Widowmakers: A Benefit Anthology of Dark Fiction

by James Newman Benefit Anthology

  “I’m looking at something, and it’s not the Amy I know. Not at all.” He rubbed his temples like squeezing a large fruit. “You’re kind of freaking me out here, you know that? All this time I’ve been calling and coming over here and you push me away and you expect me to be there for you and then you fucking call me over and you’re all fucked up and I don’t understand.”

  Amy slid across the bed so quickly that Carter took a step back as if she was going to strike out at him. Now that she was closer he could see how black her eyes were, as if there was no color there at all. His first thought was that maybe she’d began using hard drugs, maybe shooting dope and that’s why she had been staying in her room, but that didn’t explain the state of her skin, the musky smell wafting off of her so heavy that Carter had to resist covering his nose.

  Then he saw the patch on her cheek he’d seen from across the room and damn it looked like ... well it looked like the scales of a fish or snake.

  “You see, don’t you?” she said. “I peeled the skin off of my cheek and look at me. Look!”

  Between thumb and forefinger Amy grabbed another piece of dry, flaky skin and peeled it off, revealing more of the scaly pattern of her cheek, now visible on her nose.

  Waves of nausea enveloped Carter. His mouth watered like he was about to puke. It felt as if his head was filled with dizzying carbonation that was being shaken, ready to blow his mind into oblivion.

  “I’m sorry, Amy,” he said as he slowly backed away. “You know that I’ve been here for you, but I can’t do this anymore. I think maybe you need medical attention.”

  “No,” she hissed. “There’s nothing they can do for me. I...”

  Carter stood at the door to her room. He looked through the hall and into the living room as if plotting a clear path to the front door.

  “That’s just it,” said Carter. “You won’t try to get help. There’s something wrong with you. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t help someone who isn’t going to help themselves.”

  He turned and walked through the tiny hall. She called after him, asking if he was breaking up with her, but he didn’t respond. The quicker he got out of there the better.

  If she was smart, she’d check herself into the hospital.

  * * *

  14 months later

  Carter was leaving a restaurant with a small Styrofoam box in hand when he ran into someone he hadn’t seen in quite a long time.

  “Amy?” he said in that questioning is-the-really-you sort of tone that was often reserved for when you recognized someone but wanted to make it appear that they merely looked familiar.

  She looked up and smiled, immediately recognizing him. “Carter? Is it really you?”

  It was good to see her, which was apparent in the crescent moon grin, but soon the feeling and emotions that had been temporarily disturbed had settled as he realized that she was dressed strangely for mid-august.

  “So how have you been?” she asked.

  Pants and boots, a turtleneck sweater, gloves! In San Diego ... in summer!

  Having a difficult time deciphering her getup, Carter stumbled over his words like he was a nervous junior high school student asking his crush to a dance.

  “I ... I’ve been g-good. How about you?”

  “I’ve been alright. A lot better since you last seen me. I was going through a bad time.”

  Carter nodded. “Yeah you were.”

  She looked down and said, “I don’t blame you, you know,” then looked up at him.

  He didn’t know how to respond, but it was good to hear her say that. He’d felt a lot of grief over walking out on her, especially when things didn’t work out with Hailey. He’d wondered if he made a mistake by breaking up with Amy.

  She eyed the container in his hands. “Just had dinner? A date?”

  Carter grinned shyly and said, “No, just ate out by myself.”

  “By yourself! How about some coffee and dessert with me?”

  Carter examined the box as if he expected it to grow legs and walk away.

  “It’s just a half a sandwich anyway,” he said. He tossed it into a garbage can. “There’s a Starbucks around the corner.”

  Over coffee Carter couldn’t believe how effortlessly they slipped into conversation as if they’d been together just yesterday. She’d been going to beauty school and working a telecommunications job out of her house. What really impressed Carter was that Amy had an air of self-confidence that she’d lacked the entire time they had dated. When he’d thought about the last time he’d seen her, what had happened to her, he thought it had something to do with severe depression. Sometimes he felt like a shit for not caring more, and even now, sitting with her, talking, laughing like old times, he felt terrible for walking out on her the way he did.

  Carter offered to give her a ride after she told him she took the bus. When they arrived at her house, she invited him in. It all felt so natural.

  He did have his questions concerning her state that night he walked out on her, the peeling skin and all. And then there were all the clothes. That wasn’t like Amy. She embraced shorts and tank tops and she had the body for summer weather.

  Amy blended margaritas. After a few drinks and more conversation catching them up on lost time, Carter moved closer, but she seemed to be holding herself in reserve. She gave all the signals, but for whatever reason she shied away from his advances.

  “Look, Carter, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be rushing into things, it’s just that... It feels like it used to, you know? It feels as if this entire year apart had never happened.”

  Amy was looking down, as if inspecting the dainty gloves she wore.

  Carter wiped sweat off his forehead. “You mind if I turn on the air conditioner?” he asked. “I’m roasting.”

  He figured maybe she was standoffish because he was sweating like a pig.

  “No, please don’t.”

  Her response was quick and unusual and Carter then realized that, despite being wrapped in more winter attire than San Diego calls for even in the dead of winter, her skin didn’t have even the slightest sheen of perspiration.

  Carter took a gloved hand in his. Something about it was entirely wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, so to speak. Probably just the fact that she was wearing gloves in the first place. She made a jerking movement to pull her hand free. She looked up so suddenly that Carter thought there would be tears in her eyes, and he was suddenly filled with dread, as if now that they were back in her apartment she’d regressed into the woman he had left behind.

  She looked him in the eyes and there wasn’t even a cloud in hers. Those eyes were everything Carter remembered back when he’d first met Amy and he wanted to swim in their depths. His rising dread subsided and before he could harness a tide of emotion, he drew in for a kiss. There was a mix of panic that she would pull her head back and reject him, but how could she? They’d been lovers once and she had invited him into her apartment.

  Their lips met. The crescendo of lust that radiated from Carter was stunned by such an abstract and passionless kiss. She was trying, yes, but something was wrong, and as soon as Amy realized it, she drew herself away.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

  Carter was shaking. Her lips had been so cold.

  “Wait, no, it’s me,” said Carter. “I’m sorry, Amy, I just...”

  She looked at him with a gleam in her eyes. A forgiving gleam. He was overreacting, he just knew it.

  Carter took Amy into his arms and kissed her again. He drew her close, banishing thoughts about how clammy and cool her skin felt. She reacted with fervor, reciprocating his advance with equal passion. Their lips soon parted from soft delicate kissing and soon enough they were having a tongue war that seemed to escalate in to soft petting, though it was hard to get to her body with so many layers of clothes in the way.

  Carter had to do everything
he could to take his mind off of the clothes and the clamminess, because it made no sense, and beyond the physical lust and the emotion of being with the woman he once thought was “the one”, there was something beneath the surface that was undeniably wrong.

  He slipped his hand though an opening in the front of her jacket. His hand was met with the softer fabric of an unseasonable turtleneck sweater.

  He stopped kissing.

  It wasn’t smooth beneath the turtleneck. Felt kind of like...

  Amy flicked her tongue in his mouth like nothing he’d ever experienced, and it brought him right back into the throes of passion. He began unbuttoning the rest of her jacket, eager to expose her body.

  Just then something happened in their mouths. It felt as if her tongue had somehow broken in to two. Carter pulled away in horror, expecting to see blood on her lips.

  Amy sighed heavily, as if a great weight had been taken off her shoulders. “We really shouldn’t have done this,” she said. “I knew it, but when I saw you I had to give it a chance. I miss you, Carter.”

  “I miss you too, but what’s going on. I have a lot of questions you know.”

  She was so serene. Not like Amy at all. She would have been a wreck before, regardless of what it was that was tearing them apart.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said. “I know you’re wondering about my clothes—“

  “Wait,” Carter interrupted, “what’s wrong with your tongue?”

  As she spoke, he could see that her tongue appeared to be split in two.

  Amy swallowed hard. “That’s a part of it.” She stuck a forked tongue out of her mouth.

  “What the... Are you into that weird piercing shit? Is that what this is all about? You’ve got a shitload of tattoos under the clothes that you don’t want to show me?”

  “No. I just want you to know that if you can be with a woman like me, I would love to have a relationship with you, but I’m not like other girls.”

  “Oh-kay. What does that mean?”

  “Wait here.”

  She went into the bathroom and returned with a jar of make-up remover cream. “This is the best stuff on the market, and not cheap, but it’s the only one that works.”

  She wiped a terry cloth into the pink cream and then slathered it on her face, just above her right eye and across her forehead revealing what initially Carter thought looked like alligator skin, considering the color.

  He was immediately reminded of that night he left, what he’d seen beneath her peeling skin.

  “It’s not such a bad trade off, Carter,” she said. “I’ve gotten used to it, and I feel better than I ever have.”

  He shook his head, speechless. She continued to wipe the heavy layer of makeup off of her face, now working her way down her cheeks and across her lips.

  “I’m happy,” she said. “For the first time in my life, I’m truly happy. You remember how depressed I would get, don’t you.”

  He nodded, more engaged with her great revelation than what she was saying.

  Amy continued, “This is why I went to beauty school. Looking the way I do, I couldn’t go out into public without people jeering. No matter how happy I am, no one likes to be stared at and made fun of. But it doesn’t matter, Carter. It’s not about what’s on the outside, you know? It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

  He’d heard that platitude before, but Carter was having a hell of a time with that kind of logic.

  When she finished with the cream, her face was a disgusting blend of diamond pattered snakeskin, a sheen of makeup cream, and smears of black eyeliner and foundation.

  “I can’t do this,” Carter finally said.

  Amy nodded, then smiled. “I didn’t think so.”

  Carter stood and walked to the door, white as a sheet, glistening with sweat. Before he left, he turned to look upon the woman he once loved. She stood there like an exhibition and an old freak show. His mouth was too dry to even say goodbye. He left the apartment, closed the door, and began the impossible task of forgetting what he’d just seen.

  What struck Carter as odd was the smile she gave him as he left. Even on a face of fine scales that looked like an exquisite rendition of a rattlesnake’s skin, her smile was beautiful, and though he would be forever haunted by what he’d just experienced, he knew that Amy, for the first time in her life, was at peace.

  - END –

  Baptism

  By Kit Power

  Kit Power lives in the UK and writes fiction that lurks at the boundaries of the horror, fantasy, and thriller genres, trying to bum a smoke or hitch a ride from the unwary.

  In his secret alter ego of Kit Gonzo, he also performs as front man (and occasionally blogs) for death cult and popular beat combo The Disciples of Gonzo, www.disciplesofgonzo.com

  So, you would have my confession? Very well, I give it freely. Still, I beg you, do not interrupt with your confounding questions, though I know you will have many. Save them until the end. That which I must tell, I would tell once through, lest I lose my nerve. Attend, then, and transcribe faithfully.

  It was a normal Wednesday evening. I had completed work in my study at the usual hour, and taken my supper with Isabelle. She was her usual delightful self – questioning, laughing, the spirit of gaiety alive in her shining eyes and rosy cheeks...

  ...Forgive me.

  The tub had been prepared as normal, the large basin placed by the roaring fire, the water pleasantly warm but not hot. After our meal, Isabelle and I retired to the living room. The maid was dismissed, and Isabelle allowed me to disrobe her, giggling as I tickled her naked arms, squealing with delight when my whiskers tickled her belly.

  She loved to laugh.

  I lifted her into the tub, and bathed her, talking to her as I did so about my day. I let her splash a little, watched her spread out and pretend to swim, my arms leaning on the edge of the tub, waiting to reach in and grasp her if she were to slip.

  I washed her hair with soap, then blew some bubbles between my thumb and forefinger, her high voice encouraging me to increase their size, her laughter flowing like some sweet warming nectar.

  I had turned to the fire, reaching for a jug of clean water to rinse her hair, when the change occurred. When I turned away, she had been excitedly describing the bubbles, remarking on their sizes. This had continued as I turned, but as my hand neared the handle of the jug, her voice transformed. Mid word, it dropped, first low, then high, then low, alternating on each syllable. At the same time, the words vanished, replaced by a nonsensical babble.

  “Da-BOO-Rah-JAK-ka-SAL-Ood.”

  Each lower register seemed deeper than the last, each high note louder and shriller. I cannot fully put into words the terror that struck me in this moment, how horrified I was by that apparently senseless noise. Something in the alternating register, the apparently random sounds, struck dread into me, as though I were hearing some awful incantation.

  As if in sympathy with my panic, the large log in the centre of the fire split with a loud crack. Smoking embers flew into the deep rug and began to smoulder.

  “Joh-RAY-Lin-GAR-Den-DOO-Sal-REF-Moo...”

  “Isabelle! Stop!”

  I was still looking to the fire, attention caught by the tendrils of smoke rising from the rug, and my panic gave my voice a timbre and gruffness that would ordinarily command obedience, possibly even tears. I had a moment to curse my own harshness, to wonder at why I should be so gripped with emotion as to address her so harshly.

  Then the babble rose again.

  As I close my eyes, I hear it still, every dread syllable. But I dare not repeat it. Suffice it to say, her voice deepened further, hitting notes that were surely not possible, and the high notes became screeches that grated my senses raw. The flames in the fire began to surge, burning hotter, the coals glowing fiercely. The smoke from the rug was becoming thicker, darker, and I saw flame begin to flicker.

  In a spasm of movement, I grabbed one of the jugs and p
oured it out over the smouldering rug with a cry. I heard the angry hiss of water becoming steam, but observed that the flames had been extinguished.

  At the same time I felt the heat from the fire increase again, becoming more intense, seeming to be drawn to ferocity by the inhuman noises my darling daughter was producing, though in truth by then I scarcely recognised her voice. My eyes returned to the fire, squinting against the heat, and there I saw...

  There I saw the fire, receding and growing, falling back and away. The fireplace around it grew faint and faded, then too the ground on which it sat sunk, as though melting in the heat, DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!

  DON’T!...

  Forgive me. Forgive me. It... No, no, you weren’t there. Let me tell it, quickly.

  The ground fell away, before my unbelieving eyes, until I was kneeling upon a pillar of rock, surrounded on all sides by darkness, and a sheer drop. Far beneath me, as far as my eyes could see, fire spread in all directions, flickering and rolling. The babble had become a chant, the deep parts guttural as a mad dog, the high notes shrieking like a bird of prey, the devilish syllables seeming to warp my mind as surely as they warped the world around us. Boiling waves of heat rose from the pit, singeing my eyebrows, burning the very air in my throat.

  My head turned back to the tub, seemingly of its own volition, and I beheld her.

  Her skin had turned red, and her eyes glowed a sickly yellow, as though lit from inside by a flame burning some noxious substance. Her smile had become a leer of perfect depravity, pointed teeth pushing out at crazed angles from bloody gums, her lips splitting in places as the grin pushed her mouth unnaturally wide, as though whatever was passing through her by invocation was tearing her apart as it transformed her. I beheld her, but knew her not, and when her eyes met mine, I saw only damnation: Mine, hers, perhaps the worlds.

  I acted on pure instinct. Though her size had increased somewhat, she was still an infant in basic form, so it was a simple matter to grab her legs and pull. Her red skin was almost painfully warm to the touch, but my grip held firm, and her head slipped beneath the surface of the water with ease.