BLACK WIDOW

by

Terry Wright

             In the shadows, she waited, her long slim legs spread tantalizingly across her silken bed. She couldn’t see him in the darkness beyond her dusty doorway, but she knew he was out there somewhere, watching her, calculating his next move, his chances for love. Her heart skipped. Was he strong and daring? Would he give her the affection she so desperately needed?

Teasingly, she twitched her legs.

Nothing.

Again, with more intensity this time.

Nothing.

Last night, in a sliver of moonlight, she’d caught a glimpse of him—mostly a blur, a surprise. Startled, she bolted and he disappeared.

But tonight she felt intrigued by him; she longed for him; she hoped he’d venture closer. How badly she wanted to smell him, to feel him, to taste him. She’d been alone for so long, toiling with the business of living. If only she could experience the ecstasy of true love, the passion, the desire, the satisfaction. Could he be the one?

She waited.

Without warning, a vibration made her senses tingle. She had to force her legs to be still in spite of her instinct to run, to get away. He surely meant her no harm. If she could quell her fear, this encounter could be a perfect treat. The thought of what he could do made her whole body feel pleasantly warm.

Another vibration, closer this time, set her heart to hammering. He had to be near, somewhere behind her. She didn’t dare turn to face him. He’d surely run away. She didn’t want that. Not tonight. Not now.

She closed her eyes and twitched her legs again, hoping beyond hope that he’d play her lover’s game. Though he’d probably feel safer if she didn’t move, she wanted him to know that his presence excited her, that she was willing to see this thing through, to let him have his way with her. Vibrations from his body now rippled through her silken tapestries, driving her wild, making her crazy with desire and the hope of fulfillment. Oh, please. Don’t leave…

His sudden touch felt soft and sincere. Paralyzing. Blood coursed through her body in hot waves. He was slim and trim and strong, yet tender. This would be the one. She just knew it. Don’t make me wait. Please take me. Take me. Take me.

No gentler a lover there ever was. So quickly he had penetrated her, so quickly he had finished and dismounted. Suddenly she felt cold and alone. Was that all? What about me, my feelings, my desires, my satisfaction?

            He turned to leave without a word, without so much as a second look.

You prick!

            She whipped around and pounced on him, sinking poison-laced fangs into his little beating heart.

Justice paced the light. His cowboy boots felt like slippers on his feet, his long coat like a bathrobe. The brim of his cowboy hat shaded his eyes from the glow. He felt anxious. Dennis would arrive soon, bringing with him a terrifying story, one that prompted Justice to do a little research.

The light had revealed to him the history of women serial killers, those who were called Black Widows, those who killed the ones they loved. The gentler, softer, weaker sex had a dark side. These women killed mostly for money, but some killed for revenge, and others because of uncontrollable jealousy. 

An English woman murdered four husbands and her five children. A 300-pound farmer’s wife became America’s most prolific murderess, sending her husband, three children and dozens of suitors into the afterlife. A Budapest woman sent over thirty lovers to their graves. Other twentieth century Black Widows had been dubbed names like Grandma Venom and The Poison Queen.

As Justice studied this horrifying phenomenon, he realized its global significance. From Russia to South Africa and Canada to Brazil, these women knew no borders. And worse, over time they’d grown colder and more vicious, if that were possible. Justice felt a chill.

The light also revealed victims of a modern-day Black Widow who had made all the others seem docile. Her dead lovers wailed to him from the afterlife. They told him this woman was a predator, the worst of her kind. Driven by fantasies of sexual fulfillment unrealized, her MO hadn’t been the usual quiet kill by poison, but instead, a bloodbath born of unbridled rage. Justice frowned. Who was this blackest of Black Widows?

“Her name is Lana,” a slender man said as he appeared in the light.

Justice saw sorrow in Dennis's eyes.

“She’s killed every man that ever loved her.”

“Please—have a seat.”

Chairs appeared from the light and they sat facing each other. Dennis wrung his hands. “I can’t believe it, Justice. I wasn’t the only one.” He buried his face in his hands. “She killed us all.”

“You’ve talked to them?”

“Yes. They’re from everywhere,” he said, blinking. “Thirty-six of us counting her husband. Different cities. Different states. Same stories.”

“And yours?”

“I…I met her in a Bakersfield church…at my best friend’s wedding. I should have known by the way she was dressed in black, the way she hit on the groom then turned her attention to me. I’d been drinking heavily at the reception and found her charms irresistible. She seemed like a goddess, warm and inviting, her eyes like ebony jewels, black hair that danced on her shoulders. I thought I’d won the lottery of love when we left together. We got a room…she teased me…she climbed on me…she bit me…I…well…ah…”

Leaning forward, Justice said, “What happened?”

Dennis glanced at him—then looked away. “I…couldn’t…I was overwhelmed by her aggressive foreplay. I was drunk. She embarrassed me for Christsake. I tried…but…I just couldn’t get it up.”

“What did she do?”

“I...I remember the bathtub, shallow warm water, the knife. God, I can still feel the pain.”

Justice frowned. “Where is she now?”

Trembling, Dennis pointed to the light, which parted and revealed a scene in the land of the living.

            Organ music pumped through the church. Sitting in the front pew beside the bride’s mother, Lana eyed the groom, a sharply dressed young man, hair slicked back, and perfect posture in that tuxedo. A fine specimen of a man.

            The organ music heightened.

Lana liked weddings. They reminded her of a happier time. Today, she wore her favorite necklace with the red ruby pendant, a low-cut black cocktail dress, black nylons and high-heel shoes. She knew what men liked. But men didn’t know what she liked—or they didn’t care. A bad taste formed in her mouth. 

For that, she blamed her husband—the bastard. Though she’d poisoned him nearly eight years ago, the thought of that impotent mouse of a man still made hot adrenaline spill into her veins. He’d satisfied himself and rolled over, leaving her alone and yearning for more. While he snored, she cried herself to sleep. The disappointment of her wedding night had changed her attitude toward men forever. To hell with those self-gratifying pricks. She felt no pity, no remorse for those who had left her aching and unloved.

But Lana loved to play games. She couldn’t resist tantalizing men and luring them into her lustful web. Crossing slender legs, she let a shoe dangle from her toes and gave the groom a wink, causing him to frown as he awaited his bride’s walk down the aisle. His best man seemed interested in Lana’s flirtatious smile. Could he satisfy her? Did he dare take the chance? She examined her long sharp fingernails painted red. Foolish boy.

“I see,” said Justice as the vision faded from the light. “Another potential victim.”

             Dennis fidgeted in his chair. “Can you stop her?”

            “Is that why you’re here?”

            “Her dead husband wanted me to give you this.” Dennis held up a gold cufflink. “We can’t crossover to the other side, Justice. Not until we’ve seen her destroyed for what she did to us.”

Taking the cufflink, Justice bent an eyebrow. “Why this?”

            “She might remember it.”

            “I don’t think she’ll care.”

            “You’ve got to do something.”

The Wedding March made Lana smile. It brought back memories of her wedding day, her great expectations, how she’d winked at her groom from under the veil, undetected. Too bad he’d ruined their honeymoon night, a selfish act of cruelty she’d never forgive.

She let her eyes flirt with the nervous best man who often glanced at her legs. Oh he wanted her all right. She gave her foot a little twitch, hoping he’d realize she was interested in him. His eyes brightened and a smile touched his lips. Foolish boy.

With a rush of silk and lace, the bride glided by, her arm laced in her father’s, her face hidden by the veil. It hadn’t taken Lana long to befriend the bride and her family. They owned the little convenience store on the corner, just down from Lana’s apartment. She’d said she’d be honored to attend their daughter’s wedding.

As the organ music ended, the bride stood next to her father, facing a stoic groom and his fidgeting best man with darting bright eyes.

The preacher emerged from behind a red curtain. 

“We are gathered here today…”

            Suddenly, a nasty odor flared Lana’s nostrils. She recoiled, thinking somebody nearby had suddenly released a bad case of gas. Somebody dead. Then she felt a presence, an uncomfortable pressure on her chest. What the…? She looked right. My God. A smelly old man had somehow slipped in and sat next to her in the pew. He wore a dusty long coat and held a dirty cowboy hat in his lap. Gray hair touched his shoulders and his sunken face looked like dried-up leather.

“Do you mind?” she said, adding a sneer of disgust.

With steel-gray eyes, he looked her up and down. “Don’t mean to offend you ma’am. Name’s Justin Graves. But you can call me Justice.”

“I’d rather call the police,” she hissed, trying to keep her voice low.

“I am the police—homicide detective, Texas Ranger.”

“You need to go to the hospital.”

“Did I mention I’m dead?”

“You’re sick.”

The old man lifted his coat lapel, revealing a rotting chest full of bullet holes.

Reeling from the stench, Lana scooted left and darted her eyes around the church. Everyone’s attention was on the wedding ceremony. She felt invisible. “What do you want?”

“Your husband sent me.”

“He’s dead. Do I look like a fool?”

“I’ve talked to Dennis.”

“Who?”

“You met him at the wedding in Bakersfield.”

            She felt her stomach turn upside down. “No way.”

            “…speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Justice said and pointed to the boy at the altar.

Putting a hand on her chest, Lana tried to suppress a wave of panic. How could he know?

“Dennis warned me about you.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.” From out of his dusty pocket, the ghoul displayed a cufflink sparkling like a gold nugget in his bony hand. “Recognize this?”

She felt a chill. “I…I buried that with my husband. How did you get it?”

“Dennis gave it to me.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Take it.”

“I don’t want it.”

            “Do you take this man…?”

Justice extended his hand. “He wants you to know he’s watching you. In fact—they’re all watching you.”

“You’re lying.”

“Your lovers want you to stop the killing.”

“I haven’t killed anyone.”

“You poisoned your husband.”

Lana stiffened. “You can’t prove that.”

“I don’t have to.”

“He had a heart attack, damn it. The coroner even said so.”

“We both know that isn’t true. The others you stabbed and strangled and bludgeoned to death.”

“You don’t know anything, old man.”

            “With this ring, I thee wed…”

“I know you’re a Black Widow.”

“How do you figure?”

Justice glared. “The way you dress in black, and that red ruby hanging from your neck. You enjoy playing the part, don’t you?”

“So what if I do.”

“Leave the boy alone,” Justice said and tossed  the cufflink to Lana.

She dropped it on the floor. 

As she bent over to pick it up, she spat, “You’re nuts, Justice. I’m…”

“Sshhhhh.”

Lana’s face felt suddenly flushed. What? The smelly old man was gone. Had she been hallucinating? “Where did he go?” she asked the stern-faced mother of the bride.

“Sshhhhh.”

            “…’Til death do us part.”

The motel room key clicked in the lock and Lana felt a rush of excitement.

He toed the door open and grabbed her around the waist. They tumbled into the room and onto the bed, flat on their backs. “Honey—we’re home.” He laughed.

Lana giggled as she snuggled into the crook of his arm. “Why do they call you the best man, anyway?”

“ ‘Cause I am,” he said and laughed some more.

She gave him a slanted glance. “Want to bet?” 

Quickly, she slipped out of her dress, leaving on her black nylons and the red ruby pendant dangling over her breasts. She ripped buttons to remove his shirt.

“Hey!”

“What’s the matter, best man?” In the next moment, she flung his trousers on the floor. Her heartbeat jumped up a notch as her eyes traversed his muscular frame. “Show me how good you are.”

“I resemble that remark.”

            With tingling fingers and palms on fire, she ran her hands through the hair on his chest, down his hard abdomen and under the seam of his boxers. She could feel herself becoming wetter and hotter. Don't make me wait. Please take me. Take me. Take me.

“The room is spinning," he slurred. "Beam me up, Scottie!”

“Not until I’m done with you,” Lana said and grabbed his limp member. Undaunted, she decided to go to work on him. He could do it; he was young and virile. Surly he was capable of satisfying her. He wouldn’t let her down. Not tonight. Not now. 

Squeezing him, she felt a wave of panic ripple through her body when he didn't respond to her kneading, her pumping, her pulling. No, Please. Don’t do me this way. In desperation, she put her mouth on him. 

Nothing. 

“Come on mister best man!”

He let out a snore.

            You prick!

Without a second’s hesitation, she lunged for his throat. Like fangs, her sharp nails pierced his skin and drew blood. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and pressed herself against his useless flesh, pushing and pushing, pressing and pressing.

Nothing.

She couldn’t find the rhythm. She couldn’t reach a climax. Rage boiled up inside and she gripped his neck with all her strength. This boy was about to go the way of all the others. The Black Widow strikes again.

In her throes of frustration and anger, she suddenly noticed a disgusting odor in the room. Her guts clutched and her lungs heaved. She sat up on her unconscious victim and scanned the shadows. It smelled as if something had died in here. But as hard as she tried, her eyes couldn’t pierce the darkness, which seemed much thicker and blacker than before. What the…?

Then came a pressure on her chest, a sudden weight on her abdomen. Her guts started churning, painfully twisting as if something inside were trying to get out. Heart beating faster, she thought her whole body had caught on fire. She grabbed her stomach, which started swelling and stretching. Her head began to ache as if her brain were being crushed in a vise, her skull about to split apart.

            WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?

Trying to swallow, she suddenly realized her breathing had changed to rapid gasps. Panic seized her and the stench in the room threatened to make her vomit. She recalled the stinking old cowboy in the church. The hallucination.

“JUSTICE!”

Her belly split open and a gooey liquid oozed from the gaping wound. The pain was excruciating. But the horror had just begun.

Two pair of spindly black legs unfolded from her torso as her arms broke into new joints that bent stiffly. Her skin became hard and black as beetle shell. She wanted to cry out but her voice failed her. Her lips had hardened into mandibles; her tongue became leathery, and her teeth turned into sharp fangs that dripped a sour fluid. 

Just as her brain imploded and her face began peeling off, her legs broke into stiff joints identical to her arms. Instinctively, she rose up like a wobbly newborn. The sick feeling and the smell began to subside as her abdomen swelled up like a balloon, turned eggshell hard and shiny black. And in a last surge of this ungodly metamorphosis, her forehead broke away, releasing eight eyes that could magically see in the dark.

With her little heart beating fast as a machine gun, Lana scanned the room, the shadows now invisible, a sliver of moonlight encroaching upon her strange new world. Silken threads crisscrossed around her in erratic patterns, a web to which she clung upside down. Shifting her eyes to her transformed body, she saw a red hourglass design on her belly and remembered her red ruby pendant. She licked her fangs, savored the taste of her poison, and no longer felt afraid.

Looking around with her eight new eyes, she couldn’t find the boy. The bed looked like a massive framework of steel, big as a building. Everything seemed way out of proportion now. Feeling very small, she realized her webbed domain occupied a dusty corner. She could see Justice standing across the room like a towering giant, smiling.

“Lana," he said. "Female Black Widows live less than a year after maturity. The devil will have your soul very soon.”

            You prick!

"You should've left the best man alone."

There's no such thing!

Suddenly, a vibration rippled through her web. Her heart skipped. What was that?

“You have company,” said Justice.

The vibration came again, stronger this time. Somehow she knew what that meant. He had to be near, somewhere behind her. She didn’t dare turn to face him. He’d surely run away. She didn’t want that. Not tonight. Not now.

            She twitched her legs. Don’t make me wait. Please take me. Take me. Take me.

With a gust of wind, the ghoul was gone.