Author: maleghast (Page 10 of 35)

“Whisky!”

Cole thumped the bar with his fist as he spat forth his demand, making no attempt to cloak the contempt in his voice. The whole saloon had fallen silent when he had walked in, and now people were still holding their peace, but also now shuffling in their seats. A handful of the clientelle near to the door hurriedly rose and left, and the Faro dealer was closing up as the barkeep slowly wandered over to Cole, bottle in hand.

He poured Cole a shot;

“That’ll be a dime, Cole. You know the rules. You don’t raise that shot up ‘til I see your coin.”

Cole slammed three dollar pieces onto the bar;

“Leave the damn bottle, an’ shove your rules!”

The barkeep did as he was told, sliding the three coins off the bar and turning away in contempt.

“Mind you bring me my change, boy! This bottle ain’t full and I’ve give you fifty cents over the value for a full one.”

A shadow fell across the doorway and a voice came in from the street;

“Cole, if you want to drink in my place, you need to be kinder to the folks as work for me.”

Dinner was going well. Paul was starting to hope that he was reading her body language right, the smiles, the inclination of her head towards him, little touches on his hand as they talked about this and that; it felt like they were on the road to at least a first kiss. It occured to him that despite the coaching from Lawrence he had no idea what it was that was swinging this his way, whether it was the fact that he chose decent wine, or that he’d agreed with Lawrence and booked a table at a decent restaurant for a change or if she really liked him. Still, it seemed as though she was listening to what he had to say, that she liked that he was actively listening to her, that she was really looking into his eyes. He let himself believe, and then relaxed and tried to stop thinking about it too hard.

The waiter appeared, or at least there was someone by the table. It took a moment for Paul to realise that it was not a waiter, and that there was a gun pointing at her.

BANG BANG

She was limp and the shooter was gone.

“Granpa, why are you fishin’?”

Theodore smiled at his grandson’s question, enjoying the simple naiveté therein.

“Well, Carl, that’s not a question I’ve been asked before. Folks often ask me what kind of fish I hope to catch, or why I fish in this spot or that spot, but no one has ever asked me why I indulge in this hobby of mine.”

Carl was already transfixed, as he often he was when his much adored grandfather explained things to him, and so sensing that there was more than a simple answer still to come he settled down on the dock in the way that children do when they are entertained.

“I suppose I like to come down here onto the dock and cast a line into the water for a whole bunch’o reasons, Carl. I like to be out of the house, and coming out to spend some time fishin’ gets me time under the sky come rain or shine. But it’s not just about being out of doors. The time I spend out here lets me do some thinkin’ as well.”

“But don’t you want to catch fish, Granpa?”

“Well it’s not as important as trying to catch them.”

It was the smell of bacon that woke me up. The sun was streaming in through the window and there was a soft breeze blowing across the room, but it was the smell coming from the kitchen that actually roused me. I pulled the blanket around my waist like a sarong and padded down the hall into the kitchen, following the smells that were now not just bacon, but also fresh coffee and toast.

Laura was standing by the cooker, apparently wearing nothing but my shirt from the night before, tending to the frying pan. I leant against the doorframe and let my eyes linger on the back of her neck, enjoying the line of it curving into her shoulder, remembering running my fingers along it.

“Don’t just stand in the doorway, sit at the table. I bought a paper, if you like, and there’s juice and fruit out. This will be ready in a couple of minutes.”

I did as I was told; I’ll be honest it felt good that she wanted to cook for me, to look after me. I know some men would be freaked out, after only two weeks, but it felt right to me.

“I’ve never understood that about the way you people write about us. I mean where did the whole, crazy, allergic to sunlight thing come from anyway? I mean I always thought that Stoker did a good job of making our kind frightening without inventing stuff that simply isn’t true. Why did the writers that came after decide to make us victims of the sun’s rays? Is it just a powerful metaphor? The cleansing, pure light of day banishes evil? Or do mortals need some kind of mollifying belief so that vampires are not so scary, so that we are no threat in the bright light of day? Don’t get me wrong I like that you are scared of us, or that most of you are. It makes staying hidden easier if we are the boogieman, not believed in, but absolutely to be avoided.”

William took another drag of his cigarette, tapped it on the edge of the ashtray and shot me a winning, almost rakish smile before continuing;

“So why aren’t you afraid of me, of us? Please don’t tell me it’s hacks like Rice and Meyer who’ve got you so emboldened?”

Drip, drip, drip…

I try to open my eyes, but the dripping water gets in there and blurs my sight. My hands are cuffed above my head, I can feel the cuffs biting into my wrists, but not as much as they would be if they were supporting my weight. Focusing on sense I can feel the cold stone or concrete floor under my ass and my legs, the cold bricks of the wall all down one side of my body. Clearly someone has propped me up against a wall and cuffed my wrists above my head over a pipe of some kind, hence the dripping. I force my eyes open and try to speak;

“Mmmmugh. Mmugh”

I am gagged. My eyes start to adjust to the dim room and the dripping water; I can see someone sitting a few feet away looking right at me. It is an older man, no longer young, but not brought low by age either. He is wearing grimy slacks and a badly soiled white vest. He is unshaven and his hair is unkempt and greasy and pushed back. He is smoking, and that makes me want a cigarette myself.

“So you’re awake. Good, I have questions.”

I see a knife.

Nero27: So, what’s it like up there in Montana at the moment, is it cold?

GoodTimeGal39: Well there’s like 5 feet of snow in my garden, and like everywhere else so yeah, it’s pretty cold. Are you getting snow down there?

Nero27: Well, not really. You know I don’t think it’s ever snowed in Florida, at least not in the Keys. Have you ever been to Florida?

GoodTimeGal39: I did go to Disney World when I was in 9th Grade but that seems so long ago, and anyway I was creeped out by the whole thing. It was like everyone there was happy all the time and there was no space for just being normal. I guess I was a teenager and I was just looking for somethign to not like.

Nero27: Hey, I don’t know. That place always creeped me out, there is something wrong about a place, even a fantasy place, where everyone is happy all of the time.

GoodTimeGal39: My parents were so into the place, and the whole vacation I was just moody and miserable. Thinking back that must have really disappointed them.

Nero27: So will you show me your tits?

The snow appeared to cover the landscape like a soft woolen sheet when Ferdie peaked out of the window on his way back to bed. Allie was still asleep, she had not stirred when he had arisen to use the bathroom, and now he stood by the window just watching her sleep. He loved the way her face would become so peaceful when she slept, he valued the privilege to see her true face as much as anything about their relationship.

He turned back to the window and pulled the curtains open, letting the winter sun into the room. Allie stirred as the light played across her face, and through sleepy eyes she looked up at Ferdie;

“Good morning, babe. Did it snow?”

A wide smile spread across Ferdie’s face and he simply nodded and pointed out of the window. His smile was joined by an equally exuberant smile on Allie’s face as she bounded out of bed and threw herself into Ferdie’s arms. Squeezing him hard and pressing their bodies together she rained kisses down on his face;

“Come and play in the snow with me, lover?”

“Oh Yeah!”

Three o’clock and I was still awake. The previous two and a half hours had crawled by as I changed sides and enjoyed the view of either wall and of course the ceiling. I had tried music, and even turning the light back on to read. When I had tried to read my eyes had almost immediately rebelled against the task, leading me to hope that at last I could sleep, but the moment the book was closed and the light was once again out this sleepiness was banished by the dark.

Two and a half hours is not a very long time, when one has some kind of diversion; many films are as long and seem to pass in the blink of an eye. When I cannot sleep every second lasts for a minute as I grasp at repose.

You may ask why I was so stricken with this bout of vicious insomnia, and I would love to be able to offer some kind of useful or interesting explanation, but the mundane and disappointing truth is that neither was this night unusual nor provoked by any one thing that I could point to and say “and this is why I could not sleep”.

“She asked you what?”

“She asked me if I liked the way her pussy looks.”

“Damn! What did you say?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know I love the pussy, but let’s be honest, Bro, there is nothing good lookin’ about that whole area.”

“Are you serious? I love the sight of a pussy, man I love the way they look. I mean I really do think that they are beautiful. I thought that she was asking me ‘cos she’d read some crazy-ass magazine thing about labiaplasty and how men prefer smaller or tidier labia, but clearly it’s not just down to that. How can you not love the way a woman looks man?”

“Labiaplasty! Are you shittin’ me? What do you know about all that shit fo’?”

“I walk around with my eyes and ears open man. I mean this shit has been on the news and so forth. You do watch the news, right?”

“Nah man, that shit is borin’ an’ it’s always the same. Bad shit goin’ on in Iraq or Iran or somethin’ and then the banks is all fucked up and then some kid got clipped in a school shootin’. It’s depressing I ain’t wasting my time.”