He ate her whole: A love story

Three days before 2012 expires and she still finds herself hanging from the same hook; she is naked and parts of her are already missing. However, she looks at him full of understanding as he sets the table for yet another meal...poor man, he is always so hungry.

Even though she is skinnier than when he found her a couple of months before, this never puts him off his food. Piece by piece he cuts her off with a long blade raw and dripping and eats her on a fancy dinner plate in the candlelight as she hangs there with a bitter smile, all pleased that she gave what he needed, yet sad that it didn't earn her a kiss.

Yet, it is odd, he is never truly pleased, always treats her with scorn, always punishing her for giving him love, her skin is too thick, her blood too sour, her bones without marrow and she cries and cries. You see she loves him so. She wishes she were fatter, with bigger breasts for him to feast on, she wishes to see him smile, to hear him talk, he never talks only chews once in a while and then walks away, punishing her for being so lean.

Tick tock, tick tock, the clock ticks the old year away and she looks at herself in the mirror he bought for her  so that she can look at what's left: no legs, no flesh on her ribs at all, liver gone, her right eye, her hair all to the floor. Poor girl, there's really nothing left for him to feast on yet she waits for the clock to strike 12  to finally do what he had promised when he first installed the hook in the dark, narrow room; to finally eat her whole.

He sewed her mouth shut because he doesn't want to hear her speak. She never understands the pain he goes through chewing on her bones, she doesn't know how it feels to truly love someone because she has never eaten human flesh, she has never cut a limb of a beloved, she doesn't know how it is to clean after one's mess; she is always so dynamically headstrong, always complaining, demanding for more, the bitch.

"What's left?" he asks and stands before her before the clock strikes 12. It's been a week perhaps two. She's missed him so. Her left eye, short-sighted as it is, scans his body for signs of love. He looks so tall and fierce, his blade catching the candle light on the fancy tablecloth.
She wants to speak but she can't, her mouth is sewn tight.  She cannot move so she blinks twice.
"It's my heart" she thinks," Happy New Year my love."
She dies of joy before she dies of pain.
He lifts her off her hook with one hand and swirls her round and round the room. She catches a glimpse of some coloured lights and a chair.
"He cares, at last he cares." she shouts in her mind full of joy and then it's over.

He places her on the dinner table and rips her heart out through the exposed rib cage. It still beats and her ghost moans with pleasure of his delight.

The clock strikes 12 and he licks his fingers meticulously.

"Time too see the parents," he mutters lifting the big rubbish bag off the floor.

Bitter truths: A Christmas story.

    (photo by Holger Droste)

"Persephone get dressed, another batch has arrived, hurry!"

The girl moaned, she hated being awaken like this do deal with something that repulsed her. Her limbs still ached from her husband's late night visit. She needed more sleep, definitely more sleep.
"On Christmas Day? Must be bitter to die on Christmas..." she muttered.
"It's bitter to die on any day, my queen. Now you mush hurry, he's already at the lakes" he old woman said placing a white linen dress on her bed.
"I bet he's thrilled!" she said pulling the cold linen over her head. "More toys for him to play with ...the necrophiliac!" she added, bitterness and anger dripping thick on the floor.
"If he were what you say, he wouldn't have you, would he now?...You'll get used to him and his ways.." the old woman said brushing her golden hair with a gold-crusted bone comb. "He is good at what he does" she added, "And anyway...in a few more months you'll be able to go home again.."
"Only to come back here..I hate him.." Persephone said but the old woman pretended not to hear.

Barefoot, she walked out on the damp street and was startled to find a large silver moon hanging from the sky. She stared at it wide-eyed, trying to work out what it meant and why He has gone into so much trouble. The moon looked real, the wet streets reflected its pale light making everything around her look brilliantly...dead. Her spirits fell.
When she got to the mucky river she saw the boat empty already and Jack counting his gold.

"Merry Christmas Jack...you busy bee." she added and sat down on the mucky concrete river bank. The black waters below her sizzled with the silvery moonlight and even the ancient boat glistered with it here and there. Jack, however, like a black hole sucked all the light within him and reflected none.
He raised his head, lowered his cloak and looked over him.  His black, volcanic eyes with long lashes like spider legs, rested on her feet for a moment before locking on her transparent eyes. His pale mouth was immediately drawn into a smile the stubble on his chin and cheeks barely noticeable.

"Merry Christmas Persephone. " he said in his warm, husky voice. "Got you a little present!" he said and she saw his hand rummaging his right pocket.
"What is it?" she asked her hands into a prayer over her chest.
"Oh I little something I found while picking up customers." he said, raised his bony arm to the sky and shook his palm.
The thing jingled.
His white palm was warm to the touch though her hand was dead cold. The little golden bell let out a chocked squeal as she lifted it to her eyes.
"Pretty." she said
"That's what I thought too." Jack said, "I immediately thought of you." he added
He locked his eyes on hers and she felt herself drawn to him like a bee to the honey. Death was warm and sweet.
Once he sensed his affect on her, he pulled his eyes away and bent low to pick up his oars.
"I've got to run, there are more waiting for me on the other end..."
"Busy day.." Persephone said.
"Christmas is.." he added and raised his hand in goodbye as the boat slithered away. He was quickly lost in the mist.

Persephone jingled the bell once more. Its sound sent ripples over the water and made the moon shiver. She pecked it and tucked it in her breast. She knew she was late so she started to run.

Intro for www.venetianredstories.com

DIY me

(Painting by Thomas Eakins)

The book would not sit still, the pages kept flicking back to 995. But he had just began. Page 12, he was trying to read page 12.
"Damn it".
 The pages needed something heavy to keep them at bay, but what could he use now, what could he use..?
His right hand was covered with  blood and muck and so was his scalpel, no place to put it unless he wanted to create a mess around him, which he resented. He was always meticulous and organised, and clean. Above all.

The woman's hand, white as plaster, had fallen from the table and hang just below his crotch. He kept pushing it out of his way but it just couldn't stay put. With a light thud he forced the hand onto the book. It could be more useful this way, holding the pages in place, allowing him to finish his work.
The scalpel run across her belly smoothly as if she was made of butter. He was happy he had purchased it even though it had cost him a small fortune.
"...# 18 for deep cuts and scraping, with Zirconium Nitride coated edge to improve sharpness and edge retention." He would have gone for a polymer coated blade, but the shop assistant had insisted.

In his line of work having the right tools was of highest importance. Every construction in his house had demanded investing money on tools on way or another.
The floor lamp, which he considered his masterpiece, had cost him more than 1000 bucks give or take.
However it was not the money gave value to that particular piece.
Removing the spine without breaking it was a task the required both precision and power, not to mention luring, trapping and killing the subject suitable for the task. Preparing the  intestines for the wiring, finding the proper part of skin to make the lamp hat, painting it with blood.....so much work but oh so rewarding.

But no tools ever went to waste. He used them again and again to make his house the way he always wanted it to be....basically organic. The only thing that remained after his DIY frenzy is food.

(Body Art by Francois Robert)

Skin on Bone

   (Zombie walk in Moscow 2010)


Looking at him through a plexiglass box full of ice-cream cones, the floor all wet and sticky. Wonder who is the unlucky human to clean it.
All around me happy, horrid faces covered in stitches, cuts, gushes and gore...They are loving every minute of it and so do I.

I go back to staring through the plexiglass box but two zombie kids running around break my reverie. Their make-up is all smudged and they are licking the thick cranberry juice thing used for blood. I feel his eyes on my face. They are warming up my protruding bones, the gush over my brow, the hole just below my heart.

"Upon my Death! He's coming.." I mutter and pull a strand of hair over the gush on my cheek.

"Hello zombie girl" he says and chuckles.

"Hello."

My head falls down, I am so afraid my chest will collapse or worse he will detect the death in me.
"You didn't overdo it." he said pointing at my face.
"Yes, I thought I would go for subtle."  I said and smiled.

I look up to catch a glimpse of his face. I think of all the things I want to do to him and my guts ache. All that is left of them.
Pull his head all the way back and grab hold of his Adam's apple, suck on his, caress it with my  tongue and let go a little after it hurts. Hide my face between his shoulder blades, let my tears of sorrow trickle down his silky skin, wrap my arms around his waist, and slide down bone by bone by bone, slither on his skin, run down like a drop of blood breathe him in the moment until he's no more. And then, if he stays enough, if he accepts the fact, if he is willing to let go, take him in, if he is willing to let go. And then he can break me, fold me twice in half and put me in the box or he can grind me to dust and release me in the air, or take me again so I can melt from his heat, melt into slime, into nothing.

(18th century Gothic sensationalism.
You are not interested in his bones. You want to see if his sperm can stick to the ceiling, you want to suck him up, hear him beg. You want to  flay him alive, YOU WANT HIM TO DIE IN YOUR ARMS!)

No!.... (yes, it's been so long...but no, not like that. I can do much better than that, if only I can remember).

Skin on bone.
His finger lifts my chin up and I bore into his face, he smiles and takes me by the hand.

Medusa

           (Photo by Ivan Aguirre)



    My wife. Madeleine.

One can take a strong whiff of danger the moment those cold eyes fall on their face. And yet, once she lays her eyes on you, there is no turning back, no running away.
This is what happened to me 7 years ago.
I didn't like her at all when I first caught a glimpse of her on that unfortunate evening of my brother's New Year's party. I thought that on the whole she was a bit too much of everything. Her voice too husky, her body too bony, her fingers too long, her clothes too expensive. Yet everyone seemed enchanted by her every word, men and women alike. I should have left right then and there but no. Curiosity had taken the best of me and had burnt me whole in the end.

I look behind my shoulder. She always knows when I am thinking bad thoughts and always punishes me in a way that only now I begin to comprehend.
It happens at night, when in the last moments before sleep finally traps me in its web, I begin to realise that I never stood much chance anyway; she pulls the right strings, the great puppeteer that she is. She decided to marry me. She decided to come to this house. She decided who are friends will be. And she doesn't even have the courtesy to tell me in words. Not even that; it happens from within.

At last I close my eyes. It is right at that moment, just before I lose consciousness that I feel her cold breath running inside me. I hear her pounding heart pumping its poison, draining my soul, turning it into ash. I see her eyes chasing my life away, driving it out of me in fear and despair and I willingly give it all away and die lest I live and go through it again.

 But in the morning  I do wake up again, dead cold and mutilated. My soul eaten a little more. Always I little more, never too much, each night. I am not  me any more. I am her.
 I stumble out of the room only to meet her cold eyes.
 She is licking her lips and turns back to the paper on her lap. With a slight move of her long finger she points to the door and the doorbell rings.
The fresh air makes me want to weep though I can't. I want to run out barefoot on the street, escape her grasp, feet glued to the ground and my brother comes in.
I once tried talking to him but the words couldn't come out, like dogs they were on leashes, I coughed and spat and my lungs turned to stone.

 He licked his lips in return and asked: "How is Madeleine today? Is she in?"

"Madeleine, my cannibalistic witch of a wife?" I shout mutely but then her eyes bend on my spine and I cough in repentance. I know there's not much left of me. It won't be long now.

 "She is inside." I say and the corners of my lips are forced upwards.

The bitch.


After I am gone, I know he is next.

The Hand

                        (Painting by Travis Louie)



It was her right hand that caused her such distress, it was not her thoughts, no never her thoughts. After all, everyone gets angry from time to time, everyone might picture someone's death, crave it in her head. But thoughts, thoughts can only  hurt  their creator, like poison they erode her brain until there's nothing left, they never cause any harm to their object, never.

Though the hand was different. The hand was not a thought, the hand was hers, hers at the beginning yes, but then gradually, gradually it rebelled against her, against her will...naughty hand.

It had a life of its own, a will and a way, a way to move, to grasp, to catch hold of things, all without her consent.
Her hand was beginning to feel as if it was not her hand any more.

Very often she asked herself if that could be possible, such an alienation of a limb has never been recorded, and yet...why fret over such a thing..it kept her company after all, and she was so, oh so alone.
Like a friend it seemed, it gave her the things she would never have dared, never have dared to claim.

Like that Pavlova, she would have never thought to taste, but it was there in her hand, the curious girl behind the counter saw the hand picking it up from the tray, so she bought it and ate it. Such rich taste it had, her eyes fell shut, she shivered..
The necklace, so much money spent on such a a little thing, but the hand knew and the hand paid.

At night, she scrutinised it against the light. It was bigger than her left hand, so big in fact her wedding ring did not fit any more... the hand knew that too. It knew what she liked and gave it to her at night when they were alone, the hand played her like a classical guitar, pulled on her delicate strings, like the man she never had. The hand knew. But.

She shouldn't have let it take over, she should have cut it by the wrist, when it was small enough, when she could. Now it had grown too big for the kitchen knife, and now she was thinking of the pain.

And now her husband was dead.

She saw the hand wrap around his fat neck. Could she feel its texture? Could she feel the bone snap?

His eyes wide open fixed on hers full of surprise and contempt. He couldn't believe it! The bastard.
"It's not me you piece of shit." she whispered "It's the hand. I can't stop it, you know..look how big it is, it's not mine.."

But he was dead already and she didn't feel a thing. It was obvious now that it wasn't hers.
"I mean look at it!"
Too beefy, too big, to dark to be hers, it was someone else completely, but who?
Who could it be?

The hand was so protective of her...no she didn't feel a thing of course not. She closed her eyes and the hand pulled the blanket of her head and pushed the corpse off the bed. Like a sack of potatoes it fell on the floor.

Then it lifted her night grown and snuck between her thighs, she smiled and fell asleep.

Take me Home

       

Take me home, take me home,

where I'm safe and carefree,

where I am fed and content.

Take me home, take me home,

away from the burning sun

away from bone, away from marrow.

Take me home, take me home,

where life eternal,

rivers and lakes,
granite rocks, red cataracts;

trees, flowers and branches

bleed for me, bleed for me,
willingly, peacefully...

oh take me home, take me home.

To the Vampire garden, to our sacred land,

below the skin of Earth

below the burning dust

take me home, take me home,
or else I'll perish here.

please take me home, come, take me home.

43

I made her out of chalk in my very own dream. When she was ready I ripped her off the wall and held her in my arms.
It wasn't 43 anymore and the promise of the wind outside the window made me shiver.

Then he came and told me to put some colour on her.
"She can't be without colour" he had said. I didn't turn around to see his face because his voice turned my insides. Who was that terrible man? Without a word I obeyed.
Picking up the chalk I coloured her hair deep red, just like mine. I did it slowly because I knew that if I finished the task quickly, he would ask something else of me.

"She is you, so what do you want her to be? Happy? Aroused?....Draw a smile on her face and wake her up."
Her smile was crooked and it made her look distorted, but then again I felt distorted, so?

"Wake her up! Shake her!"

What was she exactly I didn't know. Human, a doll, a reflection? Suddenly she opened her eyes and looked at me. I pitied her.

"Ask her to do something, anything!" his voice commanded.

"Dance, please, stand up and dance." I told her softly, kindly.
The poor think struggled to stand on her feet but she was so wobbly I had to hold her by the armpits.

"Ask her again! Don't just hold her like this..."

"Run" I whispered, "Run away, to the red forest, it's there." I pointed outside the window. The thing turned its head around to look outside and then she looked back at me.
She opened her mouth and I thought I was going to hear her voice but no. The damn thing had to laugh at me, mock me to my face. She laughed and laughed and then she screamed rather than laughed and I just wanted her to shut up.

"Please stop!" I begged, "Stop it now! Shut it! SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
But she didn't.

So, I squeezed my hands inside her mouth and ripped her jaw out of its socket.
The bitch! I made her and this is what I got in return.

"Look at what you've done now!" the voice said.

I look down at her. Her mouth is all wrong now, her eyes move, I feel horrible.

"I could fix her." I said and picked up the chalk again.

"It's ok." the voice said and whispered in my ear..." We can hide her and noone will find her. The forest can claim her... hide her forever."
"It isn't right, after all she is me."
"You think too much, look at her, she is all ruined now, there's nothing you can do for her. It's not 43 anymore..there won't be any smell." he said in a conspirational whisper.
"True" I said and shamelessly threw her over my shoulder like a piece of old cloth.
                                 .................................................................................
I walk to the window. It's barred.

"I wish I could go there too. It's so beautiful....so cool and soft and the colours..."

"You can't, you will never go there! Now throw her out!"
"Are you sure noone will find her?"
"Your secret will be safe and I won't tell a soul."

I watch her body being sucked slowly through the window. The wind catches her and  blows her away.

Stones

                          ( Doll by Anne Valerie Dupond)


It took all three men to pull the dead girl from the water and dump her heavy body inside their fishing boat with a sickening squelching thump.
Washed out, white and swollen she was, though it wasn't that fact which made the men pull back in horror..no it wasn't that. What sickened and scared them to death was the fact that her whole body was completely covered in thick, black stitches. These vile, crude lines disappeared inside her frail flesh only to reappear a few inches down or up just to slither back inside her. Her mouth, neck, arms, breasts, thighs and legs were covered in them completely. It was those lines that kept her in one piece, it was those lines that gave her shape. Naked as she was, she looked more like a stuffed puppet than a dead human being.
The fishermen quickly decided to roll her into one of their sheets for they didn't want to have to look at her for the three hours that would take them to reach the coast, only then, did they realise the true horror of the crime; for the young woman was truly stuffed, indeed she was. They could feel them poking behind her skin, they felt them round and smooth inside their palms as they were rolling her over.
Stones.
The young woman was completely stuffed with smooth, round stones.

......................................................................................................................................................

When the last one was taken out of her, she looked like one of those rubber dolls, straight out of the box; sleek, white, rubbery and hollow.
Her killer was nothing less than an artist; he had unfolded the woman perfectly and so carefully, like an ancient scroll only to put her back together meticulously, patiently keeping her shape intact. By placing smaller stones behind her face he had captured its shape completely, her breasts remained full, her waist and thighs perfectly balanced. Longer stones imitated her spine and shoulder blades, rounder ones her buttocks.
Perfect work.
Unquestionably a sculptor.
The doctor placed one stone next to the other on the marble table, trying to make out their patterns or even  form complete sentences. You see even the doctor had made a shocking discovery; all the stones, one by one, were not only carefully chosen for the task but were beautifully carved too. They had things written on them in slant calligraphic letters that made the doctor gasp.

Basting.
Basting is evil. It does nothing for the meat but it does keep the skin in place.
Skin lies in the realm of art so I did it justice the best I could. You found her, you be the judge.

All the rest was food.

   ( Doll by Anne Valerie Dupond)

                                         

Untitled

         (Art by Peter Callesen)


Once upon a time, something terrible went wrong and people started to lose their skin, quite painlessly in fact and without any threat to their life.
It just fell off, like the leaves that fall from the trees in Autumn or snakes that slither out of their skin, in big chunks, it fell off, all of it.
It was then that people had to bear with the profound ugliness of their bare muscles and inner organs. At first, such grotesque sight was  far beyond their aesthetic range and so some decided to cover up by wrapping themselves with coloured bandages whereas others decided to just keep their eyes closed for ever.

There were those who were quite relieved however. These threw their clothes away and walked with their beating hearts exposed and free, muscles pulsing vividly with each move, blood pumping away unmuffled.
Parents played with their unborn fetuses looking at them grow day by day like fish in a tank. Doctors removed diseased parts in parks, like clipping nails and fat was trimmed or greedily hacked in coffee shops and beauty salons everywhere. Those were the days.

Then quite suddenly and as painlessly as before, the people watched all their internal organs (which were external in reality), stomachs, bellies, brains, livers and all the rest fall on the ground with a wet, squelching sound whereas the people still remained miraculously alive and well.

Not knowing what to do with all that stuff, they decided to burn them in a big pyre which they decided it symbolised the celebration of freedom from disease and all health concerns.
Only a few artists decided that all that flesh should not go to waste and designed some weird installations which they planted in parks and squares as a reminder of all the burden they used to carry before their sudden release.
You see, this new state of being was much more pleasing to the eye than tendons and guts and nearly effortless to keep in good shape.
All people were glistering white, see through, shiny and incredibly healthy for all they had to do was keep their bones in one piece which they did.

More than one hundred years each of them lived and only did they perish when one by one their limbs turned to dust and were gently blown away by the wind, scattering them across the land.

Light and carefree they all lived until they were no more.

seven dreams 7 seven sins

The board between us.

" How tidy this one is; so unusual for a man his age. Look how careful he is with his boxes, he has even put labels on them too: dishes, shoes, books..oh I like him already!"

Anna stood by the window watching the newcomer with wide eyes, occasionally smoothing the creases of her ancient skirt with her fingers or tucking a black lock of hair behind her ear making little comments about how he did this and that and letting out short, delicious sighs about his shoulder blades, his glossy brown hair or his bright, green eyes that focused here and there.
"My point exactly!" she blurted out  "This is where I had my bookcase too, it is the obvious spot for it. This is what I was trying to tell the others but noooo, they put it by the window or opposite the door..but not you. You know where to put your things...I like you already." she sighed and watched the man collapse on the sofa, closing his eyes from exhaustion.
Anna went to him and sat by his feet. She waited for the man's breathing to deepen and then she leaned over his ear.
"What is your name?" she whispered
"Oliver..my name is Oliver." he mumbled.
"Welcome home Oliver." Anna said and tenderly ran her fingers through the man's hair.

              (my turn to pull the strings, by Nanoo G)                              

"Your name is Oliver and you are going to set me free." Anna muttered softly.
The razor blade run like a snowboard through the shaving cream on his neck opening a smooth, glistering path right over his Adam's apple.

"His name is Oliver and he is the same as all the others before him."

The voice startled her and she turned around, walked out of the bathroom and followed the voice to the living room where a young, pleasantly looking man was sitting casually on the sofa, his legs resting on the coffee table in front of him.
"Surprised to see me?" the man asked with a smile. "Anna, you have another calling. It's time to go..come" said the man offering his hand.
"I will not do such a thing." Anna snapped and turned her back on the young man who lowered his hand and sighed.
"There is nothing for you here. It's time to move on..."
"He will find me and set me free. I will travel around the world, see the places I haven't seen. I will fly over the sea, this time I will succeed, you'll see.."
"It doesn't work this way, I've told you a million times before..." the man said.
"And how would you know? Have you ever done it? The answer is always the same, isn't it?"
The man moved towards her.
 Just then Oliver walked in the room; he spread his feet on the sofa and turned on the TV.
"He is a good man, he will do it." she said.
"No, he will not and in the end he will go like all the others, one way or another.." the man said looking at him.
"Why are you here?" Anna asked suspiciously.
"I told you, tonight you have another calling."
"Calling...I am not giving up my consciousness for your spiritual crap. I am staying right here.."
"Why? What's left for you here? The trunk in the attic?"
"My body is here, I still have hope."
"You don't belong here, you should come with me."
"I went with you once and this is what I got..you tricked me Nathaniel...God's gift. Why do you have that name anyway? You were anything but a gift to me. I should never have followed you, never!" she said sadly.
"You had no choice, it was your time..how can you hold a grudge on me after all this time Anna?" Nathaniel's  buttery eyes melted and she quickly regretted her words.
"Well.... I have a choice now. I am keeping my memories, I am keeping myself, I'm keeping this life, he will set me free and I will go far away."
"Where will you go Anna?"
" To New Zealand, the Easter islands, I will fly over the clouds.." Anna said and looked tenderly at Oliver who was now in the tiny kitchen fixing something quick to eat.
"Come with me tonight, and who knows, maybe you will visit these places sooner than you think. I'll pull a few strings, people owe me favours, I will set you somewhere South, maybe Australia, maybe New Zealand...just please come with me. It's been 100 years Anna, it's time."
"And what about my consciousness? What about that? My memories, my feelings, my life, everything I've done? What will happen to them?"

Nathaniel came close to Anna and took her in his arms. She rested her cheek on his dark corduroy jacket.
"I am sorry..." Anna whispered
"Maybe next time Anna, whenever you are ready, when you see that he.."
" You don't know that..he is different, he will do it."
"Goodbye Anna." he said and pulled away.
Anna raised her hand in goodbye but God's gift was already gone.

                        (photo by Nanoo G.)

From experience Anna knew that a new resident needs at least one month to settle into a new home, get to know the surroundings and familiarize oneself with its sounds, so she allowed one month go by without attempting any contact with Oliver. She followed his every move in the house and tried to get to know him better so as to have enough information to decide how to approach the task of assigning him the unearthing of her long dead body.



Apparently, Oliver was not the social kind, with only a couple of friends visiting him, no steady girlfriend and a love for his computer which was where he spent most of his time at home.
He woke up early every morning, showered and shaved and went to work which had something to do with computers. He came back early in the afternoon and either went out or spent the evening quietly alone.



"Definitely not the spiritual kind." Anna decided first.
Won't convince him in his sleep so I will have to use the board again" she thought and sighed.

Anna didn't like the board; no privacy, no safety, can possibly put him in danger.
 "And I hate all the stupid theatrics." she mumbled.

On the night of the Grain Moon, a hot, sticky night, the attic floor started to shake and pound.

"Wake up Oliver! Wake up and meet me in the attic! Wake up!"

"What the..." Oliver said and his eyes popped open only to see the IKEA ceiling light dancing above his head.
Despite his young age and tech background, Oliver turned out to be braver than Anna expected him to be.
"Who's there?" he shouted while climbing the narrow stairs to the attic empty-handed. He pushed the door open and turned on the light.
Someone or something had obviously been in the room because here and there books, old clothes and broken furniture had exploded covering every part of the small room.
"Look down Oliver! At your feet!" Anna shouted almost pressing Oliver's head towards the floor.
"Look! Look!" she beckoned.


And this is how Oliver got hold of the old Ouija Board.
Step 1 complete; he found the key now he has to use it.

                                 (Cristina Francov)
                           

"Ouija, Ouija, Ouija..."
"Is anybody here?"
"What is your name?"
"Are you a good spirit?"

Anna was pacing up and down the living room. Things hadn't gone as she had expected.
Oliver had spent the previous night on the Internet researching the Ouija board which led him to turn to one of his colleagues for help, a silly, faint-hearted woman. Supposedly, she was an expert in these matters.
"What is your name?" the woman with glasses as thick as beer bottles pressed in a deep voice.

"Always the same stupid questions, the same stupid rituals, as if the dead need special instructions." Anna said and sat down next to the woman.
"Please go, I need to talk to him alone, just go!" she breathed on her face and watched the woman's hair move slightly.

"It's obvious there's nobody here Oliver." the woman said finally, "Maybe we should try another time."
"I'm sorry for dragging you here Marion." he apologised
"Nonsense! I'd love a good scare if there was one to be had.." Marion said shrugging her shoulders.

"Ts..ts..." Anna said shaking her head.

Marion was escorted to the door, at least she was easy to get rid of. When Oliver came back into the room he was shocked to see that the old wooden planchette was moving like crazy on the board.
"What the....?" he exclaimed and picked up the notebook and pen.

"H-E-L-P-M-E!" Anna spelt, she thought it was always better to cut to the chase, and so she moved the thing over the letters again and again.
"Who are you?" Oliver asked sitting on the floor, addressing the board.
"A-N-N-A" the planchette said.

"Anna...Are you a good spirit Anna?" he asked his mouth almost touching the board now.

"No, unless get a move on..." Anna said her arms clutching her waist like a scorned mother. A few moments later the planchette moved to yes.
"What do you want?" Oliver asked in a trembling voice.

Five hours and a six pack later, Oliver had the whole story written down letter by letter.

"This isn't happening.."he muttered. "I have to dig out an ancient skeleton from this very house, your skeleton so that you can travel the world?" Oliver said and emptied his last can.
"Ancient???" Anna bellowed. "This isn't happening!" Anna said and collapsed on the sofa.
"This is crazy...I don't even know if this is really real, I need some other proof that you are here...I need another beer!" he shouted and picked himself from the sofa.
Anna saw his red eyes glister against the cold, fridge light. He stared at the six pack for a long time before picking it up.
"I don't know Anna," he said sitting right next to her. "How do I know I am not hallucinating or something? Madness runs in my family you know...I might be next. Schizophrenia...Oh God." he said and drained the can.
"The board is all we have Oliver." Anna said and her eyes itched. "Please, you are my last chance.."
Anna spelt it on the board and let the planchette fall on the floor; the board was all she ever had and this time it would have to do.

"Anna, is that really you? I found it in the city records, died of tuberculosis..you died so young..I am sorry.."
"Me too." Anna whispered and together they stared at the pretty picture.
"So is this really you?" Oliver shouted looking at the ceiling.
Anna smiled and moved the planchette to yes.
"My...you are ancient, beautiful but ancient.." he said and laughed.
Anna looked at him angrily and slapped him across the face.
"You don't like it when I call you ancient, do you? I can almost smell it in the air." he said and sniffed.
"I found your photo in the Town Hall, I thought I should do some digging before I do the actual digging of your remains. Tomorrow I will look for the house plans, your....body should be buried in the old part of the house, I just need to find which part is that.
Anna felt her eyes well-up. He was worth the wait after all.
"T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U-O-L-I-V-E-R"
"You are welcome Anna. So tell me why are you still here, are there others with you?"'

The planchette moved from side to side, sometimes fast others slowly. Oliver wrote down every letter one by one and beer after beer. He never run out of questions and she never run out of things to say. Her picture was placed on the board over the word goodbye, which was never used anyway.

The flat-line between life and death had been erased and existence had just been redefined. Conscience had persevered; it flowed and intermingled with the conscience of the living. Anna had defeated oblivion and death was nothing more but an option she had rejected. Present, grounded and bound to the moment she was.... just like him.
                                      .                                           .                                                   .


When Oliver came back home the following afternoon he was not alone.
"According to the original plans we have here, the house was built on top of a well which they used for a main source of water. The well was in the middle of the basement."
"The house has no basement, as far as I know." she heard Oliver say.

"Basement, was there a basement?" Anna thought and her mind was unwillingly drawn to distant almost faded memories. She ached as she tried to put a mental finger on the dark hole that dominated the damp basement. 

"This is more complicated than I thought. The house was built in 1810 and was originally used as a stable. It was part of an even larger house. That house was completely destroyed in the earthquake of  1836. In the 1900's it passed into new hands. They must have added the extensions but kept the basement."
"I'm telling you there is no basement."
"Let me finish. In the 1960's it was bought by your landlord, his wife and their 5 children. I know that one of them died in the house, maybe he was the one who sealed it. I am telling you there is a basement, look!"

The hard wooden steps echoed her footsteps as she ran down to the cellar. A creepy, place damp, always brought her cough back. Once she started coughing she could never stop, her chest ached. But she wanted to get her ball back, it must have fallen somewhere here. She covered her mouth with her hand and looked around.
"Oh no, I can't see it, maybe it fell into the well."
The hole was so dark and deep, she coughed over it and tried to look down. She could hear her mother's voice bouncing on the stone walls.  She was standing on her toes coughing into the well. 
Anna screamed. 

"There is no door." Oliver said feeling the walls.
"Of course not, they must have sealed it."
"Isn't there a way to find it? Maybe use a scanner or something?"

Inch by inch the kitchen was searched and the walls around it but no door could be found. Oliver was the last to quit the search.
"I'm so sorry Anna. I really thought I could find it." he muttered but she couldn't hear. She was still in the basement, her mother's face outlined in the ceiling staring at her in horror. She could still hear it as she fell, from the ceiling echoing down.

The planchette fell on the wooden floor making the three men jump to their feet. Oliver went to the coffee table and placed it on the board.
"C-E-I-L-I-N-G-D-O-O-R-I-F-E-L-L"

.                                                                          .                                                                 .

Anna stared at the cardboard box Oliver had placed on the coffee table. He was still in the kitchen contemplating the wide hole on the kitchen floor.
"I don't know how I am going to explain this to the landlord. Any ideas? Anna are you there?"
Anna had waited for that moment for so long that she felt nothing at all.
"I'll find a pretty box for you, wooden, nicely carved..are you happy Anna? This is what you have always wanted right?"
"T-A-K-E-I-T-O-U-T-S-I-D-E" she spelt and her heart expanded inside her chest.

He picked up the box and walked to the back kitchen door leading to a small garden at the back of the house. The key turned and Anna heard the door unlock.
It was a beautiful summer morning, the sun was shining down on the unkept lawn from all directions.

His hair turned honey -yellow as he stepped outside and walked to the middle of the garden where a small wooden table with small chairs were perched for all intents and purposes.
He opened the board, recovered the planchette from his pocket and placed it in its centre. The box was placed lightly on the ground and there he waited.

The light was so bright, so determined, it left no hiding places, no secrets.
Anna felt bold for a tiny moment and stepped outside her eyes locked on Oliver. She was immediately penetrated by the light and as she moved she could see her body no more.
Her dress, her shoes were shattered leaving her utterly exposed. She just floated by will and felt her mind expand, occupying more space than usual.
"Something is wrong, this is not working." she thought and felt herself spread to all directions, high and low.
On the table the planchette moved.
"N-O-T-W-O-R-K-I-N-G"
"Do you want to go back? I can take the box back into the house." Oliver said but his voice sounded distant.

(photo by Nanoo G.)


"Well.. do you? He can take the box back." a voice right next to her ear said.
"You again, what is it this time?" she exhaled.
"It's not working, I told you so." Nathaniel said. "It's so hot today, I'd better take off my jacket." he added and carefully placed  his corduroy jacket on the back of the chair. Sitting back down he looked at Anna full of concern.
"What are you going to do?" he asked
"Nathaniel...I ..." she whispered
"I know, it's scary being outside."
"What's happening?"
"What should have happened long ago, Anna."
"Can I go back to the house?"
"Is this what you want?"
Anna looked at Oliver who had already picked up her box and waited for the planchette to move.
"He helped me, I told you he'd do it."
"Yes, I was wrong."
A light brown cat emerged from under the table and sat down exactly were Anna was supposed to be standing.
"I thought cats could sense spirits and ghosts." she said.
"They can but you are neither anymore. Are you ready to go now?" he asked.
"Where?"
"oh, everywhere and nowhere.."
"Do I have a choice?
"Of course.."Nathaniel said and with his eyes he pointed to the house.
"I want to say goodbye...and thank him."
"Of course."
"Without the board between us." she added.
"And then you'll come?"
"Well, I won't go back there.." she said turning around to have a last look at the house. When she turned around God's Gift was gone.

                          ...........................................................................................
   
The moment I saw her standing in the middle of the garden in flesh and blood I knew that something had gone wrong with her plan.
It was the way she looked at me, her eyes flooded with panic, her fists clenched. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.
She was leaving, she couldn't travel to the far away places the way she wanted after all. 
"Oliver." she said and gave me a forced smile.
"I'm taking the box inside." I said and started to move.
"Please no, I am not going back in."
I nodded and put the box down next to me.
"Will I see you again? Maybe after I..."
"I don't know, you have to ask Nathaniel."
"Nathaniel?" I asked
"God's Gift." she said and smiled widely.
"You are so beautiful Anna, not ancient, just beautiful."
"Thank you Oliver." she said and something attracted her attention. I turned around to see what was there and when I turned back she was gone, just like that.

The planchette never moved after she was gone. I still have it here on the coffee table next to the old wooden box filled with dust.

Madame Delphine's fine sweatshop.

                (portrait of Madame Delphine Lalaurie)


"Rule number 1!
 All the girls are to be carefully strapped so that the workers can work efficiently on the tables formed. Water is to be placed  before them once only and that is AFTER each shift commences.
Rule number 2!
 All mouths are to be sewn tightly shut so that workers cannot engage in meaningless conversation.
Rule number 3!
All body parts sewn together are to be placed in  the freezer after each shift and must be removed from the freezer at least 5 hours before each fitting.
Rule number 4!
 Table-girls are  to be placed in their cage-houses before mopping the the floor so as it can be meticulously cleaned!
Rule number 5!
No sex change operations can take place in my house without my permission.
Rule number 6!
 Mr Clark's brains must be stirred ONLY by using the stick I inserted in his head and NOT any random tool.
Is that clear Mrs Mullany? I will not tolerate any more of this....of this....discomfort!" Mrs Delphine said pointing at the bright cloak hanging gracefully  in front of the window.

"But the bones were perfectly used Madame, you see here...the seams are...perfect!" Mrs Mullany said without managing to tear her eyes off the cloak.

  ( made of slices of human bone, by Jan Fabre at http://www.deweergallery.com/exhibitions/23)

Madame Delphine took great pride in her walking stick, the only heirloom of her mad mother who used to smooth its pale ivory handle  on her small back. With the same slow and careful movement its handle was smoothed once more only this time on Mrs Mullany's leathery face.
Mrs Mullany's eye-lock on the cloak was temporarily broken only to be re-established with greater force.
 You see Mrs Mullany did not care much about Madame Dephine's walking stick. For her, Madame was nothing less than a saint for she has given her a place to work her art; the art of Skin-adapting clothing for people with particular tastes and desires.
 People from all around the world came to see and choose their raw materials from Madame Delphine's personal collection of live flesh samples and see their dream come to life in Mrs Mullany's capable hands. She was given the opportunity to travel to the fartherst edges of the world to collect the finest materials for her art. She had only just returned from the mystic island of Socotra in Yemen where she picked up some fine women with the aroma of frankincense embalmed on their skin and hair, finest specimens indeed still waiting in the basement for the right customer who will be willing to pay handsomely  for something as special as that.

 Not that Madame Delphine had a real eye for art, no..no, she was interested in the process, in the mechanics of the skin and bone, of the human limitations, of blood and pain; she wanted to experiment, to gut, cut and slice, she never cared about the final product, which was always one of a kind.

And so life went on for the two women though we can't say the same for the dozens of people the 'materials[ locked in the basement and attic. Their life was literally stripped off their bodies and placed on wooden mannequins for final adjustments.

                             (photo from andipantz.com)

The fire started from that same fitting room just before Madame Delphine came in for the final inspection at sundown.
The door was bolted behind her by a woman whose ribs were reassembled to look like a crab. Bolting that door was her final act and a torture, she knew, but did it wholeheartedly nonetheless.
That door was never opened again.
The whole house on Hare street was burnt to the ground as well as the two adjoining houses on either side. The fire spread too quickly and too eagerly to surrender to the people's feeble attempts to put it out.

The findings were in the newspapers for weeks; the burned corpses of the disfigured were placed in the churchyard for public display, the tools in the local museum with a large portrait of the Madame at the entrance.
She filled children's imaginations and the local hotels for the following years, which was good; fortunate and good for the whole community.

But what of Mrs Mullany you might ask?

She wasn't at home when the fire started nor was she in time to save her precious artwork. But time is a healer among other things.

Eventually, she sailed overseas and opened her own sweatshop somewhere in the South.

                                (Created by artist Cao Hui)

My red wine

                (painting by Adrian Borda)


It is the end of Spring,  just before Summer burns the buds and dries the fields that I first feel that my blood is clogging my veins making me all sleepy. Summer is coming and I feel heavy and full, content and bored.
No, No. This won't do me any good.
A strange artistic desire popped out from within me just as I was staring at the white walls of my humble flat in the suburbs.
I need colour, I need new life.
I was never much of a painter though I have tried it on several occasions in my life, more for therapeutic reasons rather than driven by the fire of artistic expression.
I'm guessing that my need for change, for colour, for new life is founded on psychological grounds; the artist within me has yet to awaken. However, the drive is strong and so is the ice-cold light reflecting from my walls, especially the wall above my bed.
This is the wall I must reform first.
Yes, yes. I need to see life and colour and feel passion the very moment my eyes open.
And blood it is, for blood should be; so, out of me it goes and on the wall it splashes.
I slice both wrists and lay on my bed, two buckets on either side. Soon, too soon for my liking, my wrists heal and I have to cut them open again...such as waste of time.
Too bored after a while, I bite them open, the taste is good but I am getting seriously bored.
The buckets on either side of me are half full; if my calculations are correct this is enough for one wall.
Ah, the delights of creation!
My paintbrush soaks and drips on my hand. I lick my fingers, I lick the wall, I make love to the wall.
Why hadn't I think of this before?
My wall is blood red I roll on it, eat it and take a few pictures perhaps? I don't see why not, I haven't looked or felt that good since the glorious 90's!
This is colour, this is new life and passion and freedom; my body is empty and light and bendy and needy...
Oh, so needy. I ache, I am hungry and thirsty again. What a glorious revelation!

I quickly pick up the phone and dial her number.

"No, no don't come, I'll meet you outside. We can go to the restaurant you fancy so much. I can watch you eat and then drink..."
"You sound different tonight; delighted, happy, refreshed!"
"Oh I am. I painted my wall red!"
"Are you thirsty a lot then?"
"Yes, but I won't drink, just a sip, just for the buzz."
"Just a sip eh? Well, I'll pack up some juice, just in case."
"Yeah, you do that!"
"Don't be late again!"
"No, I won't, the thirst is too strong for that!"

I hung up the phone and change the filthy rag that used to be my dress.
 Something black perhaps...and lacy and dark just so that I can absorb as much of her light that I can.
She'll be the spring, the green and red, I'm sure.
She's my fine new wine, all mine to drink, all pure!

爱 AI (Part II)

                         ( a story by Macy, scroll down for part I)

A few days ago Alex had found a crystal necklace on the road. Just as she was picking it up a car sped towards her.
BANG!
She knew she was dead before she felt it and now this.
"I'm just a girl in the 21st century! Why did this strange thing happen to me?" She felt desperate and helpless. In the end she started to cry. After a while she realised the situation in which she found herself now; she was a princess and had a fiancee who didn't like her, he just needed power and wanted to control her. Alex didn't want to die again. She knew she had to play the role of Victoria and no one could know the truth.
If you can't change the things in your life, you might as well enjoy them and since she had died once she felt she should treasure this second chance. But first she had to find what was going on between Victoria and Vincent and what the real plan was.
"The altar!" she said. "I have to go to the altar!" She didn't know why but something told her she had to go to that place again but how? She didn't know where that place was.
"Servant!" she said imitating the voice of the princess she once saw in a film.
"Princess Victoria, what can I do for you?" a young bowed girl said as she came quickly into the room.
"I want to go to the altar to thank God I am not dead!"
"Yes your highness, I will prepare your clothes.."
"No, we must go now! And I don't want anyone to know but you. Can I trust you?"
"Yes, your highness." the servant said with a trembling voice, she could never refuse the princess.
"Lead the way!" said Alex climbing down the bed.
The servant was very surprised by this because the princess had been to the altar many times before but she was too afraid to ask the princess.
Once they arrived at the altar Alex felt the certainty that should find something very important here and there is was, the crystal necklace, on the ground. She knelt to pick it up and was instantly lost inside a dream. Victoria and Vincent's life unfolded inside her head.

                                                            (painting by Sonya Fu)


"Victoria, are you alright? They told me you fainted again! I have lost you so many times already I don't want to lose you again. I love you no matter what." Vincent said as he leant over her.
"I know, and I love you too." Alex said with a smile.
Vincent was taken aback by Victoria's reaction.
"Can we have the wedding in two days then?"
"Sure" she said.
Two days later,they had their luxurious wedding. Alex was the happiest girl in the world.. On their wedding night Alex was in their room waiting for Vincent's big surprise.
"Are you happy today?"Vincent asked when he came into the room.
"Of course Vincent. And I want to tell you something."Alex didn't want to lie him anymore she wanted to tell him who she was.

"Shh.....Don't say anything now. It is time to party!!!"Vincent laughed loudly.
"What do you mean party?"Alex could think of what was going to happen.
"Alex!I knew you who you were when I saw you  the first time!"
"What?!" she cried.
"I have no time to explain now.Give me your blood or you will died again!" he said wrapping his hands around her throat.
"Please.....stop...give me some..... "Alex throttled.
" You have no right to refuse me! But for your sweet magic blood I would have never laid eyes on you." His sharp teeth pierced Alex's white neck felt her blood being drawn out of her.

                         (painting by Sui Yumeshima)


When she opened her eyes, he was there sitting on the bed beside her.
"Now I have what I want." he said. "Now I can live forever, Victoria's royal blood was the key to immortality, I read it in the sacred book.
 And just for your information, I loved her too. I told her the truth about what I was and what I wanted from her and she didn't love me enough to grant me my wish...I didn't want to kill her, just replace her and this is how you came..but unfortunately...you need to die too."
Alex had no time to react;his dagger was much faster that her. she died without words.just after her eyes closed for the last time Vincent's body collapsed on the floor cold and rigid.
The truth is that Vincent was a lazy man. If he had gone into the trouble to read the book carefully and from page to page, he would have read this:

                                  " ... to take her blood you are her are two parts of a whole. You must protect, and love her forever for her life is your own."

                                     (painting by Sonya Fu)

GU

                 ( painting by Cornacchia,  www.conrnacchia.ru)
18 poisonous creatures.
 Scorpions, frogs, snakes, centipedes, spiders.
All trapped inside my old, copper pot without food or water. A heavy rock keeps the lid on its place.
At first they struggle to get out of their cage but they soon realise that they are there for good.
Only the strongest will survive.
My heart is on the scorpion, my beloved Ku, who has been the winner of the arena so many times before. He is the only one who does not move towards the lid. He knows what needs to be done and waits his turn. Victorious Ku.

The constant scratching and shaking of the pot keeps me awake at night. It shakes on the kitchen table and fills me with anticipation; the strongest Gu is always produced from the most furious of battlefields.
I fear for Ku, he's been my protector and provider for so long, we are bound in life and death. What if he leaves me now? I sit by the kitchen table and sing for him, to know I care:

From thy false tears I did distil
An essence which hath strength to kill;
From thy own heart I then did wring
The black blood in its blackest spring;
From thy own smile I snatch'd the snake,
For there it coil'd as in a brake;
From thy own lip I drew the charm
Which gave all these their chiefest harm;
In proving every poison known,
I found the strongest was thine own.
(Incantation, Lord Byron)

The morning finds me next to a silent pot. I close my eyes and feel the cold copper, nothing stirs, there is only death. My hand shakes as I remove the heavy stone.

 From thy false tears I did distil
An essence which hath strength to kill;
From thy own heart I then did wring
The black blood in its blackest spring;
From thy own smile I snatch'd the snake,
For there it coil'd as in a brake;
From thy own lip I drew the charm
Which gave all these their chiefest harm;
In proving every poison known,
I found the strongest was thine own.
(Incatation, Lond Byron)

Ku stands above the dead, he is the winner yet again. Now the only thing that needs to be done is do draw the Gu out of him with the gentlest hand I know he loves.

The deed is done, the witch is spared. Now it's time for the wheel to spin again.

爱 AI (Part I) A story written by 17 year-old Macy.

(Macy)

There was a very beautiful and sexy girl knelled at the altar. She was wearing a flamboyant attire and there was a crown on her head. Nobody knew who she was and why she had come to the altar at midnight but from her clothes everybody guessed she was a princess. She closed her eyes and bowed her head in prayer. After a long time, she stood up, smiled happily and ran down the steps.

Suddenly, she tripped and fell, her head smashing against the stone.

" Are you ok? Hey, wake up!"

"Victoria, are you ok?"

"Open your eyes please."

There was a girl on the bed and a crowd around her. The girl had disappeared two days ago.

Finally, a servant found her fainted at the altar but nobody knew why. They were very worried about her, some of them were even crying.

There was one person who didn't say anything; he just held her hand sitting at her bedside. It seemed that noone could take him away from her.

In a moment full of anxiety, the quiet man felt the girl's hand move.

"Doctor!" he said " She is waking up, hurry!"

Everyone smiled happily, they crossed themselves and thanked their God. They waited for the doctor to say something and prayed that the girl would get better.

"Your Serene Highness Prince Vincent, Princess Victoria hasn't got a serious problem but she needs silence in order to sleep. So, apart from one person who can stay to accompany her, all the others must go out." The doctor said to the quiet man.

Until all the people left the room, they could still see the man holding her hand. They thought of the girl's luck to have such a good man.

"Are you ok Victoria? Would you like to drink some water?" He asked her in an anxious voice.

The girl opened her eyes and looked at them man blankly.

"Victoria?" she thought "Who me? No!!! Where am I? What happened?'

"What is it?" he asked "Why aren't you talking to me? Why did you go to the altar at midnight? Did something happen there? Why did you faint?" so many questions, he asked so many questions.

"Stop! Who are you? Why are you asking me so many questions? This is none of your business!" the

girl said angrily.

"I am your fiance! Obviously there is nothing wrong with your body." he said with a smile.

"My fiance? Can you tell me where this place is? No, no please leave my room!"she said puzzled.

"Are you kidding me? This is my palace! I am going to leave now but I will come back tomorrow. Have a good rest BUT I will tell you this one last time; don't try to destroy my plan again! No matter what you do, we must have the wedding in two days and if you play tricks, you will die in a very cruel way. I need that power!" he said his soft manners gone. He was another man now.

This change shocked the girl. Vincent walked out of the girl and she slumped in the bed.

"Who is Victoria and Vincent? I am Alex! Why did the people call me Victoria?" the girl was talking to herself now, all this confusion was driving her crazy.

The fact is that the girl's body was Victoria's but the soul inside was not. That was Alex.

She thought for a long time and began to remember things; her mind travelled over the last thing that had happened to her.



Paperfire

" I miss you.
Today I put petrol in the car; I know it's something you don't like doing so I did it before you run out.
I miss you.
I poured coffee in your mug, hazelnut with caramel just how you like it."

Friction inflamed the match. He held it under the small page; so vulnerable and willing, it instantly surrendered. The flames devoured it completely, it only a black lump on the wooden table now, the message was sent.

He puts the matches in his back pocket but keeps the tiny notepad close. He pulls the mugs towards him and brings one to his lips without taking his eyes off the other one; the one he calls hers.

The plastic clock on the wall announces the death of the next second . He sips again and stares inside the mug. It is the sound of thunder that tears him from his thoughts.

The wind blasts inside the room knocking down the china vase on the mantel; it was her favourite piece.

"Damn!" he says and rushes to shut the French windows. The wind is so strong it pushes him back so he tries again.

He kneels to pick up the broken pieces of the vase she loved so much when his eyes fall on a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. He smiles at it and waits for a moment before picking it up and placing it gently on the table.

He unfolds it and spreads it open with his hand.

"Please come." it said.

The man picks up a box from under the table and opens it. Inside, dozens of or tiny pieces of crumpled paper are piled neatly. All of them written in the same curvy handwriting, all replies to his

paperfire messages.

"I'll be home soon." said one

"Don't forget to fill up the car." said another.

"Don't wait up."

"See you soon."

He throws the last message in the box and pulls the notepad and pen in front of him.

"It won't be long now." he writes and pulls the matches out of his back pocket.

The paper burns with haste.