The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!
International Dating
by Elaine Pascale
The storm battered the windows as if they owed it money.
Jocelyn resented her fear of lightning storms. She deemed it childish and she had put away all childish things. If she were a child, would she be away on a romantic trip?
“We never lose power here.” Stellan was more apologetic than necessary. His family estate was the perfect setting for their first in-person date; it was gothic and glamorous. No other boyfriend had ever suggested anything this elegant.
And mature.
Nor had anyone ever gone to the trouble of filling rooms with flowers.
“Do you like the smell?” he had asked shyly.
She would never admit to being overwhelmed by the mix of floral fragrances or that she detected a lingering odor beneath the bouquets.
Must be the smell of centuries, she thought. Old houses like this were certainly plagued with mold and rot.
She had met Stellan on a dating app. They had spent months video chatting and when Stellan had suggested that she visit his homeland, she had jumped at the offer.
Seeing him in person, he had surpassed her expectations. He was much more handsome, much taller, much bigger than she had imagined. He had met her at the airport as promised, right in front of the Starbucks that are ubiquitous even oversees. Strangely, when they had embraced, she had smelled that same moldy musk beneath the roasted beans.
Stellan lit several candles among the dozens that were placed strategically around the room. The sparkle of light allowed Jocelyn to see a portrait hanging on the wall.
“He looks like you,” she said.
Stellan nodded. “That is Harald. He is the owner of the estate.”
She attributed the lack of the past tense in that sentence to English being his second language.
“Harald fell prey to a Draugr,” Stellan announced with all the excitement someone might use to list their daily chores.
“A Draugr,” she repeated.
“A revenant,” Stellan confirmed, “just protecting his…plot, his treasure.”
“I thought it was Harald’s estate?”
Stellan shrugged. “Ownership can be hard to prove. Things passed down…” He drifted off. “You have these in your culture? Draugrs?”
“We call them zombies.”
Stellan smiled, his skin appearing blue-ish in the candlelight. “We have many names for the things we love. And more for the things we fear.” As if on cue, thunder boomed loudly, sounding as if it were right outside the door to the manor.
“Draugrs also control the weather. I don’t think your zombies do that.”
“No.” Her anxiety over the storm was rising and she wanted this conversation to end so they could say loving things to each other. “They just eat people.”
“That’s typical of America.”
The stench she detected before was stronger now. It smelled like decay. “Do you want to maybe show me around?” she asked, hoping that a new room would break the spell and break the smell that was holding them hostage.
She assumed they would move upstairs, closer to the bedrooms, so she was surprised when he guided her to the basement. “Tell me more about your zombies,” he said. He placed a cold hand on her wrist and led her down the dark stairs.
“I don’t know much. I was never a fan of monster stories.”
When they reached the bottom, Jocelyn stopped. “It’s funny. That picture of Harald looks exactly like your profile pic from the app.”
Before he could respond, Jocelyn saw the overturned dirt and headstone. It was engraved with the name Stellan. “You’re—”
“Ownership is hard to prove on paper, but not when you were the one who originally built the manor, centuries before.” Stellan explained in that same calm manner. “Harald had been the one talking to you, charming you. He used my name for some reason. The same way he used my home. When I took his phone after…reclaiming what was mine, I looked at your pictures and found you…irresistible.”
His hand was once again on her wrist, but it was tight now, like a vise. “I lied about something else, eating people is not limited to your American zombies.”
.
Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of Pixaby.com
More from Elaine Pascale:
The Kitchen Witches
The women of Cape Cod have a story that is dying to be told. If only they could live long enough to tell it.
When Fiona Walker is contracted to write about a party attended by her social circle, her friends begin dying. She captures the competition and misery of the women around her through three different stories.
In Wishes, Melanie Voss discovers a Time Between Time where nothing that happens counts. Initially, Time Between Time is a welcome escape from a life spent watching the clock while doing chores for her family. But something sinister is in the Time Between Time and it is headed straight for Melanie.
Death and Taxes tells the story of Nashville DeCota, the Cape Capo. Nash swears that she is not the Island Impaler, nor the Tooth Snatcher, but she has just as many skeletons in her closet. When her husband, Derrick, is kidnapped, she has to come clean about her crimes if she ever wants to see him again.
Fiona tells her own story in Hazing, where she finds that the real source of evil behind the deaths of her friends is worse than she could have ever imagined.
The Depths Beneath 
Alina Maciuca lives in Bucharest, which she loves to capture in highly imperfect photos. Sometimes, she posts those on her social media. She thrives in big cities and aeclectic communities, and her needs are often met during her travels. So far, her work has been published in Vastarien, Space and Time and Penumbric Speculative Fiction Zine.
Spreading the Writer's Word 