Tales from the Yeller House: A Horror Collection

A Dance with Death

Another night, another girl.

Christopher Price sighed and studied the woman who stood in front of him. Plump crimson lips. Eyes the color of coffee. A dimple in her left cheek. Dark hair that fell in natural waves to her small waist. The black dress she wore accentuated her skin tone and clung to her curves; if Chris had to guess her bra size, he'd say she was at least a D. Her glitter-encrusted stilettos caught the lamplight and cast rainbows on the far wall.

He watched, fascinated, as the woman stepped closer, her hips swaying. She put her hands on his shoulders and lowered herself into his lap. Chris jumped slightly when she nibbled his earlobe before kissing her way down his neck. Any other man would be aroused. Hell, at any other time Chris himself would have been.

But this was different.

The woman unbuttoned the top of his shirt, just enough so she could slip her cold hands inside and stroke his chest. Chris closed his eyes. He didn't even have to struggle to keep his dick soft anymore. It was a natural reaction.

The woman was beautiful. Chris wasn't denying that. They usually were.

    He opened his eyes to an empty room. The ordeal was over quicker than he'd expected. Chris sighed and turned on his television just in time for the nightly news report.
 
    "In other news, a Charlotte woman is missing. Stella Volta, a dancer at Club Z, was last seen leaving her residence early yesterday evening. She never showed up for work, and never returned home. Her family is offering a reward for her whereabouts."

     Chris knew what the woman looked like before the missing person flyer shown on the screen. He could still feel her cold hands on his chest, see her long hair brush against him. Chris knew that Stella would never return home to her family, the reward money would never be claimed.

    Because if Stella appeared to him, there was no doubt that she was very, very dead.