My Pretty Dead Ones

My Pretty Dead Ones

by Oleander Plume

 

Mama said not to kiss that boy, the one with the cornflower blue eyes and silky hair, but I never listened to mama, not when a beautiful man was within my grasp. The scent of him called to me, across oceans, across time, across the bayou with the black swamps and poisonous snakes. I had to surrender before the hunger drove me to madness.

Like all the rest, he was easy to seduce, following me like a little lost duckling to the water’s edge. Naked in the moonlight, dress pooled around my feet like candy floss, I let him kiss me while he touched all those dirty places.

I could hear mama’s harsh whisper in my ear.

“Sally Jane, you stop now. You stop before you get in trouble.”

Mama forgot that she lost her hold on me years ago. I didn’t stop, not for a minute, kissing his whiskey-flavored lips until he pulled back. His eyes were bright with fear, as if he’d just met the devil in the flesh.

I made my voice as sweet as maple syrup. “What’s wrong, lover?”

“I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“Deeper than you’re used to?”

He licked a drop of blood from his bottom lip. “You bit me.”

I batted my lashes like a proper debutante. “I only wanted a taste, lover.” I pushed him back. “You take off those pants and lie down. I’m going to make all your dreams come true.”

The cypress trees made a roof over our heads. The soft ground was our bed. Croaking frogs and hissing cicadas couldn’t disguise the sounds of our lovemaking. He grunted like a wild boar in heat while I mewled like a kitten. I bucked wildly, making sure I got mine first. Satisfied, I stayed still while he rutted, waiting for the right moment.

“Sally Jane, no,” mama scolded. “Not Josiah, he’s kin.”

Mama knew this was her fault. She created the evil beast that curled inside my chest, the one that demanded its feed.

“Shut up, mama.”

I growled those words, but Josiah didn’t hear – he was too busy filling me with his demon seed. Josiah hadn’t noticed the sheath strapped to my leg, neither. Oh no, he was too busy roving his eyes over my tits and the triangular patch of auburn between my legs. Josiah’s stumpy prick was still twitching inside me when I sliced open his neck. Blood poured from his ragged throat while his sticky mess dripped down my thighs.

“You’ll be part of me forever now, Josiah, part of my collection.”

I washed my blade in the water while Josiah bled out. When I rolled him into the swamp, he disturbed the others. They rose up from their watery graves and floated like balloons over the dank water, staring at me with mournful eyes. Mama’s were the saddest, but I paid her no mind. She got what she had coming and so did all those men.

I skipped a large stone across the water and watched my pretty dead ones scatter.

haunted bayou

This was story was published in the Prose Anthologies Volume 1: Death

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