_Humans, such unimaginative creatures. I will give a few of them credit, they could smell my otherworldliness. My last victim, as I went in for my kill, I could hear the hairs on his his arms stand up, sweat trickled slowly down his neck. He knew I wasn’t who I appeared to be, but never in a million years would he have guessed my true form. I enjoyed my meal, but as luck would have it, someone saw him enter my home. They thought I was a witch, said they would burn me at the stake like the others. I wasn’t at my strongest when they broke into my home, shackled me and flung their accusations at me. I mean, they were right, I did kill the boy, but seriously, I was insulted! They thought I was a mere witch?? HA! If they only knew! A witch is a play thing compared to me at my full strength. Oh, but they would soon find out the terror that awaited them. Once the sun sets, and my power seeps back into this flimsy exoskeleton I was parading around in (easier to lure in my prey), those fools in Salem would find out what true power was. _ __ __ In the fall of 1693, histeria spread like wildfire through Salem, Massachusetts. The villagers saw dark magic and evil at every turn. As they carried on their witch hunt, the fear that eminated from was like honey to the dark creatures they lurk beyond world. They smelt it, drawn to the fear like moss to a flame. That’s how the creature found its way to Salem. The humans hunted witches, thinking they were true evil, if they only knew what they let seep in through the cracks.
_In a hazy, evening glow, his face slips in and out of focus. I know that face, and yet I don’t. There are no concrete features. I couldn’t tell you what color his eyes were, or how tall he is, or the shape of his face, but I knew him. Deep in my soul, I knew that face. As recognition sunk in, I felt my stomach drop. My hands became clammy, my heart rate picked up; my once slow, steady breath, caught in my throat. His eyes connected with mine. A cruel smile formed on his face. One moment he was across the room, and in the next he was within inches of my face. _ __ _The scene began to take shape, just as I remembered it. The lights dimmed low, the plate shattered to pieces, the meal I made, scattered across the floor. The blood red stain on the carpet, right where the glass fell. The red began to spread, thickening into a gooey substance, that was more than just wine. He opened his mouth to repeat those words that still haunted me. As my body recoiled, and the fear crept up from my toes to my chest, the haze came back, and the scene washed away. _
My eyes shot open, my body flung upright. It took me a moment to reorient my self, to remember where I was. “It was a dream, it was just a dream.” I said out loud, to no one but myself. “You are safe, it’s over.” I took a deep breath, and held it until my lungs burned, and pushed it out. “He can’t hurt me again.” And yet, there was a small part of me that remained uneasy. He might be gone from the physical world, but if he finds me in my dreams, how will I ever know peace. He told me he would always find me, and he never broke a promise…
“Mother, why do the stars light up the sky?” “To guide you home whenever you are lost.” “Mother, why does the wind whip in my face?” “To fill your nose with natures most precious scents.” “Mother, why does the bird let the fledgling fall when learning to fly?” “So it knows that failure is the first step to success.” “Mother, why does the sun set and the sky get dark?” “So you know that even in your most darkest hour, light will always return.” “Mother, why do you love me so much?” “Because a mother’s love is as infinite as a child’s curiosity.”
He was a murderer. Scum of the earth, the worst kind of man (or woman), you would ever meet. He tormented his wife, made her fear for her life every moment of every day, until there were no moments left. He killed her, that much I’m certain about it. But he was clever, more clever than I gave him credit for. Every track, neatly covered, every piece of evidence somehow pointing to nowhere and no one.
I knew he did, I could smell the death on him. Like an invisible scarlet letter, but representing something much darker than a woman’s supposive promiscuity, that few of us could see. But, I saw it. So did my partner. After years working Homicide, we knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would walk. I made a decision, in a moment of weakness, or maybe a deep seething regret for her, the one I couldn’t protect; the one who’s life was ripped away, because we let that son of a bitch go free.
We knew he killed that other girl, but the DA said the charges wouldn’t stick, and refused to prosecute. A week later, he hunted her down, like lion to prey. I still see her helpless, lifeless eyes, staring at me when I sleep. Golden brown, warm like autumn. They haunt my dreams. I hear her voice, or the voice I imagine she would have, asking me why I didn’t stop him, why did I fail her? It was those golden brown eyes I saw when I closed my eyes for a moment, to process the news that this shit head would walk too, when I made a choice that would alter the course of my life. It was that moment I decided, I would have to become a criminal, to catch a criminal. I wouldn’t let another woman die in vein because I couldn’t stop another monster.
There’s something romantic about Autum. The plants that blossomed in spring and thrived in the warm summer breeze, slowly decay. But in that decay is a canvas of warm auburn, burnt orange and red hues. It’s a warm glow, lighting up the trees and forest floor. It might be the end for the plants, but for love, it’s the start of something warm, cozy and epic. In this haze of autumnal glow, we find our two lovers. This isn’t a story about a quick summer love, but the slow burn of passion. As the leaves die, our lovers inhale their scent, cozying up in each other’s arms, surrendering to the forest.
