The Perfect Date by Hilary Taylor

As I gazed at him across the table, I knew Tinder had dealt me the winning hand at last. This handsome man was listening attentively to what I was saying, his hypnotic eyes crinkling as he smiled appreciatively at my pathetic jokes. His dark hair curled suggestively at his collar, and flopped forward onto his brow, giving him a boyish look that I was finding very attractive. His hands, with long tapering fingers looked so graceful yet his shoulders seemed broad and powerful giving an impression of strength. No sign of a wedding ring, no tell-tale faint line of a ring ever having been worn. We had talked on the phone a number of times and he had entranced me with his tales of his home country, somewhere in Eastern Europe, his slight accent adding to his general attraction and mystery. I was already besotted when he had suggested he cook for us both so we could get to know each other without strangers intruding on our romantic! 

He stood up. 

“I have to check on the main course” he said, and being of a curious nature, I followed him into the kitchen. 

“I’ll get another bottle from the fridge shall I?” I said, opening the door as I spoke. Astounded, I stepped back not believing what I was looking at! 

“Is that your blood?” 

In front of me were at least fifty vials of dark crimson liquid neatly standing upright in specimen stands. I trembled as I felt him move behind me, his breath caressing my neck as he gently lifted my hair away from my skin. 

“Those are snacks, but I am ready now for my main course!” he murmured menacingly.

Published in Issue #7

No comments:

Post a Comment