Written by…me
Voting is closed as of 22 February 2013! Thank you all for participating in our Mystery Author Bloody Valentine Flash Fiction event!
Sarah stood in the early morning light, staring at the package on her doorstep as she puffed nervously on a cigarette. She was supposed to call the police when it arrived, but she couldn’t move. She could barely breathe.
In a desperate attempt to avoid this ritual repeating itself, Sarah had moved three times in as many years. Every time, the packages found her. Every year, the same routine.
She dropped the cigarette and crushed it, kneeling down to retrieve the box. It was smaller than usual, but that wasn’t exactly comforting. At least she’d gotten up before Abigail–she didn’t want her roommate to know anything about this tradition.
Sarah set the box on her coffee table and lit another cigarette. She was going to open it. By herself. It was reckless and stupid and possibly dangerous, but she was going to do it.
The twine seemed to unravel in slow motion as she tugged at one end. It slipped off the edges of the box and fell in a heap on the table. Hands still trembling slightly, she slipped her fingers under the paper and slid it off the plain brown box that waited underneath.
The box was smallish, and so innocent looking. Her breath became shaky as she stared at it, wondering what it could be.
A plain white envelope was taped to the top of the box, “Sarah” written in beautiful script across the front.
She decided she couldn’t deal with any of this yet. She got up and made her way to the kitchen. She needed some coffee, maybe some aspirin. Or some whiskey.
She hadn’t been able to sleep the night before. Soon, calls would come from her family, asking if she’d gotten another package. She wasn’t ready to face that, she just wanted a few more moments of peace.
A piercing scream cut through the quiet morning. Sarah raced out of the kitchen toward the box.
There, looking horrified, stood Abigail, holding the lid of the box. She was still screaming.
Inside the box was a human heart. It was clean, and had been removed with surgical precision.
Sarah sank to the floor, shaking and pale.
“What is this!?”
“Why did you open it?”
“I…I just wanted to peek…”
Sarah put her head in her hands and sobbed. Slowly, her gasping breaths turned into laughter.
“Sarah?”
She continued to laugh, and cry. “He’s dead…” she whispered, wiping her eyes. A sick kind of relief washed over her.
“Who is?” Abigail asked.
Sarah choked on the words. “My fiancé. Finally. Finally, he’s free. I’m free. Finally.”
Abigail took a step back, then noticed the card on the box.
“Let me see it,” Sarah said.
Shaking, Abigail handed it over.
Sarah pulled the card out of the envelope. A tacky, heart-shaped card.
This game is done.
Time for something new;
A surprise from me to you.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Sarah.
Love,
Your Secret Admirer
P.S. See you next year.