SHORT STORY | HORROR | SUSPENSE
The Widow’s Tattered Book
A short horror story. Her favorite book is her favorite addiction.
Paula gingerly set the hot tea on the side table and draped the crocheted blanket over her legs. She gently pulled the chain dangling from the antique lamp, and its warm glow cascaded over her. The cone of soft light lit the dark corner of her study. A fire crackled in her stone fireplace—the perfect reading atmosphere.
She opened the frayed book and turned to chapter six.
Rudolf studied the woman. A gorgeous, rich, middle-aged widow. Another man had caught her eye tonight, but no matter. He would be essential to her life soon enough. Build trust; the relationship will come, isolate her from family slowly. The estate will follow. The pattern never failed.
The other man walked off to the restroom or somewhere. Made no difference; he would never see this woman again. Rudolf walked over and stood next to her at the bar.
Rudolf dropped a business card on the bartop, tapped it with his index finger, and slid it over to the woman. He stopped next to her drink and pulled his hand back, leaving the card behind.
She looked at him nonchalantly, clearly with the intention of ignoring him. Rudolf said nothing but nodded slightly at the card. She shook her head as she’d surely done hundreds of times before to would-be suitors. But some feeling compelled her to glance at the card.
Written in red ink and blocked letters: I know who killed your husband.
Tears welled in her eyes.
When the man returned from the restroom, the widow was long gone.
Rudolf was a master at his craft. Outside her study, the wind raged and rain bashed against the windows. With complete focus, Paula took no notice.
She could recite every chapter word for word. She gobbled up chapter seven, devoured chapter eight.
By chapter nine, Rudolf had moved in with the woman. It had been a long time since this woman trusted and loved a man like she did Rudolf.
Slowly, the room around Paula faded as she lost herself in the story. By the time Rudolf poured wine as the woman prepared dinner, Paula could almost smell the steaks sizzling in their skillet and the cake baking in the oven. Intoxicating hints at delicious smells.
Chapter ten. Rudolf escorted his lady to a sold-out classical music performance in an absolutely stunning theater.
Paula felt so immersed in the story that she could hear the words inside her head without actually reading them. Almost unconsciously, her eyelids dropped, and the story continued to play out in her ears, sight unseen.
The concert was over now, and the crowd made its way to the exits. Paula’s senses deepened as she started to actually see the story as it played out. And then, as if responding to an unseen force pulling her, she was in the crowd, walking out of the theater with the rest of the excited and gabbing audience.
Rudolf and his date were several yards ahead of her as they ambled arm-in-arm through the ornately designed theater lobby. A moment before walking through the sweeping archway of the entryway, Rudolf seemed to deliberately slow his gait.
He turned his head to look back through the oncoming crowd and caught her eye. Rudolf glared at her intensely for a few brief moments.
He knows I don’t belong here.
The thought jarred Paula’s eyes open. No longer in the theater, she sat bundled beneath her blanket again, deep in her easy chair. She finally noticed the storm slapping fat raindrops against her window. But even safely back in her study, she still felt the intense heat from that stare.
Somehow he knew I was there.
Another thought, far more concerning.
How?
She’d immersed herself that deep more than once, and she’d blended into the background every time, an unnoticed extra in the story. Rudolf had never so much as glanced her way before. Not even a single hint of recognition. For that matter, no one else had either.
Paula took a sip of her now cold tea and pondered. The immersion in the book was her addiction, her alcohol, her drug. Her nightly binge.
It had to be a fluke. Holy shit! He was looking at someone BEHIND me.
That idea took root. It made sense. Simple, logical sense.
More sense than Rudolf staring right into her eyes. Not a syllable of the book described him stopping and turning around at that moment. It could not happen. Laws of an author-character relationship governed these things. Characters did not deviate from the intention of their author. Period.
Another sip of cold tea.
With that comforting thought, she snuggled back down into the chair and flipped to chapter eleven.
Rudolf proposed. She accepted.
By chapter twelve, guests were filing into the wedding at a chateau outside of town. Paula’s focus deepened. She closed her eyes and sank into the story. Feeling it. Craving it. Soon the story seemed to reach for her again, and she was in the crowd of well-dressed wedding guests making their way to the chapel.
Moments after her immersion, Rudolf appeared beside her.
“Bride or groom side?” he snarled quietly into her ear. He ignored her stunned look and took her arm at the elbow.
“If you go, I go, lady.”
Her concentration shattered, Paula felt the scene slipping from her grasp. She opened her eyes and once again settled in her cozy chair. Rain still pounded against the tall window, her fire still burned, and her lamp still sprayed soft light through its stained glass shade.
But even now, she could feel the tightening grip of Rudolf’s hand gripping her elbow. She looked at him with abject horror in her eyes. He was busy examining the room but not too busy to release his clutch on her arm. She tried to pull away, knocking her tea to the floor, but his fingers felt like iron bars wrapped around her flesh.
Rudolf finally shifted his gaze to her. Before he backhand slapped her, he muttered four little words.
“I like your house.”
SMACK. She landed on her back next to the fallen teacup. The book made its landing splayed open on the floor beside her and the teacup. Every inch of her face stung.
Paula waited for Rudolf to pounce on her but instead, he turned and walked in the opposite direction toward the large stone fireplace. He grabbed a heavy steel poker, testing its weight by swinging the sharp end back and forth quickly through the air like a maniacal symphony conductor waving a baton.
He turned back to Paula and grinned. His pearl white teeth gleamed in the lamplight. Thunder rumbled outside, and a flash of lightning briefly brightened the room.
“I mean, lady, I really like this house.”
The toothy smile eased.
“I think I’ll take it.”
Rudolf pointed the poker at Paula and proceeded to walk casually toward her, still examining the room, absorbing each and every expensive item. She could see that he was enjoying himself.
Cowering in the tea puddle on the floor, she grabbed her book. She still felt the sting of his knuckles on her cheek. She had to push the pain and the fear out of her mind. Normally immersion took her some time — now she had seconds.
Rudolf was two steps away. The poker three feet from her face.
Paula glanced at the open page. No time to find any specific scene. She read a few words and recognized chapter eighteen immediately. She shut her eyes tight and pictured the scene she’d read dozens of times and visited a third as much. She disappeared as Rudolf brought the point of the poker through the spot where her head had been half a second before.
Chapter eighteen. Independence Day celebrations. Rudolf would kill his wife tonight. At least he would have. All of Paula’s concentration focused on staying in the story even though the plot had changed. Rudolf would not be at the fireworks celebration to kill anyone here tonight. He was busy appraising everything in her house.
Paula recognized the street she was on. As the first fireworks exploded high above the town, she started to run. At the drugstore, she turned left, sprinting now, even though the street was crowded. Every other time she immersed, she’d blended in — attracted no attention. That was behind her now, and she bounced off fireworks onlookers like a pinball. Her destination was in sight, and she leapt up the steps and burst through the double doors.
“OFFICERS,” she yelled as she ran further into the police station. Police officers jumped up and ran toward her, guns drawn. Paula’s suspicion paid off as she approached the missing person board. Officers collapsed around her as she reached it.
She pointed at a picture on the board. A handsome picture of Rudolf stared back at her. Missing since chapter twelve.
As the closest officer grabbed her, she yelled, “I KNOW WHERE RUDOLF IS.”
“Let her go,” she heard a gruff voice say.
An older man in plain clothes pushed his way through the uniformed officers.
“So tell me, ma’am,” he said calmly. “Where might Rudolf be?”
“First, hear me out, please, Detective Rankin,” said Paula, breathing hard from the exertion and excitement.
Rankin jerked at the mention of his name.
“How did you…”
Paula held up her hand. Rankin stopped. Paula gave her heart and lungs a chance to slow. Then she spoke.
“Shirley Hopewell. Francie Jackson. Ella Franklin.”
Rankin’s eyes widened. Paula continued.
“Same pattern. He targets rich lonely widows. He gains their trust by telling them something they need to know. Sometimes, he set them up for months before he makes his move. He charms them. They fall for him, let him into their lives. Once he gains access to their finances, they eventually have an accident.”
Detective Rankin sat heavily on the closest desk.
“Lady, just how in the raging hell do you know any of this?”
“Detective, Rudolf’s not missing. He’s running. He’s the serial killer you’ve been looking for for years.”
“If I’m not mistaken, lady, he was also with Barbara Klein until he went missing. Another ‘rich widow,’ as you put it. And she is very much alive.”
“I know that, Detective. Barbara is extremely lucky. But the truth is he found a better target.”
“A better target? Who?”
Paula gathered her courage. She knew everything about Rankin. Tough, but fair and reasonable. She was also aware that Rankin knew that Rudolf had ties to Shirley Hopewell. He didn’t know about Francie Jackson or Ella Franklin. And he didn't know that he was dealing with a serial killer. She had to convince him quickly.
“Me. He’s at my house right now. At least I hope he’s still there.”
“And where might that be?”
“Well, Detective, that part will be hard for you to understand, to be honest.”
Rankin opened his arms wide.
“Do tell.”
“I will have to show you, Detective. The good news is that it’s a very short trip.”
“Lady, this has been a fascinating story, but we don’t work like that.”
Paula inched toward Rankin a step at a time until she could grasp his arm.
“Detective, we are running out of time. Believe me. He is in a place where he can do a lot of damage and hurt many more people.”
As she spoke, a searing pain tore at her spine. Another pierced her skull. Paula struggled to stand. In the depths of her mind, she felt her connection to the real world ripping apart.
She grabbed Rankin’s arm tightly.
“Time to go. NOW.”
Paula let go of her tenuous mental hold on the story. When she opened her eyes, she and Rankin were crouched on the other side of the study, inches from Rudolf, who was in the throes of snatching page after page out of the tattered book.
Rudolf staggered backward at the sudden appearance of Paula and the detective.
He grabbed the steel poker from the floor. Rankin, though utterly confused as he saw Rudolf with the weapon, rushed him.
Paula dove toward the book and the torn out pages. As the men struggled, she hurriedly examined the ripped pages. Her searing pain must have been caused by Rudolf ripping these out. She straightened out the crumpled paper quickly. Chapter thirty-five. The climax. When Rankin caught Rudolf.
The wrestling match on the other side of the room continued. Rudolf gained a bit of space and viciously swung the heavy poker, whacking the side of Rankin’s head. The detective collapsed to the floor. Rudolf pounced, spearing him deep through the chest.
Rankin lay still with the poker poking out of him. Paula sucked in a huge gulp of air, ready to scream. Until…
Until she noticed there was no blood seeping from Rankin. None. And, as she watched, the detective began to fade away into nothing. The poker, with no body to hold it upright, clanged to the floor.
And Paula knew how to stop Rudolf.
Rudolf focused on Paula now, taking a step toward her, but hesitated when he noticed the look on her face. He glanced down at where Rankin had just been laying.
And he understood.
He bolted out the study door and escaped from the large house, crashing out of the front door and into the storm. Paula calmly waited at the window of her study until she saw Rudolf sprinting through the rain.
Paula walked back to her huge stone fireplace and tossed her beloved story into the fire. She settled back into her comfortable chair and wrapped her blanket back over her legs.
She took a deep breath and leaned her head against the cushioned chair, and watched the worn pages of her book burn.
Rudolf raced to the end of the long brick driveway. As he burst into the street, the last of the pages turned to ash.
In mid-stride, he faded into nothing.
Back in the study, Paula pulled the second copy of her favorite book off the shelf and went into the kitchen to brew some hot tea.
Thank you for the read. If you liked this story, you may also like these:
