“So we’ll run until dawn,” Evan said, straightening, still breathing heavily. “Can’t be that hard, right?”
“Maybe for you!” Polli whisper-shouted. “I don’t know if I can run another two minutes!”
“If I can do it, then you can do it, because I hate running.”
Before she could respond, a pulse came from somewhere within her skull. It was as though there was a hand inside, clenching her brain. She let out a half gasp, half cry when the discomfort increased—it then felt as if something was shredding her brain.
“Polli?” Evan edged closer to her, a look of worry appearing on his face.
The desperation on him was making her smile. Her smile got bigger and bigger as his eyebrows furrowed lower and lower until she couldn’t control the laughter. It came out high-pitched and shrill—one of the best laughs she’d ever had. It was crazed, like the woman’s was.
Two arms grasped her shoulders and shook her. “Snap out of it!”
Polli couldn’t focus on anything except for the laughter, the beautiful sound she wanted to keep making. But Evan wanted her to stop, so maybe she should. Shaking her head as fiercely as she could, she let whatever feelings had washed over her vanish. “Evan, what’s going on?”
“Do you think she did something to you?” Evan inspected Polli’s face and came to a stop on her wrist.
When she looked down, there rested a thin black line as though a pen had drawn on her. “That’s where the woman held me.”
“Shit.” He rubbed at the spot and added a bit of his spit to try to take it off, but it was as if the line had been tattooed there.
From behind them, a rustling sound reverberated across the field. Cornstalks were being pushed to the side, swaying rapidly. A man stepped forward, the same one that they had first seen after the woman. Polli tugged on Evan, but not quick enough. The man shot forward, enclosing a hand around Evan’s throat.
Evan didn’t shout or try to leave the man’s grip. The eyeless man somehow bore those empty sockets into Evan.
Polli only pulled harder, to no avail. She didn’t have her keys anymore, and her nails weren’t sharp enough. So she did the only thing she could think of—she leaned forward and slammed her teeth down on the thing’s hand. A ticking sound escaped its throat, as if the voice couldn’t quite come out.
Snatching Evan’s hand, Polli ran with him through the field. It was so big in there, but she didn’t know where it would be better to go because strange people kept appearing. They stopped near a large scarecrow—dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans, and suspenders—planted on a post in the middle of the field. Polli knew they weren’t lost. If they wanted to get back to the front they’d just have to go in the direction that the scarecrow was facing. With how the world had turned upside down, she expected the scarecrow to hop off its post, but it stood still as ever.
“I felt so cold when that thing was gripping my neck,” Evan said softly, shaking a little. “And you bit it…”
For a moment, she remembered the coldness and knew what it felt like. “Yeah.”
“For me.”
“So?” she ground the words out. It was as though he had expected her to just leave him there.
“But you said you hated me.” He smiled.
“Seriously, go away.” Her eyes squinted when she noticed something on his neck. It was a black line that matched the one on her wrist.
The smile on Evan’s face spread too wide and a chuckle came out. Light at first, but then it grew louder, enough to irritate Polli. “Evan, you need to chill out.”
In reply, his laughter only got more powerful until he collapsed to his knees. Polli had to pull herself together because she wanted to give in to that tinkling laughter. The sound was becoming more beautiful and more alluring by the second. She shook it off to help Evan, but he’d already crawled toward her, his fingertips brushing her leg. His head was bowed and she felt something wet against her leg as he swiped his tongue up it.
Polli shook and her eyes fluttered, but she kicked him away to fight whatever was going on inside her.
She did the one thing she always knew how to do when it came to people, she ran. But after about four seconds, she stopped, stared up at the skies and cursed. Evan hadn’t left her behind one single time this night.
Letting out a heavy breath, she slowly turned and took a few steps forward and found Evan, once again, crawling toward her. She knelt beside him and placed her hands on his shoulder, shaking him like he’d done to her, but possibly harder. He only laughed, so she held up a hand and backhanded him across the face.
“Polli.” He gazed at her with those hazel eyes and laughed even more, so she smacked him again.
“You feel it, don’t you?” she whispered, placing her hand on his reddening cheek. “Inside of you?” Whatever was inside her wanted to join him.
Evan shook his shaggy blond hair, his eyes fluttering for a moment before fully opening. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he finally said, “but I just wanted to laugh.” She knew the feeling, the insidious thing still lingering.
A sound like tick, tock, tick, tock filled the air before cackling came from all around her and Evan. Carnival music exploded next to where the carousel was spinning—bright lights flashed in that direction.
Beside Polli, Evan shuddered, and she reached for his hand to prevent her own self from spiraling to somewhere else.
From her periphery, something moved. Polli bit her bottom lip so hard, she could taste blood. It was the scarecrow, pointing in the direction back out of the cornfield, toward the light of the carousel. All of the corn stalks started to move in all directions, and there was nowhere else to run to but ahead. She didn’t know whether the hay creation was friend or foe, but she took Evan’s hand and together they fled in that direction.
When they broke out from the corn, Polli and Evan continued until they were standing behind the brightly-lit carousel. They both hunched over, taking big and uneven breaths. The night would never end—she knew it in her heart.
Once more, against her temple, came a slithering feeling, as if a snake was flicking its warm tongue across her brain. Polli’s eyes glinted, her head nodding back and forth. Evan stared at the carousel, the plastic horses moving up and down—the music seemed to want to pull her away from the insanity.
Instead, she stepped beside Evan and tugged him back. She was desperate to keep him from stepping onto the carousel. So to distract him from leaving, she placed her chin on his shoulder and took a whiff of his neck.
“Polli, not now, I think we need to get on the carousel.” Evan grabbed her arms, meeting her gaze, but didn’t push her away. Leaning forward, back to his neck, she thought about how she loved the smell of him and swiped her tongue right beneath his earlobe.
“Naughty, naughty, little one,” his voice purred, and Polli felt herself slipping more and more into the darkness.
“Where we are headed will be a wondrous thing.” Evan’s lips spoke the words at the same time Polli’s did. And she knew in every vein in her heart that the words they’d spoken were true.
Inside her head, the caterpillars continued to slither, caressing every single one of her thoughts. Something in her screamed to push it all away and go to the carousel, but she wanted to laugh—she wanted to laugh more than anything. With the energy she had left, she thrust it all away, breathing heavily. Evan’s arms stayed wrapped around her as he continued to purr like a kitten in her ear.
“Evan, come on!” she said hurriedly, breaking out from his hold.
One of his hands came up as if to claw her, but he began scratching at his wrist, while laughing. Thick red welts formed on his arm, but not deep enough to draw blood.
Polli was becoming more horrified by the second, not knowing what precisely to do. So she grasped his cheeks between her fingertips, her lips a hairsbreadth away from his. “Evan, I do like you, okay? I don’t hate you, and I’m sorry for everything, but we need to get on the carousel.”
; His laughter turned to a strange ticking sound, pulsing in his throat. Any other person would’ve left him and ran. Hell, she was that person to do it to almost anyone, but she couldn’t—not after what he admitted to giving up to her in the basement.
A light started to seep up into the sky. Polli released a frustrated sound because she couldn’t let him go at it alone. The slithering inside her skull was coming back again, and she glanced to the carousel, which was no longer spinning. The horses were breaking apart and falling to the bottom where they had been before the strangeness of the night began. Polli and Evan were so close, so incredibly close, and she honestly didn’t know if getting on the carousel would’ve helped them or not.
In that moment, Polli couldn’t fight anymore. Maybe she should've tried to find another job and never come here at all. Maybe she should’ve stayed in that dusty basement with Evan.
But she hadn't stayed, and now there was only Evan. Evan and this delicious, devilish laughter. As the full daylight pulled them both under, surrender was all that was left. And so Polli stopped fighting. Closing her eyes, she placed her head against Evan's shoulder, her heart thumping with excitement. She embraced her desire for Evan, a desire that, if she were truly honest with herself, had always been there. Wrapping her arms around his back, she held him tight. It was then that she truly gave in to the laughter and the darkness that promised to erase all of her cares. Polli was giddy to see what lay beyond this place, to find where the beautiful nightmare led. She now knew that sometimes what we always believed we hated is, in the end, what we will always love.
Dearest Clementine,
I found the door and it’s sealed. My blood won’t work to unseal it, so I need to find someone else who has the right kind to unlock it. There’s a mountain not too far away, where a fiend is rumored to live. It will take a bit longer for me to get to you, but your heart is strong. There was a new fierceness in your eyes when I saw you for those brief moments. Please, hold on, and know that I’m coming. Fight that bastard with everything in you because I know you can. You have the courage. You are my little fiend, after all. Your birthday is tomorrow, so this story is a gift to you. I hope you hear it, wherever you are.
Always Yours,
Dorin
Our Hearts Wither Too
1992
His heart was supposed to be hers. She was meant to eat it.
Morgan lay in a bed of rumpled sheets, the dark surrounding her, except for a faint glow coming from a small light plugged into the wall. That tiny spark of light highlighted the man to Morgan’s right. A face so delicate when he slept that it appeared to have an almost feminine quality of beauty.
The man’s name was Jack, and he was her Jack. He rested on his back, fast asleep, unaware that she considered killing him every night as he slept.
They had spent another night together, one of many. Him on top of her, her on top of him, and then her on top of him again, just to show herself that she had a bit more control if she wanted. She knew deep down in her temporary heart that it would be better for them both if she killed him now. One night between them had turned into another, and another, and another. Six months later, here they were. Morgan could feel her control waning with each day they spent together.
Pressing her hand to her naked chest, she felt the heart inside of her beat sluggishly. The time was approaching. Every month Morgan had to find a substitute heart to keep her alive, because each month that particular borrowed organ would die. It was a vicious and repetitive cycle that she chose to continue.
Propping herself up on her elbow, Morgan stared at the outline of Jack’s strong jaw, the dark curls that fell around his face, and his high cheekbones. She’d been with men prettier than him, uglier than him, but there was something about his heart, him, that prevented her from slicing open his chest to retrieve it.
Jack was different than the others—he was kind and understanding and didn't try to tame her. She liked the way he would grin like an excited child when he watched his favorite movies, the adorable way he’d move his lips along with the dialogue, so completely immersed in everything he enjoyed. So completely alive.
I should do it, she thought. Do it now. End this suffering.
Sighing, Morgan leaned forward, so that she hovered over Jack. She pushed the silver ring with a pointed end—around her index finger—forward, so the sharp edge would make a clean cut. Gently, she ran it up and down his chest, stroking, prolonging, her hand shaking more and more. Her finger came to an abrupt stop directly over his heart, and her gaze slid up to Jack’s face. He was awake, peering down at her with a tired smile.
“You just can’t get enough of me, can you?” The light hid his gray eyes, but she knew they were shining with an emotion that she recognized had been growing more and more within him.
Biting the edge of her lip, Morgan warred with herself, but she ended up giving in to her weakness. Him. “No, I don’t think I can.” Her mouth pressed against his while she pushed her ring back down to the base of her finger. With teasing motions, she slid her hand up Jack’s thigh to the place that would make his smile grow wider.
His strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. In the back of her mind, Morgan still wanted to know what his heart tasted like, but more than that, she wanted to keep tasting him, relishing him, and feeling his mouth against hers.
In the morning, Morgan left early, gifting Jack a kiss and a goodbye. Her heart was already withering in her chest. She could feel the pumping of the vital organ growing weaker and weaker.
She wasn’t human, but she wasn’t an immortal either. One day she would die like anyone else. Morgan aged just as humans did, but without a new heart each month to keep her alive, she would die.
As she walked into the early morning, the sun rising into the sky, she remembered the first heart she’d ever eaten. She had been only three years old. It was when her jaw was able to first unhinge so the organ would be able to fit into her mouth and slide down her throat. That first taste—she remembered even now, the deliciousness of it. Before that, her mother had to only feed her blood from a heart. But at age three was when her first heart had begun to die, and Morgan would not have been able to live if she had kept it.
Now, she would need to get a new heart tonight, or die.
After a long day at work, Morgan was about to leave her art supply store, when the store phone rang. With a sigh, she reached for it. “La Porte Art Supply.”
“Are you coming over tonight?” a voice practically purred. “I have something special planned.” Jack.
She couldn’t contain her smile, but then her chest released a small ache, reminding her of what had to be done. “I can’t.”
“I think you’ll really, really like it,” he taunted, and she could feel him smiling through the phone.
“If it involves a bath filled with bubbles, I probably would.” The last time they had both impatiently ended up in the bathtub—clothes and all.
“It does.”
“I can’t,” Morgan groaned and then told a lie, “I have so much overload from work that I have to go over it tonight.”
“Damn. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.” Any other day would mostly be normal, especially after her new heart was fresh.
“Morgan?”
She smiled. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Her smile faded, and she stayed silent on the phone for a second too long before finally rushing out the words, “Okay, bye.” She slammed down the phone and stepped away as if it had burned her hand. She knew he was going to say those words, had wanted to say them. Maybe he’d been waiting for her to say them first, but she couldn’t.
Jack was twenty-nine, a dentist who used to be a punk rocker, who thought he had officially become part of society. However, he still had that dangerous side that Morgan liked, all while still being able to help make patients’ teeth nice and shiny.
She couldn’t think about Jack right now as she stepped out of her car. She n
eeded to focus. Her hand gripped the front of her collared shirt, her heart growing quieter and quieter. She had questioned herself numerous times about giving in to her own funeral by not eating a heart, but she didn’t want to die. The risk of her ending a person’s life in order for her to live a bit longer had never bothered her before. Except when it came to Jack. He’d unlocked something inside her that she wanted to lock back up.
With growing fury, Morgan unclenched her shirt, shook her head, and hurried inside her house. The place was a clusterfuck. Magazine clippings were sprawled everywhere, clean clothing thrown in clumps on the leather couch, and paint bottles messily arranged on the coffee table.
Morgan wasn’t an artist by any means, but she enjoyed taking her frustration out on canvases. Most were covered in red paint because that was the fiber of her being, the symbolic color of blood that a heart pumped to provide life.
“Why can’t I be normal?” she whispered. “But normal is something you should never wish to be, Morgan.” Her mother used to tell her that when she was a child, and she still held onto it.
Plucking up an open magazine from the carpet, she headed into the kitchen to make herself a sandwich. She flipped through the tattoo magazine until she found a picture that she wanted to sketch. The image was of a shriveled, dried-up heart, like the one inside her chest was becoming.
After Morgan ate and finished painting, she stared at the misshapen heart and took a deep breath. An intense pain struck the inside of her chest and she let out a deep cough that only made it hurt worse. It was already getting harder for Morgan to breathe, and she had to get a heart tonight. The darkness already blanketed her home, so she headed out into the night to do what she must.
Dearest Clementine: Dark and Romantic Monstrous Tales (Letters Book 1) Page 10
