Hot Blood: Tales of Erotic Horror

cramped back seat of the car. He remembered how, when the act was done and perspiration covered their bodies, a gentle breeze would pass through the open windows, chilling their naked skin.

From the stillness of night a gust of wind swept beneath the car, rocking its frame as if in mock imitation of their lovemaking motions. Fallen leaves swirled across the road ahead, and particles of dust thickened the air. Jason stepped from the car to clear his lungs and stopped dead in his tracks, pivoting to face what he felt surely had been someone behind him. No one was there, though the familiar presence he'd longed for seemed to surround him, as if Carla were once again somewhere very near.

'Carla?' he whispered. The silence of the darkened countryside was still and lifeless, and the unusual warmth grew stronger still. The church was dark, not another person in sight. Jason pocketed both hands and followed the feverish, luring force.

He stepped from the road into dense overgrowth, pushing aside branches from obstructing trees as he made his way along a narrow path to a clearing behind the church. Across a hill before him lay the scattered tombstones of an unkempt cemetery, and it seemed odd that he'd never noticed it when he and Carla had parked nearby before. An eerie stillness broken only by intermittent blasts of wind enveloped the hillside, coaxing him forward. He paused only to wipe sweat from his neck, then continued.

Surrounding the hill was a six-foot wall with crumbling sections of brick and a rusted arch that towered above a front entrance. Nervous, but unable to turn back, Jason stepped beneath the archway, torrents of wind urging him up the weathered concrete steps. Moonlight grave markers glowed faintly in the distance as tall blades of unmown grass stirred in the wind and whipped against his ankles.

As Jason trudged across abandoned graves, his eyes darted from headstone to headstone, blood pulsing faster and harder through his veins. He noticed the heat growing more intense as he was irresistibly drawn to a simple marker near the top of the hill. Without reading its inscription, Jason knew he had finally found Carla.

He trembled with remorse. Had she taken her own life because of him?

The air was hot, humid and heavy. He shuddered and took a deep breath as a burning fear singed his skin. Abruptly, the wind died; the cemetery was still again. Jason dried his eyes, trying to regain his composure, but as he attempted to turn away, he found his feet anchored firmly to the ground above Carla's grave. Panic-stricken, Jason tried with all his strength to pull away, but he was hopelessly stuck.

The silence was broken by an unspoken voice.

I want you, the wind whispered — or had the words come from within his own mind?

A gust of wind roared up the hill, lifting rotted floral arrangements from other graves and scattering them in pieces across the grassy slope. Tiny plastic flowers pelted Jason's cheeks as he attempted in vain to break away.

Oooooooooh.

He heard a moan — her moan, like years before, at the point of orgasm.

Jason held his breath, his collar tight against his neck as he envisioned Carla's grief-stricken teenage face the last time he'd seen her, the night they'd broken up. He remembered how her tears had suddenly ceased, how she'd stared him coldly in the eye and snarled, 'You'll come back someday. Just wait and see.'

Jason's eyes refocused on her polished granite headstone. He leaned over and, using both hands, pushed hard to free himself, but Carla's will remained unbroken — he had been drawn to her, trapped like an insect on flypaper.

Come, her panting voice persuaded from beneath the ground. I want you. Her breath came in passionate gasps, the same way she'd responded in the back seat of his car.

Abruptly, the ground softened and churned against Jason's feet. He stretched his arms in a futile attempt to catch hold of something for support, but the ground was steamy and mushy. His feet having sank several inches already, Carla's headstone was now out of reach.

Jason's thoughts whirled. What had attracted him to Carla in the days of his youth? She hadn't been especially pretty, and her personality was nothing special — but of course neither had really mattered at the time, for he had been blinded by a teenage fascination with sex.

Deeper! Deeper! Carla's voice begged as Jason's knees slipped below the surface. He could feel the loosened soil sucking past his ankles and closing around his legs. He remembered how Barbie had dumped him in college, and for one brief moment he sympathized with the pain Carla must have felt when he'd callously done the same to her.

Jason sank waist deep, clawing desperately at the ground above the grave, stems of weeds breaking off into his hands, his arms flailing wildly to grasp anything for support, the loose soil repacking itself around his legs as he slipped lower. Finally his shoes came to rest against something solid. Oh, my God, he thought — the top of her coffin. The force grew stronger, pulling him closer to hell until his shoes crashed through the lid of the time-weakened casket. Tiny shards of rusted metal pierced through his socks, jabbing into the flesh of his ankles.

From below, the heat lapped at his thighs. Jason twisted and jerked, trying to free himself as the fetid stench of his own searing flesh made him gag.

An unwanted erection strained against his pants. Jason tried to resist but instead felt his pulse quicken with involuntary sexual excitement, as if he were a mere puppet in the fondling hands of the devil himself. Waves of terror-inspired release clashed with the fiery torture at his legs.

In his mind, he could see Carla again. She was reaching for him, unzipping his pants. The heat — oh, God — the heat…

'No!' he screamed in horror. 'This can't be happening!'

The last sound he heard was Carla's ghastly voice screeching to climax as the simmering earth closed over his head…

Barbie Edwards jerked a sheet of paper from her printer and crushed a cigarette butt into an ashtray atop her cluttered desk. The steady tap-tap-tap of other keyboards around the large corporate office clicked almost in unison. She exhaled a final plume of smoke and stared at a framed photo of her husband on her desk.

Roger — was their relationship in danger? she wondered. God, it seemed forever since they'd made love. Two-career marriages were plagued with pressure, she'd been warned, but somehow she'd always believed that she and Roger could withstand just about anything.

Well, it was probably nothing. She simply hadn't been in the mood for sex lately, that's all. Still, it was puzzling how memories of Jason Strong had recently returned. Gosh, it must have been at least ten or twelve years since he'd last crossed her mind.

Jason had been such a sweet guy — sometimes selfish and a bit insecure — but they had certainly had good times together. Of course, that had been in the wild college days of the late sixties. Dropping acid, making love. And, my, could that boy get her off! In fact, Jason Strong was likely the best she'd ever had. At the time she hadn't realized how foolish it had been to let him get away. And Jason had been devastated when her interest had been drawn elsewhere.

Poor Jason. Funny how those broken promises never bothered her until now.

Barbie inserted a clean sheet of paper into her printer and glared at a seemingly endless stack of correspondence on her desk. Suddenly she stopped and stared blankly ahead.

She was feeling that untimely warmth again between her legs. There was certainly no reason to be aroused. And yet, without a doubt, she was wet. Barbie squirmed in her seat and spread her legs a bit further apart. God, she felt hot.

She shook another cigarette from a near-empty package and thumbed the ridged wheel of her cigarette lighter, momentarily hypnotized by the dancing flame that sparked forth.

It reminded her of a dream she'd had about Jason just the night before. Barbie shrugged and reached for the telephone directory.

Maybe he still lived nearby…