Guest post 8: the return of Alyn Day

When I first started talking to Alyn Day oh so many years ago I found her to be a lively, intelligent woman with a LOT to say. Then she granted me the honor of reading portions of “The LESSER” which is currently available on her BLOG. I was taken aback by her skills as a writer. The following story is not only further proof of her growing talent, but also testament to the growth she has experienced as a writer. Keep your eye on her, she is going places quickly.

UNTITLED

by: ALYN DAY

It was her eyes that first drew him to her. Like little chips of lapis set in marble, surrounded by creamy pale flesh. The curvature of her coral lips was eloquent perfection, as was the slender arch of her delicate nose, but nothing compared to those eyes. Elon wanted to touch them, feel the soft, silky warmth of those glowing blue orbs in his hands, and taste the rich, salty ichor on his tongue. He stared at her, drinking her in, imagining what she would taste like yet knowing all the same that his imaginings would pale in comparison to the actual experience. He would bide his time. Get close to her. Closer...

Leigh Hellor squinted into her bathroom mirror, leaning close to the glass to get a better view of her blue eyes as she tried in vain to fish an eyelash from one of them. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks, but still she could feel the maddening little hair beneath her eyelid. She stepped back from the mirror and picked up a bottle of eye drops. Tilting her head back towards the ceiling, she opened her eye wide and dispensed a few drops into it, rolling her eyeball around before leaning forward again. Tears mingled with the eye drops and rolled down her face, her neck, and over her chest before beading on the white satin night gown between her small breasts, where they were absorbed by the fabric. He slender shoulders slid forward in a gesture of resignation. She set the eye drops back on the counter and turned from the mirror. It was late and she needed rest before her long day at the office tomorrow. She sighed as she left the bathroom, pausing to catch her reflection in the mirror as she turned out the light.

That night was the first time Elon watched her after she went to bed. She was a heavy sleeper and he grew bold quickly, nearing her still frame, wrapped in silky shadows like a soft blanket, the darkness hugging her curves and the dips and valleys in her skin's topography like a gentle lover's delicate caress. Elon would be anything but delicate with the pale, tender form before him, but not until the time was right. He would not pick that sweet fruit until it was ripe and ready, and then he would bite into her soft flesh and feel her warm, succulent juices run down his vile gullet like those of an overripe peach. Still, he drew near enough to smell her, to drink her in in all her resplendent glory, the subtle musky scent of her creamy alabaster skin, cool like porcelain to the touch, or would be once the blood was drained out of her. Soon, soon...

          Leigh opened her eyes to the shrill cries of her alarm. She felt tired and drained, though she had gone to bed early the night before. She yawned, sliding the sheets from her body and sitting up, stretching her lithe frame. She stood and, rubbing the sleep from her crystal blue eyes, she began the process of getting ready for work.

          Leigh sighed as she stepped into the shower, it was already running and she had set the water temperature very high in an attempt to wake herself up. She’d had nightmares all summer that had kept her from getting much sleep, and when they’d finally gone away on their own she nearly wept with relief, but since then she had awakened almost every morning with the same feeling of fatigue. She wondered if there might be something medically wrong with her, but she was afraid to find out. She remembered the day her mother had been diagnosed with cancer, and the way it ravaged her body and took her life so quickly. She recalled taking care of her, of sitting for hours at her bedside well beyond the point when she was able to function as a human being. She remembered the way her family had reacted, most of them pulling away and leaving her to deal with her mother’s care all by herself, the long days and even longer nights spent caring for her enfeebled shell of a parent. She didn’t want to end up like that.

          The hot spray from the showerhead felt good on Leigh’s small yet muscular frame. She enjoyed the feeling of the pressure beating down on her, making her skin warm and slightly tingly, like a massage. She was not yet fully awake, but already she felt better. After relaxing under the spray for a few minutes and allowing the heat to sink into her muscles, she lathered up her loofah with ginger peach scented shower gel and began the process of scrubbing herself clean, beginning with her shoulders and working down over her firm, supple breasts and her smooth stomach. She lingered as she moved lower, allowing her fingers to explore the area between her legs as the hot water flowed over her body. As one hand moved to probe the silken folds of her snatch, her other hand slid up her stomach and over her breasts, where she began kneading, focusing on her right breast, pinching her rosy nipple gently at first, but then harder as her hand found a rhythm and she brought herself to climax. Afterwards, she finished showering and got ready for work

         

          Leigh stood looking at herself in the bathroom mirror over the sink. Her fine, pale hair hung loose to her shoulders, her clavicles curving elegantly beneath the thin straps of her short silk nightgown. She was trying some relaxation techniques given her by her therapist earlier that spring. She stared at her reflection, looking deeply into the cerulean rings of her irises as she took slow, cleansing breaths. She began to count backwards from 100, almost hypnotizing herself. She yawned, stretching. She’d only gotten to 74 that time before she felt sleepy, and that was an accomplishment. She turned from her reflection and turned out the light. Within minutes, she was fast asleep in bed, and that was when Elon made his second appearance.

          Elon was emboldened by the success of his last visit. He did not hesitate as he had before, and he moved almost immediately to Leigh’s side. He began smelling her skin, her hair, her breath. He was intoxicated by the delicate scent of her sweat, mingling with her lotion and the softest lingering ghost of the perfume she had worn that day. He slowly placed his hand on the sheets beside her shoulder. When Leigh didn’t move, he slid his hand closer slowly until he was touching her.

          The moment his flesh made contact with hers was electric. Elon felt the jolt throughout his body, tingling from the tips of his fingers and dancing down his nervous system, all at once delicious and arousing and slightly scary. Leigh remained deep in sleep, breathing softly and occasionally making small, barely audible sounds as Elon began touching her, softly at first but progressively more forceful, running his hands first over the smooth flesh on Leigh’s arms and shoulders before venturing to her breasts, where he lingered, pressing his palms over their yielding firmness, feeling her nipples stiffen against his hands. He slid his fingers under the thin white silk of her nightgown, hesitating only briefly incase Leigh awoke.

Leigh remained nearly motionless, which only excited Elon more. The only thing that would have made the situation more to his liking would have been if Leigh’s skin were cooling, and coated with the slick wetness of fresh blood. Soon, he thought, imagining the way he would feel her heartbeat cease beneath her small breasts, feel her breathing stop beneath the weight of his hands. Imagining the taste of her skin, her blood, and the feel of her last breath brought Elon to an intense climax.

Leigh opened her eyes, an act which took real effort. She felt like she’d been up all night, and maybe in a bar fight to boot. She sat up, feeling bruises and sore muscles whine in protest all over her body. She guessed that the nightmares must have come back, causing her to toss and turn, and yet somehow she didn’t recall them at all. She tried to stretch but winced as a stabbing pain shot up one arm. She took a handful of aspirin without any water before her shower.

Tonight was the night Elon would have satisfaction and Leigh would breathe her last breath. He did not pause or hesitate first, he had enjoyed Leigh’s body the preceding nights and he felt no need for pleasantry. With no pause or preface whatsoever, he stabbed a pair of scissors into Leigh’s thigh. She cried out, instantly awake, as her blood spurted out, squirting in time to her pulse. She went into shock almost immediately, and Elon began his work in earnest, tasting her blood as it mingled with the juices from her sex, slicing and cutting her skin, marring the creamy milkiness of her stomach with slashes and holes from the scissors. Elon continued his enjoyment of her body long after Leigh ceased to possess it.

Detective Michael Roscoe knelt beside Leigh’s bed, examining the scene before him. It was one of the most brutal deaths he’d ever witnessed. Leigh’s body was twisted back on itself amid the torn, bloody sheets. Her nightgown was nothing more than flimsy tatters of ripped silk around her shoulders and clinging to the congealed blood on her torso. There were stab wounds all over her body; her right breast was nothing but a massive hematoma. There was a deep gash across her stomach from which her intestines spilled out, sliding over her thigh and resting on the sheets beside her. There was a stab wound through one of her cheeks through which her teeth were visible. The scissors were implanted in one eye socket; the eyeball itself was in her mouth. Her other eye stared vacantly up at Roscoe as he made his final notes. He looked up to his partner, Dave Trousseau. “This is something, isn’t it?” he asked, “I’ve never seen anything like it.” He turned to the forensic technician who was taking photographs of Leigh’s body. “What are those wounds on her hands?” he asked, leaning in for a closer look. “Are those defensive wounds?” The tech set down his camera and knelt down beside the bed, taking one of Leigh’s mutilated hands and examining it more closely. “No,” he said in a tone that was a mixture of shock, awe, and confusion, “I think she did this to herself.”

         

Alyn Day writes a blog, and you really should go check that out. Find out more about her and read other free short stories.

You can find her on twitter @z0mbiegrl

She has to be really special; Alyn is the first person to get a second guest post up here at Beautiful Stories for Ugly children.