Imagine Tales

Often her love would stop in the early morning by the gate and just look into the grounds, normally for only a minute or so, but sometimes more. When her beloved did this, she would sneak as close as she dared, a few times almost seen, but she always hid away in time. When her sweetheart turned and walked over to the cake shop, she would sit there wishing she had let herself been seen. But she knew the truth deep down, her cake lady would be repulsed by her and blame her sadness upon her.

One cold winter morning when her love had stood there at the gates looking in, she swore they had met eyes. She had gazed into her cake lady’s eyes, and they had gazed back into hers. The moment felt like it lasted forever, and in that time they learned everything they needed to know. She saw how her decaying flesh did not matter to her beloved, that the love her cake lady felt was beyond the putrid skin and open wounds. There was forgiveness for killing and feasting upon an only child, a daughter who had run away after an argument with her mother, no time now to say sorry. None of this mattered, for the cake lady understood and blessed the monster that she was. Suddenly, her beloved turned and wandered slowly over to the cake shop as if nothing had happened. Why? She asked herself. Why had she left so suddenly? Yes! That was it, she had to follow, prove her love by leaving her home, her safe place. She ran as best she could, stumbling, arms outstretched, as she tried to scream “I’m coming”. Her throat racked with pain as decayed vocal cords vibrated. She finally made it to the gates of the graveyard and stopped.

She hesitated, the street empty this early in the morning. With a cry she threw herself past the iron gates and out onto the road. She willed her limbs to carry her, steadily she got ever closer to the little cake shop. Finally at the door, she watched her love walk through the beaded curtains into the kitchen. She continued inside and around the counter, following her love with a lifted heart, a sense of relief that she need no longer hide in the shadows. She reached the beaded curtains and looked through – she could see her. She was facing away from her as she arranged her tools on the desk, ready to begin decorating the large cake on the table. The sound of moving through the curtain caused her beloved to look around into the doorway

Her cake lady screamed. It was a moment of joy for she knew it was a scream of happiness. Her mouth wide not in terror, but of rapture that finally they could be together. She watched as her love steadied herself on the table, wanting her to join her, to love her, to kiss her, to seduce her. Her sweetheart had raised her arms in the air, open to receive her dead lover. She moved from the doorway, the curtain beads catching in the exposed bone of her shoulders, ripping small pieces of rotten flesh and muscle away. Throwing herself towards a loving embrace, trying to utter the words “I love you”, she saw the glint of metal in the hands of her lover.

The knife swung down in a forceful arc, cutting through the flesh and muscle like it was icing, deep into her neck. It smashed through the weakened neck joints and erupted out the other side like it had cut a rotten apple. Her body collapsed instantly, her head fell to the floor and rolled a few feet before coming to a stop. She could see her body, her legs making a thumping sound as they twitched. Her love stood over her, the knife now falling to the floor as she brought her hands to her face, crying and screaming. A tear began to form in the eye of the severed zombie head.

Part 1 | Part 2

Authors Note:
This short was a result of working through a book of how to write short stories. Like at school, you read the book then you do the homework. This particular brief was simply ‘Begin with ‘Once there was…’ and complete your story in four sentences’ so I did begin as it asked and I completed in four sentences. I did not take it seriously, I used to bring out my juvenile side and it was the ludicrous idea of an infatuated lesbian zombie. But the following brief was to make a thousand word story. As I wrote this piece of pulp it started to grow a serious edge, dealing with the death of a child and the dangers of the human mind when obsessed. So here are  those four sentences as some kind of DVD extra.

1. Once there was a girl zombie who was in love with the lady who sold cakes in town.
2. She tried to tell the lady how she felt about her, but as her vocal cords have almost rotted away only groans came from her mouth.
3. The cake lady thought that the zombie girl was going to eat her brains, so pulled out the chainsaw that she kept under the counter and chopped the zombie girl’s head off.
4. As the zombie girl’s head rolled across the floor and came to a stop, a tear fell down her decomposing cheek.

There was a gentle sound as the tear drop splashed against the wood. Whilst she laid there upon the floor, she could see her foot gently tapping, the sole of her red stained shoe against the exposed floorboards with an unnerving thump, thump, thump. She could feel the impact resonating through the wood as her left ear was pressed to the floor. A small stone caused slight discomfort against her lobe, but she could not move her head. She had nothing left now, only the hunger that always plagued her. Her last hope, her last grasp to life was gone, a final act by the one she loved told it all to her. As she let her last grip on humanity fall, she could feel the urge to feast and gorge herself fill her soul, she want to tear, rip, gouge and swallow it all. The drumming of her foot becoming more and more intense as the hunger filled her senses until she could not hold back anymore. Her mouth opened wide baring her teeth.

…

She had watched her go past her home for many months now, never able to approach her, never able to ask her out for a drink. She gazed across the road to where her love worked in the small cake shop. Faint wafts of baking would travel on the gentle breeze in the summer when the door was left open. When the light was right, she could see in through the window at the front of the little shop. She would watch her serve customers, smile and laugh. Once she had watched her cry after a visit from a police officer. She had not come to work for many days after, and when she did finally return, her step was slower and her smile gone. The cake lady would often stare out of the window and across the road, always with a sad expression of mourning, a sense of loss. It was during these times her feelings for this once happy cake lady intensified. She wanted to reach out to her, hold her, kiss her, make her smile again. But still she never approached her cake lady, she hid in her home, behind the walls, behind the old oak tree, never leaving, even when the gate was open by day.

She had stayed in this place for over a year now, long enough for her to call it home. It was dangerous outside, and even when her stomach ached with hunger, she stayed hidden from the outside world. During daylight when she was not watching her love, she stayed in the darkness, hidden inside. At night she would allow herself to wander upon the grass and beneath the trees in the grounds of her home. She would imagine them together, hand in hand, as they walked the paths between the stones. Some nights she would become violent and smash herself again the walls, both physical and mental, fighting the hunger when she had the strength to.

She held on to her humanity the best she could, but temptation sometimes strayed inside the old brick walls. Young couples on a midnight stroll seeking a scare to make them hold each other closer, drunks looking for a quiet place to drink and sleep and then others who came to embrace the solitude that this place brought as they could or would not go home. Not even she could hold back then, and afterwards, when the hunger briefly died away, she would be left tormented, unable to face what she had done and what she really was. Once the police came, when she had left her meal in the open after being disturbed. It was then they had spoken to her beloved cake lady, as well as searched her own home, but this place was old with many secret places to hide and after a few days the police had gone, no wiser to her existence.

Part 1 | Part 2

She thought to herself as she stood at the gate.
What mysteries does that old house contain?
What thrills, excitement and fear shall I gain?
Shall I step through this night and make my claim?
Her eyes sparkled as her thoughts ran away.

Her childhood filled with tales to keep you away.
Haunted by ghosts and a goblin whom played deadly games!
An asylum for mad folk who had once misbehaved!
The boy who had died a horrible death!
When he hid there after running away.

The gate squeaked loudly trying to complain.
But she ignored its warnings and accidently trod on a snail.
She ran up the path, past the old rose plants.
Whose blood red petals had died for winter to come.
She looked at the door, her questions out laid.

Are you the door that opens to my dreams?
Are you the door that hides in my nightmares?
Are you the door that opens to ghosts?
Are you the door that protects the goblin?
The door did not answer.

Knowing the door could not help,
she sighed and looked elsewhere.
She crept past the windows, daring to look in.
Shadows moved against the walls within.
Her heart leapt in fear and joy wanting in.

She ran round the corner into the veranda.
An old swing chair hung, gently swaying in the wind.
She sat down and pondered the trouble she could get in.
Will she get attacked by bats and eaten by rats?
Would ghosts and the goblin take me away?

She then saw the window that was open.
She ran to the entrance and looked right in.
She then pulled herself up and clambered across.
She ran through a door and entered within.
She ran up the stairs and then she saw him.

He stood there all green and lumpy like.
He stood there with his ears pointed quite high.
He stood there picking his nose with a knife.
He stood there and smiled at his new delight.
“You want to play my game” he asked.

“What game is that” she asked with fright.
“It’s a game of chance” he replied suddenly hiding the knife.
“What can I win” she wanted to know.
“Your heart’s desire and some Crumpets”
“Crumpets?” she replied. “Crumpets” he replied.

“What can you win” she asked
“Your heart” he simply said.
“How do I play?” she replied with some disdain.
“Just take my hand” he easily claimed.
She grabbed his hand and they walked away.

They walked to the secret held in the loft.
They ate banquets in the dining room all covered in dust.
They entered the playroom where ghosts came to play.
Laughed at the rocking horse with only one rock.
The next thing they knew it was the light of the day.

“I must go now” he said, “The light it hurts.”
“Have I won?” she asked with a sadness inside.
“Yes you have” he simply replied.
“But you have lost then” she remarked with a frown.
“Oh but I have also won” he smiled.

She leant over and kissed him as he gazed into her eyes.
She whispered “I love you, you have my heart.”
He held out his hand and opened his fingers.
She took the crumpet with delight.
He smiled and said “And now we leave to live in the night.”