Hate Springs Eternal

Spring Fever: Horror in Bloom

Spring Fever: Horror in Bloom image courtesy of Keith Long.

I’m sweating. Sun shines. I wipe my neck. It’s hot. Too hot for such a lovely spring day.

Fucking climate change.

Humans suck.

I scrape the earth with wounded fingers.

“It’s your fault, Todd,” I mutter. “You and your stupid nature walks.”

“You say something, Celeste?”

“I hope your balls fall off.” I look over my shoulder. Grin. I taste the blood on my teeth. Swallow it. Swallow it with my hate.

He kicks me between the shoulder blades. I plant face-first into the divot I’ve created in the earth. Of course. Because that’s the kind of day I’m having.

Let’s go to Haven Woods, he said. C’mon, babe. We’ll have a picnic. Isn’t that awesome? Besides, haven’t I promised you some ‘just us’ time?

Yeah. Silly me. I was thinking dinner and movie, maybe wine and sex after, but no, no. Nature Walk Todd insisted on taking me to Haven Woods.

You know the legend about the Haven Woods, right? If you make a blood sacrifice on the spring equinox, you’re granted a wish.

That’s what Todd believes. Like the trees are fucking genies or whatever. But … well, I gotta admit Haven Woods has a different vibe. It’s little darker. Smells kinda dank. Rotten, almost. Vines cling to old, thick-trunked trees. And I feel, I dunno, whispers. I can’t hear them. Not really. Like I said, I feel them. In my soul.

“The hole’s not big enough,” complains Todd. “Dig some more.”

I get onto my knees. Spit dirt out of my mouth. “You should’ve done this part,” I say. Because why not? What’s he gonna do? Kill me? Ahahaha. “It’s called pre-planning.”

He slams his steel-toed boot into my hip. I grunt as agony ricochets through my leg. Damn it.

“Shut up, you stupid cunt. Dig.”

I dig. I only have my hands. I guess Todd figured bringing a shovel might reveal his actual intentions. He did bring a picnic basket, though. Food? No. Ritual blade. Duct tape. Black candles. You know, the usual shit you need for sacrificing your girlfriend to the forest gods.

Six months ago, this festering dickhole found me, the overworked, underpaid, starved-for-love orphan working as a data processor for his parents’ company. It wasn’t like I had a life. I worked. I went home. I read books. Sometimes, I ordered takeout as a treat. Woo.

I didn’t have anyone to love. Not a cat. Not even a plant. I couldn’t handle the thought of a living creature depending on me to keep it … you know, alive. As anyone can see, I can’t even keep myself alive.

Anyway. Suddenly, I had Todd. The perfect boyfriend. Attentive. Sweet. Understanding. Affectionate. I was so in love, I didn’t notice that he carved away my connections with the outside world.

I don’t feel like you’re safe in this neighborhood. Move in with me.

You don’t need to work. I can afford to support my girl.

My friends are idiots. I don’t want you near them.

Oh, my parents are abroad right now. I promise you’ll meet them soon.

Tears fall. Mix with the sweat. Maybe digging my own grave was dumb. But even a few extra hours alive was worth the torture of it all. I like breathing, okay?

I feel the whispers. More of them. Rising. Falling. Like the wind. Like a song. It’s warm. Almost comforting. Weird. Eh. What do I know? Maybe this is you’re-gonna-die kind of stuff. Last moments of life and all. I’ve never been on the brink of being murdered before so I really have no experience.

“That’s enough.”

He pushes me into the shallow pit. Rolls me on to my back. Binds my wrists and ankles with duct tape. I think tying me up is superfluous. I’m beat all to hell. Every part of me aches. Throbs. Hurts. Even if I run, where am I going to go?

He puts tape over my mouth.

He places the black candles around me. Lights them. It’s freaking three in the afternoon. Whatever he’s doing should happen at midnight, right? Isn’t that the witching hour?

He pulls a small, leather bound book from the picnic basket. Opens it. And reads.

I don’t understand the words. I don’t think he understands the words.

Todd makes his wish. Money. Billions. More than tech bros. More than oligarchs. More than Arabian princes.

What a dumb goddamn wish. He really thinks killing me, a fucking nobody, a shitty IRL NPC, is a big enough sacrifice for his ask? You know what I wish for, asshole? That you die. Horribly. I want the tree genies to kill you.

whisperwhisperwhisper

Wind whips limbs. Shakes leaves. Scratches bark.

WhisperWHisperWHIsper

Todd lifts the knife. His eyes are dark. Pupils wide. His smile is manic. Crazy. All teeth.

WHISperWHISPerWHISPEr

The blade glints in the sun. Slashes downward. I close my eyes.

WHISPERWHISPERWHISPER

I don’t feel the blade. I feel the blood. Warm. Splash face. Soaks hair.

WHISperWHISPerWHISPEr

I choke.

WhisperWHisperWHIsper

Can’t. Breathe.

whisperwhisperwhisper

I hate him.

I hate—

---

I awake.

I live in the whispers. The whispers live in the trees. Earth. Sky. Nature. All of it. We are the wind. The song.

We see him. Whistling. Walking away. Happy.

Hate pulses in our veins. Gives purpose to the vines that loop over our limbs.

He doesn’t notice how we crawl toward him. Slither. Slither. Slither.

We wrap around his legs.

He cries out.

Falls.

We wrap ourselves around his flailing body. He screams. He pisses himself.

We are pleased.

We envelop him. Cram ourselves into his mouth. Bore into his flesh. And we squeeze.

Squeeze.

Squeeze.

Until he is silent.

And we are sated.

---

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