Thrills: Vol.2

by Jason A. Joseph

  “Then let’s get you in that dress, hmm? It’s a shame you couldn’t wait. I was going to get you an actual wedding dress, but I suppose you got a choice this way. That will settle the contract your family owed us nicely. You choosing it may even let the rest of them get off easy.” He said off-handedly, and Sarah felt a knife pierce her heart. She took a calming breath before getting up with his assistance, hands still tied behind her back.

  Draven led her to a closet, completely empty of anything she could use against him, and he threw in the dress for her. “Oh, one more thing.” He cut her wrists free. “Do hurry, darling. Your parents are waiting.” He smiled at her.

  Sarah was being escorted by a strong hand on her shoulder down to the basement. She was dressed in a pure white gown, but it only went to barely below her knees. It was one of her church dresses, usually reserved for Easter of some other holiday, but to Draven he said that she looked like the perfect bride. His smile seemed almost genuine and caring, but the way he held onto her now and the body on the floor reminded her of the monster he truly was.

  She once again found herself wishing that she was forced to marry Arthur instead, and that her parents would never find out even if she had failed her plan. But Sarah marched down the dimly lit stairs and into the basement, Draven’s hand on her shoulder the entire way as he hummed a happy tune. With him behind her she didn’t have to pretend to smile or cower. She stared brazenly ahead, wanting to see that her parents were safe, and praying that they were at the same time.

  Finally with the last step crying could be heard, but it seemed so much further down than a normal basement. It was too dark to see, and Sarah almost wished that the light did not turn on when it did. She did see her parents, but they were far from unharmed.

  Her father’s frail form lay over her mothers. He looked beaten. His glasses were nowhere to be seen, and even if they were, he was too busted up in the face to see out of them anyways. The swelling alone wouldn’t let them sit well on his face. Sarah’s heart broke.

  “See, Sarah. They’re here.” He said, almost a little too cheerfully. She noticed that her mother was staring at her, eyes filled with tears and lip busted. She had bruises that were similar to Nicole’s, in the same area, and that made her fear for her mother more than she already did.

  “H-hunny.” Her father’s voice croaked, and he squinted trying to see her, but he could feel his wife nod her head. Her father screamed, trying to run at the bars, but he fell before he even got to the iron that was encasing them.

  “Oh hush, Walter. She came to me. She was even going to get married to Arthur, see? At least she knows me. You should be happy.” Draven’s voice mocked, and her mother still cried. She could feel his mouth on her ear, nearly hissing into it. “Tell them, darling.” The threat didn’t need to be spoken. Looking at her mother’s bruised and beaten body she steeled her gaze and response again.

  “It’s okay, Dad. Don’t I look, pretty?” She asked, and Draven chuckled. Her father sunk to his knees. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want this. I want you to be okay. Her mind was screaming, but she had the will to continue, no matter what happened. I will get you out. Even if I can’t come with you.

  She looked around, trying to find something to stall with. “What about a priest?” She asked Draven, whose mood soured, and she was scared that she had said something that would cost her everything. But then he looked at her again, and he just shook his head.

  “Don’t be scared, Sarah. I was angry at you for asking, but it’s not your fault.” He stroked her cheek again, his gaze softening on her. Then he turned to her father, gaze cold and venomous. “It was your upbringing. If you suffer in my hands, it will be his fault. Remember that.” But it didn’t seem like he wanted Sarah to remember as much as her father too.

  “If you had just brought them up for the marriage, Adriana wouldn’t have run. The contract would be fulfilled. She wouldn’t be scared.” His voice seemed deadly, and then he turned to her mother. “Or you could have married my father, and then this wouldn’t be happening at all, but instead you killed him. Now look at what you’ve done to your daughter.”

  Sarah was trembling, scared for her parent’s safety, and for some reason she couldn’t stop it. She looked at her mother. No. No. Don’t blame yourselves! She wanted to scream, but she didn’t dare endanger their safety. She needed to turn Draven’s attention back to her, away from her parents so they’d be safe.

  “Draven.” She tried to sound weak, needy almost. It seemed to work, as he turned his eyes to her.

  “Yes, Sarah?” His voice was soft again.

  “Then tell me how we get married. Let’s do this, Draven.” She tried to keep her voice sweet, and he smiled. I’ll get you out of here. I’ll marry him, and you can leave. I’ll figure everything out later. She told herself, but then a crack sounded from the door. A shot rang out not soon after.

  She felt hot, sticky blood on her again. Draven’s eyes were shocked, and he was angry. She could feel him gripping her shoulders, but the grip was slowly loosening. She looked down, fearing the blood was hers, but then she saw it. The hole through his chest. Draven was dying. For a moment she wanted to scream out, seeing him so helpless made her see him as the friend she knew, but at the same time she tried to remind herself of the monster he really was.

  Her parents were watching the top of the stairs, and she heard creaking, someone descending. It’s not over yet. She had to remind herself as Draven crumpled in front of her and her eyes met Arthur’s on the stairs, a gun in his hand.

  “He always was the one for theatrics. The ending is fitting.” He said coldly, looking at his brother’s corpse. Then he turned his eyes to her.

  Arthur looked at her and then at her parents. Sighing he went to get something from one of the drawers, but Sarah’s eyes were on the gun, not sure what to do now that it was involved. “I should have known that was my brother.” He said, watching the body change into a blonde figure with deep eyes.

  “You see. We’re human shifters, you’re shape shifters. Our union would be beautiful, but I disagree that this is necessary.” His tone was light, almost airy, like in her first dream. Finally Arthur found what he was looking for, pulling out a set of keys. He threw them at her, and she flinched, too scared to pick them up. A smile curved at his lips.

  “They’re for your parents. Go on, let them out. Of course if any of you try anything I’ll have to shoot.” His tone was serious, but seemingly light. Sarah looked at the keys, wondering which one would be the key to her parent’s freedom.

  “The blue one.” He said flippantly, and Sarah went to let her parents out. They both scrambled as best they could, holding onto each other. She could feel her mother’s sobs as she hugged her, but her father was rigid, still watching Arthur.

  “Leave her alone.” His tone deadly as he addressed Arthur, who just shook his head, not taking her father seriously at all.

  “No. You killed my father by luck, and we’ll be drawn to each other. It’s maddening for my family. Your family gets reprieve because your form shifts, but ours? We’ll go mad. I can’t let her go. My father went mad. Look at my brother. He was going mad. You broke the contract so many generations ago, and yet it’s my family that pays the price.” He looked at them sternly.

  “She and I will be married.” He looked at Sarah. “Or this entire thing will continue for generations to come, and you’ll have to fear for your own children as well. That’s the problem, you see. It wasn’t just a slight we couldn’t forgive. It’s driving my line mad. I can’t let that happen, Sarah. Can you? Who are you?” He asked her, and for once the question made sense to her.

  She looked at her parents, and then she looked at Arthur. She couldn’t say that there wasn’t something drawing her to him, but the stories that she was told by Drake of their cruelty and seeing Nicole dead killed what she felt for him.

  But then her hand went to her stomach, and his words echoed in her head. My children. They suffer to
o.

  “But you hurt your women. I’m not a possession!” She screamed, finally letting her anger out, but Arthur didn’t seem deterred in the least.

  “No. You’re a fire. It needs to breathe but be contained or it will eat everything its path. This is your choice, Sarah, but you know the consequences. But I’ll make it an easy decision. I won’t escort you away after the marriage today. You’ll have three years on the mark to come to terms with it. We can get to know each other, but if we don’t marry in three years times the madness will be as bad as it was in my brother, and I’ll still hunt you. If I fail, my child will hunt yours.”

  She knew that if she didn’t choose carefully, his words would haunt her to the end of her days, and she couldn’t bare this to happen to anyone else. So she stepped forward. Her father tried to stop her, but she shook her head, making him let go. He was too weak to hold on.

  “How.” It was all she said, and it was more of a statement than a question. It was the equivalent of yes to both of them. He smiled and showed her a knife, cutting his own hand and motioning her over. She walked steadily, almost as if she was in a dream. There was definitely something pulling them together.

  The world took on that sharp clarity that it did in the woods, and she knew that this was the right thing to do, no matter what happened afterwards. There would be no killing him. She had to end this, and that meant ending the bloodshed. But a few more drops had to spill.

  She handed Arthur her hand, and he cut it, sealing their hands together.

  “Repeat.” He told her simply “Palm to palm in palmer’s kiss, sealed all the way to death’s door, we are joined.” All the while she repeated the words as he paused, and she felt the dream like haze slip away, and she could breathe evenly again. Her mother cried. Her father look defeated.

  She thought of Nicole, cold and dead. The bloodshed was over, but she had to get her family back together.

  “Three years.” She said, looking at Arthur definitely, screaming mentally that she’d never be broken. He just smiled at her in return.

  “Three years, Sarah. Do you want to see me before then?” She nodded, and her father shouted.

  “But the consummation is in one year! You bastard!” He shouted, and Sarah’s heart skipped a beat in fear, she looked at Arthur in confirmation, but he just looked back.

  “One night, Sarah. Would it have changed your answer? Wasn’t this easier?” He told her, and despite how bad she felt about being deceived, in her heart she knew that he was right.

  “One night.” She echoed, and she went to help her parent’s up. Right now. You’ll all get to leave. We all get to leave. She thought once more of the body of Nicole upstairs, and she knew that she was getting them all out of there.

  “I’ll get her to her family.” Arthur said, and for the first time, Sarah was grateful. It wasn’t a large gesture, but it was something, and Sarah hoped she would survive this marriage.

  “Thank you.” There was no love between them, but there was fate, and they’d learn. With that they parted ways for one more day.

  THE END

  Malik stepped off the boat and heard cracking as his feet hit the old wooden deck strewn with rocks and leaves. The island before him looked deserted, a weather torn shack stood not too far in, but other than that, he could see nothing but green trees. Green trees and in the distance a field covered in what seem to be large yellow flowers.

  He tied the little life raft to the side of an old post and hoped to find some sort of human life on the island. The thought of being stranded here in the middle of nowhere all alone made him shiver. He was only 20, had no real life experience and was not ready to become a bush walker. His father’s cruise boat had hit an extruding piece of something not too far out, he barely survived by getting on the life raft just in time. No one else made it off the boat as far as he knew. Now he was on his own, hoping to find a way home.

  He cautiously approached the shack, flimsy peaces of wood which were held together by what seemed like an invisible thread, made the scene look like something out of a horror flick. The hole in the front wall showed signs of once holding a frame and window. This shack was poorly put together, whoever build it certainly had no idea what he or she was doing. Shards of broken glass lay around the shack, Malik’s every step made a cracking sound under his feet. The sound felt like it was being swallowed by the vast silence that covered the island. The subtle sound of nature strengthened the sense of being the only human here. Strengthening the fear that was lingering in the back of Malik’s mind of being left all alone, stranded on an island somewhere.

  Malik came closer and closer to the shack and noticed the door that stood half open had grass growing on it. It sure hadn’t been shut in a long time. The door looked like it had rooted itself to the ground.

  All of a sudden he heard a scurrying noise from inside and froze in his tracks. He glanced at his life raft and back at the open door. Should he continue or should he run.

  His mind was racing while contemplating his next move.

  Malik decided to call out, “Hallo, anyone in there ? ”

  There was no answer, no reply. Just the echoing of his own voice, it gave him an eerie feeling. A feeling of being watched somehow. The thought came to mind that if there was somebody out there, with the worst intentions, then he had just given away his position by calling out. Thinking about it made him feel even more scared.

  Stay focused. Malik thought, I'm getting way too paranoid.

  He moved forward, getting closer and closer to the entrance of the shack.

  As he reached the opening he stuck his head inside and took a good look around.

  His face went white, then red and white again. He heard himself scream, but it didn’t sound like him, his voice sounded like someone else, and as if it came from a distance.

  It took a few seconds to realize what he was looking at.

  The walls were decorated with pictures of animals, weird combinations. Giant snakes with heads of lions, wolves with dragon heads etc. The walls were covered in what seemed like peaces of meat and streaks of red paint. The room was a mess, a broken table and an armchair were covered in layers of paper and peaces of books and magazines. The shocking part of a it all were the human body parts that lay scattered over the floor. Some were wrapped in paper, like somebody carefully took the time to wrap them up. Half of a head peering out of the rubble missing it’s eyes painted a shocking picture for Malik.

  The stench from inside the shack was unbearable, Malik swung around as fast as his body allowed and started running back to the raft. He had to get out of here and it had to be quick, he was not planning on looking like that. For a split second the image of the head peering out of the rubble flashed his mind.

  His heart was pounding against his ribs, as he was trying to escape the horrifying scene in the shack.

  He ran as fast and as hard as he could. The fear was overwhelming. He suddenly stopped and looked around. Making sure no one followed him,

  and felt himself tumble forward over something in the grass. But what? His mind could not recall him moving around any object approaching the shack. He was frantic and dared not see what it was. Scrambling on, on his hands and knees, fumbling in the grass. He could not find his feet and could not get a grip, could not get up straight. His body wouldn’t cooperate, he just hoped it was not after him.

  Malik reached the tiny wooden deck and felt a wave of relief wash over him, he was almost there, freedom, lay just out of his grasp. He was going to make it, he would live.

  As he touched the rope of his little raft with his hands shaking, he felt the first rip of flesh. He went down, his face hit the deck with an enormous force cracking his jaw. Pain vibrated through his head. Tears flooded his eyes, his legs were on fire. The stabbing pain was growing with intensity each second. His chest felt like it was being crushed by a bulldozer. Malik was slowly loosing consciousness, he reached forward still hoping and praying that whatever it was would leave him alone.
If only he could get onto his raft. He felt the end of the rope and hope flicked through him. His pants were wet from the blood gushing out the wound from his leg. Malik started pulling himself forward and then, it was back. He felt a claw digging deep into his back and he roared with pain.

  Malik noticed the silhouette of a man standing on the tiny wooden deck. Where the hell did he come from? Was he the cause of this? Time seem to slow down and a million questions flooded Malik’s mind. His vision was blurry and getting red, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of the man who may be his savior. Thoughts of being saved quickly crossed Malik’s mind. Slipping in and out of consciousness. He heard the man shout something in his direction .

  “Haltt Brutti herr Komen!!”

  Malik felt the claw that was digging into his flesh loosen its grip as he lost consciousness, wondering why, why him? And who the hell?...while slipping into an unending terror of darkness.

  THE END

  Oddly enough, it was not the violent and aromatic scent of decaying flesh that first caught my attention, but the underlying and quite sublime fragrance of roses. It was a bouquet that tickled my senses; an inebriating and violet illusion of Paris of old. I am a man and, as a man, I do not pretend to know more than I truly know, especially in the case of women's perfumes. But in this specific case, at this precise moment, I know exactly what I know and what this particular scent has awakened within me. The Paris of old was street cafes and music. Wine and song and women, and women of such beauty that any man, in a stroke of genius and inspiration, would write a romantic poem or song in honor of the fairer sex. Old Paris was as beautiful as it's women. It was sunshine and whispered words upon the breeze. It was two lovers holding hands on a walk along the Seine; with the absolute belief that they were the last two people alive upon this earth and only their love, and the here and now, mattered at all. And it was true.