Dearest Clementine: Dark and Romantic Monstrous Tales (Letters Book 1)

by Candace Robinson

  Quietly, she tiptoed down the hall, coming to a stop at Felisha’s door. She opened it ever so slowly, her cousin’s breaths echoing throughout the room. Gripping the knife, Frankie edged forward until she was standing in the dark, directly above her cousin’s bed. Felisha’s body was barely lit up by the moonlight, but Frankie could see her head tilted to the side, red hair framing her pillow, exposing her throat.

  Frankie’s hand quaked, trying to gather her strength, and she clenched the knife harder.

  Gordon brushed Frankie’s hair aside and whispered in her ear. “You really don’t have to do it.”

  It was as if he was attempting to stop her from being the monster that he thought he was. But if anything, her cousin was the only monster she truly knew. “I do.”

  “Do you want me to hold your hand again, as we did with the lock?” He sucked on the edge of his lip as if the thought enticed him. It thrilled her maybe a bit too much.

  “Just this once,” she murmured.

  His hand brushed hers and a rustle of butterflies swarmed in her stomach. Together, they leaned forward and pressed the cool metal against her cousin’s throat. Felisha’s eyes fluttered open, and Frankie slammed her other hand around her cousin’s mouth before a scream could escape. A minor squeak found its way out, and Frankie and Gordon slashed a line on Felisha’s skin.

  Warm blood met Frankie’s hand and she made a twin line at the vein on the other side. With a firm hand, she pressed harder on her cousin’s mouth until Felisha’s body no longer stirred.

  Frankie stared at the blood on her palm, bringing it to her nostrils and taking a long whiff. “Have you ever tasted it?”

  “I have,” he drawled.

  Despite worrying thoughts trying to surface, she pushed them down and brought her hand to her lips, licking the crimson. It tasted salty and full of something else she couldn’t name, yet satisfying. Gordon watched her but didn’t move, so she held out her hand to him.

  “You’re a bad influence, you know that?” he murmured. Yet he seemed unable to control himself as he swept his warm tongue against the center of her palm.

  Perhaps the wickedness in her had always been there, but hidden deep inside. Perhaps she had only been good for her sisters, and now that they were gone, she could be her true self.

  Without a word, as if she hadn’t just murdered her cousin, who deserved it after what she’d done, Frankie tiptoed back into her room, more silent than any ghost ever could.

  “What are you going to tell your aunt in the morning?” Gordon asked after shutting her door.

  “That I killed her.” She didn’t have an issue confessing to her aunt why she’d killed Felisha. Her cousin deserved it.

  “You’re braver than I ever was.” Gordon was wrong. Maybe he believed himself a coward, but he wasn’t. He’d been by her side this entire time.

  Her body felt in need of a bath. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”

  Gordon nodded, their eyes staying locked before he moved his away first.

  She had done firsts tonight, and she wanted another first before things came to a close and her aunt shipped her off to a mental institution. But Frankie might die from the poisoning first.

  Inside the bathroom, she hurried and washed away the odors of sweat and sickness from her body.

  After finishing up and dressing in her nightgown, she opened the door. “Gordon? Could you come here for a moment?”

  He glanced up from the journal he was writing in and set it aside to come to her. “Yes?”

  “When was the last time you were with a woman?” When she asked him the question, she stared at the floor.

  “My fiancée. Why?” His tone was almost curious.

  “There weren’t any others? Others you had killed?” She’d often wondered over the weeks if he’d seduced women before murdering them.

  “No.” He shook his head. “It was never like that.” Something in his answer made her feel relieved.

  Advancing forward, she placed her hand on his chest. The breath in his throat hitched and his lips stayed parted.

  “Is it true? What Wendy said?” Frankie asked. “Do you like me?”

  Gordon’s blue eyes met hers, his expression warm as he softly said, “More than any woman I’ve ever known. For the past year, your gentleness, your kind words to your sisters, your strength … also your determination. It all drew me in.”

  Determination with following through with a murder, she thought.

  “I had wished a thousand times that you would be able to see me in that attic, if only for moments, but I would never wish for you to suffer like this.”

  Leaning forward, she let her lips lightly brush his and felt the beauty of his words. Gordon’s hands moved around her waist and pulled her closer, but he didn’t continue the kiss. Instead, he saved that for her to initiate again, it seemed. So she did.

  Her lips caressed his as her hands went to the silver buttons of his shirt. She slid it off his shoulders and lowered her hands to the button of his pants. Not a single word left his mouth—he only kissed her more thoroughly until he was naked and every inch as beautiful as she’d imagined.

  “Gordon, I want you to make me feel like a woman tonight.” She craved for him to be her first, and she knew he would be her last.

  In answer, his hands went to the sides of her nightgown and lifted it over her head. She wore nothing underneath, and a groan, almost feral, escaped his throat. Gordon’s fingers caressed and flicked at her nipples, followed by his hands drifting down her stomach and in between her legs.

  Her eyes fluttered at the feeling of it all. He turned them both around, and together they fell to the bed.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his hand at her temple.

  “More than anything.”

  Slowly, he pushed inside of her, and she gasped in pain. He paused, and she pulled at his buttocks, letting him know it was all right to continue. After she felt settled and the pain withered away, he thrust inside her. As he moved, she thought about him, and she thought about how easy it was to kill her cousin, the blood, how she would want to do more, do more with him. With each motion between them, Frankie kissed him harder, so hard that if he wasn’t a ghost he would have probably been bleeding. She didn’t stop because she knew how much he was enjoying it, as was she. Then she cried out from the intense pleasure that erupted, one she never wanted to fade away.

  He stayed inside her and pressed his forehead in between the crook of her neck, giving her a soft kiss. And she wished that their life could have been different.

  In the morning, a loud sound woke Frankie. She snapped her eyes open, noticing it was the door that had flown open. Her aunt stood there with her hair disheveled.

  “What have you done?” Aunt Gemma shouted.

  It took a moment for Frankie’s eyes to adjust to the light in the room.

  Her aunt scanned Frankie up and down. “Where are your clothes, you little heathen?”

  Frankie stared down at herself, seeing she was still naked from the night before, spots of blood staining the sheets. Her mouth fell open and she looked to her right, finding Gordon not there. She scrambled to grab her gown from the side of the bed and tossed it on.

  Where is he?

  “You killed her!” Aunt Gemma ground out, her face a splotchy red, her eyes bulging.

  “Felisha was poisoning me!” Her aunt would understand once she knew the truth about Felisha.

  “And you”—Gemma pointed harshly at Frankie—“poisoned your sisters.”

  “Because she filled the spices up with poison!” Frankie’s body stilled and she stared hard at her aunt. Something sour was starting to stir in her. “Wait, you knew about it?”

  “I wasn’t a part of it.”

  “But you knew about it?” Frankie spat, “And didn’t stop it?”

  “She didn’t want any of you in the will.” Anger filled Frankie when she thought about how fragile Wendy had become, how Julia cried every day, how Anna became incredibly de
pressed. Grabbing the knife from the bedside that she’d used the night before, Frankie lunged at her aunt. The blade almost made contact with her aunt’s shoulder, but Gemma moved to the side and Frankie tripped, crashing into the wall. Her heart was furious.

  Gemma barreled forward, knocking the knife from Frankie’s hand. Her aunt plucked it up, and Frankie felt a pain so thick she couldn’t think as the blade crashed into her shoulder.

  Frankie pulled out the knife right as her aunt turned to go out the door. With adrenaline flowing through her, she jumped to her feet and ran for her aunt. Before her aunt could make it down the hall, Frankie stabbed Gemma in between the shoulder blades and yanked the knife out. Her aunt let out a gasp and a low croak. Then Frankie flipped her aunt around and pierced down from the left to get the blade directly into her heart, if Gemma even had one at all.

  Her aunt slumped to the floor, the thump quaking through the house. Frantically, Frankie searched around for Gordon. Where is he?

  The food. She hadn’t eaten for a while and then had thrown up the dinner from the day before. If she was away from the brink of death then she wouldn’t be able to see him. Oh no…

  Frankie thought about her sisters who were all dead. She’d surely be put to death for the murder of her cousin and aunt, regardless of what they’d done. A life here now wouldn’t be much of one at all—she wanted the alternative. A wild adventure, filled with a new kind of thrill. And—she wanted Gordon.

  Her bare feet stomped against the wooden floor as she ran out the door and headed downstairs. She rushed to the kitchen and ripped open the cabinet, knocking jars out of the way until she found the one with the spices. Opening the lid, she pushed her fingers inside. For a brief moment she hesitated and wondered if she should do it or not—she knew what she wanted.

  Frankie ate and ate the tiny pieces of death, the spices feeling dry and bitter as they sailed down her throat. With a glass she filled with water, she swallowed as much as she could. And then waited, and waited, and waited until she thought nothing would happen.

  Tired, she pressed her hands against the counter and took deep breath after deep breath. Her head moved side to side and her body crashed to the floor. Everything around her started to become doubled, and tripled, an image sliding in front of her—four Gordons. No, wait, only one. With purple and blue flowers in his hand, he knelt beside her, worried. “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “I wanted—”

  Something shook Frankie as if an earthquake was rupturing. She opened her eyelids, meeting Gordon’s red-rimmed, blue irises. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he whispered.

  “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you.” The thought was daunting, but there he was now.

  He helped her sit up and pressed a hand to her cheek. “What was it that you wanted before you died?”

  “I wanted to see you again—that’s why I did it.”

  A small smile crossed his face. “I’m too bad, and you’re too good.”

  Frankie thought about what happened the day before, what had happened that morning—she wasn’t anywhere near good. “You’re saying that after last night?”

  “No, Frankie,” Gordon started, “it was only because of what they had done to you. Revenge makes us do heinous things.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Revenge was why she had done it, but the fact was that she liked doing it more than she should have. The taste of blood in her mouth still lingered.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when your aunt came in—I should have known there was a possibility that she could have been in on it, too. I had gone to get you flowers.” Gordon lifted the purple and blue orchids from the floor and handed them to her.

  “Flowers?” she asked, taking the beautiful batch and inhaling the lovely scent.

  “Yes…” Was he blushing?

  “You may think your heart is bad, but it’s good at the same time, too.”

  “I don’t know about that, but if you say so.” He smiled. “What do you want to do now?”

  “We’re leaving this house forever.” She wouldn’t want to stay there any longer—it was only a reminder of all of the senseless torment and immeasurable suffering that her aunt and cousin had caused to Frankie and her sisters “And if our devilish urges ever prove too strong, I’m sure we can find those who deserve to die for their crimes.”

  Gordon’s lips connected with hers, and she knew with her whole heart that sometimes happily ever afters do come true.

  Dearest Clementine,

  I had you! I had you in my arms, but Bogdi used a power that I didn’t know existed. Your fingertips lingered on mine, holding on as tight as you could, before they slipped away. My fiend of a heart stopped beating for moments and when I opened my eyes, you were gone once more. In the distance, I could hear you shouting my name over and over, but I couldn’t get my body to move. When it finally did, you and Bogdi had vanished. But, my dear, sweet love, you left me a gift again, did you not? You sneaky little minx. A tooth! I think I may know where to go next. Let us both hope that wishes truly can turn into reality. This story reminds me a bit of us, does it not?

  Always Yours,

  Dorin

  Laughter is Always Better

  2002

  Polli blasted punk music in her car so loud that her eardrums were dancing, ridding herself of the day. The small video store she worked at had basically closed up shop the month before. The porn videos in the back did their duty, but the regular rentals weren’t up to par. Customers would rather go to the Blockbuster or Hollywood Video down the street.

  Job hunting had been a bitch and nothing had popped up aside from a seasonal position at a Halloween haunted house. Eventually, she’d find something else, but this would have to make do for now. It would only be for a month and a half, but she needed the cash for college because her parents weren’t paying for it. She’d already missed the first semester. Fuck, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to blow her money on it either. Her whole family had gone and were barely making ends meet as it was, and they still had loans up the asshole.

  Pulling the car to a stop in front of the large metal fence, Polli shut down her engine and listened to the rest of the fast-paced song, while tapping her fingers against her thighs.

  This particular haunted house event was usually held on the other side of town, however, that building had been bought out and turned into a strip mall filled with shitty store after shitty store. Was this what the world was becoming? Chain stores? Nail salons? Cash Advance places? Fuck. That.

  Finally she pulled out her keys and threw them into her small leopard purse. The black 1991 Bronco was parked a few spaces down—she’d be working with Evan Dunivan today. There had already been too many years of her dealing with enough of his bullshit at school since Kindergarten. The fucker could never miss a year without being in one of her classes. Right before she graduated, he’d been in three. But even after graduation, here he was.

  Even if he was a prick, she liked the Deftones hoodie that he always wore and the way his Dickies sagged, showing a hint of his plaid boxers. She shoved those thoughts away and pressed on.

  At the entrance, the padlock was already dangling, so she opened the gate, causing an eerie horror-movie-sound creaking to take root. Apparently, this Halloween was going to be go big or go home because up ahead rested an old carousel, a rusted playground merry-go-round, and scraps of aged carnival rides spread about. The rides weren’t rideable, but they still had the creep factor going on.

  The carousel sat covered in chipped-away paint. Some of the horses were scattered around with dismembered body parts and covered in fake blood. Polli didn’t scare easily, or at all, when it came to haunted houses but she thought it was a nice touch.

  Behind the tall metal building, the field sprouted high with healthy corn stalks and large green leaves. A narrow dirt path had already been set up the other day, courtesy of Polli and a few of the other workers.

  The door to the dark gray building was
cracked an inch and her managers, Derek and Lisa, were arguing over the strobe lights. Polli pulled open the door and found them sifting through a box filled with plastic-wrapped tickets and wristbands.

  “Hey!” Lisa exclaimed, not lifting her head from the box but somehow knowing it was Polli.

  “Polli, my friend”—Derek grinned, his bushy eyebrows rising on his forehead—“I need you to help unpack boxes in the basement with Evan.”

  “Dammit.” Lisa slammed down the roll of unopened tickets. “What kind of plastic is this?”

  Polli swiped the roll of tickets to examine the problem. Using the edge of her nail, she poked a loose spot on the side and handed it back.

  “I need to figure out a way to stop biting my nails.” Lisa huffed, pushing her braids over her shoulder. “We hired a bunch more people to do the acting jobs, so next week we’ll be doing a quick rehearsal of things and should be ready to open the house.”

  “My favorite time of the year.” Polli gave a quick fist pump with both fists. All her life she’d loved Halloween, until her mom told her she was too old for it in the fourth grade. But she ignored her mother, because sometimes a child does know better.

  Polli glanced at the box at the end of the table, brimming with chalky-white makeup and skin crayons. What she really wanted was to be a special effects horror movie artist, but again, not sure if she would be wasting time and throwing her money away.

  “Lisa and I have been here all day, and since it’s our anniversary and all, we’re about to leave,” Derek said. “You think you got it handled?”

  “Of course.” The good thing about staying busy was the time passed quickly for her.

  “Oh, and you know what tonight is, right?” Lisa asked.

  Polli rolled her eyes. “I know the urban legend. Supposedly these grounds are haunted and this is the one night of the year that some spirits can rise and blah blah blah.”

  “So be sure to lock up and leave,” Lisa said and pinched Polli’s cheek. “Can’t have anything happen to that cute little face.”