Slayed - Storyline

Hi everyone!

As you know from past posts, I'm looking at turning my horror movie from 2001 into a novel.  Now I present to you the storyline of Slayed.  Let me know what you think with a comment below or a shout out on Twitter.

Remember, Halloween, Nightmare On Elm Street and Friday the 13th provided the inspiration for the original film, so this is homage back them.

Enjoy!
Rhiannon Elizabeth Irons


There's A Killer On Campus....

25 years ago, three students from Craven University were brutally slain on their way back to campus after a weekend away.

Their murders remain unsolved....

Now, a new generation of students are arriving at Craven University. 

Katie Curtis and her friends are excited about being in college.  All their hard work has paid off and now they get to join the elite student body of Craven University. 

But when a body appears on campus just days before the anniversary, Craven's dark history comes to light.  Someone wants Katie and her friends dead.  Someone who will stop at nothing to get the job done. 

Racing against the clock, it's up to Katie and her friends to find who is behind the brutal slayings before their time is up.

The Game - Part Five

Phil opened the door to his apartment. Since she arrived, he had been home, only venturing from his room for food and the occasional shower. But for the most part they had been having wild and unpredictable sex. 

Today had been his first day at work and his mind certainly wasn't on the papers that crossed his desk. All he could think about was her body writhing beneath his, her nails clawing his back, her eyes turning from bight blue to a deep green as he played with her hard nipples, his tongue rolling over them, sucking them until she begged for release.

He was suddenly hard....again.

Phil groaned. He hadn't had this many erections since he was 14. There was just something about her. Her mind was a temptress, her body that of a goddess and the way she flickered her tongue across her lips while shooting him an intense stare was so erotic it was a wonder he didn't come right then and there.

He began to undo his tie as he walked up the stairs to his bedroom. He opened the door.

There she was, stretched out on his bed, lying on her stomach wearing nothing but one of his long sleeved work shirts. She was casually flipping through a magazine, completely unaware that he was even there. A wicked thought sprung to Phil's mind as he slowly crept up behind her, his tie in hand.

“Better think twice,” she said, not looking up from the magazine.

Phil froze. How did she know he was there?

Slowly, she rolled over, a teasing grin on her face. “Welcome home, honey,” she said, sitting up, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. “How was work?”

Phil stammered. He had gone to work. He had been out of the house for ten hours, but he'd be damned if he knew what he had done in those ten hours. “It was good,” he said after a couple of seconds.

She arched an eyebrow, her eyes lingering on the bulge in his pants. “Just good?” she questioned, her eyes moving from his obvious erection to his tie. Phil nodded, as she took the tie from his hand. “What were you going to do with this?” she asked, wrapping it around her neck and attempting to do it up. Reality was, she had no idea what she was doing, so after a couple of seconds, she just let it hang around her neck like a scarf.

“Well, I was thinking of blindfolding you with it, then ripping that shirt open, sucking on your nipples before using my belt to tie your hands behind your back while I fuck you doggy style,” he responded.

She blushed, her jaw falling open. Phil laughed. He was good at taking her teasing and using it against her.

The intense stare he had come to know and love returned to her eyes, her cheeks still tinged with pink blush. She got to her knees and began to unbutton the shirt. “I have a better idea,” she said, seductively.

Phil swallowed hard as his eyes dropped to her chest. He could see her nipples pressing against the fabric of the shirt. He licked his lips and waited for her to take the shirt off.

She didn't. 

Instead she scooted backwards on the bed until she was leaning against the headboard. She parted her legs, allowing him perfect view of her dripping wet pussy.

Her eyes were trained on his as she ran her hand down the plaine of her stomach, her fingers grazing lightly over her bellyring before reaching the heat between her thighs. She let out a strangled cry as her fingers brushed against her clitoris, her eyes rolling back in her head as she rubbed herself.

Phil stood at the foot of the bed, his hands unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside. He discarded his pants and briefs and began stroking himself.

Her eyes fluttered open as she slid one finger inside herself. She caught his eyes and smiled.

Phil's hand became a flurry of motion as he stroked himself faster, his grip tightening. His eyes darkened as he watched his lover pleasure herself. He loved watching her fingers work herself faster, rubbing against her clit, determined to bring on an orgasm. He loved how her brow creased, her lips parted, her eyes closed when a small tremor shot through her body.

Sweat dripped down his nose. He wanted nothing more than to sink his rock hard cock into her moist, tight, wet pussy. He wanted to feel her writhe beneath him, begging him for more, her hips bucking against his. He wanted to tie her up and torture her, forcing her to come again and again.

He closed his eyes, perspiration sliding down his bare chest as he felt his orgasm building. All he could hear was her panting as his cock spewed forth its creamy load.

Her gasps became more audible as she rubbed her clitoris with such fury that her back arched, her body lifting off the bed as with a loud cry of his name, she came.

Phil stood there, staring at his beauty as she came back down from Cloud Nine. Her hand fell away from her body, her thighs twitching as her hand brushed lightly against them. 

He climbed onto the bed, reaching for her. Her eyes fluttered open as he pulled her into his body, his lips pressing against hers. She sighed into his mouth, her tongue massaging his, her fingers massaging his member. Phil groaned, pulling her closer as his cock sprung back to life. 

His hands gripped her hips as he flipped her over onto all fours. She glanced over her shoulder, lowering her torso to the bed as he entered her. She gasped as his full length disappeared inside her. She rocked her hips, grinding her body against him.

Phil grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her back, forcing her back to arch.

The shirt she wore slipped down her arms slightly, sliding off her shoulders, revealing her bare skin. Phil kissed her shoulder, reaching around and cupping her breasts, feeling her nipples harden as he rolled them around between his fingers.

She craned her neck, planting a kiss on his cheek, twisting and contorting her body, her inner muscles squeezing him as she did. Phil groaned, releasing her breasts, allowing her to fall back onto her hands and knees. 

His thrusts became harder and deeper as he strived for another orgasm. His hips slapped against hers, his nails digging into the flesh of hers.

She reached underneath, her fingers brushing lightly over her clitoris. Her body began to shake, her hips making small circles as she bucked back against his hard thrusts as she rubbed herself. She could feel herself growing wetter with each thrust of his hard cock inside her. Combining that with her busy fingers and she was close again.

Phil could feel her body responding. He pulled out of her. She groaned in frustration, her hand dropping from her clitoris. He chuckled as he teased her, the head of his cock entering her swollen flesh. She pushed back, determined to get him to fill her. He pulled back, refusing to give in. He traced his fingers over her vulva, feeling the slickness of her juices as they slid out of her body, trickling down her thigh.

His hands returned to her hips and with a forceful thrust forward, Phil buried his cock deep inside her causing a surprised cry to escape from her.

Their fucking was becoming more and more frantic, their bodies moving in time, each trying to reach their next orgasm. Her hand returned to her clit and was rubbing the delicate little bud as Phil rocked his body against hers, admiring the way her skin flushed when she was aroused. 

Her head snapped back, eyes rolling back in her head, her mouth open in a silent scream as her body began to convulse. Phil could feel her body shake, her pussy twitching as she came for a second time. Her arms gave way, her chest pressing against the bed sheets, her ass pointed upwards. 

Every nerve was alive and tingling. She could feel every stroke of Phil's cock as it pulsed inside her taut body.

Phil groaned as she did that wonderful female trick of squeezing his cock. She turned her head, a satisfied look on her face as she smiled. “Come for me, Phil,” she said, her voice husky, sensual.

Phil didn't need to be asked twice. He picked up the pace, slamming into her wanting body. His grunts were matched by hers until he threw his head back with a cry of satisfaction as he came deep inside her.

He pulled out of her after emptying his load inside her, collapsing on the bed beside her, breathing heavily.

He rolled onto his side, running a hand through her hair, the golden tresses falling through his fingers. “I could get use to this,” she said, snuggling in closer, her head on his chest, their combined loved juice seeping out of her and running down her legs.

Phil kissed her forehead. “I could definitely get use to coming home to you,” he said.

She looked up at him, a wicked gleam in her eye. 

“Just imagine if I worked with you,” she teased, winking at him.

Guest Writer: The State - Prologue

Greetings gentle readers,

As you know, here at The Final Curtain, we encourage people to send in short stories or poetry so we can post them for feedback purposes.  Now, I will admit, I was hesitant about posting this as both Rhiannon Irons and I had given him feedback regarding his story.  However, at his constant insistence with Rhiannon Irons, I have caved. 

Today, we've gotten a prologue of a story from Max.  Max has previously had a poem posted under the nom de plume, Mr. E. 

Now, please keep in mind, this prologue is for an English project that he is working on.  Feel free to leave a comment so he knows what you think.

Trent


November 20th, 2099

Mr.President,

This is Dr. Maxime Le.

The other researchers and I have found a miraculous breakthrough. We simply want to thank you for investing and making us... here at Le Science Industries, the government’s own scientific research centre and crew.

You’ve demanded we researched something that has to do with genes, genetics, cells... DNA....And we did. We’ve found something; it’s an incredible breakthrough in science and medicine to this day! We’ve discovered that for each cell of the body, a correct sequence of adenine, guanine, thymine and cytosine must be synchronised to create the cell. Only adenine and guanine can be paired together just like thymine and cytosine, but there’s a certain pattern that affects the attributes of the cell. We’ve experimented with the orders on a muscle cell – as to your request – to find out which ones affect which attributes and such.

In your report letter you asked: "See if you can find out how to make a man stronger... faster", we’ve found it. We discovered the sequence making a muscle cell stronger, have more stamina. With the technology we have now, we can extract the four building blocks of this special chain from a strand of DNA, clone them, and create this muscle cell with the attributes you’ve asked for!

I’ve asked my men at the chemistry lab to conjure up a medicinal drug capable of replacing normal cells with the newly, genetically modified ones we’ve created and make them host cells. Quite like a cancer: It fools the human body into thinking it’s a regular cell, but it attacks them and replaces them with its multiplications. Before we continue, I suggest you come see it yourself in action. We’re testing it as I’m writing to you; it’s already been two month now! If our breakthrough proves its positive effects (it seems it has with our tests) and we figure out how to tune out the defects I’m sure it would have –although it will take another month of testing –we can release it to the public! Think of all the benefits!

Dr. Maxime Le
Head of Research and Scientific Advancements.
Le Science Industries

"Mr. President."

He was looking through his old letters, unaware of someone calling him.

"M. President." The voice repeated.

The President looked away from his desk as he set the letter from Dr. Le back to where it belonged: in a folder marked Classified. Looking around seeking who called his attention, he noticed a figure in his office door.

"Pardon my interruption, Mr. President. It seems our ancient enemy... The Vox have come to discuss about the Peace Treaty," said the Secretary of Defence.

"I haven’t been notified of this meeting, we’re perfectly fine! We’ve been in peace for 20 years. I don’t want another civil war Michael; it was terrible enough the first time. Cost billions to the State! What could they possibly want?" The President ranted, surprised about how angry he was.

"Well... it’s a new generation of Vox Rebels, Mr. President," Michael replied with haste.

"What? There’s a new leader at the head?"

The President got out of his seat and walked towards Michael with a low sigh.

"Apparently so, we’ll just have to find out," said Michael, as he walked out the room.

The President followed his Secretary of Defence out his office, making their way to the meeting hall to discuss a new peace treaty between The Vox and the State.

The Vox was an anarchist rebellion group who’ve come up more than a few times in the State’s history books. 20 years ago they threw a civil rebellion. Having military domination and discipline, the President of the State had no choice but to defend. The Civil war did not last very long, but it has been the deadliest and longest one since the very first. Every time The Vox implied a revolution their numbers seemed to have grown and their strategies improved.

The overseer of the military defence against the anarchist rebels personally took down The Vox leader: Steven Flinn and noted his final words: "The State will make a mistake... the survivors will teach the next generation of our efforts, of the State’s wrong, of our reasons... The Vox will thrive...my son will only know me through our history book... The Vox History Book... and he will thrive..."

At first – because of Leader of The Vox’s last words – the State was on high alert for any Vox activity after a peace treaty has been resolved. 20 years later, this alert has declined to a mere ignorance! The ministry of Education strongly neglected the teaching of The Vox’s actions towards the State. Consequently, only the smallest percentages of the State’s population remember who The Vox are. Now, the President was sitting across The Vox’s new generation leader, both of them surrounded by body guards of their own factions.

"Do you know why I’m here?" said the leader, cockiness and ambition echoed through his voice.

"Look, we’ve done nothing wrong in the past 20 years, what do you want?" replied the President, wanting to get this out of the way as quickly as possible.

"That’s true, in some ways... but it’s not about what you did wrong, it’s about revenge... my personal vendetta. Do you know what I’m talking about Mr. President?" barked the leader.

"I’m afraid not..."

"Your men killed my father!" he yelled, standing up.

The President’s bodyguards snapped out of their surveillance trance and took a more aggressive look, eyeing the opposing faction’s security and its leader with acute attention.

"Just who are you...?" questioned the President, trying to remain calm.

"I... I am Andrew Flinn, son of Steven Flinn deceased leader The Vox! I live in his name... Mr. President, this is war! My personal vendetta fuels every single member of our faction and we will have revenge! Hear The Voice Mr. President... hear our Voice we are... The Vox Populi...The Voice of the People!" Andrew Flinn stormed out the room, signalling his security to follow him.

Stunned, the President told the Secretary of Defence to issue a war declaration and told him to assure the State was aware of this unfortunate event. He went back to his office and sat in his ornate leather chair, rubbing his temples trying to cope with stress, trying to interpret what he was about to get involved in, trying to plan everything. He was going to war with an ancient enemy of the State; he was starting to doubt this was a reality. Was he scared? Was he dreaming? So many questions to answer, but try as he might, more questions were thought of than there were answers.

"Mr. President, someone’s here to talk to you," said a female voice.

"Who?"

"I’m not sure sir. He claims to be..."

The lady read the paper, trying to remember his name.

"To be Dr. Maxime Le from Le Science Industries."

"Ah, yes its fine Lisa, bring him in."

"Yes sir."

Lisa Monroe was the President’s personal secretary. Any letters he received were sent through her and she put them on his desk. Any non-government associated members had to pass through her before being able to enter the President’s office – with his permission of course –and she organised every appointment synchronised with the President’s schedule.

"Mr. President! It’s a very nice office you have here, hmm!" Dr. Maxime Le looked around the room, amazed from the decor and luxury, inspecting every statue, painting or flag with immense curiosity.

He wasn’t a very tall person. He was Asian, with dark brown eyes and black hair. He had the extraordinary mind of a genius and devoted all of his life to science. His politeness was beyond any regular citizen of the State and addressed everybody with the same respect he’d address God if he met him in person; for fear that any wrong action would take him to hell!

Dr. Le was one of the very few people who had a belief that there is a God; he cared not if science –his love and all of his life –couldn’t prove his existence. However, in the State, 98% of the population were Atheists. It was believed that Religion was the base of war, simply to prove which belief was superior and ultimately, which one’s right.

It’s with this mindset that the countries of the world were brought together to improve the peace treaty, assuring it to last much longer. They’ve accepted to limit the worship of any Supreme Being or Deity so that tensions between religious groups would be diminished and eventually disappear.

"Max, have you heard-"

"Yes sir, we’re going to war," Max interrupted.

The President nodded, and signalled his friend to take a seat.

"Oh! I’m so sorry Mr. President I promised it won’t happen again, please forgive me I feel terrible!" the doctor stuttered. He was almost panicking.

"Max, it’s okay. You know I can never get mad at you!" Added the President with a comforting smile.

"Oh, thank you Mr. President. You know me! I get worried about everything," he replied with a sigh. "Well I’ve come to tell you that we’ve tested the gene drug... and it works! But –" He hesitated.

"Spit it out. We don’t have all day! I have a war to settle."

"Right, sorry sir. The enhancements so far have worked. Our test subjects are much stronger, faster and enduring than even the best athletes in the world! But after three months of testing we’ve noticed some defects... skin started peeling off, rotting, bubbling and dying. Major necrosis was found almost everywhere on the skin cells but only on skin cells. We presume the enhanced cells take too much energy that the body can’t produce, so it starts feeding on skin cells –rich in nutriments and full of energy –and destroying them. Quite like when a man is starving, his very own body will start to 'eat' it’s self in order to survive. However, this necrosis and deterioration does not affect the performance. Our test subjects don’t seem to be effected by pain."

"How long does it take for the necrosis to start?"

"Almost three months."

"Right, so you say this makes people stronger, faster and more enduring?"

"Yes... oh no... You’re not suggesting we use the drug on the citizens of the State to overcome The Vox, right!?" Dr. Le said, with panic rising in his voice.

"Does it look like we have a choice Max?" This time the President was frustrated.

"Well I mean... we can out-power The Vox... but what of the consequence? The Necrosis?"

"Find a cure." The President’s eyes locked on to the doctor’s, as if trying to read his soul.

Against his will, and to keep the trust of the President, Doctor Maxime Le added with saddness in his voice "Fine... The cure will take time though."

The President pressed a button on the intercom and told Lisa to summon Michael, the Secretary of Defence.

Once summoned, the President had two of his most trusted men wait while he thought of what he was about to do. He thought a long while and finally he came up with a firm answer:

"Michael, I want you to ensure a Conscription Law. Doctor, I want you to mass produce the drugs and I’ll alert the secretary of Marketing to make sure the drugs are distributed to every non-Vox converted citizen of the State. One more thing Michael, I want every single Vox member annihilated."

"Sir... that’s genocide," Michael stated.

"This is tyranny," the doctor added. "But if that’s what you wish Mr. President, so be it."

The two men left the room and left the President to reflect upon the choice he just made.

Was he really doing this? He had no choice. The Vox have already converted half of the State’s population to join Andrew Flinn’s cause. The State’s army was of even match with The Vox’s rebellious group. With the Conscription at hand, the rest of the men of the State would be forced to join the army, doubling its size. The added benefit of the enhanced cell drug Dr. Le and his team have created; the army would be much stronger, resistant and faster. The Vox couldn’t possibly stand a chance. He planned it all in his head everything to the minimal detail. His plan was going to work. He was becoming the dictator of the State.

Cherry Street Bridge

Nelson Anderson was running late. That really wasn't anything new. Nelson seldom ever ran on time.

His car veered to the right, frantically overtaking the other vehicles, his tires gripping at the slick surface of the road.

He was late for a date. Not just any date. This was the date. The date where he was to be introduced to his girlfriends parents for the first time. His palms had been sweating all day. Meeting the parents for the first time was always nerve racking but when he learned that his girlfriend's father was in the Marines, this sent Nelson into a spin. 

He blasted his horn. “Come on, come on!” he shouted at the car in front of him. “Move it! Some of us have places to be that are more important than a freeway.” 

Changing gears, Nelson speed up, zipping around the car and flipping his middle finger up at the driver. The other driver shouted a few explicit words back as Nelson pulled in front of him.

His turn off was coming up. He glanced quickly at his watch. He was teetering on an hour. His girlfriend was going to kill him, resurrect him and kill him again. If it hadn't been for that last phone call, Nelson would have been out the door on time and wouldn't be breaking the land speed record in order to arrive on time. Or just arrive in general. 

He floored it, weaving through the traffic like a NASCAR driver. He knew that due to the rain that they had he should be more careful, but tardiness was not acceptable. Rounding the car up on two wheels, Nelson made the turn off and slammed on the breaks. Sitting near the off ramp, hidden by shrubs was the cops. The moment he saw them, Nelson knew it was too late. He was doing well over 80 when he came flying around that corner.

Their sirens sounded, lights flashing, as they pulled him over. The officer sauntered up to the window, rapping on it with his knuckles. Nelson wound down the window, his Hollywood smile beaming brightly. “Is something wrong, officer?” he asked, innocently.

The policeman frown at him and began writing the ticket. He handed it over to Nelson before departing back to his vehicle. 

Staring at the ticket in his hand, Nelson frowned. Late by an hour and a $500 fine for speeding. He crumpled the ticket. Could this night get any worse?

He started his car and pulled out into traffic. He glanced up into his rear view mirror. The cop car was right behind him. “Fuck,” he muttered. 

The traffic was moving at a snails pace and Nelson was beginning to feel more and more like Janet Leigh in Psycho. His eyes kept drifting back to the mirror and sure enough, the cop car was right behind him. He could almost feel the police officers eyes boring holes into him.

He turned into Cherry Street. He had to drive over the Cherry Street Bridge, make a left on Revello Drive then right onto Sunset Lane and he was there. Nelson's eyes travelled back to the mirror. The cop had gone straight on.

Nelson breathed a sigh of relief and wiggled about in his seat, attempting to find his phone in the pocket of his black pants.

He took his eyes off the road for second as he felt his phone dislodge from his pocket. When he looked back up, he let out a startled cry.

A woman stood before him, centre of the road. 

Nelson slammed on the breaks for the second time that night. He turned the steering wheel hard, hoping against all hope that he hadn't hit her.

The car came to a stop on the bridge, taking up both lanes. 

Nelson was shaking as he opened the car door. He glanced up at the road, rubbing his neck. The woman was gone. Nelson frantically searched for her. There was no body. 

“Maybe she got a fright,” he said aloud. “Maybe she's perfectly safe.”

He scanned the road one last time before turning back to his car.

“Aghhhhhh!”

Nelson let out a scream. Certainly not one of his more manly moments.

The woman stood next to his drivers side door. She was pale, drenched from head to toe, her blush pink gown clinging to her body, her dark hair hanging down around her face. Her dress had some mud stains on it, bits of reeds attached, clinging to the fabric.

“Help me,” she coughed, water dripping from her mouth. 

Nelson stared at her, his eyes widening. Her cheeks were caked in mud. The smell took his breath away.

Shaking his head, Nelson leapt into action. He removed his dinner jacket, draping it over the young woman. She shivered at his touch. “I have to get you to a hospital,” he told her, holding open the passenger side door for her. She shook her head. “But, but, you're injured,” he stammered. Again, she shook her head. Nelson got down on his hunches and took her hand. “Where can I take you?” he asked, mentally kicking himself for making it sound more suggestive than it actually was.

“Home,” she said weakly. “I want to go home. Please, take me home.”

“And where is home?” he asked, gently moving a strand of her hair from in front of her face. His finger lightly brushed against her chapped lips.

“Hill Road,” came her response.

Nelson stood up and closed the door. Hill Road was the next street over from his girlfriend's place. It was doable. 

He ran around the car and climbed into the drivers seat. He thought about peeling out of there, but one look at his passenger made him think twice. She looked like she already had been through enough. Clearly she didn't need him acting like a hoon.

He started the car and drive through the silent streets. He now and then, he stole a glance at the young woman. Her eyes had closed as she huddled in the seat, her body shaking from the cold. Nelson turned on his car's heater in hopes it would warm her.

He turned into Hill Road. “Which house?” he asked, sweat dripping from his brow.

Her eyes opened as she weakly gestured with her right hand. “The last house on the left,” she said, before closing her eyes again.

Nelson speed up a little, worried about the state of the young woman. He knew he should have taken her to see a doctor. Instead, Nelson found himself pulling up in her driveway.

Nelson climbed out of the car, and opened the passenger side door. “You wait here, and I'll ring the doorbell,” he said. The woman nodded and watched with sunken eyes as Nelson ran up the front steps. The front porch was lit by a single lantern hanging near the front door, illuminating a plaque. The Crawford Residence. Nelson wiped his hands on his pants before ringing the bell.

He rocked back and forth on his heels until an elderly woman opened the door. Nelson looked down at her, and smiled. “Excuse me, ma'am,” he greeted. “I found a young woman-” The elderly woman held up her hand to silence him.

“You found Annie,” she said, knowingly. “Yes, every year on this day she tries to make her way home.” The woman held open the door, ushering him inside. Nelson turned, pointing to the car. 

The young woman was gone.

Inside the elderly woman's home was quaint and cosy. Nelson sat down on the floral couch, stretching his legs out, unsure of what to make of all of this.

The woman sat down beside him, a photo in hand. “Annie was my daughter,” she said softly. 

“Was?” Nelson shook his head. “She was sitting in my car. I touched her. I held her hand.”

The woman nodded, her eyes filled with sympathy. “I know,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand. She handed him the photo. “Annie and her boyfriend were driving back from the prom fifty-six years ago when her boyfriend lost control of the car on Cherry Street Bridge. Their car spun out, crashing through the guard rails and plummeting into the icy waters below. The coroner said that Annie died instantly, but no one was really sure of how Kevin lost control of the car.”

Nelson looked down at the photo in his hand. Smiling back at him, in a pale pink prom dress, was Annie Crawford. Her dark hair was pulled into a neat ponytail, her eyes full of warmth and her smile was big and bright.

Nelson shook his head. “I don't understand,” he told the elderly woman. “Your daughter's dead. How did I see her? How did I touch her?”

Mrs. Crawford smiled and patted Nelson's knee. “This night, every year, Annie finds a nice young man who resembles Kevin to bring her home. She never does make it.” Mrs. Crawford handed him another picture. This one was of Annie with a handsome young man, not much younger than Nelson. 

Nelson felt faint as he handed back the photos. The elderly woman patted his knee. “That's why I leave the light on near the front door,” she explained. “In hopes that one day Annie will return home.”

“But why me?” Nelson wasn't too sure he fully understood what had happened.

Mrs. Crawford just smiled lovingly. “It was your year,” she said simply.

* * * * *

Nelson sat in his car. He had arrived at his girlfriend's place and was sitting in the driveway trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

He looked over at the passenger seat. A damp spot stared back at him. Nelson reached over, running his hand across the seat, feeling the moisture left behind. 

He started the car again, peeling out of the driveway and tearing down the street. He didn't really have a plan, but he had to know if that woman was telling him the truth.

The car pulled up outside the cemetery. Nelson got out and walked through the hefty iron gates. As he walked through rows and rows of tombs, Nelson kept his eyes open for anything with the surname 'Crawford.'

Tucked away in the far corner was a grave, neatly kept, fresh flowers resting against the tombstone. Nelson stopped cold. Even from a distance he knew whose grave it was. It wasn't that he could read the inscription of Anne Louise Crawford. Nor could he read her birth date, date of death or 'May Be Gone, But Not Forgotten.'

Nelson's blood ran cold.

Resting on the top of the tombstone, still damp from the icy water from under Cherry Street Bridge, was his jacket.

The Land Of Counterpane

When I was young I memorised this poem by Robert Louis Stevenson.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay,
To keep me happy all the day.


And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;


And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.


I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.