JACQUELINE’S KISS By: Wilfred Esteves
Monday, January 12th, 2009The heavily clothed man stood outside the door and knocked a second time. He wore a long, dark coat that reached to his knees. His hat was pulled down to cover his face as much as he could without ripping it. He had his left hand inside a coat pocket and his right knocked again at the door. The man stood still when he heard shuffling inside the big house.
It was an old place, built with when the Gothic fad was in full swing. When people passed beside it, they would think of those macabre houses one saw in old horror movies and tremble with mock chills. A bolt was pulled to its side and the heavy front door opened a crack. The man tilted and saw an eye belonging to a woman.
“Yes?” asked the woman inside the house. “How can I help you?”
“Is this the DuBois residence?” asked the man as he tried to look inside. “I had a-uh… an appointment.”
“Yes,” said the woman. She slowly opened the door to let the man in. “And you are?”
“Carl,” he said as he entered. “Just… Carl.”
The woman looked at Carl and smiled a sad smile. Carl hadn’t noticed as he was looking at the big house. It could had been a museum for all the old things it had laying around. The woman cleared her throat and Carl turned.
“May I” she began to the man, “take your coat?”
Carl nodded and removed it. He stared at the woman with a different eye now. She was an attractive woman, easily in her forties. She had auburn hair tightly pulled into a bun. Her face was oval-shaped but her most striking feature was her eyes. The sad eyes that gave up a long history that Carl did not want to go in. He felt uncomfortable and shifted his gaze to a grandfather clock. He handed her the coat.
“So… uh,” he mumbled awkwardly. “Where is–?
“Follow me,” said the woman and walked ahead as Carl went after her. They walked the short hallway until the woman stopped in front of a door. “Right here.”
The woman knocked lightly on the door as Carl licked his lip like a wolf readying to pounce on prey.
“Yes?” came a small voice from inside.
“Jacqueline,” said the woman, “you have a visitor.”
“Come in,” said the small voice and the woman opened the door. Inside there was a small girl, couldn’t have been older than 14, sitting on top of a frilly bed. She was a cute girl with curly red hair. Carl couldn’t take his eyes off her. Jacqueline noticed this and smiled coldly and turned to the woman.
“Say hello to Carl, Jacqueline,” said the woman as Carl passed and sat beside the girl.
“Hello Carl,” she said. Carl licked his lip again.
“My,” Carl said as his shyness left. He was with someone he always felt comfortable, small children. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?”
Jacqueline smiled again coldly at the sleazy man. The woman began to walk out and closed the door. She stood there and leaned against the wall and shuddered. She hated doing this but it had to be done to survive.
“A daughter obeys her mother,” she said. The woman stood there for what felt like hours. She closed her eyes and trembling gasps escaped her mouth. When the moaning inside the room became audible, she went to the kitchen to ignore it. “A daughter always does what her mother tells her.”
Inside the room Carl had begun to unbutton his shirt. He stared at the girl hungrily and couldn’t contain his disgusting smile. Jacqueline stared at him stonily, watching the greasy man get unclothed. He dropped his discarded shirt to the side and lunged in. He couldn’t contain himself.
Jacqueline buried her mouth in Carl’s neck and began to lick. Carl loved it and moaned in ecstasy. The young girl kept licking his neck, the flesh getting softer. The man was getting more excited. He moaned loudly as Jacqueline kept licking. He was in heaven.
She then bit hard, puncturing the aorta vein. She drank the blood of the sleazy man, warm on her throat as it went down. Carl’s moaning turned from pleasure to pain. He got dizzy, the loss of blood making him weak. With surprising strength Jacqueline laid him on the bed, never letting go of the bloody fountain. Carl tried to fight but the sudden loss of blood got him. Death had come for him and he would never win.
The woman whose name was Lena sat alone in the kitchen table. A shuffling made her turn to see Jacqueline standing in the doorway. The girl’s mouth was bloody from her dinner. She stared at Lena who lowered her gaze in fear.
“I’m done with him,” said Jacqueline. “Clean it up.”
Lena stood and neared the girl. She never lifted her gaze at her when they were alone. She always obeyed.
“Yes,” said Lena. “Whatever you say, Mother.”
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© 2008 Wilfred Esteves
A little bit about me. I am from the small island of Puerto Rico, territory of the United States. I was born May 7, 1982. I have an useless Bachelor in Information Technologies and love writing. I recently moved to Michigan to look for work but that didn’t produce nothing. Still searching, though.
