Short Stories

Horror

Stockholm

I lifted my head slightly as a wolf whistle came through the yells of laughter in the bar. I turned my chair to see three guys, one of them actually cute, in a booth. It was covered in shadow, pierced only by the lamp hanging from the rusted ceiling.

The one of the left was too thin and tall, his eyes gray. He wore a gray t-shirt, tight on his skin but with nothing to show for it. His left ear was pierced with a diamond, but was too small to help him any. He tried to smirk, but it came off as a cute smile.

The man on the right was an old man, with wrinkles and thin skin, but seemed fit. His eyes were too dark to make out a colour, but seemed close to his navy flannel jacket, unzipped to show a dark brown shirt. His white wispy hair matched a silver watch that shimmered as he reached for the glass in front of him.

Then the boy in the center. His jaw was wide, as well as his eyes, giving him a 'too old for his soul', look. His blonde hair was short and swept to the right, but matched with his blue eyes. He smirked, successfully, as I met his eyes, his brown leather jacket shining in the dimness. He reached for his beer, showing pure white scars on the top of his right arm.

I tried to put him off and turn back to my drink, but he decided I was too good to pass up and came over.

"Well hello. What’s your name?" He asked, leaning on the bar with the beer in his right hand.

"None that you need to know." I shook the ice in my glass, sighing at how quick the alcohol disappeared. I wasn’t even the tiniest bit drunk, even after two scotches.

"That’s okay." He leaned close, cigarette and alcohol mixing on his breath. His eyes were bloodshot, but eager.

I crossed my ankles as he glanced over me, lingering over my suddenly too large torso. "You’re too drunk boy." I glanced away, looking for some help, but all the girls there that night were either swallowing someone else’s tongue in dark booths or outside smoking.

"Oh I don’t know about that! What is the definition of ‘too’ drunk? I don’t think that exists." He reached with his left hand for my jaw.

I slapped his hand back, desperately making eye contact with the bartender.

He shrugged and disappeared into the back. A glass clattered to the ground seconds later, followed by a curse and the sweeping of a broom.

"Playing hard-to-get? That’s okay." His eyes relaxed, his lips twitching as I looked over at him. "I like that."

I smirked suddenly and turned, facing his inexplicably beautiful eyes. "Why don’t we get out of here so this ruse can shatter?" Beautiful…

He nodded like a child, staring my chest.

I slapped his face, leaving a red mark, his hand reaching up to it in shock. "Later." I whispered and stood, stalking out of the bar. I slammed open the door as his beer fell, breaking on the ground.

The barkeep cursed and yelled in frustration at the man, but he was too drunk to care.

Soon, I was out of earshot, waiting for the running footsteps of the boy. Darkness surrounded me, lit dimly by the flickering streetlight. One not far away was completely out, so instead a lamp sat on the ground. Perfect. I almost stomped on the lamp before I heard his bubbling voice.

"Hey! Lady! You still here?" The man yelled as he ran through the parking lot. He tripped, but soon got up, his knees bleeding.

I waved from my spot, watching him shed the leather jacket.

His shirt underneath was blood red, cut by thin gray lines. He rushed up to me, his hands finding my cheeks. His breath was stale, replacing the night air.

Why was it so easy to give? I wondered. So easy to let them rule?

I giggled as I grabbed his hands, his height much greater than my own. "'One taste is all it takes, boy.'" I smile as I whisper the line I had memorized from when I was five years old. So many years ago.

He laughed, his cheeks red in the dim light, from the moon and from the streetlight. "One taste."

Our lips touched and I bit his lip hard enough to taste blood at the warm contact.

"What was that for?!" He jumped back and raised his hand to slap me.

I traced the blood on my lips with my fingers, licking them, he stopped in surprise. I smiled brighter, knowing that now I was fully intertwined with this man I had hurt. His breath became the only scent now. No smoke, no night. I would hurt him many times over, drawing blood every day for years. Until the blood started to taste like water, then I would fall in love with someone else.

I drew a knife and jumped forward, stabbing this love’s side. Blood stained the red shirt and I whispered the next part of the poem.

"'Then I will taste you and whisper my single question… Will you marry me?'"