Seduced by Evil

Seduced by Evil
By Nomar Knight


     During the waking hours, Blade was a control freak hellbent on stealing innocence from the weaker sex. He had lured his prey on lies and false hopes until they bowed to his will. Turned on by whimpers and screams, fear became his addiction. It wasn't long before he looked to dominate in my realm with fantasies designed from the bowels of hell.
     Entombed in the world of dreams, Blade’s arrogance masked his vulnerability, seducing me for yet another night. My identity, obvious yet obscure, haunted his fabricated chamber of love.
     "Who are you?" he asked.
     His curiosity coaxed me to abandon the shadows. At first, he smiled, thinking that I too would succumb to his whims. His sapphire eyes glowed in anticipation of another victim falling for his shallow charm.  
     The image I projected of beauty beyond words weakened his knees. I caressed his smooth face, puckered my lips, and with tenderness, planted a kiss.  
     "Is this real?" he asked.  
     Unaccustomed to having his way so quickly, I saw his eyes sparkle with a diabolical contentment. Lulled by a false sense of reality, he allowed me to stroke his curly hair, nibble his earlobes, and plant kisses along the back of his neck.  
     My core burned with desire and I smiled in anticipation, delighted at his naive nature. The heartless made such easy prey.
     As soon as he opened his essence, the distortion, which my spell cast, lifted with slow, deliberate malice.  
     "Huh, what are you?"
     The new illumination brought forth by darkness revealed my true identity. Panic enshrouded his face and a cloud of fear seeped from his soul.The rude awakening sent shock waves throughout his body, empowering me even more.
     In my domain, surprise became my biggest weapon.  His jaw dropped when I plunged a dagger into his chest.
     "Scream my Sweet, for in the realm of dreams I am the only one who can hear you."
     He shrieked--gripped with terror, not knowing what to do as his adrenaline intoxicated me with sheer pleasure. Somehow, he gathered the strength and shoved me aside to flee, only he tripped over his own feet.
     "Trying to leave?" I whispered in his ear. "We're just getting started."
     This time I lifted the blood-coated dagger and listened to his screams. His expression changed to repulsion when my face turned from a model’s beautiful glow to a hideous abomination. Euphoria consumed me as I listened to the rhythm of his heavy breath blending with fear’s exciting crescendo. 
     Drip.  Drip.
     Again I struck, slicing his outstretched palm, basking in the symphony of my demonic lust.
     Drip.  Drip.
     "Please," he begged, "let me wake up."
     He reminded himself as if reciting an incantation that it was just a dream, just a dream.
     By now his body moaned in his sleep and turned over in his bed.
     I lurked above him, wiping the blade, mixing his fresh blood with mine and cooed in rapture. Its intoxicating scent filled my mind and quenched my thirst. With the essence of our precious liquid infused together, I lapped up every single drop until the blade sparkled. The delicious ritual left me breathless and him weak.  
     Aware that I couldn't allow my slave to wither away, I disappeared into the shadows, releasing him from my bond. I smirked as he awoke confused and disoriented. Satisfied, I let him be, counting the hours until our next rendezvous. I beamed with devilish delight, completely aware that soon he would be foolish enough to allow me to take another piece of his soul and claim it as my own.  

© Copyright Nomar Knight 2015. All rights reserved.

A Knight Chills Flash Fiction Presentation.

Spirits in a Cemetery by Nomar Knight

Ye who, passing graves by night,

Glance not to the left nor right,

Lest a spirit should arise,

Cold and white, to freeze your eyes...

~James Russell Lowell, "The Ghost-Seer"

Spirits in a Cemetery

By Nomar Knight

The mind claims a trickery of light

To explain ghosts roaming at night

Frozen in a state of awe

Confirmed by a crow's caw

Should you be inclined to run

You'll miss out on all the fun

Cemeteries aren't just for the idle dead

Nor an apparition without a head

When at last you try to move

Scary thoughts kill your groove

If a hand reaches for your booze

The ghost just wants to shmooze

Perhaps he's you're only friend

Since the living only pretend

Share your spirit if you can

For once he was a man

Who sang and drank and bled

But now your new friend's dead

Don't tell a soul of your new mate

They'll insist that ghosts don't date

Secrets are better kept not shared

It's not like you were dared

To stroll upon the solemn grounds

Amidst white shadows and hell hounds

So drink up now and cheers to you

No more loneliness or feeling blue

Two happy drunks are better than one

Who knew that cemeteries were fun

Just be sure to go back home

Lest you become a ghost that roams

©2015 Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.

A Nomar Knight Poem.

Don't Be Afraid

Note the ghost in the attic

Don't Be Afraid

By Nomar Knight

Don't be afraid

Voices whisper in the night

Rooms creak to life

Darkness hides sinister creatures

Don't be afraid

Fear unleashes evil

Heartbeats pound senseless

Muffled screams prick your ears

Don't be afraid

You're never really alone

Something waits for you

Death's stench closes in

Don't be afraid

To open your eyes

See the impossible

Cry if you must

Don't be afraid

To soak in all the terror

Listen to the blood curdling screams

Fight off the urge to run

Don't be afraid

Of all that is coming

For nothing can hurt you

Because you're dead

©2012 Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.

A Knight Chills Poem.

My Life as a Psychic Zombie

My Life as a Psychic Zombie

By Nomar Knight

Traumatic events may bring to light the discovery of unusual abilities.  When I was just six years old, my father passed away from cancer.  One of my cousins tried to explain the concept of death to me.  The news of the finality of the act of dying stunned me into a state of shock, causing me to lose consciousness.  One month after my dad’s burial, I received an impossible phone call. 

“Hello?”

Static shot through the receiver, making it difficult to hear the voice.  Once the noise subsided a bit, I instantly recognized the voice on the other end.

“Dad?”

“Son,” more static preceded by “I’m not supposed to be doing this, but you have to stop worrying about me.”

“Dad, when are you coming back?”

My mother was in the kitchen and asked, “Who are you talking too?”

“It’s dad!” I said all excited.

At that moment, I witnessed my mother’s cheeks as they turned red. 

My dad continued, “Son, you’re the man of the house.  Take care of your mother and little brother.”

Before I could ask him again when he was going to return, my mother yanked the phone out of my hands.  She screamed, “This is cruel!  My husband is dead.  How can you…” she listened to the voice on the other end and tears flowed down her whitening cheeks. 

“When is dad coming back, mom?”

She dropped the phone and ran to her room to light a candle and pray. 

When I picked up the receiver which was dangling from the phone’s base, I spoke.  “Dad, are you there?”

Nothing.

I could only describe what I heard as a vast emptiness.  No longer did the static signal transcend across time and space.  The huge void seemed to seep through the tiny holes in the receiver, chilling my bones. 

For as long as I could remember, my father’s last words, which he took the trouble to repeat to me during the impossible phone call, played over and over in my mind.  Looking back on the event, I understood why my mother never spoke of that mystical day. 

As one could imagine, the impossible conversation left me in a haze.  When I returned to school, I appeared to mimic a zombie for the body was present but the mind wandered off with so many questions.  I wish I could say that the strange phone call was the extent of my contact with dead people, but since then there have been many instances of supernatural occurrences in my life.  Though some would say I’m psychic, I don’t buy into that term since I have very little control over the encounters with ghosts.  It’s not like I can turn it on and say okay, today I’ll converse with a dead person. 

According to my mother, my father told her in a dream that he’s not allowed anywhere near me.  He had left her a message which she gave to me after a crucial event in my life had occurred.  I don’t want to go into details, but I will admit that on a special night, a night that determined not just my future, but the birth of my children, an invisible hand pushed my chest and secured that my life stay on its proper course.

Anyway, after my father’s death, for at least five years I literally went through school as a psychic zombie.  The teachers would converse with the class, and on a few occasions, images of their future infiltrated my mind.  One teacher who was overweight, I had pictured her lying in bed, a fragile child of God.  A few years later she died of cancer and I had visited her before she passed on and witnessed the incredible metamorphosis.  Another teacher, a couple of years earlier, entered the classroom and I asked her what name she planned on giving the boy she was carrying in her womb.  After looking at me as if I belonged in an insane asylum, she admitted to just discovering she was two months pregnant.  My revelation appeared to mess with her mind since she insisted she find out how I knew.  She hadn’t given the news to anyone yet, not even her husband.  And yes, she had a boy.

So what lesson have I learned from my experience?  Never tell anyone that death is the end for as I understand it, death is the mechanism in which we journey back home. 

See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight

Awesome! Read Erra by Poppet

A Knight Chills Book Review

Awesome Read by Poppet

Erra, by Poppet, is a book that I read expecting it to fulfill my craving for supernatural beings with a penchant for action.  I knew there’d be romance, and sure enough, there’s an interesting love triangle in the mix.  And since I’ve read other books by this truly gifted author, I expected her prose to flow on the page.  Well, not only did she mesmerize me with fantastic lines, she did an amazing job weaving the storyline so that readers could take more than just a story with them.  From her stunning female lead, Sarah, to the men who surrounded her, Dusty and Erra, this book shines while shedding a light on several mysteries of life. 

If you’re looking for a read where characters seem to literally jump off the page, then Poppet’s Erra is a must read!  From the sensual allure of Sarah and her incredible chemistry with Dusty, to the conflicts with Erra, sensuality and tension were the norm in this excellent book. 

I just loved how the author revealed Sarah’s emotions, and peeled back with slow clarity, like a blanket revealing a stunningly beautiful goddess, her vulnerabilities.  Erra and Dusty are far more than window dressing.  They provided a substance that rocked Sarah to the core, and along the way, opened the reader’s eyes to what Poppet hopes is a new understanding of this thing we call life. 

Don’t delay! Get the book and prepare to be amazed!

Knight Chills gives Erra 5 out of 5 magical stars!

You can purchase Erra on Amazon here. 


On Smashwords here 


Check out her blog here 

©2011 Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.

A Knight Chills Book Review.

Chronicles of a Vampire: A Dreamy Existence

Chronicles of a Vampire: A Dreamy Existence

By Nomar Knight

            I woke, naked and hot.  Sunlight splashed on my face.  For some reason the room spun.  A stinging sensation drew my attention to my neck so I passed a finger along side of it and felt two giant sized mosquito bites.  At first, when I tried to get up from bed my stomach churned, but the sensation soon faded.  I managed to get to the bathroom mirror and mewled, appalled at the size of the bites. 

            “Damn, Lorraina!”   

            I drank a cup of water and put on a t-shirt and shorts.  Images flashed in my mind.  It was as if parts of different movie scenes vied for air-time.  I opened the door to the terrace wondering if the sun would send me to an early grave.  Surely, getting bitten by a vampire didn’t yield positive results.  I dragged myself to the edge, leaning my head over, expecting to puke.  The dizziness I felt picked up in intensity.  Sunlight did not do my body good, yet I stayed and sat in a lounge chair, trying to get a grip on my sanity. 

            “What did you do to me, Lorraina?”

             A clear image of the vampire riding me in bed entered my thoughts.  The sudden realization that I was sore got my attention, but as I glanced downward, my temples vibrated from sharp pains.  A burst of memory blinded me as I recalled asking her with my mind.  Why are you doing this? 

Without moving her lips she said, “It’s the most effective way for you to see some of the things I’ve gone through.  You get a firsthand look into my life.  This experience will bond us so that you can better describe my story.”

As I regained my bearings in the balcony and tried to retrain my body to absorb the sunlight, I wondered if she hid a sinister agenda. 

The day was filled with an insatiable appetite to write down the images which seemed to form like a waking dream.  Though the sun maintained a stubborn refusal to depart, the scenes which flashed in my mind’s eye were all of darkness.  Apprehension and something else tainted the night air. 

I had typed sixteen pages of seemingly random acts of violence.  On a few occasions, she showed me how she felt about her twin sister, Marie Sandoval.  Though they argued, mostly over Lorraina’s choice of dinner, (victims) there was a genuine love among the sisters.  There was also a mystical connection between the two.  If Marie loved, Lorraina felt it.  If Lorraina exploded with anger, Marie would feel her pain and quickly tried to defuse the situation. 

  I recalled stepping away from my computer and lying down, unable or unwilling to eat.  My lips remained dry and no matter how much water I drank, the thirst wouldn’t quench.  Did I crave blood? The only way to test if she had come closer to turning me into a vampire would be to make contact with either an animal or a human.  I heard strange noises.  My vision blurred until I took off my glasses.  My senses had sharpened.  Then I saw the walls of my apartment collapse.  Thunder shot through darkening skies for darkness charged like a bull heading full steam at a matador. 

Voices.  I heard a man’s raspy voice. 

“Don’t make a sound and don’t move, little girl.  If your parents hear you, I’ll gut you with this knife.  Do you understand?”

Lorraina stood in the shadows with Marie.  Since they had the advantage of communicating with their thoughts, they carried a conversation without worrying about being discovered. 

            “We take him alive,” said Marie.

            “The court system sucks in this country.”   Lorraina licked her lips.  “Let’s eat him.”

            “No,” Marie shook her head, “besides, you just fed.”

            “I’ve got room for one more, especially that despicable bastard!”

            They heard a ripping sound as the man placed the knife on the pillow and tore the little girl’s panties. 

            Marie growled, “She can’t be more than eight.”

            “Let’s provide our own brand of justice.”

            “We can’t.  We have our orders.”

            The rapist whispered, “Shush, stop whimpering.”

            Lorraina giggled.

            “What’s so funny?”  Marie eyed her with suspicion.

            “He left the knife on the pillow.  We can make it look like the girl defended herself.”

            Marie grinned.  “You make the kill, but make sure the girl remains unharmed.”

            Lorraina flashed her fangs and using telekinetic powers, raised the knife high off the pillow.  As the man was all set to enter the girl, the knife plunged with amazing force in his back.  The rapist spit blood on the girl’s face, prompting her to scream. 

            Marie used her powers to make sure the girl could grip the knife’s handle.  She maneuvered the child’s hands in the right place.  The rapist remained motionless on top of the child.  Her parents burst through the door, providing them with their cue to exit.  They left without being spotted for the child’s parents would think they were shadows. 

             I don’t know how, but I was at the computer typing everything that happened in that dream.  To me it felt like a dream, but I realized it was a memory.  I recalled the odor I had smelled as if I was in the room with them.  It’s what lingered in the air earlier.  The scent of fear intoxicated me as my fingers danced on the keyboards.  I craved excitement.  I had to find a way to complete the scene and go where danger lurked.  When I was done, I spotted a toad outside my window by the stairs.  I eased my way around the apartment, towards the creature.  I lunged at my prey with a lust for hunger.  I had expected it to escape easily, but my reflexes were quicker.  As I cupped the slimy critter in my hands, excitement morphed to euphoria.  I opened my mouth, expecting fangs to flash, but nothing happened.  As I pushed the toad closer to my teeth, its odor caused me to gag, prompting me to drop the animal. 

            “What am I doing?”

            I attempted to shake off any remnants of the vampire Lorraina.  Following my hunger into the kitchen, I grilled a juicy piece of steak, grateful that I was still human. 

             Shivers lifted the hairs on the back of my neck when I heard her voice behind me.

            “Hello, darling!”

 © Copyright Nomar Knight 2011. All rights reserved.

A Knight Chills Presentation.

Paranormal Nightmares Come Alive

Paranormal Nightmares Come Alive

This month I roam the halls of Julie Myers' fantastic website, My Paranormal Nightmares.  She is the author of NIGHTMARES, to be published in August of this year. Her site has a photo gallery with creepy pictures, and other guests like the gifted Alex Knight have been featured in her Guest Authors spotlight section.

You can head on over to her site to read, for free, my latest paranormal story never before published anywhere titled, "I See Them."  The story is based on actual events.  Sometimes when you move into a new neighborhood, remnants of its past become visible to the paranormal eye. Click here to visit her website and feel free to leave Julie comments.

In the meantime, I'll catch you on the dark side.


Nomar Knight

Salvation by Nomar Knight

Salvation

By Nomar Knight

     Homicide Detective, Lieutenant Woods, pointed his Glock 19 pistol at Father McNally’s head.  Three uniformed officers surrounded the irate priest with their weapons aimed high.  

     Lieutenant Woods said, “Please Father, take the knife off the boy’s neck and let him come to me.”

     The wide-eyed priest glanced from the lieutenant to the cops.  Perspiration formed on his bald head.  “You don’t understand, James,” Father McNally addressed Lieutenant Woods directly.  “He has to die.”

     The lieutenant raised his gun, pointing the barrel up to the diner’s ceiling.  “Come on Father, we go way back.  He can’t be more than nine years old.  Let him go.”

     The priest grimaced, while he tightened his grip on the brown-haired boy, pinching the tip of the knife under the frightened kid’s chin.  “You’re not the only one with special abilities, Lieutenant.”

     Lieutenant Woods couldn’t believe his long time friend would reveal his secret in front of three of his peers.  The patrons had quickly evacuated the diner along with the employees.  The unusual standoff was accompanied by meat sizzling on the grill and the soft sounds of Billy Holiday singing the Blues are Brewin’  out of a couple of speakers which hung on the walls.

     The lieutenant holstered his weapon and raised his hands.  “No one has to get hurt.  If you let the kid go, I’ll personally assure that you’re treated humanely.  Anyone can have a breakdown.”

     More sirens stopped outside of the establishment.  The frantic movement of law enforcement controlling the perimeter drowned out the soothing jazz sounds. 

     “I’m not crazy.”  The priest grimaced.  “This boy mustn’t live.”

     One of the uniformed officers stepped forward.  Father McNally backed up against the counter and shouted, “Come any closer and I swear I’ll kill him!”

     Lieutenant Woods waved at the overzealous officer to back off.  He said, “No one will harm you if you let the boy go.”

     Father McNally uttered, “I knew I should have called the Vatican.”

     One of the uniformed officers was a Latino man.  He asked, “Is that boy possessed, Father?”

     Lieutenant Woods didn’t like where the conversation was headed.  He had to nip it in the bud.  “Officer Garcia, no one is possessed.  That’s not Father McNally’s specialty.”

     The priest’s eyes watered.  He said, “The boy is not possessed.  It’s something much worse.”

     Lieutenant Woods could see the color draining from the concerned officer.  He needed to change the topic or risk revealing his secret.  “Please Father; I’m begging you from one friend to another.  Let the kid go.”

      The boy cried.  A tiny droplet of blood cascaded down his neck. 

 

     “Don’t shoot!” Lieutenant Woods moved with outstretched hands toward the mad priest and the victim so the officers could see his gestures with their peripheral vision.  “I need you men to get out of here.”

     Officer Garcia said, “That’s not going to happen, Lieutenant.”  The other two officers nodded in agreement.

     The Lieutenant said with raised voice, “That wasn’t a request.  It’s an order!”

     Officer Garcia answered, “With all due respect, that’s not your call anymore.  SWAT is getting into position.”

     As if on cue, a red laser beam shot through the window and stopped on the back of Father McNally’s skull.

     Lieutenant Woods addressed the priest, “This doesn’t have to end like this.  Let me save you, my old friend.” 

     Father McNally broke down, but maintained the blade on the boy.  He muttered, “I’m not a killer.”

     The lieutenant eased to his friend and gently grabbed Father McNally’s hand.  The priest gave up the knife.  One of the officers snatched the boy and raced him out of the diner.  The other handcuffed the crying priest.  

     Lieutenant Woods said, “I know you’re not a killer.  What did you see in the boy?”

     Father McNally kept his head down and whispered, “He’s going to kill millions and change the world as we know it.”

     Officer Garcia and the arresting officer exchanged glances.  Lieutenant Woods said, “Gentleman, I’ll take him out.  Give me a few minutes alone with Father McNally.”

     Officer Garcia frowned, but both officers did as requested.  The lieutenant guided his friend to a chair and sat next to him.  They both ignored the stench of burnt meat and the rising smoke. 

      “Father, the last thing I want is for you to haunt me.”

      Father McNally sighed, “What a pair we make.  You see ghosts, and I see evil people’s future.”

     Lieutenant Woods affectionately gripped the priest’s shoulder.  Father McNally continued, “That boy mustn’t turn twenty-five.  He must die as soon as possible.”

     “Father, you know I’m not in the business of killing people.”

     “Neither am I, but that boy is going to make Hitler look like an amateur.  He will bring darkness upon the land.”

     Lieutenant Woods released his friend’s shoulder.  “Are you saying he’s the devil’s son?”

     Father McNally stared at the table and sighed.  “He’s the current antichrist.  Every time the Vatican kills him, he comes back.”

     Lieutenant Woods rose from the chair and helped his friend up.  “Take my advice Father, tell the shrinks you’re stressed out because of work, but come up with a different reason.”

     Father McNally met the lieutenant’s gaze and said, “And you take my advice, kill the bastard before it’s too late.

-          871 words

© Copyright 2010 Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.

Nomar Knight has granted Knight Chills non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Bedside Ghost by Kotaro

Bedside Ghost
by Kotaro




Two hundred years of peace and prosperity had changed the samurai to seek the pleasures of the flesh.


Satomi was in the prime of life and she lived in fear.


There was no safer place than where she was; under the huge roof of the main temple of the Zen sect. NO ghost would dare enter to disturb her prayers. Yet, her conscious created vivid images of the ghost that shattered her sleep into shards that carved away what peace the Buddha had molded with her prayers.


Tatsunori Motoki let out a heavy breath as he looked into the lazy waters of the river. He lifted the rod and noticed he'd been fooled again. Certainly, this was a sign of the misfortune that was plaguing his life. His wife, Satomi, had bought a kimono that was of a quality beyond what his income could afford no matter how hard she had been saving. She had been careful enough to get his permission before buying the kimono, yet he knew better; someone had surely bought it for her.


This seed of suspicion was now a vine constricting all his thoughts and actions. Day after day, he could think of little else and his administrative duties at the magistrate's public office was found lacking. He was given three days off and told to come back with heart and mind free to concentrate.


His most honorable ancestors were certainly yelling at him to show some samurai spirit, confront her with his suspicions, and slay her. Yet, Tatsunori blamed himself, for he still loved her with a deep passion. The outline of her body under her nightwear or the scent of her perfume sent him into a heart thumping need. His most urgent desire was to send her into uncontrollable ecstasy, yet, after two years of marriage, he had still to achieve anything near it. Satomi now refused him more often than not, and when she did accept, he sensed it was with resignation.


This morning when he told her of his vacation, she asked him to catch some fish for dinner while she did the housework and shopped. She had prepared him a simple lunch, and so he was here under a willow tree. He removed the moist cloth covering his small basket of bait. Somehow, the worms disgusted him. He emptied it into the river. Wrapping the line around the pole, he pushed the hook into the wood then headed back home.


The morning fog still hugged the ground in places like puddles after rain. Soon, they would dissipate as he wished his gloom would. Tatsunori still had the rice balls Satomi had packed. Feeling bored, he took one out of its wrapping of bamboo bark to munch on as he walked. He hoped to get home before Satomi went shopping, for he needed to tell her there wouldn't be any fish. As he gulped down the last of his lunch, he saw the door of his home slide open. Satomi stepped out. Not wanting to shout, he quickened his pace to overtake her. At the first corner, she turned west. The market was east. Where was she going? Was she so brazen to meet her secret lover when he was off from work? He determined to find out.


She walked and walked, finally leaving the outskirts of town. Soon, she would reach the sea. Then, he saw where she wanted to be, a secluded shack just above the dunes. Hiding behind the last tree, he watched till she disappeared into the shack. He bit his nails, and agonized over what action to take. Minutes past, at last, he stepped out into the open and rushed to see the truth. His chest leaned forward and his sandals kicked sand to his thighs, so hard he ran. He was nearly there when he dropped to his knees. Resembling a wary crab, he
approached and stopped beneath a window. The paper covering its wooden lattice was old and torn.


He paused with his back against the wall, his heart pounding in his ears, yet it couldn't drown the heavy pants of exertion and cries of delight coming from within. Turning, he inched upward to the window till his eyes peered through a rent to stare in erotic horror at Satomi astride her prone lover. He watched unable and unwilling to wrench his eyes away till she reached the peak of ecstasy and collapsed forward over the body that should have been his. Tears flowed as he cried out in shame and anger.


His cries alerted the couple. Satomi rose off her lover and crept to the window. Peering through a tattered square, she gasped as she recognized her husband, "It's Tatsunori. Quick, kill him!"


Tatsunori raced to the door, his sword raised. As he slid the door open, a blade ripped into his gut. Pushed to the ground, the sword cut through his back and plunged into the sand. His face grimaced into a devil's mask of anguish. His hand gripped the blade impaling him. Blood spilled out of his mouth as he struggled with each breath, "Satomi, curse you!".


They gutted him from groin to throat like a fish, rowed out to sea, and released him into the cool waters of the bay. As the waves rolled over his body, his jaws opened and closed as if struggling to speak before he sank.


Returning to shore, they waded through the surf to cleanse their bodies of blood. They rushed into the shack. Murder was oil to the flames within their loins; their cries and moans the line and bait of a devil that lured Tatsunori’s soul away from the realm of eternal peace.


It's said that Satomi had one more tryst with her lover, and that they saw Tatsunori's ghost looking down upon them, his kimono swaying, as if floating among the waves. Worse of all was the leer on his lips and the glow in his eyes.


Satomi prayed till her death to assuage her husband's spirit. Yet, it found no peace, only a need to watch guided its existence, as it roamed the earth for the sounds of sexual pleasure.


They say, as the decades passed, the ghost slowly faded. Yet, if you feel a chilly breeze while entwined with your lover, it just might be the heavy breathing of the bedside ghost.


The End




I got this idea after going to a temple that has a gallery of ghost paintings used as props by a rakuten artist. Rakuten is the Japanese art of verbal story telling. He would have the paintings hanging in the background as he told his chilly tales. You can see some of them at http://www.theway.jp/zen/flash/yuureiga.swf


© Copyright 2010 Kotaro All rights reserved. Kotaro has granted Knight Chills non-exclusive rights to display this work.


Thanks Kotaro for sharing that spooky story. You can find other stories by this gifted author in Writing.com