Morning light shines across the floor with the promise of a new day. Christmas morning. You jump out of bed and rush down the stairs, eager to open the gifts from that brilliant woman you’ve been dating the past eight months. Well, her, and several others on the side. Still hooked on those late night booty calls, but what the hell. You’re a man with needs. And, what she doesn’t know, won’t kill her.

You glance out the window on your way down the stairs, half expecting to see a new Mercedes in the driveway. After all, she can afford it.

It doesn’t matter that her job as a scientific technologist gives you the creeps sometimes, aside from that she’s a trophy girlfriend who makes all your friends envious of you. The added fact that her parents could buy a small country and feed it doesn’t hurt either. Yes, she’s a keeper, you think. But, as smart as she seems, she’s not too bright about catching on to your shenanigans.

Sasha pours coffee, then brings you one, and sips on her own. A crooked little smile escapes her lips. You’re bouncing on the couch like you did when you were a kid, waiting for mom and dad to hand you the gifts. You know she went all out. She’s been generous since the first date, paying for every date, showering you with gifts frequently. It’s a lifestyle you could get used to, and have done many times in the past.

You pass Sasha her first gift. An oversized sweater. She frowns, yet thanks you for it. You give her a beautifully wrapped gift which she opens. A dress. Three sizes too big. She furrows her eyebrows. She doesn’t get your sense of humour at all. She’s far too serious.

Wait…you pass her another gift. “I have something that will fit you,” you say. She opens it. It’s a ring. Her eyes light up.

“Yes!” She says, without you asking the big question. But, as you look into her eyes, you see something different in her expression.

She hands you a gift. It’s a flat box.You rip the beautiful paper and ribbon off without hesitation, wondering what she bought you. Tissue paper covers what’s inside, and you pull it out haphazardly. Pictures fall out onto the floor. You and many of your late night encounters captured in full colour and enlarged. Your mouth drops open. Sasha’s grin widens.

You stutter, attempting to explain your behaviour, but at this point you’ve been caught and there’s no way out. Too late for lies now. She’s smarter than you gave her credit for. You’re stomach turns and you think you may have to actually work for a living rather than living off the wealthy women you’ve gone through during the past seven years. Pre-nups suck when the marriage ends.

“It’s okay,” she says. “This is a fresh start for both of us.”

And the smile returns to her face. She passes another gift. He accepts the small box with sounds inside that rattle when he shakes it in his hand. Keys perhaps? He notices a lock on the box, and unlocks it. He glances at her sheepishly, then returns to opening it. Wounds still fresh from the discovery of his escapades.

He lifts the lid on the red box, his eyes light up expecting something expensive, then fear crosses his face. Crawling out of the box, several small mechanical spiders spring forth on him, crawling quickly up his arms, stabbing him randomly with venomous needles. He’s frozen in his seat. His eyes roll back in their sockets, and he’s paralyzed where he sits. His once beautiful face and body is now covered in red blotches and sores.

The spiders return to the box and Sasha locks them up and stuffs the box in her Louis Vitton bag. She stares at him for a moment, watching his once young body wither and wrinkle.

“You won’t remember a thing,” she says. “But, you’ll never be the man you once were.” She slides her hands into long black leather gloves. “A gift from me to women everywhere.”

He remains frozen in his spot, the process continuing to work its poison through his system. His face starts to droop on the right side, and Sasha grins.

“Merry Christmas to all…” Sasha slides the Rolex off his wrist and tucks it into her bag before she heads out the door.

Here at Bleeding Ink Anthology, we love the deliciously dark. Even at Christmas a lovely tale twisted into something dark and sinister can happen and can make a wonderful story. If you have stories, poetry, or flash fiction with a dark edge, a supernatural theme, or something just downright scary, we’d love to read it, and possibly include it in our anthology.

We are accepting submissions. You know you have something important to say, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this. Send us your chilling, dark, bloodthirsty, or supernatural tales today.

Ever yours,

The Ink Babes