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The Black Swan’s Last Dance -Horror Flash Fiction

February 15, 2016

“What Lurks on the Attic Stairs”
Prompt Suggestion from adarkenedhouse


black-swan-art-direction

The Black Swan’s Last Dance

The first time I saw her was during a production of the Black Swan. She had the lead. I sat in the audience, memorized by her movements. Could anyone be so graceful? Her brisé volé. Each pirouette en dedan. Each fouetté en tournant en dehors. The dives, lifts, and leaps. I sighed, longingly. I became a Balletomane right then and there. I came to each production, followed her career, told myself that she danced solely for me.

And then she moved from her flat in the City to a house in the country. I spied on her the day she was shown the place. Watched her delight as she roamed through the large dining hall that would become her studio. As soon as the renovators finished their work, I moved in as well. Into the attic where no one ventured. It was large enough to house everything I needed. A bed, writing table, my computer equipment, a small refrigerator and hotplate. She wasn’t home often and the place was well-isolated, so I had the run of the house and grounds most of the time. I placed my cameras discreetly throughout the house. When she was home, I kept quiet. Still. Watched.

As I sat in my small space reviewing some recent footage, I heard a car door shut. I glanced out the window and saw a black sedan in the driveway. She was home. I turned my monitors on. Excitement rose within me. My heartbeat quickened. My mouth watered. How long would she stay this time? Would she dance for me while she was home? My eyes scanned the numerous camera angles until I finally found her.

But she was not alone.

Anger grew inside of me. My blood pressure rose. My hands sweated. I frowned, disgusted. Who was the young man with her? Why was he with her?

I crept down the attic stairs slowly. The foyer was the only place I could not hide a camera. I wanted to see this man clearly with my own eyes. I made it to the bottom of the stairs just as the door flung open. Her laughter radiated through the house. I peeked through the peephole in the attic door. The man was tall, well-muscled, black hair, burnish skin. He held her around the waist as they entered. My Black Swan with that rogue! The nerve of him!

They wandered from the foyer into the library. I crept back up the stairs to watch them on the monitors.

Squeak. Squeak.

The stairs sounded louder than usual. I stopped. Held my breath. Had they heard me? I listened intently. No movement in the foyer. I continued my ascent.

Squeak. Squeak.

Surely they heard me this time. I stopped again. Inhaled. Waited. Exhaled and walked up the last two stairs. I tip-toed across the floor. I was directly above the library.

Squeak. Squeak.

Damn these old houses! I sat down just in time to see her point at the ceiling. A hand clasped around her mouth. The young man looked up. Made a gesture to her, then left the room.

I heard the attic door open. I panicked. Switched off the monitors and stood up. I moved slowly along the floor. Hid behind a large wardrobe. My heart pounded in my chest.

Squeak. Squeak.

The young man ascended the stairs.

Squeak. Squeak.

“Hello? Anyone up here?” the young man called out.

I held my breath and looked around me for a weapon. An old baseball bat leaned against a table to my left. I reached for it. Grasped it in my hands and waited.

“Hello?” he called out again, but stood still midway up the stairs.

I listened for his footsteps. He descended back down and I moved just as he did to sync our steps. By the time he closed the door of the attic, I stood at the top of the stairs.

“It’s probably the house settling,” I heard him tell my Black Swan.

I stood in place for what felt like an eternity. I listened as they laughed. Music drifted up to me for a long while. I heard their footsteps as they moved to another room. Heard more laughter. Deep moans. Muffled screams of pleasure. Finally, I could take no more.

I descended the stairs. Not caring if my footsteps could be heard. I opened the attic door. Slowly made my way to her bedroom. The door was cracked open and I stood there, watching them. Lovers’ Dance.

In a fit of rage, I burst through the door and aimed the bat at the young man’s head. I swung it over and over again until he collapsed on top of my Black Swan. Still enraged, I began beating both of them. His back. Her head. Her chest. His arms and legs. I tossed the young man off of her and aimed my bat at her stomach. Her screams echoed in my head along with the whack whack whack of the bat. And then there was silence.

I stumbled back. Surveyed my deed. Blood covered the bed, the walls, their bodies, and me. I dropped the bat and collapsed onto the floor.

My God! What have I done?

©February 2016 Lori Carlson. All rights reserved.

(873 words)

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6 Comments
  1. Pretty scary — idea of someone living in my attic. Hmmm. Should I take a peek or no? Always sounds up there :]

    • *laughs* oh I don’t know… maybe it is best NOT to know what could be up there! Glad you enjoyed the story and thank you for the great prompt!

  2. thank goodness I don’t live in a house with an attic 🙂

  3. This was super creepy. He’s over-obsessed but shouldn’t she notice the cameras placed in the rooms?

    • Thanks! Well, he did a good job hiding the cameras… he just couldn’t get one placed in the foyer without it being spotted 😉

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