Page 89 of Grotesque Love

“No, no, no. This won’t do at all.” The Lady of the Manor can’t look like some ragamuffin child, she needs to be perfect. “We’ll have to cut this tangled mess, won’t we?”

She freezes, body tense as I walk around her, steps echoing around the damp stone walls. I drink in the sight of my future wife. I’ve waited so long for her, nothing is going to ruin it now, not when we are so close.

“After tomorrow, we’ll finally be together. Are you excited, princess?” I grin, expecting her to offer me that doe-like expression she normally wears for me, but instead her brows are knitted together in confusion as she trembles.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Oh.

In all the excitement of moving up my plans, I hadn’t actually told her what was happening. No wonder she is so afraid and anxious. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I lean in and whisper against the back of her neck. “Well, I’ve arranged for an officiant to stop by the estate in the morning. This time tomorrow we’ll be husband and wife.”

She swallows, her throat bobbing, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she processes my words. “You can’t. It doesn’t work like that.”

“It does if you have the money, dear.” I offer her a playful wink. She clearly has no idea the lengths I’ve gone to. “We’regoing to be bound together legally, and when we’ve signed on the dotted line, I’ll finally make a woman of you.”

I salivate thinking about her naked, spread before me, eager for my touch. Well…she may not be that eager to begin with, but I will train her well. When I’m finished with her, she’ll be wet, warm and willing the second I step through the door.

“I’ll teach you how to please me. And when you’re swollen and heavy with my child, I’ll take care of you, just like I have been,” I promise, with a tender kiss to the top of her head.

“That’s sick,” she hisses as her breathing hitches.

Ignoring her and glancing around my secret space, I make mental notes on what needs to be done ahead of tomorrow. Danvers will need to come down here and clean up the mess from my last guest, whose head is still on the floor, eyes staring out vacant like some rotting voyeur. Fresh candles should be brought down. Lots of candles.

“We’ll be married upstairs, in the solarium.” But I’ll be bringing my bride down here to consummate our new union. I thought the solarium was a nice touch, choosing her favourite place in the manor.

“I’ve kept you safe, in pristine condition waiting for this day.”

It is important that she’s untainted, pure from this cruel world. It’s why I’ve done my best to keep her away from those awful influences. Her mother had been resistant at first, arguing that we should encourage her to make friendships, but she soon came around to my way of thinking.

Bending down, I grab a handful of hair and lift the head back into the bucket. “Those other women meant nothing. A little game to amuse myself over the years. And of course, it’s my duty to add to the Clifton Collection.”

She doesn’t understand or appreciate the museum upstairs yet, the shrine to our misdeeds, the ‘proof’ of our curse, or the nuances of the items my family had gathered over the years. But she will. One day, she might even add something of her own.

“You know, my grandfather had a strange preference forpickling thumbs.” I chuckle. “I like to think my hoard of trophies is a little more classy than dismembered digits in jars.”

Drawing her attention to a display case towards the back of the cavern, I show her where I’ve lovingly collected a selection of braids, each one tied by a different coloured ribbon to help me remember the women they came from.

Beneath the rows and rows of hair, are photographs, capturing that moment when the beauty fades into fear and they realise there is no escape. Only death waits for them. And finally, below that, are ornate glass bottles, almost like perfume bottles, each filled with their blood.

“What do you think?” I’m particularly proud of those, each container individually selected to reflect the woman.

She blanches, all the colour draining from her face. “Is that…are they bottles of blood?”

ARIANWEN

“Hmmm, yes.” His eyes shut as if he’s reliving sick fantasies in his head before continuing. “You see, my family’s little curse has morphed into a tradition of sorts. I found passages referring to a small ceremony held each year where blood was used. It was poured over the carved inscription and they would light candles and scatter flower petals under the full moon – that kind of thing. When I uncovered the stone in my younger years, I brought that little custom back.”

I count slowly in my head until the bile settles slightly. I just need to hold on. I need to survive, keep him talking, so that my monsters, no…not monsters, my sentinels can come and find me.

And they will find me, I have no doubt of that.

They love me and I…I love them too.

As it finally sinks in, I cling onto that love in the dimly lit room where blood continues to drip onto the floor and I’m surrounded by dismembered body parts.

I amgoing to survive Carver.

I have to.

---