November 2008

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Our print division, Comet Press, is currently accepting submissions for horror, suspense, and dark crime novels and novellas. Visit www.cometpress.us for details.

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DEADLINES: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR AND DARK FICTION, will be released in November of 2008! Visit www.cometpress.us

Sunday
by AJ Brown

Sunday was previously published by The Horror Library, January 2007.

On Monday we met. You were in a skirt with those shapely legs exposed for every man to see and your v-neck blouse that exposed the cleavage between your breasts. A long silver chain hung around your neck; a silver pendant in the shape of an S attached to it. You wore a sweet smile which accentuated those green eyes and long black hair. You were a dream come true and my heart skipped a beat the first time I saw you. It was as if you stepped out of a fantasy—my fantasy—and into my lonesome life.

On Tuesday I asked you out with my heart beating hard within my chest, hoping that you would smile that lovely smile, exposing those perfect teeth and hear you say “yes.” I never really thought you would, but what did I have to lose? We stood inside Luna’s, the nice little restaurant you were the hostess at, and you did smile. My knees grew weak when you agreed to my request. I left Luna’s after a few glasses of red wine, feeling exhilarated at the prospect of our date. It would be my first one since college, and even then, that one wasn't a real date, just a couple of friends going out for a drink or two. She left the bar with someone else.

I hardly slept that night as I thought of you. Butterflies danced in the pit of my stomach as night fell on Wednesday and we were to meet at Lannie’s Lagoon. I had never been there but I found the little bar with ease. When I entered Lannie’s, the lights were out and candles sat upon each table; black ones with the flames dancing about on their wicks, casting sensual shadow dancers on the walls. I watched the flames for several moments, taking in their hypnotic movements. It was as if they were alive and teasing me with their erotic movements. There was no one there to be seen, not even a tender and, for a moment, I thought you hadn't shown up. But you were there, in a corner by yourself, at a table with a bottle of wine sitting on the table with two wine goblets in front of you.

You were wearing a full length gown, black and silky, its low cut front showing the tops of your breasts . . . and that silver pendant. I shook my head as it seemed to shimmer in the light of the candles. But, then it was still again, and I thought it to be a trick of the imagination.

Your hair was done up in a French twist, held in place by an ivory hair pin that was easily six inches in length. You were gorgeous—delicious, I supposed.

I could feel my throat growing dry and my palms becoming sweaty as I approached you. My knees were weakening, like the night before when I asked you out. Sitting down was one of the greatest feelings of relief I have ever felt in my lifetime.

You offered me a goblet of wine—Claret wine is what you called it, I believe. I thought it strange but I wasn't going to question the name of a drink, especially one you had chosen. It was thick and rich but dry. My parched throat welcomed the warm wine. I marveled as I watched you relish in the flavor.

Our conversation was limited—a “hello” and “how are you?” was the majority of our spoken words. Most of the real words were said with our eyes—my blue ones and your green ones. In the past I had heard of being lost in someone’s eyes, but had not thought it a reality, not until that moment. It was as I looked into your eyes that I could see you and me together, for the remainder of our eternities.

Getting lost in your eyes led me to Thursday and left me wondering what happened to Wednesday. I awoke to the sound of the crickets’ ree-ree songs they sang with each other and saw I was back in my own home, staring up at the ceiling. The image of the pendant between your breasts was clearly still etched into my thoughts and the faint memory of wine and kisses sat deeply in the back of my mind.

In my hand was a napkin—somehow I had managed to hold it gently in my palm without crumpling it. On it read:

"Thank you for last night. See you this evening, and remember Sunday."

It was written in that dark black eyeliner you wear and signed "Selena." Below your name was a red lipstick imprint of your lips. Placing the napkin to my nose, I could smell your scent—rose and jasmine—as fresh as if you were there.

“What is Sunday?” I asked you when I saw you at Lannie’s that evening.

“Our wedding night,” you said.

I could say nothing more as my delight consumed me. Your eyes once again engulfed me in their emerald green seas. And in them I could see the silver pendant and blood flowing off of it.

By Friday I could feel myself anticipating Sunday and its events—none of which you told me about (other than we were to wed). Sleep eluded me and when the sun finally set I found myself walking down Hobathan Street’s cobblestone road toward Lannie’s. When I arrived there I saw the note you had tacked to the door, its words written in that same dark eyeliner:

“When Sunday comes, I’ll see you again. At sunset, dear, meet me here.
-Selena”

I took the note and went home, saddened that I did not get to see you. Saturday would be a long day, I told myself, but what was I to do?

As I listened to Beethoven on the stereo in my tiny bedroom, the sun began to rise on Saturday morning. I was another day closer to you. As I laid down to sleep, I could see you, hear you, feel you, smell you. Your hands caressed my body; your lips following their lead; your sensual voice ran in my ears, though I knew not what you were saying; and your scent permeated through every pore in my body as if I were bathing in you.

I slept soundly—more so than I thought I would—and I dreamed a dream that I’ve come to believe was more reality than not. It was you and you were as lovely as always; naked, except for the pendant that lay between your breasts. It seemed to move and writhe, like a snake in a pit. Mystified by your beauty, I was slow in getting up as you seemed to float toward me. Wrapping your arms around me, I held you for the first time, feeling the coolness of your touch, the softness of your body . . . the sharpness of your fangs as they dug deep into my shoulder. I could not let you go as I felt the blood seeping from the deep wounds that your teeth had made, feeling the pull of your tongue and lips sensually—sexually—drawing the blood from me. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling I had as you suckled the wound. I grew light headed and weak and before I realized it I was laying on my back in my bed as you tucked the cold sheets around me.

When I awoke, Sunday had come and the late afternoon sun was fading. Though my curtains were drawn, I could still see the dimming sun light on the floor next to the window across the room. Slowly, I stood from my bed, the sleep still fogging my head, making me dizzy. I could feel the wound on my shoulder, but paid it no attention as I walked over to the small table by the bedroom door. On it was a wine goblet, a bottle of Lannie’s Claret wine and another one of your eye liner notes.

“Drink only one goblet and meet me at Lannie’s."
-Selena"

Doing as your note said, I drank one goblet, feeling it fill my stomach and leaving me wanting more. I felt my head’s swooning slowly begin to subside, and soon there after I was on my way to Lannie’s

I could smell the rose and jasmine scent of your body when I opened the door as the almost arctic like air rushed into the heat of the night. Stepping inside I could see the candles. They were white ones this time, with their soft flames flickering occasionally, casting shadows in different directions in the room. They weren't like the black ones from a few nights earlier. No, these candles weren't sensual at all, their dances a mixture of bland gyrations and bounces.

You came from out of the shadows wearing a long, white evening gown, your hair flowing past your shoulders and the silver necklace... the silver necklace lying softly where it always was.

“Come to me, Sydney,” you said, and I did so.

As I reached you, I saw what was just past you. It was a cross, a large one with a woman hanging on it, her hands and feet pierced with nails that held her in place and her body naked. She was unattractive to me, but was probably much prettier without the terror filled look on her face and the paleness of her skin. Her eyes were wide and very blue and her hair was light brown and only to her shoulders.

For the first time since I met you, I suddenly felt like I was not walking on a cloud. It seemed wrong to me. The woman on the cross, the fear in her eyes, the begging I saw in them made me apprehensive suddenly.

“Are you ready?” you asked, your voice bringing my attention back to you and making me forget about the woman on the cross. I nodded, feeling as if I could not speak again as my thoughts waged war with one another. Though I wasn't sure what was about to happen, I knew the woman on the cross had an idea and what she was thinking couldn't have been pleasant for her.

I watched as you brought a silver dagger to your palm and then across it, leaving a deep gash where the blade had been. For the first time since the night I met you I saw you without the pendant hanging around your neck. Instead, you held it in your hand and I watched as you dripped your own blood on the silver charm, covering it in red.

I don’t remember taking my shirt off or even if I had put one on before I had headed for Lannie’s Lagoon, but I know I wasn’t wearing one when you came over to me and slipped the necklace over my head and around my neck. My skin burned where the bloodied S touched; I could smell it cooking. An intense pain filled my chest and I glanced down, to see the S was a serpent and it was eating at my flesh, its mouth wide, its teeth burrowing into my skin. Then, it wiggled its way into my chest and was gone. The necklace pulled and then snapped free as the snake went deep into my body. Pain coursed through my body and I longed to cry out but couldn't.

I looked up and saw you approaching the woman. Cupping one bare breast in your hand I watched as you bit down just above the nipple and blood began to trickle down her stomach. She screamed at first, but your other hand quickly covered her mouth, muffling her pained voice.

Blood dripped down your chin and onto your white gown when you pulled away from her. You motioned for me to come to you. I couldn't help myself. As I neared, you placed the dagger to one of your breasts, slitting the top of it enough so blood would flow from it and onto the front of your gown. You pulled my head to you, placing my lips on the wound.

The taste of the blood was like that of the wine that Lannie sold us, only sweeter. I suckled and swallowed as much as you would let me, suddenly thirsty and craving your life fluid. My hunger grew as I drank from you, your hands on the back of my head, your body shuddering ever so slightly, until you pulled me away. You pointed to the woman on the cross. When I looked to her I saw the blood still flowing from your teeth marks and a hunger like none other I had ever felt fell upon me. Though her blood was not as sweet as yours, I drank. She moaned and cried until she could no longer do either.

I collapsed on the floor, and stared at the ceiling as I felt new blood course through my veins, filling me with a life I had never felt before, but a life I now relish.

When I closed my eyes I felt you caressing my face with your soft fingers. As I faded to sleep I felt the soft kiss of your lips on mine.

When I awoke, Sunday had passed . . .

It was Monday and you and I would meet again, our lives forever bound by blood.

♦♦♦