So, this week, I went for something I’d probably classify as R-rated. (Sorry, Mom!) Just a heads up there for you all. So, that’s that. Thanks for all the fridayflash support from week to week. It’s lovely seeing what everyone thinks, and I’m having a great time reading everyone else’s stuff, too! Be sure to check out all the other fridayflash entries, available by searching #fridayflash on twitter or via J.M. Strother’s weekly reports.
A SUCCUBUS’S WORST NIGHTMARE
They were at it again. She could hear them through the walls. She bounced onto her other side and buried her face in the cushions of the couch, pulling her blanket to her chin. Nope. She could still hear it. The moaning, the grunting, and — worst of all — the giggling. She scowled and grabbed a throw pillow to smush into her face. She considered trying to suffocate herself out of sheer annoyance. No matter how many layers of fabric stood between her ears and open air, she could still hear them.
She threw off the blankets and pillows and stood up. “That’s it!” she yelled. In response, more giggling. She snarled, walked to the wall and yanked the heirloom mirror off the wall. It had been her grandmother’s. But that was beside the point. She ignored her haggard reflection, turned the mirror around, and stomped into the bedroom.
There they were. Going at it, just like every night. His eyes closed with that stupid smile on his face. Bastard. And that thing on top of him! It rode him like one of those dirty, bar-room bucking broncos. Disgusting. Though, the woman had to admit, there was something attractive about the thing, if you liked that sort of style. And judging by the noises he was making, her husband obviously did. It took every ounce of will power she had not to smash the mirror over his face, but that’s not why she’d brought it in here. Frankly, she’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that the thing would go away on its own, but it had been months. And she was tired.
The woman sighed and held up the mirror. It caught the reflection of the thing, and the thing reveled in it, amping up its performance. Its ecstasy was sickening.
The woman rolled her eyes and set the mirror on the bed, where the thing could still see it — or rather see itself in it. She slipped off the rings from her left hand and stared at them for a minute. She’d never had them fused. She took one last look around the room and sighed. She’d never imagined things ending like this. But any sadness she might have felt was interrupted by a cry of joy from her husband. She was running out of time tonight, and she had no interest in waiting any longer.
She grabbed the thing’s left hand and slipped her rings onto its finger. The rocking of its hips stopped immediately, and, for the first time ever, it looked at her. The woman smiled. The thing slid off the man and looked into the mirror. It seemed confused at first, and then horrified. “Take it away,” it whispered. The woman complied, setting it on the floor beside the bed. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes sparkled, and the well-worn look of a poorly treated wife was gone. In short, she looked free. She looked back at the thing. She almost felt pity as she watched it slide under the covers. She watched it put a hand on the man’s chest only to have him turn over and away from it. It looked at her, distraught. “Please,” it whispered.
“Sorry, honey,” the woman replied. “If you want the milk, you’ve got to buy the cow, too.” And then the sun peaked over the horizon, and through the blinds, and into the room, and the woman disappeared. The thing remained, and a tear slid down its cheek.
© 2009 Elizabeth Ditty