Disclaimer- Except for all the other ideas I’ve basically ripped off from other sources…I own this stuff! Yippee!

Writer’s Note- I'm definately more a reader than a writer, but sometimes I get a lil itch to try and nail some stuff on the keyboard. Since it's getting close to Halloween, I thought I'd try and post one of my old horror efforts. It doesn't go anywhere in terms of plot, but it was fun to write...erm, in a scary icky kinda way.

(But not as scary as my grammar without spellcheck!):kdevil


The Honeymoon


Abigail Worthington was washing her hands.

“All in all it’s been a simply wonderful reception, darling!” she called happily, lathering between her fingers. “The food and service was just perfect! It was all so proper and prompt.”

She turned on a tap. She needed more hot water.

“And that swing band was absolutely spiffing I must say!” Abigail grinned. “Mama and Papa certainly enjoyed themselves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen their foxtrot done so snappily!”

Steam rose from the marbled cream sink and she twisted off the tap.

“I shall have to tease them about that.” she smiled and moulded the soap in her hands. “Oh! Henry!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Did you see who was amongst our guests?”

The question carried from the bathroom into the bedroom suite. But no one answered.

Abigail didn’t mind. She answered for him. “None other than Mr J.T. Broadway himself! The very man who makes all those charming movies. Isn’t that marvellous?” She giggled slightly. “Oh darling, it was so funny. I saw Aunt Julia and Mr Broadway talking by the cake and she was wearing this big ridiculous hat, something fancy from Paris I dare say. No doubt it was supposed to be a Cornucopia of some kind but I mean honestly! All those cascading grapes and apples…It looked for all the world like she was wearing a tipped over fruit bowl on her head!”

Abigail laughed and scrubbed hard at her arms until it was painful. She had to be clean.

“I could see Mr Broadway trying not to look. Obviously he was too gentlemanly to comment on Auntie’s horrendous sense of taste. But his eyes just couldn’t help glancing up from time to time. I bet Aunt Julia thought she was the bees knees!” Abigail paused. “I wonder what they were talking about?” she whispered, then shrugged. “Oh well, that’s certainly not my business.” She continued to scrub in the hot steaming water with single-minded determination. Harder and harder.

“Speaking of business,” Abigail called, her voice light with pain. “I am surprised at you Henry Worthington! Imagine not knowing Mr Broadway was amongst our guests! Where were you? I would have thought a budding songwriter like yourself would have simply jumped at the chance to talk to a Hollywood Director! Why on earth didn’t you?”

Henry couldn’t say.

Abigail sighed. “Oh, darling. I know this is our special day and you want nothing to interfere with it…but opportunities like that come so rarely and I would feel so beastly if you missed it.” She stopped scrubbing and dipped her arms elbow deep into the sink. It burned.

“I know what to do!” she hissed between clenched teeth. “Mr Broadway should still be here in the morning. It is after all his hotel. So tomorrow first thing we’ll find out what room he’s in and-Oh.” Abigail frowned as if remembering something. “But we won’t be here tomorrow. We’ll be away…on our honeymoon…” She shook her head and smiled. “Never mind. We won’t be beaten that easily. As soon as we get back we’ll make an appointment to see him. I’m sure Mr Broadway will be more than interested in hearing your ideas Henry. Especially since you’re the groom of the wedding he just attended!”

With a fluid flick of her fingers Abigail popped out the plug and flourished a towel. “There!” The sink gurgled away the red tinted soapy water as she vigorously dried her arms. It felt like sandpaper scraping across an open wound. Tears sprang from Abigail’s eyes but she ignored them, grinning with satisfaction at the raised raw flesh of her pink red skin.

“Oh yes! That’s much better!” she beamed. “Much, much, much better!” She turned, pleased that she was so clean, and reached towards the special dress hanging on the door. “Now I can get ready.”

It was beautiful and seemed to slip into Abigail like a second skin. She ran her hands over the intricate lace designs interwoven within the white material and felt her raw arms tingle. It was early Victorian and had been passed down from generation to generation. Now it had been passed down to her. She laughed and hugged herself with delight. Oh, how she loved this dress! Smiling she inspected herself in the Art Deco full sized bathroom mirror, turning this way and that. Her reflection was slightly distorted by the evaporating condensation caused by the steam and she noticed that the dress seemed to hang a little looser on her body this time. But that was easily understandable considering it had taken three bride maids to tie the ribbed whalebone corset alone! When they had gotten back to their room she had asked Henry if he could undo it for her, big strong manly husband that he was. Unfortunately he had a Dickens of a time trying to untie the knots. The both of them had gotten a rampant fit of the giggles and ended up rolling on the floor!

Abigail frowned slightly. Henry was so quiet…now he had gotten so messy.

She perked up. Maybe seeing her in her wonderful dress would cheer him up. Humming, she turned and plucked a gold band ring encrusted with diamonds from the sink, slipped it on her finger then swished out the bathroom door.

“Tah-dah!” she sang and twirled into the bedroom suite. “Here comes the bride, all bright and white…lah lah lee…” She made encouraging gestures to her groom lying on the bed. “Come on Henry! Help me finish the words! Dah lee de tum tum te tum…”

Henry lay on the bed and said nothing.

“Lah de tum te tum dum te-Oh Henry!” Abigail plonked herself beside him and playfully slapped his leg. “You are such a boor! I thought you were a song writer!”

Henry could offer nothing in his defence.

Abigail bent over and peered into his still white eyes, her brow crinkling with concern. “Henry? Darling? Is everything all right?”

Henry didn’t answer. Instead he continued to stare with bulging glistening intensity, his face drained and frozen in an expression of abject horror and surprise. The collar of his shirt was soaked red with blood and a slash wound leered like a long lipless mouth running across his throat. Far from being all right, Henry was quite, quite dead.

Not that Abigail noticed.

“Of course it is.” she sighed and stroked his hair. “Forgive me darling, I’m being such a silly. It’s just that you’re so quiet.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “Although. I do like the strong silent types.” She kissed him. Long and lingering. His lips tasted coppery and cold. Abigail didn’t mind, but she did glance up and frown. “Henry?” she asked, a little hesitant quiver in her voice. “Do you…do you think it’s time?”

Henry gazed blind and dead.

Abigail nodded, reassured. “Yes.” she agreed. “Yes, you’re quite right. It is time isn’t it?” She quickly hugged him, squeezing her face against his rigid chest. “Time to go.”

Abigail turned to her side of the bed and picked up a gentleman’s foldable ivory handled razor blade lying on the bedside table. She smiled, studying it with childish curiosity, watching the light catch the metal and glitter like silver. Only the best for Henry. Abigail grinned and ran a finger down the long blade. A sharp little pain bit the skin and she blinked as she saw the blood.

Something unlocked in the distant fog of her mind and she remembered.

It had all been rather funny really. Not funny ‘ha-ha’ but funny strange. Very strange. Like a dream…It was just after all that carry on rolling on the floor. Henry had managed to finally undo the corset and she had quickly shrugged out off her dress, insisting she hang it up in the bathroom. As she did so she spotted the razor. It was sitting open on the bathroom sink and seemed to smile at her. Something whispered a promise and Abigail had smiled back. When she emerged, she found Henry with his back to her trying to undo his bowtie. It confounded him and he quipped that he’d rather have Abigail’s corset any day. Abigail had smiled at that and had wrapped her arms behind him, whispering seductively that what this took was a woman’s touch.

She did not remember picking up the razor. But it was there.

Henry saw it but before he could react, Abigail suddenly grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, exposing the cream of his throat. She cut out his cry of horror with a single slice of steel.

And then they got all messy.

After Henry had stopped thrashing on the carpet, Abigail had dragged him over to the bed and heaved him onto it. Once she was satisfied that he was comfortable she then went back to the bathroom to clean herself up. She had never been covered in so much blood before. It had taken her quite a task to get it all off, but now she was utterly spic and span again. And ready to go.

Abigail eased herself down on the bed and pressed her hand into Henry’s cold stiff fingers. “I love you Henry darling.” she whispered fervently. “I love you more than life itself.”

She glanced down at the razor waiting patiently in her shaking grip. “We’re going to live forever.” she smiled, slowly raising the blade towards her. “Just think darling, we’re going to be together for always!” A gleam of insane joy glittered in her clear blue eyes as the razor touched her throat. “And then we’re coming back Henry.” she promised. “Oh yes. We’re all coming back.” Abigail tensed and squeezed her dead husband’s hand. “Wait for me darling.” she whispered softly. “Wait for me.” Wishing only for one last kiss, Abigail took a deep shaky breath, squeezed her eyes up tight, paused and then sliced.

There was no pain.

Abigail Worthington grinned as she choked to death on her own blood.

She was happy.

They were both well on their way towards their honeymoon.

Together. Forever and ever. And ever.


It was an unfortunate member of the hotel staff that found them in the morning. He had knocked politely and unlocked the door, wheeling in the breakfast trolley. He was not at first bothered by the occupant’s silence, knowing they were still probably asleep. But then the smell of blood hit him and he had looked up to find there were two very dead corpses lying on the bed.

Alarmed, the young man had staggered back in shock, knocking down the trolley that clattered loudly and unceremoniously spilled poached eggs, smoked kippers and orange juice all over the floor. He would have no doubt worried about getting fired had he not been screaming for all he was worth and running out the door at the time. He bumped into bleary-eyed guests who were puzzled and irritated by the noise. They also displayed colourful reactions when they saw the cause of his distress.

Mr Broadway took charge of the situation immediately and was marvelled by some, because of his direct no nonsense, yet compassionate approach towards the stricken families. Here was a man you could turn to in any crisis. Here was a man you could trust.

No one noticed the cold smile of triumphant satisfaction behind their backs, or the glimmer of black joy in his eyes.

The Broadway House had claimed it’s first converts.

Soon. There would be more.

Many more.

And somewhere…

Something…

Was beginning to stir.

And feed.

THE END

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A doodle. I do doodle. You, too. You do doodle, too.