Closing by Michael Kelso

She stuck the brand-new key, with its sharp, unworn edges into the lock and twisted. The latch inside popped and she slowly opened the door. I followed her as she stepped into the hallway and set the keys on the small table with scratches that had been painted over. She turned into the living room that was a mix of well-worn and new furniture with the wall decorations much the same. A new painting sat above the fireplace with family pictures flanking it. She paused, ignoring the painting and staring at the portraits. "I know it's going to be an adjustment," I said as tears welled in her eyes. "But we can be just as happy here." She didn't answer, just sighed and walked into the dining room. Silence had always been her language. Often she would sit in her comfortable space in the living room and just stare at the wall. I would ask her what she was thinking and her eyes would come into focus as if she was in a daze and hadn't noticed I was there. She would smile and say she wasn't thinking about anything, but I knew better. Running her finger along the mirrorlike surface of the dining room table, she stared wistfully at it. "We can have a housewarming party if you'd like," I said. Without answering, she exited the room and went into the kitchen, doing a slow circle around the island with the sink in it. "Look, babe, you always wanted one of these," I said indicating the sink. She paused to run her fingers across the stainless steel, then glanced over at the knife block sitting on the counter. Pulling out the butcher knife, she stared at her reflection in the shiny blade. "What are you doing?" I said slowly. She continued to stare, letting the blade lay flush on her forearm just above the many scars that had healed not so long ago. "Please don't," I said with a desperate edge. She sighed and placed the knife back in the block, then moved on to the basement door. Her hand hovered over the doorknob but didn't touch it. Turning away suddenly, she went back into the hallway and up the stairs. I knew there was nothing in the basement except the terrible memories she carried from the old house. The stairs were a long, curving affair, just like she'd always wanted. I followed close behind, grinning like a puppy waiting for a treat. But she didn't even glance back. I knew then she was a lot madder than I had imagined. "Look, honey," I said as she opened the door into the large bathroom. "I know I should've talked to you before sinking our life savings into this place, but it was perfect, and as low as they were willing to go on the price, you'd think someone was murdered here." She finished her slow examination of the room and left as though I hadn't said a word. I hung my head and trudged out after her. "So how long do I have to deal with the silent treatment this time?" I said. "A week? A month? You act like I did something horrible like kill someone or cheat on you." She disappeared into the guest bedroom as I slunk in behind her. "You're right," I said. "I should've talked to you about it first. I just wanted to give you a nice surprise. With all the memories of Jason, I wanted you to have a place that wouldn't constantly remind you of our son and what… happened." She sat on the bed and looked up at me. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she grabbed a pillow and hugged it. The pillow covered her face as she buried herself in it and screamed. Little sound came out but waves of frustration seemed to flow off of her until she fell back and lay still on the bed. "Why?" she said just above a whisper. I layed beside her and said, "Because I love you." "Why?" she said. "I can tell you a thousand reasons," I said. "Each one is the most important in the world to me." "Why?" she screamed as she threw the pillow across the room. "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?" I stared at her, dumbfounded, as she ran over and grabbed the pillow, then began an assault on everything breakable in the room. Pictures, lamps, a mirror, she pounded them all until they were pieces on the floor. Finally she collapsed facedown on the bed and sobbed. I lay silent, unsure if I wanted to disturb her for fear of rekindling her rage. After a few minutes, she rolled onto her back and said, "Why would you do this to me?" "I thought you'd be ha… " I started to say. "I thought I'd found the perfect man, my soulmate," she said, staring at the ceiling. "Then I was blessed with the second love of my life, my son. I was blissfully happy… and then you took them away." "What?" I said. "How did I… ?" "It wasn't bad enough you took my son, you had to take my husband too?" She screamed at the ceiling. "Wait, what?" I said. "What are you talking about?" I tried to take her hand, but mine passed right through hers. "No, this isn't possible," I said, trying again and failing to hold her hand. "No! This can't be. I'm right here." "Babe, please," I said, trying over an over to hold her hand as she stared blankly at the ceiling. "This isn't right," I said, trying to think of why she would say these things. My mind went back to driving home from the realtor's office. We were debating if we could afford this new house. I was about to tell her I'd already bought it, when the truck crossed the center line and slammed into our car.

The Listing by Neil Christiansen

She stuck the brand-new key, with its sharp, unworn edges into the lock and twisted. The latch inside popped and she slowly opened the door. I followed her as she stepped into the hallway and set the keys on the small table with scratches that had been painted over. She turned into the living room that was a mix of well-worn and new furniture with the wall decorations much the same. A new painting sat above the fireplace with family pictures flanking it. She paused, ignoring the painting and staring at the portraits. "I know it's going to be an adjustment," I said as tears welled in her eyes. "But we can be just as happy here." She didn't answer, just sighed and walked into the dining room. Silence had always been her language. Often she would sit in her comfortable space in the living room and just stare at the wall. I would ask her what she was thinking and her eyes would come into focus as if she was in a daze and hadn't noticed I was there. She would smile and say she wasn't thinking about anything, but I knew better. Running her finger along the mirrorlike surface of the dining room table, she stared wistfully at it. "We can have a housewarming party if you'd like," I said. Without answering, she exited the room and went into the kitchen, doing a slow circle around the island with the sink in it. "Look, babe, you always wanted one of these," I said indicating the sink. She paused to run her fingers across the stainless steel, then glanced over at the knife block sitting on the counter. Pulling out the butcher knife, she stared at her reflection in the shiny blade. "What are you doing?" I said slowly. She continued to stare, letting the blade lay flush on her forearm just above the many scars that had healed not so long ago. "Please don't," I said with a desperate edge. She sighed and placed the knife back in the block, then moved on to the basement door. Her hand hovered over the doorknob but didn't touch it. Turning away suddenly, she went back into the hallway and up the stairs. I knew there was nothing in the basement except the terrible memories she carried from the old house. The stairs were a long, curving affair, just like she'd always wanted. I followed close behind, grinning like a puppy waiting for a treat. But she didn't even glance back. I knew then she was a lot madder than I had imagined. "Look, honey," I said as she opened the door into the large bathroom. "I know I should've talked to you before sinking our life savings into this place, but it was perfect, and as low as they were willing to go on the price, you'd think someone was murdered here." She finished her slow examination of the room and left as though I hadn't said a word. I hung my head and trudged out after her. "So how long do I have to deal with the silent treatment this time?" I said. "A week? A month? You act like I did something horrible like kill someone or cheat on you." She disappeared into the guest bedroom as I slunk in behind her. "You're right," I said. "I should've talked to you about it first. I just wanted to give you a nice surprise. With all the memories of Jason, I wanted you to have a place that wouldn't constantly remind you of our son and what… happened." She sat on the bed and looked up at me. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she grabbed a pillow and hugged it. The pillow covered her face as she buried herself in it and screamed. Little sound came out but waves of frustration seemed to flow off of her until she fell back and lay still on the bed. "Why?" she said just above a whisper. I layed beside her and said, "Because I love you." "Why?" she said. "I can tell you a thousand reasons," I said. "Each one is the most important in the world to me." "Why?" she screamed as she threw the pillow across the room. "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?" I stared at her, dumbfounded, as she ran over and grabbed the pillow, then began an assault on everything breakable in the room. Pictures, lamps, a mirror, she pounded them all until they were pieces on the floor. Finally she collapsed facedown on the bed and sobbed. I lay silent, unsure if I wanted to disturb her for fear of rekindling her rage. After a few minutes, she rolled onto her back and said, "Why would you do this to me?" "I thought you'd be ha… " I started to say. "I thought I'd found the perfect man, my soulmate," she said, staring at the ceiling. "Then I was blessed with the second love of my life, my son. I was blissfully happy… and then you took them away." "What?" I said. "How did I… ?" "It wasn't bad enough you took my son, you had to take my husband too?" She screamed at the ceiling. "Wait, what?" I said. "What are you talking about?" I tried to take her hand, but mine passed right through hers. "No, this isn't possible," I said, trying again and failing to hold her hand. "No! This can't be. I'm right here." "Babe, please," I said, trying over an over to hold her hand as she stared blankly at the ceiling. "This isn't right," I said, trying to think of why she would say these things. My mind went back to driving home from the realtor's office. We were debating if we could afford this new house. I was about to tell her I'd already bought it, when the truck crossed the center line and slammed into our car.

Blood lust and Kings

MK Dockery

The key, newly minted, shone brightly in the firelight as it was clutched in the keyholder's hand. The coffer's lid was wedged open, and papers overflowed from its trough, strewn about haphazardly. A strange dark stain, not fresh, was splattered over the vellum and parchment.

Two men stood before the oak box, regarding the mess with wide eyes. "I ne'er believed it," James said.

Sir Hay let out a ragged breath. "The stories were true."

James studied the paper in his other hand more closely in the firelight. "The tales of bloodlust among the crowned heads of Europe were ne'er held with any regard of fact."

"How far back does it go?" Sir Hay reached down to pluck up a paper to study himself, but James flung his cane out to stop him.

"Nay," he commanded firmly. "This dies with her."

His companion squinted at him. “How can you be certain of that?” The challenge was fairly met. “She wasn’t the only one, certainly.”

James’s eyes scanned the documents and shuddered. Some of the dates stretched back centuries, and the rolls of parchment crumbled against even a gentle breeze.

“What this coffer holds is the key to the undoing of the monarchy. The loss of the power bestowed by the very crown that has come to my own head.” He whispered in the darkness. “If this were ever to come to light, my life would be in danger, as would all the houses of Europe. It would destabilize the world.”

“But sire,” Sir Hay tried to reason. “To allow others to be ruled by such creatures, to let their courts be their hunting grounds, its unchristian.”

James was silent for a moment as he pondered the challenge. “Perhaps. But it is a losing fight. One my cousin obviously lost. She still saved our island from falling entirely into its dark hold.”

Sir Hay shook his head in abject disbelief. “The whole time, she was actually a beast.”

James flung the paper back into the coffer. “I don’t think the transformation is entirely complete in everyone. She seemed frighteningly angelic.” His posture was pensive.

Both stood pondering the previous monarch, deep frowns creasing their brows.

“I thought they couldn’t die,” Sir Hay mentioned.

James nodded. “She managed to find a way.” He then chuckled. “I suppose this explains why she wasn’t in any rush to name a successor.”

Sir Hay shook his head. “What will you do with this?”

James turned back to the box, took a candle off the table, and poured a copious amount of wax all over the papers.

“What are you doing?” Sir Hay tried to stop him.

Focused and determined despite his favorite’s intervention and appeal to reason, James set it to flame. “I am purging the lands of their story.”

“What of the other blood drinkers that reside within the court?” Sir Hay asked. “We must safeguard this knowledge.”

James shook his head. “I am certain that my cousin would have been the only one in her court. She would have required it to maintain control. I cannot imagine there are any here. Still, I will be vigilant, with you by my side.” With that last statement, he dropped the candle on the pile. The small light reached out for the dried paper and quickly burst into flames.

“What have you done?” Sir Hay whispered, bathed in the growing glow of the consuming fire that spread across the pile before them.

Both men watched as the chronicles of the bloody past and the terrible secret of the heads of Europe burned, each wondering if it would be enough to erase the past or if it was even wise to.