“I’m going upstairs,” she said. “I’m going to have a nice, long bath and then put on something silly and slinky.”
Ricky nodded.
“I’ll be in bed, waiting. And, who knows, you might get lucky.” She smiled. She’d already brushed her teeth. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, pleasing, her eyes soft and gentle. He felt a stirring inside him. How could he ever forget her face? Ricky compared her to the murdered wife and wondered which of them was prettiest. Which of them would the press anoint as having suffered a greater tragedy?
“I’ll be up in a bit,” he said. “I want to do a little reading.”
“Just don’t wait too long. I’m sleepy.”
“Yes, dear.”
When he was alone, he spat the half-chewed mouthful of food onto his plate. He carried the plate to the kitchen and scraped the remains into the garbage disposal. He wondered if the husband had thought of trying to hide the body, or if he had been as surprised by his actions as she must have been.
The watermelon was on the counter. Maybelle had taken it from the refrigerator.
He went to the utensil drawer and slid it open. He and Maybelle had no children, and safety wasn’t a concern. The knives lay in a bright row, arranged according to length. How had the husband made his decision? Size? Sharpness? Or the balance of the handle?
If he had initially intended to make only one thrust, he probably would have gone for depth. If he had aspired to make art, then a number of factors came into play. Ricky’s head hurt, his throat a wooden knot. He grabbed the knife that most resembled the murder weapon shown in the press photographs.
Ricky turned the lights low, then carried the knife to the counter. He pressed the blade to the watermelon and found that the blade trembled in his hand. The watermelon grew soft and blurred in his vision, and he realized he was weeping. How could anyone ever destroy a thing of such beauty?
He forced himself to press the knife against the cool green rind. The flesh parted but Ricky eased up as a single drop of clear dew swelled from the wound. The husband hadn’t hesitated, he’d raised the knife and plunged, but once hadn’t been enough, neither had twice, three times, but over and over, a rhythm, passion, passion, passion.
He dropped the knife and the tip broke as it clattered across the tiles. The watermelon sat whole and smooth on the counter. Tears tickled his cheeks. Maybelle was upstairs in the dark bed, his pillows were stacked so he wouldn’t snore, the familiar cupped and rounded area of the mattress was waiting for him.
The husband had been a crazy fool, that was all. He’d cut his wife to bits, no rhyme or reason. She hadn’t asked for any of it. She was a victim of another person’s unvoiced and unfulfilled desires, just like Maybelle.
Ricky spun and thrust his fist down into the melon, squeezed the red wetness of its heart. He ripped the rind open and the air grew sweet. He pulled at the pink insides, clawed as if digging for some deeply buried secret. He was sobbing, and the pulp spattered onto his face as he plunged his hands into the melon again and again.
A voice pulled him from the red sea of rage in which he was drowning.
Maybelle. Calling from upstairs.
“Ricky?”
He held his breath, his pulse throbbing so hard he could feel it in his neck. He looked down at the counter, at the mess in the kitchen, at the pink juice trickling to the floor.
“Ricky?” she called again. He looked toward the hall, but she was still upstairs. So she hadn’t heard.
He looked at his sticky hands.
“Are you coming to bed?”
He looked at the knife on the floor. His stomach was as tight as a melon. He gulped for some air, tasted the mist of sugar. “Yes, dear.”
She said no more, and must have returned to bed in her silly and slinky things. The room would be dark and she would be waiting.
Ricky collected the larger scraps of the watermelon and fed them into the garbage disposal. He swept the floor and scooped up the remaining shreds, then wiped the counter. He wrung out a dish cloth and got on his hands and knees, scrubbing the tiles and then the grout.
The husband had harbored no secrets. A pathetic man who made another person pay for his shortcomings. He was a sick, stupid animal. Ricky would think no more of him, and tomorrow he would throw the newspapers away.
He washed his hands in the sink, put the knife away, and gave the kitchen a cursory examination. No sign of the watermelon remained, and his eyes were dry, and his hands no longer trembled.
Tomorrow, summer would be over. It was the end of something, and the beginning of something else. Maybelle was waiting, and he might get lucky. Ricky went to the stairs and took them one step at a time, up into darkness.
THE END
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CURTAINS: THE TRUTH BEHIND THE LIES
By Scott Nicholson
People who only know my paranormal stories may not know that I have written in almost every genre, including mystery, science fiction, fantasy, literary realism, and even romance, though my romance doesn’t always end happily ever after. I just love to read everything and expand my borders. Patricia Highsmith, Agatha Christie, Nancy Drew, Hardee Boys, Charlotte McLeod, Elmore Leonard, William Goldman, and James Lee Burke are in my library, and all your influences turn up in your work until you get “experienced.” Which means you get lazy and fall into a shallow groove and keep doing the same thing over and over again.
The Digital Era heralds Act II of my career, and my crime novels like The Skull Ring and Disintegration show a different side of me, plus I wrote a couple of screenplays that slide easily into the mystery box. With this new freedom comes an easy break from the commercial considerations that demand you build a simple, identifiable brand. Now I’m the Scott Nicholson brand, and I respect you enough to credit you with taste, looks, intelligence, and good breeding. In other words, you’re willing to broaden you horizons and not get locked into reading the same story over and over with different titles and author names.
But maybe I’m trying to slip a fast one by you, run a con and take your money because you like mysteries and I’m a horror writer at heart. So here’s a little examination of the facts.
Dog Person– This was inspired by a true story. My friend Al Carson was talking about his dog’s expensive medical problems and how he decided to have Sally “put to sleep” instead of spending thousands of dollars. We discussed a fictional version of the tale and, in his version, there were two shots–first was the mercy killing of the dog, then the suicidal shot. I went with the version here, where the guy loves his dog so much that he just can’t face life without her. And, of course, the treacherous wife gets the fruit of her hateful labors. Originally published in Cemetery Dance Magazine #56 in 2006 and selected by esteemed editor Ellen Datlow for inclusion in The Year’s Best Fantasy & Horror.
Dead Air—I wrote this while attending Appalachian State University in 1996. I worked at the college radio station in virtually every capacity at one time or another: jock, general manager, promotions director, sportscaster and news announcer. The cool think was to have a little made-up “handle,” and I toyed with Ricky Nix for a while but in the end stuck with what I had. Maybe there’s a little lesson about media sensationalism in here. After 16 years of journalism, I can’t say I’ve always been proud of my other profession. Originally appeared in Blue Murder Magazine #3 in 1997, which was a progressive little PDF publication way ahead of its time.
How to Build Your Own Coffin—I conducted one of those “vanity searches,” where you Google your name on the Internet under the guise of testing the effectiveness of promotional efforts while you’re really just seeing if anyone out there is talking about you. And I came to another Scott Nicholson’s Web page called “How to Build Your Own Coffin.” Seriously. Step by step instructions, with great attention to craft. How could I pass that one up? Originally appeared in the respected U.K. publication Crimewave
#8 in 2005.
The Name Game—I was toying with the idea of fake identities and how lucky it would be if your fake identity turned up dead and it wasn’t you. Especially if someone wanted you dead. Of course, there’s also the problem of trying to rebuild a life from scratch. And it can get confusing after a while when you burn through a few false identities. Appeared in The Death Panel anthology in 2009.
Good Fences—Like most good stories, this one grew from a real incident. A geezery neighbor up the road would come down and straighten our corner fence post whenever it leaned just a little, and I got so perturbed by the presumptuous habit that I started deliberately knocking the pole out of true, just to see how long it would take him to come creaking down with his hammer and nails. Something like that, you just have to use your imagination to take it to the next level. Published in the Cemetery Dance anthology Shivers V in 2008.
The Agreement—(From J.A. Konrath): I wrote this in college, and never tried to publish it because I considered it too violent. But after selling several stories to Ellery Queen, I still couldn’t crack its sister publication, Alfred Hitchcock. After a handful of rejections, I sent them this, and they bought it. I liked the last line so much I’ve reused it a few times in other stories.
Kill Your Darlings—The title is from something Faulkner supposedly said, though I’ve seen it attributed to a couple of other writers. The idea is a writer must cut every precious phrase, no matter how elegant and beautiful, if that phrase does not further the story. I’ll admit, the writer-as-protagonist bit is a darling in itself. So shoot me. First published in Blue Murder Magazine #5 in 1997.
Making Ends Meet—Simon Wood is author of four novels, including Asking for Trouble and The Fall Guy. He’s also written more than 170 short stories. He’s an Anthony Award winner, pilot, adventurer, and licensed private investigator. A true talent, his stories explore the dark human heart and the fallibility in all of us. Visit him at www.simonwood.net.
Sewing Circle– Inspired by a true incident in which I wrote what we in the journalism trade call a “fluff piece” about a local quilting group. The leader of the group, who wasn’t present and was barely mentioned in the article, harassed me endlessly about a minor error, to the point that I decided she was vengeful that I hadn’t made her the centerpiece of the article. Since the group met at a church, it was easy to spin the idea to its most absurd and extreme conclusion. Originally published in the 2008 collection Scattered Ashes.
Nothing Personal, But You Gotta Die—I’ve tried a few “flip sides,” where I’ve spun stories off of event sin another story, and here Mikey has been given the job of tracking down Robert Wells, from “The Name Game,” only Mikey knows him by his real name of Vincent. There’s probably a sequel in here somewhere. This is its first appearance.
Watermelon– I’m almost embarrassed to admit this is autobiographical, but if you’ve read the book, then you’ve caught me with my pants down, anyway. One night, while drunk, I yanked a watermelon from the fridge and beat the holy hell out of it, ramming my fist inside and yanking out the pink pulp. I wasn’t even that angry. But I imagined that was the sort of diffuse outlet that prevented some greater atrocity somewhere else. And as with the protagonist here, you suspect worse things down the road, life goes on, and hell lasts forever. Appeared in Cemetery Dance #51 in 2005.
That’s it. That’s Curtains for you.
THE END
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About Scott Nicholson:
I am strange, but I am very happy! I believe we build valuable ideas together, some of them inside a book, and sometimes outside a book. I am honored that you shared my ideas and brought them to life in your imagination. I invite you to write a brief review or tell your friends about these ideas we have shared.
I’m author of more than 30 books, including The Red Church, Liquid Fear, Chronic Fear, The Harvest, and Speed Dating with the Dead. I collaborated with bestselling author J.R. Rain on Cursed, The Vampire Club, Bad Blood, and Ghost College. I’ve also written the children’s books If I Were Your Monster, Too Many Witches, Ida Claire, and Duncan the Punkin, and created the graphic novels Dirt and Grave Conditions. Connect with me on Facebook, Goodreads, LibraryThing, Twitter, my blog, or my website. I am really an organic gardener, but don’t tell anyone, because they think I am a writer.
Feel free to drop me a line anytime at [email protected], or visit my Author Central page at Amazon to ask a question. Thanks to my cool writer friends for letting me use their stories. And thanks for sharing your valuable time with me.
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Try these other thrillers because they are good:
CREATIVE SPIRIT
By Scott Nicholson
After parapsychologist Anna Galloway is diagnosed with metastatic cancer, she has a recurring dream in which she sees her own ghost. The setting of her dream is the historic Korban Manor, which is now an artist’s retreat in the remote Appalachian Mountains. Drawn both by the ghost stories surrounding the manor and her own sense of destiny, Anna signs up for the retreat.
Sculptor Mason Jackson has come to Korban Manor to make a final, all-or-nothing attempt at success before giving up his dreams. When he becomes obsessed with carving Ephram Korban’s form out of wood, he questions his motivation but is swept up in a creative frenzy unlike any he has ever known.
The manor itself has secrets, with fires that blaze constantly in the hearths, portraits of Korban in every room, and deceptive mirrors on the walls. A mysterious woman in white calls to Anna from the forest, while Mason is driven by the whispers of an unseen critic. With an October blue moon looming, both the living and the dead learn the true power of their dreams. The author’s preferred edition of the 2004 U.S. paperback The Manor.
Learn more about the paranormal thriller Creative Spirit or view it at Amazon US or Amazon UK
Do you like movies? View the screenplay adaptation at Amazon US or Amazon UK
DISINTEGRATION
By Scott Nicholson
Careful what you wish for.
When a mysterious fire destroys his home and kills his young daughter, Jacob Wells is pulled into a downward spiral that draws him ever closer to the past he thought was dead and buried.
Now his twin brother Joshua is back in town, seeking to settle old scores and claim his half of the Wells birthright. Jacob’s wife Renee is struggling with her own guilt, because the couple lost an infant daughter several years before.
As Jacob and Joshua return to the twisted roles they adopted at the hands of cruel, demanding parents, they wage a war of pride, wealth, and passion. They share the poisonous love of a woman who would gladly ruin them both: Carlita, a provocative and manipulative Hispanic whose immigrant family helped build the Wells fortune.
If only Jacob can figure out which of them to blame. But the lines of identity are blurred, because Joshua and Jacob share much more than blood. And the childhood games have become deadly serious.
Learn more about the psychological thriller Disintegration or view it at Amazon or Amazon UK
THE RED CHURCH
Book I in the Sheriff Littlefield Series
By Scott Nicholson
For 13-year-old Ronnie Day, life is full of problems: Mom and Dad have separated, his brother Tim is a constant pest, Melanie Ward either loves him or hates him, and Jesus Christ won't stay in his heart. Plus he has to walk past the red church every day, where the Bell Monster hides with its wings and claws and livers for eyes. But the biggest problem is that Archer McFall is the new preacher at the church, and Mom wants Ronnie to attend midnight services with her.
Sheriff Frank Littlefield hates the red church for a different reason. His little brother died in a freak accident at the church twenty years ago, and now Frank is starting to see his brother's ghost.
The Days, the Littlefields, and the McFalls are descendants of the original families t
hat settled the rural Appalachian community. Those old families share a secret of betrayal and guilt, and McFall wants his congregation to prove its faith. Because he believes he is the Second Son of God, and that the cleansing of sin must be done in blood.
"Sacrifice is the currency of God," McFall preaches, and unless Frank and Ronnie stop him, everybody pays.
Learn more about the real haunted church that inspired The Red Church or view it for Kindle at Amazon or Amazon UK
DRUMMER BOY
Book II in the Sheriff Littlefield Series
By Scott Nicholson
On an Appalachian Mountain ridge, three boys hear the rattling of a snare drum deep inside a cave known as "The Jangling Hole," and the wind carries a whispered name.
It's the eve of a Civil War re-enactment, and the town of Titusville is preparing to host a staged battle. The weekend warriors aren’t aware they will soon be fighting an elusive army. A troop of Civil War deserters, trapped in the Hole by a long-ago avalanche, is rising from a long slumber, and the war is far from over.
And one misfit kid is all that stands between the town and the cold mouth of hell…
Learn more about Drummer Boy and the Appalachian legend that inspired the novel or view it at Amazon or Amazon UK
THE SKULL RING
By Scott Nicholson
Julia Stone will remember, even if it kills her.
With the help of a therapist, Julia is piecing together childhood memories of the night her father vanished. When Julia finds a silver ring that bears the name "Judas Stone," the past comes creeping back. Someone is leaving strange messages inside her house, even though the door is locked. The local handyman offers help, but he has his own shadowy past. And the cop who investigated her father's disappearance has followed her to the small mountain town of Elkwood.
Bad Stacks Story Collection Box Set Page 36