She sat in the near-darkness, the only light being a streetlamp that beamed into the picture window. The eerie glow gave a sinister gleam to the items in her hand. She touched them with such excitement and pleasure, rubbing them upon her chest; and taking a deep breath, she pressed the cold metal against the scar that cursed her face-- from her hair line to below her chin.
She looked down at the irreplaceable
treasures, clanking together as she held them to the faint light that
pierced her comfortable darkness. It was almost time, she felt it.
She could sense the urge rising, her heart beating with unbridled
terror. The fear, the excitement-- it put her in a trance.
“Halloween,” she whispered to herself.
She rose slowly from her chair, her
trinkets still in hand, and gracefully climbed the stairs.
She had so much to do. She must
prepare, for it had to be perfect. It had to be just like the
time before, and all the times before that one. Counting her
successes under her breath increased her
anticipation.“One...two...three...four...five...six, seven...eight,
nine, and...” She laughed a wild laugh and flung open her closet
doors. “...this year will be ten.”
In the open closet hung her signature
get-up, a masterpiece in black leather, smooth and taut. She put down
her handful of the trinkets so she could take it it completely. She
pulled the outfit from its hanger and held it close her. The leather
still smelled the same, she thought. She felt the allure of a time
long ago, a memory she saved for this night every year. She closed
her eyes and allowed herself to relive the night, to get her in the
mood for what was to come. Ten years' time had led to this...
Ten years ago, she had been leery of
dressing in such attire. Marco assured her that she would be the
hottest woman attending the costume party, which was enough to
persuade her-- she'd do anything to please him, anything he asked.
She felt self-conscious as she slid into the black leather catsuit,
but as it hugged her body, she began to feel an unfamiliar sense of
empowerment. She zipped up her knee-high leather heels, and smiled.
It was almost time to leave, and all her inhibitions left her as she
felt his breath on her neck. She belonged to him; he owned her mind,
body, and soul. He slid a mask upon her face, still unscarred at the
time. He spun her around with a firm grip on her leather-clad arms,
kissing her with a passion that she had never known before he came
into her life. Shivering with the intensity, she kissed him back with
greedy lust. He was hers, forever. As if he read her thoughts, he
nibbled her ear and let out a low growl of “forever”.
The party had been a complete success,
and she grew in her security as she overheard the other party-goers
whispering about her striking look, and giving her praise that she
had never known. She wasn't exactly the belle of the ball, but she
was sure that she was the most envied woman in the room. Equally
stunning was the man by her side: dark skin, long black locks,
perfect lips, and shocking green eyes. His costume, despite her
uncertainty as to what he was supposed to be, just worked:
a cape, boots, and a low-cut white peasant shirt, worn with snug
leather pants, gave an exotic, far-away air, and it made her certain
that this dashing man would continue to delight her body and mind
forever.
Before him, she had been nothing, a
nobody. She had never been one to stand out in a crowd, but he saw
something in her, and knew just how to bring it out. The two of them
had planned for a late-night drink at a local dive after the party,
just so they could absorb each other for a few more moments, before
this magical night came to a close. They took a booth in a dimly lit
corner. She was on fire for him, and couldn't wait to have a couple
drinks to warm her up and feel his closeness.
Marco began to glance around the room,
and, quite abruptly, he began to fidget and squirm. She couldn't
exactly tell in the smoky bar light, but he seemed almost pale. He
stammered his words, and it was obvious that she was the last thing
on his mind. She ordered their drinks, and slid near him, hoping to
bring back the man she'd been with just minutes earlier. Instead, he
retracted from her, closing himself up in his mind, and shifting
farther away from her touch. He watched the door obsessively, and
without realizing, he gave a loud sigh of relief as a group of
several patrons departed. He had not said a word up to this point, so
when he did, he had her attention. “We need to talk,” he stated,
his voice firm and determined. She sat up stiff and straight,
removing the mask, that now seemed trite and silly. “I never meant
for things to happen this way. I mean, I never meant to love you,
Priscilla.” Her mind raced, afraid at what he would say next.
Without emotion, he informed her that he was married, and had been
for the extent of their relationship. This news, delivered so
bluntly, rendered her breathless. She wanted so badly to scream, but
nothing would come out. She felt her tears well, but held them back--
she couldn't cry in front of him. Marco stared at her blankly, as if
she were to just understand and walk out the door.
She gulped down the whiskey sour that
sat in front of her. “Why...? How...? Marco, how could you?” she
cried out. He gave her no answer, and showed no concern. Robot-like,
he lifted his glass to his lips, staring still so unemphatically at
her. She was sure that this was a bad dream-- it had to be. He had
sworn to her the greatness of his love for her, made promises and
plans for their future together, and my God, she thought, she had
given her body to him so many times.
He leaned in, as if the walls had
ears, and whispered, “Did you see those people who just left?
Those were co-workers of my wife. I could have been seen, I could
have been ruined.” That was it? That was all he was worried about?,
she thought. There was no concern for her, no worry about her soul
being crushed-- all he cared about was getting caught?
She began to slide from the booth, when
he snatched her arm with considerable force. “This is it, Marco.
Goodbye.” Her words came out through choked sobs. She tried to pull
away from him, but he clamped down harder on her wrist, and with a
tug, he jerked her back down to where she had been sitting.
He was growling again. “You will get
up and walk slowly to the door, and then you will go calmly to my
car. Do you understand?” She nodded, truly terrified of the man who
had held her heart in his hands just an hour before. They exited
quickly, and he kept a torturing hold on her arm. He shoved her into
the car and drove to a nearby alley. He ordered her to get out of the
car, and grabbing her long tresses, crammed her into the backseat. He
demanded her to undress. Numb with fear, she followed his orders. She
tried to plead with him, begging him to stop. Where was merciful
Marco, loving Marco, the man who's only aim was to make her feel
beautiful and worthy?
Her words were only making him
transform into more of a demon. He forced himself upon her naked,
shivering body. She wanted to sob, but her fear did not allow it. He
was repeating, almost chanting in her ear as he continued this vile
act: “I will always own you, and you will never say a word, to
anyone. I own you.”
After he rose from her, he glared into
her eyes, hard and steely. He looked like a mad man, but her anger
superseded her fear as she spoke. “I will get you back! I will
tell your wife, I will tell the police, I will ruin you,
bastard!” She had barely gotten the words past her lips when she
felt a burning pain, and the trickle of warm blood down her face. She
knew he was preparing to kill her, and prayed for God to save her, to
give her mercy. Marco threw her down like a piece of trash, slamming
her head on the door of the back seat. “Get out, whore, and when
you look in the mirror, remember my warning!”
She ran and ran, naked and bleeding,
ducking when she neared any sort of light. For miles she ran, and
finally, she reached her door. She shook violently as she unlocked
the latch, and ran upstairs to collapse. She would never forget this,
and she knew that-- but, for now she wanted to hide, even if it were
in vain. As she sobbed and bled, she could not foresee that her
weakness would become strength-- even if it consumed her, she'd have
vengeance.
Back to reality, she smelled the
leather and caressed it, just as she had that Halloween night so many
years ago. “This year will be special,” she chuckled. Since that
night of terror, she'd made it a ritual to kill a married man every
Halloween. If she couldn't take the life of Marco for the crimes he'd
committed against her, she'd get her vengeance through taking the
lives of scum just like him-- married men that cheated on their
wives. She raced to the computer to hone in on her new “love”,
the circle key chain in her palm filled with nine wedding bands.
It was all too simple, to her. She
would log into her online dating profile and seek out just the right
man, often finding him with plenty of time to spare. Meeting up
seemed to be the easiest part-- men were so sleazy. She would
describe, in the most sensual terms, how she would pick them up at
the airport in clothes that were barely there, and bring them back to
her house for a night of pleasure like they'd never had. It sickened
her at how quickly they would fall for her ploy. The only factor that
had to be present was that they were married-- they had to want
something discreet. Oh, she thought, how expertly she could give them
just what they desired!
She had baited about five potential
candidates and now it was time to play hardball and decide who the
lucky number ten would be. This year would be an anniversary of
sorts, so she had to pick just the right one. She was about to log
off, when when one of her late night perverts popped on and shot her
a message. She purred to herself. Dark hair, green eyes, and eager
to please her every whim. He was perfect! She finalized the
arrangement with “LonelyinAtlanta”, and felt ready to pounce.
She laughed to herself at how trusting
these idiots were. They never asked for a phone call to verify that
she was who she pertained to be, they idolized her fake photos and
hot inbox messages, and were willing to fly anywhere to meet this
sexy vixen that they worshiped on their screen. She had to be careful
where she let them arrive to, lest someone on the outside notice a
pattern. This time, she drove to Atlanta to pick him up from a gas
station. It was only a couple of hours from home, and she could get
him so excited on the ride back to her place. She had a detailed
process, her most important act being to to delete her dating profile
and cover all her bases. She had to be meticulous with her method, as
it had not failed her yet, and she didn't want her quiet life
disrupted by these acts of brutal vengeance. She went over her
practiced routine again and again, as she tried to ignore him next to
her.
He was all hands, as he kept creeping
towards her. She faked a giggle and told him it was worth the wait.
She asked him about himself to derail his advances, and she almost
fell asleep at the wheel as he talked on and on about sports and his
boring job as the manager of a tire and auto shop.
She would give him hints of a smile
and throw out some rehearsed line, and he would visibly tingle. She
drove faster and faster, her urge to begin becoming strong. She
needed desperately to make this happen. Halloween would be here in
only four hours-- it was going to be just like before.
They entered her dark house, and she
turned on a lamp to give a little light. He was already crawling all
over her-- she wanted to punch him, but she couldn't, as she knew the
routine and it had to be just so. She offered him a drink to loosen
him up, and he was all too eager. She slid off her overcoat, and he
nearly dropped his drink when he saw her shapely body. Before she
could reach the stairs to beckon him to her bedroom, he turned on the
strong overhead light, sighing that he wanted to see her beautiful
face. He gasped when he saw it-- the long scar that disfigured her.
She was filled with rage as he looked at her like she was a circus
freak. He didn't seem to mind after she explained, but he was a
chatterbox and kept asking for more details. She spouted out her
usual story about a tragic accident in college, and she nearly rolled
her eyes at how well she knew the invented story. He bought it, of
course – he knew what he was here for, and wouldn't let anything
get in the way. She hit the light switch and motioned for him to
follow her. He practically ran past her to the bedroom.
She ordered him to lie down and wait,
as she wanted to put on something more pleasing. She entered her
closet and gratifyingly slid on the leather once again, zipped up her
boots, and placed a mask-like veil on her face, much like the one
Marco had given to her. She was ready, so ready. She sauntered out,
and could already see that good ol' Albert was about to lose it
before she could even touch him. She was going to savor this one, she
could tell. She looked at the clock on her nightstand in eager
anticipation. Yes, it was time. It was Halloween.
She rushed upon him, throwing him on
his back into her fluffy rose-print duvet. He was fumbling and
trembling with excitement, and she was nearly the same. This one was
different, she thought. This was her tenth, she thought, and it was
almost eerie how much he looked like Marco. He didn't sound or act
like him, but she could pretend on appearance alone when he'd shut
his trap. The thought of Marco made her tremble, for a hundred
reasons-- passion, contempt, anger, fear-- yes, Albert surely had it
in for him.
She threw herself upon him again,
kissing him roughly, biting at him, and whispering just the right
things to make him satisfied. She closed her eyes and imagined Marco
beneath her, and as she did, her sadistic nature took over. She
taunted him, and laughed a sick, maniacal laugh. The closet bulb
being the only light peering in, she opened her eyes to look at him.
He wasn't scared yet, but instead looked ready to indulge in whatever
she was willing to dish out. She allowed him to touch, but just
enough-- she wasn't ever going to let a man dominate her, ever again.
She felt the rise of her chest, her breathing labored with the
activity and excitement, and she leaned down on him. In a sultry,
teasing whisper, she cooed, “Let's really play, shall we?”
The overly eager putz was all too
willing, shaking his head and saying “yes, yes” over and over
again. That was the difference in him and Marco-- Marco called the
shots. He owned her, and he made her do things she couldn't
fathom once daylight crept in.
She reached for her nightstand, and
there was her trusty tape. She made a huge production of sitting atop
her prey and pulling off pieces to bind him. She smiled, and thought
about what an idiot he was, as he offered her his hands to be bound.
She carefully wrapped his hands-- hands that were too soft, she
noted. Her mind was in overdrive. This felt so good, and she could
barely contain herself. Hands and feet now bound, she took one last
strip and placed it over his blabbering mouth. He was still into it,
and she leaned down and kissed the tape upon his lips. “I own you,”
she whispered. She kept repeating it over and over, never getting
above a soft tone. She continued to tease and kiss him, and as she
reached his neck and said it one last time, she could see a glint of
fear in his eyes.
She carefully reached into her drawer
again, withdrawing from it her weapon of choice, the blade so shiny
and clean. She straddled her prey, and studied his face. She wouldn't
do a thing until she saw horror, panic, a man begging with his eyes
to be freed. As she ran the blade across different areas of his face
she saw his eyes flicker and tears begin to form. She was ready. She
needed the satisfaction of seeing his face like she had seen her own
so many times over the years in the mirror. She started at his hair
line and slowly drug the blade down, pausing at his cheek to look at
him. He was begging beneath the constraints, his eyes glowing with
the terror of death. She continued to leave her mark, watching the
blood and tears mingle together and puddle beneath him.
She felt alive again. She wanted more,
so she taunted him, leaning in to rub her scar against his new wound.
“I own you.”
She continued to rub herself all over
him, watching his expression carefully. Most of the time, by this
point, the men were ready to die, ready to surrender. However, as she
looked down, this one still had hope. He was surely thinking of his
life beyond this room, she reasoned, and she was going to steal that
from him, too. She sat up, blade in hand, and stared down at him. A
sudden pang of sadness struck her. Ten years ago, ten long years
ago, she had lost the love of her life. She had been permanently
branded, and with that thought, she ran her hand across her scar. She
wept bitterly. She spat Marco's name repeatedly. He did this, not
her. She didn't ask for this. And yet, as she mourned the hand Marco
had dealt her, she felt her heart ache-- she still longed for him.
Ten years of loneliness, ten years of
being the town 'spook', ten years of little children pointing and
clinging to their mothers. Ten years of being avoided, and ten years
of never being looked at-- only the scar, the terrible deformity.
Bile rose into her throat, the sadness
now an anger at a height she had never known before. She needed to
finish this, it would be her final act. She pulled him from the bed,
giving no regard to who he was, now. He was just as dirty and sick as
the others, and she had one mission: to end it. She was reveling in
this more than she could even describe, and then it hit her: She
hadn't deleted the profile yet! A mistake that simple could destroy
it all. She couldn't slip up now, and she had to hurry. She used her
burning fury to hurry the deed along. That damn profile...she knew
she had forgotten something!
She had far more strength in her body
than anyone would guess. She chucked him down the steps, pulling his
body to the room where it would be complete. Next door to her home
was the town funeral home and crematorium, owned by her grandfather
years before, and passed to her. She'd closed it to the public-- the
family business offered no interest to her, but the furnace room did.
She had done this nine times before, and watched her grandfather more
times than that. Right in this very building, she'd watched people
mourn, services be held, bodies come in and out, and in time, watched
the building be forgotten by the denizens of the town.
She had to focus. She was feeling
off-- this one was messing with her head. She needed to finish this,
clean up, and she could relive it later. She fired up the machine,
and with one huge hoist, she plunged Albert's body into the device,
from which he would burn in hell. “Ashes to ashes,” she whispered
to herself.
She would do the normal routine later,
when it was done, but now she needed to clean up, cover her bases,
and take some time to relax and savor her kill. She ran back
upstairs, her thoughts all over the place. She tried to force her
mind to calmness, but all she could think about was getting that
profile deleted. For all she knew, his wife could've had time to
notice he was gone-- the police could be checking his computer-- they
could even be on the way! She reached under her bed, threw open her
laptop, and erased the profile from existence. Thank God, she
thought, and reassured herself that not enough time had passed to
make a difference. As she slammed the computer shut and began
stripping her bed, she couldn't help but feel that she had missed
something else. She was being paranoid, she assumed. She had let this
one excite her too much-- she never missed anything. It was all too
practiced and routine to go wrong. After showering and unwinding, she
flopped down on the couch to catch her breath. Freshly bathed and
extremely tired, she blacked out.
She sighed as she felt the crisp
autumn morning air wave over her body. She must have fallen asleep on
the couch, she guessed. She reached for her T.V. remote and tightened
her robe. An egg and toast would be good this morning, and she wanted
to enjoy such a gorgeous day. She was stunned when she realized she
had been asleep for two days, hearing the newscaster announce the
events and happenings of the day. She must have really needed the
rest, she thought to herself. With a quick jump, she ran from the
couch to dress herself. It sunk in-- she had been asleep for two
days! She had one last step to complete. “Oh. how could I have been
so stupid, and slept for so long.” she said aloud. Of all days, she
had the fine people of the town coming over this afternoon for what
they called “a wonderful surprise”.
She did the deed, disposing of the
ashes in her favored way. Thankfully, it was still early, so nobody
was mucking about to see her. She giggled, only she knew what she had
done-- who could guess? She causally went back inside, the news in
the background as she whipped up her light breakfast. She laughed a
heartily, almost spilling the egg from her mouth, as the latest
report of another man missing had come in. The reporters yapped on
about the details, saying the police were again looking for the link
between Halloween and these missing men. They couldn't be sure just
how many had been killed, they stated. “Ten,” she smirked.
The committee of the town of Red Bank
assembled at her walkway. Among them were a member of the town's
women society, an esteemed member of the library fund, the town snoop
Elma Waters, and an auxiliary police officer who headed up the “Yard
of the Month” project in their quaint, little town. “This house
just gives me the creeps,” Elma said as she nudged one of the
ladies. “There's just something off about
it.” The other woman laughed, “Elma, you say that about
anyone, if you don't know their whole life story! Hush, now, and pay
attention to her gorgeous fall mums! How on Earth does she do it?”
The committee knocked politely, and as
Priscilla headed to the door, she straightened her hair and smoothed
down her print dress. It amused her that they'd have no idea of her
vile act two nights before. Before she opened her door, it hit her:
she had forgotten to take off Albert's wedding ring and add it to the
nine she that she often admired. Hopefully, this would be a quick
interaction, and she could begin her search for the last piece of her
puzzle. She needed to have the wedding band on the keyring with the
other nine-- it gave her such a thrill, such vindication, to hold
them.
“Priscilla, hello! We wanted to present you with the 'Yard of the Month' award, along with a gift card, a coupon for free doughnuts down at the bakery, and an invitation to tell us how in the world you keep such a lovely yard!” The group laughed together, speaking in admiration of her successes at having such a gorgeous landscape. Remarking about her hard work and determination, she acted so shy and sweet. “How do I keep the soil so fertile? Oh, it's just a little trick my grandfather taught me!” Winking, one of the ladies' club members joked, “If you told us, you'd have to kill us, wouldn't you?” This caused more laughter in the cheerful group.
Bidding their goodbyes, awestruck by
the show of beautiful color all around, they stepped down to depart.
Elma Waters was still gawking, and not looking where she was going.
She tripped on a white rock that encircled the flower bed nearest the
walk. The group all looked puzzled as the rock became unearthed
slightly, and a band of gold glistened in the afternoon sun just
below the array of fall flowers.
Teresa Hardister
Copyright 2015 ©
