by Aurelia Fray
God, she sighs, I miss sex.
She leans forward to get a better look, but her forehead hits the window. Blood trickles from her head wound and down the glass, obstructing her view. She pushes her hand into the pool of red to leave a print for them to find. She rolls her eyes. The obsession with drama must be contagious because normally she couldn't care less about scaring her targets, even though she has some pretty nasty tools in her undead arsenal to do so: supernatural strength, projection, animal possession. But her favorite method is just showing up and looking into the eyes of her victims when they react to her bare form. She was a beautiful woman when alive so in death she is the embodiment of tragedy. She can feel the reaction of every man she haunts the moment they realize the true perfection of her body. A work of art seen in spite of its torn canvas. Men get distracted when they don’t know if they should feel threatened or aroused. It makes them easier to kill.
The front of the cabin is as pristine as she remembers. The fraying hammock that hung from the oak in front only a few years before has been replaced with a new one of sturdier material. It swings with the breeze as its hinges cry from rust. The grass smells like freshly cut summers and the owls hoot from somewhere among the silhouette of trees cut out of the moonlit sky.
Almost all of the revenants she has met treat their duty like a nine-to-five job, jaded to the fact that they deserve to be damned. That is the lesson to be learned about life; no amount of reasoning can give you permission to take another’s. She accepts that she has to reap what she has sown, to repent. She squandered life by choosing to act against it. Being allowed to return to the living world was, regardless of purpose, a gift. This was the closest she would ever get to freedom, or to Heaven.
There is a tug on her ankle. A raccoon is trying to rip off a chunk of her flesh. She kicks it away and it hisses as though it's the one that's insulted.
Slipping underneath the yellow porch light, she tries the front door and finds it unlocked. The interior of the cabin has been completely re-done, most likely due to the bloodletting that followed her rage. Though being damned to Hell ultimately proved how stupid her actions had been, she still feels a twinge of satisfaction when thinking about that moment she stabbed the little home wrecker in the kidney with a butcher's knife. She watched as the woman crawled across the floor and then stepped a foot on her hair to hold her in place as she sawed across her belly. The maniacal triumph was empowering, as was the look on her husband's face when he entered from the bedroom, screaming as he found his wife pulling out his mistress' intestine.
Rage is too soft of a word.
Her life had changed from being a Disney fairytale, complete with a damn good looking, loving, and courteous prince, into every movie on the Lifetime channel. It was so stupidly cliché; her husband was seduced by the twenty-something next door and when she followed them to their cabin, well...she saw red. Literally.
An act of passion is what her husband called it when he found her standing above his mistress' body. He even offered to help hide the remains so that they could stay together. A courteous man, indeed. Courteous, until he tricked her into going out back so he could push her down the stairs.
Could she really blame him, though? Everything began to fall apart the minute they said, “I do.” Their first house together felt like a prison with their constant hovering over one another, as well as the overabundance of everyday stress that neither of them were equipped to handle. They both suffered from troubled pasts and terrible anxiety and depression, but had always been able to find a little comfort in each other. Through marriage, being together, they thought they could end the suffering. Instead, they simply ended up suffering together.
The sexual energy increases as she moves down the hall and closes the distance between her and the door to the lovers' suite. Her body reacts to the sensation and becomes more...alive isn't the correct terminology. Awake? That's probably right. Their passion strengthens her power because the happier they are now the more devastating their terror will be.
Drama.
She grabs the doorknob gently and a rush of heat surges through her body. She lets go as though she has touched a burning hot surface. Something in the pit of her stomach starts to throb but her body hasn't felt any kind of physical reaction since she was alive, so she's not sure what is causing the feeling. The pulsing moves lower, and then rests somewhere between her fractured pelvis. Trickles of feeling puncture her insides like a numb hand gaining back its blood. Signals start to fire across her mind, or whatever she now uses to think, and the overwhelming sensation drops her to her knees. The word for what she feels echoes in the distance but she's almost too captivated to concentrate.
Pleasure.
A hard pulse weakens her body and forces her to sit with her back to the wall. Lighting strikes of pleasure crackle through her with every pulse, a vibration that is similar to a rhythm that can only be created by a lover between her legs.
The touches of invisible fingertips rake up her body and cup her breasts. She braces herself on the wall with one hand and covers her mouth with the other as she feels her nipples being pinched. Though she only has one remaining, the titillation of the other is as present as a phantom limb. Her body jolts backwards and her head hits the wall.
She tries not to scream as the throbbing increases in strength and speed. She allows herself small sounds because she can't contain the unique pleasure. The muffled moans from the woman behind the wall are in chorus with her own, confirming the connection they share.
The throbbing stops with the feeling of the man's penis sliding out of her. She was so close but she pushes the feeling of disappointment away. If she was able to produce tears, she would, because she never thought she would feel such pleasure again. She thanks God for this gift- or maybe she should be thanking the Devil? - but either way, it had been there, flowing through her and bringing her to the brink of ecstasy.
The feeling begins again as the man slides back inside of her counterpart. It's different this time, pushing more toward her back. She smiles; he’s turned the woman onto her stomach. She drops onto her knees and moves her body in unison with the pulse, beaming with a smile. She runs her hands through her hair to move it away from her face, a very living person thing to do, she thinks, and isn't distracted when some of that hair falls to the floor.
The phantom dick within her shifts position again, so she sits back against the wall. Her insides clench. The little ball of pleasure grows with every thrust, harder, faster. She bites her hand as she reaches full orgasm and sends her teeth all the way through her skin. She pays no mind to the chunk of skin that falls to the carpet but rides the feeling, concentrating and holding onto it as hard as she can because she might never have another chance. She feels the woman on the other side losing control. She begs her to keep going, to hold on as long as possible, but the tightness releases, and with a jolt of intensity the women climax in unison.
A sense of peace comes over her and she closes her eyes and rests against the wall, thinking that she would melt into it if she could. She feels something between her thighs, but just in case her body couldn't produce the right kind of liquid she doesn't dare look down and risk breaking the illusion. She doesn't know why that had happened to her, or if it could happen again, but that really didn't matter. She had never felt so sexually satisfied in her life, or beyond.
That was the best fuck of my afterlife.
She giggles and feels like she's drunk.
The woman on the other side of the door screams, but the feeling she is emitting is not one of pleasure. A new kind of energy connects the two; fear. She's not reeling from pleasure but from seeing the bloody handprint on the glass.
She opens the door and walks through. The mistress on the bed sees her and crawls backward to the headboard, pushing the man off of the bed and onto the floor, leaving him to stare up at the uncanny thing that stands in the room.
That fear is intoxicating. The power it gives her rises until she f
eels as though she were alive again.
She ignores the man by walking over him and reaching across the bed to grab the woman's neck. In one motion she pulls backward, ripping the woman's throat from her body. The blood fountains onto her and rains onto the woman's screaming lover. She falls to the floor, writhing and gurgling as she dies.
The man backs up toward the opposite wall and the moonlight from the window reveals his face.
“Andy?” she asks, but it can't be...
“Gina, it can’t be…” his hands push the air in protest as he screams.
“I can’t believe this, Andy! It’s so good to see you!” She reaches out for him, and he tries to become one with the cabin wall.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I look terrible,” she grabs the sheet from the bed and wraps it around her body. Blood seeps through the white linen in large spots. She looks away, embarrassed. She's thought about tearing his dick off so many times that her reaction catches her off guard. After all this time, and after all the suffering, the love they once shared floats to the surface and rises above her anger.
“Gina,” the man pushes through his cries. “Are you here to kill me?”
“Well, actually, yes, but don’t take it personally, I kill every man that brings a woman other than the one he loves to this cabin.”
Andy looks at the dead woman on the floor, whose body is still twitching, “Why are you doing this, Gina?” he croaks.
Gina blushes again. Though his features are at least twenty years older than when she last saw him, he is still handsome. Also, his dick is still hard and pointing at her.
“It’s my job, now,” she looks away and tries to make her explanation sound rational, but can’t help saying it with a weight of sadness. “I’ve been sent to Hell, and this is how I suffer.”
“I’m so sorry,” the man weeps, but she doesn't know if he was saying it to her or to the corpse on the floor.
His words bring back painful memories. Not just his betrayal, or her murder, but of the arguing, the pain, and of all the times they felt like they had made a mistake getting married in spite of having all the love in the world for each other. The feeling of revenge threatens to take over her thoughts again, but she is able to push it back, somehow.
“Andy, I’ve had a lot of time to think about what happened. When I killed your little mistress, I wasn’t thinking clearly. You were forced to put me out my misery. I see that now. But I have to ask, why did you cheat on me?”
“Because she wanted me and I didn’t know how good I had it with you.”
“That’s what all men say,” she spits.
“I’ve been suffering a long time as well, Gina, for how I hurt you, and, you know—”
“Killed me?” She desperately wants to cry, but only blood drips from her eyes.
“You were my world, Gina. You still are.”
“Is that what you told her?" She points down to the corpse, still spilling blood from its neck, "Or the poor woman you're currently cheating on?”
“I'm not cheating on anyone,” he nods to the corpse, “I've only had flings.”
“That's impossible,” she spits. His lie helps the anger rise again. “I can only revive if you brought a woman here in spite of having love for another.”
Andy's eyes water as he stares into hers, “Yes, Gina.”
A feeling other than revenge encompasses her but she can't identify it. She lets its weight push her to her knees. She reaches for him, and without hesitation he accepts her embrace.
“You were the only one I ever loved.” He hugs her, tightly.
She hears the words come from his lips, and whatever ungodly power she has interprets his intentions: he is telling the truth. He didn’t love the woman sprawled out beneath them. He never loved another since his wife's death. He could never love anyone other than Gina.
She kisses her husband with what’s left of her once plush lips. He answers hers and then pulls her closer. She feels how hard he still is. She reaches down and wraps her hand around it, moving it between her legs and inside of her. He gasps as he slips through.
She whispers into his ear, "How close were you?"
He strains to answer, "V...very." Slowly, he pushes more inside of her, but looks down to the floor and begins to shake.
"Don't be ashamed my love," she touches his chin and lifts his gaze from the floor. "She's in a better place."
She doesn't know if that's actually true, but it's enough to get him fully inside of her. They collapse onto the bed. She licks his neck as he moans with pleasure, his favorite move from when were together, and she rides him until they both finish. She can feel his dick filling her as he screams with pleasure, and before he empties, she bites his neck and tears his throat open. The look of surprise on his face makes her laugh, and she continues to ride him until he softens.
He tries to fight her as she carries his gasping form out to the backyard deck even though she is supernaturally stronger.
Gina tells Andy that she loves him, and then chucks him down the stairs. His bones break as they tumble down the wooden steps, and he dies before he hits the embankment, which is a pity, because she was suffering for a full ten minutes before she passed.
When she descends, she drags his body through the hole in the world she had created, and then down to Hell.
Andy wakens during the boat ride through Styx and Gina introduces him to Charon, though all her late husband is interested in is what's going to happen to him now that he's dead. She has no idea, but Charon mentions that most revenants that succeed in closing their revenge cycle go on to burn for the rest of eternity, which doesn't sound like a good retirement plan to either of them. He tries to escape by throwing himself over board, but Gina kisses him and talks him down from his panicking.
They reach Hell, and once they step onto the muddy shore, there is a scroll waiting for them, with both of their names written across the ribbon tying it together. Their fate, tied with a pretty bow. She cries bloody tears of joy.
During stormy nights, when cheaters conspire in the cabin by the lake, Gina takes her next victim, but now, she does it with her loving husband at her side. They may be damned to suffer for all of eternity, but at least they suffer together.
WAITING FOR YOU
Jaclyn Osborn
Prologue
Death comes for us all. Eventually. Lying on the cold pavement, glass scattered everywhere and blood clinging to every inch of me, I knew that my life was near the end.
“Caleb! Please, baby,” a beautiful voice beckoned to me. His voice. “Open your eyes.” Hands caressed my face.
Slowly blinking open my eyes, I saw Cole’s face inches from mine. Blood streamed down the side of his head and his lip was busted. “You’re hurt,” I croaked. Trying to lift my hand to touch him, I groaned at the pain that shot up my arm.
“Shh, baby. I’m okay, I promise. Don’t move. Help is on the way,” Cole told me as he held my face in his strong hands. Moving his thumb, he stroked my cheek as a tear slipped from the corner of his baby blue eyes.
Wracking my brain, I tried to remember what happened.
Bits and pieces flashed back to me. Blue eyes glancing at me, followed by a loving smile. A hand reaching over and grabbing onto mine. Then, crash. The truck. It came out of nowhere and smacked into the passenger side door where I had been sitting.
Screaming.
Crying.
I remember hearing the sound of screeching tires, shattering glass, and being thrown around like a ragdoll as the car rolled a few times.
Pain surged through me with each breath I took. That was a good sign for now. If I was in pain, I wasn’t dead. Yet.
The night air sliced through me like a thousand knives. Winter. Just a few days after Christmas. White fell from the sky above, blanketing the ground around us. If I was going to die, this was one of the best ways to go, I imagined. Right there, in the arms of the man I loved more than anything else in this world, as snow swirled around us. Everything was
quiet.
Peaceful…
“No! Don’t you dare close your eyes, Caleb,” Cole’s voice shook me awake and I gazed up at him. By the look in his eyes, I knew that he held on to hope that I would pull through. That help would arrive in time and I’d survive.
Maybe in a fairy tale I would have. And he and I would have lived happily ever after for the rest of our days.
But this was no fairy tale. This was reality. And in reality love was lost and people died.
Something stirred behind Cole. My eyes were drawn instantly to a cloaked figure standing beside the wrecked remains of Cole’s car, as the snow fell down around it. The figure was tall with broad shoulders and its face was completely concealed behind the dark hood it wore. It didn’t move. It just stood. Waiting. Following my stare, Cole turned around and looked in the direction of the figure, but then looked back at me with his brow furrowed. He didn’t see it, only I could.
In the distance, I heard the familiar wail of sirens approaching.
I knew they would be too late, though. I could already feel Death’s icy claws sinking into me, replacing the searing pain with a blanket of numbness.
“I love you,” I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper.
A whimper fell from Cole’s lips as he brought his face down and gently pressed a kiss to my mouth. Pulling back, he rested his cheek against mine. “Caleb, don’t leave me. Please. Life without you just wouldn’t make sense.” Warm tears fell from his eyes and dripped down my cheek.
“Say…it…back.” I felt myself slipping away. I needed something to hold on to.
“I love you too. Forever.”
Looking up, the cloaked figure had moved and was standing directly behind Cole. Instead of fear, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. My body shook and shuddered out one last breath. And then everything fell quiet, as if frozen in time.
Weightless, I was lifted from the cold ground and found myself standing beside the dark entity. Confused, I observed my surroundings and released a sob at what I saw.