416

  Cold and hard but so very beautiful.

  Mesmorised she didn’t see the thin needle in his hand, but she felt it, a sharp stinging followed by a rush of warmth and then, nothing but darkness.

  Pain lanced through her body as the rope that bound her dug into her wrists and ankles. Twisting furiously she tried to free herself but with each movement the rope bit her flesh angrily. She tried to cry out, but the grimy rag in her mouth prevented any noise from escaping. Sobbing and wailing she cried, tears streaming down her face and soaking her gag.

  “You are awake, excellent.” The merry manager replied, his rapacious face looming above her. “This will be exquisite.”

  He moved a hand from behind his back, the blade visible. She screamed again, ignoring the pain of her binding and furiously thrashing on the wooden floor. Her incoherent begging all that could be heard.

  He raked the blade across her body, scraping at the skin.

  “Diamonds are never a girl’s best friend.” He breathed lustily as he licked away her tears.

  CHAPTER 22

  It Ended With A Bang

  By Michelle Basson

  I wake up.

  There’s a man’s arm on top of me.

  My clothes are scattered around the room and on the bedpost, my panties.

  My 21st birthday bash yesterday must have been epic. I can’t remember much. There were drinks and loud, hypnotic music. I remember Liddy giving me something in the bathroom. I looked good too. Wearing Liddy’s skimpy clothes and new underwear, boys who normally wouldn’t pay me any attention were dancing with me; our bodies swaying to the pounding beat.

  I move his arm from my chest.

  ‘Hey, baby.’

  Fuck. No. Please, no.

  I grab my clothes and run to the bathroom, locking myself in. I turn on the water and climb in; no time for waiting for it to turn warmer. I hear his voice again, not from the bedroom, but from inside my head.

  ‘I’m so proud of you, baby,’ he’d said at my graduation earlier this year. ‘Your mom would’ve been so happy.’ His hand slid down my back, too low, but that was my dad did.

  My dad. My father. My own flesh and blood. Touching my ass at my graduation.

  I see a shower brush, the kind for exfoliating your back but instead I start scrubbing my chest. I scrub and scrub until my skin’s close to bleeding. My thighs are next, I want to rid myself of any trace of him.

  I cry, but the tears are trapped.

  Trapped by a monster who stole my soul when I was only fourteen. Mom never knew, but it carried on. All those years.

  I was his plaything.

  Not anymore.

  I turn the water off.

  I walk towards him, dripping with water. Naked.

  ‘You were great, baby. Like always,’ the monster said.

  ‘I’m not your baby, anymore. You made sure of that.’

  ‘You looked stunning last night.’

  ‘NOTHING happened last night.’

  There in the top drawer of his dresser, between the socks and his underpants, a glint of silver – his revolver. I run for it and grab it before he could figure out was I was doing.

  ‘Give it to Daddy, and no-one has to get hurt.’

  ‘I want you to hurt like you’ve hurt me.’

  He walked towards me, taking the revolver and my hands in his.

  ‘No!’ I try wrangling it out of the monster's hands.

  But it is was my finger that found the trigger first and it was seeing the fear in his eyes that made me squeeze it.

  BANG!

  The monster had finally been slain.

  CHAPTER 23

  Zombies In New Orleans

  By David J. Muir

  “Uh, Gabriel.” The Wizard Susie elbowed her partner of a year in the side as she spoke in a Mancunian accent, pointing for him to see. “Is it me or are they Zombies?”

  “Oh, they’re Zombies alright,” the Scots Magi replied, while still trying to open the locked door. “Just don’t let them touch you, it’ll be fine.”

  “Easy for you to bloody well say.” She growled, looking back at the zombies moving towards them. “Since we are in an anti-magic field what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “Use the hand cannon Treigar gave you.” He replied as if it was obvious, the pick he was using broke in the lock. “The magic might not work but the bullets will.”

  “Oh,” she said a little embarrassed, and pulled the weapon that looked like a Desert Eagle, but made with magical alloy, inscribed with magical runes. She trained it on the first of the zombies and the kick back almost broke her arm. It made a satisfying splat as it severed the zombie’s spine. “That hurts like a bastard.”

  “That’s because you’re holding it wrong, both hands gauntleted.” He said, growing more frustrated by the lock, he pulled his own and said. “Ah, tae fuck wae it.” He held the weapon to the locking mechanism and blasted the lock. “Time to go I think maybe.”

  “I concur,” she replied as they bombed into and down the corridor towards the exit. “Trust us to find the one real bloody Necromancer in the whole of New Orleans. Where the hell did this castle come from?”

  “Magic.” Gabriel speculated.

  “Well that’s a bit on the fucking obvious side,” she replied bluntly, sometimes he could be stupid just for the fun of it. “So, do you know exactly where the hell we are going?”

  “Towards the exit.” The Magi answered, as if it was totally obvious. The Necromancer appeared right in front of them, meaning they were out of the anti-magic bubble.

  “I am the mighty Zoltanris and you will never leave my castle alive.” He screeched at them with a cackling laugh. Gabriel cracked him on the jaw with a massive right hook wreathed in flame, smashing the bones into his brain and setting the body on fire.

  “Oh, yes we fuckin will.” He replied, forgetting that it was the Necromancer’s magic keeping the Castle in place. They were dumped into the bayou of Louisiana. He turned to the disgusted Susie. “Well that was fucking fun wasn’t it?”

  CHAPTER 24

  The Return

  By Kay Kauffman

  I shivered as I sank to the ground. The granite headstone felt like ice as I pressed my cheek against it and let my fingers trace the grooves carved in the stone. "Jack, are you here?"

  Silence. Birds hushed their singing, trees ceased their whispering – even the drone of insects was missing. Clouds gathered in the west; a storm was brewing, but I refused to let a little rain scare me off. I would wait for Jack till the end of time if that's what it took.

  Fortunately, I didn't have to wait that long. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise and turned around to see Jack. A smile spread slowly across my face. "Oh, Jack, I knew you'd come! I knew you wouldn't disappoint me!" I stood up and moved to hug him, but he held up one hand to stop me. "Jack? What's wrong?" I searched his eyes, but found nothing. "you're in your uniform. Why are you in uniform? Jack, the war's over! Don't you see? We can be together now! No one can stop us now. We'll be together forever!"

  Jack shook his head sadly. He looked tired and I thought I had never seen someone look so broken. Only then did I notice the mud caked on his boots, the dirt on his blanket roll, and the scent of gunpowder that hung in the air around him. "Jack?" I murmured, frightened now. "Jack, say something. Talk to me!"

  But he just stood there, stiff as a board, looking beyond me. I turned around; we were no longer in a cemetery, but a tent near a battlefield. Men were screaming all around me; the scent of blood mingled with sweat and vomit, filling the air. A body lay before me, covered by a sheet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack sink suddenly to the floor. Confused, I lifted the sheet and found myself, my face half gone.

  I screamed and dropped the sheet. We were back in the cemetery now. "Amy, I told you not to go," he murmured. "I told you not to be a hero. You never listened and look where it got you!" He wiped a tear from his eye as he ro
se and drew his sword. "You lead this time, Amy, and I'll follow. Once more unto the breach..."

  Jack arrived at my side as the storm hit town. "Well, my dear," he said with a smile, "what's next?"

  CHAPTER 25

  Variation On A Theme, 11

  By Will Macmillan Jones

  It started in a bar, as do so many things. A dim-lit cellar bar, where the smoky jazz from the house band drifted like the haze rising from the myriad of cigarettes. He had been coming to the bar for a couple of weeks, but had not made many acquaintances there, not yet. Twice now, he had seen her across the room, her flowing blonde hair shimmering whilst the beguiling music played and the deep-voiced girl sang slowly of love and loss, heartache and regret, and - yes - occasionally of passion and joy consummated.

  Suddenly, as the music swirled sensually around, she was beside him at the bar. Their eyes met, and held in a long, long look before he turned away to order another drink. Disturbed, shaken by the casual intensity of her gaze, he trembled as she lightly placed her hand over his.

  “You seem to be alone,” she murmured in a velvet voice. He nodded. “So am I, tonight,” she said softly, then kissed him and took his hand in hers. They left, together.

  Later.

  Lightly, she let the fingers of her left hand drift across his chest. Her nails were long, and the frisson they caused roused him from his almost sleep. Back and forth went her hand, and the fingernails; and then slowly, inexorably, they changed direction and slid further down his muscled body.

  “I thought you’d had enough.”

  “One last time,” she murmured, and her hand slid further down, closer to her destination. Arriving, first her smooth fingertips, then the deliciously sharp fingernails encircled him. Her wrist shifted slightly, and started to move against his stomach.

  She smiled at the animal noise he made for her, and the languid movement became more urgent. He started to caress her, but she stilled his arm with the weight of her body as her head moved towards her hand. He shivered as her long, soft hair brushed across his stomach, and enfolded him.

  Her tongue caressed as her fingernails pressed, so slightly into his flesh: then she bent her head with purpose, and after a moment, drank.

  Her fangs slid out, and she bit hard. To another wild, animal sound she drank more urgently and with greater pleasure; holding the shuddering body down with her weight and unexpected strength.

  Later, as she pinned her latest - keepsake? momento? onto the board she kept beside her bed for such things, she wondered why sex always ended the same way since she became vampyre.

  CHAPTER 26

  Hellbait

  By Lisa Scullard (Excerpt from the novel, “Hellbait”)

  The girl could definitely move.

  Sully watched the twitching and swaying of her hips, and rhythmic bopping of her head with his one good eye, knowing that aesthetic appreciation wasn’t a great substitute for the other sort. But it was the most he had left, since.

  She was whip-thin, although muscles moved under her cocoa-dusted skin like mating eels as she danced, her sultry brown eyes burning with yellow sparks whenever they met a man’s gaze. Her hair a mixture of braids and dreads, tied back, showcasing that Cleopatra face and mesmerizing expression. Half-hypnotic, half-narcotic. She wore faded cargo shorts, a spaghetti-strap vest, and a PLO scarf - nothing else. Not even shoes on those dancing feet. Some odd-shaped beads on knotted leather thongs passed as bracelets.

  That was all.

  She didn’t so much occupy as prowl the dance floor. Other girls posed or jiggled on the spot around their purses, while the naked pros wrapped themselves around the pole and other fixtures, like strangler fig vines.

  The thinking part of Sully’s conscious brain was wondering how you approached a girl like that and made her join you for a drink. The remainder of his brain was wondering why he was so interested in a girl who wasn’t dead yet.

  Jess caught the big soldier looking, but it didn’t distract her. Men often looked, whether they had one eye or two. Sometimes they even used their hands, as if they still weren’t sure that she was real.

  He was fit, definitely. Would be good to wrestle - she called it ‘wrassle’ - even that one non-functioning, pearl-white eye just added to his charisma. The other was green like true jade, not marred by the scarring on the damaged side of his face, and he still had his military jar-head cropped haircut. Still wore his Army sweater and combat fatigues, taut in all the right places. Looked like he was the sort who enjoyed a long run every day at dawn, through the woods, or along a deserted beach. Made her feel all warm just thinking about it.

  She did another circuit of the dance floor, all the better to view him from another angle. As she twirled idly, pretending not to note, he got to his feet slowly, and limped to the bar.

  Oooh, Jess thought, and moved to follow. Time for walkies…

  “Same again?” the bartender asked, mixing up a Brain Hemorrhage at Sully’s silent nod. “And for you, Jess? Another Hair of the Dog?”

  CHAPTER 27

  Aftermath

  By Gretchen Steen

  The glittering violet sky had been a beautiful blue earlier that day. The clear, fresh air was now filled with the stench of sulfur and burnt flesh.

  The once bustling, snow covered city, lay in ruin beneath a blanket of destruction. In desperation, people cried out as the burning buildings collapsed around them.

  The hiss and static of the flames blended with their repeated screams. The silence came and long hours went by.

  The smoke began to clear and Jason carefully rose to his feet and looked around. Climbing out of the rubble and over the debris, he made his way into the street.

  "Faith, can you hear me?" he called out frantically, listening for a response. "Please answer me! I must find you!"

  He heard a faint voice in the distance, "God help me, please!"

  Faith struggled for breath.

  Relieved to hear her voice, he pressed forward, his lungs burning as they filled with the poisoned air.

  "Faith, talk to me, your voice will lead me to you," he replied urgently.

  The frail voice tried desperately to continue. "I can't. No more," her soft voice trailing off as Jason came upon his fatally injured wife. Pinned, she could not move; the debris, too heave to lift. The blood poured from her mouth and ears. Her breath was labored and her eyes were distant and tearful. Jason knelt down and cradled her in his arms.

  "Faith, can you smile for me?" he asked, holding back his own tears, realizing there was no hope of saving her. He held her close and whispered, “I love you”.

  She managed a faint smile and tried to speak. Flooded with her own blood, her voice cracked, "They've finally done it, please, save our child," she whispered, staring into his eyes; her body went rigid then limp.

  "Yes," as he felt her last breath escape its tomb.

  Gently he closed her eyes, and brushed the ash from her face. Hesitantly he touched her abdomen; the child was still moving. Jason quickly stood up and looked across the devastated city for someone … anyone! He saw no one, he was alone and helpless. The hours sped on and Faith’s body grew cold. The movements ceased as he watched his child succumb to the madness.

  The warnings were unheeded; now his wife and unborn child lay dead in the rubble. Their horror was over in an instant. Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, he would find survivors and tend to the grisly business of aftermath.

  CHAPTER 28

  Remembering

  By Richard A. Wentworth

  Jeff breathes deeply; regaining his composure and he reaches out—touching the wall.

  At first, the cool granite feels normal; cold, polished stone. His fingers explore each letter, molding to the texture of each carved word, a gentle trace of letters.

  The outlines of each name flows through his body. His memory is flooded, and he pulled his hand away—an electrical current of memory flowing from his fingers to his brain.
br />   He pulls his hand away suddenly, and begins to cry.

  Shelly steps up and places her hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He shutters, and Shelly encircles him in a hug. China steps to her dad, and she too, gives both a hug. Steve step up, and joins the hug.

  Seconds pass; the group dissolves into tears, and finally, they break the hug.

  The girls and Steve back off; Jeff regains his composure and reaches for the wall.

  This time, when he reaches out, he runs his fingers over the names, an electric current passes from the wall to him. He reacts by pressing his fingers into the wall, and he lets the current flow through him.

  Jeff’s face registers surprise, then, a smile of remembrance floods through him. His tears are constant. “I never thought my drinking would ever end, but now…” he trails off, and turns to Shelly, looks her in the eye, “thanks for this, my memory is alive. I can see them!” Memories of faces appear before Jeff—voices float from the wall.