Written by…me

Voting is closed as of 22 February 2013! Thank you all for participating in our Mystery Author Bloody Valentine Flash Fiction event!

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Sarah stood in the early morning light, staring at the package on her doorstep as she puffed nervously on a cigarette.  She was supposed to call the police when it arrived, but she couldn’t move.  She could barely breathe.

In a desperate attempt to avoid this ritual repeating itself, Sarah had moved three times in as many years.  Every time, the packages found her.  Every year, the same routine.

She dropped the cigarette and crushed it, kneeling down to retrieve the box.  It was smaller than usual, but that wasn’t exactly comforting.  At least she’d gotten up before Abigail–she didn’t want her roommate to know anything about this tradition.

Sarah set the box on her coffee table and lit another cigarette.  She was going to open it.  By herself.  It was reckless and stupid and possibly dangerous, but she was going to do it.

The twine seemed to unravel in slow motion as she tugged at one end.  It slipped off the edges of the box and fell in a heap on the table.  Hands still trembling slightly, she slipped her fingers under the paper and slid it off the plain brown box that waited underneath.

The box was smallish, and so innocent looking.  Her breath became shaky as she stared at it, wondering what it could be.
A plain white envelope was taped to the top of the box, “Sarah” written in beautiful script across the front.

She decided she couldn’t deal with any of this yet.  She got up and made her way to the kitchen.  She needed some coffee, maybe some aspirin.  Or some whiskey.

She hadn’t been able to sleep the night before.  Soon, calls would come from her family, asking if she’d gotten another package.  She wasn’t ready to face that, she just wanted a few more moments of peace.

A piercing scream cut through the quiet morning.  Sarah raced out of the kitchen toward the box.

There, looking horrified, stood Abigail, holding the lid of the box.  She was still screaming.

Inside the box was a human heart.  It was clean, and had been removed with surgical precision.
Sarah sank to the floor, shaking and pale.

“What is this!?”

“Why did you open it?”

“I…I just wanted to peek…”

Sarah put her head in her hands and sobbed.  Slowly, her gasping breaths turned into laughter.

“Sarah?”

She continued to laugh, and cry.  “He’s dead…” she whispered, wiping her eyes.  A sick kind of relief washed over her.

“Who is?” Abigail asked.

Sarah choked on the words.  “My fiancé.  Finally.  Finally, he’s free.  I’m free.  Finally.”

Abigail took a step back, then noticed the card on the box.

“Let me see it,” Sarah said.

Shaking, Abigail handed it over.

Sarah pulled the card out of the envelope.  A tacky, heart-shaped card.

Though it’s been fun,

This game is done.

Time for something new;

A surprise from me to you.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Sarah.

Love,

Your Secret Admirer
P.S. See you next year. 

Written by Cee Martinez

Voting is closed as of 22 February 2013! Thank you all for participating in our Mystery Author Bloody Valentine Flash Fiction event!

 

____________The Lover

“I bet you’ve never had a Valentine,” I whisper to myself as I look at her as she sits alone.

Yes, alone she sits, in pink and gauze, her gloves with fingers snipped off, her lips pressed together tightly and I know, yes, I know she’s never had a kiss.

I sit on the frozen bench and Lucy’s cheek is pressed on my lap. Is she asleep or is she staring at the girl with the pink, gauzy scarf?

Lucy leaves me that evening when I won’t slit blood across her her arm the way I used to.

What use is love if there is no blood, are the words that do not leave her lips but hang in the air as she turns away.

When the door slams shut, I think–well, Lucy wears pink as well–but her pink is in a criss cross network embedded all over her flesh. I’ve given her only one third of the scars she’s given herself.

I’m tired of blood and I want a pink that is soft——-

Lucy sees me with the girl in pink, sometime weeks ahead. She follows us as I take her for coffee, and then I take her next door, buy her a ruby bracelet, and then gnaw on her breasts in an alley. (Lucy watches this as well.)

–What more can you do with her? Lucy sends this text, What more can there be? Come back to me and bleed again. Come back and make me bleed!

Little Lucy (ragdoll in love) The True Love Always

Lucy’s arm on the floor–Arm worn. Arm done. Blood spatter, spray, spill–Tourniquet tight. Lucy smile–claw tooth saw tooth in hand.

“Job well done.” Peter said, “Ragdoll tight.”

Peter sleeps, black sheet over waist, but not on chest, and not on ass. The black creates boy-bisected. Tongue on lip, blood drip, drip, drip, and Little Lucy approaches, claw tooth saw tooth in hand.

Vivisection (valentine’s day) The Girl in Pink

Torn fanny–cold slit to my stomach. My womb is in your pocket filled with your fags. My heart in my hands–not warm as once, blood gone sticky, muscle graying.

I want your voice again, not the canned ghost on a service.

A boy with your name called this morning, not the boy I wanted, but he delivered sweets to my ears. I cried as we spoke. He didn’t know I’m here in bed but I’ve left my nipples between your lips.

Where have you gone?

My heart tells me your heart no longer beats.

Written by Elise Valente

Voting is closed as of 22 February 2013! Thank you all for participating in our Mystery Author Bloody Valentine Flash Fiction event!

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He shivered against the bonds holding him, the taste of the rag in his mouth foul. His head hung loosely to the side; after the hours of torture she’d put him through, he no longer had the strength to hold it up. He barely had the strength to breathe.

Lydia paced in front of him, her clothes covered in his blood and madness in her eyes. She was mumbling, talking to herself as she paced, maniacal giggles escaping her every so often as she rambled. She paused and turned to stare at him, and a grin spread across her face.

“You look so much better now,” she giggled. She moved toward him until her face was inches from his own and examined his bloodied and swollen eyes. “Yes,” she nodded. “You look the way a cheater is supposed to look. Covered in the scars of my pain.”

Her eyes glazed over, and she resumed her conversation with herself as she moved away from him, back toward the table that held all the cruel instruments she’d been using on him. Spikes, ice picks, knives, needles—all those, and more, had been applied to him ever since he awoke in this room, tied to this chair, a rotten piece of cloth filling his mouth. And pictures of him on the walls and ceiling, covering every free inch of space in the windowless room.

He’d had no idea how he had gotten there. Worse yet, he had no idea who this woman was. He only knew her name because she’d made him say it over and over as she’d ripped his fingernails out. The few times she’d removed his gag, he’d tried to reason with her, tried bribing her, tried anything to get her to let him go. Nothing had worked.

Another bout of maniacal laughter filled the room, and he flinched. Every other time she’d laughed, it had signaled the beginning of a new round of torture for him. She had more in store for him, it seemed; he only hoped that this time, she killed him.

“And the clock strikes midnight!” she sang as chimes sounded from somewhere in the room. She picked something up and danced toward him, her eyes alight with insanity. His blurred vision only caught a flash of metal a moment before the searing pain of a knife burned through him. “Midnight, midnight!” she sang as she carved into his chest, her crazed voice easily overwhelming the sound of his muffled screams.

His body jerked and spasmed as she cut into him, and his vision darkened as his consciousness threatened to flee. Agonizing minutes passed before she stopped, and the pain was replaced with a chill as he realized he could no longer feel his pulse.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lydia screeched, holding up the raw and bloody heart to his face.

Written by Mikaila Manesh

Voting is closed as of 22 February 2013! Thank you all for participating in our Mystery Author Bloody Valentine Flash Fiction event!

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I spit the dirt from mouth and stood slowly as I brushed myself off. I blinked hard as I stared at the beautiful inky midnight sky. How did I get to the woods behind the house? I didn’t remember coming here. I sighed deeply and felt my lungs expand and stretch. Stretching. That sounded like a good idea. I smiled and cracked my neck into place. I stood and felt my whole body crack into place. I felt the corner of my lip twitch into a smile. He would like his surprise.

He should be happy for his surprise. He didn’t really think that I would leave him, did he? My love for him is eternal. The ground felt cool against my feet as I walked towards the warm house. Or would it be home? I felt too cold to call it home.

I grabbed the axe that was leaning against the wooden steps. I wonder why he would have it out. We would only light the fireplace for romantic nights in. I opened the door and heard low noises of pleasure fill the house. Not home. That bastard. I gripped the handle tighter and dragged it as I walked. How could he? I love him. I should be the one feeling the passion. Not feeling nothing.

The thud every time it went up another stair was deep sounding. It was satisfying as I threw open the bedroom door and flicked on the light. “Hello,” I smirked as I watching him cover Eliza. She supposed to be my best friend. Then again she always was a bitch.

“Jun-Juniper?!” He stammered pathetically.

“You didn’t really think that I wouldn’t let you celebrate with out me?” I said flatly in a dead voice.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” He squeaked as he covered Eliza more like he was protecting her. I had seen her goodies before. Too bad they were well used. Not just by her husband only.

I laughed lightly,”So that is why I was in the woods?” I didn’t feel shocked. I always knew something like this would happen, “I never thought you had the guts to do it.” “Pl-Please Juniper. Forgive me! I-I love you.” He said and started to stand. like he actually had a spine and was going to hurt me.

“Happy Valentine’s day.” I smiled and raised the axe.

Written by Joan Reginaldo

Voting is closed as of 22 February 2013! Thank you all for participating in our Mystery Author Bloody Valentine Flash Fiction event!

 

____________ 

Baste meat. Intervals of 15 minutes for 3 hours
For desired doneness: Rare.
Tic-tic-tic-tic-ding!
Complete.
Remove from oven. Allow “rest” for fifteen minutes.
China on table. White with red piping.
Fork, 1.5 inches from edge of plate. Steak knife, 1.74 inches.
Imported Italian crystal goblet. Chianti warmed
To exactly room temperature. Complete.
Wait. Wait. Wait…

“This is perfect,” she says.
Embrace for 5.8 seconds. Disengage.
Present 12 roses in crinkling cellophane wrapper.
She crinkles her nose. “Too much,” she says.
“Valentine’s Day,” I say.
“Of course it is,” she says.
She sits and eats three bites,
Roses warming to exactly room temperature.
Wait. Wait. Wait…

“Love me,” she says.
“Of course I do,” I say. And I do.
Start.
Pull off her scarf
Slowly like in that movie that makes her cry.
Unbutton her blouse while kissing. 2.33 seconds between each button.
Unzip the back zipper of her skirt and
Tug her towards the bedroom.
“Here,” she says. “The table. Make a meal of me.”
She pushes the plate off the table. Goblet follows.
Clatter-crash!
Fork clanks on the wooden planks.

I lay her down gently but her brow furrows
0.3 millimeters deep. Corners of her lips turn down
1.5 millimeters west.
“Not right?” I say.
“Keep going,” she says.
Kiss for 2 minutes, 30 seconds.
“Slap me,” she says.
“I can’t,” I say.
“Choke me,” she says.
“I can’t.”
“Keep going then,” she says.
I slide my fingers into her. 2 degrees warmer than body temperature.
“Slowly?” I say.
“Harder,” she says.
I can’t.

“It’s fine,” she says.
7 minutes 15 seconds.
Complete.

Her pulse is fast but not fast enough,
Breathing rate fast, but not fast enough.
Warning. Warning. Warning.

She will want her bath.
“Stay still,” she whispers, stroking my cheek.
She has never done that before.
“Different?” I say.
“Stay still,” she orders.
Warning. Warning. Warning.
Heat pierces my head and surges through my system.
The room flickers as I grow still.
Her face fades as her smile grows.
She shows me her fingers, black with oil,
Black with my blood, and my hair webbed
Over the knife.

“Such a great cook,” she says. “I would
Have liked to keep you.”
“Keep me,” I say.
She nods. “Economize. I’ll keep
Your tits. And your feet. We wear the same size shoes.”

“Know me?” I say.
She giggles and pulls me to her chest.
The room dims to darkness.
“New you,” she whispers. “A better you. One that
Has realistic red blood, programmed to give
12 levels of pain. Multiple genitalia accessories
And sockets. Sub-Dom matrices.
An upgrade.”

“Replacement?” I say.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” she says.
“I need something you can’t give.”

“Love you,” I say.
Begin Termination Program.
Error: Third Law — Override.
Error: Third Law — Override.
Error: Third Law — Over–

“And that,” she says. “I think I’ll keep that.”

Pause Termination Program. Cancel.
Wait. Wait. Wait…

Written by Nat Russo

Voting is closed as of 22 February 2013! Thank you all for participating in our Mystery Author Bloody Valentine Flash Fiction event!

 

____________ 

“Lorena, no,” Markus said.

Though the pressure of impotent rage swelled in Markus’s head, he spoke with a preternatural calm. He had to get control of her before it was too late…before The Order took control for him.

“I can’t handle the secrets anymore,” Lorena said. Her voice was strained from the way she had screamed at him when it happened. “You’re a bastard and you’ll never change. I’m done.”

“You can’t leave,” Markus said. Her insult eroded his calm, and he spoke his next words through a tight jaw. “You don’t have the willpower to leave me.”

“Watch me!” She said. The remnant of her black ponytail whipped around as she headed for the door of the claustrophobic apartment.

His rage came in waves, crashing against the shore of his consciousness, pushing him closer to the breaking point. The truth was always difficult for them to accept. She wasn’t his first, and if The Order had anything to say about it she wouldn’t be his last. He had to calm himself and get control before it was too late.

She stepped closer to the door, but Markus did nothing. Instead, he waited for her to turn around. She had no choice. They never had a choice.

“I actually let myself hope this year would be different,” she said as she turned. “But every year it’s a different whore, isn’t it?” She curled her lips into a snarl and squinted her eyes. “Screw you, Markus! Valentine’s Day my ass!”

He knew she was getting dangerously close to invoking the wrath of The Order. He had to think of something.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “But you will, soon enough.”

“I have more willpower than you think,” she said.

She opened the door and froze.

Two hooded men blocked her exit. Night stood on the left in dark robes, while Day stood on the right in brilliant ivory. The Order. Not all of them…just the enforcers.

He had failed again and she would pay the price of his incompetence. Instead of Lorena coming to the realization slowly, he would thrust it upon her violently. It would take…a while for her to recover.

“Fool,” said Night, who took a step forward, forcing Lorena to back up. “When will you learn, Markus?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Markus said. It wouldn’t do to make excuses, but he had to say something. “The binding didn’t work.”

“Then try again,” said Day.

Lorena walked backward as they stepped forward.

Markus held out his hand and recited the invocation. The power left him in two pulses and merged with Lorena.

Lorena tripped and fell with a thud. She turned to see what had tripped her and her face contorted in a silent scream.

It was her own body.

“The biggest secret of all, Lorena,” Markus said.

Another pulse left Markus and she became insubstantial. Her spirit and corpse melded together.

“I’m a necromancer,” Markus said. “I killed you weeks ago. Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.”