The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The last thing you remember is the cloying taste of the cheap ass wine she gave you. It was far too sweet for your liking, but her smile was promising, so you drank. Because you wanted to know what she tasted like—probably cigarette smoke and strong coffee—but you never got the chance to find out.

Your head throbs, and you’re sure it’s a hangover—cheap wine will do that. But then you notice the drumming.

There’s a steady beat striking the air around you—air so thick it feels like the sea. As you concentrate on the rhythm, you realize the drumming is keeping time with your heartbeat.

Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh.

You push to a sitting position. You’re no longer in her shitty apartment. There are no threadbare couches here, no thrift store art finds, no scents of mold or air freshener.

You’re sitting on stone in the dark. The air around you is all greenery, moss, dampness. There’s an archway ahead, draped in vines, and beyond it, a cluster of statues sitting sentinel. Staring at you expectantly, as if they know why you are here.

You rise to your feet on unsteady legs and focus on a single stone in the archway, rooting yourself to the ground, finding balance.

Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. 

You’re standing beneath the arch now. You don’t remember climbing stone steps.

Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. 

She’s here now, the girl from the apartment. You can’t remember her name, but her smile is so encouraging and familiar.

Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh.

There’s a knife in your hand with a hooked blade and intricate symbols etched into steel. You hold it like it’s precious, important.

Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh.

She kisses you and whispers, “See you on the other side, mortal.”

 Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh.

She’s chanting now in a tongue you’ve never heard. You feel the pressure of metal at your neck, a slice of pain, and then so much warmth.

Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh.

And then there’s simply nothing more. The drumming has ceased, the girl is gone, and you’re staring up at a canopy of green-black leaves.

You close your eyes and welcome the darkness.

It’s nice here. It’s soothing. You’re weightless and calm and completely at peace.

But you know you can’t stay here. It’s an in-between place. A passage. A moment. You’ll need to leave.

Eventually, you’ll find the courage to open your eyes again—and you wonder who and what and when and how you’ll be.

Fiction © Copyright Tiffany Michelle Brown
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com