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Rated: E · Short Story · Dark · #1683811
One of the creepier ones I've written. Twists, twists, twists.
The room was too perfumed for its own good, empty but for a table with four solid chairs.  It reeked with the pungent smell of female laughter, those butterfly-wings strokes of mirth that giddily flutter into every crevice of a space.  It was an unspoken message that no man would be allowed entry.  The like would not dare to impose themselves on present company.
         Tears danced in the corners of the majority’s eyes, trapped.  “You’re entirely wicked.” said one to the woman sitting behind the table’s northern edge.
         “Surprising, isn’t it?” said the questioned woman.
         “Frankly, I don’t think so.” another admitted, her black sleeves sliding down as she slid forward in her chair.  “I’d always expected you to have such hidden qualities.”
         “Let us not waste more time,” urged a fourth.  “We must continue before the time comes for us to part.”
         “Oh, Janie,” said the woman at the northernmost rim, the hostess, “impatient, are we?  No doubt your husband would never condone such compulsiveness.”
         “He most certainly would,” disagreed the third speaker, then in a theatrical whisper added “if she would confine such behavior to the marital bed.”
         The remark was a great source of amusement to the four of them for a short while.
         “But, ladies, let us get back to the matter at hand.” declared the gentile hostess, placing a calming hand upon the top of Janie’s. The table was a long rectangle, yet they all sat in a small crowd to one side, surrounding the hostess’s command of the edge so she could easily face each of her three guests.  “Where were we? Ah, yes, Paul was just about to enter the right wing on his way to the library.  How did we have it written?  Read it to me please, Janie.  Your calligraphy is so lovely and yet I cannot make out a word.”
         “‘He made his way down the hall, passing without thought a collection of locked doors.  The day’s foggy skies barely illuminated the path as he walked—his steps urgent.  What awaited him in the library had kept him haunted for days.’”
         “Must the skies be foggy?” asked the first woman.  “It seems as though the subject of fog is quite overdone.”
         “Then what do you propose, Lu, ‘stormy’?  I don’t see how that is any less tired.  Or perhaps ‘marvelously sunny’?  So that the birds may be out with their young, singing cheerful songs?” retorted the third woman, her voice dripping shadows as dark as her clothes.
         “Friends, settle down.” The hostess took over.  “‘Foggy’ can be changed.  How about ‘dreary’?  It is not too specific and gets across the feelings we intend.  Is ‘dreary’ acceptable to you all?”
         Nobody objected.
         “Well then the matter has been solved.  Have we decided about the woman?”
         “No,” Janie answered, “we seem to have a problem regarding her appearance.”
         “I suggested that she should be blond.” Lu remarked.  “An icy blond with blue eyes as hard as diamonds.”
         “I disagreed.” said the third.  “I think, truer to life, she should be an auburn storm of a woman with coal eyes.  And she would be wearing red.”
         “Of course,” the hostess chuckled hoarsely.  “Seductive to her very bones.”
         “Is it a wonder we can’t stand her?” asked the third, passing a hand through her hostess’ hair with a smirk.
         “So it seems we’re set on this point as well, no?” the hostess cast questioning glances at her guests, and all agreed.  “Well, Janie, do write it down; you have such a way with words.  Right.  Our man Paul is walking down the corridors and enters the library, excitedly finding the lady in red and breathing out her name—oh. Seems we have hit on another trouble spot.”
         “Selene?” contributed Janie.
         “No, too tame.  Why not Esmeralda?” said the third.
         “You’ve got to be kidding.” the others said at once.
         “Cerise?” offered Lu.
         “Miranda?”
         “Why not…Adriana?” said the hostess, and the four shared a knowing smile.  “We might as well.”
         “It is a bit of a thrill this way.” the third conceded.
         “And so,” the hostess continued, “Paul faces his Adriana, greeting her with a voice that can hardly keep from trembling.  Adriana, the maddening siren that she is, remains calm and still, lounging on the sofa with her scarlet dress spilled around her figure.”  Giggles floated around like bubbles, but the hostess did not allow that to disturb her.  “She bids him to come towards her with a single finger, yet as soon as Paul takes a step she’s off, running with red cloth bunched within her hands.  Paul gives chase.”
         “Well this is exciting.” said the third woman, a sentiment which Lu echoed.  Janie was far too busy scribbling away to pitch in.
         “He follows the quick flashes of red from library to entrance hall to, finally, kitchen.  There he stops, knowing she is there for he can smell her.  She is so close, but where?” Janie looked up from the paper, staring at the hostess expectantly.  “When he feels the sharp pain of the knife in his chest, at first he cries out with surprise.  The second time, it is in horror when he sees his wife join his Adriana as they watch him fall to the ground.  The third, which is barely a cry at all, remains a mystery.”
         The third woman glanced at the hostess.  “We can always hope it was pain.”
         “He deserved it, at least.  Paul had a way of being, excuse me Janie, a prick.” The hostess’ eyes met with the third woman’s, and they shared a moment of silence.  “Well, girls, it would be good of you to leave now.  I am supposed to arrive at the harbor in two hours and I still need to check on a few things.  Lu, Janie, I leave the story with you.” she told them, smiling kindly.  “You may take the pages and do with them what you will.  And you my dear,” she grasped the arms of the third woman, all donned in black, “enjoy widowhood.  I hear it can be a not unpleasant time.”
         “Thank you.  And an enjoyable journey to you, dear siren.”
         The three left, and the hostess stood in place for a moment, inhaling secrets and the past.  Then she walked away.
© Copyright 2010 Lianne R.N. (lianne_rn at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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