A story fun, fictional horror story about a sweet and romantic serial killer written by Jennifer. Filed under Literary arts.
Nothing better than sitting in your garden relaxing with a glass of Merlot after a long night of gardening. If the saying is true, that what you put in is what you get out, then I am getting some beautiful roses, pretty damned gorgeous. My neighbours always ask why I choose to garden at night. My answer is always the same - “After a bad date, I need to relax” - You can say I've had many bad dates. I guess what I am looking for is just too hard to find. Too damned hard, I would say. My friends always say I am a serial dater and that I find any reason not to have a second date. They say I make up all these faults in every man I meet. There is nothing wrong with being picky, absolutely nothing. I know what I want and how I want it. I am an independent woman. I own my own home, a beautiful home I might add, it could be considered an estate. I also own my own business. I have worked so damned hard to get everything I have always wanted, if a man is going to come into my life, he is going to add to it, not take away and try to control me.
I wake up when I want to wake up, I go to bed when I feel like going to be. I have been alone practically my whole life.
You see my father died when I was five. I have vague memories of him, but by what people tell me he was a great man and treated my mother right, not like all the other losers she was mixed up with after his death. It was one asshole after another. She was never really there, like she checked out after my father died. She didn't care about anyone, not even me. My father left us well-off, but my mother spent it all on booze, drugs and men. When I was ten, she met George, the biggest asshole of them all. He would look at me in such a dirty way, it made me sick to my stomach. I tried telling my mother, but she just said I was jealous that she had met the perfect man.
George was very attractive for an older man. He was about ten years younger than my mother and it didn't help that she looked older than her age, alcohol and drugs will do that to you, but there was still a hint of the beautiful woman she once was. Everyone knew he didn't love my mother; he was just after our money. Well, whatever money he thought we still had. It was almost all gone. My mother sold two of the vintage Mercedes, Dad’s favourites, and that kept us going for the next 5 years. One day George came to my room and said -”Your mother is dead, call the ambulance” - My mother had been diagnosed with lung cancer just a few months back, she never stopped smoking or drinking. I guess she wanted to die. After the funeral I didn't want to go back home, but George made me, him being my legal guardian now and all.
When we got home, he told me that this night was our first night together and to go up and come down ready for our first date.
I was not the same little girl he had met five years earlier, scared, confused and lonely. I had learned how to defend myself and I was not afraid of him. I knew what I was going to do. Something I had planned many times but never had the guts to do it. But now it was different, I had to do it. I had no choice, there was no other way. So, I guess I was forced to do this. I had to protect myself. I got all dressed up, did my make-up and put red lipstick on. Until this day I only wear red lipstick on a first dates. He had made the cook make us dinner and then sent him home. As I walked in, he was serving two glasses of Merlot, the wine reminded me of the color of blood. The lights were dimmed, and the smell of dust and dew in the old dining room filled my lungs. I can still smell it like it was today. I smiled and made him believe that it was all ok. I walked over from the other side of the table and sat on his lap. I took his cup of Merlot and drank from it, then I offered it to him. He took the cup with my hands still holding onto it. He tried to kiss me, I pretended to be shy and giggled, I turned away from him, broke the cup and slit his throat. I walked back to my chair and as I drank the wine, I watched him bleed to death.
So, you see, that was my very first date, and I have only had first dates ever since. I never get to a second date. Just as I buried George in our garden, I have buried all of my first dates in my garden. And like I said before if the saying is true, then I am getting some gorgeous roses this season, because I just buried a six-foot tall, two hundred and twenty pounds of gorgeous muscle with an ass to kill for.
This story was originally posted here: https://vocal.media/horror/serial-dater-revised