Posts Tagged ‘Hot’

Midnight Snack (Short Story Excerpt)

January 16, 2017

author-3

1.

February 4th, 2017.

Stark City, Oregon.

6:59 p.m.

Gabriel Lester craved blood. Lots of it. Fresh and hot; straight from the jugular of his prey. He hadn’t tasted the rich, red delicacy in what felt like forever, and being a creature of the night, he needed it.

Like humans need air.

So, stomach churning, Gabe looked up at his two unsuspecting victims, and grinned—baring his long, white fangs.

Now, they’ll know true fear!

For a moment, no one moved. The man and woman across the table looked at Gabe with what seemed like fear welling up in their eyes. Fear of what he intended to do. Still smiling, Gabe curled his hands in imitation of Count Orlok in Nosferatu, then the man let out a disgusted groan.

A groan which jolted the eleven-year-old boy back to reality.

Instead of a dark, dreary castle in the Romanian wilderness, Gabe sat in a bright, cheery dining room. His family lived in a small, two-bedroom house in the Dibert District. He liked it there, but his stepfather, Ronald Keene, didn’t.

Ronnie didn’t like much of anything.

“Take those out, Gabe! Don’t bring that crap to the dinner table!”

Gabe’s grin faded.

Aw, man…

“Where did you get those, Angel?” Gabe’s mother, Marcy, asked, glancing at Ronnie.

“From Dad.” Gabe took the plastic vampire teeth from his mouth and stuffed them in his pocket. “He got them out of a gumball machine, said they were magic. Pretty cool, huh?”

Ronnie, a big man with a fat belly, meaty arms, and a flat-top hairdo, chortled and reached for his beer. His third can of the night, and nowhere near his last.

“Well, Ronnie’s right. You shouldn’t wear those at the table.”

Gabe nodded. “Sorry, Mom.”

Ronnie belched—“Bruuup!”—and shook his head. “Marcy, why do you keep calling him ‘Angel?’ He’s almost a teenager…”

Marcy turned to Gabe with a maternal pout. “Because he’s my little angel.”

“Great.” Ronnie sighed, took another drink.

Ugh! I miss Dad already.

Deflated, Gabe stared at his plate. Steak; so well done it looked like burnt leather. Mashed potatoes; good, but tainted with garlic. And his least favorite vegetable of all: Brussels sprouts; chewy and bitter. A worse dinner he couldn’t imagine; all of it dictated by his stepfather’s brutish tastes.

Poor Gabe. The combined aromas alone killed his appetite, but he had no choice. He had to eat it.

Every last bite.

“Hey!” Ron barked. “Don’t let your meat loaf!”

Gabe looked up, resentful of Ronnie’s tone. He didn’t find the joke funny, but knew what it meant. “Yes, Ronnie,” he droned, picking up his fork and knife.

“How were the three days with your father?” Marcy asked. She looked haggard, wore a nervous smile. Eyes flitting from Gabe to Ronnie, Ronnie to Gabe.

“Uh, we just hung out. Talked a lot. Watched movies.”

“Oh, God. Your father and all those old monster films.”

“Yeah…”

Setting his beer down, Ronnie let out another hearty “Bruuup!

“When does he leave again?”

Gabe sawed into his steak. “This weekend.”

Ronnie laughed. “Lenny’s going on the road with his fruity little theater group again, huh?”

“Now, Ron—” Marcy began.

“What’s the name of the show this time? The Amazing Life of Professor Crabapple?”

“The Life and Times of Professor Appleton,” Marcy corrected.

“Whatever.” Ronnie shook his head. “Prancing around a stage ain’t no example for a boy. I can’t believe you married that pansy.”

Clutching his utensils, Gabe’s eyes narrowed.

“Now, Ron—”

“Well, at least you two have a real man to take care of you now.” Smirking, Ronnie cut himself a hunk of dry steak and stuffed it into his mouth. “A guy like Lenny just doesn’t understand what’s important in life…like having a family.”

You asshole.

Trembling with the urge to jam his fork into Ronnie’s eye, Gabe turned to his mother. Marcy shrugged, gave him her usual apologetic look:

Don’t take it personally, Angel.

But of course, he did.


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Show support on Patreon @ https://www.patreon.com/jesselynnrucilez

Thank you for reading!

JLR

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What Came Over Her (Short Story Excerpt)

September 2, 2015

author-1

1.

June 3rd, 2016.

Stark City, Oregon.

11:57 p.m.

Smiling, Wendy Marie Hunicutt stepped onto the pentagram. “Now it begins,” she whispered, sinking to her knees.

“Payback’s a bitch, Kara!”

The pale, flabby girl had drawn a crude circle on the floor in chalk. Within this circle, she’d drawn a five-pointed star. At each point of the star, she’d placed a small black candle. Five tiny flames now lit the empty room; flickering, twisting the darkness around Wendy’s naked body. The azure ring on her left hand glimmered in the soft light. The initials carved into the gold band read:

K.L.V.

“You’ve fucked with me for the last time!”

Kneeling in the star’s central pentagon, Wendy closed her eyes. Blood spurted from her wrists, splattering against her legs, pooling around her knees. The razor she’d used to slit her veins lay outside the circle, next to an open tome of ancient writing. Beneath the razor lay a portrait of Kara Vance. Blonde, dimpled, and buxom. The All-American High School Cheerleader Goddess. Her blue eyes had been slashed by the razor. Black candle wax hid her perfect smile.

“And now I’m free…”

Ignoring the hot sting in her forearms, Wendy concentrated, forming a vivid mental portrait of Kara. Her favorite portrait:

Kara, resplendent in her cheerleader uniform, falling from a great height. Hurtling into darkness.

Crying.

Shrieking.

Thrashing.

All the way to her death.

I’m gonna make you suffer worse than I ever have!

Still, Wendy’s blood spurted. Her jaw quivered. Gooseflesh rose on her arms and legs. Beginning to feel faint, she bit down hard, took a deep breath, and began her ominous chant:

Possideo

The memory of that fateful first encounter resurfaced. Walking into the Robert Sloan High School cafeteria for the first time. Seeing Kara Vance, daughter of Stark City Councilman, Kirk Vance, in the flesh. Everyone knew Kara. Everyone wanted to be her friend. There’d been an empty spot at Kara’s table, and Wendy had committed the sin of sitting down, and the mortal sin of speaking to her.

“Why are you talking to me?” Kara had asked, much to the delight of her squealing sophomore posse. “You’re freshman trash. Even worse, you’re Meyer trash. We live in Hinckley, honey. Our parents can buy and sell your parents…”

Then came the laughter. Brutal. Haunting. Unrelenting.

“Deleo

Nude, bleeding, bathed in candlelight, Wendy remembered the utter confusion, anger, and shame as complete strangers ridiculed her. People she hadn’t harmed…people she didn’t even know.

“Supero…

And from there, everything escalated.

“Possideo…”

Dirty notes on her locker. Insulting texts to her phone. Obscene messages on her Facebook page. The unfortunate nickname: Windy Huni-cunt.

“Deleo…”

Condescending looks in the halls. Snide remarks in class. Prank phone calls in the middle of the night.

“Supero…”

Threats. Shoves. Bubblegum in her hair. Key marks on her mother’s car the first and last time Wendy drove it to school.

“Possideo…

The time three friends of Kara’s friends—since Kara’s posse would never sully their own hands—jumped Wendy in the bathroom, resulting in a black eye, bruised ribs, and a sprained ankle.

“Deleo…

And the rumors. The filthy, vicious rumors. The least cruel being that Wendy had blown several of her male teachers for passing grades. The worst being that she’d molested a boy she’d once babysat.

“Supero…

Dying, Wendy recalled how at first her parents hadn’t believed her. How they’d told her that everyone deals with bullying at some point, and to tough it out. But when the abuse became undeniable, they’d gotten involved. Or tried to, at least. The teachers, the principal, the entire school system; no one could help.

Maybe they just didn’t want to.

“Possideo

Changing their landline had gotten their house egged. Getting a new phone increased the online harassment. Shutting down her Facebook caused a bag of dog shit to appear in her locker. Kara and her friends just created a fake Windy Huni-cunt profile, anyway. And there they posted the vilest messages and pictures the real Wendy had ever seen.

“Deleo

For three years, Wendy has endured this torment. Three long, miserable years.

“Supero

With no end of suffering in sight.

“Possideo

Three times she’d applied for a school transfer, and three times she’d been refused due to overcrowding.

“Deleo

And lest she take comfort in the fact that her last year at Robert Sloan would be Kara-free, Wendy received an anonymous typewritten note in her backpack:

Dear Ms. Huni-cunt,

Don’t think for a second that just because someone graduates their influence can’t be felt.

Good luck in your senior year.

Sincerely,

A Friend

“Supero

Thus, hopeless, harrowed, and untouched by any boy she’d ever liked, Wendy Hunicutt came to this abandoned boathouse overlooking Stark Reservoir, armed with a book, a razor, and a raging thirst for vengeance.

“Possideo…deleo…supero…

And there, at last, Wendy found peace…

Read “What Came Over Her” compliments of The Abyss E-zine @ http://theabyssmag.blogspot.com/2018/07/what-came-over-her-by-jesse-lynn-rucilez.html


If you enjoyed this excerpt, please subscribe, like, and share.

Support me on Patreon @ https://www.patreon.com/jesselynnrucilez

Thank you for reading!

JLR


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