Hot Blood: Tales of Erotic Horror

niece,' he said.

Ellen said nothing. She didn't like the way he looked at her. His dark, nearly black eyes seemed to be without pupils — hard eyes, without depths. And he ran those eyes up and down her body, judging her. He smiled now at her silence and turned to May. 'A quiet one,' he said.

May stood up, holding her empty cup.

'Let me,' Ellen said quickly, stepping forward. May handed her the cup and sat down again, still without acknowledging the young man's presence. 'Would you like some breakfast?' Ellen asked.

May shook her head. 'You eat what you like, dear. I don't feel much like eating… there doesn't seem to be much point.'

'Oh, Aunt May, you really should have something.'

'A piece of toast, then.'

'I'd like some eggs,' said the stranger. He stretched lazily in his chair. 'I haven't had my breakfast yet.'

Ellen looked at May, wanting some clue. Was this presumptuous stranger her friend? A hired man? She didn't want to be rude to him if May didn't wish it. But May was looking into the middle distance, indifferent.

Ellen looked at the man. 'Are you waiting to be paid for the groceries?'

The stranger smiled, a hard smile that revealed a set of even teeth. 'I bring food to your aunt as a favor. So she won't have to go to the trouble of getting it for herself, in her condition.'

Ellen stared at him a moment longer, waiting in vain for a sign from her aunt, and then turned her back on them and went to the stove. She wondered why this man was helping her aunt — was she really not paying him? He didn't strike her as the sort for disinterested favors.

'Now that I'm here,' Ellen said, getting eggs and butter out of the refrigerator, 'you don't have to worry about my aunt. I can run errands for her.'

'I'll have two fried eggs,' he said. 'I like the yolks runny.'

Ellen glared at him, but realized he wasn't likely to leave just because she refused to cook his eggs — he'd probably cook them himself. And he had bought the food.

But — her small revenge — she overcooked the eggs and gave him the slightly scorched piece of toast.

When she sat down she looked at him challengingly. 'I'm Ellen Morrow,' she said.

He hesitated, then drawled, 'You can call me Peter.'

'Thanks a lot,' she said sarcastically. He smiled his unpleasant smile again, and Ellen felt him watching her as she ate. As soon as she could she excused herself, telling her aunt she was going to call her father.

That drew the first response of the morning from May. She put out a hand, drawing it back just shy of touching Ellen. 'Please don't. There's nothing he can do for me, and I don't want him charging down here for no good reason.'

'But, Aunt May, you're his only sister — I have to tell him, and of course he'll want to do something for you.'

'The only thing he can do for me now is to leave me alone.'

Unhappily, Ellen thought that her aunt was right — still, her father must be told. In order to be able to speak freely, she left the kitchen and went back to her aunt's bedroom where she felt certain there would be an extension.

There was, and she dialed her parents' number. The ringing went on and on. She gave up, finally, and phoned her father's office. The secretary told her he'd gone fishing, and would be unreachable for at least two days. She promised to give him a message if he called, or when he returned.

So it had to wait. Ellen walked back towards the kitchen, her crepe-soled shoes making almost no sound on the floor.

She heard her aunt's voice: 'You didn't come to me last night. I waited and waited. Why didn't you come?'

Ellen froze.

'You said you would stay with me,' May continued. Her voice had a whining note that made Ellen uncomfortable. 'You promised you would stay and look after me.'

'The girl was in the house,' Peter said. 'I didn't know if I should.'

'What does she matter? She doesn't matter. Not while I'm here, she doesn't. This is still my house and I… I belong to you, don't I? Don't I, dearest?'

Then there was a silence. As quietly as she could, Ellen hurried away and left the house.

The sea air, damp and warm though it was, was a relief after the moldering closeness of the house. But Ellen, taking in deep breaths, still felt sick.

They were lovers, her dying aunt and that awful young man.

That muscular, hard-eyed, insolent stranger was sleeping with her frail, elderly aunt. The idea shocked and revolted her, but she had no doubt of it — the brief conversation, her aunt's voice, could not have been more plain.

Ellen ran down the sandy, weedy incline towards the narrow beach, wanting to lose her knowledge. She didn't know how she could face her aunt now, how she could stay in a house where —

She heard Danny's voice, tired, contemptuous, yet still caring: 'You're so naive about sex, Ellen. You think everything's black and white. You're such a child.'

Ellen started to cry, thinking of Danny, wishing she had not run away from him. What would he say to her about this? That her aunt had a right to pleasure, too, and age was just another prejudice.

But what about him? Ellen wondered. What about Peter — what did he get out of it? He was using her aunt in some way, she was certain of it Perhaps he was stealing from her — she thought of all the empty rooms upstairs and wondered.

She found a piece of Kleenex in a pocket of her jeans and wiped away the tears. So much was explained by this, she thought. Now she knew why her aunt was so desperate not to leave this rotting hulk of a house, why she didn't want her brother to come.

'Hello, Ellen Morrow.'

She raised her head, startled, and found him standing directly in her path, smiling his hard smile. She briefly met, then glanced away from, his dark, ungiving eyes.

'You're not very friendly,' he said. 'You left us so quickly. I didn't get a chance to talk to you.'

She glared at him and tried to walk away, but he fell into step with her. 'You shouldn't be so unfriendly,' he said. 'You should try to get to know me.'

She stopped walking and faced him. 'Why? I don't know who you are or what you're doing in my aunt's house.'

'I think you have some idea. I look after your aunt. She was all alone out here before I came, with no family or friends. She was completely unprotected. You may find it shocking, but she's grateful to me now. She wouldn't approve of you trying to send me away.'

'I'm here now,' Ellen said. 'I'm a part of her family. And her brother will come… she won't be left alone, at the mercy of strangers.'

'But I'm not a stranger any more. And she doesn't want me to leave.'

Ellen was silent for a moment. Then she said, 'She's a sick, lonely old woman — she needs someone. But what do you get out of it? Do you think she's going to leave you her money when she dies?'

He smiled contemptuously. 'Your aunt doesn't have any money. All she has is that wreck of a house — which she plans to leave to you. I give her what she needs, and she gives me what I need — which is something a lot more basic and important than money.'

Afraid that she was blushing, Ellen turned and began striding across the sand, back towards the house. She could feel him keeping pace with her, but she did not acknowledge his presence.

Until he grabbed her arm — and she let out a gasp that embarrassed her as soon as she heard it. But Peter gave no sign that he had noticed. Having halted her, he directed her attention to something on the ground.

Feeling foolish but still a little frightened she let him draw her down to a crouching position. A battle had drawn his attention, a fight for survival in a small, sandy arena. A spider, pale as the sand, danced warily on pipe-cleaner legs. Circling it, chitinous body gleaming darkly in the sunlight, was a deadly black dart of a wasp.

There was something eerily fascinating in the way the tiny antagonists circled each other, feinting, freezing,