Glass Coffin

The first thing she heard was her heart thumping in her chest. It was beating faster than normal, and almost seemed to be moving up toward her throat. The feeling of adrenaline still coursed through her veins and the smell of the fiery cabin still floated just beneath her nostrils.

The last thing that she remembered was fleeing from Riven. Riven, whom she thought she could trust. Riven, whom she'd fallen in love with. She couldn't quite process the feeling of betrayal that sat like a stone in the bottom of her rapidly beating heart.

They'd met at the coffee shop in town. It was a bright September morning, and the moon was still barely visible in the sky. She'd gone out to actually spend something that wasn't in budget, which was a first for her. For the most part, she'd kept to her little cabin in the woods, where she'd spent most of her life.

But that day had been different. She'd gone and bought coffee, and he was sitting at one of the little tables watching her with the oddest expression. Riven was a beautiful man, so she'd been quite taken with him. When he beckoned her over with a flash of a smile, it was all she could do but come over and sit across from him. That smile was one of the things she'd found absolutely irresistible about him. It was one where a single side of their mouth would turn in a brief flash of joy, and one would see their brilliant white eye teeth that sometimes seemed as sharp as fangs.

"So who might you be?" he'd said to her, his voice a low seductive rumble.

She'd felt her cheeks redden, and had managed to stammer out, "Cheryse."

"Cheryse?" he'd murmured, rolling her name over his pink tongue. "It suits you well."

Her cheeks had flushed more, and she'd given a nervous laugh. He'd taken a slow sip of his coffee, one that you could tell he greatly enjoyed.

"Cheryse, are you a dancer?" he said then.

She shook her head. No, she wasn't.

"Really? You'd be perfect, you know."

She'd shaken her head again and burst out, "What's your name?"

He'd blinked slowly, and she noted that his eyelashes were remarkably long. "My name's Riven."

"Riven," she repeated, liking the feel of it on her tongue.

He nodded. "It's an odd name, I know. I could never understand my mother."

She couldn't help but smile. "I think it suits you well."

His expression had darkened briefly, and he said, "Do you now?"

She should have noticed his expression. One that was a hungry, murderous look. But she was too ensconced by his features. They were so perfect and handsome, she could only marvel.

Her watch had beeped, and she'd stood in a rush. "I have to go."

He'd lazily set his coffee down and looked up at her. "What's the rush?"

"I have things to do. A schedule."

"A schedule? Have you ever been out of that tiny little cabin that you've locked yourself in for more than an hour or two?"

This had surprised her and she'd looked at him a bit fearfully. He'd patiently explained that he was her new neighbor, just down the road on the old Samson property. So he was the new owner.

"Be careful," she said, "That house is haunted."

He'd laughed and given her look of amused disapproval. "Frankly, I think I'll be the only thing haunting that old shed for a long time to come." He gifted her with another half-smile, but it left a dark taste in her mouth.

She made an attempt at a turn to leave, but he'd taken a gentle hold of her arm and said, "Just wait. Let's talk a little bit. I'll drive you home and treat you to any pastry in the shop."

She'd promptly sat, unsure why she had ever thought of leaving. They started to talk, and then they really couldn't stop. She stayed in that coffee shop all day talking to him, covering a full range of subjects she couldn't believe. They talked about politics and what they thought of the current candidates for the presidency; of the great authors that they both so dearly loved, like Oscar Wilde, Irving Stone, and H.P. Lovecraft; of philosophy and religion, and finally of her life in the small town in which they both now lived.

She spilled her heart out to him, and somehow, she didn't care that he shared less than a fraction about himself. Cheryse had given a man whom she'd only known for a few hours her soul, was what she thought. She told him of her childhood, how her father had been a raging drunk and had died on the way home from the local bar one day. She'd explained that her mother had wearily taken care of her and her brother until her brother had taken up the same habits as her father. Her mother, Gracie, had then simply given up, and sat in the La-Z-Boy in the corner while her brother beat Cheryse senseless with his raging fits. He died too after five years of abusing the drink. Cheryse had been seventeen at that time, and he'd been twenty-four. Her mother's life force at that point had simply gone out, and Cheryse buried two family members within a month.

As the only one left in her family, and nearly eighteen, she'd gotten to work herself, letting her sweet Uncle Martin legally adopt her but let her retain the independence that she desperately wanted. And that's how things had been since. She was twenty-six, and she was happy with how things had left her alone from the chaos of having to live with someone.

He'd looked at her, and taken a strand of her white-blonde hair. "Cheryse," he whispered, "I think you deserve so much more than what you've been given."

She'd blinked in surprise and hastily pulled her hair back. "I'm grateful for having a decent home and food in my cupboards. I don't need much else."

Under his breath, he whispered softly, "What a beautiful doll you are." He'd then cleared his throat and said, "I'm going to get you a full education." He'd taken her by the arm, and taken her to his car, which was a Lexus. She figured that must mean he had a decent amount of money compared to her old 1968 Chevrolet pick-up truck from her grandfather.

He smiled, and graciously opened the car door for her, and home they went. The inside was nice, and smelled of cherries. She'd always liked cherries, and fell back comfortably into the leather seats. They'd continued to talk, and she decided she wanted to marry this man one day.

They began to meet frequently over the next few weeks, and he took her shopping for new dresses and shoes and elegant jewelry she'd never been able to afford. He'd brushed away all her protests with one look of his deep blue eyes. Eyes that were like vast oceans. She'd fall silent and would turn away to the next item on his list of things to do for her.

Riven was her dream come true.

He was odd, and definitely had his quirks. She was never allowed to his house ever, and he expressly forbid even coming onto the property. She accepted this without a word, simply because he was Riven and for all he had given her.

He helped her begin a flower business, and she sold off flowers that she'd bred to be extravagant colors. There were purples and reds and aquamarines that no one had even laid eyes on before, and she became the popular botanist.

It was a few months before she witnessed his first violent rage. He'd received a letter from someone that had clearly upset him, and she'd made some off remark about a dress he'd chosen for her. It was extremely revealing, something he didn't normal choose. She felt extremely uncomfortable owning something like that. He'd torn the dress into little shreds and red and black silk and slapped her so hard across the face, a red mark remained on her cheek for a good two hours. He'd ranted and raged for about an hour and a half, slipping into French and then back into English and then into Italian before he'd finally calmed down.

Afterwards, he'd looked at her with such horror and regret that he'd actually started crying. Tears fell down his smooth face, and he came over and caressed her cheek. "Cheryse, my darling Cheryse," he'd whispered tearfully, and he'd kissed her until she forgot the slap and the pain in her face. "My beautiful doll," he'd murmured that night as he'd taken her virginity.

She experienced four more rages in the next year, each ending in him kissing her and calling her his doll. "Why did I ever mar my doll's perfect complexion?"

He came back one night, last night, and had given her a beautiful dress. It was a sun dress, with a blue ribbon around the middle and blue flowers that seemed to rain down from the shiny little ribbon. She'd gasped in delight and hugged him tightly, loving the feel of his hard chest against her body.

He'd stroked her hair softly, and murmured in her ear, "I'm going to make you perfect forever." He'd gripped her hand then, quite suddenly, and she pulled away in surprise as something pricked her. Cheryse looked down in horror to a needle protruding from her arm. He'd injected her with something.

"Riven!" she exclaimed in shock.

He'd looked at her pitifully. "You've reached your pique of perfection, and now I must make you stay this way forever, my little doll."

She'd backed away, and bumped into a table where she'd lighted a few scented candles of cinnamon. The candle toppled over onto the quilt her mother had made, catching the old thing on fire. Cheryse then screamed and tried to stamp out the fire. Riven had grabbed her and pulled her back, hissing that his doll must not be harmed.

She'd broken from his arms and turned to shout at him to let her go and leave her alone. The fire from the quilt had quickly spread to the wooden walls of the house and the scent of burnt pine overcame the cinnamon to fill the room. "Get away from me!!!" she'd shrieked, and she'd run from the house and out into the woods.

She'd run as far as she could possibly go before she felt a cold seep from her arm into the rest of her body, and she'd fallen onto the ground, numb and eventually unconscious.

Now, she had woken, and was terrified to open her eyes to what she would find. Her whole body felt somewhat stiff, and her breath was a little short.

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Before her was a room of white. It was superbly furnished, with what looked like comfortable couches and a nice white coffee table with clear glasses set on them. One was filled with a clear bubbling liquid that looked like a lemon-lime soda from where she was.

Where was she?

To her utter shock and revulsion, she was in a glass case upon the wall. She was dressed almost perfectly, everything about her polished to perfection. And all around her were other girls in glass cases, some of them long dead, nothing but bones. Others were still rotting, their eyeballs having turned to dust and their skin peeling off their remaining bones.

Cheryse screamed.

He was obviously at home because he strode into the room with a delighted smile. "My actress, my flower, my doll!" he exclaimed.

She couldn't say anything, she was simply speechless. To this, he frowned, and with a deep, dramatic sigh, he threw himself down on a love seat and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "Now, Cheryse. You understand why I've done this to you, don't you? You're beautiful. You're the perfect doll. Your skin is the finest porcelain, your eyes the brightest glass. I couldn't help myself when I saw you. I knew I had to add you to my collection of dolls." He made a gesture to the dead and rotting women in the room. "Aren't they perfect? I've never seen prettier girls, but you Cheryse are a rose even among them."

She sat down in her tiny glass case, and brought her knees to her chest. Hot tears began to roll down her cheeks as she realized she might very well die. She probably was.

Riven, meanwhile, continued. "I started collecting dolls with my first wife, you know. I fell in love with her hair. It was a marvelous color of auburn." He pointed over to one of the skeletal corpses. "Marie Cynthia. She was a wonderful woman. She was an actress. And it was because of her that I came to realize that life was one big play. I liked that. Life really is just one big play. And if you don't play your part correctly, you get cut. Well, I didn't want her beauty to get cut. So I put her in my glass case. She called it a glass coffin, but alas I don't think she quite understands." He looked over at Marie Cynthia's corpse and began a very lively and animated conversation with it.

Cheryse in the meantime stood and surveyed the room. Her survival instincts had kicked in. She was not going to die. She simply refused. It was something she wouldn't accept.

With a gasp, she looked down at her pin heel shoes. None of the other women had been wearing them. She was. She took them off, and Riven's head swiveled in her direction. "What do you think you're doing?"

She didn't answer, just bit her lip nervously and brought the tip of one shoe down onto the glass as hard as she could. The glass cracked a good deal, but it was not enough for her to break out. Riven released a yell and ran for her as she brought the other heel down on the glass.

There was a loud shatter, and she fell forward on top of Riven. His muscular arms wrapped around her petite body, and her instincts once again took over. She grabbed a piece of the sharpest glass she could find and ran it through his chest. Blood splurted from him, splattering her face with his hot, maddened blood. He gave a choked sound, his blue eyes alight with his remaining life force.

"Doll…"

But Cheryse was all ready out the door, running for her life, tears streaming down her porcelain skin.