Valentine’s Day: Works That Warm ― And Chill ― The Heart
By Melbourne Writers’ Social Group
Copyright 2012 Melbourne Writers’ Social Group
Smashwords Edition
ISBN: 978-1-4659-3712-4
Concept by Mat Clarke
Cover/Design/Formatting by Eloise Verlaque
INDEX
WORKS THAT WARM THE HEART
by Jo George
by Jason Hargenrader
by Mimi Turner
by Lindy Haigh
WORKS THAT CHILL THE HEART
by Mat Clarke
by Eloise Verlaque
by Geoff Stuart
Melbourne Writers' Social Group
The Melbourne Writers’ Social Group began as a social outlet for those in a craft where most of their work is done in isolation. Our membership is a melting pot of novelists, short story writers, poets, playwrights, screenwriters, songwriters, and those who have an idea they want to write about, but don’t know where to begin. The events we organize have become the proverbial water cooler for those who use the written word as their creative outlet.
This anthology is a representation of the spirit of what the Melbourne Writers’ Social Group is all about--cultivating an atmosphere where writers are encouraged to explore their passion, improve their craft, learn about their trade, and to do so in a social environment that is supportive and fun.
The stories you will read are a snapshot of writers at various points in the development of their craft, each with different strengths and weaknesses, each with unique voices, and all of whom have done what each of us as writers believe we should always do more of--commit to a project, write it, submit it for feedback, revise and then finally submit it for publication and release into the world.
The topic for this inaugural anthology is Valentine’s Day. We chose this topic because it’s a day that has the power to evoke warm, fuzzy, and romantic feelings or equally cold, harsh, and bitter ones. These writers have taken on the task of addressing this topic from their own original perspectives.
So, as we say in the Group, we invite you to sit back with a cuppa or a drink, relax, and enjoy the following stories. May these pages charm and delight you or run a chill up your spine, if you prefer.
Every one of the following writers is dedicated to bringing you quality, sometimes quirky, stories to enjoy, without taking up too much of your time, captivating you within minutes. So go ahead, try one. If the first one isn’t your flavour, try another by a different author; ’s sure to be one that tickles your fancy.
The first four works are from different authors that will give you warm fuzzies as you read each one. The last three works will give you a cold chill as you wonder who could write such things on such a beautiful day.
We have kept all of them short and sweet and filled with interesting stuff that will make you wonder what you ever did without us!
by Jo George
As I slipped into the seat next to you, I was at once entertained by your beautiful perfume that promised to imprison me with its tantalising trail of woody scent mixed with musky undertones. The growing warmth in your car could only have been that which was radiating from your skin; the skin that proved to taunt me with its soft velvety fineness.
‘Hi there,’ you said. ‘It’s been such a long time.’ Just your smile ignited a flame within me, a flame that sent a blaze so large to my chest that my breathing became unsettled.
‘Yes, it certainly has,’ I managed to whisper as I looked at you quickly and then focussed back on the dashboard.
You drove to the park whilst we made idle chit-chat. After we had parked and hopped out of the car you opened the boot, and I was amazed at the huge picnic basket sitting there. You would have had to have been very ambitious if you wanted to squeeze anything else in that boot.
‘Wow, you really shouldn’t have gone to all this effort,’ I said, wrapping my hand around the end of the handle to help you lift the basket out.
'I wanted to,’ you said, ‘and besides it’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted to do something special for you.’
‘You really shouldn’t have.’
We heaved the basket from the car to a grassy and slightly bumpy spot, and you laid out a rug.
‘This isn’t a bad spot, is it? Quite beautiful actually,’ you said, looking down at the lake, your hand on your forehead to shield your eyes from the sun. You were quite beautiful actually.
As I sat down and sprawled my legs out in front of me, I was in awe of the calm and happiness I felt at that very moment. There was you. There was the sun, expelling just enough rays for the day to be warm and comfortable. There was the lake dotted with ducks which glided so smoothly on the water it was almost as if they were propped up on sticks that people under the water had taken control of and were moving around like big lolly-pops. There was the almost pristine sky. It was as though someone had delicately dabbed a white paint covered sponge onto a blue canvas and smeared the splotches subtly.
I took the liberty of making quite a few things because I wasn’t sure what you wanted,’ you said, lifting out two large round plastic containers from the basket. As I took the lid off, I was welcomed by the smell of spinach leaves and tomatoes, which set the scene for the meaty aroma of cold chicken.
‘Wow, you’ve certainly made a feast here,’ I said.
‘Well, I wasn’t sure what you wanted exactly so I have a bit of everything,’ you said, reaching deep down into the basket. For a moment there I wondered if you were Mary Poppins and had a huge banquet hiding in that basket. You pulled out a bottle of champagne.
‘You certainly do have everything.’
'Champas?’ you said, unscrewing the metal wire and twisting the cork. You pursed your lips together firmly, something I assumed you did when you were concentrating. Quite adorable.
‘Okay, but just one glass, please,’ I said pulling out two plastic wine glasses.
I noticed a black swan on the lake which was very unusual for this small park. ‘Don’t usually see swans in this park, especially black ones,’ I said. You smiled, looked at me and started laughing. Then looking down at the grass and twirling a blade between your fingers you shook your head.
‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.
‘That’s not a swan. That’s a black goose,’ you said, putting your hand over your mouth and laughing harder. Whilst I felt like I wanted to walk quickly into that lake and dissolve with the water or at least turn back the time, I was drawn in by your laugh. Your laughter oozed with happiness and fun, and resonated with the wind that carried it off into the distant air. I could do nothing but laugh with you.
Once the laughter had died down we looked at one another in silence. Your smile softened and you asked if you could kiss me.
'Um, perhaps in the car?’ I said, biting my lower lip. The blaze reappeared and surged through my veins, sending tingles from the inside out. That first kiss we had had months ago, I had never experienced anything like it. It had literally taken my breath away. The hunger for that kiss again was insatiable.
As I sat in the passenger seat waiting, you smiled and leaned into me. You pressed your lips against mine. They were warm, moist and so magnetising I ached to kiss them back. Our lips caressed and then your tongue gently began to explore mine. A rush of burning desire melted me from my mouth right down to my feet.
My mouth ached for more. My body ached for more.
You moved away and whispered, ‘happy Valentine’s Day,’ and I felt your hot breath brush against my cheek.
'Happy Valentine’s Day,’ I whispered back.
You kissed me again, this time with more fervour and your hand gently touching my face. The heat from your skin could have easily melted me. It was as if I was made of chocolate and you were a hot iron.
Moving away slightly again you said, ‘will you date me?’
The flames reappeared. My skin almost oozed with heat and sweat, and I would not have been surprised if I melted completely.
‘Yes,’ I whispered back. ‘This has been the best Valentine’s Day ever.’
by Jason Hargenrader
Bec’s purse and portfolio weighed on her shoulders like a heap of bricks. She ached to get home, out of these heels, and to indulge in a glass of wine--or three.
A chime signalled the train’s departure and the automatic doors closed. The packed box of weary rush-hour travellers lurched forward and a familiar scent tickled Bec’s nose. She sneezed.
“Bless you,” said the man behind a dozen red roses.
Bec rolled her eyes. Valentine’s Day. Yet another in-her-face reminder of that overhyped, over- commercialised, and senseless holiday. She didn’t care though. To hell with Valentine’s Day and all its great expectations and dismal disappointments. Not that she had anyone to celebrate with, but even if she did that person would agree it was all nonsense.
But the roses were pretty.
The paper around the flowers crinkled as the man stood. His blue eyes caught hers and he smiled. He was handsome, not extraordinarily so, but he wore a sharp suit with polished shoes. He carried a bottle of wine in his other hand and a heart-shaped box of chocolates under his arm. Bec wondered if a person could be any more clichéd than this.
“Please, take my seat.” He lifted the flowers and bottle. “These aren’t nearly as heavy as what you have.”
“Oh,” Bec said. “Thank you.” She tugged at her portfolio and slid past him. His body radiated warmth and she smelled the intoxicating mix of wood and citrus. Something physical, animal, woke inside of her and for a moment she ached to wrap herself in his scent.
She opened her eyes and shook away the thoughts. She must be tired.
Bec slipped off her heels with a sigh and settled in the chair. A black booklet by her feet caught her attention. Anything to take her mind away from Hallmark’s poster boy and the rest of this wretched day.
The cover read in large, bold letters, “Valentine’s Day: Stories That Warm the Heart.” Gag. She wondered what these people were selling.
Bec huffed and as she set the booklet down she noticed a shattered heart on the back cover. “Stories That Chill the Heart.”
This was more like it.
“Excuse me,” the man with the flowers said. He held another copy of the booklet. “Do you have the last two pages? Half of my copy is missing and I’d like to finish this story.” He pointed.
“Sure.” Bec turned the pages. “I’m sorry. It’s on the other side.”
She looked up. “Stories that warm the heart?” She should have expected it from this nut. He nodded without apology.
“Are you reading the romantic stories?”
“Yes.” He grinned as he reached for the missing page. This guy was unbelievable. His date was probably a blonde, blue-eyed, anorexic trophy wife. But when their hands touched, electric goosebumps danced along Bec’s neck.
“Why do you ask?”
“I imagine pre-teen girls reading those.”
His lips wrinkled as though he’d tasted something sour. “That’s funny, I imagine old, bitter women reading the other stories.”
“What?” Did he say she looked bitter? And old? What right did this nitwit have to judge her?
Bec debated what to do. She refused to let this insult go unchallenged. She leaned forward to speak, but the chime interrupted her and the train slowed. People shuffled around them as the man returned to his reading.
“I’m not bitter, I’ll have you know. I don’t believe in participating in empty, contrived holidays designed to sell lollies and cards.”
“I’m sorry that you’re spending the evening alone, but there is no need to ruin mine.”
Did he just roll his eyes at her? The nerve!
“That’s great. If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish reading this bitter story I was enjoying.” She lifted her booklet to block the sight of him. “Mmm. Love that bitter.”
Bec’s eyes passed over the words but she couldn’t stop fuming. What a stupid jerk!
“Mister,” said a small delicate voice.
A little girl, about four, tugged on the man’s suit jacket. She wore a tiny backpack and held a pink box decorated in paper hearts and flowers. She rotated back and forth on her feet.
“Yes?” the jerk asked.
“Are those for a pretty lady?” The man knelt to her height.
“These? Yes. Actually, this particular rose is for a very pretty lady.”
The man slid a rose from the bouquet and placed the flower in the girl’s tiny hand. She smiled in delight, almost squealing with glee before burying her face in her mother’s skirt. Her mother leaned to her and whispered.
“Thank you,” the little girl said with an untrained curtsy.
“My pleasure.”
The man glanced at Bec and smiled. She pushed away her smile and returned to her story, unable to focus on the words.
“You’ve broken your dozen,” Bec said. “You’ve ruined your perfect Valentine’s Day.” The man shuffled his booklet.
Bec swallowed. “I’m sorry for being rude,” she said. “Maybe I am a little bitter.”
He peeked over his booklet.
“You have to admit, though, Valentine’s Day is over-commercialised.”
“You could say that about Christmas.”
“At least Christmas is a religious holiday.”
“What’s so wrong with Valentine’s Day?”
“Oh, let me count the ways. . .”
He waited.
“For starters, those rustic roses must have cost a small fortune. Who needs to feel pressured to spend that much money? They won’t even last very long.”
“These roses were growing near the rubbish bins outside my office. All summer I’ve been watching them from my window and they just started blooming. Sometimes beauty is where you least expect it.”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t hang around dumpsters.”
He glowered as she smirked.
“What else?” he said.
“What do boxes of chocolate have to do with love?”
“I don’t know, but my grandfather gave my grandmother a box like this every year for fifty-three years of marriage.” He cleared his throat. “Since he passed away last spring, I picked up a box to take to her on my way home.”
“Oh,” Bec said. A pang of guilt hammered her chest.
“You’ve attacked my flowers and chocolates. Any judgments on my wine?”
Bec put a finger to her lips. “Wine is good any day.”
The man laughed.
“I don’t get it. What’s so great about Valentine’s Day?”
The chime rang again. The person next to Bec left and the man with the flowers slipped into the empty seat. As he did so, the lady across from them raised her eyebrows at Bec.
“Valentine’s Day,” he paused. “Valentine’s Day is a day to give your full attention to the person you love.”
“Why would you wait for one day in the year to do that?”
“It’s not that. You can show love in little ways every day--like making coffee for two, or lingering in bed just a little longer in the morning for some extra snuggling. But Valentine’s Day takes it a step further.”
“By buying someone chocolates, flowers, and teddy bears?”
“For some couples, yes, if that’s what they appreciate. It depends on the couple. They way they celebrate will be as unique as their love.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I don’t know. I mean, for you, I imagine that your partner would notice how your smile brightens,” he looked around as though searching for something. “. . .a train carriage. Or that your eyes sparkle, even in this fluorescent light.”
She felt her face flush.
“Looks fade.”
“Sure, but listening to you, it’s clear that you’re intelligent, opinionated, and not afraid to speak your mind. And you have a cute laugh. All that I’ve figured out in just a few minutes.”
Bec smiled and brushed a curl from her cheek. “That’s a good start.”
“My point is, if a person knows and loves you, why would they not want to celebrate?”
The woman across from Bec fanned herself. The man blushed and Bec felt warm.
“At least, that’s what I hope my partner would want to do with me.”
“Who wouldn’t want that?” Bec said.
They sat in silence as the train rattled.
“What if it’s Valentine’s Day and you don’t have a partner?” She thumbed the button on the collar of her blouse.
The woman across from them looked up.
“Depends on the person. Some people alone on Valentine’s Day will take their rubbish-bin roses, senseless box of chocolates, and bottle of wine. . .” He raised each item in succession. “. . .and visit their nana for the evening. Then they’ll go home to spend the rest of the night enjoying their wine and an old movie curled up in bed.”
“Are you saying you have all this Valentine’s gear but no date?”
“I have a date with my nana!”
Bec laughed and ran her fingers along the hem of her skirt. “That does sound wonderful. The wine and movie, I mean.”
He nodded.
“My name’s James,” he said and offered his hand. It felt strong. Safe. Powerful. She didn’t want to let go.
“Bec.”
His face lit up. “My grandmother’s name is Rebecca.”
The train windows went to black as they passed under a tunnel. James opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. Then a warm smile passed over his face.
“Would you like to join me for the wine and movie? I need to stop at my grandmother’s first, but you could come along.”
Yes, had been Bec’s first impulse. But she just met this man on the train, of all places. For all she knew, he could be an ax-murderer.
“I would love to,” she said. Then she straightened her back. “But I should really get home.”
The corners of his mouth turned down and he shrugged. “I understand.”
The chime rang and the driver muttered something deafening and unintelligible over the speakers. James stood as the train slowed and the automatic doors slid open. He smiled at Bec.
“Are you sure you don’t want to meet my nana? We could grab dinner instead. For all you know, I could be an ax-murderer.”
“I appreciate the offer. I really do.”
James nodded. “I thought it was worth a chance. Have a nice night, Rebecca.”
Bec waved as a whirlwind of emotions tugged at her from all directions. Of all places, why did she have to meet this adorable man on the train?
With hesitation in his face, James waved and disappeared. A sinking feeling washed over Bec.
The woman across from Bec leaned forward. “You should go after him.”
“What?”
“He looks like a keeper,” someone said behind Bec. “I only wish my dead-beat husband was like him!”
“You’ll never see him again! Take a chance!” Another voice called out.
Bec knew in her heart she had to go. He did invite her to see his nana. To hell with being too cautious!
“You’re right!”
Bec grabbed her belongings and rushed, barefoot, to the door. The chime rang and Bec’s arm cut between the doors like lightning. She squeezed her way through as cheers erupted behind her.
Bec scanned the station. So many people. So many faces. But James was nowhere to be seen. Disappointment flooded over her.
Then Bec saw the roses.
“James!” she called out. “James!”
James stopped and turned. His smile shone like a lighthouse in a dark sea of people. He waved the eleven roses high above his head and cut through the crowd to reach her.
They stood paralyzed before each other until James offered her the bouquet. He took Bec’s hand and the warmth of his touch flowed through her body and melted away the chaos of the station around them. Bec lifted to the tips of her toes and leaned in to kiss his cheek. As she pulled away, she whispered, “Will you be my Valentine?”
by Mimi Turner
Sable sat at her desk, playing with her hair. It was history, her least favourite class and it seemed she’d heard the lesson many times before. The teacher’s voice had taken on a droning quality which was all too easy to tune out. Sable stared at the blackboard and sighed. A movement caught her eye. It was Broad. They locked eyes, and she glanced away. If she had a heart, it would be thumping. Broad Jackson, the school’s biggest student, was over six foot five and built like a tank. He was so huge, she wondered how he managed to sit at the small, cramped school desk.
Her thoughts buzzed around him. She’d been thinking about him more and more lately. What was it about him? He was unremarkable, but for his size. They’d barely exchanged two sentences all year, but something about him kept her on edge, made her overly aware of his presence in a room, made her long for an opportunity to be alone with him.
The bell rang, and she shook herself out of her reverie.
He sat at his desk, immobile, debating inwardly. He couldn’t take his eyes off her hair - long, intensely black and somehow virile. Once again, he found himself wanting to touch it. He imagined his hairy, ungainly hands on her hair, on her white skin, and closed his eyes. The bell rang, and he snapped them open. ‘Now, NOW, here’s your chance! Do it, before you lose your nerve!’ He rose, manoeuvring his bulk out of his desk, and approached her. He saw her stiffen as his enormous shadow loomed over her.
“Sable?” His voice was so deep, it sent a tremor through her. She looked up at him, trying to look nonchalant, her hands gripping the desk underneath. He hesitated, his eyes darting everywhere, his nostrils flaring. “Um, I was wondering if you’d, ah, come with me to the, ah, Valentine dance?” he muttered. Her hearing was keen and she caught his request, and the desperation accompanying it. She was speechless; this was not what she’d been expecting. He looked at her, saw her reaction and stepped away, his face colouring. He turned to walk out of the room.
Realising her error, she blurted “Wait, yes! Broad, yes I’ll go with you.” The words had tumbled out of her mouth and she bit her lip, afraid she’d sounded too eager. He turned towards her, and green eyes met purple. He smiled, showing an impressive array of teeth. She smiled back, and noticed his pulse quicken in his neck.
“Come on you two, clear out or you’ll be late to your next class” the teacher said.
Broad looked in the mirror, a worried look on his face. The rented formal suit looked good, if a little short in the sleeves and trousers, however his hair was misbehaving. There was more of it than usual and it wasn’t staying put, despite the handfuls of styling gel he’d applied. His mother walked in and looked at him, pursing her lips. “Honey, you look great, but don’t you think you should shave?” “I did already!” he whined. “Well, you’ll have to do it again, just before you leave, otherwise that poor girl’s face will get all scratched up when you kiss her!” she laughed. Broad scowled, and swatted her away. He knew his mother was right. Kissing Sable. God. Was tonight the right night for that? Could he trust himself to be gentle enough with her?
He took the jacket off and shaved carefully, trying not to think about what Sable might be wearing. Finally he was ready. He grabbed his keys and the corsage, bellowed goodbye to his parents and ran out of the house, slamming the front door behind him. His parents exchanged knowing glances. Tonight was going to be interesting.
He knocked on the front door of a neat, nondescript suburban house, and a small blonde woman answered it. He couldn’t help noticing she looked nothing like Sable. “You must be Broad” she said, beaming. “I’m Sable’s Mum. Come on in.” He crossed the threshold, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the door frame. He was shown into a cosy-looking lounge room, where he dropped into an armchair. Sable’s mother called out to her daughter, glanced at Broad with another smile, and left him alone with his thoughts.
Soon Broad heard the sound of high heels on the wooden floor. He leapt up, his heart thudding. The door opened and Sable entered the room, raising her eyes to gauge his reaction. He stared at her, his mouth open. She wore a white off-the-shoulder dress that enhanced the creaminess of her pale skin and revealed her beautiful curves. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a simple but elegant style that highlighted her widow’s peak. Her eyes were darkly shadowed and her lips were a voluptuous red. After a few moments Broad cleared his throat. “You look stunning” he said. Sable let out a breath, smiled and thanked him. “You look pretty good yourself” she said, looking him over appreciatively.
He walked over and handed her the corsage, a deep red flower that he had painstakingly chosen. “Um, you’re meant to put it on me, you know” Sable said, a mischievous look on her face. Broad opened the container, took out the flower and positioned it on Sable’s outstretched wrist. She watched while he attached the corsage. He stood inches from her. She could smell his cologne and beneath that, a darker, muskier scent. She closed her eyes and inhaled. She’d have to keep a tight rein on her impulses tonight.
In the hall, hearts and cupids hung from the rafters, and hormones filled the air. The anticipation was tangible. Well-dressed teens stood in clusters and gossiped, drinking punch and glancing around at each other with curiosity. The admirers cast devastating looks; the admired delivered heart-breaking smiles. On the dance floor new courtship rituals were being created. It was all part of the night’s theme.
Broad and Sable walked into the hall and surveyed their surroundings. The pulsing beat of the music vibrated through the floor and up into their feet. They looked at each other and smiled, excited. They left her things and his jacket at a table and headed straight to the dance floor. They began to move, she sinuously, he more boldly, drawing closer than the song’s style called for. She sneaked glances at him from under her lashes while he, mesmerised, watched her body moving under her dress.
A more up-tempo number came on and their bodies responded to the beat, moving more urgently, gravitating closer and closer together. Soon they were pressed up against each other, her arms around his neck, his hands on the small of her back. They spun and gyrated together, the large youth and slender girl moving as one. The room around them disappeared and all they could feel was the music, the movement, their bodies.
Having Sable against him was driving Broad wild. All his usual control measures were to no avail tonight. He was breathing heavily and getting hard. He knew Sable could feel it; he saw her eyes widen in surprise. Then she purred and nuzzled his neck, tasting his sweat. Broad gasped. They locked eyes, and this time she didn’t look away. Her eyes told him of her desire.
“Let’s go outside” she whispered, nipping his ear lobe. Broad caught his breath.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea… not here, not tonight.”
“Why not? We can find a dark corner where no-one can see us.” She smiled into his neck.
“I’m scared I’ll lose control” he said, a serious look on his face.
Sable chuckled. “Well I’m a big girl, Broad; I’m older and tougher than I look. I can handle a big bad guy like you. The question is, can you handle me?” she said, her purple eyes sultry and inviting. She could feel his resistance crumbling. “Come!” She took his hand and pulled him away. They slipped out of the back door while the DJ announced the evening’s speeches.
Sable ran, laughing, towards an outbuilding near the periphery of the school. Broad followed cautiously, looking up at the overcast night sky. He watched her disappear around a corner of the building, and grinned. “Hey, wait up!” He trotted towards the building, his blood thrilling in his veins. Time for that kiss…
He rounded the corner and there she was, standing motionless in the dark. Her eyes were large and luminous. He walked towards her, arms outstretched. She glided into his embrace, and stared up at him. “I’ve wanted this for so long” she whispered and leant up towards his face. Broad leant down towards her and stopped short as he saw her fangs appear. “Sable? What the fuck?” he exclaimed. “Forgive me” she breathed and lunged towards his neck. He felt her sharp teeth pierce his skin, and he moaned with fear and delight.
At that moment the clouds parted and silvery moonlight washed over them both. Broad began to spasm and jerk, grunting and panting with effort. Sable withdrew her bite and stepped back in surprise, her bloodied mouth open. She watched, fascinated, as his clothes tore, as hair sprouted from his pores and his face contorted into something alien and wild. Within a minute he had transformed. They stared at each other, his harsh breathing the only sound. She stepped towards him and raised a cool hand to his cheek.
“I always knew you were special” she said, looking into his now yellow eyes.
“I had no idea you were a… ” he said around a mouthful of teeth.
“Creature of the night?” she said.
“Yes.” He smiled, and she thought he looked terrifying.
She loved it.
Sable stroked his face and neck, removing the shirt tatters from his shoulders. Her hands moved down to his chest, exploring his shape and the dense black fur covering it. Broad made a low noise in his throat and gathered her to him. They kissed passionately, all lips and teeth, blood and tongues.
“Broad?”
“What is it, beautiful?” he murmured.
“I’m hungry” she whimpered.
“Wait right here” he said, and loped off into the darkness.
Soon he returned, cradling something in his clawed hands. It was a heart, glistening with blood, its vessels brimming. He handed it to her.
“Happy Valentine’s” he said.
This story was inspired by a Threadless.com t-shirt called “It’s always midnight somewhere”, designed by Gregory James. It shows a stylishly dressed male werewolf and female vampire in an embrace, possibly dancing…
by Lindy Haigh
I feel his presence, before I see him;
Black cloak lined with crimson, white gloves adorn his hands.
His eyes penetrate me, burning deep into my soul.
My heart races; my breath catches, almost leaving my body.
I feel his heat, it engulfs me.
I search my mind; I know him, yet I cannot place him.
He is upon me;
He takes my hand and leads me to seclusion; I willingly follow.
I close my eyes, my senses alert; fragrant jasmine lingers in the air.
He decants the bottle; the dark liquid melding in the warmth of the summer eve.
I close my eyes once more, and as I sip, I remember;
The warm blood coats the back of my throat and courses through my veins.
He has found me once more, my one true love, my Vlad, my Bloody Valentine.
WORKS THAT CHILL THE HEART
And now for works that chill the heart. . .
by Mat Clarke
Her eyes wandered under closed lids. Twitching fingers grasped at nothing. Raw skin scrapped and stretched around her wrists.
‘You awake, hunny?’ she recognised the voice. Her husband. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’
Lisa opened her eyes to stinging sunlight, the whole room awash with a white glare. Squinting, she barely made out his features. His nose almost touching hers. His smile; warm, but no, no it wasn’t. Her foggy memory cleared and her breath caught, they weren’t together, they hadn’t been for almost a year.
He had glassy eyes like he had been crying. His stare was strange, he sat too close. She felt pain around her wrists again; metal handcuffs clinked against the bed head.
Moisture built in her eyes and tears ran down her cheeks and darkened the pillow. ‘Why are you...’ She looked about the room. ‘What are you doing?’
He frowned and took a moment to brush hair from her eyes. He rested a tray on the bed and put his hand on the lid of a metal container over a plate, as if he were a chef about to show her the main course.
'Come on, hunny, it’ll be okay. Look what I brought you.’
Sebastion raised the lid to reveal a box of matches. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but this was just too strange: matches?
‘You remember these, right? They were from the hotel. Our honeymoon, remember? We walked the Los Cabos beaches together, bought crappy native stuff from the street markets and made love right on this bed.’ Sebastion smiled. ‘Yep, that’s right, we’re back here again, this time for Valentine’s Day!’
He smiled. Not smug. Goofy, playful, as if he was expecting her to suddenly hug him and say that kidnapping her and somehow getting her to another country was okay.
'Sebastion.’ Her voice shook, she hadn’t said his name for so long. ‘We haven’t been married for a year. I haven’t seen you since you left the country. You have to let me go.’
Her words came out bland, forced, like she was reading from a script. It was insane. Why now, why here? They didn’t love each other and hadn’t since their honeymoon. Both of them abandoning the resort after only one of the two weeks planned. Preferring to part then and there and never see each other ever again.
Her parents thankfully kept their, I told you so, remarks to themselves. No word came from his . The wedding, being the first and only time she had ever met his side. Very few turning up, just his father, mother and two distant cousins. All four were strange people. Distant, vacant.
'Please,you need to let me go, Sebastion.’
'Don’t call me that. Call me...’ he pursed his lips and tapped his chin. ‘Call me: love.’ He smiled again, his eyes still watery. ‘So, we’ve got another nine days of beach, Mexican food and love making; we could start our holiday after a nap.’ He snuggled in next to her, his arm around her waist, his forehead pressed up under her chin. ‘Then we can go hiking, just like I wanted to last time, and you’ll be in my backpack all in little pieces.’
Her heart stopped, her lip trembled and her words barely came. ‘What! What...’
'Don’t worry, hunny, I’ll use a plastic bag, we won’t get blood on anything. I’m careful.’
‘This is insane.’ Her voice was a whisper. It had to be a dream. She screwed up her wet eyes.
‘You broke my heart into little pieces. So fair’s fair.’
She felt him tense. She didn’t say any more. They weren’t at a resort. There wasn’t a way he could have got her there. Not to another country, no way. Sebastion’s breathing steadied and his body relaxed. It was only 15 or so minutes later and he was asleep, she was sure of it.
She pulled at her restraints and they rattled. Sebastion didn’t move. Her hand squashed down into a long tube and she pulled again. This time making no noise; not disturbing the insane person that slept against her. She could never do that, she needed space.
When they were married his arm always draped over her, or his leg would press up against her, sleep rarely came. Right now she felt dopey as hell like she was on Valium. Skin tore around her wrists; at least it kept her awake.
Her hand came down from the handcuffs with a sudden jerk. She stared at her hand like it was a magical thing. Her eyes moved to her other arm under Sebastion’s head; completely numb.
She pulled on the other hand, keeping her arm still, and it slid easily out through the handcuffs. She didn’t know how and didn’t care. Her ex-husband grunted and rolled off her arm and onto the other side of the bed like it was a lazy Sunday morning and they were sleeping in.
Her lungs stung. She let out a breath not remembering holding it. She untied her legs, stood, then turned to look back down at her ex-husband. A knife; she could cut him, or possibly threaten to. Her first step away―the floor boards under the carpet squeaked. Her ex-husband’s hand reached across and fell to the place where she had been lying. Then nothing. She took another step and her other foot fell with no sound. She stepped away from the squeaky board. Nothing. Her heart was thumping hard enough to make her silk top ripple.
She turned fully around and kept walking, abandoning the idea of the knife; she would leave, then run.
‘Where you going, hunny?’
'No, no, no, no,’ Lisa screamed and ran from the bedroom.
Footsteps sounded from behind her, she dared not look. Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall. Her bare feet slapped on the entrance way tiles. She groped for the door handle. Her hands hit nothing; the handle fell away, the door swung open. She tripped and fell into the arms of―
― her ex-husband.
Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. Her lungs wouldn’t work, she tried to scream but nothing came. Finally she collapsed in his arms and sobbed. She couldn’t escape. It didn’t matter how he had caught her, only that he had, and now he would kill her.
'Stand behind me,’ her ex-husband said and pushed her to the back of him.
He faced into the entrance of the apartment and held up a gun, aiming it inside. Lisa found her feet at his order, knowing that if she ran he would shoot her.
'I can’t believe you actually did it. You idiot,’ her ex-husband said into the apartment.
Lisa looked past him and through the doorway wondering who he could be talking to. There, stopped in mid-run, was another man; the mirror image of her ex-husband. Her head swung around to the man with the gun and then back to the other and she felt her lips go numb. The inside of her mouth was dry and spots were appearing in front of her eyes.
‘What....’ she began but had no idea what to say.
'Benjamin,I didn’t believe you would, but you did. You sad, sad bastard.’ the man next to Lisa said.
‘You can talk, I was the one that said, I do,’ the man in the apartment replied.
'She was marrying me, not you.’
‘What?’ Lisa said.
The man next to Lisa said, ‘Lisa, this is my brother, Benjamin. I’m really sorry about all of this. I’ll explain in a moment.’ Then to the man in the apartment, ‘It’s over with. You can’t just step in and pretend―’
‘You divorced her, not me. I still want her―’
'Don’t make this hard, Benjamin. I don’t want to have to tell mother and father.’
'He said he was going to cut me up,’ Lisa said to Sebastion, still stunned.
'I wouldn’t have,’ Benjamin said. ‘I was going to let you beg for your life, then you would owe me.’
Sebastion sighed. ‘I’m going to have to tell...’
The gun shot was short and sharp. Sebastion put his hand to the bloody red hole at his chest.
‘What the hell are you doing, Benji?’ Sebastion said. His own gun dropped to the floor. Lisa saw it fall and thought to grab for it but the man in the apartment was already racing towards her.
'No,’ Sebastion said holding up a dripping red hand at Benjamin.
Another shot. A sickening wet splattering sound.
Lisa ran.
‘You never wanted me as your brother, you didn’t even think I should be,’ Benjamin said. ‘But now you’re the one without any friends, you’re the one suffering.’
Benjamin pulled the trigger and Sebastion’s brain sprayed out in tangled pieces, glistening under the fluorescent light, splattering against the white painted hallway and grey carpet floor.
‘You deserved that,’ Benjamin said to his brother. ‘You deserved everything you got.’
Lisa heard the shot just as she was scrambling down the last of the concrete steps to the ground level. She burst into the foyer, but it was empty. This was not a resort and certainly not the resort her and Sebastion had shared on their honeymoon. More likely a block of apartments.
She pushed the front door open, realising she knew the street. She could run to her apartment from here! The elevator door chimed. She was outside before she could look back.
Her lungs were hurting when she reached the first busy intersection, she turned to see if he was chasing her. She didn’t know if she could control the scream building up if she did see him. She only just turned her head when she hit something hard and fell to the ground. Someone fell with her.
An old man, sprawled on the ground, swore and gripped his knee. Lisa scrambled to her feet, taking only a moment to make sure he was okay; he was peppered with dust and his pant leg was torn. Her own palms were red and bleeding. He waved her away when she offered to help him up.
A firecracker sounded from behind her, at the same moment something smashed into her leg and sizzled. Her hand instantly went to the source of the pain and she felt warm runny liquid squeeze out between her fingers.
‘You were supposed to be with me,’ the man with the gun called from the revolving door. ‘You’re my wife, you belong with me!’
He shot again hitting her in the side. She fell flat on her front, the concrete was warm. She screamed for someone to help, but it came out as a whisper. In the distance she heard a whistle and people yelling. Everywhere was cold except for the concrete.
More firecrackers, more shouting.
A hand fell on her shoulder, but it was a light touch, not the grip of a man who wanted her dead.
‘You okay? The ambulance is on its way.’ The voice trembled. ‘Oh god, so much blood.’
He leant over and put his hand to her side.
‘You’ll be okay. I’ll make sure you’re okay. The guy’s dead. The cop shot him, he’s gone. You’re safe.’
But Lisa barely heard him. Her mind was wandering, her body was a cold thing that wouldn’t move. Her mind swirled. It was dark now.
I’m going to die alone, single and alone.
You probably already know the moral of this story. That’s right, don’t let your evil twin marry for you if you’re running late to your own wedding.
by Eloise Verlaque
Peter Halperin was finally in love. Previously, he had thought was in love, but now he knew that anything he had ever felt before was a mere shadow of the real thing. This was it; hook, line and sinker. Every waking thought was of her. Alecia. Even her name made him feel warm inside.
It was 8pm, Valentine’s Day. Peter sat cross legged on the living room floor surrounded by a tangle of pink ribbons and roses. An enormous toy bear - also pink - with a head the size of a small planet sat Buddha-like on the floor across from him. Pink furry paws clasped a heart- shaped pillow that said ‘I love you beary much’. He grinned just looking at it. He couldn’t wait to see the smile on Alecia’s face when she saw her Valentine’s Day surprise. The bear had cost him a small fortune but she was going to love it – it was just her kind of thing - and her smile was worth every dollar he had spent.
Today was almost three months to the day they had met and he marvelled at the strange set of circumstances that had led her to him.
Before Alecia, he had been in a relationship with Christina. At the time Peter had thought himself in love with her but he was older and wiser now. Christina had been pretty and blonde and charismatic. He’d done everything for her. He even moved from London to Los Angeles to be closer to her. Then he found out what a shallow two-timing bitch she really was. Their relationship had come to an abrupt halt and he fell into a pit of despair for months.
Then, just when Peter thought he couldn’t get any lower, he was invited to a concert.
Peter hadn’t felt like going but deep down inside he knew, at some point in time, he would have to forget Christina and move on. It was the best decision he’d ever made. At that concert, he met Alecia. Across the noise and the dancing, heaving crowd their eyes had met and he knew, at that moment, she was the one.
It had been a strangely old fashioned romance - letters, flowers, funny little rhyming poems - which was crazy really because Alecia was more modern and ‘out there’ than anyone he’d ever known. But perhaps that’s what she liked about him; his Englishness, his old fashioned wooing of her.
But tonight wouldn’t be about wooing, tonight would be about passion and the thought of her warm, naked body pressed up against his made him feel dizzy. He couldn’t wait to see her. All he had to do was finish tying the ribbons on her presents – this was not proving as easy as he had anticipated (ribbons are not a guy thing) – and then he would be able to put his clever Valentine’s Day plan into action.
Peter had pretended to make Valentine’s Day low key, as if he had forgotten. Then it turned out Alecia had a work commitment so she wouldn’t be home until late. What could have been a disaster had worked in his favour...now he would have plenty of time to surprise her.
Three hours later, the presents were finally wrapped and crammed into the back of his car. Getting the bear in had been tricky but after a comical episode of wrestling with its giant head he had managed to squeeze it inside. He had showered, shaved and dressed for the occasion; a black tuxedo, vintage cuff links and Burberry aftershave. He knew he looked good.
Now he was parked outside her house. The gate would be locked, of course - this was an expensive neighbourhood and Alecia was nervous about break-ins - but Peter had worked out how to surprise her. In the trunk of his car was a stepladder. He maneuvered the ladder up against the high stone wall almost hidden under a trellis of magnolia. Carefully, he took the presents one by one and dropped them over the side. There were leafy bushes in Alecia’s garden that would cushion their fall. He didn’t want the enormous stuffed bear to get grubby bouncing around in the dirt so decided to carry it over himself.
The smell of magnolia was tropical and heady as Peter climbed the ladder with the bear over his shoulder. In his tuxedo, climbing the wall in the dark, he felt like James Bond taking part in a secret mission….and that was when it all went wrong.
As he straddled the wall, bear in his arms, all hell broke loose. He heard shouting, a bright light suddenly blinded him and something grabbed at his leg, yanking him to the ground with incredible force. He landed on his back in the garden bed, surrounded by presents. The giant bear lay forlornly beside him, its black plastic eyes staring up into the sky. Before he could get his breath back, he found himself pinned to the ground by three men in camouflage gear, their weapons drawn and pointed at his chest. Lights were shining in his eyes, blinding him. Outside of the glare of the lights he could see other black booted feet, dozens of them.
Captain De Souza of the L.A. Special Operations squad shone a torch into Peter’s face and turned towards the young blonde woman standing beside him in her pyjamas, her tattooed arms crossed defensively across her chest.
“Is this the guy, Miss Moore?”
Alecia Moore, more commonly known by her popstar alias, Pink, nodded her head. “Yeh, that’s the asshole.”
Captain De Souza clicked on the handset of his radio, “Positive I.D. Looks like the same guy that was stalking Christina Aguilera last year. You can take him away boys.”
As Peter was dragged away across the lawn, his shouted protestations of love muffled by the hands of the armed guards, Pink surveyed the untidy scene in her garden.
Crushed presents lay half buried in the garden bed, twelve dozen pink acrylic roses were scattered about in every direction and, lying in the middle of it all, was an enormous stuffed pink bear, its furry paws still clutching the ‘I love you beary much’ pillow.
Pink kicked the bear angrily before turning away and stomping back to the Spanish style mansion with her entourage.
“That is the fucking ugliest bear I have ever seen,” she muttered under her breath, “what the fuck is wrong with people?”
by Geoff Stuart
The crowded dance floor
Swaying mutton and mutants amass
The Veil of Darkness
luminance comes from the Neon Bar lights
The slimy groping hands
Peacocks and Barbies out to catch an eye
The smell of cologne
Putrid smell of animalistic sweat
The Distorted beat rumbles
Intimate whispers raised to a yell
The sigh of lament
Coloured cocktails will see it through
The rejected woman wails
The players move on to a new target
The Hens night Party
Escape for one of them at least
The night lingers on
Security called to the foyer
The angry betrayal
Push comes to shove all over love
The sticky wet carpet
Tears and alcohol spilt tonight
The mobile phones emerge
Numbers to be forgotten exchanged
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