Those of us in the horror writing world celebrate Valentine's day
a little different than the rest of the world. We tend to look at the dark side of love.
It's much more interesting and thrilling than flowers and candy, don't you think?
Please join my creepy community of horror writer friends at our
Facebook Event hosted by Anita Stewart by clicking on the photo below:
Here you'll find author spotlights, excerpts of tales of love gone bad and Instafreebie giveaways.
I'm posting an excerpt from my WIP, Spookie Millane: Favors For The Dead. I'll also be posting in the event later in the day.
HAPPY BLOODY VALENTINE HORROR EVENT!
The dramatic violin solo marked the beginning of Saint-Saen’s The Danse Macabre.
Dance of the Dead. Elliot sank deep into his Italian leather chair. The musical poem roared through the speaker tingling his ribs and causing his heart to pound to a near rapturous climax.
She swept into his office like a summer breeze. Her attractive figure accented by her cream-colored fitted Dior suit, accessorized by Luis Aviaroma boots and purse. A hint of Channel Number Five drifted behind her.
“Elliot.” When he didn’t answer she lowered the volume of the speaker. “You wanted to see me?” Her face lit up with devotion.
Behind her contrived smile a well-planned betrayal waited to strike. He loved her with his whole soul and she repaid him with blatant disloyalty.
“Elliot, what’s wrong?” She slid his chair back and with a graceful seduction that came as natural to her as breathing, straddled his lap. She pressed against him, cupped his face and nipped at his bottom lip. His body responded to her, instantly and without his consent. Damn her for having control of that part of him.
He squeezed her shoulders and pushed her away. “Not tonight, my love. I have too much on my mind. I wanted to make sure you have everything that we need for our ceremony. You have an important role.”
“Yes, of course, I do. Why wouldn’t I?” she asked.
“You’ve been hesitant.”
“But you convinced me that I'd been looking at everything through the wrong lens. I'm in one hundred percent. Everything is in place. Don’t worry." She glanced at her watch. "Oh, and dinner is ready.”
I won’t be long, I promise.” He kissed the top of her head. “Please turn my music back up on your way out.”
She reset his playlist. “I’ll be waiting.” The door clicked shut behind her.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been carless.” Securing her computer with a disappointingly easy password was her first mistake.
Not understanding that love didn’t always promise trust, was her second.
Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, he knew all about Spookie Millane, her tragic history and her business. He could call or email, but he preferred a personal message. One that made his position crystal clear. If Ms. Millane had what he assumed she did, he’d take back what was rightfully his with or without her permission. He loathed violence, but understood it was necessary in special situations.
This was one such occasion.
His mind wandered back to the brilliance of The Danse Macbre.
Her third mistake, if she dared to make it, would be fatal.
Had she forgotten that he too, could make the dead dance, then silence them back to their hole deep in the earth?