Sundown Honeymoon

"We have to leave," Booth shouted.

"But... ."

The sheriff grabbed his lover by the hand and dragged her back to the car. "We are not safe. We need to go. Go." He raced away. To the lodge and to safety.

"What about your wife?" Emily spoke softly, with a deep sadness in her voice.

Booth cursed and slowed down the car.

"We have to safe her! I couldn't - you have to safe her!"

Booth turned the car around. He lacked the strength to argue and breathing was difficult.

*

Mary Booth ran towards the car as soon as he had reached the driveway. Pale faced and sweating, dressed only in her nightgown and kitchen apron, she dashed and stumbled towards them. "I don't feel so well," she said and stumbled into Emily's arms.

"Close the door!" Booth screamed and already pulled back on the road.

"Shh, it's okay. All will be well." Emily had closed the car door and held Mary's limp form in her arms.

They sped away.

XV

As soon as they carried Mary over the threshold of the lodge, she started to feel better. A weak smile lit up her harried face and she whispered something into Emily's ears.

Booth's heart was racing. Blood pumped through his veins with heavy thuds. The woman lawyer had opened her door willingly, but he felt ill at ease. They were too far away to see the town, but even here the signs of destruction had followed. A strange smell had tainted the crisp forest air and menacing amber-red moonlight filtered through the branches. He touched his gun and tried to forget the not quite fire outside.

The lawyer with the foreign name had not attempted to hide her men this time and so eight people shared the small space inside the cabin. The talked in hushed voices while Booth looked around silently. The three men he had seen with the lawyer, even dressed in their denim overalls and flannel shirts, looked wild indeed. Long filthy beards and bulging muscles. And the disturbing memories of monstrous cocks. A pang of pain. Booth moved away.

The runes on the roof seemed to glow in a low, blueish light. He touched the etchings and felt sparks tingle on his skin. Refreshing cold spread from his fingertips across his body, until it calmed his raging heart.

Next, he checked on the windows and the backdoor. The other door had been boarded up and Booth ran his hands over the rough and sturdy wood. The windows looked to small for anything larger than a fox to crawl through, but their openness made him uncomfortable, nevertheless.

"Coffee?" The female lawyer handed him a cup.

"Thanks. Miss - erhm?"

"Victoria." She smiled.

"Thank you, Victoria."

She turned to leave, but something froze her in place. "What was that?" she asked.

A noise from outside. Knocks, punches against the boarded door. Splintering wood and breaking glass. He saw small hands snaking through the slits. He touched his gun, but the wildmen were fast. They hurried to the windows and forced back the attacker. With brooms and boards they beat at it, again and again.

Then scratches. Scraping and clawing at the door. Booth looked around for Antionelli, but the lawyer had sunk to the floor, pale and sweating he hugged his legs to his body.

"Tarnation." Booth drew his gun. Another long and clawing scratch. "There's something at the door," he said. The female lawyer looked at him; determined. "Come," he heard himself say.

*

"Should we open it?" Victoria's voice was trembling.

Booth hesitated and finally nodded. "Yeah." He aimed his weapon at the door and cocked back the hammer. "Open."

She pushed open the door and jumped back. He trained his gun at the already fleeing shape. Thin, blue fabric fluttered behind the sprinting Mrs. Larson. She reached the treeline. Booth exhaled and lowered his weapon.

"Did you see them?" Victoria sounded panicked.

"Them?"

"There was another one. Another woman. Dark hair, similar build, naked. She was at the edge of the forest. Watching."

"Are you sure?" Booth raised his weapon and scanned along the dark shadows and beneath the trees for movement. She did not answer.

With a sigh, he uncocked and holstered his weapon. "Tarnation," he pointed at the deep scratches in the wood, almost enough to cut through the door. "Tarnation."

"Can you...?" She ran inside and quickly returned, carrying a kitchen knife.

"What?"

Wordlessly, she pricked the tip of her finger. The first drop of blood fell to the ground. Then she began to write. A branching symbol smeared in blood.

"No." She wiped it away with the sleeve of her dress and began anew. On the next she added another branch, nodded, and then covered the whole door.

"It's all I found." She offered a weak smile. "I hope it works."

Booth cursed under his breath and closed the door behind them. Muffled laughter could be heard from the inside.

Furniture blocked the windows. They stood in the middle of the room, maybe relaxed, but all fell silent when they saw him and Victoria. Each looked at him, but none dared ask.

"We scared her -it- away," Booth said, "but she may return. And there may be others out there. So - stay away from the windows and let me," he paused, "let us handle it." He did not mention the bloody symbols; witchcraft would not calm them.

At first there was silence, but soon hushed conversation, idle chatter, returned. He found himself at the edges, mostly checking the windows and listening out for any signs of intruders.

His wife laughed at some joke told by one of the wildmen and Booth seethed with rage. He moved to impose himself between her and the savage man, when he heard again scratching noises at the door.

He drew his revolver. The others stopped talking. The savages raised their heads, but he motioned them to stay away. Only Victoria followed him to the door. No invitation necessary and bloody knife in hand. The scratching continued, then stopped. For a heartbeat they waited, then she opened the door.

Elisabeth Lawson stood dazed, hand still outstretched, with blood covering her elongated, silvery fingernails. She looked at them with glazed eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but Booth had already pulled the trigger. Again and again, in quick succession. Six shots rang out and struck her in the face and square in the chest. She collapsed to the ground. He continued to press down on the trigger, even as the hammer struck empty cartridges.

"She's dead," said Victoria. The lawyer had checked the dead woman's pulse and gently pulled down his arm. Booth stowed his now useless weapon.

"We did it," he whispered. "We did it."

XVI

The celebration inside rent his heart. From under the floorboards they had pulled a bottle of bourbon and soon their laughter became boozy.

He knew the tone of their voices and knew what their joy betrayed. Once, a long time ago, Mary had shared these moments with him. And recently, when he had fallen for Emily, they too had laughed and whispered blissfully.

His wife touched the savage's arm and smiled. An invitation. The barmaid, his former lover, sat on the lap of another wildman, their lips mere inches apart. Even Antionielli had moved close to the third brown-skinned man. They talked in a way that made Booth feel deeply uncomfortable.

Only Victoria remained alone. She slurped her coffee mixed with whiskey and smiled a relaxed smile.

"How come you're not jealous?" Booth asked.

"Why should I be?"

"I need a smoke." He walked away.

She said something, but he could not hear her.

*

Cigarette in mouth and with lighter in hand, he opened the door. The corpse was gone.

"Sheriff Booth," her voice whispered on the wind. "I am ready for you. Come to me."

He followed the drag-marks and the whispered, minty lure. Deeper into the forest; every step a promise.

"Soon. Pleasure beyond mortal ken. You are ready for us."

He found her kneeling over her own body. Her jaw unhinged, down to her naked, blood-covered chest. She cracked open bones with her small, pearly-white teeth. She sucked the marrow and stained her lips with her flesh.

"What are you?" Booth drew his gun.

"Shhhh. Soon." She moved, snakelike and quick.

He pulled the trigger. The hammer struck a useless cartridge. Two more empty clicks.

"Shhhh."

A punch; then another, enough to crack his ribs.

"Soon." Her fist hit his head and he passed out.

*

He awakened, hanging upside down from a tree. Two Elisabeth Larsons looked up at him. One, lips still red with blood and naked, smiled and traced her fingers along his body.

"Sorry. I'm so so sorry." The other wore her bathrobe. Still or again. It was bloody now, and tattered by bullet holes and powder burns. "I cannot control her. Maybe I never could." She covered her face with her hands and sobbed softly.

"You are ready, now." The other kissed his lips. He tasted mint and decay. "Ready to see." His heart beat faster. Then she hit him.

She flayed his skin and ripped open his arteries. At first there was pain, red hot and searing, then she touched his heart. Her nails, dagger-like, invaded his ribcage as a steely stab. She punctured his heart with needle-like pain. He felt himself crushed in her vise, until he burst.

The naked woman bathed herself in the last drops of his blood. Laughing, she anointed her crying other with his life. Then she took her by the hand and led the moon-painted woman away, deeper into the forest.

Booth's heart was no longer beating and he followed, dripping red from the naked woman's breasts. He fell to the thirsty ground as she rose high on the moonlit clearing.

He burned on the robe-clad woman's face. He was her moons and grew ever larger. Her tears mixed with his blood, until she wiped them away and smeared the moons. She raised high her bloodstained hands and offered a maddened prayer to the mad moon ravishing her other. Her sister, her self. Herself. She lowered her hands and parted, probed her sex.

Dripping they rose, higher and higher towards the amber-red moon. Light trickled down on her body and the weeping moon mixed with his blood. They filled her. She drank honey light and kissed the sky. He flowed with her arousal down her legs and entered her, splashed on moonish tendrils.

The women screamed. He could not; even as he was given to the moon.

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Author's note

Thank you for reading. I am not usually a fan of author's notes, but since I decided to publish this story as part of the Valentine's Day Contest (Please rate and comment) I might as well nod to site tradition and offer a few words about a somewhat irregular story.

1. I am still figuring out how to do content/trigger warnings. I would like to think that my use of categories and tags is enough, but I am interested in your input.

2. I have already alluded to the fact that this is not a typical Valentine's Day story (Please rate, comment and favourite). And on the one hand I am perfectly willing to admit that this is in part a knowing attempt to pander to a crowd of my fellow cold-hearted cynics.

On the other hand, this is a story for and about Valentine's Day and (romantic) love. So there is mythology, even if it is more the martyrdom of St.Valentine than red roses. And there is place, if only in the margins, for hopeful and fulfilling, human love.

The core topic, however, is love as greater than human. A cosmic force, inscrutable and destructive.

3. Thank you, again, for reading, and I look forward to any and all feedback.

Uther

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'Sundown survivor identified. The woman dubbed the "Red Bride" has been identified as one Suzanne Myers, a 42 year old Sundown resident. State troopers had found her on Tuesday morning during their perimeter search between Sundown and Scalper's Ferry. Miss Myers had been unresponsive and was found wearing a blood drenched wedding dress. She carried with her what authorities are calling "a substantial amount of silver ore." She has been placed in psychiatric care.

Meanwhile, hope of finding any of the other missing townspeople, including Sheriff Hyram Booth, alive is dwindling as systematic searches are nearing their end.

The town of Sundown had been struck on Friday night by a possible terrorist attack. While details of the massacre remain sparse, it has been described as an "attack the like of which has not been witnessed on American soil."

And now music.'

Rode out to the plateau, out to the dying sun
you swore love and now - now I raise my gun
Out in the dusky moonlight,
prays a lonely tree
and I -
I long to be free

Ancient chapel, chains that bind
whiskey and cigarettes,
watched the blue, blue moon
pretty stranger, wished you blind
love is sworn forever,
but death comes soon oh so soon

Rode out to the plateau, out to the dying sun
you swore love and now - now I raise my gun
Out in the dusky moonlight,
prays a lonely tree
and I -
I long to be free

Fresh dirt, chains that bound
whiskey and cigarettes,
judged by the blue moon
ridin' ranger, fiendish hound
love is sworn forever,
but death comes soon oh so soon

Rode out from the plateau, out from the dying sun
you swore love - and then I raised my gun
Out in the dusky moonlight,
prays a lonely grave
and I -
I longed to be brave