settle for getting drunk on the wine of love.” She teased her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, eyes sparkling.
Rain blew against the dining room window as the thunderstorm rolled over the house. Knott stared into his glass of claret and envisioned the swirling red chaos of the old woman’s crayon drawing.
* * * *
The lights flickered and Angela cursed. “The lights better
not
go out,” she said.
“I love a good storm,” said Julie, bending to the vanilla-scented candle’s flame to light her cigarette.
“You would. Being a famous horror writer and all.”
Julie sat back on the couch, crossed her legs under her and exhaled a stream of smoke. “I’m not famous yet, but this new book just might put me on the literary map. I’m going to make it
really
scary. I can’t remember the last time I read a book that gave me the willies.”
Angela chortled. “I can remember a couple of willies that were pretty damn scary. Before I changed my sexual allegiance.”
“You were such a slut.”
“You were nobody’s idea of a saint.” Angela cut her eyes at Julie.
“No, but I didn’t screw Kenny Kleeber either.” Julie squinted in the cigarette smoke.
“Hey, I was stoned. And he wasn’t
that
bad in the sack. If his dick was as half big as his ego, it would’ve been great.”
They both laughed. Angela sipped from her wine glass. Julie flicked ashes into the ashtray.
“I can’t get that dream out of my head,” Julie said. “Scared the shit out of me. I
loved
it. Now if I can just capture that raw fear in my novel …”
“You would’ve really loved mine. Getting raped by a statue! God. An angel with a giant dong. Where the hell did
that
come from?”
“What’s really strange is that we had nightmares at the same time. I almost never have nightmares. I wish I could, you know, for my writing’s sake.”
“And it wasn’t even nighttime. Wouldn’t that make them daymares?”
“I think being here is going to be good for my writing,” said Julie, drawing deeply on her cigarette. “There’s a strong vibe about this place. A Gothic feel, a sense of old, restless spirits. I
love
these mountains. I feel like I belong here.”
“It is beautiful up here. But I’m staying away from those damned angels.”
“For God’s sake, Ange, it was just a dream. You can be such a child.”
“I’ve always had this thing about statues. They creep me out big time. I think it goes back to that wax museum in St. Augustine. I was six years old, and my parents dragged me in there and I freaked. All those wax dummies standing around like dead people with their eyes open was more than I could handle. And then one of them started moving. I pissed my pants and ran out of there screaming. They tried to explain later that it was animatronic. Didn’t mean shit to me. I knew those dummies were all coming to life to get me. I’ve never set foot in a wax museum since. You couldn’t drag me into one now. And stone statues have the same effect. That’s why I hate cemeteries. I just know all those stone statues are a breath away from coming alive and coming after me.”
“No wonder the dream freaked you,” said Julie, turning sympathetic.
“Hey.” Angela shrugged. “I won’t bother them, maybe they won’t bother me.”
Julie stubbed out her smoke and stood. “I need to get some writing done. Will you be all right? By yourself?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m not six years old anymore.” She flashed a wan smile. “I’ve got a play to read. Ibsen’s
The Doll House
. If you hear voices, it’ll just be me reciting lines.”
“Unless it’s those restless mountain spirits.” Julie showed her teeth in a demonic grin and waggled her brows.
“You can cut that shit out right now. Maybe you like being scared, but I don’t. Keep it to yourself.”
Julie blew her a raspberry, then smiled, got up and started to her bedroom.
“Hey, don’t forget we’re getting up early in the morning to go grocery shopping,”
Rain blew against the dining room window as the thunderstorm rolled over the house. Knott stared into his glass of claret and envisioned the swirling red chaos of the old woman’s crayon drawing.
* * * *
The lights flickered and Angela cursed. “The lights better
not
go out,” she said.
“I love a good storm,” said Julie, bending to the vanilla-scented candle’s flame to light her cigarette.
“You would. Being a famous horror writer and all.”
Julie sat back on the couch, crossed her legs under her and exhaled a stream of smoke. “I’m not famous yet, but this new book just might put me on the literary map. I’m going to make it
really
scary. I can’t remember the last time I read a book that gave me the willies.”
Angela chortled. “I can remember a couple of willies that were pretty damn scary. Before I changed my sexual allegiance.”
“You were such a slut.”
“You were nobody’s idea of a saint.” Angela cut her eyes at Julie.
“No, but I didn’t screw Kenny Kleeber either.” Julie squinted in the cigarette smoke.
“Hey, I was stoned. And he wasn’t
that
bad in the sack. If his dick was as half big as his ego, it would’ve been great.”
They both laughed. Angela sipped from her wine glass. Julie flicked ashes into the ashtray.
“I can’t get that dream out of my head,” Julie said. “Scared the shit out of me. I
loved
it. Now if I can just capture that raw fear in my novel …”
“You would’ve really loved mine. Getting raped by a statue! God. An angel with a giant dong. Where the hell did
that
come from?”
“What’s really strange is that we had nightmares at the same time. I almost never have nightmares. I wish I could, you know, for my writing’s sake.”
“And it wasn’t even nighttime. Wouldn’t that make them daymares?”
“I think being here is going to be good for my writing,” said Julie, drawing deeply on her cigarette. “There’s a strong vibe about this place. A Gothic feel, a sense of old, restless spirits. I
love
these mountains. I feel like I belong here.”
“It is beautiful up here. But I’m staying away from those damned angels.”
“For God’s sake, Ange, it was just a dream. You can be such a child.”
“I’ve always had this thing about statues. They creep me out big time. I think it goes back to that wax museum in St. Augustine. I was six years old, and my parents dragged me in there and I freaked. All those wax dummies standing around like dead people with their eyes open was more than I could handle. And then one of them started moving. I pissed my pants and ran out of there screaming. They tried to explain later that it was animatronic. Didn’t mean shit to me. I knew those dummies were all coming to life to get me. I’ve never set foot in a wax museum since. You couldn’t drag me into one now. And stone statues have the same effect. That’s why I hate cemeteries. I just know all those stone statues are a breath away from coming alive and coming after me.”
“No wonder the dream freaked you,” said Julie, turning sympathetic.
“Hey.” Angela shrugged. “I won’t bother them, maybe they won’t bother me.”
Julie stubbed out her smoke and stood. “I need to get some writing done. Will you be all right? By yourself?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m not six years old anymore.” She flashed a wan smile. “I’ve got a play to read. Ibsen’s
The Doll House
. If you hear voices, it’ll just be me reciting lines.”
“Unless it’s those restless mountain spirits.” Julie showed her teeth in a demonic grin and waggled her brows.
“You can cut that shit out right now. Maybe you like being scared, but I don’t. Keep it to yourself.”
Julie blew her a raspberry, then smiled, got up and started to her bedroom.
“Hey, don’t forget we’re getting up early in the morning to go grocery shopping,”
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