Nightly Dates (A Horror Short)

Nightly Dates

"Nightly Dates"

By Amae Dechavez

Her husband just died. 66 days married and he died. He didn't see the bus coming. He was so keen on getting to his wife. A fresh bouquet, he held in his hand. It was supposed to be his 36th birthday.

Clarissa's brother told her everything that happened through the phone.

George was rushing to cross the street when his penny dropped. Every penny saved is money earned for even more, MORE money for investing.—that was what he always said. The price of that penny cost his life—his dear, dear life.

That night Clarissa went on with their date. Why would she cancel her husband's birthday?

She lit the taper candles and put the blood-stained roses in a vase. She slit the steak on her dead husband's plate.

She sat on her chair. She waited. She waited for hours. She waited some more. She waited until the clock struck 12.

She took a black lace handkerchief from the old cabinet. She wore it as a veil on the top of her head. And then she spun. She spun. She danced alone on the red carpet. She took the glass of wine from the table and made a toast to the silent air.

She danced. She danced. She danced until the glass broke in her hand. Her blood dripped and it camouflaged itself on the red carpet. She danced some more. She danced. She danced with her dead husband.

She sang and her heart wept. She slumped on the floor exhausted. Her husband's dead.

"My husband's dead!"

He heard her yell downstairs. He sat on the bed staring blankly at their picture frame. He laid himself on the bed wishing he could stay there. He would stay with her until he was sure she was okay.

He cried cold invisible tears. He cried and then he prayed. "God, I am going to stay with her until everything's okay. I will stay with her. I'm gonna stay, even if things... never get okay."

The door opened. Clarissa saw her dead husband, as gray as ash lying on their bed.

The End.