Cruel Sport

The bitter winter’s blizzard wasn’t a quitter. The storm was fiercer than the unhappy young woman expected. She had woken up from her slumber earlier than she wanted to when she heard a roar from the oncoming storm and felt the trembling of her small, weak cottage. She was home all alone and famished.

She wondered whether the weather would ever get clearer as she steadily stared out her window watching a fight between the wind and snow, before settling into the stool she placed in front of the mirror. She unwearyingly waited for the full moon to arrive already so that she could fetch her dinner. While brushing her hair, a shadowy figure she saw through the mirror gave her the shivers. The normally fearless woman was shocked by the horror that she hadn’t sensed the sneaky stranger.

The brush she held fell out of her hand. She knew she was in trouble but couldn’t do anything about it. A mysterious spell fell over the woman holding her still. Confusion flooded through her face. Her agonizing appearance excited his little heart. She watched and quivered as the figure became a man dressed in black who got close enough to kiss her.

She whimpered a river as her killer whispered near her ear, before he snickered then delivered a sliver of a silver dagger through her. He missed and pierced her liver. In his second try he successfully stabbed her straight in the heart. She was this skillful hunter’s first prey. His inner sinner smiled. ‘What a thriller,’ he considered as he watched her wither away. He thought that his murderous thirst would be satisfied, though the wonder went by quicker than he expected.

By Cristina WilCraft