“You know that I’ve always loved you,” his voice was raspy and weak. He reached over and placed his cold wrinkled hand upon hers. She gripped tightly to the metal railing of the hospital bed. A chill went down her spine.

“Mmmm,” she replied, the fifty years of marriage they shared had been based on nothing but lies, his endless nights of drunkenness, he’d stumble through the front door right before sunrise, just in time to see their children off to school.

She could only credit him for being a good provider. Now, as she sat waiting to speak with a Hospice nurse, she felt relieved.

“I was never meant to be your husband.” his eyes welled with tears. “I’m a twin, separated at birth from my brother. I was raised in the slums, and he, brought up in luxury. I watched from afar how his life unfolded, wishing this secret had never been revealed to me by my hateful adoptive mother. I became more enraged especially when he proposed to such a beautiful, elegant woman as yourself. All I ever wanted was a family of my own. Once you both said the I do’s, I killed him. Taking his place was easy, you had no self esteem, you allowed the behavior change.”

She didn’t believe his words, after all, he was sickly and couldn’t possibly have any idea what he was saying.

“I’m sorry. I could’ve loved you better but my guilt made it easier for me to love the booze more. Please tell the children that I have always cherished them.” his voice slowly diminished.

His wife shook her head, she would never believe his truth.

The machine next to his bedside screamed. He flatlined.

She replayed the years in her mind.”What if?” she wondered.

The morning air was cold. He swung his scarf around to cover his mouth and nose. He pulled his cap down over his eyes. With each step, his rugged boots dug into the rocks, one wrong move and down the mountainside he would tumble.

The peak of their tent poked through nature’s overgrowth. How fun, camping as a couple, the trouble with such is they’d never asked his permission to use his land. It wasn’t a mistake, but a yearly habit. He never forgets a trespasser; his trail cam wouldn’t allow it.

He whistled an unnamed tune as he approached the site. A tin percolator sat atop a crackling fire. A gray-haired man exited the tent, zipping it quickly closed behind him.

The property owner sat down in a lawn chair already placed by the pit. He crossed his legs and sighed. “They call me Jake, probably because I’m the biggest Jackass around these parts. Where’s your wife?” His fingers intertwined, rubbing one thumb over the other.

The gold seven-point star stitched on Jake’s hat sent his unwelcomed visitor into a panic. He fled. “Sherriff’s department, stop where you are!” Jake retrieved his weapon from its holster. The man fell. Sliding rapidly down the hill, he grabbed at every tree he could reach, attempting to slow his descend.

The sheriff pulled the trigger, rendering the suspect unalive.

“John, Beatrice.” Jake called out, moving through the brush. “John, Beatrice!” Over the years, he learned their names from many recorded conversations.

Finally, he heard their muffled voices. He found the couple tied to a tree, dirty, parched and hungry, their mouths duct taped.

Jake couldn’t imagine how someone managed to get to the couple before him. Gun drawn; he led them back to his house. “Now, let’s teach you both some manners.”

The old crew cab bounced up the hill, five men packed inside, two still asleep from last night’s unwinding. 

“I don’t know why he wants to protect this thing.” Mauricio hopped from the vehicle and started unloading the chain link fence from the bed. He hit the side of the truck. “Wake up, chumps. We’re not doing this job by ourselves, not this time.” 

“What is this place, anyways?” Gregory stood with his hands in his pockets staring at Mr. Rosenthal’s castle. “It’s not even historic. I could’ve built this, a few bricks, mortar, windows – and voilà!” 

Now, all five men stood shoulder to shoulder mesmerized by the monstrosity old man Rosenthal called his palace. 

With the back of his hand, Mauricio smacked Homer on the arm. “Let’s get to work.” 

Pole after pole went into the dirt. The sweaty, tired men sat down on the large stones near the homes entrance to have lunch.

Gregory looked back over his shoulder, immediately rising to his feet. “I swear someone’s up there!” He pointed towards the top of the building. “See, it’s a woman!” 

A tall skinny figure, dressed in a long black gown, a veil covering her face and gloves that led up to her elbows, waved down to the group. “Join me for a cup of tea?” She asked, moving closer to the edge.

“No ma’am. We’re about to finish up here but thank you for the offer.” Mauricio replied – for all.

Later that afternoon, the men met up with Mr. Rosenthal to get their pay. “Fencing your wife in, Huh?” Gregory joked. 

“Something like that.” He winked. “She’s been dead for decades.” Mr. Rosenthal opened his wallet and distributed a stack of hundreds to each man. “Voilà!” He laughed. “Visit again soon, won’t ya’? She gets lonely.” 

She flopped onto the all-white leather couch, careful not to spill the champagne she held tightly in her hand. She crossed her legs, then reached across the sofa, pulling gently at the back of her husband’s dark colored hair. He had been sitting, staring into the open space for quite a while. “You should visit a barber.” She whispered her complaint. 

“Mmmmm.” He replied.

“What do you think?” She placed her drink down on the glass table in front of them and retrieved a small bottle topped with a platinum-colored atomizer. The elegant bottle was wrapped in a print featuring a Japanese Castle, blue skies and Cherry Blossom trees, an excellent marketing strategy to head her Cultural line.

“Your latest fragrance? The one that keeps you away at night?” He spoke angrily towards his wife of three decades. Mariska Devaun was a genius in her own right, having dominated the fashion industry since a teen. He, Kingston Devaun, loyally stood by her side, promoting her spectacular products, while at times, grieving his own loneliness. 

“My best scents are compounded at night when my artistry is in full effect.” She squirted a bit of the perfume into the air, waving it towards his face. “I call this scent – Blue Blossom.”

He deeply inhaled. “Ohhhh… Marvelou……” His head slumped forward, sedated by her mixture. 

Mariska scurried from the room towards the spiral staircase. “Help Kingston to bed when he awakens.” She instructed the housekeeper on her way out the door.

In a hurry to meet her lover, she sped away from their Hollywood Hills mansion in her newest luxury coupe. The brake pedal loosely touched the floorboard as she rounded the deadliest curve on Mulholland Drive. Her screams went unheard. 

Kingston now goes by King… and all the ladies love him.

A few freshman members of Delta Sigma drunkenly marched down the hillside stumbling over their own white gowns, only some still had the laurel wreaths they wore atop their heads. “Get to the bridge ahead of the Alpha Pi’s. We have to hang our banner before they do.” It had been a centuries long tradition that whichever frat made it to the bridge and marked the territory first, would be able to claim the great party land for the entire school year.

Delta Sigma approached from the right as the Alpha Pi’s journeyed in from the left.

Both groups began to chant “Something wicked this way comes!” Their words echoed through the valley. A loud whistle blew, piercing their ears, they covered them tightly with the palms of their hands.

From underneath the bridge appeared three men draped in black and purple, gold dripping from their necks, each holding a seven foot tall spear. “You have summoned the wicked, so here we are. We watched you journey from near and far. The one you seek requires a self sacrifice, which one of you does not value your life?” The three spoke in unison.

The fraternity boys all looked at one another, smirking and laughing. “This is 2024. We don’t need any of this, not a fraternity or even a school. We can take classes online.” Retrieving loose rocks from the bridge, they hurled them at the evil below.

“I usually walk alone, if it’s even considered walking. Normally, I feel as though I’m floating.” Felix whispered. 

I was Felix’s best friend. He wasn’t mine. I did pity him and so, today, I journeyed up the mountain with him, concerned about his wellbeing. Lately, his conversation seemed a bit self-destructive. 

We intertwined with the bluest skies. I found peace in the scenery. 

“I step on every stone, fearing if my foot slips and hits the green grass, I will make a loved one pass. That is a thing, right? Haven’t you heard the old saying, step on a crack, break your mother’s back? Same thing, isn’t it? Step on the green grass, cause a loved one to pass?” Felix said. 

“Mmmm.” I didn’t have much of a reply. 

 “So, what if I made it up. Everything has a beginning. Are you suggesting that I not create things? Is my imagination not good enough for you?” Felix hopped over a stone, managing to land perfectly on the one after it.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Felix. I’m just wondering if perhaps this is just another one of your rituals.” I replied. Not paying attention to the placement of my own feet, I stepped on the grass, quickly retreating to a stone. 

Felix noticed my mishap and stood silently staring at my feet. 

“A ritual, Felix. It’s not real. It’s all in your mind.” I tried to convince him. 

“That’s what you all say.” He hung his head. “I suppose you consider me a loved one.” He said.

Before I could tell him that I didn’t love him like family, he took off running – full speed ahead, throwing himself from the mountain side. 

**********

His mangled body haunts my thoughts, never again will I step on green grass.

A nod to the late, great Otis Redding. Where would I be without soulful bliss?

LOVE VAM

She, a gorgeous blonde with a body to kill for was his number one fan. It was no surprise when he asked her to join him at his place for a nightcap after the show. She had driven nearly eight hundred miles to see him perform in his hometown. So, of course, she obliged. 

The house was creepy, candles flickered in the foyer. 

He flipped the light switch on; his pale skin told that he was more than meets the eye. “I want to kiss you in every…….” He paused.

For a moment, she lost her breath. 

“……Country in the world.” His accent, a bit frenchy. He laughed.

She exhaled. 

Hundreds of world maps hung in the entryway, exotic cities were marked by thumbtacks and then connected by rubber bands. Each, revealing the route to what he called love sessions with many different women. “My trophies.”

“Are these……. similar to notches in your bed post?” She asked. 

He placed his long finger on her lips. “Well………. Yes.” He rolled his eyes upwards in thought. He was goofier than she imagined.

She turned to exit; her expectations demolished.

In a flash, he reached the door before her, stretching his arms out across it. “You cannot leave.” He violently pushed her backwards.

Placing both thumbs in his belt loops, he bent his knees and shimmied across the floor towards her, spinning three times before stopping, his stunningly red lips nearly touching hers. 

“I’m not doing this!” She screamed.

“Oh, but…. you are.” He said before breaking into song. “I’m a love Vam…. Call me the love Vam. Ooh, baby, I’m the love Vam. That’s what they call me, I’m a love Vam.”

Wrapped tightly in his arms, he and his newest victim blessed the night sky. “First stop, Fiji.” He whispered.

Today, I wrote your obituary, though you haven’t yet passed on, I figured my mental status would allow for a more accurate description of your life, how beautiful it was. Maybe put to music, it would be a stunning melody, an ode to mom.

A few more days and you’ll be gone, I can’t grasp the reality of what is about to happen, a giant chunk of my heart, on the verge of being ripped out of my chest yet there’s nothing I can do about it.

I can’t sleep and if I manage to doze off for a moment, I quickly awaken, gasping for breath. How did we get here?

A rose and a get well soon card covered in musical notes sit at your bedside though you will never smell the sweet aroma or read the words from someone you once loved.

I am only existing right now…. I am only existing right now…..The pain is too much to carry. I. am. only. existing. right. now.

Mom, I hope you know how much I love you.

The heartbreaking end.

I kill to once again be in the presence of my adoring Bianca. Though tired and often confused from lack of nourishment, I have hope our reunification is approaching. 

I am a hunter. 

The castle is in sight and though I go alone, I am fearless. My strength is lifted by the thought of the satisfaction that will come with the sweeping violence I will cast upon the King and his minions. A feat that the others before me dared not attempt, their heightened boldness ceased at civilians.

I am a warrior.

My horse succumbed to a bloody altercation long before I set foot on the canyon’s ridge. Our companionship had to end as he would bring attention to my presence once the invasion of the fortress begins. His demise and tortured appearance provoke power within me, a taste of victory.

I am a needful man.

I cup my hands and drink vigorously from the stream’s crystal-clear water, sparkling even as the dark clouds roll over. The thunder rumbles, exciting my inner being. 

I am a monster.

My black cloak, and scarred face hide my identity as I creep through the royal quarters, slashing and dehumanizing the people within, taking from them their status, riches, happiness and even their woes. Shells of beings now scatter the premises, I rejoice, satisfied with the horrific ruin. I will go home to my Bianca with the spoils of war having obtained a second urge, to pleasure her in every way.

The front page of the Britannia Times referred to me using unknown terminology amid confusion as to why such a brutal crime would’ve taken place – less a robbery.

I am a serial killer, adding new fear to the land.

Twenty-four houses lined the neighborhood street, twelve backed up to tall trees, and a hidden creek amidst overgrown greenery, a playground for children of all ages. Playgrounds and unsupervised children attract predators. And so, it was said, as many children as there were houses on Weeping Willow Lane, had been abducted from the woods… …..

Madeline Forsythe was the oldest resident on Weeping Willow Lane. Now, aged One hundred and two, Madeline continued to convince parents that they shouldn’t live in fear or keep their children from normal activities. What child doesn’t want to play in the woods. After all, she must’ve had some smarts about her, look how long she’d already lived. 

Madeline’s crooked cane and oversized black cloak didn’t clue anyone into her heritage. A witch from birth, she had a family to grow.  Hunch backed, she hobbled around from house to house, motivationally speaking, knocking on doors, pointing her stick and casting spells of delusion onto the mothers and fathers of Weeping Willow Lane. “Time for the kiddies to play.” She’d gruesomely chuckle and then whisper loud gibberish into the ears of the guardians which in turn made every September the 20^th a special day. 

With the parent’s blessing, children would follow Madeline into the night, the subtle glow from her lantern leading the way. They sang a witch’s ballad as they strolled along, happy as could be.

Madeline placed her lantern in the middle of the field. “Hero, zero, multiple, destroy, or let them go back and be good little girl’s…… and boys.” A strong wind blew out the light and then…it reappeared… Some lucky children skipped back home with no recollection of the night’s events……Well….. The others, now flittering sparkles, were ready to flourish and grow, chosen by the High Priests to join Madeline’s brood.