I did some writing, horray!
Title: A Bargain and an Arrangement
Wordcount: approx 1400
Genre: Fantasy/Supernatural
There is always something about the way he behaves toward me that makes me wonder what exactly I'm still doing here. He's a good man, that much I know for certain, unfortunately I do not think his goodness is enough to help me move past the things he has done. No matter how wonderful he has been, there is a still a head sitting on his mantle staring down at the both of us. I pretend as if I do not notice the eyes, but they are there, staring, clear green eyes.
I wish it would rot away and disappear.
It never will. No matter what happens, it will never go away and I cannot ask him to remove it. He talks to it. Sometimes, in the dead of night when I can hear him murmuring platitudes to the slacken face, I even think I hear it respond. That cannot be true. It cannot be so. However, I feel as though I hear it just the same. Perhaps I am madder than he is.
I set the plates on the linen last night as he stood there watching me, his arm propped up on the mantle beside the head. He mouthed something, but I could not hear. Then he chuckled, a predatory smile crossing his features that made my heart flutter like a bird's must when faced with the smiling snake. Once the table was set for he and I, he said: “Add another and draw up a chair.”
“Are we to have company?” Even as I asked, I could see the darkness grow in his eyes. He detested to be questioned. Then the darkness was gone and his smile, however false, returned.
“Add another plate, dearest, and draw up a chair. A visitor comes and he shall dine with us.”
I did as I was told, adding another ivy patterned china plate to the table settings, bracketed by silverware. Then I pulled the disused third chair, there is also a fourth but it is not used either, and settled it beside the table at one end. The visitor, by virtue of his guesthood, would sit at the head of the table while we once more ate facing one another.
The peas had just rolled to their places on the plates beside the porkchops and boiled rice when a sharp rap sounded on the door, it was followed quickly by two more. My eyes flickered from my husband to the door, then back again. Once again, he was smiling and I was afraid. Concentrating on my plate, I could hear him as he crossed the floor and the clicking of the door latch giving way.
“Welcome.” My husband's voice was cheerful, even I daresay charming. “Welcome. Come sit with us.” I cautiously raised my eyes as they approached, noting the expense of our guest's wardrobe without meaning to. His dress was finer than our own. A slim gold chain hung in a loop from his waistcoat, undoubtedly attached to a similar watch. The waistcoat itself was silk, deep verdant green, over a white linen shirt. His suit jacket was midnight black, severe. Up his chest to his throat and then... nothing. He had no head.
Oh my heavens he had no head.
My husband helped him to his seat and he sat down. I returned my eyes to my plate, trembling fingers pressed tight against the tablecloth to hide my fear. I caught my teeth around my lower lip and forced myself to breath as my husband continued to chatter across the table at our visitor as though he were not holding a conversation alone.
“My dear darling seems at a loss for words.” The sudden touch of his hand made me swallow a shriek. “Sweetness, you've not even greeted our guest.”
“My apologies, love, I've simply started to feel a touch ill. If I may be excused?”
“No, no, not yet. The evening's entertainment has barely begun.” There was a smile in his words, sickening sweet and poisonous. “My friend has come to complete a bargain.”
There was silence, though the soft scrap of leather gloves against the edge of the plate made me wonder if perhaps he was indeed listening. How on earth could he listen with no ears? I had no go running from the table, I considered this to my credit. Many lesser woman would have gone screaming into the night, their petticoats flashing passerbys on the street, but not I. No, I stood my ground despite the demon of hell sitting at my table having dinner with my husband. The headless monster before me.
“Yes, a bargain,” my husband continued. “He's come to win back his head and perhaps, take mine.” Beneath his words, a maniacal laughter I could not truly ignore. “It was a bargain we made you see, he and I, long before you and I met. A bet between boys who knew no better.”
The scrapping started again louder, fingers moving feverishly. I thought perhaps he was shaking. It might have been fear or maybe anger. Anger was where my mind went. What else could he be when his body was set at table and his head stared down from the mantle piece.
“And what, my love, does this bet entail?”
“The head to the man who first comes by a kiss.” Sulphurous glee suffused the statement. “You see, the night I kissed Juliana Marsten, he lost his head. Now he hopes to see me lose mine, but I have all the advantages. After all, I am the one possessed of a wife.”
Possessed of a wife. Such a phrase was not unknown to me, but I had never thought much of it until that moment. Possessed of: to own, have control over, consider an object. A wife: woman who shares life, cooks food for, and cleans up after a husband. My husband was possessed of a wife, me. Or was he?
“Yes,” I agreed with his statement with a smile not unlike his own. “You are possessed of a wife. However...” I left the word hanging in the air like a slowly leaking balloon sinking toward the table. “It would seem that now I am possessed of a husband.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes, those lovely brown eyes I had once considered so wonderful. Now they were merely loathsome and disgusting, muddy brown pools offering nothing.
I swept up from the table, gaiety I had not felt in years wrapping about me like a velvet shawl. With light steps, I moved across the dining room and into the parlor where the head sat once more watching me, but now I understood it's gaze. I understood so much more now.
“Perhaps you and I can come to an arrangement,” I said to the head staring down at me. It said nothing, but its eyes moved from me to my husband who now stood a few feet behind me. “Yes, you see,” I continued. “I would be rid of him and you need a kiss to take back your head. We might benefit one another.”
Then I picked up the head and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He felt surprisingly warm for someone who should have well been dead and even managed to be a decent kisser. I carried the head and set it on its former neck, square between the shoulders. The body adjusted it slightly and then worked his jaw.
“Well, that was rather unexpected. I would say you've a debt to pay, old man.” The once headless gentleman said. With that, he reached over and took a hold of my husband's hair, the fool being too flabbergasted at his loss to run like the coward he was, and off came his head with an audible wine cork pop.
His jaw worked visibly but no words came out.
“No longer will you gloat over me, old friend. Now it is I who have won over you and I will not give you a chance to supplant me.”
With a slim blade, he stabbed my husband directly in the chest.
The only regret I've ever had: losing that rug when it became clear we would never get rid of the stain.
Wordcount: approx 1400
Genre: Fantasy/Supernatural
There is always something about the way he behaves toward me that makes me wonder what exactly I'm still doing here. He's a good man, that much I know for certain, unfortunately I do not think his goodness is enough to help me move past the things he has done. No matter how wonderful he has been, there is a still a head sitting on his mantle staring down at the both of us. I pretend as if I do not notice the eyes, but they are there, staring, clear green eyes.
I wish it would rot away and disappear.
It never will. No matter what happens, it will never go away and I cannot ask him to remove it. He talks to it. Sometimes, in the dead of night when I can hear him murmuring platitudes to the slacken face, I even think I hear it respond. That cannot be true. It cannot be so. However, I feel as though I hear it just the same. Perhaps I am madder than he is.
I set the plates on the linen last night as he stood there watching me, his arm propped up on the mantle beside the head. He mouthed something, but I could not hear. Then he chuckled, a predatory smile crossing his features that made my heart flutter like a bird's must when faced with the smiling snake. Once the table was set for he and I, he said: “Add another and draw up a chair.”
“Are we to have company?” Even as I asked, I could see the darkness grow in his eyes. He detested to be questioned. Then the darkness was gone and his smile, however false, returned.
“Add another plate, dearest, and draw up a chair. A visitor comes and he shall dine with us.”
I did as I was told, adding another ivy patterned china plate to the table settings, bracketed by silverware. Then I pulled the disused third chair, there is also a fourth but it is not used either, and settled it beside the table at one end. The visitor, by virtue of his guesthood, would sit at the head of the table while we once more ate facing one another.
The peas had just rolled to their places on the plates beside the porkchops and boiled rice when a sharp rap sounded on the door, it was followed quickly by two more. My eyes flickered from my husband to the door, then back again. Once again, he was smiling and I was afraid. Concentrating on my plate, I could hear him as he crossed the floor and the clicking of the door latch giving way.
“Welcome.” My husband's voice was cheerful, even I daresay charming. “Welcome. Come sit with us.” I cautiously raised my eyes as they approached, noting the expense of our guest's wardrobe without meaning to. His dress was finer than our own. A slim gold chain hung in a loop from his waistcoat, undoubtedly attached to a similar watch. The waistcoat itself was silk, deep verdant green, over a white linen shirt. His suit jacket was midnight black, severe. Up his chest to his throat and then... nothing. He had no head.
Oh my heavens he had no head.
My husband helped him to his seat and he sat down. I returned my eyes to my plate, trembling fingers pressed tight against the tablecloth to hide my fear. I caught my teeth around my lower lip and forced myself to breath as my husband continued to chatter across the table at our visitor as though he were not holding a conversation alone.
“My dear darling seems at a loss for words.” The sudden touch of his hand made me swallow a shriek. “Sweetness, you've not even greeted our guest.”
“My apologies, love, I've simply started to feel a touch ill. If I may be excused?”
“No, no, not yet. The evening's entertainment has barely begun.” There was a smile in his words, sickening sweet and poisonous. “My friend has come to complete a bargain.”
There was silence, though the soft scrap of leather gloves against the edge of the plate made me wonder if perhaps he was indeed listening. How on earth could he listen with no ears? I had no go running from the table, I considered this to my credit. Many lesser woman would have gone screaming into the night, their petticoats flashing passerbys on the street, but not I. No, I stood my ground despite the demon of hell sitting at my table having dinner with my husband. The headless monster before me.
“Yes, a bargain,” my husband continued. “He's come to win back his head and perhaps, take mine.” Beneath his words, a maniacal laughter I could not truly ignore. “It was a bargain we made you see, he and I, long before you and I met. A bet between boys who knew no better.”
The scrapping started again louder, fingers moving feverishly. I thought perhaps he was shaking. It might have been fear or maybe anger. Anger was where my mind went. What else could he be when his body was set at table and his head stared down from the mantle piece.
“And what, my love, does this bet entail?”
“The head to the man who first comes by a kiss.” Sulphurous glee suffused the statement. “You see, the night I kissed Juliana Marsten, he lost his head. Now he hopes to see me lose mine, but I have all the advantages. After all, I am the one possessed of a wife.”
Possessed of a wife. Such a phrase was not unknown to me, but I had never thought much of it until that moment. Possessed of: to own, have control over, consider an object. A wife: woman who shares life, cooks food for, and cleans up after a husband. My husband was possessed of a wife, me. Or was he?
“Yes,” I agreed with his statement with a smile not unlike his own. “You are possessed of a wife. However...” I left the word hanging in the air like a slowly leaking balloon sinking toward the table. “It would seem that now I am possessed of a husband.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes, those lovely brown eyes I had once considered so wonderful. Now they were merely loathsome and disgusting, muddy brown pools offering nothing.
I swept up from the table, gaiety I had not felt in years wrapping about me like a velvet shawl. With light steps, I moved across the dining room and into the parlor where the head sat once more watching me, but now I understood it's gaze. I understood so much more now.
“Perhaps you and I can come to an arrangement,” I said to the head staring down at me. It said nothing, but its eyes moved from me to my husband who now stood a few feet behind me. “Yes, you see,” I continued. “I would be rid of him and you need a kiss to take back your head. We might benefit one another.”
Then I picked up the head and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He felt surprisingly warm for someone who should have well been dead and even managed to be a decent kisser. I carried the head and set it on its former neck, square between the shoulders. The body adjusted it slightly and then worked his jaw.
“Well, that was rather unexpected. I would say you've a debt to pay, old man.” The once headless gentleman said. With that, he reached over and took a hold of my husband's hair, the fool being too flabbergasted at his loss to run like the coward he was, and off came his head with an audible wine cork pop.
His jaw worked visibly but no words came out.
“No longer will you gloat over me, old friend. Now it is I who have won over you and I will not give you a chance to supplant me.”
With a slim blade, he stabbed my husband directly in the chest.
The only regret I've ever had: losing that rug when it became clear we would never get rid of the stain.