Candy Coated Carnage - Valentine's Day 2026

Prelude

by Raven Tomes

The cards arrive first.

They always do.

No warning. No explanation. No name worth remembering.
Just an envelope slipped into the mail like it belongs there, nested between bills, grocery flyers, and ordinary things meant to be ignored.

Until it isn’t.

Inside waits a Valentine’s card.

Pink. Red. Sometimes clean. Sometimes creased, smudged, sealed by hands that lingered too long. The kind of card meant to feel safe. Familiar. Thoughtless.

At the end of the message, where a name should be, where affection usually signs off, rests a single Conversation Heart.

Pastel.
Chalky.
Small enough to dismiss.

It smells faintly of sugar.
And something coppered beneath it.

The words pressed into the candy are not sweet.
They do not flirt.
They do not joke.

They tell.
They warn.
They decide.

Each heart carries a message heavier than it should be, as if the candy remembers the moment it was chosen. As if the words knew their destination before the envelope was ever sealed.

The sender understands this.

He understands that Valentine’s Day is not about love.
It is about closeness.
About selection.
About the quiet power of being chosen.

He mails the cards carefully.
One heart per envelope.
One recipient per promise.

Some laugh when they read it.
Some toss the candy without a second thought.
Some keep it tucked away.
Some let it dissolve on their tongue.

None of that matters.

Because the moment the card is opened, the choice has already been made.

These stories are what follow.

The hours after the Valentine arrives.
After the message settles.
After sweetness turns brittle and sharp.

Each tale begins with a single heart.
Pulled from the same box.
Sent by the same hand.

This was meant for you.

Love always leaves a mark.

And every heart tells the truth in the end.

Kiss of Death

by Melinda Pouncey

“Hold the bus!”

A middle-aged man in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, ran toward the bus stop from almost a block away. The line had just boarded, save for a woman with one foot on the bottom step. She gave the driver a smile and a little shake of her head, stepping back onto the sidewalk. With a whoosh, the doors closed and the bus rumbled away from the stop, pulling out into traffic.

Still shouting, “Wait! Wait!” the man finally reached her. He stopped, gasping and panting, sweat covering his brow. “Didn’t you hear me?” he gasped. “Now I’m going to be late.”

The woman looked at him mildly and shrugged.

“Damn, it!” he ranted, searching the area for options. He spotted a taxi in the distance and started waving an arm frantically.

The woman watched as the taxi followed the flow of traffic in their direction. The man’s back was to her and her smile returned to see the vehicle approach fast and angle into the bus lane to pick him up. More people arrived at the bus stop and a small knot of them had gathered around. He stepped closer to the curb and the woman turned away, nudging him slightly with her elbow as she walked by. He stumbled and stepped into the street just as the taxi barreled up to the curb.

With a screech of tires the driver braked hard, but momentum carried the taxi neatly into the man with a sickening bump and crack. The people on the sidewalk gasped in unison behind her as she strolled away without looking back.

The crush of people at rush hour carried her along as she walked through the city, just another attractive woman with long dark hair and brown eyes. She wore a bright red dress and stiletto heels that accentuated her curves and shapely legs. Upon her wrist was a fine silver bracelet with a few odd charms: a bus, a toaster, a tiny pistol. As she passed a building downtown, a group of workmen in hardhats on a scaffold above called and whistled at her.

“I got somethin’ for you, sexy.”

“Get over here, babe.”

“I could ruin you, sweetheart.”

The slight smile returned to her face as she passed by without looking up. A piece of caution tape fluttered in the breeze at shoulder level to her and she lifted a finger to touch it as she walked by. There was a loud crack, followed by a thunderous roar as the scaffolding collapsed in a cloud of debris and dust. The shouts of surprise and screams from the workers as they fell were like music to her ears. Then their voices were replaced by the shouts of another crowd of onlookers.

She did so love when her work was acknowledged publicly.

Not that she didn’t relish the quieter moments too.

Taking a turn at the end of the block, she headed for the park. Whereas the day had been cloudy, the sun finally broke through as she strolled through the gates. Keeping to the path, she headed toward the duck pond, thinking it would be a nice break from her busy schedule. An old woman sat on a bench just ahead, her posture slumped as though she was asleep. She slowed as she neared and sat on the bench beside her.

The old woman’s breathing was shallow in her slumber. She was dressed in an oversized housedress and battered sneakers with no socks. At the end of the bench sat a rusted shopping cart with an assortment of rags and bottles and cans. In the old woman’s dream, she was young and surrounded by family: her husband and two small girls. The family was having a picnic in this very park, not far from the duck pond where she sat now. A slight, affectionate smile lit one corner of her wrinkled mouth. The old woman’s breathing slowed. With her last breath, the image of her younger self pulling a fried chicken leg from the picnic hamper flitted through her dream.

There was a small flash at the wrist of the woman in red, and upon the charm bracelet she wore, a tiny silver chicken leg appeared. She regarded it for a moment, an unreadable look in her dark eyes. She could have seen the entire tapestry of the old woman’s life if she’d had the inclination to look. All the joys and struggles, the pain, the pleasant moments, the laughter and the tears. Yet she did not care to see. Not any more than any other person walking through the city, ignoring the homeless and derelict denizens there. It wasn’t her concern, as it was not theirs. She had learned that knowing made no difference either way. It was all about balance in the end.

She stood and walked to the pond, watching the ducks until alerted it was time to go. Her heels struck little clicks against the sidewalk as she left the park and continued along the street. A limo slid to a stop at the curb and she got in. Through the tinted window she saw a man enter a nearby candy store. The limo lingered with her as she watched him buy a bag of conversation hearts. Oh, yes, that holiday was coming up. She had all but forgotten. She knew this man, and he seemed to be on another mission. She smiled and looked through the veil into his soul. A useful tool, to be sure, but she had no business with him today. His fate was not hers to command.

The limo pulled away, the unseen driver whisking her to her next destination. Along the way she did a little remote work, never truly off the clock. By the time she arrived at her next stop, the sun was beginning to set. The limo pulled up and she stepped out into the cool evening air. The restaurant was reservation only but she didn’t bother with the host. She picked her table and seated herself, checking out the wait staff and other patrons. A smartly dressed waiter with slicked back hair and wearing a black vest offered her a menu but she shook her head and ordered a shrimp cocktail, the lobster, and a glass of their finest red wine.

When he scurried away, she spotted a young couple being seated at a table nearby. They were obviously wealthy, even more so than the people around them, the man with expensive cufflinks and tie, the woman wearing a necklace that would have paid the homeless woman’s rent and medical bills for two lifetimes. He ordered the steak but was informed the last lobster had been ordered and all they had left was fish. With a look of annoyance, he ordered the fish, dismissing the waiter with a wave of his hand.

While the couple was waiting, her food arrived. She nibbled at her shrimp cocktail and sipped her wine, letting her eyes wander inconspicuously to them from time to time. The food here was fantastic, she could see why this place was so busy. At the back of the restaurant, a pianist played You Do Something to Me at a slow tempo as the chandeliers above glittered in crystal glory.

By the time the couple’s food arrived, the two were in the midst of a terse, low toned argument. Their conversation cut off as the waiter placed their plates in front of them. After he left, they glared at each other for a moment before picking up their forks and eating. The silence between them broke when the man said something through gritted teeth, making his point by brandishing his fork in the woman’s direction. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but instead her eyes flew open in shock and she began to choke. Her manicured fingers clawed ineffectually at her throat, lodging the fish bone she’d swallowed deeper.

Finishing her wine, she left the lobster on the plate in front of her untouched, walking out the door to the sound of a siren and the glow of red and blue lights. An ambulance pulled up to the front of the restaurant, a pair of EMTs piling out and rushing inside. Upon her wrist, a silver charm in the shape of a fish skeleton appeared, flashing in time to the rhythm of the emergency lights.

“Too late,” she murmured.

It was dark now and the rushing crowds of the day had thinned. People had gone home to dinner or hit the restaurants, bars and clubs for a night out. She still had a long night ahead herself but it was time for a little breather. At the end of the block, the limo waited at the curb, engine and lights off. She walked toward it with a smooth, unhurried stride, feeling good about her accomplishments. As she passed a shadowed alley, a man stepped out, blocking her way.

He was tall, dark skinned and dark featured, handsome in a way that spoke of mystery and a slight arrogance. She met his expectant look with a smile and raised her hand, showing off the silver bracelet now crowded with sparkling charms.

“Quite a productive day, I see,” he remarked.

“Quite,” she agreed.

He lifted her hand to his lips, bestowing a gentle kiss, then slipped the bracelet off and into his pocket. Taking out his pocket watch, he removed the fob and clasped it around her slim wrist. A platinum bracelet, pale and soft as moonlight.

“What do you do with them?” she asked.

He looked at her in surprise. “After all this time you’re finally curious?” he said with a mirthless chuckle.

“Not really,” she admitted. “Just wondering if you’d answer.”

He grinned. “No big deal. It’s sorting mostly, boring stuff. You’re the one who gets to have the fun.”

“Hmm,” she mused, “pretty much what I expected.”

Even in her heels, she had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him, and kiss him she did. He returned it with passion, the only entity in current existence who could survive the kiss of Death. They walked to the limo together, arm in arm. When they reached it, he opened the door for her and she got in. He followed and closed the door.

As the limo pulled away from the curb, he gathered her in his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder and placed a hand on his thigh.

“You know what they say, it’s all about balance,” he said.

Cut Me

by Ryan McGregor

The instructions were familiar. Reassuring.

A final test to pass to join their ranks.

“Begin distal.
Document thoroughly.
Work your way inward.”

An examination.
After hours.
No attending observers.
Remote evaluation. Two hours to complete.

The body was waiting for me,
a bandaged face, car-crash victim.

One eye left uncovered and open.
Fixed on the point where the soul had fled.

My mentor’s voice came over the tannoy, “Begin.”

The doors locked to prevent entry.

The digital clock now counting down.
The vents hummed gently.

A deep breath in as I remembered his last words to me.

“We fail when we leave unfinished work.”

So, I washed my hands, put on my gloves, and started at the feet.

Shoes removed.
Soles pale.
Toenails trimmed short,
the way he always insisted.

I pressed along the arches.
Checked for swelling.
For breaks missed in triage.

The skin was still a bit warm.
I wrote it down anyway.

“Every detail no matter how small, must be recorded.”

Hands next.
Fingers counted.
Palms opened.

Arms rolled outward.
Bruising mapped.

I reminded myself, that to pass
would require utmost thoroughness.

As I followed his instructions
the way I was taught to the letter.

Finally, I moved onto the chest.

Y-incision.
Clean.
Confident.

Skin folded back
without resistance.
Fat pale and quiet.
The body welcoming the blade.

Everything behaving in death as it should.

I cracked the rib cage open
with controlled pressure.

And felt my heart begin to quieten,
as my cadaver began to speak.

A miniscule movement I would have missed,
if I had not been trained to examine with perfect precision.

His heart quickened.
My vision tunnelling in response.

I leant on my tool table for support
and found instead the ring.

On the edge of the instrument table.
Set carefully aside,
as if removed with intention.

Graduation band.
Plain.
Heavy.

The one they give you
after the final test.

I did not remember seeing it there.
How did I miss it?
Was I too blinded by nerves when I began the test?

I looked back at the body.

The uncovered eye
was still open.

I looked closer now.
Closer than procedure requires.

The scar sat at the edge of the iris,
thin and pale,
where glass once taught him
how fragile vision is.

I had watched it heal. I had teased him about it.
I had memorized that eye without knowing I had.

I quickly undid the first layer of dry gauze.
The second came away damp.
The third stuck, then surrendered.

I should have stopped but
unfinished work meant failure.

Bruised and broken flesh mapped itself
into grotesque recognition.

The bridge of the nose I had broken once with a careless tray stacked badly on a shelf.
The eyes that watched me as I went through my training.

The mouth whose voice guided my training.

When the bandages were gone
there was no stranger’s body in front of me.

Only him. My mentor.

Breathing extremely shallow.
Watching through one unblinking eye.
Alive
through every cut
I had already made.

I said his name through a sob that
meant I am sorry
and why did not you stop me
and please wake up
all at once.

The man who taught me
how to cut
was learning slowly
how to die…piece by piece.

Yet I knew what he would say
if breath had reached his mouth.

“Do not stop. Finish it properly.”

Dead bodies do not need mercy,
only care.

Their final stories, our priority to record.

“Leaving work undone is failure.

Failure is not permitted for us.”

My breath stopped in my throat,
the voice was unfamiliar and chilling.

A locker clicked as it opened ahead of me.
He stepped out in silence.

White coat.
Clean shoes.
Hands gloved. Pristine.
A perfect score on cleanliness for an autopsy.

“You can still pass,”
he said.
“Finish your work and remove the heart.”

He spoke gently.
Like my mentor had once done.

I said no.

I turned.

I ran.

I pulled the door and felt resistance
answer back.

Behind me, he did not move.
He merely stood and watched.

The door would give, I told myself.
I leaned into it with my shoulder,
felt the frame answer back. “No, I won’t.”

I crossed to the wall phone.
Put it to my ear to

hear the dead line dial tone.

Behind me, he spoke.

“I know you’re panicking, I understand.
But your time is running out.”

He pointed to the digital clock,
10 seconds left.

“Now will you join me, for I have much to teach you.”

I spat at him.
I swore at him.
Venom fuelled words,
to curse him to hell.

The clock hit zero.

“So, we reach the endpoint,” he said. “Now, will you join me?”

I moved to the draining tray by the sink.
I picked up a handful of cleaned scalpels,
which were laid out like a lifeline for a final stand.

I turned to face him, resolute in my belief that
I would not permit death to take me easily.

He looked once more
at the table holding my mentor.

“Alas you won’t,” he said,
not angry, only certain.

There was a sound, I knew too well.
Wet.
Final.

He held up the heart and paused,
as if waiting for it to fight back.

“Failure,” he said,
and set it down. “Such a shame.”

A button clicked.
The vents responded.

The gas made the lights bloom.
I looked around the room,
as it poured in from every vent.

I turned back to face him.

He stood motionless,
his face now obscured beneath a gas mask.

A sweet scent entered my nose.

My body, brain and vision blacked out.
As the cold hard floor welcomed me.

I cannot recall when I came around.

Just that I could not move.
Could not feel.
Could not beg.
Could not blink.

Perfect sedation.

“I chose you long before tonight,” he said.
“At the public autopsy.
Third row.
Standing room only.”

He walked around the table,
taking in every inch of my naked and paralysed body.
Every hair, every blemish.

But not touching.
Not yet.

The lights made everything honest.
Nothing hidden.
Nothing sacred.
Every secret covered by clothes and flesh,
are always revealed at the end.

“You didn’t flinch,” he said.
“When the sternum cracked.
When the mother cried out.
You didn’t rush.
You didn’t pretend.”

He stopped at my head and looked down at me.
“That’s when I knew.”
A caring smile on his face like a father,
when talking lovingly to his child.

“You understood that opening a body
is a conversation.
That every heart, holds a story that
wants to be heard.”

He held up a candy heart and a note so I could see.

CUT ME

“This card,” he said, “was your invitation from me.”

I thought back to when I had found the envelope earlier that day.

Plain.
Handwritten.
No return address.

Left on my desk
between forms and gloves.

Inside,
one candy heart.
Chalky.
Pink.

CUT ME

I had smiled.
Embarrassed by its childish nature.
Excited by the prospect of graduation.

He put the candy heart and note down.

“You would have been perfect,”
he said, his voice never straying from kind.
“If you had finished.”

He stepped back.

“You were meant to stand beside me,”
he said.
“To understand why we cut
and to not confuse it with cruelty.”

He circled once more.
Slow.
Deliberate.

“Now,” he said,
“I will have to show you what finished work looks like.”

He reached down and picked up the scalpel,
it shone in the light, surgically cleaned to perfection.
He looked at me and smiled,
as he placed one hand on my shoulder.

“Let’s begin.” He whispered as he moved to my feet to begin teaching.

I know how long this will take.
I know which organs will fail first.

I know I will not die quickly.

I will watch him open me
the way I was taught.
My body as an example.

I will watch him remove my body piece by piece,
to show me how I was put together.

I will see my organs preserved in jars,
to be used for future lessons.

And when my heart is lifted free,
I will still be here just long enough.

To see its final beat.
As my final story ends.

Die Soon

by Colt Henderson

The garage door lit up as the sleek sports car entered the driveway. It purred as it came to a stop several inches in front of the white aluminum door. Out stepped a beautiful redhead dressed in an ankle length black dress. Her heels clicked on the concrete as she sauntered to the front door of the modest home. I watched from the bushes on the edge of her property.

“This one will do.”

She noticed a gift left outside her door. She bent at the hips to pick it up. There was a card and a rose. The card was cut out of red card stock in the shape of a heart when opened. After seeing what was inside she looked around for signs of someone. I had taped a small chalky candy heart to the card which said ‘Die soon’.

“I love the way her hair falls around her neck.”

Once through the door the lights in her living room came on and she walked in front of the windows. After disappearing for several minutes she came back into view. Now wearing a thigh long t-shirt she plopped down onto the couch and powered up the television. I had already breached her unsecured front door, anticipating the moment of success.

“That scent she wears is intoxicating.”

Her name was Rebecca Murphy, according to her mail, and she got up to fix herself something to eat. Light footsteps echoed in the small house as she made her way to the kitchen. The low light of the room vanished as the refrigerator door opened. Things began to clink in the light. I hid, watching her body move.

“That sway of her hips is mesmerizing.”

After finding her delights, Rebecca walked back to the couch. She started flipping through the channels until a laugh track caught her attention. Her laugh, delightful and angelic, filled the room. When she was done with her treat she stood and disappeared into her master bedroom. I waited for my signal to advance.

“The waiting is getting unbearable.”

The bedroom light fought with the light of the living room, winning in spots in front of the doorway. The rustling of clothes crept out of the room and then with a long creak the closet door shut. Footsteps pattered here and there as she walked around her room. I heard the signal and found a new spot behind a large plant in the corner closest to her bedroom.

“I need to get closer.”

Water started running and soon she was climbing into her tub. Splashes echoed through the house before music started to play. Rebecca’s voice drifted out of the bathroom just before the water turned off. I reluctantly moved under her bed.

“Being so close but so far is frustrating.”

The music continued, accompanied by her angelic voice. Sounds of bottles being opened and closed made their way out of the bathroom. She was washing her hair as she soaked in the tub. I grew impatient and snuck closer to have a look at her naked form.

“I hope she doesn’t see me.”

Rebecca stood elegantly in the middle of the bathtub. She was applying soap to her exposed body. The foam covered her from neck to toe, while she continued to lather up her body. I peaked at her from the doorway, hidden just outside of the light.

“She will be mine.”

She sank into the water until she was fully submerged. Once she emerged she squeezed out the water from her hair and stood up. She slowly stepped out of the tub, releasing the drain, and grabbed two towels. The first one was used to wrap her hair and the second dried her body before she threw it over the glass wall of the shower. I quickly retreated into the living room behind the plant.

“I can’t backtrack.”

She got dressed and emerged from her room immersed in the color green. Her pajamas enriched the color of her hair, even though it covered her curves. After flopping down on her couch, she started flipping through the channels. I watched with enthusiasm as she started to apply lotion.

“Yes, hydrate that beautiful pale skin.”

Rebecca once again pattered towards the kitchen. The light flooded the area and the tinking of jars seeped into the living room. This time she heated up some leftovers and sat back down. She ate slowly, savoring the food. I continued to stare, waiting for the right time.

“Surely she is getting tired.”

After finishing her meal she threw the trash away and returned to the living room to turn the TV off. Her footsteps drifted by as she walked into her room. The lights in the main room switched off, leaving the whole room dark. The darkness consumed me.

“I need to act.”

I pulled my blade from my pocket and stood. My boots made no noise as I walked to her bedroom door. She was busy brushing her hair at her vanity. When I finally revealed myself she asked one simple question.

“What do you want?” her voice trembled.

Instead of responding with words I closed the gap and plunged my knife into her temple. Her body went lifeless and I pulled my glistening blade from the side of her head. It was my time to work before her body became cold. I slowly cut the bright green pajama top off of her.

Love You to Death

by Nora B. Peevy

The card came on a Thursday night. It was a slick piece of advertising with a candy heart attached. It read: Love you to death. It hadn’t come through the normal post. The miller knew this because he’d been home early when the postmaster made his rounds. He picked up the slick paper, and an instant ice-water chill ran down his back. The paper, scented like roses, churned his stomach. He set it on his kitchen table while he cut himself his usual slices of cheese and beef for his evening sandwich, eyeing it like a deadly cobra about to bite him. The colors were gay and bright, hot pink and crimson red, the colors of all Valentines.

It’d been years since he’d received a Valentine. The miller didn’t buy much into love and fairytales after losing his beloved Rosalie to cancer three years ago. He preferred a solitary life. He left the Valentine untouched and popped open a can of Milwaukee’s Best to wash down his uninspired dinner. Then he went to bed.

Around midnight, he awoke to a furious scratching in the corner of his bedroom. He flicked on the light and saw nothing of interest and turned off the light and went back to bed. It was probably just a mouse or an insect. Nothing to worry about. Living out by the river in the forest, there were all sorts of beasts around, and they gave Rupert a sort of comfort in his middle age, since he was alone. He closed his eyes and drifted off, but then the noise started again.

He shot up in bed faster than a hare being chased by a hound, the chill back from earlier in the evening. Something was not right. The miller scanned his room. The only thing of note was a black spider spinning its web in the corner by his dressing stand, where he hung his pants. He wasn’t concerned, even if it was a black widow. Rupert had encountered many of those living out in the country and he’d worry about it tomorrow. The miller sighed, shook his head, marveling at how the tiny spider could make so many clicking noises with its tiny legs as it wound its web, and laid his head back down.

It was almost dawn when he gave up trying to sleep. He pulled back the covers, shivering in the cool morning air, and felt for his bedroom slippers. But before Rupert could put his slippers on he was snagged in a giant silky web.

“What in the fuck is this?”

“Mmmmm … my darling,” a willowy Asian woman drew him tighter and closer, until he could not breathe. “My sumptuous, scrumptious Rupert.” She was now eye to eye with him, and Rupert noticed her pupils were so deep he could lose himself in them. Her breath smelled like decaying flesh, and when she opened her mouth to kiss him, he squinched his eyes tight.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he cried.

“Why would I hurt you?” Jorōgumo asked. “You’re all that I want. I’m going to love you to death, my little miller.”

“No, I’m not ready to die.”

“Oh, come now,” the woman said with her long curtain of black hair. “We all have to die sometime. Wouldn’t you rather it be at the hands of one of the famous Jorōgomo than at the hands of a regular killer?”

“B-but I’m afraid.”

“Why, I’m only going to worship you,” she said as she began to wrap her webbing around him tighter and tighter. “I’ll hug you and squeeze you, my precious,” she said, her mouth of needlelike fangs opening wide to sink into his leg as he passed out.

Downstairs, the killer had let himself in. He sneaked up the stairs to watch the Jorōgomo feeding and nodded at her.

“It is good that you and I have this understanding.”

“Good for you or I’d have to take my meal elsewhere.” The Jorōgomo looked up at him as her eyes rolled back, showing the whites.

“Yes.”

“I do so love a good man to death.”

Ruin You

by Novalynn Mae

The thud of my boots landed softly on the dirt path that weaves between the trees, lending no echo to the small forest. The closer I got to the fence line of her house, the more my heart beat in anticipation. Watching her was my favorite pastime. I approached where the chainlink fence meets the treeline, as the lights from her Outback flash over me. Just like clockwork, she pulled into her driveway at 2:14 a.m., thanks to her shift at Cupid’s Bar staying consistent for at least the last year I’ve been watching her.

The flowers I had called in a favor for and ordered to her doorstep at dusk were still peppy and unwilted, thanks to the cool February night air. I’d been leaving little hints over the last year that I finally wanted to meet her. I wanted to do so much more than meet her. I wanted to touch her soft, silky, bronze skin. I wanted to cut her out of her lace undergarments and watch the way my knife would make her breath hitch in her chest. I wanted to lace my fingers into the base of her hair and watch her pupils dilate, knowing that I was taking control. I wanted… I wanted it all… I wanted to Ruin Her. That’s what the note on the flower card read: “Happy Valentine’s Day, Angel,” with a sweet-smelling pressed candy heart secured to the bottom, the red lettering spelling out Ruin You across the chalky texture.

Her sliding glass door in the back of the house gave me a perfect view through the open layout of her home and a straight line of sight to the front door. She carefully balanced carrying her work bag and the vase of 24 red roses and gold-sprayed baby’s breath through the door before dropping her bag to the floor. I watched her carefully lock all three locks on her front door before setting the bouquet down on the counter. She stared at them, puzzled, like she couldn’t quite decide if she was happy about the gift from the unknown gifter. The mix of anticipation and concern was evident in the way she tentatively reached for and opened the small envelope of the flower card. Good girl. She’s always such a good, brave girl.

She rolled her eyes, rapidly tapping the keyboard on her phone. She dropped off the floral arrangement on the kitchen counter, then walked to the opening of the hallway and peeled off her tight-fitting jeans, tossing them down the corridor. Damned counter is in the way. She pulled her arms inside her hoodie and materialized a bra and tank top to add to the pile of denim she discarded. Knowing she was only in her socks, lacy panties, and her hoodie made my chest ache. I thought about getting a better angle of my angel, but I stayed put for now, anticipating the next part of her routine. She poured herself a glass of a deep red liquid, per usual. She grabbed her preferred herbal medicine off the counter and a lighter. She walked to the glass door, cracked it open about six inches, and lit the flame, taking her first deep drag of the night. Such easy, predictable prey my angel is.

Her phone lit up in her pocket, and she rolled her eyes before throwing it on speaker. “Hey sis,” she answered dryly.

“Are you okay?” the voice on the other end exclaimed.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be….?”

“Seriously? You sent me that picture and you aren’t the least bit concerned that you may not be okay? Please, PLEASE, please come have a sleepover tonight.”

My angel laughs. “No no no. I am not going to have a sleepover at my sister’s and her fiance’s house on Valentine’s Day. I don’t need to listen to that all night.”

“Ugh, stop it. If you must know, we’ve already finished celebrating and we’re about to go to sleep. I saw your message when we got out of the shower and into our PJs. This has been getting more and more frequent over the last year. The random gifts constantly being left “to angel” and the first written communication you get beyond that says Ruin You… When are you going to tell the cops? You obviously have a stalker. A stalker who apparently would like to ruin you.”

“I’m sure I obviously do. I also obviously keep a little buddy in my house that can take care of any intruders. I’m just fine. I’m having a glass and a smoke and going to bed.”

“Maybe if you didn’t smoke that stuff, you wouldn’t be so relaxed about this. Good night, and message me in the morning with proof of life. I love you, sis.” The phone call ended and my angel took another drag and drained her first glass of the deep red drink.

In a blink, I stood behind her. I suppose it’s a good thing this type of admirer won’t bleed if she keeps her promise to use her little buddy. I admire the way her hoodie softly accentuates her full, curved figure, bunching at the smallest point of her waist, and the elastic stretches over and accentuates her hips. The bottom of it played peekaboo with the see-through lacy red panties she wore for me tonight. I wanted so badly to touch her, but I couldn’t yet. It wasn’t time. She wasn’t ready.

I stood inside her home, uninfluenced by her human security system. With the number of nights I had been visiting in what she believed to be her dreams, you’d think she would have considered more spiritual protection – but here we are. My sweet angel girl is so tough, but so naive.

I watched her drain almost a whole bottle of the red elixir while scrolling on her phone, elegantly draped across her bed. After several drags off her skunky-smelling pen, I saw her body relax into almost a perfect hypnotic state. I could tell she was fighting to stay awake. I waited until one of the times her eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment and made my first move. I slowly traced from the inside of her knee up to her inner thigh, interrupted by the way she gasped and her eyes flashed open before they darted around the room. She’s looking for me. I watched as she shook her head to gain back some clarity. She took several deep breaths, but I could smell the heat and excitement of her body betraying her fear.

“It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just a dream,” she whispered to herself as she pulled off her hoodie, revealing her luscious, full breasts. Little did she know I fully intended to be her favorite nightmare tonight. She struggled to turn her focus back to the video on her phone for a while. I watched slowly as the drugs of choice penetrated her body and mind heavily, causing her phone to tumble out of her hand beside her on the bed. I knew what came next. What had come next for many, many nights. But tonight the ending was new. Angel, I am going to RUIN YOU.

I prowled over her body, running the tip of my nose up the side of her neck to breathe in her scent. I took my time warming up her body and allowing her intoxication to let her believe this was a dream. Gentle butterfly touches sent electricity to all the right places. Slow circles and pressure below the lacy red panties. Her body responded to my cold touches so well. She gifted me little moans. I’ve come to expect this from her.

I allowed myself to solidify my form; if she woke up, she would see me now. I pressed kisses down the side of her neck, along her collar bones, and between her breasts. She didn’t know what was coming next. I’m going to ruin you, Angel, but I just needed to see you like this one last time. My magic allowed me to materialize the sharp edge I intended to use to execute my stunning masterpiece. I watched as the little bit of light glistened off the sharp, elegant lines. Gently, I arranged my angel’s hands above her head, crossing her wrists and placing a sturdy hand over them. I watched as she began to stir and pull at her wrists – she was awakening. I leant down to her ear, breath heavy with excitement. “I told you I was going to Ruin You, Angel.”

Immediately, her eyes shot open. She gasped. I placed the tip of my knife edge to her throat, “Ah ah ah, Angel. Pretty girls don’t scream.”

Her body shook beneath me now, and she whispered through gritted teeth, “Who the fuck are you?”

Tracing the blade along her jawline, I smirked. “I’m your admirer. Your stalker. Your Ghost.”

“Get. Off. Me.” She struggled against my hands and started to buck her hips to throw me off.

With a chuckle, I placed my thigh between her legs and pressed into her. “If you needed something to grind on, all you had to do was ask.” I could feel her heat and dampness against my thigh. “After all, we’ve been having so much fun during our visits.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about, Angel?” I watched as the dreams must have raced through her mind. The dreams where I gave her all her wildest fantasies. I watched her realize they weren’t ever dreams at all. “Okay, Angel, let the games begin, shall we?” I cut a line from her knee up, just enough that it bled, while she whimpered and panted.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“I told you I was going to ruin you. I’ll start with the body, but I’ll end with your pretty face.” In a flash, I crossed her room, smiling with every single tooth – I’m ready. “Angel… Run…”

She didn’t spare a moment, but I knew where she was headed. She reached for the nightstand, pulled out her buddy, and fired. It pierced the wall behind me. Her eyes glazed over with panic before she fired again, followed by breathy mumbling as the bullet hit the wall.

Blink. I’m right in front of her. “I said run!”

I stabbed the tip straight into the front meat of her thigh and pulled down, hearing the tearing of flesh, feeling the gush of warm blood coat my hand and the floor. Her scream rang in my ears. “Bad girl, Angel. I told you not to scream. You’ll bleed out so much faster with your vocal cords severed. I placed my empty hand between her thighs, where her lace panties still sat shoved to the side, and the blood-soaked tip at her throat. I used my body to back her against the wall as she raised her hands in defeat and fear. “Good gods, fear smells good on you,” I breathed along her neck and slid my finger along her dampness. My circles and strokes made her body betray her, turning her fear to ecstasy. I danced the blade along one side of her neck as I kissed the other, then lifted the edge to her mouth.

“Lick it clean, Angel.”

She obliged. I took the opportunity to do as I promised, and I ruined her face with a slice through the cheek and a quick stab through the base of the throat. I held her against the wall and continued to tease her body with my hand between her legs. She sank onto my fingers, and she came. Every pulse of her ecstasy pulsed with the blood out of her neck, covering me until her heart stopped.

No Way Out

by D. L. Garvin

Sally had been single way too long. The thought of spending another Valentine’s Day alone was crushing. There was nothing particularly unattractive about her. No weird quirks or personality traits. By all metrics, she was a normal girl with normal likes and dislikes with a run-of-the-mill office job. She just chalked it up to bad luck with men. Most of her dates came from either salesmen that frequented the office or guys she would meet at the local pub she would sometimes frequent with her small group of girlfriends “when we’re able to coax you out for the evening”. Most ended on a cold note with no plans for a second date. Finally, her best friend Alice told her she needed to get on a dating site that matches people by likes and interests.

Reluctantly she agreed, opened an account, carefully filled out the profile, snapped a quick selfie, and uploaded it. She took a deep breath and let out a small sigh, then pressed the button activating the listing. Tired and stressed after a long day at work and the ordeal of “putting herself out there”, she decided to shut off her phone and head for bed. “I’ll check tomorrow to see if anyone is interested,” she thought.

The next morning, as her coffee pot brewed her morning dose of caffeine, she decided to check the dating app for matches. She was shocked to find two dozen messages from the dating app. She spent the next 30 minutes scrolling through the messages. Most were lewd and obnoxious: most men are pigs and just want one thing.

But one stood out. Mark seemed like a gentleman. There were no out-of-the-way questions, mainly comments about common interests and asking a lot of questions about her likes and dislikes. Something about him made her feel at ease.

Over the next week, they corresponded through the app. At last, she felt at ease with him enough to start talking on the phone. Mark had a deep and sexy voice. The first night, they talked all night long. They talked about everything imaginable. A week before Valentine’s Day, they decided to meet and have dinner and a movie. They were to meet at her favorite place, a family-run Italian restaurant. It was in the same strip mall as the movie theater. That way, they could walk from dinner to the movie. Sally was being careful; she wasn’t going to let Mark know where she lived until they knew each other a lot better.

She always made it a habit of letting her sister, Mary, know where she would be whenever she went out with a new guy. She had heard too many stories and watched too many true crime shows. She tried to take as much precaution as possible. Nothing in this world is one hundred percent safe, but she did the best she could. She still wanted a life, and was willing to take a little risk since Mark really seemed like a great guy.

The night of the date, Sally was very excited and nervous. She talked to her sister earlier in the day for over an hour. She spent several hours just trying to decide what to wear, changing three times before finally choosing an outfit. When it was about time to leave for the date, she took one last look in the mirror to check herself, then she grabbed her phone and bag and headed out the door. It was only a ten minute drive to the restaurant, so she was pulling into the parking lot in no time.

She parked the car and got out, locking the doors as she walked towards the entrance.

A few steps away from the door, her phone pinged with a text notification. Reaching for her phone, she saw a text from Mark.

“Running about 5 minutes late, made reservations, go on in, will be there soon. Oh, BTW, the reservation is under Mark & Sally.”

A little disappointed, she entered the restaurant and was immediately met by the hostess.

“How may I help you ma’am?”

“Yes, my date is running a few minutes late. He asked me to go ahead and get our table. We have a reservation under Mark and Sally.”

“Ah, yes ma’am, we have been expecting you. Please follow me. I will take you to your table.” She led Sally to the table and seated her.

“What can I start you off with?”

“Just two waters and a bowl of breadsticks for now. When my date gets here, we’ll order.”

“Thank you ma’am, coming right up.”

“Thank you.”

In no more than a minute, the waitress approached the table with a tray. On it were two glasses of water, a bowl of fresh breadsticks, and a cup of marinara. Setting the tray down, she placed one glass in front of Sally and the other in the empty spot across from her. Then she set the breadsticks and dip in the center of the table.

Smiling, she said, “Hi, my name is Rebecca, and I will be your server tonight. Just holler when you’re ready to order.”

Sally smiled back and said thank you as she picked up a breadstick, dunked in the dip, and took a bite.

Ten minutes later, Rebecca returned to the table, leading a well-dressed man who appeared to be roughly ten years her senior. She recognized him immediately from the picture he had sent her. Although slightly older, she knew it was Mark. With a grin “not unlike the Cheshire Cat”, Mark took his seat across from her.

“So sorry I’m late. I got stuck in traffic. I’m starving. How about you?”

“Yes, me too.”

“So this is your favorite place. What’s good?”

“Well, I just love their Fettuccine Alfredo.”

“Great, sounds good!”

At that, Mark signaled the waitress who was at the table in just a few seconds.

“Yes, sir, are you ready to order?”

“Yes, the lady and I will both have the Fettuccine Alfredo, another tray of breadsticks, and a bottle of your best red wine with two glasses.”

“Yes, sir. Would you like your wine now or with your food?”

“Now, please.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll get your order in and be right back with your drinks.”

“My my, aren’t you the take-charge type!”

“I’ve always been the kind of man who, once I know what I want, I go after it full steam ahead.”

“Oh, really?”

“Absolutely. If it’s in my sights, it’s mine.”

Over the next 2 hours, they ate, drank, and discussed their common likes and dislikes. When the conversation turned to music, her favorite artist was Phil Collins and his favorite was Peter Gabriel. While comparing the two singers, they realized that both men had recorded songs titled “No Way Out”. This brought a chuckle from the couple due to the strange coincidence. After dinner, they walked to the theater, which was only two doors down from the restaurant, for the second part of their date. The movie that night was “Red Dragon”. She wasn’t too sure about watching a movie about a serial killer, but he assured her she would enjoy the show. After the film was over, she admitted that she did like the movie. Having to work the next morning, she told Mark she’d had a really good time but needed to go home and get some sleep. She had to be up by five a.m. for work. Like a gentleman, he walked her to her car. Not wanting to be too forward, he asked for a good night kiss, to which she happily replied yes.

After a long, passionate kiss, she told him she really had to go.

“If you must.”

“I really do.”

Flushed and heart racing, she quickly opened her car door to leave. Before she could close the door, he said, “I’ll call you.”

“That would be great.”

Starting the car, she quickly put it in gear and drove away. He watched her drive away, waiting until she was out of sight, then turned and opened the door to his car, which, unbeknownst to her, was parked right next to hers. He closed the door, pulled out his phone, and tapped on an app. When it opened, there was a map with a blinking blue dot. With a sinister grin, he watched as the dot moved. He was pleased the tracker he’d planted on her car while she waited for him at the restaurant was doing its job. “I got you,” he thought to himself.

As she drove home, unsuspecting Sally’s thoughts raced. Could this finally be the one? He’s so nice, and quite the gentleman too. She couldn’t wait to get home and call her sister.

After talking to her sister, she showered, went to bed, and dreamed of her date.

The next morning, she was up and out the door by 6:30 a.m. She couldn’t wait to tell all her friends at work about her evening.

She pulled away, unaware of the figure sitting in a car half a block down the street. As her car drove out of sight, the man casually got out of the car and approached her apartment. Dressed in a suit and tie and carrying a briefcase, he looked like your everyday salesman. He walked to her door, retrieved a pick from his pocket, and in a couple of seconds he was in.

With all day to work, he set about placing hidden cameras all around her house, one in each room, checking each one on the app on his phone before moving on to the next one. When he was done, he carefully checked to make sure no one was around, then quickly got into his car and left.

That evening she had been home for about an hour when her phone rang. Seeing it was Mark, she quickly answered.

“Hello.”

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Hi, Mark.”

“I hope you enjoyed last night.”

“I did, very much.”

“Good, Saturday is Valentine’s Day. If you would allow me, I have something very special planned.”

“Oh yes, that sounds wonderful. I’ll be looking forward to it. Can you tell me what it is?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I did, now would it?”

“Ok, I guess.”

On Valentine’s morning Sally awoke to a knock at the door. When she opened it, a delivery man stood there holding a dozen roses and a card.

“Sally?”

“Yes!”

“These are for you. Mark says Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh! Thank you!”

She was so excited that she never stopped to think about how Mark might have known her address. She took the gifts, thanked the man, and closed the door. She then opened the card.

“When love is in the air, there’s no way out.”

Attached to the card was a candy heart with the words “no way out”.

With a grin, she popped the candy in her mouth. Thirty minutes later, her world went black.

Several hours later, she woke up strapped to a chair, naked, in the dark, and chest deep in rising water. The only light was a dim red light bulb and a blinking red light from a video camera behind a glass window. Mary began crying and panicking. Then a familiar voice came over a hidden speaker.

“Shhhh!! It’s okay, beautiful. It will all be over soon.”

“Mark? Why are you doing this?”

“Because this is what I do.”

As she struggled to keep her head up and breathe, the song “No Way Out” by Peter Gabriel came on as she took her last, water-filled breath. Two days later, she was found posed in her bed, surrounded by red rose petals.

For the 10th year in a row, the Valentine’s Day killer had claimed another victim.

Fear Me

by Andy Holberry

‘That one?’

“No, I don’t think so.”

The voice went quiet in his mind.

Ever since he could remember, it had always been there, always telling him what to do. When he had gotten older, it changed.

The relationship was different.

It was not so much a controlling voice. Now it was more suggestive.

Giving its opinion on things, like the girl ahead of them in the queue.

‘But, why? She’s perfect. Just look at that ass!’

He did, and had to admit it was a fine ass. All that wiggle, all that skin under the sheer skirt. He felt himself start to move forwards, and had to make a conscious effort to stop himself. His hand thrust deep in his pocket, his fingers wrapped around the handle of the straight razor nestled inside the tear of the lining.

‘She has friends, look.’

As he watched, two men stepped towards her and bent to kiss her. They met as old friends.

‘It wouldn’t take much to separate her. Kill them too?’

He shook his head. “No, it’s too risky. We need someone on their own. Or have you got a death wish?”

The voice inside was quiet again.

He looked around at the late-night shopping crowd. So many possibilities. But he had to be careful.

Killing was never so much about the act itself for him, but rather getting away with it. What use would there be in indulging in a passion, a need, only to have it taken away, never to be indulged again.

He couldn’t think of anything worse than spending the rest of his days in a concrete and iron box, with those desires unfulfilled.

The other, though, that dark presence in his mind, was different. For that second mind it was all about the kill, the blood, the torn flesh. There was nothing else that would satisfy it. He knew they were inextricably linked, that whatever happened to one would happen to the other. The perk and curse of sharing one body, one mind.

He shook his head, trying to get those thoughts out of his head.

He wasn’t going to get caught.

He would never see the inside of a cell—would certainly never experience all the ways it could end: the chair, injection, gas.

He was careful, and he had the voice in his head as an anchor. Although, it did seem to be taking more and more risks lately.

‘Okay then. If not her…’

It was talking about the girl with the stunning rear again.

‘Then who? We can’t wait much longer.’

“I know that!” he hissed through clenched teeth. “But we have to be careful. You almost got us fuckin’ caught in Montreal.”

‘Ah, she was so sweet. I couldn’t help myself.’

He was quiet for just a moment.

‘Anyway. You could have stopped me. It was your fault as well as mine.’

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just find one.”

The voice carried on talking as if it hadn’t heard a word he said.

‘Do you remember?’ it purred. ‘Of course you do. The feel of her skin on your fingertips. The sound of the screams in your ears. Ahh, it was music. When you make that first cut, felt the hot spray of life’s blood splash across your face.’

He remembered.

Slowly, carefully he opened the blade of the razor inside its hiding spot and gently ran his finger along the edge.

He felt it slide through his flesh, parting skin like butter. He closed his eyes and felt that first electrical buzz of excitement and pleasure. That feeling that could only be satisfied by the taking of another’s life.

‘Do you remember how she felt? The taste of her? I do. It was all smooth flesh and honey. That’s what I thought at the time. That’s strange, isn’t it?’

The voice had moments like this more and more lately. It could reminisce one moment, be almost ‘normal’.

Then the next…

‘The feel of her heart as it slowed, then stopped, in your wet palm. The power you felt when taking her life. WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!’

The words that screamed inside his head snapped him back to the present.

He knew the voice was right, of course. He pulled his hand from his pocket and sucked the blood from his finger, bringing back further memories of the taste on his lips.

Absently, he felt the shape of the envelope in his other pocket. It was special, but then again…so were all the others.

A young woman went past and bumped his arm.

“I’m terribly sorry. Excuse me.”

She folded into the flow of pedestrian traffic. Although swallowed by the hundreds of others around her, still she shone like a beacon in his eyes. He started forward, eyes locked on her back. The voice in his mind chuckled with delight.

‘It’s about fucking time!’

×××

Mark Green kept a fair distance back, enough to keep her in sight yet not enough to spook her. Others passed on by, but he only had eyes for her.

Young, mid-twenties he would guess. She would be fit and slim under that full coat.

He hadn’t seen her figure, but you could just tell sometimes. The owner of the voice edged forward, just a little. He allowed it.

It wouldn’t hurt.

But neither was it wise to give it full reign just yet.

He would have loved to make a connection with her, a rapport of some kind. But he knew that was impossible. The other wouldn’t let him.

The other would always be there to do the things he couldn’t, especially when he couldn’t, or when things got dicey.

‘Why are we still waiting? Quit fucking around, you pussy!’

His hand slipped around the razor again, unaware he had reached for it. There were times when he wished he could grab the other and wrap his hands around his neck. His over eagerness would be what did them in. But he knew, in the end, he would indulge it.

He always did.

The woman was turning off the street now, going down an alley. She was moving quickly but still unaware she had someone behind her.

For a big man, he could be deceptively quiet when he wanted to be.

He picked up the pace and closed the gap between them.

Halfway down the alley, he made his move. Or rather, the other inside him did.

He let the other loose, felt it surge to the fore of his mind. Although he could still feel everything, smell, see, and even taste—now he was the passenger.

Their/his hand grasped the razor and pulled it from its hiding place, flicking open the blade in one smooth, practised movement. Their/his free hand reached out and covered her mouth with a strong hand.

They/he pulled her against their/his chest and tightened the hold.

She started to struggle, but their strength was just too much.

The blade flashed and the edge sliced through the skin of her neck, biting deep.

Drawing the first drops of blood.

It was a risk doing her here but they couldn’t wait any longer. They needed the rush only a kill could bring.

Mark looked through his eyes, his body moving without conscious effort from him.

He knew it was in good hands.

His head bent forward and his tongue slipped out from between suddenly dry lips. It flicked against the cut on the woman’s neck and sucked. The taste of blood filled his mouth and he could feel the rush start to fill his body.

It was like fire flowing in his veins.

The blade sliced again, deeper this time, across the back of a hand that pulled against the one over her mouth.

The edge cut easily through flesh and tendons alike, and her fingers stopped their fight. They fell still and useless.

“That’s it sweetheart. It’ll be over soon.”

The voice wasn’t his. Well, not all his. It was theirs.

She was starting to sag. The lack of air being drawn into her lungs finally affected her.

She fell to the floor, slowly, controlled by their strong hold.

He/they pulled her deeper into the shadows of the alley, away from the view of people that might be passing by.

They removed the hand across her mouth, sure she was done shouting. They bent forward, hanging over the body like a crow over a carrion meal. Deftly they sliced through the buttons holding the thick coat closed.

He had been right. Her body was curved in all the right places underneath.

The very corner of the blade slit fabric. Easily, smoothly. They pulled the sides apart and admired the smooth expanse of skin that was exposed.

Then they started to cut. Each stroke was measured, methodical.

They worked quickly but with supreme confidence in what they were doing. After all, practice made all the difference.

When they had finished, he made sure to leave the envelope. Inside was a plain Valentines card. Inside the card, taped securely, was one of those candy hearts available all across the country. The words though, they were all his. He had scraped away the old letters: love me, hold me, and replaced them with something more in keeping…

‘Fear Me.’

It was some time later when the other retreated back into the space it lived and Mark regained the driver’s seat. He stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom. The blood on his neck had become a dried crust, almost black.

He lifted his fingernail and ran it through, peeling it off in strips.

‘Another.’

There he was, right on time.

“NO!” he said. His voice was strong, commanding.

‘Fucking spoilsport!” Like a petulant child denied their favourite toy.

“You’re not thinking straight. We have to lay low for a while. It’s not clever to just go one after another. My call – my decision.”

He could feel the other trying to come forward. Felt his hands as they gripped the edges of the basin. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

“No…you…don’t.”

He knew he needed the other. Knew that it was he that took all the risks, knew exactly what to do. If it were left to him, then he wouldn’t have the balls to go through with it.

But it was his body, his mind.

There were times when he needed him as the driving force, but now was not one of those times.

The other retreated, knowing he was beaten. He needed cooperation, needed permission.

Mark breathed deep and reached up to the shelf he knew was just above his head. His trembling fingers swept the space and grabbed the small pill bottle. He opened the lid without looking and upended it.

Nothing fell into his waiting palm. His next sigh was deeper.

“Balls.”

He had to get more. It was the only way to keep the other quiet.

Still, he didn’t want to rid himself completely of the other. He still needed to feel that rush, that thrill. But, he needed to find a way to rein him in at times.

He was getting too brazen—too pushy.

For now though, the feeling was wearing off, draining from his system. All he wanted to do was sleep

‘Sounds like a plan, buddy. If we can’t hunt, we’ll sleep. That’ll help. Fuck! How did I get stuck with a weak-willed piece of shit like you?’

Mark massaged his temples, stilled his breathing. Laughter rang in his head.

The other wasn’t finished yet.

‘Yeah, massage me away, that won’t work.’ His voice dropped, a tone he hadn’t heard before. ‘You can’t function without me, asshole! YOU NEED ME!’

The force of those last words almost dropped him to his knees. It felt like a hammer blow inside his skull.

He staggered to the refrigerator and opened the door and pulled the bottle of Jack from the shelf.

Mark opened the bottle, dropping the lid to the floor. He downed a quarter of the bottle in several long, deep swallows.

It took him another ten minutes to finish the bottle.

He never saw the floor as it rushed to meet him.

Get Over Here

by Sarah Moon

“Get over here.”

It was the last message Jenny’s fiancé had read in a chalky candy heart pasted on a red valentine. It didn’t take much to seduce him, and those three little words always had him running out the door before he could even tie his shoes. Now her messages remain unread. She sends them knowing there will never be a response. Somehow, it still seems to give her a little comfort. She pays his phone bill to ensure his number will always be his. She hears his voice when she calls and reaches his mailbox.

Every morning is a challenge to get out of bed. Little reminders speckle the apartment of the life they once shared. Most days she blames herself. If she hadn’t sent that last message at that exact time, maybe he would still be here. But no, that day he ended up splattered across the road after flying through his windshield. If he had slowed down just a little bit, listened to his good sense and not what was in his pants, perhaps he would have remembered his seat belt.

Images of the scene still haunt her. EMTs and officers tried to hold her back, but she snaked her way through the crowd and fell to her knees by his side. There wasn’t much left of him. His face was unrecognizable, and his body a mangled mess of broken bones and spilled innards. A scene that would never leave her for as long as she lived. Even as traumatic as it was to see Jake that way, she still visits the scene of the accident. That’s where she feels closest to him, the place he took his final breath and left this world.

It’s another new day, the morning light sends a warm ray through the window that kisses her cheek. Every day Jenny tells herself maybe today will be a little bit easier, but every day seems harder. She can’t help but roll over to his side of the bed, anticipating a morning greeting of hot sex and a steamy shower. Tears fill her eyes when an empty pillow stares back. Jenny hugs onto it and shoves her nose into the fabric, desperate to find his scent. It’s faint but still there. One day she knows it will fully dissipate and be nothing but a memory she struggles to bring to her senses for one last whiff.

The apartment sounds empty. The smell of fresh coffee she’s so used to isn’t there. It’s up to her now to start new routines. The knot in her chest tightens as she makes her way through the hall and into the kitchen. She always seems to be suffocating, a permanent snake wrapped around her refusing to let up its grip, as if it wants her to slowly suffer. The grief seems too much at times, but she knows she has to fight it. Someday, she tells herself. Someday, she will be past this part of her life and maybe there will be something to live for once again. But for now, she has to deal.

She makes a pot of coffee and scrolls through her phone. A flood of text messages keeps her inbox full. Those checking on her, those worried, and those asking if she’s ready to come back to work. She’s not ready. She sets her phone face down on the table and watches droplets of coffee fill the pot. She should get some air, go see a friend, maybe eat for once, but she knows she won’t. She will end up at the scene of the accident just like every day, hoping to feel him again, waiting for his energy to find hers.

The drive there is the same as always. The world seems high speed around her. Cars flash by, people dart past with their briefcases and coffee cups in hand. But for her, reality is much slower. Her inner world seems to move at a snail’s pace. Every painful moment and memory floats in her mind longer than she would like—images of what Jake saw as he slammed into the other car, and the pain he must have felt when his life’s thread was cut short.

She stops at a red light blocks away. In a few moments she will be at his resting place, hoping to feel close to him. A group of pedestrians linger at a crosswalk. She checks the countdown on the pedestrian signal light, never one to have much patience. The red hand flashes and the traffic lights above turn yellow. She taps her fingers on the steering wheel anxiously. Finally, the image of a pedestrian flashes on the box. Her heart seems to fall into her stomach when she reads the words above. ‘Get over here’.

Impossible.

She rapidly blinks the words away and takes a deep breath. Cars from behind honk. She hits the gas and looks at the pedestrian light again. The words ‘get over here’ still linger above before dissipating and morphing into ‘walk’. Maybe it’s a sign, maybe Jake is still there with her. Another honk as she nearly smashes into a car next to her, she hadn’t realized she crossed lanes. A woman behind the wheel of an old Monte Carlo yells from behind the glass.

Jenny makes out the words spewing from the old woman’s lips. Her hands begin to shake as she white knuckles the wheel, pulling back into her lane. Did she really just say what Jenny thinks she did? Get over here?

Anxious, yet nervous, Jenny keeps her tires rolling towards the scene of the accident. A glimmer of hope tugs at her chest that maybe, just maybe Jake will be there to greet her. She slows down her pounding heart, taking slow deep breaths. As she approaches the last light before reaching the accident scene that now looks as though nothing ever happened, a billboard catches her eye.

It’s the two of them, smiling and gazing at one another. A video in her mind plays of the night Jake proposed and she said yes. Tears well up in her eyes, confusion and happiness all wrapped in one. It didn’t matter how or why that clip got up there. A flood of memories leading up to that day float through her mind like butterflies in the wind. The video turns to static before words in red letters flicker across the billboard. ‘Get over here’.

“I’m coming,” Jenny whispers, sniffling away the flood of emotions.

She parks in her usual spot. A corner gas station barely standing on its old bones, ready to crumple at any moment. The place has been shut down for ages. It’s a little corner in which she can park, alone, and gather her thoughts in peace. Though the streets are loud, it’s a little slice of heaven where she feels the closest to Jake.

Jenny stares into the intersection. She can’t help but imagine over and over again how it happened. The guilt eats at her more and more every day. She props her seat back and rests her head on the head rest, closing her eyes just for a moment, picturing Jake’s smile.

“Jenny.”

Jenny’s eyes dart open at the sound of his voice. In the seat next to her, Jake’s kind eyes meet hers. There is no anger, no bitterness behind them. He smiles and reaches out to swipe the hair back from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.

“I-I-I I’m…” her words are cut short as Jake puts his finger over her lips.

“Don’t apologize.” His voice is calming.

“I miss you,” she whispers.

“I know. But it doesn’t have to be the end.”

Jenny’s brows knit in confusion and curiosity. She would give anything to get rid of the pain. “You mean a beginning?”

“An eternity.”

Eternity… it’s always been a word that scares her. Does anyone really want that? But an eternity with Jake… that’s different. The thought of it is soothing. To be together in the afterlife with her soulmate forever. But at what cost?

As if he’s read every single thought that just fluttered through her mind, Jake whispers, “There is no cost. Just relief. You can escape this broken world with me.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Only for a moment.”

“Can you do it for me?”

“I can’t, but I will be waiting.” The door of the car clicks open as Jake takes a step out.

Jenny tugs at his arm. “Please stay for a little while.”

Jake doesn’t turn back to acknowledge her. The sun has set in just the short time she’s been parked, and he disappears into the cover of darkness behind the old gas station. She wonders if it’s all a hallucination, if the whole day has just been a fucked up dream. But it couldn’t be, she touched him. Jake was real. And now she knows there is a way to be with him. But is leaving the world so early worth it? Her friends, family, all left behind?

Jenny shrugs and releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her tight chest reminds her of the grief she’s been living through. A city bus pulls off to the side of the road ahead of her. Written across the side are those red letters again: ‘Get over here’. Maybe Jake is guiding her some place. An intense urge to follow him tugs at her. She will take the bus wherever he wants her to go.

She jumps out of her car and darts to the crosswalk. Her palm rapidly thumps at the button signaling the traffic lights to change. She hears the hiss of the air brakes as the bus comes to a complete stop. She should make it in time. A line of pedestrians begin to flood through the door once the driver cranks it open.

Finally, the signal blinks and the image of a pedestrian crossing with the word ‘walk’ over it signals her to go. Jenny briskly rushes through the busy intersection. She can see the bus door close and the driver shifting into drive. She still has time, and will motion the driver to stop if she has to. As Jenny makes it to the other end of the street, the bus pulls out from the stop, accelerating forward.

Jenny steps in front of the bus, waving her arms frantically. Her eyes widen as the bus gets closer. She can hear the brakes begin to engage. A sigh of relief falls from her lips, but is cut short. It’s too late. The bus doesn’t have time to stop. Jenny feels every bit of it—every bone crack and every organ burst. Jake lied. It doesn’t hurt for just a moment. It hurts for what seems like eternity.

She lies on the blacktop, unable to move. She can feel the blood pooling beneath her. Her scalp feels wet as if she’s just had a shower. A cough makes its way up her chest, the taste of copper ever so potent. She looks to her side and Jake hovers over her. Not in the way she saw him earlier, but as a mist.

“Why, Jenny?” he whispers. She feels the coldness of his being embracing her. “You had your whole life.”

“You told me to. Now we have eternity, right?” The words are a struggle to get out.

“That isn’t how this works.”

She reaches for Jake, her hand swipes through him.

Behind him, a man approaches. His features are dark and distorted, his eyes flicker with a golden hue. Two pointed bones sprout from above his temples. He sports a white shirt bearing those same red letters, ‘Get over here’.

“I-I, I made a mistake.”

The man bends down over Jenny, his features morphing into those of Jake’s, but this time she sees the sinister being hidden within. His comforting smile is comforting no longer but instead bares sharp teeth. He brushes her blood-soaked hair back behind her ear, a sharp fingernail grazing her skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “Get over here.”

Ruin Me

by Winona Morris

When Mina slipped into her pink silk robe and walked to her kitchen, she expected to find a pot of vanilla bean coffee waiting on her. Some people claimed modern medicine was the greatest advancement of modern times. She said it was coffee makers with automatic timers, and that was a hill she would die on.

The kitchen smelled of rich vanilla and dark roast. Her mug sat beside the pot where she left it, sugar and powdered creamer inside, just waiting for her to pour the nectar of life over the top of it. Those things were both good and right.

It was the envelope that didn’t belong.

Laying beside her mug was an envelope, the exact same shade of pink as her robe, that she knew for a fact she hadn’t left there the night before.

The paper felt cheap and stiff when she picked it up. There was no return address on it. No handwriting at all. Not that she expected any, since someone delivered it to her kitchen counter instead of her mailbox.

The card inside was cheap too, and as generic as they come. Some rhyme about roses and violets, without a handwritten message inside. Instead, there was one of those hard candy hearts that came with a short message and tasted vaguely like talcum powder. Someone had taped it inside the card with a raggedly torn strip of packing tape.

RUIN ME, it read. The faded pink letters were off center and misaligned, but the message was clear.

She let out a single bark of laughter, but the sound lacked any genuine humor to it.

“Cute,” she said to no one. “But sloppy.”

Someone had been watching her for weeks. She knew that. If the dreams hadn’t told her, the way her wards hummed like someone was constantly pressing against them would have.

She also knew they were powerful, whoever they were. The fact that they had pushed through her wards, into her home, while she was asleep upstairs attested to that.

She was stronger. A woman born of women who had survived. Her family history was rich with burnings, hangings, plagues, and husbands who all wanted nothing more than to devour and destroy. Their strength was her strength. Her magic had teeth, and it bit without apology.

She peeled the heart free, the sugar and dye leaving a faint pink mirror image of it on the tape. She tossed the card and envelope into the trash and laid the heart face up on the counter, eyeing its message as she added coffee to the waiting cream and sugar.

RUIN ME.

That sounded like a challenge to her. Her stalker was taunting her. “I know you, but you don’t know me.” They knew her hubris, like the hubris of her entire family lineage. They didn’t doubt she would take the bait. A simple threat like RUIN YOU would never work on her. But RUIN ME invited her to participate.

Once she had taken the time to drink half her mug of coffee, she reached down the front of her robe and pulled the locket out from where it had lain warm between her breasts.

It was silver, but it was old. The metal was dark and dented. It was heavy with the weight of generations. When she clicked it open, there was a fine dust inside, where pictures normally would lie. The dust, soft as flour and several shades of grey, seemed to shift on its own when the locket opened, like a living thing eager to see her face.

It was the female branch of her family tree. Ashes from her mother, her grandmother, her grandmother’s mother, and all the women before them. The ash in this locket went back so far that the names of the first women inside had been eaten by time.

She placed the candy heart in the locket and closed it. The click was louder than it should have been from a piece of jewelry so small and delicate.

“Protect me,” she said, “as you always have.”

She spent the rest of her morning resetting her wards, which had not only been breached but had been blown away as cleanly as dandelion fluff on a stiff breeze.

That bit worried her, but she held that close to herself. She wouldn’t give her stalker the satisfaction of being afraid.

That night the house felt too warm. She woke several times, her sheets twisted like bonds around her body and drenched with sweat. She kept dreaming of flames and death, always delivered upon her.

She never saw who it was lurking in the shadows, striking the matches.

By morning her wards had failed again. There was no envelope by her mug this time, but the mug itself was full, the coffee hot and steaming. She picked it up and drank large swallows in defiance of the intrusion. The liquid scalded her tongue and her throat, but she didn’t stop until she had drunk every swallow.

She would not be threatened in her own home.

She reset her wards again, this time adding more physical protection. Salt and iron were old magic, trusted and true. The sigils she carved on the window and door seals were unsightly, but the house was hers and she had no landlord to answer to. Only herself.

Inside, her heart beat as fast as a rabbit’s. Mina was afraid. She had never been so afraid before in her life. She knew she should leave, seek protection from someone older and wiser. Since she was the last female of her family line, other witches would protect her until she could continue it. Important blood warranted protection.

She didn’t run. Witches who ran died.

Instead, she layered more protection. She burned herbs and called on names that held power. She drew circles within circles until the house felt as tightly bound as a clenched fist.

This time the wards didn’t even hold until morning. By nightfall the salt lines were smudged, the iron nails rusted through, and the sigils blurred as though someone had licked them clean.

She knew that whoever had gifted her the candy heart was in the house with her, but stubbornness ran thicker than blood in her. She fell asleep clutching the locket.

***

He stood over her as she slept, sipping coffee out of her mug. He had plucked it off the counter where she had left it today, the rim still smeared with lipstick and nervous sweat. The taste of her fear mingled with the cold coffee left inside was decadent. It wasn’t enough to dull his disappointment, though.

From all of them he had chosen this year, he had expected Mina to be at least a little difficult. She had big shoes to fill, but had still left him wanting.

Yes, her wards had been a little difficult in the beginning, but once he figured out the puzzle she hadn’t changed them in the least. That was a stupid move.

Broken once, shame on me. Broken twice, shame on you. Broken three times…well…games over then, isn’t it?

Sighing, he took one more sip of the cold coffee in Mina’s favorite cup before turning it to splash the fluid across her sleeping form.

What came out of the cup, however, wasn’t cold coffee, but liquid fire. Instead of a small dredge, once it splashed on her body it spread, covering her entirely.

The fire burned fast and hot, eating through her clothing, her skin, and her bones, but it left her bed untouched, and the surrounding covers. The heat never escaped the swath of her own body, and she never woke up.

It only took minutes before the fire disappeared, its fuel being nothing but a pile of hot grey ash.

He reached into the woman shaped pile of ash, between two perfect breast shaped mounds, and lifted a silver locket. If it had been dirty with age before, now it was outright black. The fire that had consumed the rest of her had tried its best to work on the artifact too, but had failed.

An entire lineage of powerful witches in the palm of his hand.

He clicked the locket open, expecting it to struggle somehow. This much magic diluted in one spot should be able to fight back somehow. It opened just as simply as any other piece of jewelry. The ash inside was all black now. Eons of power erased with the last of a bloodline.

A shame, really.

Tilting the locket upside down, the ash inside fell for a long time, more ash than the tiny locket should have been able to hold. It made a tiny mound on top of the larger one.

When it was empty, he dropped the locket on the pile as well. The silver heart fell face down, right beside the pink candy heart it had imprisoned.

RUIN ME.

“Nice try,” he said. “Maybe the next one will win.”

Before leaving, he rinsed the mug in the sink, set it back on the counter, and wondered what color tomorrow’s envelope should be.

Be Mine Forever

by Raven Tomes

Valentine’s night always made the club feel overripe.

He sat in the car longer than necessary, engine off, the windshield fogging at the edges from his breath. The parking lot pulsed with movement. Couples crossing between cars, laughter drifting, doors slamming shut—but none of it reached him.

The passenger seat was cluttered with envelopes, red and pink, stacked unevenly. Some were crisp. Others bore the soft creases of having been handled, opened, and closed again. He straightened them without thinking, aligning corners, smoothing edges.

One lay open beside him.

The card inside was plain, the kind bought in bulk. A Conversation Heart had slipped free of its paper sleeve and rested against the fabric of the seat, turned face-up. The words stamped into it were slightly uneven, the die pressed too hard in places.

Be Mine Forever

He noticed it only long enough to make sure it hadn’t rolled.

Closing the card and sliding it securely back into the slightly bent envelope, he exhaled the breath he didn’t remember holding and swiftly reached for the door handle. Anticipation thrummed wildly in his mind.

Perfume clung too thick to the air, sweet enough to spoil. Pink light skimmed skin and softened edges that should have stayed sharp. Glitter drifted through the dark like pollen. Hearts flashed on screens and shirts and drink menus, a thousand small promises no one intended to keep. He liked it this way. Softness made intention easier to hide.

The music thudded low and constant, a pulse that settled into bone. He let it carry him, letting the crowd close around his body until he was just another silhouette shifting toward the bar. He had learned long ago predators survived by blending in. Loud men were remembered. Quiet ones were trusted.

Valentine’s night was always best. Expectations ran high, defenses ran low. Women came looking for signs, for proof devotion still existed in the world. They wanted to believe someone had chosen them.

He was very good at choosing.

And noticed the pretty little redhead first.

She was laughing with her friends near the counter, head tipped back, throat bared, one hand resting against the bar as if she needed something solid beneath her. Her laugh wasn’t loud, just warm. Human. Though maybe not the prettiest woman in the room, and certainly not the kind men nudged each other about, she held a warm allure, a charm all her own. That was always better. He preferred women who didn’t know they were being chosen.

His eyes sharply focused and watched the way she listened. The way her eyes stayed on people when they spoke, like she was collecting them. The small, nervous motion of tucking her hair behind her ear, repeated without thought.

Yes.

She would do.

He ordered a drink he wouldn’t finish and positioned himself close enough to feel the warmth from her shoulder when the crowd shifted. Letting his arm brush near hers without touching. Contact too early ruined things. It made them alert. Made them real. He liked the moment before the tingling sensation of touch the best, the space where anticipation lived.

He told himself he wasn’t cruel. He never rushed, he prepared. Gave them what they needed at first: attention, reassurance, the sense of being seen. This time it would be better.

Her friend stood just to her right.

The brunette was quieter. Not withdrawn, just settled, as though the noise and movement happened around her instead of through her. She wore black instead of red. No hearts. No glitter. Her eyes were dark and steady, unmoved by the press of bodies or the bass shuddering through the floor.

He noticed her only long enough to register she existed.

Then his attention slid back where it belonged.

The redhead turned, and their eyes met.

Something flickered across her face. Not fear. Recognition. It unsettled him more than fear would have. She smiled anyway, polite and automatic, the kind of smile women learned early.

He smiled back, practiced and gentle. He imagined how her expression would change later. They always did.

“Bathroom,” she said to her friends, lifting her voice over the music. Her hand brushed the brunette’s wrist as she passed, fingers lingering just a fraction too long.

It was a small thing.

He barely noticed it.

─────────────────────────────────

The restroom smelled like citrus cleaner and old water.

The redhead stood at the sink longer than necessary, hands braced on either side of the porcelain basin. Her reflection stared back at her, pupils blown wide, breath shallow. She did not know what had changed, only that something had.

A pressure gathered behind her eyes, sharp and insistent, like a warning pressed through fog. No images came with it. No faces. No understanding. Just certainty, sudden and absolute.

Not him.

Her throat tightened. Not fear for herself. For the brunette.

She swallowed, steadying her breath. Panic never helped. It never had. Whatever protected her friend did not answer panic.

She reached into her pocket for her phone. Her fingers hovered for half a second before she typed a single word.

Switch.

The reply came immediately.

Okay.

The pressure eased, leaving behind only urgency.

The redhead exhaled. She didn’t pray. She didn’t bargain. She didn’t need to understand. Whatever pact existed between them had been made long before tonight, long before clubs and men like this one.

She rinsed her hands, dried them carefully, and checked her face in the mirror. She adjusted her smile until it sat right.

By the time she left the restroom, she looked exactly the same.

─────────────────────────────────

He felt the change.

It was subtle at first. Like a radio station drifting out of tune, a frequency slipping just enough to irritate. The redhead’s laughter sounded distant now, thin and hollow, as if it were coming from another room. Her movements blurred at the edges, harder to track. Irritation bloomed in his chest, sharp and unreasonable.

He told himself it was the noise. The crowd. The lights. He had rules and had complete trust in them.

Then the brunette laughed.

The sound cut clean through the music.

His gaze snapped to her without conscious thought. The room tilted, all its angles reorienting around the curve of her mouth, the hollow at the base of her throat. She looked up at him as if she’d been expecting it.

Something cold slid through him.

He frowned, unsettled.

I just didn’t see her before, he told himself.

Desire shifted sometimes. He wasn’t an animal. He could adapt. He had adapted before.

He stepped closer.

The brunette met him halfway.

Her smile was small. Patient.

For the first time that night, she studied him. Not with interest. With assessment. He mistook it for curiosity.

─────────────────────────────────

By the time the drug took hold, she was already smiling.

She tasted bitterness beneath the sweetness of the drink and swallowed anyway. Letting her body soften and the world blur at the edges. She counted his breaths. Measured his grip. Noted the way he avoided looking at her eyes.

He guided her through the crowd, her weight compliant against his side, her steps slow but unresisting. She leaned into him as if she trusted him, as if this was how the night was supposed to end.

Outside, the air was cold enough to sting. She shivered once, then relaxed as he opened the trunk. He moved quickly, efficiently, the way practice taught you to.

He whispered reassurances.

“This time will be different.”

The words tasted familiar. Comforting.

As he drove, memory surfaced without invitation.

Firelight crawling along walls.

The scrape of a shovel.

The weight of a body gone slack.

A room that never changed.

She listened. And waited.

─────────────────────────────────

The house waited, dark and obedient.

He dragged her inside and laid her where others had been laid before. The cuffs were cold when he snapped them shut around her wrists, metal biting into skin. He checked them twice. He always checked twice.

He leaned close, breath warm against her ear.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “This is your home now.”

Her eyes opened.

They were black.

Not dilated.

Black.

The illusion cracked.

She chuckled, low and pleased, and the sound hollowed something inside him. It wasn’t fear, yet. It was something worse. Confusion.

“Oh,” she said softly, “you really thought I was the one asleep.”

He tried to pull back.

He couldn’t.

The room resisted him, thickened around his movements.

She reached up, fingers pressing against his chest, nails sinking in. Pain flared, sharp and exquisite, blooming outward. Letters etched themselves into his heart, slow and deliberate, as if carved by hands that had done this countless times before.

MY VALENTINE

He screamed and yet the sound fell silent, vibrations traveling nowhere.

She leaned close, breath cool against his ear.

“You wanted forever,” she said. “You wanted to keep.”

The walls creaked. The restraints tightened.

“You should have been more careful about what you offered.”

She drew back just enough for him to see her face, calm and ancient and utterly uninterested in mercy.

“You may call me Ryn,” she said.

The name struck him wrong, vibrating through bone.

“Once,” she added, almost kindly, “they called me Erinys.”

A Fury!

Understanding tore through him, brutal and complete.

He had not chosen wrong.

He had invoked.

She stepped away. The restraints held him fast while the rest of the world bent toward her. Shadows gathered at her feet, attentive, waiting for instruction.

The room began to change.

Not suddenly. Nor violently. Slowly, as if it had always been waiting for permission.

The corners deepened. The ceiling pressed lower. The walls breathed in shallow, patient pulses. He felt it in his chest first, the sense that space itself had shifted its allegiance.

This isn’t possible, he thought.

The thought slid away, unanswered.

He tried to remember how he had gotten here, to anchor himself to sequence and logic. Club. Music. Red hair. Laughter. He clung to it, frantic, as if chronology might save him.

It didn’t.

Her presence filled the room without moving. She did not need to touch him to bind him. The cuffs were ceremonial now, a courtesy extended to something that still believed in restraint.

You’re hallucinating, he told himself.

But the house answered her anyway.

The door sealed without a sound. The lights dimmed until only her face remained clear. Even the air thickened, heavy with attention.

She watched him then, truly watched him, and for the first time he understood he had never been seen before.

“Be mine forever,” she said.

The words did not echo. They did not need to.

Something inside him broke open.

Forever unfurled in his mind, not as darkness or oblivion, but as awareness. Endless, grinding awareness. He saw himself kneeling in the same room, again and again, across spans of time that had no shape. He saw others brought through the door, not as victims but as mirrors.

No, he thought.

The thought had weight now. It sank.

He understood then what his role would be.

Witness.

He would remember every face. Every plea. Every moment of certainty that preceded collapse. He would feel the echo of his own hunger in others like him, recognize it instantly, hate it with a precision that never dulled.

Service was not action. It was endurance.

She had not claimed his body. She had claimed his capacity to forget.

He would not sleep. He would not fade. Time would move through him like water through stone, reshaping nothing, eroding everything.

This was not punishment.

This was function.

And she had many uses for men like him.

“Be Mine Forever,” she commanded.

The words sealed.

He understood what forever meant.

Not darkness.

Not rest.

Service.

Witness.

An eternity spent remembering every choice that had brought him here, every door he had opened for himself.

He had not taken a life.

He had given his away.

Eternity closed around him.

DEDICATION

by Raven Tomes

If you’ve made it this far, you survived.

Thank you for opening the envelope, for turning the page, and for trusting The Butchered Writers with your Valentine’s season. Whether you came here wrapped in roses, recovering from a breakup, proudly single, or simply curious about what happens when love letters go wrong, we’re grateful you stayed.

Valentine’s Day is built on sugar, sentiment, and small pastel promises stamped with words like “Forever” and “Be Mine”. We simply wondered what might happen if those words were taken literally. If devotion became a contract. If affection came with fine print. If a heart, once given, couldn’t be returned.

Every story in this collection began with a sweet little message and ended somewhere far less comforting. That’s the magic of horror: it peels back the glitter and asks what’s hiding underneath.

To the romantics, guard your hearts.

To the broken-hearted, we see you.

To the eternally alone, you are not as alone as you think.

And to anyone who has ever whispered “be mine forever” with absolute certainty… we hope you meant it.

Thank you for supporting independent horror, dangerous imagination, and writers who believe even Valentine’s candy can carry a curse.

With love (handle carefully),

The Butchered Writers

Prelude

by Raven Tomes

Kiss of Death

by Melinda Pouncey

Cut Me

by Ryan McGregor

Die Soon

by Colt Henderson

Love You to Death

by Nora B. Peevy

Ruin You

by Novalynn Mae

No Way Out

by D. L. Garvin

Fear Me

by Andy Holberry

Get Over Here

by Sarah Moon

Ruin Me

by Winona Morris

Be Mine Forever

by Raven Tomes

DEDICATION

by Raven Tomes

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