Mostly Dark by Miranda Kate (motivational novels .TXT) 📖

ruin the tree.

When she turned back to him, his tongue was protruding and his eyes were wide. He was gone. She sighed. Then she got up and went to the sideboard, pouring herself a large port. Now she could relax.

Last Supper

 

He’d called her earlier in the day to confirm the time he was coming home. She couldn’t wait; the house was immaculate, and the dining room all laid out. She’d even polished the silver candelabra.

As dusk approached she prepared the food. He liked it meaty and lots of it, so she had gone beyond her usual expertise, and set it out in their best dishes.

Then she got herself ready, slipping into a comfortable sexy black dress. She knew he’d like it. She smiled. It was perfect; he wouldn’t know what hit him. She giggled. No, he wouldn’t, but that was how she wanted it.

She heard his car and glided down the ornate staircase, hovering on the bottom step as she heard his footsteps on the gravel drive. He opened the door and paused when he saw her. His greeting caught in his throat as his eyes swept over her.

“Avril, you look … amazing.”

“Thank you, Paul.”

He shut the door behind him and put his briefcase down. She could see a question forming in his eyes.

“You want to ask me why, don’t you?”

He stammered as he replied, “Well yes, I do. I … Is there a reason?”

Avril smiled at him. “We’ll get to that later, first I want you to enjoy it all.”

She saw a crease flutter across his temple, but he remained silent while she led him to the dining room. When he saw the presentation of their meal, he stood in the doorway blinking, letting out a slight laugh.

“Come closer, take a look at what I’ve prepared.”

“You’ve prepared? You mean this wasn’t catered?” Paul stumbled forward, peeking under the lids of the huge tureens. It looked divine.

He sat down at the head of the table, and Avril sat at his side. She wanted to be close to him and share the intimacy of the moment.

He watched her serve him, laughing as she piled all the food onto his plate, relaxing a little as she piled it on her own too. He watched her tuck in first before starting in on his own, and they sat gorging themselves on all the meaty delights.

Then she brought over a bottle of red wine she’d opened earlier, and poured a healthy quantity into both of their wine glasses. He laughed as he raised his and took several swallows from it. Then his demure changed, the smile sliding from his lips.

“There’s something in this, isn’t there?”

She nodded while she sipped at hers.

“But you’ve got the same, haven’t you?”

She nodded again and gave a small smile as she said, “I’m not about to let you go out alone. We started out together and we’ll end together.”

His eyes flashed with fear and rage as he regarded the glass and threw the contents across the room.

“I knew this was too good to be true! You haven’t done anything like this for me in years.”

“You haven’t wanted me to; you’ve had ‘her’ to do it for you.”

His rage dropped, but the fear remained. He swallowed. “You mean, Larissa?”

“Yes dear, Larissa. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think I would be okay with it continuing under my nose?”

“What have you done?” he whispered.

Avril waved her arm across the table in front of them. “I decided to celebrate with a meal; a last supper if you will, while the poison does its work.”

Paul could feel his legs tingling. “But I haven’t drunk enough.”

“It wasn’t just in the wine, dear.” Sweat beads were breaking out on Avril’s forehead and she dabbed them with a napkin.

“The meat?” Paul’s mouth felt strange, the edges had started twitching.

“Yes, I marinated her well.”

Paul managed to whisper, “Her?” as he started to slide down the chair.

Avril was also struggling. Her glass dropped from her hand as her arm went limp, but she managed a giggle, and said, “Yes, Larissa. She had more meat on her than I thought. She tasted pretty good, don’t you think?”

The frozen look of horror completed it for Avril as she grinned her way into death.

Limits

 

Cheryl could see the woman’s mouth moving, jaw going up and down, but she couldn’t make out all the words, not from across the aisle. The woman was going at him nineteen to the dozen, keeping her volume low, but the high pitch whine sounded upset to Cheryl. The woman seemed to be pleading with him, her eyes searching his face for some kind of attention or recognition. He just stared out the window, rocking gently with the motion of the train, oblivious to her.

For a moment Cheryl wondered if they were together; maybe the woman was talking into a hidden mobile phone mic – or even talking to herself. But then the woman sat forward and flicked her hand against his leg in annoyance, making him jump.

He drew back from her touch as though it was something vile and stared at her, his eyes hard and unforgiving. The woman sat back again, silenced by the look, her cheeks flushing. Cheryl could see she was trying to stay composed, but a stray tear betrayed her attempts. He resumed his overview of the passing countryside.

Cheryl was about to do the same when a quick movement caught her peripheral vision, followed by an ascending scream. He looked as shocked as Cheryl, the expression remaining on his face as the light faded from his eyes.

Everyone in the carriage stopped what they were doing and turned in the direction of the scream. Hands went to mouths, and the inhaling of breath was audible as they sat aghast at the spectacle, too horrified to move or speak.

With her scream spent the woman sat back down. This time it was her turn to stare out of the window, while his frozen gaze stared down at the umbrella handle sticking out of his chest.

In the Dark, They Sing

 

Crowley’s heart lifted upon sight of the derelict building the sanctuary resided beneath. It stood black against the night sky. He felt the stress of a week away begin to loosen as he pulled the car under the side porch and covered it.

They heard him enter, their cries bringing a smile to his lips, washing away the remnants of his arduous week. He’d missed them – and them him. A week alone felt like an eternity, he knew that. He went about his ministrations, giving them much needed sustenance; their outstretched hands grabbing what they could, a few lucky ones grabbing more.

As they settled, he did too, taking his place in the worn armchair in the centre of the cavernous room facing the cell doors. Eyes peered between bars set into thick oak. The doors afforded him protection until he opened them. But it was early yet and he had to recover from a week out in the real world first.

He unscrewed the bourbon, enjoying its glint in the lantern light. He relished the first sip, the fire awakening his soul as it warmed his body. It wouldn’t take many to bring him back to life tonight.

They watched him as he drank, waiting.

After just two he stood up, hearing their collective breaths as he walked to the back of the room to the CD player. He needed something dark and heavy tonight, something that would talk to his soul. He knew the one he needed, and they knew it too once he put it on.

He heard their murmurs when the first chords came through the tiny speakers, and he felt their eyes on him as he walked to the corner to fetch the keys, the rattle of which heightened their voices, bringing out their melodic high pitched tones. His mood lifted further; this was always his favourite part.

They shrank back as he turned the key in each lock, but he let them do the opening tonight; he was in no hurry. Instead he returned to his chair and the amber liquid that enhanced his enjoyment.

The door in the middle creaked open. Crowley knew she’d be first; she was bolder than the others, more daring. She slithered out, pressing herself against the wall and sliding down it, relieved to be out.

Her nakedness aroused him, but he remained seated, knowing she would come to him in her own time, but only once the others came out too. They were a collective – it was why he enjoyed them so much.

As they appeared they drew together like magnets, huddling close, their unique forms fitting like a writhing puzzle. He watched their constant motion as they stroked and caressed each other, comforting and titillating at the same time. Once fully awake and excited they turned their gaze on him with a sparkle in their eyes. It was his turn to inhale.

Crowley set his drink down, and loosened his trousers, bracing himself for their onslaught. Capturing dark forest fairies was one thing, but satiating their lurid desires was another. He’d learnt to hold his own under their frenzied devouring of all he had to offer, and although he might be left raw, he was never left wanting. He didn’t know if he could ever let them go, and in the peaks of their coupling, he hoped they didn’t want him to.

Author’s Thanks

There are many, many people who have supported me with my writing, including a wonderful online writing group I wouldn’t be here without. But here are a few people that deserve a special thank you:

The contents of this novel would not have been created without Jeff Tsuruoka’s Flash Fiction contest: Mid-Week Blues Buster. Every week Jeff would provide a song, and I would write whatever story it brought to mind. As I can’t listen to music when I write, it was a game changer for me and produced some incredible stories. Thanks Jeff!

Susi Holliday, for her pep talks and constant belief that I am a worthy writer.

Angela Lynn, whose conviction in my writing ability has never wavered – and who has also allowed me the privilege of being her editor.

Imran Siddiq and Michael Wombat for letting me pick their brains about self publishing – especially Wombat who happily answered all my tricky, fiddly, formatting questions, with the natural breeze of a pro – which of course he is!

Michael Sands who allows me to talk his ear off on many occasions over Skype.

Sara Mickleburgh for her patience while waiting for me to finally hand over the book for proofing, after asking her a good year earlier, and for the excellent job she did.

Oh and my husband, who allows me to sit at home and conjure up all these tales around taking care of our two children, while he goes out to work. Thanks Ron.

 

About the Author

 

Miranda Kate spent her early childhood in Surrey, in the south of England, and her teens moving round the UK, but currently resides in the Netherlands.

She writes under two pen names. Under Miranda Kate, she has been featured in several Flash Fiction anthologies, and has published two collections, one of dark flash-fiction tales called Mostly Dark, and another of science-fiction stories called Slipping Through. The latter containing a short novella,