorry, if you change your mind just let me know, okay?” she said as she moved toward her car.
Bob nodded and slid into his seat. Ten minutes later he turned onto his driveway. He parked the car right in front of the house not bothering to put it in the garage.
Going inside he began to get comfortable by removing his work clothes and wrapping himself in a house coat. Moving to the kitchen he got some beans, a can of Pepsi and a plastic spoon. He then went to the den and plopped down in front of the TV. There was an Andy Griffith marathon playing.
He sat there eating beans and looking at the TV. But his mind wasn’t on the show. All he could think of was Nora. He missed her so much. Why did she leave him?
He got up, turned on a lamp, and retrieved an old photo album and started looking through the pictures. Nora and him, much younger and happier. The faded pictures portrayed them in their youth, their love just starting to bloom. There was a pair of pictures, one of each of them, from the night they spent on Flag Rock. He smiled at the memory.
She had been hesitant to go with him. He had knelt before and kissed the back of her hand.
“Don’t you think it’s beautiful up there?” he asked her.
“Oh yes,” she responded. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Then you have to go with me. I won’t let you get hurt, I promise.”
“Why do I have to go?”
“Because I want it to see just how beautiful you are so it will know true beauty.”
She smiled, tip-toed and kissed him. “I’d follow you anywhere.”
That was their first night together, and it was glorious.
Bob looked at the pictures a while longer. He began to get depressed again.
‘I’m as faded as these pictures,’ he thought to himself. He sat looking through them, eventually falling asleep in his chair.
He suddenly startled awake. The TV had gone to a white screen with static and his Pepsi had overturned in the floor. He looked at his watch; 2:38 AM. He reached over to turn off the lamp, but the bulb blew before he touched it.
Then he felt it; a presence in the room. He was struck with a strange fear, but turned to face an image that he knew well. His fear melted into joy as he looked at the apparition of his wife.
“Nora?” he said weakly, not believing his own eyes. “Is that you?”
A peaceful light shone in her eyes as she reached out h
er hand to him.
“I’ve come to soothe you,” she said. “We’ll soon be as we once were.”
He stood, on wobbly legs, and moved toward her. She was moving, floating, toward the front window.
“Don’t you think it’s beautiful?” she asked him, looking toward the silver maple tree in the yard.
“Yes, but not as beautiful as you,” he answered.
“Oh Bobby, you say the sweetest things. You must come with me now. It is time.” She floated up to eye level with him and kissed him, long and deep.
Her touch was cool on his skin but Bob felt young again. He felt like he could do anything.
“I’d follow you anywhere,” he said. “My soul feels rejuvenated!”
She looked at him for a moment and then said, “Bobby, we don’t have souls. We are souls. We have bodies that are fragile and wear out after a time. We’ll be fine, we are going to be as one again. Come . . .” She drifted through the window and toward the tree in the yard.
‘She always did love that tree,’ Bob thought as he headed toward the door. He didn’t bother to put on shoes or a jacket, but just went out the door into the yard.
The stars were icy and bright in the sky but he didn’t feel the cold. He saw Nora heading to the stone beneath the tree and he followed her there.
“I’m going now and you will follow shortly. I love you Bobby!”
“Wait! Nora! Don’t leave me again!” He fell to the ground and lay prone with his arms wrapped around the stone. The inscription on it read: Nora Hopkins, Beloved Wife and Mother. The frost on the stone and the ground melted from the warmth of his body as his tears froze to the stone.
*
Deputy Ferguson could hardly believe what he saw at the Hopkins’s house that morning. Bob Hopkins froze to the ground hugging his wife’s tombstone. The door to the house was wide open and the TV was still playing.
There was no evidence of any foul play and no sign of drinking or drug abuse. He made his report to the sheriff and they sent out an ambulance to get the body. All his kids lived away. The last time they were all here was last year when Nora passed away. That was a year to the day. Strange how things happen sometimes.
* * *
E.B. Boggs currently resides in the mountains of south-western Virginia. He is the author of various short stories and one novel, The Chronicles of Vinland. You can find his Facebook page at the following link:
https://www.facebook.com/EBBoggs?ref=hl
*
Revelation of the Angel Queen
From the Calnis Chronicles
J R C Salter
Throughout Cõran’s life I had been there. From the moment he was born screaming into the world with his unusually deep voice, the Fates had marked this man for something, and it was my task to find out what, and to help him when I could.
I often disguised myself as a neighbour, or visitor; sometimes male, sometimes female, sometimes old, sometimes young. Occasionally I interacted with him; I passed him in the street and he asked directions, or he wanted some information about a new city he was visiting. He was a traveller, you see, which is a little odd considering who he ultimately became.
I watched him as he saw the world; Egypt, Babylon, Persia, even to the farthest reaches of the East, and he never knew I was there...
Until he settled down to lead the tribe that would become one of the greatest civilisations the world had ever known.
*
‘Go!’ Cõran shouted, his booming voice echoing through the ravine.
‘I’m staying,’ Damariya said.
‘Oh, just do as you’re told, woman. I need someone to look after the children. They can’t stay here. You can’t stay here.’
‘I’ve got a sword. I can fight.’
‘Exactly! Which is why you’re the best person to defend them. These things will destroy you all.’
Damariya stood there, looking at Cõran, defiant.
‘Cilnawn,’ Cõran said, ‘escort her back to the temple. Make sure she does her duty, and then get back here.’
Cilnawn saluted, his fist pressed to his chest, and grabbed Damariya’s arm. She protested and struggled to get free of his tight grip, but he was too strong for her.
Cõran shook his head, and looked to Atharron, ‘Got any sisters?’
‘No,’ Atharron said, ‘I guess my parents thought they couldn’t get better than me.’
Cõran laughed, ‘Lucky you. Lord, I wish she was someone else. She’s used to defying me, that’s what it is. She’s been hounding me for years to join the army, and when I give her that sword, she does nothing but disobey my orders. And because of her, I’m sure some of the men are questioning my authority. If any of them were like that, I’d discipline them for insubordination. But she’s my sister. I can’t clap her in irons. Instead of directing that rage at me for giving her an order, she ought to put it into protecting them damn kids,’ he sighed, ‘What do the scouts say?’
‘The army is half a mile west. They have twice our numbers, but no coordinated battle plan. We should be able to finish this one and be home before sunset.’
‘Lord, I hope that’s true. These attacks are getting more and more frequent. And none of the damn captives can tell us what they want. Their only motive seems to be just plain destruction. I hate it. An enemy with no desires makes negotiations impossible.’
The noise started off as a low murmur in the air, but over the next few moments, it grew to a loud cheering as of many men crying out for blood. Cõran held his sword in one hand, his shield in the other, and he turned to face the oncoming animals.
The ravine was narrow, defensible, but not without its flaws. The enemy didn’t seem to ever show intelligence, but he looked up to the hills on either side of him, and worried what would happen if the monsters took a moment to think. He would be surrounded and forced into a pit to be picked off one by one. Luckily for them, the things didn’t think; or couldn’t do much besides charge.
He saw them in the distance, a rabble of assorted vermin; vaguely human shaped, but with odd features, horns or tails or sharp fangs, that made them more animal than anything he could call a man. They ran with a selfish desire to rip flesh and stamp it to the ground. They didn’t even eat the dead. Cõran wasn’t even sure what they did eat.
Any second they would be upon him, and he would protect the small community. With his life if need be.
Just a few yards away, now. He saw the chipped teeth of the snarling beasts, the red veins pumping through their eyes, the mud beneath their claws. And he swung with his sword, drawing first blood.
*
Cõran performed the final coup de grâce on the last remaining … thing. He slid his sword out from the body, and it scraped along the animal’s broken bones. Cõran looked around the small battlefield and sighed, ‘We can’t live like this,’ he said to Atharron, ‘Too many dead. Too many have lost families and friends. And too many have had their lives ruined. If I knew they wouldn’t follow us, I’d suggest going somewhere else. Starting afresh.’
Atharron nodded, ‘Emigrating may still be the best thing to do, regardless.’
Cõran tore a small rag from one of the creatures and wiped the blood from his sword; ‘Gather the dead!’ he ordered, ‘Everyone is on grave digging duty and we will build a monument for the battle here. Burn the enemy and salt the ground. Curse their souls.’ He sheathed his sword and walked farther into the gorge, ‘If they even have them.’
He and Atharron followed the valley until it became too narrow for them both to comfortably walk side by side. Half a mile later, the ravine widened into a large round bowl with a small lake in the centre surrounded by a few rudimentary huts and one large stone building; each one blackened and falling down as bodies lay around the bowl; young and old alike.
Cõran surveyed the scene, and dropped to his knees. He absently felt a tear fall down his cheek, stopping as it reached his beard.
Atharron walked into the carnage, ‘It was a diversion,’ he s
aid as he hung his head, ‘They are getting clever.’
Cõran heard the falling of wood as it tumbled from the wall of a hut. A young girl staggered from the opening. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen. It was strange how he didn’t recognise her. He knew everyone from the village.
The girl stumbled over to Cõran, limping with a leg that could not hold her weight. She fell into Cõran’s arms and looked up at him, ‘I did what I could,’ she said. Her voice was strong, but still showed a little grief that she held back; ‘Your sister, she was magnificent. She ordered all the women to gather the children into the huts and to form a circle around them. I used whatever power I could and we eventually defeated them, but only a few survived. They retreated into the caves.’
‘Atharron,’ Cõran said, looking in his lieutenant’s direction, ‘Get some of the men out here to carry the dead to the grave. I need to see to my people.’ He turned back to the girl, ‘Lead the way … sorry, what was your name?’
‘Galvahha.’
Cõran held Galvahha on her feet as she led him up the hill to a cave in the side of the bowl. They had hidden deep within so as not to be seen by any enemy. A clever tactic, but it made finding them difficult. He shouted out for them and eventually a few of the adults appeared, ‘Damariya!’ he shouted.
‘This way!’ said a voice in the darkness. He followed the sound until he found a small boy holding a torch. The light drowned everything in a pale orange hue; in the light, he saw the body of his sister lying against the wall of the cave, her middle covered in dark, red blood.
‘Damariya!’ he said, running towards her, leaving Galvahha to be tended by another girl. He dropped down to his knees and held his sister’s hand, but she didn’t move; ‘Mari, please. I’m here. We’re safe.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the boy said, ‘she died shortly after getting here. Not even Galvahha could save her.’
The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters Page 32