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Dear Readers, Welcome to my blog! I'm glad you're here. Most writers are introverts. We work alone and seldom hear from...

RIP, Richard Matheson

Zander Vyne fictionWriters from Anne Rice to Stephen King have said Richard Matheson inspired them to become writers, and he inspired me too. I discovered him when I was a kid, watching reruns of The Twlight Zone and hunting down a collection of his short stories after I realized the episodes I liked the best were all written by the same guy. Reading him, I learned to find strength in brevity, beauty in the ordinary and power in plain words. His work often featured ordinary people, facing extraordinary situations and scared me more than any horror I'd ever read (because Mr. Matheson made you see that the worst kind of horror is the one that lives down the street from you, the one your mother smiles at when you pass and who gives out full-sized candy bars at Halloween). Some of my favorites, and it's hard to pick just a few, include Button, Button a short story about choices, greed and tempation; The Nightstalker TV series, the speeches Rod Sterling gave at the beginning and end of The Twilight Zone, the movie Duel, and the Trilogy of Terror in the 70's (if you saw it, you remember it).  I hope he continues to inspire new generations of writers. We've lost a great man, but his work will ensure that his legacy never dies.



Mr. Matheson's short story The Likeness of Julie inspired my short story Souvenirs. Souvenirs will be included in the upcoming release of my new short story collection, but I'm sure the publisher won't mind sharing it with you in honor of Mr. Matheson. Thanks for the inspiration and RIP.

Readers, please note that this story is not for the faint of heart, or those who do not understand the difference between fiction and reality, and/or writers and their characters. This work is considered dark, literary erotica. If you are not a fan of horror, Richard Matheson, and dark erotica, please do not read this story. If you do read it, please take the time to comment.












SOUVENIRS

by Zander Vyne, (c) 2011

"I know what you need."

"What?” Morgan's finger marked her spot in the Physics 101 book.
"I said I know what you need." His features were California-surfer-slacker, but his voice was confident, strong.
"Oh? And what's that?” Want and need were sometimes so far apart, she thought. He'd never guess what she wanted, not so soon, but what she needed right now was an A on the Physics test.
He unfolded a piece of paper with a quick snap of his wrist. Numbers, letters. The Physics test answers. "I just took it. Bound to be the same one for your class." He shrugged.
Their fingers brushed when he passed her the paper. She shivered. "Thanks. I owe you. Big time."
"Go out with me. Tonight.”
She stood, brushing grass from her jeans. "Okay. Pick me up at the girl's dorm. Eight o'clock."
"Will do." He grinned and her heart did a little flip flop. Silly, but she couldn't help herself.
It was weird. Jeff had never noticed Morgan before today, not the way he noticed other, prettier girls. She wasn't ugly, just not his type. Her hair was long and brown, worn to hide her face. Her eyes were green, he saw when she lifted them from her Physics book. Her tan sweater bagged over what seemed to be an almost boyishly straight figure.
Give her the test answers. He'd heard the voice in his head, as clear as day.
When she'd looked up at him, he could see she liked what she saw. Most girls did.
You can have her. Whatever you want, she'll do it.
He gave her the cheat sheet and asked her out. When it was over, he was convinced it had all been his idea.
There was just something intriguing about Morgan.
That night, she was waiting for him on the steps of the girl's dorm.
"How'd the test go?"
"I aced it!" She grinned and did a little twirl. Would he notice she'd worn a skirt? Maybe wonder what was under it? Guess nothing?
"Of course you did. Thanks to me." His grin was cocky. She liked that. He was used to being in control.
"Yes. Thanks to you." She dipped her gaze, twisting her fingers together nervously, reminding herself to breathe. Jeff was just a guy. Just a big, blond hunk of a guy.
"Movie?" He took her by the hand. They walked toward Main Street. Restaurants, bars, other college kids.
"Sounds perfect."
In the theater, he found seats in the back. She wanted popcorn.
"Popcorn?" he asked.
"I'd love some." It was nice being with someone who knew just what you needed.
Seats in back. Away from people. She wants it, dude.
It was strange, the sudden presence of this new voice but, so far, it hadn't steered him wrong.
Morgan seemed cuter tonight. The skirt showed off her long, slender legs. She had pale skin, elegant bones. She'd twisted her hair back from an elfin featured face. She really was prettier than he'd thought at first.
Kiss her.
Normally, his style with girls was to take it slow. His dad had taught him to be a gentleman. Sure, he got his fair share of pussy, but he worked his way up to it slowly.
Not with her. Just fucking take it. She'll be grateful.
He returned to his seat, a little unnerved by his thoughts.
Morgan smiled up at him sweetly. Shyly. She trusted him. Liked him. Probably never imagined she'd be on a date with the big man on campus.
Maybe he could just take what he wanted. What he really wanted. None of the hand holding, tender bullshit. His cock jerked in his jeans, filling with a rush of blood triggered by overwhelming and sudden lust. Yeah. Just fucking take her, he thought. She'd never tell.
The lights went out when he came back with her popcorn.
They watched the previews. Morgan was glad the theater wasn't crowded. No one sat in their row.
The lights dimmed further when the main feature began, and that was when it happened.
Jeff put his hand on her knee, sliding her skirt up her thigh. "Don't move," he said, his breath hot on her ear. He pushed her legs apart, so far the tendons in her crotch spasmed. "Stay like that."
She was frozen in place. He had big, powerful hands and long fingers. He shoved them into her body with force, tearing her flesh. She gasped, and he bit her earlobe, piercing it with sharp teeth. "Quiet. Hold still or you'll be sorry."
She obeyed, heart pounding, her dry cunt clenching his ramming fingers. Pleasure and pain fought until pleasure won. When she came, her spine curved as her ass lifted off the plush theater seat, her spasming pussy slammed into his spanking palm. "Fuck!" she moaned.
"Yes. Fuck. I'm going to fuck you. But not tonight. Go to the bathroom. Clean up." He stood to let her past. She ran up the aisle, feeling blood and her own come sliding down her leg.
When she came back, Jeff was gone.
Jesus! He'd never done anything like that before. After, he'd had to leave. Couldn't face her.
He'd been so rough. So mean. He'd hurt her. Bit her, slapped her and used her.
It had been exhilarating. Like nothing he'd ever felt before. He had almost come in his pants like a freshman.
She loved it. You could have even more.
It scared him, in a way. The voice. The feelings. But, by the time he'd reached his dorm, he knew he would see her again.
She didn't tell anyone what had happened at the movies with Jeff, and when he called her cell phone two nights later and told her to meet him at the fountain, she went, even though it was ten o'clock and the campus park was off limits at night.
He watched her from his hiding place behind a thick trunked tree. She looked nervous, hesitating at the point where leaves formed a canopy over the path, plunging it into dark shadows.
She'd worn a skirt again, this one shorter. Good. That would make things easier.
She wants it. And now, so did he. The adrenaline was unreal. His veins pulsed with excitement. He had to remind himself to breathe.
Somewhere, deep inside, he also felt a thump of dull fear. What if he got caught? This was serious shit. He could go to jail if she cried rape.
She won't. Do it!
He waited until she'd passed him, and then he stepped out behind her. His feet crunched the gravel, and she turned, her eyes wide, startled. She opened her mouth to speak.
"Shut it. Turn around," he growled the words as he walked closer to her, crowding her, pushing her into a tree trunk.
She hugged the bark, laying her tender looking cheek against its roughness.
He yanked her skirt up and his zipper down, kicking her feet apart with his. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he twisted it, holding her in place. With his other hand, he felt for her hole and found it slick.
"You fucking want it." He shoved his cock into her, lifting her to her tiptoes as he fucked her, slamming her pubis into the tree with each thrust. He smelled pine, tart and green.
He came so hard, his knees buckled as his teeth took her by the nape, shaking her like an animal in heat, mating.
She never made a sound.
He zipped up, but she stayed where she was, her skirt lifted to expose her bare ass, her arms wrapped around the tree. She was shaking all over.
"Pull your skirt down. Go home."
He walked away, without a backward glance.
Jeff was shaken. Morgan had become some sick obsession with him. He'd not known she was alive until last week, and now all he could think about was tearing into that sweet, young body. His thoughts grew darker, the more time he spent away from her. He imagined violent things that twisted his insides even as they made his dick throb.
He stayed away from her, half-afraid she'd tell someone or go to the cops. He waited, but no knock came at his door.
He tried to go out with other girls. "Are you okay, Jeff? You're so quiet," Brittany asked, pouting.
"I'm fine." He just couldn't stop thinking about Morgan.
He managed to keep away for three days. When he didn't run into her on campus, he went to the girl's dorm. "I'm looking for Morgan. I don't know her last name," he told the girl on duty in the lobby.
"Morgan?" Not on my list. Maybe she moved?"
Maybe.
He tried her cell. She answered on the first ring.
"I need to see you."
"Are you going to hurt me?" Her voice was whisper soft, childish. Jeff's heart twisted. What the fuck was wrong with him?
Cut her. Make her bleed.
"No. Never again. Just meet me."
The met in the Pentacle Hotel bar. The place was crawling with parents in town for homecoming.
"I got a room," he told her as soon as she walked in. He hurried her across the lobby and into the elevator.
"But, I thought we were just going to talk, Jeff." She had to skip to keep up with him, and his fingers bruised her arm.
"We are. Privately." His body was drawn tight. He was wired. She could see that.
He closed the door behind them. Room 630 – bed turned down and covered in plastic, curtains drawn.
Jeff paced, running a shaky hand through his blond hair.
"You're frightening me," she said, leaning her back into the door. The wood was cold.
"Already? Too bad." His eyes had a new dullness to them. "That means it's going to be a long, scary night for you, Morgan," he said, pulling a wicked looking knife from under the bed pillow.
He came for her.
Red. Crimson. Claret. Burgundy. Rose. Vermillion. Ruby. Magenta. Red. Crimson. Claret. Burgundy. Rose. Vermillion. Ruby. Magenta. The words repeated in his head, like some sick ode to what he'd done to her.
He had never cut deeply enough to kill her, but had marked her body like a map, scoring his name in a dozen places, drawing hearts, knives, and terrible things all over that alabaster skin of hers. By the time he was done fucking her – in every way his newly twisted mind could conceive of – they were both covered in her blood and his semen.
She had cried, in the end. Finally, when she passed out, he arranged her limbs, just so, and fucked her again.
When she woke, he bathed her tenderly, watching her blood turn the bathwater pink.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he said.
No, you're not.
Morgan traced Jeff's name, a faint scar on her tummy. A souvenir.
She sighed. It hadn't lasted very long. That had been the trouble with all of them so far. The very weakness of mind that made them so easy to bend to her will also made them vulnerable, fragile inside and too soon broken.
Morgan was sad Jeff had killed himself. He'd been the best so far. For a while, she had even thought maybe she'd finally found a permanent playmate, someone as into the games as she was, someone who knew, really knew, just what she needed.
Oh, well. There was always next time.
She drew her knees up to her chest and began to think of new scenarios, new adventures, and new things she might try. The hotel had been the best. She would definitely keep that part, but the movie theater intro was getting a bit old. She'd have to think of something more dangerous and exciting next time.
It was weird. Paul had never noticed Morgan before today.

2 comments:

  1. Love this story. I remember reading it quite some time ago from your old blog. Thanks for posting it again.

    I will have to explore Richard Matheson further. Very intriguing.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks so much for stopping by, David. Knowing someone out there not only loves this story as much as I do, but also remembers it from when I first posted it is awesome. Knowing I may have turned you on to another writer is priceless. I recommend the Stephen King edited collection of Matheson's short stories as a starting point. Happy reading!

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