THE WORST OF LOVE CONTESTANT

Tony woke to dappled light glowing through the curtains.  Tessa was still asleep.  He watched, wanting to stroke her hair but just let his hand hover for a moment, before drawing back and slipping from the bed.

 
In the chalet’s kitchen corner he made pancakes and coffee.  Crisp sunlight filled the nook, making every surface sparkle, and the snow outside smoothed the ground, almost blending the pines into the slope.

 
As the coffee percolated, he took cups from the mantle next to the urn and sighed.  Such an exquisite woman, and he had the ring, but she could be so quirky.  The yard sale obsession, buying old junk every weekend when she had all the money in the world.  And now this idiosyncrasy.  Who brings their grandmother’s urn on vacation to Aspen?

 
“Hey you,” Tessa said when he brought breakfast in.  She’d parted the curtains a little and the light made her skin glisten like the snow.  She was sitting up, reading Dickens.

 
“Hi yourself.”

 
“How’s the snowbase?”

 
“Fifteen inches, I’m guessing.”  He put the tray on her knee and she grinned, taking the plate of pancakes.

 
“Ha!  We can ski all day.”  She poured maple syrup over the stack.

 
“That’s the plan.”  He had other plans, well, he would still get some skiing, but he’d been waiting for this perfect moment.

 
“Then let’s get going.”  She crammed a forkful into her mouth, making her cheeks bulge and her eyes bug out.  She reached forwards to kiss him.

 
“You’re insane,” he said as she grabbed him and they tumbled laughing to the floor.

 
She swallowed then grabbed the bottle and pulled his robe open.

 
“Don’t you da-”

 
She poured a thin stream of the sticky liquid onto his chest.  He grabbed her wrist.

 
“Cut it out,” he said, but he was still laughing.

 
She didn’t try to escape his grip, just bent down.

 
“Mmm,” he said, releasing her.

 
Tessa poured again, smeared it around him then licked it away while he moaned.

 
*
Later, after showering, they dressed and warmed the Cherokee’s engine.  Her parents’ chalet was up a long steep drive, and the snow was deep.

 
“I don’t want to dig all that out,” he said.

 
“Don’t worry.”  She racked their skis.  “I’ve been coming up here for years.  Since I was a kid.  I can drive us down.”

 
Tony raised his eyebrows, but didn’t argue, as they climbed in.  “Back up,” he said.

 
She grinned.  “Don’t need to.”

 
The vehicle edged forwards.

 
“Hey,” he said.

 
“It’s okay.”

 
The Cherokee bucked then slipped and turned a little.  Tessa plunged the accelerator and the back end shuddered, fishtailing.  Tony clutched his seat.  The drop was right there.  Hidden by the softening snow.

 
The tires gripped and the car jerked.  Then they were speeding down the driveway, the wheels sluicing snow away, Tessa laughing.  “God, I love that,” she said.  “Love that raw power.”

 
“You’re terrifying.”

 
“That’s okay, sweetie,” she said, glancing over.

 
“Eyes on the road.”

 
“I watch you on the slopes ,” she said, correcting the little slide that was developing.  “And that scares me lots.”

 
“I’ve been skiing since I was a kid,” he said.

 
“Yeah, me too.”

 
“I know, but …”

 
“It’s okay, I’m timid on skis, but I have fun.”

 
They reached blacktop and bumped down, the snow tires thrumming on the tarmac.
*
They parked at the Highlands lot and showed their passes.  Tony held her close as they waited for the lift.  He could hardly bear it, waiting for the moment.

 

On the chair they sat next to a couple who barely noticed them, they were so busy with each other.  Tessa winked at him and mouthed, “Young love.”
He didn’t reply.  The ring felt heavy in his pocket.

 
In the chill vaporous air at the top they jumped off the chair.  The couple skied away, leaving Tony and Tessa alone.

 
Tessa pointed towards the trees.  “I guess you’ll head that way?”

 
“I …”

 
“I’m taking the beginners’ run.”  She turned to the main slope.  “At least until I get a better feel.”

 
“Sure … that’s …”

 
“You sound nervous.”

 
“Yeah …” He pulled out the ring box.  Suddenly he felt the cold, and the world had gone quiet.

 
“Oh,” Tessa said.

 
“I was … kind of, well, thinking that …”

 
“Shhh, silly,” she said.  She reached up to kiss him.  Her lips were cold, but warmed quickly.  Then she pulled back and smiled.  “Even though I can’t work a cell phone?”

 
“Yeah.”

 
Tessa pulled her goggles over her eyes, and turned to begin her run.

 
“Aren’t you going to-”

 
She pushed away and hollered back over her shoulder.  “Tell you at the bottom.”

 
He watched her go, tempted to follow, then glanced at the trees.  She needs a moment, he thought.  Even though the waiting would kill him, he decided on the more challenging run.

 
Setting off he picked up pace on the prepared snow, then moved off-piste and flew near the trees.  He twisted and turned, glad he’d bought Dynastars. 

 

The pines went by at ninety and for a moment he forgot about Tessa and fell into the moment.

 
Something blurred across his path.  A fox?

 
He turned, lurched.  His ankle wrenched and he tumbled.  He was flung back upright and smacked head-on into a tree.

*
Tony woke on the fur rug by the fire in Tessa’s family chalet.  Sitting up he touched his head.  No mark.

 
He looked around and saw Tessa sitting cross-legged with her back to the fire.  She was cradling the urn.

 
“Tessa?” he said.

 
She held up the urn.  “Not my grandmother’s.”

 
“What?”

 
“In 1953 I flipped my father’s Plymouth on the drive.”

 
He thought of the 1950s radio she’d bought at a sale.  A ghost.  She’d touched him.  “How can I see you?”

 
“That takes practice,” she said.

 
“Practice?”

 
“Mmm,” she looked up, smiling now.  “But we’ll have plenty of time.  This was by your body.”  She held up the ring.  “My answer is yes.”

 

 

Sean Monaghan can ski about as well as he can cook (which is to say, poorly).  He can, however, build a mighty fine (and frankly pretty scary) snowman.  More information about Sean’s writing can be found at his website www.venusvulture.com.

He knew they were there before he opened the door. His eyes burned with a dry itch and he could feel his sinuses flaring.

The bitch! She had done it again!

He pushed open the door to the office, and sure enough, a giant bouquet of bright yellow flowers obscured most of his desk.

“Aw, someone’s got a secret admirer” said Stacey as he staggered past. He wiped his streaming eyes with the back of his hand.

 “It’s no secret – its Jane again. The cow knows I am… ACHOOO!!…allergic!”

Stacey glared at him. A long strand of mucus was dangling from the front of her fringe.

“Oh god! I’m so…AAAACHOOO!…sorry – oh bollocks!”

Stacey wiped the spray from her face and passed him a tissue. He clamped the paper over his nose and edged his way closer to the mass of yellow blooms.

“The window! AAAAACHOOOO!! Open the fucking window!” he rasped. His face was bright red and swollen and his eyes bulged, looking like two poached eggs floating in a bowl of water.

Stacey unlocked the windows and threw them open. James grabbed the bouquet and staggered towards the open window.
 

“AAAAACHOOOO! Fucking Bitch! AAAAACCCHOOO!! I’ll get her for …AAACCHOO!..this”. He hurled the bouquet through the open window and collapsed against a desk as the golden flowers rained down on the street below.

Stacey picked the strand of mucus from her hair and wiped her hand with a tissue.

“So – you’re allergic then?”

The day had not gone well. Stacey had refused to talk to him once she realised what had been clinging to her hair, and he was bombarded with low level abuse from his other colleagues. Emails of Van Gough’s sunflowers paintings had arrived in his inbox with predictable regularity, and comments such as “How you doing Flower?” had been made by sniggering co-workers all day. By 5pm, James was happy to get away from the taunting and head back home for a quiet night in front of the TV and a few beers.

He climbed the stairs to his apartment and put his key in the lock. His eyes itched.

“Oh no! She wouldn’t! AAAACHOOO!”
She had.

The apartment was filled with yellow flowers. Every surface – from the kitchen table to the sofa and the bed were covered. A layer of golden petals covered the floor and a bright cheerful wreathe spelled the words “FUCK YOU!” from the top of his television.

James’s vision burned and he fell to the floor sneezing.
“Oh you fucking AAACHOOOO! Bitch, you’re AAAACCHOOO! Dead!”
 
****

James chuckled as he placed the last empty container into the rucksack. It had taken him all day and it had cost him around a grand, but it was going to be worth it. The moon had come out from behind the cloud cover, illuminating the corridor in a stark white light. He closed the letter box without a sound and threw the full rucksack over his shoulder.

Did I go too far with this? I did sleep with her best friend after all, he wondered, and then shook his head. Na, she will see the funny side of it eventually, he decided and walked from the apartment block, chuckling as he went.

****

 
Her nose itched. Jane moved her arm up to scratch, but the movement of her arm seemed to be impeded, as if she was moving through treacle. She scratched the irritation, but her sleep was disturbed by other small tickling sensations all over her body.

She tried to clear her mind, to get back to the dream. There had been a beach, and someone that looked like Brad Pitt. Sleep came upon her in a wave, warmth and security holding her close. The tickling sensation on her stomach began to travel upwards. She moaned and rolled over, the movement somehow seeming to take more effort than it should.

She felt a something burst beneath her body. She brought her hands to her breast and they came away wet and sticky.

What the fuck?

She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes, the fog of sleep clearing. The room seemed hazy, somehow indistinct, the moonlight giving the room an opaque glow.

The moved her arm up to wipe her eyes, brushing away gossamer threads from her face. Things scurried in the half light.

Her eyes widened. Her entire room was covered in webs. Thick black bodies moved along the almost invisible tendrils covering her body.

Spiders! Dozens of huge black spiders!

Jane opened her mouth to scream, but her cry was muffled by the wave of black hairy bodies that swarmed across her, crawling into her open mouth and shrouding her in thick sticky webs. She gagged and bit down hard, feeling small legs crunch under her teeth and a foul tasting fluid spay across her tongue. She fought the urge to vomit and spat the remains of the creature out.

Realization struck.

Terror surged in her and she began thrashing on the bed in a vain attempt to shake off the crawling intruders. Tiny blossoms of pain erupted across her body as the spiders reacted to the attack and sank their fangs into her flesh, each injection like a bee sting. Each one painful but insignificant on its own, but multiplied forty times over.
Jane opened her mouth and screamed, a long shriek of pain and horror and struggled to get to her feet. Her legs were numb and her throat constricted as the venom coursed through her. Jane fell to the floor, landing on a carpet of scurrying bodies that burst beneath her.
Sucking long wheezing gasps of air through her swollen airways, she crawled towards the door of her bedroom as waves of black tarantula’s swarmed over her body, crawling beneath her night dress and biting exposed flesh. The door might as well have been a thousand miles away.

Jane collapsed onto the floor unconscious as the spiders wrapped her prone body in silk and sucked the fluids from her corpse.

 

©2009 Graeme Reynolds

Graeme Reynolds is a horror author, exiled in the South West of England where he spends his time thinking up new ways to write horrible things.
You can read his work on his blog and website http://graemereynolds.wordpress.com   http://www.graemereynolds.com