Grave Hauntings: Where Sexy and Sinful Meets Dark and Chilling

by Parkerson, Charity

  For one of the few times in the year since she kicked Steve out Janie wished their marriage hadn’t fallen apart. She wished she had a man to protect her.

  Were it not for a size 2 dress Steve would be here.

  Had she not been trying to be a good and dutiful wife she would still be married. Not completely happy and ignorant of what was going on behind her back, but at least still married.

  If only she hadn’t gone to Steve’s office that day.

  ***

  It was tax season, so Steve, an account running his own one-man firm, was working long hours and on weekends. One day he’d called home grumbling more than usual because his secretary had called out sick. One day turned into three, with no end in sight. Not good during his busiest season.

  Janie knew that Rosanne, Steve’s secretary, usually went out to buy and bring back Steve’s lunch when he was too busy to leave his desk, which was every day during tax season. So she thought she’d be the helpful wife and surprise him at work with homemade lasagna, his favorite.

  As Janie expected, Rosanne’s desk in the receptionist’s office was empty. As Janie had not expected, a dress was draped over the arm of Rosanne’s chair. A single discarded red three-inch pump lay on Rosanne’s chair mat. Its mate lay on the carpet halfway between Rosanne’s desk and Steve’s closed office door. In the dozens of times Janie had visited Steve’s office she had never seen his office door closed.

  Beyond the second shoe, on the carpet just before Steve’s closed office door, a G-string panty lay like shed snake’s skin.

  Almost a year after that day Janie still didn’t know why she picked up the dress and checked its size. But she did. It was a sundress with spaghetti straps, as yellow as sunshine. A size 2. Like the pumps, the G-string was red.

  Janie remembered thinking as she crept to Steve’s closed office door that she’d never been a size 2, even as a teenager. And she’d never been bold enough to own a pair of red pumps. She’d only ever fantasized about wearing a G-string.

  Standing outside Steve’s office door she’d considered her options:

  She could knock politely, but considering the evidence before her eyes that seemed a pathetically weak thing to do.

  She could burst in full of righteous anger, but then what? She didn’t feel angry, and shouting “Ah-ha!” just didn’t feel right.

  She could peek. Just open the door quietly a little to verify that what the evidence screamed at her was true.

  That’s what she did.

  Holding her breath, she’d twisted the doorknob. The latch retracted silently. She pushed the door open—just a half inch—and peeked.

  Steve was lying on his back on his desk. He was naked except for his black socks. He looked ridiculous.

  A naked blonde who looked like she might barely be old enough for college squatted on Steve, straddling his hips. She was riding him hard, like she was a Pony Express rider trying to make record time.

  Janie’s stomach clenched itself into a fist, reached up and grabbed her lungs and squeezed, making it hard to draw in oxygen.

  She didn’t know how long she watched. Seconds and minutes became the same unit of time. But when she finally closed the door and turned away she knew her marriage was over.

  What did it wasn’t the Steve’s infidelity. And it wasn’t witnessing his infidelity with her very own eyes. What did it was the look on Steve’s face as he lay on his desk with that beautiful girl (and yes, damn it, she was beautiful) riding his cock. He looked happy.

  In replaying it in her memory, Janie didn’t think he was even looking at the girl in his bliss. When she’d thought about it over the past months she didn’t think it was the girl’s good looks, or even the way she was making him feel at the moment that painted the joy on his face. But it was something about that girl—that other woman—that fulfilled Steve. That’s what did it.

  That’s what made her know her marriage was over.

  In their three years of dating and eleven years of marriage she had never seen Steve look so happy. And knowing that she had never been able to make him feel whatever he felt to make him look that way, Janie knew that she couldn’t stay with him. Everyone deserved to be as happy as they could be. If she wasn’t the one to be able to make her husband feel that way then one of them was married to the wrong person.

  Before leaving Steve’s office she left him a note. It was a simple message, brief enough to fit on one of Rosanne’s Post-Its. In the note she told Steve that she was taking Bobby and going to her mother’s for a week, and that when she returned she wanted him and his things gone.

  She stuck the Post-It on Steve’s office door. When she left she took the size 2 dress and the G-string.

  She left the red pumps.

  They were pretty.

  On her way home she tossed the size 2 dress and the G-string in a McDonald’s dumpster.

  That was her first act of revenge. Her next was Zachary, who lived on their block and was the only black person in their neighborhood.

  After Steve moved out to live with his blonde bimbo their Neighborhood Watch captain paired her up with Zachary for their night patrols. One thing led quickly to another.

  At first it was all about revenge. She’d wanted to rub Steve’s face in it, to show him that he wasn’t the only one who could have hot fun.

  But on the occasions she’d needed to talk to Steve or whenever he came over to pick up Bobby she’d been at a loss. How does one bring something like that up?

  “Hey Steve, thanks for transferring the child support money to my account. And oh, by the way, remember Zachary, the divorced black guy from around the corner? Well, the myth is true. And what’s even better is that afterward he likes to cuddle and chat. He can cuddle a lot harder than you and chat way longer.”

  She hadn’t been able to bring it up, and after a couple of months with Zach she’d begun to feel guilty. She’d slept with him in the beginning because she had an agenda. But Zach was a nice guy. He deserved better than someone who was using him only for revenge and orgasms.

  Janie loaded her laundry basket with dirty whites. She padded back out to the kitchen, ignored the infomercial on the tube and cursed Steve again when she stepped on the cold, rough concrete floor in the mudroom.

  She transferred the color clothes to the dryer. She loaded the whites, measured in the detergent and bleach and got the wash going. When she returned to the kitchen Steve was standing in the far entry.

  ***

  He was in his shirt and tie, sans jacket. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. His skin was pasty, and his eyes were rimmed with red.

  Standing with his hands in his pants pockets he flashed a nervous smile and said, “Hey there Janie.”

  “What are you doing here Steve?” Oh god.

  “Well I um…I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d drop by—you know, to see how my best girl is doing.”

  He hadn’t called her his best girl since their honeymoon.

  “Steve, are you a zombie now?” There was no point in beating around the bush.

  “I don’t like that word. It’s like using the N-word. So degrading and disrespectful. It’s like calling a Democrat a tree hugger or a Republican bat shit crazy. You shouldn’t stereotype, Janie. It’s really not nice.”

  “But you’ve been…changed?”

  “I prefer to think of it as transfigured. However, I’m still me. I’m just…let’s say, more adventurous. You always said I needed to step out of my comfort zone. I remember once you even said I was boring in bed. Well, in recent days I’ve thought things over, and I’ve come to understand that you were right. So I’ve changed my ways. I’m more adventurous now, Janie. I want to try new things. Let’s go to bed and I’ll show you all that I’ve become.”

  He took a casual step closer.

  “Stop right there!”

  “What? What’s the matter Janie?”

  “I’d like you to leave. Right now.”

  “But why?”

&
nbsp; “You know why. Because we’re done. Because of you and your bimbo.”

  “Janie, the divorce isn’t final so I’m still your husband. I don’t even want you to file the stupid thing now. I’ve come back to apologize and try to make things right.” He took a cautious step closer. “I want you Janie.”

  “I just bet you do. Stay back. Don’t you dare come any closer.”

  “Is this about Heather? If it is then that’s one of the things I need to apologize for. I was wrong to throw you over for that bimbo. She was so not worth it.”

  “You thought she was worth it when you were screwing her on your desk. Or should I say she was screwing you? You thought she was worth risking our marriage. You thought a size 2 dress was more important than a life with me and your son.”

  “I’ve learned the error of my ways, Janie. I really have. I know now that a size 2 dress means that a person really isn’t all that substantial. They don’t last long. Heather wasn’t like you. She wasn’t substantial.”

  “Wasn’t, Steve? You’re talking about your bimbo in the past tense. Did you get tired of only being able to have conversations about reality shows? Oh wait—did she dump you? Is that why you’ve come crawling back?”

  “I finished with her, that’s all. Ultimately I learned that she was unsatisfying.”

  “In bed?”

  Steve smiled and shrugged. “Well…”

  “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Anyway, you can leave now.”

  “But I want you now Janie.”

  “No. Never again.”

  “Come on, I don’t want to hurt you, Janie. I mean, it’s not like I want to rip your throat out with my teeth and claw out your sweet meat organs because they’d taste so good. I mean, I’m sure they would, and…well, I just miss you is all. You and Bobby.” Steve looked around. “Where is he, by the way?”

  “He’s in school. It’s April. How could you not know that?”

  “Oh, school, right. Ha! Duh.”

  “Are you okay? I mean, is your mind going?”

  “My mind? No, not at all. I was just thinking that Bobby’s been gaining weight. That’s my fault, I suppose. I should be teaching him sports, working him out…getting him nice and…fit. He’s so plump now.”

  “Steve, you don’t know the difference between a baseball and a can of paint. What’re you talking about?”

  “I’m sorry, Janie. I’ve been a little distracted lately, since Heather...well. Um, what I mean to say is that I really want you…want you back. I think about you all the time. I imagine you naked. Your pretty, pretty breasts—”

  “It’s not going to happen, not ever again. Now get out before I call the police.”

  “I’m sorry Janie, but I can’t do that,” he said, and bolted across the kitchen at her.

  Maybe because his mind was going he forgot to take his hands out of his pockets, so he couldn’t defend himself when Janie grabbed the countertop television and smashed him over the head.

  Steve went down hard, but the television hadn’t done much damage. He managed to get his hands out of his pockets and claw her legs as she skipped out of his reach.

  Ouch!

  Janie dashed into the mudroom. Steve came after her on all fours, scrambling like a crab. He moved too fast for her to close the mudroom door.

  Kill the brain.

  When Steve was halfway through the door on his hands and knees Janie jumped. She drove her feet down onto his head, slamming his face down onto the cold, rough concrete.

  Janie jumped and stomped and jumped and stomped, until she was so exhausted she thought she would faint. By then her estranged husband’s head was nothing but a mass of red and gray gooey pulp.

  Brain dead.

  Okay.

  ***

  The steamy shower felt so good. It sluiced away the stress of her day and soothed her aching muscles.

  Janie thought it would have been nice to take a nap, to sleep the day away au natural. But she couldn’t. Bobby would be home from school soon.

  Steve was right; Bobby had gained weight, and it was all her fault. Since their breakup a year ago she’d been trying to compensate for their son living in a broken home by spoiling him, giving anything he wanted. Every toy his heart desired. Whatever he wanted to eat, to include junk food by the boatload.

  Bobby was overweight, was really quite chubby, or as Steve said, plump.

  Janie imagined that her son was probably quite tender, too.

  About The Black

  For over a decade, The Black has been a writer of internet multi-genre fiction. His online stories, which include dozens of short pieces, novellas and serialized fiction like the Insatiable and Passion series and The Hitman Chronicles, have made him a web-wide favorite author. Originally from the New Jersey Shore, The Black now lives in Virginia, where he is working on many new writing projects.

  Also by The Black

  If you liked Z, be sure to check out The Getaway.

  Find The Getaway online and view The Black’s author page.

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  A Pecking Order

  by Darling Adams

  Sasha exited the Tucson Center for Developmentally Disabled at midnight, exhausted from her shift. She scanned the dark downtown streets for anyone she ought to avoid on her five block walk to her duplex. Downtown should lend comfort in numbers, but unless it was a weekend, the only people who roamed Congress Street after midnight were looking for trouble.

  A man approached and while he didn’t look menacing, she held her keys pointed through her knuckles the way she’d learned in her self-defense class, then added her own self-devised protection--imagining a giant ball of light surrounding her.

  The moment she pictured it, the man stopped in his tracks, staring as if he could see it. Her breath froze in her chest, heart pounding.

  A slow grin spread across his face. “Is this for me?” he drawled in a faint British accent.

  Vampire.

  She didn’t know how she could tell, but the word had entered her mind clearly.

  His grin broadened, showing sharp canines. “Yes,” he purred as if she’d spoken the word aloud. “And you are…what? A witchling? He cocked his head to the side, “Priestess?” He extended his fingertips in the air, touching what would be the edge of her ball of light and suddenly she could see it, too--a shimmering white wall of protection that rippled and repelled his touch.

  Even in the streetlights she could tell he was beautiful with rumpled blond hair and pork chop style side burns. Deep dimples crinkled now as he looked at her creation with apparent fascination. He turned the glittering gaze on her, locking eyes.

  Energy shifted within her and she felt the sensation of her belly moving to the left as her chest moved to the right. Her bubble of light vanished. Gasping, she tensed to run, and he smiled wider.

  “Oh yes, do run, little witchling. I so love a good chase.”

  She stumbled backward. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not a witch or a priestess. I’m nobody. I’m just a counselor at the School for the Disabled.”

  He walked casually forward as she continued backing away. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

  “What? The bubble?” She shook her head. “I don’t know--I just invented it, I guess.”

  “Powerful,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Do you do other magic?”

  She shook her head, looking around for anyone who might help her. “No, sir.” She didn’t know where the “sir” came from, but it amused him and he beamed another toothy grin, his fangs seeming to lengthen before her eyes.

  It had been the eye contact that had burst the bubble. All she had to do was avoid eye contact. She threw another bubble up around her and took off running as fast as she could. She heard his laughter behind her, but did not hear his footsteps in pursuit. Still, the hairs on her head stood up, warning her of
something. She ran the seven blocks to her duplex and jabbed her key into the lock. Once inside, she checked the latches on the doors and windows, trying to catch her breath.

  A stake through the heart. That was how you killed a vampire. And garlic. She looked around wildly for any kind of wooden stick. There--the dowel in her little wall hanging. It might work. It was three quarter inches thick and 18 inches long. She brought it to the kitchen and began frantically carving the end into a crude point.

  She almost screamed when she heard a knock on the door, but then her neighbor’s voice called out, “Hey, Sasha, you got any smokes?”

  “No, Jane! I don’t smoke, remember?” she called back.

  “Well, can I come in?” Jane asked.

  Crap.

  She went to the door, sharpened stake in hand, and opened it. Somehow, she was not at all surprised to see the vampire leaning in the door frame.

  “Go back to your side,” he said softly to Jane, whose eyes were glassy and unfocused. She trotted obediently away, clearly glamoured by the vampire.

  Even as her brain processed it, her eyes slid to his and she was lost in the ice blue pools, her belly moving to the left as her chest moved to the right.

  “Come in,” she heard herself say.

  He grinned broadly and pushed past her into the apartment.

  The moment their gaze broke, her wits returned and she launched herself at him, aiming for the middle of his upper back with the sharpened dowel.

  He whirled and caught her wrist so quickly she didn’t see it happen, but the outrage on his features registered clearly, fangs elongating as he hissed. Wrestling the dowel from her, he snatched her up around the waist and carried her, kicking and squirming to her living room. She panicked, wishing she had eaten garlic or had some other defense against getting drained by a hungry leech. To her surprise, he plopped down on her sofa and pulled her ass-up over his lap.