Saturday, 14 February 2015

This Is The Bloody Valentine Horror Hop!


Welcome to the Bloody Valentine Horror Hop!

The place where Valentine’s Day is celebrated with heartbreak, love gone wrong, romantic mayhem and tragedy, and where you find out what happens when the rose petals die, the candy melts, and lovers are looking for payback.

The bloggers that signed on are offering many delights in romantic misfortune, and you can check out the full list at the end of this post.
First up, though, is my contribution:

  • A creepy little story about lingering too long in a relationship
  • Some poetry — two poems written by me and another penned by special guest poet, Sean Theall
So read on…





Leaking Out


Drip, drip, drip.
The sound dances with the sunbeams streaming through the bedroom window. It’s a rhythm, a mind numbing vibration of liquid striking metal. Such a strange sound to hear in the morning, the drip, drip, drip of the tap.
Or is it the tap?
Maybe it isn’t a leak. Maybe it’s something else. Blood flowing through the veins of the house. Drip, drip, dripping someone’s life away. All oozing out over the sink. Or the floor.
I wonder why I thought that?

I smell coffee.
I’m in the kitchen.
How did I get here? I’m not sure. My memory plays tricks these days. Or maybe time is playing tricks. Either way, I’ve gotten used to it. Mostly. But the dripping noise is gone. Maybe it never was. Maybe it was in my head. Probably was. Too many things are in my head.
But I still smell coffee. And toast. He made breakfast. He always made breakfast when we were first married. Or maybe I did. No, that’s not true. He did. He was sweet in the beginning.
I don’t think he’s here anymore. I think he left. But I don’t know why. Why would he leave? None of this feels right. All I know is the house is empty. Shut up tight. It’s so quiet.
And there’s no breakfast on the table. Just dust.

We were happy.
I thought we were happy.
I must’ve been wrong.
Something must’ve been wrong.
Our happiness had cracks.
He didn’t love me.
Or he wouldn’t have… no, I won’t… he didn’t… couldn’t have… he left me?
No.
I left?

Drip, drip, drip.
I can hear it again. The wet noise.
It isn't coming from the kitchen. It sounds like it’s coming from the bathroom.
But it may not be coming from anywhere, except my head. It’s hard sometimes to know.
I’m standing outside the bathroom door now. But I was just in the kitchen. Wasn’t I? I think I was. Maybe not.
I don’t want to be here. Why? Why do I want to run? Something happened in there? I think it did. My hand is shaking.
I’m afraid.
But I can still hear the dripping.
I open the door.
The room is empty. A cheerless room.
I look down.
The stain’s still there. It’s been scrubbed and scrubbed, but it wouldn’t come out of the tile. Where the blood dripped into the widening pool of red. Bright, bright red. The stain’s more pink now.
It’s even kind of pretty. If I forget what made it.
Blood. Too much blood.
Painted on my memory. Scarlet and screaming, and all jumbled with questions. Whys and how’s. I don’t have answers. I’m not sure I want answers. I might not like them. I’d rather forget. I like it best when I don’t remember it at all. Those are the best days.
But that’s not today. Today’s not a day when I don’t remember.
Today I know what happened.
Someone died.
No, someone was murdered.
I remember.
My husband murdered me.




~*~

Though I Be A Fool…

Though I be a fool, I shall weep
for you, and what will never stay,
my fleeting, broken love so cheap.
Though I be a fool, I shall weep.
And I mourn, my grief wide and deep,
as the sun dims, and clouds grow grey.
Though I be a fool, I shall weep
for you, and what will never stay.



~*~

Murmur’s Echo

A fume of glacial breath
beside you,
in the graveyard

Ephemeral vapors wafting,
far adrift
across the moonlight

Prickles teasing at your ear,
spinal shivers
One voice whispering

Stay with me…
Stay with me…

For Eternity



~*~

And Now For Our Guest Poet...


The Last Commitment

Here my lovely let us have one last meal.
one more chance to be together and
tell you how I feel.
Upon the table in a vase
is a half-life rose, this meeting
is to see if we still have a pulse
and where our future goes.
Steak or chicken your personal
choice. recite your order in
that sweet tiny voice.
Trying to get a emotional reading
from your laugh and smile.
taking my emotions placing
them on a railroad track
with a train coming, and
still expect love back.
All you really want is my
blood and my heart, do away
with my husk a brand new start.
Not to mention the green
my leather case. will this lunch
end in death by broken vase?
I would like to attempt to
beat you to the punch, wanted
to see what we could salvage
this was the idea behind this
lunch.
It appears we must take on
different roles. I as the mongoose
and you as the snake there is only
so much of that hidden evil smile
I can take. dancing around the
truth maybe realizing too late
we can't live under the same
roof.
One final gesture from me
silently holding my breath.
handing you a glass of red wine
nervously waiting for you to
take sip and end our jointed
time.
Feeling lightheaded or woozy
my angel? let me put you to
bed. sleep off your hangover
and fall quickly to your death.
The authorities will not suspect
a thing. all they will see is
you sleeping soundly in bed.
only I will know the truth,
you are finally gone;
stone cold dead.

Copyright 2011
Sean C. Theall


~*~


About the Hop, and the Blogger List




We also had a last minute entry not on the official list, but well worth the read:


16 comments:

Angela Yuriko Smith said...

Lovely and chilling... as always, your writing rewards with sweet bitterness that lingers long after the reading eye closes.

A. F. Stewart said...

Thanks, Angela.

Sheila Deeth said...

Cool! I really enjoyed how that story pulled me in... knowing where it must be going, and compelled to follow it there.

A. F. Stewart said...

Glad you enjoyed it, Sheila.

James Priest said...

I'm not sure all the posters could read my comment to A.F., so here it is again: Just checking a map of Nova Scotia (New Scotland), you are way far east and north. You once reviewed the second book of my KIRINS trilogy, "The Flight of the Ain," titling your review, "The Charming Saga Resumes: A review of Kirins: The Flight of the Ain."
Turns out that the sea-going birds (gannets) that my small characters borrow to cross the Atlantic to ride on to get to England are from the rocky, craggy eastern-most shorelines of eastern Canada and the U.S. So the birds must have originated from very near your home. Good karma on a Bloody Valentine Hop day….Grrr.

A. F. Stewart said...

Thanks for sharing, James, and stopping by.

Ash Krafton | @ashkrafton said...

Great work! Love"Though I be a Fool..." Lovely imagery and I really dig the form. Is that a set form or did the poem dictate the rhyme scheme?

Jennifer Reynolds said...

Wow, that was emotionally jarring. I love it. :)

A. F. Stewart said...

Ash, Though I be a Fool is written in a poetic form, a triolet, with a set rhyme scheme. You can check out the form here: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/triolet.html

A. F. Stewart said...

Thanks, Jennifer.

DarcNina said...

Deliciously chilling... I really enjoyed the story, and the poems that followed. Excellent stuff!

A. F. Stewart said...

Thanks, Nina, glad you could pop in

Jeanette Andriulli said...

Chilling pieces, they're the kind that will certainly stick with you.

A. F. Stewart said...

Thanks, Jeanette.

timetravel said...

I finally got around to reading your story...lol - I figured it out from the drip drip...but good one! Funny how we both thought of the dead person - doing the "thinking"! Gives murder a whole new twist!

A. F. Stewart said...

You know me, always reanimating the dead.

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