Wednesday, 8 February 2012

Spangles by Lily Childs - February Femmes Fatales

I originally wrote Spangles for Pill Hill Press's Daily Bites of Flesh 2011 anthology, a huge volume that brought together 365 short horror tales. I have the book on Kindle and still dip into it whenever I need a short, sharp shock of the dark stuff.

Spangles was one of those deviant tales that started with a single sentence; I had no idea where it was going but it wrote itself in the end. I do hope you enjoy it as the narrator might have some other stories up her sleeve, or elsewhere...


They found sequins in my knickers. The silver disks filled my crevices, finding their way into folds of flesh where they cut and sliced me raw. The question the cops asked themselves – did a killer place them there, or did I?

Hudson swore as his boss gave him the best job of all; standing between my legs to catch the corpse as they cut me down. The wind was ferocious. My body swung in circles from a creaking oak, a pendulum. Hudson danced like a girl, trying to avoid the spillages splattered over the forest floor beneath me. Evacuation - the elegance of death. He caught my thighs and held me tight, gagging as the gales whipped my skirts up to cover his head. His rough-shaven cheek nestled against my cold skin. And that’s when he saw me sparkle.

I whispered at him.

“Touch them.”

Hypnotised, he reached into my torn, stinking panties. He probed gently. The tiny jewels sprinkled into his hands, reflecting the darkness and a thousand skewed versions of his own expression. He gathered them as they fluttered into his fingers. Above me the rope was slashed. I fell, heavy yet empty into his face. We slipped, entwined in carnal embrace to the ground.


Before the leap, I had already drunk my hostess dry. Her blood and fluids nourished me for six long months until she began to tire. As did I. The taste of her – muted and banal – was no longer heady as darkest California wine. At the edge of the woods where walkers and joggers parade their skinny bones and yapping dogs I arranged a most spectacular end to her life. It was my way of offering up grateful thanks to the woman I’d only ever known as Rambling Rose.

Together, with her hands and my mind we shoved the sequins into her most secret of places. They were a tease, an enticement. She laughed as she jumped from the tree. She smiled as she died.


Burial of my former self was planned for the following day. Hudson visited the mortuary for the final time, no longer disturbed by the cuts and the collapsed state of Rose’s belly. Her leeched organs, hard as nuts, had been removed. The detective bent over her face. I waited patiently inside the husk, drawing Hudson closer to me with unheard promises. Mouth to mouth.

“Kiss me.”


With my help Hudson has chosen to travel for a while; the job was getting him down. He wants to see new horizons; feels that something new and lush is burgeoning inside him.

He is strong. His flavour is of Merlot and beef stock. I have gorged myself on him.

Hudson and I cross the state line and set out on the journey, a backpack stuffed to the seams between his shoulders. He is fitter than he has ever been. Freedom weaves through his heart. Sucking his soul in pulses I lie hidden in a purse of silk, bathing in six hundred silver sequins.

_________ The End _________

Bio: Lily Childs is the author of a growing number of short horror and dark fiction stories that have appeared online and in print. Watch out for the first volume of a new collection coming out on Kindle this Spring.

Horror Editor at Thrillers Killers 'n' Chillers, Lily is also a Spinetingler Award 2011 nominee.

The first two short novellas in Lily's Magenta Shaman dark urban fantasy series are available to download from Amazon, with the third book planned for the summer of 2012. She is currently completing her first supernatural novel.

Lily Childs is a writer of horror, esoteric, mystery and chilling fiction.

If you see her dancing outside in a thunder storm - don't try to bring her in. She's safe.