My Old Flame

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I just can't remember her name! Halloween madness & romance
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Stultus
Stultus
1,402 Followers

Synopsis: My Old Flame... I just can't remember her name!

Sex contents: Some Sex

Genre: Flash

Codes: Humor, Horror, Outrages, Necrophilia, Beheadings & Arson

Originally Posted at SOL: 2009-07-19

******

I suck at doing Flash stories, but here is one last try!

I'm badly behind this week so I didn't have time to get this story edit. Hopefully the inevitable typos and errors are minor.

This story is based upon the classic Spike Jones version of the song. The original Billie Holiday version is pretty darned good too!

*******

"Fascinating... you say?" Detective Archer muttered, more to the ceiling than to the suspect, who was cheerfully seated on the other side of the table and being enthusiastically cooperative. He was also quite barking mad, a sick but dangerous predator who had kidnapped, raped and murdered at least two dozen young women over many years. This case was going to earn everyone in homicide a citation and Archer hoped maybe even a promotion.

"Oh, Yes, yes, yes, indeed! They all had such a fascinating way about them; that certain gaze in their eyes! They wanted me to collect them! To keep them save and protected!" The earnest short man declared sincerely.

"Protected... you say? You kidnapped twenty-three women that we know of so far, twenty-one of which you kidnapped, raped, strangled, raped their dead bodies again, cut off their heads and then buried their bodies in a shallow grave. You then shrunk their heads and used them to decorate the inside of your ranch house."

"Exactly! I tended their lovely shrunken heads and their graves with great care. I even put out flowers every Sunday!"

"Quite so. That made it easy for us to find most of the graves, but why hadn't you strangled the two girls that we found manacled in your barn? You'd kept Mary Milligan alive for over two years!"

"Jenny I'd only had for a short time and I liked the way she screamed at me. I was going to strangle her soon! Mary... well, she had been a Catholic school girl and she discovered that she enjoyed being raped... and that took most of the fun out of keeping her. I couldn't strangle her either; she kept telling me no, so I didn't know what to do with her!" Our mass murderer showed remorse at this, that his victim had told him, rather firmly apparently, that she most definitely did not want to be strangled... and he had conceded.

"There is still one old grave we found without a headstone that we don't have a name for. You burned and buried this body at least twenty years ago, my coroner thinks. Who was she? What was her name?"

"Ah, my old flame... I've never met a girl as magnificent or elegant as my old flame. She was my very first love and I've been wondering what became of her for years! She's been in my thoughts for over twenty-four years... wondering what had become of her. Now, if I could only remember her name!" He let out a long wistful sigh and began counting off the names of young ladies, all murder victims we had recovered, before collapsing in a crying heap on the table. He just couldn't remember her name.

"Think back to when you were together with her long ago. Did she have a fascinating gleam in her eye as well?"

"The Eye!" He shouted, standing up and raising his fists in fury. "I saw that eye! The one that kept winking and blinking at other men! I think I put it into a jar in my bathroom closet. What was her name?!" He sobbed for awhile with his head on the table. I took a brief break to check with the inspector that had the complete listing of the seized evidence. It was a long list, but it did include a single human eye preserved in a small jar found in his bathroom.

I borrowed this jar from the evidence room and placed it on the table in front of my suspect, hoping this would trigger his memory and it did. His howling fits quieted down and his eyes appeared much more lucid, as if he'd become, for just a few moments, once again quite sane.

"My... old flame!" He cried. "She always treated me mean, so covered her in gasoline and... I struck a match!" Once again he fell back into a crazed fit of crying and his brief moment of lucidity was gone, perhaps forever.

Yes, clearly she was indeed an old flame, and quite a hot one as her small pile of burnt bones clearly showed.

*******

With a confession in hand, we would have no trouble getting a conviction for the 21+ counts of murder and rape, but I was sure for years that this case would haunt me. Specifically, what was the name of his old flame so that she could rest under a proper headstone?

Putting the last of the evidence away to await his trial and inevitable life term in a mental institution, I thought I could hear a woman's laugh coming from somewhere... but I was quite alone. Alone now in the evidence locker and I'd be alone also once I reached home. Unlike my demented suspect, I knew the name of my old flame... and I knew where my little curio box on the fireplace mantle was that had an old torn piece of paper with the name and phone number. I'd had many other lovers in the years since our petty quarrel and parting, but all of those attempts at love were only an imitation of my own lost old flame. It was still, years later, not quite too late. Like me, my old flame still lived a life of solitude... waiting for something, like perhaps a long overdue call to say simply "I'm sorry." The fault had been equally ours, but we were each too proud to lift the phone to make the first motion towards a reconciliation.

Grasping the number tight in my hand I cried in misery for more than a half hour, before with trembling hands, I reached for the telephone to make the call.

Stultus
Stultus
1,402 Followers
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  • COMMENTS
2 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousabout 13 years ago

WTF?

AnonymousAnonymousover 14 years ago
You Earn First Prize

Just for weaving so intricately the lyrics into the story. You left out the rendition by "Old Blue Eyes" Sinatra, which was possibly the best commercial edition, but the very best of all, which is only possessed by a few family members and some very best friends who sat by her side and loved her through the last days of her bout with metastatic melanoma, was done by Judie Houston when she was about 14 or 15 years old. Thanks for a story that "REALLY" dredged up some memories, painful but glorious!!!

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