Fiction Friday: [Five Little Words]

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It was there when I arrived home early from work. A letter. No envelope. Just a single, tri-folded sheet tucked into our door jamb. Five words. Typed.

You’re dating a serial killer.

A deep tingling of unease crawled along my skin, making its way over a rocky landscape formed by tensed muscles. Despite the empty hallway, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. The keys jangled loudly in my quivering hand as I aimed for the keyhole.

Once inside, I fell against the door, clutching the letter to my chest and crumpling it in my clammy hand. It took a while, but I forced myself to slow my breathing. To ease the deafening thump in my chest.

Memories with Thomas flooded my mind. Laughing on our first date as we walked along the Hudson River. Realizing my true feelings for him as we danced during our first New Year’s Eve together. How at the stroke of midnight, he told me he loved me before I could say a word. And how just the other day, I cried tears of joy when I found a ring-sized velvet box in his underwear drawer.

Thomas was the kindest person I’d ever met. Flaws and all, he loved me more than I knew anyone ever could. I saw it every time he looked at me. There was no room in his heart for even the tiniest hint of malice. And that was the truest truth I knew.

He would be home soon. A decision had to be made. And it wasn’t a difficult one. I tore the letter again and again until it rained down into the trash like confetti.

The letter was gone, but I knew it wouldn’t be the end of it. There would be more. Unless, of course, I found the person attempting to destroy our relationship.

It shouldn’t be too hard. Leaving it in the door was a sloppy move. A wiser tattletale would have ensured that Thomas got the letter directly. But, lucky for me they didn’t. 

Fiction Friday: [Galloway House Pt. 3]

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[If you need to catch up on previous installments of Galloway House, you can click here to read Part One or here to read Part Two]

Kate Winstead’s shoulders rubbed against the intricately carved wooden door as she tried to steady her breathing. It wasn’t just the ominous weather or the flash of lightning that had struck too closely as she exited the car that ignited the booming in her chest. She couldn’t quite shake the creepy stares of the locals as she drove into town. The way they stood almost catatonic, every eye piercing through the comfort and security of her tinted windows, sent an uneasiness creeping over her as wholly as the approaching clouds darkened the sky.

As she listened to the rain pattering against the roof outside, and the house sighing and groaning like a bored, petulant child inside, Kate regretted having to make the trip alone. Her husband had offered to accompany her, but she convinced him it would be best not to use up any more sick days. The truth was that he wasn’t a Galloway. Allowing him to come would only open the door to questions she couldn’t answer.

 A mechanical buzzing drew her attention and she followed it to one of the many automatic light timers spread throughout the house. With each passing second, the cloud cover dipped the sky into deeper shades of gray. The house would be cloaked in darkness before the timers had a chance to do their job. Clicking on the lights, Kate took in the sheet-covered furnishings and was surprised at how much she remembered even though she hadn’t been within Townsley’s borders since she was five.  

She walked over to the rocking chair in the sitting room and pulled the sheet, sending sparkles of dust into the air. Her eyes drifted across the ivy leaves carved into its curved back and traveling down along the arms. A burgundy pillow with an elaborately crossstitched “G” was still perched on the seat. Kate’s mind flooded with memories of sitting on her grandmother’s lap, listening to tales about their family. A memory that would make most nostalgic made the hairs on the back of her neck bristle.

Kate questioned again whether she should have come. Whether any of this was even necessary. What if she was acting on the whim of a family tradition born from unwell minds? On tales passed down and told so often they morphed into an undisputable truth? With every mile traveled to Townsley, the more she had believed that to be the case. But what if she was wrong? The consequences were too great to find out, so it wasn’t a chance she could take. She hadn't wanted the responsibility, but Kate was the last living Galloway and she had a job to do.

READ PART 4 HERE.

Fiction Friday [Landline]

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My eyes shot open and I was greeted with darkness. A thick, coal murkiness meant only to keep one cradled in the bosom of sleep. It was the harsh bleat of the landline begging for attention, over and over, that woke me. Oval-ish and corded, it sat on the nightstand next to Ben’s side of the bed. In theory the placement was perfect, since his parents were the only ones to ever use the number.

The uninterrupted, meditative rise and fall of the lump next to me, fully illustrated the flaw in the plan. I reached over and patted his shoulder with all of the middle of the night strength I could muster.

“Ben. Phone.”

As I gathered the energy to tap him again, the phone stopped ringing. Relieved, I melted into the comforting silence and grew hypnotized by Ben’s steady breathing. Despite my irritation with his deep sleep, I was appreciative for the rare moment of actually sharing a bed with my husband. Since he started his residency at St. Luke’s, these moments were few and far between.

The shrill tone of the antiquated telephone cut through the silence with the ease of a butter knife cutting an overcooked steak. I let loose a growl as my fists bounced weakly against the mattress.

Expecting Ben to answer at this point was only an exercise in frustration, and leaving it to ring would only lead to another call, so I took a deep breath and rose to my elbows. Reaching over Ben, I patted blindly for the phone.

“Hello?” I said, making sure my voice was extra groggy in hopes that this time the in-laws would remember to mind the time difference.

“Hey, honey. Sorry to wake you but I forgot what you needed me to pick up on the way home.”

Ben’s words fell away as a hot wave of panic crept and weaved its way through every molecule in my body. Fear choked at my vocal chords and I couldn’t respond. My brain, still stuck in the sludge of sleep, fought to understand.

“Nina?” Ben’s voice echoed through the receiver clutched to my ear. “Did you hear me?”

His question was answered by the scream of terror that ripped from my throat as the lump slowly turned toward me.   

Fiction Friday: [The Pursuit of Love]

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[It's October...what better time to get a little creepy! Enjoy!]

Sarah’s skin was cold as ice. And it wasn’t from the chilled air cutting straight through her thin silk dress.

When he picked her up for their date it was easy to see she wanted to look perfect for him. He had witnessed her going on one failed date after another, all the while gathering information to craft each step in his plan to win her over. To make her feel special. To make her his.

Forever.

Now her unblinking gaze stretched toward the sky and her parted lips passed no air between them. The large swath of purples and pinks circling her neck, a harsh reminder that blood had once flowed through her veins. Her stillness sent a surge of electricity through his body. A satisfaction in knowing that her last happy memory was provided by him.

He posed her—hands clasped behind her head, legs crossed at the ankles—so he could lie next to her with each visit. Share with her the ins and outs of his day. He knew it couldn’t last. That their relationship would eventually end, so he relished in every second he had with her.

In a couple of days, three teenagers would stumble upon her pale white body nestled amongst the warm tones of the fall foliage. For the teens the scars of what they saw would take years to heal.

For him, healing would begin only in the pursuit of his next true love.

Fiction Friday: [The Night]

Remy opened her eyes and was as surprised as she was relieved that no one was standing over her.

The excitement of moving into her own place had waned over the past couple of weeks. Her nightly routine grew to consist of jumping at every little sound and feeling as though she were being watched.

Her mom insisted that she just wasn’t used to being alone. There was truth to that considering she grew up with three sisters and had roommates all through college.

Her best friend went further comparing her to an amputee—her family and roommates were her phantom limbs.

As she lay in bed Remy desperately wanted to believe they were right. That she was being paranoid and just needed to adjust to the newness of it all.

Keep your eyes closed and breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.

As her eyelids kissed, she committed herself to focusing on her breathing. Deep inhales and exhales softened her muscles and slowed her heartbeat. Her mind quieted and grew less muddled.

It was working.

Her body was enveloped in a lightness that made her feel as if she were floating. Her fearful thoughts became too weak to push through her drowsiness. She was on a cloud drifting blissfully toward sleep.

tsch…tsch…tsch…

A faint scraping sound overhead instinctively threw her into panic mode and her eyes flew open before she could stop herself.

Goosebumps riddled her body as the hairs stood on end. Her breathing grew shallow and her heart pounded so violently against her rib cage that the pulse radiated all the way down to her toes. The pulsing rushed blood to her ears drowning her in white noise.

Frozen in terror, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Shafts of light rained down from two small holes in the ceiling.

From the attic.

She felt a tear escape her eye and roll down her cheek toward the pillow as the first hole disappeared.

It wasn’t until the second hole darkened that she finally screamed.