Death Moon Page 3

  “It’s gone,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “The demon.”

  “Oh,” he said softly as they drifted to sleep together, walking in a foggy dreamscape and somewhere in the city someone cried out as a knife blade cut into her flesh.

  8

  DEATH

  The woman’s name was Alice; blonde, curvy with crystal blue eyes, smoking clove-scented cigarettes that made misty gray patterns in semidarkness when she exhaled. She’d began frequenting Levo’s Hot Club several weeks ago, always sitting at a corner booth, sipping Shiraz, gazing at the door. Sometimes she left with men who had perpetual hardness etched across their faces and eyes dark and intense. And sometimes she left alone—head bowed, moving somewhat awkwardly because she’d drank too much wine.

  On the night of March seventh, when the moon was full and the relentless winds and rain continued to fall, she left without a partner, unaware that someone followed, hand grasping a knife with crusted blood on its hilt.

  Alice did not hear footsteps behind her over raging squalls, nor did she realize—when she unlocked the door to her building and pushed it open—that a killer would be upon her, knocking her to the floor and dragging her into a darkened hall.

  The pain stopped when the last of her fingers were severed, after her nose and lips had been cut away and her crystal blue eyes carved out. That’s when the knife hacked into her neck—sawing back and forth as blood splattered on walls and pooled onto the floor.

  And the old woman from down the hall screamed—slipping on the crimson-soaked floor—when she saw red droplets streaming down aged wooden stairs—and a bottle of Shiraz by Alice’s head.

  9

  TOM AND LILA

  They made love deep in the woods, in a farmhouse Tom’s father left when he passed. Tom hadn’t been there in years, but it became the perfect place for secrets, for darkened trysts. On bloody sheets, with rainwater streaming down dirt-caked windows they moved in perfect rhythm.

  “You’re the only one,” whispered Lila.

  When the lovemaking ended Tom flicked on the light, gazing at supernatural symbols painted with deep cherry on the walls and floor—and he looked into the eyes of the dead. “We’ll bury them soon,” he told her, waving his hand at bodies they’d posed against crumbling plaster and shabby furniture, hands clasped, scarred with hundreds of cruel acts and severed heads lining the sills.

  Tom and Lila didn’t plan it, not in the beginning anyway, not until it became a mania. Part of their passion—their love—a need they had to fill—things they’d once done separately—when heartache became too much to bear—when they could not control their fury beneath a never-ending death moon.

  About the Author

  Sandy DeLuca has written five novels: Settling in Nazareth, Descent, Manhattan Grimoire, From Ashes and the forthcoming Messages From the Dead.

  She has authored three novellas Darkness Conjured, Into the Red and Reign of Blood, all published by DarkFuse.

  A poetry/art collection, called Mad Hattery (with Marge Simon), was also released in 2011 and another called Vampires, Zombies and Wanton Souls was released in 2012. Her poetry chapbook, Burial Plot in Sagittarius, was nominated for the Bram Stoker Award in 2001. She is also the author of a poetry/short story collection called Paths of Destiny.

  In addition, she has been a painter for over twenty years, and her work has been exhibited in galleries, hair salons, book stores and online venues. She has also done covers for various small-press venues.

  Visit her website at www.sandydeluca.com.