Horror Stories For The Mad

Roses are Red

She positioned the hands over the stomach, and slid a red rose between the pale, lifeless fingers. She continued to slide them under the corpse's body. She moved to the face. She carefully lifted the head and wove the woman's straw-like hair back into a neat braid. She intertwined small roses with the locks. She took a bigger one and laid it in the hair. She began to work on the face. She used her supply of household dangers to aid her. She grabbed a sharp needle, a pair of scissor, and  some tong like instruments. She opened the eye sockets and carefully removed the eyes. There wasn't any trace of  stereotypical blood. It was all drying and dark in color. She grabbed another rose. She examined the stem and cut off the end. She placed it gently in the socket. She repeated.

The smell of rotten flesh was almost covered by the flowers' sickly sweet smell. It was almost enough to repel the flies that had come to lay eggs in the deceased. She removed her gloves and gracefully left her work. She almost hoped the police would come soon to view it.

"The red rose whispers of passion. And the white rose breathes of love. O, the red rose is a falcon, and the white rose is a dove." - John Boyle O'Reilly

Jamie hung up the phone. She had just gotten home. She took a quick shower. As she slipped into comfier clothes, she heard the doorbell chime. She yelled that she was coming and tied her hair in a towel. She rushed to the door, but when she pulled it open, no one was there. She was slightly surprised, but took the logical approach. Ding dong ditchers.

She took a step onto her porch and looked around. The street was completely empty. Half of the street lamps were out. The road sat in a stale light that gave her an uneasy feeling. The dismissed those thoughts. She was just acting paranoid. The lighting was no different then yesterday. It was odd in anyway. The kids must have been hiding behind someone's house. The warm summer breeze brought a slightly strange bitter smell of flowers to her. She assumed it was her older neighbors rose bush.

She didn't notice it until her foot almost crushed it. there was a delicate red rose on her steps She picked it up. She didn't have a boyfriend. Maybe it was the guy who was crushing on her at work. She found a note tied to it with a thin black ribbon. Be Ready. It was written elegantly by someone who knew calligraphy. She placed a hand to her mouth. Creepo!

A week later-

James watched TV. The doorbell rang. It rang every day! She was about fed up with it. And this was just too late. 10 o'clock was no time for a visit! She went to the door and opened it. She didn't investigate her surroundings before slamming the door.

The rose was in a vase. Bill, the work admirer, claimed he had nothing to do it. He called her crazy after she continued to accuse him. She knew he was lying. She took another deep breath of the bitter sweet rose scent that filled her house. It was a strange smell. She couldn't remember ever smelling it before. She went back to the TV.

The doorbell rang as soon as she sat down. She loudly swore. She went sprinting to the door and screamed that she was going to call the cops soon. She slammed the door open. No one. She yelled into the street as she moved to go to the road. She repeated that these stupid kids better stop it now. After five dogs were barking, she calmed down and went back inside. Great, now the neighbors thought she was a nutcase!

She went to the TV. She just wanted to finish the show! She soon heard a timer in the kitchen go off.  She didn't set the timer. She walked out to the kitchen and looked at the silenced timer. She didn't set it. She hadn't had any need to touch that timer for two weeks at least. She looked over and noticed the fridge was open. She hadn't been to the fridge in four hours. How'd it open? She began to feel sick. Was someone watching her? Was someone in the house? She tried to think logically. There's always an explanation. A draft? She didn't believe it, but it was easier to accept.

Her blood turned to ice when she looked in the fridge. The rose was sitting on the middle shelf. She gasped and looked over her shoulder with a pale face. Someone was inside. She was going to die. She went to the phone and dialed 911. She looked around frantically. They could be anywhere.  But then she looked at the phone. It wasn't working. It was dead or something. She needed out then. She rushed to the backdoor which was the closest. It wasn't opening. It was locked with a key. She looked to the counter. Where was the key? It was missing. She didn't have time for this. She'd break a window. Her house lacked windows. She used to think it was cozier that way. The nearest one was by the front of the house.

She tiptoes/sprinted to the other side. She got to the window. There was a note. It was in the same elegant handwriting that was on the rose note.

Open the window. Die now.

She hesitated and looked over her shoulder. They were close! She felt like screaming. She was trapped like some mouse! The lights went off next. She noticed the neighbors houses get dark outside her window. The street lamps all turned off. She shivered. This was it.

She remembered the gun upstairs in her room. She rushed up the stairs to get it, but luck was against her. She slipped. As she hit the bottom step  her leg hit something behind her. Terror ran through her. A shiver went up her body and the blood left her face. Nothing should have been there. She was paralyzed for a second.  An arm wrapped around her shoulders. Anoter covered her mouth with a rag. "Shh," it calmed her soothingly, "It'll all be fine." It was a female.

Circles began to spot her vision. She wasn't sure how she managed to get ahold of her attackers hair. She pulled, and she bit. She sprinted up the steps when the grip was loosened enough.  She screamed for help hoping a neighbor would hear. She got into her bedroom, and locked the door. She heard footsteps. The intruder was wearing high heels.  Tears were streaming down her face.

Someone hit the door lightly. She heard a clean voice ask as it quoted Richard Brinsley Sheridan, "Won'y you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you." She sobbed. Her vision was blurring. The room was spinning. The door was being hit harder and harder with every blow. Each one made her jump. She looked around. No windows. She heard scratching. Someone was dragging a set of nails over the surface of the door. It gave her chills. She searched for the gun. It wasn't under the bed like she'd imagine. She didn't give up. It wasn't in the dresser. It wasn't in the closet. Not here. Not there. Not anywhere. She was sobbing harder and harder. She didn't want to die. What did she do to deserve this? Why would God set this on her? She toppled around as she attempted to finish her tasks. She screamed for help. That was her last hope. All it did was make the room spin faster.

Don't you like to smell the roses," asked the person on the other side of the door, "Only my garden smells that sweet." The door slowly opened like something from a horror movie. Jamie imagined a suspenseful audience holding their breath waiting for the killer to finally win or possibly die only to be ressurected in the sequel. Jamie's vision was blurring. She could make out few features. Red dress. Blonde hair. That was the most she could get.

The woman quoted Thomas Moore, "Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone; all her lovely companions are faded and gone." She showed Jamie the gun in a taunting way.