The Sorrows, page 31
He was also very bright. When Claire told him one afternoon she thought they should get Indian food, the boy said, “Not necessarily.” He used words like that all the time—precisely, impressive, technology, and her personal favorite, recuperate. He called her by her first name, and that was fine by her. She didn’t want to force the issue, and so far the casual approach seemed to be working. He insisted that she read to him before naps—not before bed, though. That was Ben’s job.
Joshua slept with his dad, and Ben’s mother slept on a futon in the guest bedroom. Claire stayed on the couch.
Two months went by.
With some coaxing from Claire and Joshua, Ben finally agreed one day to go with them looking for houses. He was self-conscious about his face, which was still heavily bandaged from a series of surgeries, but when Claire changed his bandages she couldn’t believe how much he was healing.
He called himself the Elephant Man. Claire said Frankenstein’s monster was more like it, and he told her, when the doctor cleared him to engage in adult activities, he’d show her Frankenstein’s monster.
They’d looked at three houses with the realtor, all of them in Sonoma County, when Ben said he didn’t feel very well.
“One more,” Joshua suggested, and of course Ben said yes.
The fourth house was a stucco ranch on three acres. It had been on the market a long time because its kitchen and bathrooms were sorely in need of updating, but it was on a big lot and the land behind it was preserved by the county and would never be developed.
Watching Joshua in the backyard, running around and trying to catch butterflies, Ben said, “We should probably put an offer on this place, huh?”
Her heart in her throat, Claire said, “We?”
He put an arm around her. “I suppose we should also get married to make the thing respectable.”
She said, “I suppose,” and they were engaged.
Two months later they were living out of boxes, but they were moved in, and the wedding date was set for the following spring. For a time they slept in separate beds, Ben not wanting to leave Joshua for even a moment. Eventually, Joshua talked Ben into letting Claire sleep with them. When Joshua napped, Claire and Ben spread a blanket in the yard and made love.
The movie was delayed, of course, but after Ben and Claire finally finished the score the producers were ecstatic about it, and a release date was set for the summer.
The night before Halloween they made a jack-o’-lantern and baked the seeds. Ben and Claire agreed they tasted like fingernails, but Joshua wolfed down a pile of them. When Ben put the candle in the carved-out pumpkin, Joshua nestled into Claire’s side, his brown eyes huge.
“Don’t you like it?” Ben asked.
Slowly, Joshua shook his head. “It’s scary.”
Ben took it to the backyard and smashed it with a baseball bat.
Claire could hear them in the backyard now. She was cleaning the pumpkin slop off the counter and enjoying the smell of the apple-spice candle Ben had bought her. She touched the growing swell of her belly, closed her eyes and listened to their voices.
That night Ben asked her something just before he turned off the lights.
Before answering, she glanced at the boy lying between them to make sure he was asleep. When she was, she said, “Of course I still think about what happened.”
He frowned.
“Go ahead,” she told him.
He said, “Do you think that…” He swallowed, took a deep breath. “Do you think, if it’s still alive…could it ever leave the island?”
Claire felt a pressure in her chest. She wondered the same thing every night, but this was the first time either of them had spoken of the possibility. She had no idea if the beast was really dead. Or if it was alive, whether it could leave the island. She did know she would jump at shadows for a long time. Maybe the rest of her life.
But she said, “I don’t think so.”
He watched her and she saw in his eyes the same need she had for reassurance.
Claire said, “Whatever that thing was, I believe it was part of the island. If it somehow survived what happened, I think it went home.”
“I think of it all the time,” Ben said. “I picture it walking alone through the woods…moving through the castle at night…waiting.”
She put a hand on his cheek. The scars were healing well. He looked very much the same as he had the night they’d met. Only now the sadness was gone, the haunted eyes. He had his son back, and he smiled a great deal. She hoped she had something to do with that too.
She said, “I don’t know if it’s alive, but I know we’ll never see it again. We’re safe now.” She leaned over the sleeping boy and kissed Ben on the mouth. Lying back she said, “I know we’re safe.”
“All right,” he said. He reached back, switched off the light.
In the darkness, he said, “Love you.”
She said, “Love you too,” and closed her eyes.
Soon, his breathing became slower, steadier. Claire tried to sleep a long time, but a dozen thoughts kept her awake. She worried Joshua might someday resent her the way Kayla had resented Ben. She hoped the boy would come to love her like a mother. She hoped she would be a good wife. She hoped House of Skin would be a success and that people would love their music.
Claire rolled over and stared out the window. The moon was full and bright. She watched it and gently massaged her belly.
And prayed the baby in her womb was Ben’s.
About the Author
Jonathan Janz grew up between a dark forest and a graveyard. In a way, that explains everything. His first two novels will be published by Samhain Horror (The Sorrows in 2011, House of Skin in 2012). He has also written two novellas (Old Order and Witching Hour Theatre) and several short stories. His primary interests are his wonderful wife and his three amazing children, and though he realizes that every author’s wife and children are wonderful and amazing, in this case the cliché happens to be true. For more information about Jonathan, please visit www.jonathanjanz.com.
Look for these titles by Jonathan Janz
Coming Soon:
House of Skin
All it needs to live again is fresh blood.
House of Skin
© 2012 Jonathan Janz
Myles Carver is dead. But his estate, Watermere, lives on, waiting for a new Carver to move in. Myles’s wife, Annabel, is dead too, but she is also waiting, lying in her grave in the woods. For nearly half a century she was responsible for a nightmarish reign of terror, and she’s not prepared to stop now. She is hungry to live again…and her unsuspecting nephew, Paul, will be the key.
Julia Merrow has a secret almost as dark as Watermere’s. But when she and Paul fall in love they think their problems might be over. How can they know what Fate—and Annabel—have in store for them? Who could imagine that what was once a moldering corpse in a forest grave is growing stronger every day, eager to take her rightful place amongst the horrors of Watermere?
Enjoy the following excerpt for House of Skin:
As they drove away, Ted marveled at how easy it had been. From the moment they opened the front door to the moment they climbed back in the Beamer her eyes had glimmered with something approaching ecstasy. For someone who claimed to have only been an occasional visitor to the Carver House, she knew her way around pretty damn well.
In the house he got a chance to see what a stunner she was. Girl looked like a Playboy model done up to look like a professor or a lawyer. Like those hot young Hollywood actresses. You could try to make them look smart and sophisticated, but it never quite took. No matter how hard the wardrobe guys tried, their sexiness rubbed through.
At first she’d been reserved, making sure she didn’t let on she might be enjoying herself. Looking back on it, there’d even been moments he suspected the old house might be conjuring bad memories for her. When they passed the basement door, for instance, she’d shivered and gone a sickly olive color.
But her transformation upon entering the ballroom was dramatic. She had danced, literally danced, across the ballroom floor, and though he felt like a schmuck, he let her grab his hands and lead him around in a kind of awkward waltz.
Driving away, he felt very good about his chances. Any girl who got carried away that easy was a prime candidate for a one-nighter. He thought of the little girly way she’d acted. She’d laughed and danced with him to the accompaniment of an unseen orchestra, and if that wasn’t worth a screw he didn’t know what was.
He remembered the way she looked climbing the front porch steps: big tits, tight little ass, and a set of legs that went on and on. She had high cheekbones like an Indian or something, and her skin was dark like that, too.
The eyes bothered him though he couldn’t pinpoint why. They were a nice shade of green, very light, and they were always considering something or measuring you and it made him wonder how long she’d lived alone out here in the boonies without someone to lay the pipe to her now and then.
As they rolled into her drive, she thanked him for the ride and made to get out of the car. Panicking, he stopped her by asking if he could use her bathroom. She said of course, he didn’t have to rush off. She had some iced tea, would he like some? Sure, he said, with lots and lots of sugar. She didn’t say anything to that, but man, she didn’t have to. A girl invited you in for iced tea—iced tea of all things!—the work was over. She wanted him and he couldn’t wait to get her clothes off, take a look at that killer body.
Inside, he couldn’t believe the barrenness of her house. The only furniture in the living room was a rocking chair, a baby grand piano, a DVD player, and an old-fashioned console television. The baby grand was adorned with a lamp and a bust of William Shakespeare.
She’d told him where the restroom was and as he stood there taking a leak he heard the piano start to play. He finished and as he checked his hair in the mirror, he twisted on the faucet in case she was listening to see if he washed his hands.
When he came out, the mood in the living room was different. It might have been the light from the piano lamp shining on Julia’s smooth neck; it might have been the song she was playing. But something about the scene before him turned him on in a way he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t just the tingling in his pants, though there was that. This was something greater, something that excited his imagination as well as his dick. Ted glided toward her, the music invigorating his steps. Her long fingers caressed the keys and the song made him put out his hands and slide his fingertips along her bare arms, over her breasts, and then she was standing and hugging herself.
“What are you doing?” she shouted.
Shocked at her overreaction, he replied louder than he’d intended, “Why don’t you relax?”
“What makes you think you can touch me?”
Her eyes wide with disbelief.
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“What made you think that?”
And now, standing here in front of her accusing stare and open mouth, he couldn’t remember why he’d thought it would be a good idea to touch her tits.
“I guess it was the song,” was the only thing he could think to say.
“The song?”
“Yeah. The song. I heard it when I was in the bathroom. It was very pretty.”
What the hell was he saying?
If he left now he’d still have plenty of time at the bars. Linda didn’t expect him home until midnight. He’d told her Carver’s nephew would want to talk about the estate, that he’d have to humor the guy and not seem rude. Share a couple beers with the lucky bastard to celebrate his inheritance.
“You thought my playing was pretty?” she asked.
Was she buying it?
“Sure. That’s why I touched you.”
And miracle of miracles, she was moved by his line of bullshit. She was actually tilting her head and allowing him to move in to give her a conciliatory hug.
“I usually don’t play for people,” she explained into his shoulder.
“I’m glad you played for me.”
“Me too,” she said, nodding over at a pewter stein on the bookshelf. “Your tea’s over there.”
Ted thanked her, but he had no intention of letting go of her, of drinking out of that heavy stein. What the hell was she, a Viking?
Her firm breasts pushed against him. Ted slowly rubbed her back. If he was going to do this, now was the time. He pulled away, leaned in and kissed her. At first she was wooden, unsure of what to do. Soon though she was moving her tongue with his and from her trembling he guessed it had been awhile since she’d kissed a man. A shame, he thought. A pretty girl like this, probably in her late twenties. How had she managed to remain single?
Now he was letting his hands roam over her body, under the rim of her shirt where he felt how curvy and muscular her back was. Over her hard round ass. He pushed his crotch into hers and she was just the right height for him, probably about five-ten or eleven. Her hands were probing also. They felt his neck and ran along his jaw and onto his shoulders, which was good because they were broad and women always liked them. Their kissing grew feverish and wet and now her hands were on his sides over his sports coat pockets and he felt her pause, tensing, and he realized his mistake and by the time he moved to push her hand away she’d already broken from him and retreated.
“Julia…”
“What’s in your coat pocket?”
“It’s just a ring my father gave me.”
“Then why is it in your pocket?”
“I don’t know.” He fought the blush that burned at his throat. He knew it would condemn him, but it was already climbing up his neck. “I get tired of wearing it, I guess.”
“Show it to me,” she said and held out her hand. There was a sharp edge to her voice he didn’t like.
“Why should I produce it like it’s a piece of fucking evidence?”
“Why should you worry about showing me the ring if it isn’t a wedding band?” Hand out, she took a step toward him.
“Because it’s none of your business,” he replied. Where did she get off interrogating him?
She closed her eyes. “Goodbye, Ted.”
“Huh?”
She turned to the piano. “You heard me.”
“Yeah, I heard you,” he said, approaching. “Bitch.”
“What did you say to me?”
“You heard me,” he said, drawing closer. A hateful grin twisted his lips.
Her eyes glittered with latent tears. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Not a thing, honey. The problem’s on your side.” He bit his lower lip, caressed her shoulders with his fingertips. “Built like you are and a fucking prig. Goddamned tragic.”
She took a backward step. “I’m a prig because I won’t sleep with a man I just met?”
He snickered darkly, enjoying himself now. “No, you’re a prig because you invited me here under false pretenses. That makes you a cocktease, too.”
He saw her eyes filling with tears, her mouth working.
He stepped closer, her back near the bookcase. “Fucking waste of time,” he said, driving it in farther. “You’re a shitty piano player, too, but hey, at least you’re hot.”
“Get away from me,” she said in a low voice.
He clamped her shoulders, drew her roughly toward him, the bitch. Show her who’s boss. “C’mon, sweetie, let’s be friends.”
He didn’t see the slap coming. It caught him hard, fuck, right on the ear.
He belted her with the back of his hand, sent her staggering into the bookcase. An empty candleholder tipped and plummeted to the floor. Her hands were on a shelf about waist high, and at first he thought she was steadying herself, that he’d dizzied her when he gave her that smack.
Then he saw her reach for the stein of iced tea. She lifted it and for a crazy moment he thought she was going to make a toast, but it continued to rise, a foot above her shoulder now. He noticed there was a face on it, William Shakespeare. Big surprise, he thought.
He asked, “What are you doing with that?”
She took a step forward, and he realized she was taller than he’d thought. He was about to comment on this when the hand swept toward him and slammed the bottom of the stein against his face.
The life of a vampire’s live-in food supply is never long.
Donor
© 2011 Elena Hearty
Richard is a modern vampire who likes to eat in. That's why he always keeps a fresh victim trapped in his home. All of his captives eventually die; Lenore hopes to be the first to escape.
Life at Richard's is short but never dull. Not with Richard's vampire friend, Paul, constantly popping in. Paul loves toying with Richard's victims before they die. But is Paul getting too attached to his plaything? His human servant, Charles, certainly thinks so. Charles is next in line to be turned and wants to eliminate the competition.
If Charles's schemes don't kill Lenore, then Richard's hunger surely will. Lenore has a plan to survive, but someone will have to die in her place. She now has something terrible in common with her captor: she must kill in order to live.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Donor:
Lenore stood at the entrance to apartment B14 as her host fumbled with the keys. All other doors along the basement hall appeared to have been boarded up or hastily filled with cement. A single lighting fixture flickered above, causing Lenore‘s shadow to dance against the wall. It looked like it was running.
“Don't get many trick-or-treaters, huh?” she asked, eying three deadbolts on the door.
