When a woman says you have a mind of your own, she’s usually right. But never more so than on this night. An unforgettable horror story by award-winning author David H. Hendrickson.

Available for 99 cents in all electronic formats on Kindle, NOOK, Smashwords, Sony, Apple, Kobo, and many others.  Published by Pentucket Publishing.

 

Baby, One More Time

by David H. Hendrickson

Copyright 2011 by David H. Hendrickson

Cover art by Dmitry Ersler/Dreamstime.com

 

She always said that I had a mind of my own.  Never in her wildest dreams, or nightmares, could she have guessed how right she was. 

It is why I creep toward her now.  I am drawn to her even though she plunged the butcher’s knife into Jimmy’s chest so many times.  Even though, as his life ebbed away, she performed her final act of revenge, savagely cutting me and then waving me in front of his face.  As blood dripped onto his nose and forehead, she screamed words of vengeance and hurled me toward the foot of the bed.

Sobbing, she gulped down an entire bottle of pills, then climbed back onto the bed and pushed him away with the fierce jab of one foot. Jimmy landed on the floor with a loud thump.

Her tears dried.  She drifted off. 

One final night from which she wouldn’t wake up.  The finale for the three of us. 

Not the threesome Jimmy and I had been hoping for.

I will soon be as dead as he is, but there is life in me still.  Even while I am wracked with pain, the nerve endings screaming out their anguish while blood leaks out of me, I am still alive.  Enough life remains, I believe, for one last time.  A final pilgrimage, if you will.

And so I creep toward her.  Slow and caterpillar-like.  Hunching myself up and then springing forward.  Just like a fat caterpillar.  Hunch up and spring forward; hunch up and spring forward. 

Homeward bound. 

The pain is unbearable, but I must push that aside.  And so I think of her.  Not the way that Jimmy would have: the flawless complexion, blue eyes and long black hair.  My thoughts of her are more primitive and elemental; my needs are more basic.  I crave her warmth, the way she squeezes me in her loving embrace.  It is that special place which beckons.  Those are the thoughts I use to ignore the searing pain.

And so I inch onward.

In the beginning, she loved me.  She worshipped me, if I may indulge my well-endowed ego and say it.  She only began to hate me when she found out about Cindy.  That was a mistake.  Not Cindy, of course.  Cindy was worth it, as were all the others.  Oh, yes!  The mistake was getting caught. 

(The full story is available for 99 cents in all electronic formats on Kindle, NOOK, Smashwords, Sony, Apple, Kobo, and many others.  Published by Pentucket Publishing.)