At the age of seven, someone asked Matthew Fries, "What do you want to do when you grow up?" He answered: “Play shortstop for the Toronto Blue Jays in the summer and write books in the winter.” Well, he is in his fifties now, and one of those ships has sailed; otherwise, he is living his dream.
Matthew Fries is a graduate of the Creative Writing program at York University. He has had many short stories published in Canada, the US, and the UK. His first novel, The Sick Box, was published in 2021. The Rabbit Hole is part II in The Sick Box series and his second novel. Both are available on Amazon. Discover more of Matthew’s work right HERE.
LOVE YOU TO DEATH
by
Matthew Fries
The more Walter struggled, the more the ropes seemed to tighten. Seated in the dirt with his arms and torso tied to a tree, his neck and shoulders ached. Mosquitoes, blackflies, and deer flies swarmed him, but he was too exhausted and dehydrated to shake them off or use his breath to shoo them away. The only relief was to focus on something else, something distant.
Sunsets, pleasant valleys, childhood. Walter tried to escape, but his mind’s eye was nothing but a bin of smashed glass, reflecting shattered and rueful decisions.
“Walter. Walter!”
“I told you before. It’s Dr. Crampton. We’re in public.”
“You rejected my thesis. Again! How could you?”
“Oh, come on, Barbara. “The Netherworld. A study of Malevolent Spirits and Dark Entities in Norse Mythology?” It reads more like Malleus Maleficarum. Your thesis is not an academic paper. It’s a list of spells.”
“But, Dr. Crampton, these are real. It’s real. My father took out a bank loan, like you said, and I went to Europe. I found the village. I lived with those people for the entire year. I did what you said.”
“If I accept this paper, I’ll be the laughingstock of the University.”
A hissing startled Walter, and he awoke.
The turkey vultures had found her. Dropping out of the sky like fallen angels, they plopped to the ground about ten metres in front of him. One stabbed its beak at Barbara’s corpse. Another fought to gain a space at the feeding trough, but the others chased it away. As the bird hissed and scuttled off, it knocked over a candle. Walter strained against his ropes as he watched the candle flame burn out.
“I’ll show you my thesis is real, Dr. Crampton. If nothing else, I’ll prove THAT to you. When these candles go out, you’ll belong to me forever.”
Barbara’s last words, as threatening as the blade of a guillotine.
Barbara dumped a bag of white powder on the ground, whispered something into the air, and placed the barrel of her gun to the submental space between her chin and throat.
“BARBARA NO!”
A loud explosion tore away the crown of Barbara’s skull as her feet lifted and she flew backwards, as if an invisible giant coldcocked her with an uppercut. As she landed, bits of her brain, her torn jaw, and smashed teeth fell around her, and a fine pink cloud of blood-mist hung momentarily before settling down upon her lifeless body.
Five lit candles in glass jars made a line from Barbara’s corpse to Walter’s tree.
He opened his mouth to scream, but only a horse gurgle issued from his throat, full of raspy spittle and choking death. There was just one candle left, its flame flickering.
Again, he drifted off into unconsciousness, faded from reality to another time.
“But you said you loved me! You said we’d be together. Walter! You love me to death. That was what you said. On that wonderfully macabre valentine’s day card. It said, ‘Dear Barbara, I LOVE YOU TO DEATH.’ With the little cartoon ghosts on it.”
“Listen, Barbara. What we had was nice, but you’ve been abroad for a year. I’ve moved on. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lecture to present.”
Shattered and rueful decisions.
When he came to, it was dark, nighttime. His lap reeked of urine. The vultures were gone, but he wasn’t alone.
A pair of yellow eyes moved around the clearing, studying him.
The yellow eyes moved closer. Walter could hear growling and snarling.
“HEY!” Walter tried to scream.
In the light of the sole remaining candle, Walter could see the dried blood on the wolf’s muzzle. The snarling wolf edged closer. Walter noticed another set of yellow eyes, and then another. He heard a howl and the first wolf lunged at his face. Turning its head sideways, it latched onto Walter’s forehead and made a noise like, "Beh! Beh!"
The animal’s teeth pierced his skull, but Walter felt no pain. Another beast ripped into his flank. He closed his eyes. Let his body supply the adrenaline to dull the pain and wait for death. That was all that remained.
Walter heard a scuffle, a snarl, a yelp, then nothing. It was quiet, the gamey stench of the wolf's breath and the pressure on his forehead suddenly gone.
“Open your eyes.” It was Barbara’s voice. But it couldn’t be Barbara.
“No,” he grumbled from his raw throat.
“Yes.”
Walter tried to keep his eyes closed, but he felt his eyelids being pried open by some invisible, insurmountable force. “I DON’T…” drops of blood dripped from his forehead onto his lap… “want to!” Against his will, his eyes popped open.
The wolves had topped over the last candle jar, the flame extinguished, but there was still light in the clearing. Before him, Barbara sat naked, her legs crossed. Her hair was a wild, rippling flame, and her pupils were the colour of the sun.
“Say it,” her voice crackled and popped like a burning log.
“No.”
“Say it.”
“No…” Walter choked, but he could not stop himself. She was controlling him. She was controlling his voice. “I love you,” Walter said, “to death.”
“I know,” Barbara responded.
She opened her mouth. Walter could feel the scorching flames of her breath as she leaned to kiss him. He felt his skin bubbling and blistering and he could smell charred meat as his cheeks cooked and his tongue sizzled and his teeth turned molten from the raging heat of her.