A Dozen Oysters

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eclare
eclare
1,103 Followers

After peeing and quick shower where EAT ME reappeared in the mirror, I knocked on Darla's door while I dressed and packed up. Everything was in order, nothing was missing I determined, except my Scotch Tape. No big deal.

She didn't answer. I tried knocking again. Still no answer. Clearly, she left before me.

I picked up an empty oyster shell that was on the floor at the foot of my bed and put it with the rest. Twelve empty oyster shells and a dozen spent lemon wedges sat in a puddle of water on the dish amidst a bunch of parsley. The cap to the Tabasco bottle was missing. All the wine was gone. Darla's wine glass must have been left in her room. I pushed the trolley out into the hallway.

At the check-out counter they gave me my bill. A dozen oysters, a basket of bread and a bottle of Chianti Classico were on the bill. The oysters were $59 plus tax.

"I'm sorry these oysters were supposed to be charged to room 604."

The Asian young lady behind the counter looked at me in disbelief and checked in her computer. "The oysters, bread and bottle of wine were ordered from room 606 at 11:11 last night and delivered to room 606 fourteen minutes later."

"But I heard the woman from room 604 explicitly give the instruction to room service to charge the oysters to room 604."

The Asian woman looked at me in disbelief and then back to her computer screen. "I don't have a record of anyone staying in room 604 last night."

"Well whatever the room was next to mine. I was in 606 at the end of the hall."

"604 would be next to your room, but I can assure you that room, was not unoccupied. Was she from across the hall?"

"No, there's a doorway between our rooms. Not across the hall. For god sakes. I had a late night dinner with a woman named Darla from next door. She was from the same cancelled Delta Air flight that I was on. We shared a limo here together."

"Darla?"

"Yeah."

The Asian woman looked a bit concerned. "Just one moment please." She picked up the phone, "Hi Rob, could you come to the front desk? Thanks."

"Look, I'll pay for the frikkin' oysters. It's no big deal. I've got a flight to catch."

"Can I help you?" A tall, young security guard with curly, sandy coloured hair was standing next to me.

"I'll pay for the oysters. They weren't supposed to be on my bill, but they are."

The Asian lady slipped through a door into a room behind her.

"Why do you say they weren't supposed to be on the bill?"

"Because the lady in 604, who I shared the oysters with," I said, clearly getting annoyed, "explicitly stated to room service that she will pay for them. But that doesn't matter now. I'll pay for them." My hands were up, palms out to the security guard.

Asian lady spoke up as she walked back to her station behind the front desk, "There's no record in the computer of anyone staying in room 604."

"Well there was. We had a late night snack together and a bottle of wine."

The Asian woman stated, "I just called the manager, he'll be here in a moment. I'm sure we can get this all straightened out."

"Oh for Christ's sakes," I threw up my hands in exasperation again, "I'll pay for them. I've got a flight to catch."

Just then the manager appeared behind the desk. "Yes sir, how can I help you?" He had a comb-over and scars from childhood acne.

"You can get me checked out. You already have the imprint of my credit card. I just need the receipt," I tapped on the key card that I placed on the counter, "here's your key. In fact I don't even need a receipt. I've got a plane to catch." I picked up my bag and turned around.

"Sir."

I put the bag back down and turned around.

"We are sorry about the misunderstanding Sir," said the manager, "if you just give us a second we'll print out the receipt and you can sign it."

"Okay fine," I said, "just hurry up." It took forever for their stupid printer to spit out the receipt.

I signed the receipt. It had oysters on it, together with the wine, the buns and the tax it all came to $127.79. I put down the pen. Turned around and picked up my bag.

A uniform cop walked in through the front door, "Is this him?"

"Yes that's him."

He held up his hand, "Sir, can I ask you to stop for a moment." His pink cheek jowls signaled to me that he was serious.

I put my bag down. "What the hell is going on?"

He mumbled something into his collar mounted radio. "Please don't make a scene, Sir."

"Make a scene? Is it illegal to eat oysters these days? Are they out of season or something? What the hell? I paid for them."

"Sir, please come sit down here in the lobby," he gestured to the comfy couches, "We'll just be a minute."

"Can we get you a cup of coffee Sir?" asked Asian lady.

"No. I'm sorry." I tried to be polite, "I've got a flight to catch." I picked up my bag. "Good bye."

The cop put his hand on my shoulder. "Sir, if you prefer we can go to the station. Or, you can wait in the lobby." Jowls wasn't happy.

"Or you can go to my office," offered the manager, sweating a little at the brow.

"Okay, what the hell is going on. What am I being accused of?" I asked the cop, security guard, manager and Asian lady. They all fired eyes at each other. I tried to stare them down. They were having an awkward moment.

"You're not being accused of anything Sir," offered the uniformed cop, "Captain McGuire is on his way, he just wants to ask you a few questions. That's all. Please have a seat."

"If I miss my flight, the Islington is paying," I said pointing my finger to the manager. Reluctantly I picked up my bag and made my way over to the comfy couch. The uniform cop stood next to me and said short unintelligible phrases into his radio. A young girl in an Islington uniform brought me a cup of coffee on a saucer.

Whatever was going on, it was not about oysters. It had to be about Darla.

About ten minutes later the inspector breezed in. He wasn't a big guy. He had a thinning grey hair and a bit of a paunch. The front desk handed him some papers. They spoke for a few moments. I was out of earshot. He looked over the papers and then stepped over to me, holding his badge open from inside a crumply wallet.

"Raymond Edward Harris? I'm Captain McQuire with the Omaha Police Department."

"Yes, that's just fucking great. Can you tell me what this is all about?"

"Absolutely Sir." He held his open palm out, "Would you mind if we went down the hall to the manager's office."

"Fine," I stood up, "whatever the hell this is, let's just do this quickly."

"Officer, would you please park his bags behind the counter?"

He did and then the inspector, the uniform cop, the manager and the security guard all walked down the hall with me. Only I and the inspector went into the manager's office. He closed the door to the small office. We sat down. The inspector sat in the manager's chair behind the desk.

He had big bags under his dark eyes.

"Can you tell me who you had oysters with last night?"

I sighed, flipped my wrist to the inspector and said, "A woman named Darla."

"Can you describe her to me?"

I took a deep, frustrated breath, "White, mid to late forties, long thick black hair, luscious lips, full boobs, nice legs. A beautiful woman. Very sexy. Brown eyes. White straight teeth. Red nail polish." I couldn't think of anything else.

"What room was she staying at?"

"She was in the room next to me. Room 604. I was next door in 606."

"How do you know she stayed in room 604?"

"Come on, what's this all about?"

"Answer the question please."

"I was in her room, she was in mine. There's a door between the two rooms. Look, listen to me, if you're looking for this woman, I'm pretty sure she's going to be on the same Delta flight to LaGuardia that I'm supposed to be on in just a few minutes. Our flight was cancelled last night. Delta put us up here at the Islington."

"What's her last name?"

"I don't know. She never told me. I never asked."

"Where, when and how did you come to know her?"

"Come on, for Christ's sakes, I just told you. I don't know anything about her okay? Our flight was cancelled last night, we shared a limo here together, we landed up having rooms next to each other. We had oysters, bread and Chianti okay?"

"Did anything else transpire between you two?"

"That's none of your fucking business!" I was shaking I was so pissed.

He took a deep, controlled breath, "How long have you known her?" He stared at me.

"Oh fuck, come on, I don't know anything about her. I told you. If you want her, she's going to be at Eppley Airfield.

"How long have you known her?" he pressed. He wasn't happy.

It was too much. I raised my hands in the air, "I don't know, since ten o'clock last night or something. What the hell?"

"Can I see your airline ticket from last night?"

"This is ridiculous," I reached into my pocket and pulled out my passport with ticket and boarding pass still in it. "Here you go. My new ticket and boarding pass is waiting for me at the Delta counter."

He carefully studied the ticket.

"And she was on the same flight as you?"

"Yes! And it was cancelled at the last minute."

"Mr. Harris. There was no one in room 604 last night." He was checking my room number on his copy of my receipt.

"Fuck me," I said under my breath, "Yes, there was. It was woman named Darla. We ate and then we fucked okay?" I was hoping to put the whole matter to rest with a bit of in your face reality, self confession.

"You had sex with her?"

"Yes. We fucked and I've got the scratches and bites to prove it."

"Scratches and bites?"

"Yes I've got them. She's a crazy fucking cunt."

"She liked it rough?"

"Oh my god," I sighed. I looked him straight in the eyes, paused for a long moment and the finally and deliberately said to him, "Fuck off."

He sat and watched me for a moment.

It was stony cold in the room.

"She didn't ask for money," I offered. "Nothing was stolen," I added.

After a long moment he spoke again. "Mr. Harris, that room has been in lock down for the past week pending an investigation which I am conducting."

"Well, so you think," I jumped in. "You better take that up with The Islington. I was in both the rooms and both of the bathrooms."

"Room 606 at the end of the hall and the room next to it 604?"

"Yes."

"Not across the hall?"

I rolled my eyes, "No."

"With a woman named Darla?"

"That's what she called herself."

"Mr. Harris room 604 is a crime scene. The room hasn't been cleaned up yet."

"It looked clean to me, although the hotel will have to make up the room again. The bed was well used, towels were used and Darla wore the bathrobe."

"Darla was dressed in the hotel bathrobe?"

"So was I, until we got naked."

"Was she wearing anything else?"

"Bright red lipstick and a smile. That's it."

The inspector reacted uncomfortably. He shuffled in his seat.

"A woman matching the exact description you just gave me was murdered in room 604 a week ago. Last night would have been exactly one week. She was naked, there was a white bathrobe and a towel crumpled on the floor next to the bed."

"What?"

"The victim's name was Darla Abigail Symons. She was forty eight."

"What?"

Looking at his copy of my invoice he said, "The autopsy showed that she had just eaten raw oysters, some bread and red wine."

I froze.

"Bruising was found, indicating that she had been forcibly tied. There were minor lacerations and abrasions on her breasts and abdomen."

My heart was pounding.

"There were traces of oyster protein, semen and capsicum, that's hot sauce, in her vagina."

I couldn't move.

"Raymond Edward Harris, would you please come to the station with me. We have some more questions we would like to ask you."

I simply stared straight ahead.

I couldn't answer.

I couldn't move.

*

If this story has left you uneasy, grossed out and a little surprised in a most unpleasant way, then I have hit my mark - spot on! It's Erotic Horror. Please keep that in mind when you honour me with your vote and/or comment. You were not supposed to come away from this tale with a warm and fuzzy feeling. You should feel like retching.

(Personally, after writing this, it'll be awhile before I eat another raw oyster.)

(I may have caused the whole oyster harvesting industry irreparable damage.)

(My gift to Gaia.)

Sincerely;

eclare

eclare
eclare
1,103 Followers
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  • COMMENTS
14 Comments
robdh51robdh516 months ago

Not a western. Incomplete. 1 star.

robdh51robdh5111 months ago

Not a western. Hate incomplete stories, really, really hate them. Might have liked it had it been completed. 1 star

DarknsDarknsover 1 year ago

Here I was scrolling through the list of Writers Go West. I did think the title was odd having read some of the others on the list beforehand. I even noted the genre as Erotic Horror. A genre I’ve never read as it’s not my thing. However, I decided to go with the flow and ventured forward into virgin territory.

Well Mr Eclare … in my case you overshot your mark. You achieved all that you aimed for and then, surprisingly for me, I really enjoyed it! I found myself experiencing the range of emotions you were trying to elicit and then one that you did not mention but I expect was deliberate. Laughter.

I went from feeling some shock and sympathy for Ray during his anal fisting to a gradual giggling of his predicament and noticeably, his (i.e yours) sense of humour and one line thoughts.

And then when I read, “ She was going to fucking get it. I knew I was going to make that fucking cunt come hard.” … I fucking lost it and laughed so hard!

So, thank you for a surprising and wonderful reading experience. 5 stars.

P.S - Not sure that I’ll be visiting Erotic Horror anytime soon but know this … you were my first! Lol (wink)

lukeshortlukeshortover 1 year ago

I don't like surprise incompletions. Good story until the open end.

francis_toliverfrancis_toliverover 6 years ago
Oh, and as to who's dna and such

I don't think the protagonist was ever intended as the murderer.

The lore of ghosts often has them replaying the time leading up to and the experience of their deaths. The author seems to be telling the story of her Darla's death, one week earlier.

This women was (evidently) into risky sexual practices. She engaged in bdsm activities with someone she just met. She bound him and gagged him without any safe word (or safe act), then she anally fisted him, without her murderer being able to stop her. Raymond's experience of it communicates how horribly painful it was. If her murderer of a week earlier had that experience, coupled with ANY homophobic inclinations (after all, he was fed his own semen), it would not be surprising that his shame/rage response might lead to murder.

More surprising was that she then allowed herself to tied up. Evidently she was unaware of her murderer's reaction. While Raymond states he was going to make her orgasm hard in recompense for for her actions, many men would not have reacted so moderately. Evidently one reacted so violently that she ended up dead.

I could be misreading the author's intent, but that's my read on the story. Raymond is pulled into the haunting. He may be the first person to be pulled in, but probably will not be the last.

I am not a fan of erotic gore, but I love a good ghost story and the macabre horror a la Edgar Allen Poe. This was a great story in that style. Really good. Thanks again eclare!

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