#also yes I know it's technically February but let me write my dream logic nonsense thanks

[cheerfulmelancholies]

In the spirit of Halloween, have this random short story based on a bizarre dream I had a while ago. It was weird, somehow vivid enough for me to remember, and also took place in the fucked up dream equivalent of my childhood neighborhood that has appeared in numerous dreams over the years.

Yeah I don't know either. But it was enough for inspiration to strike! So I made note of it, forgot about it for many months, and am now just coming across it again. It's a weird crossover of horror plus V-day.

It was dark and it was pouring. The wind was pulling Mark's umbrella every which way, leaving him partially exposed to the downpour. The occasional tree leaning over the sidewalk was the only other cover available. This was unacceptable. Today was supposed to be perfect! He was supposed to have delivered these gifts himself hours ago while his girlfriend was at work. Now it was well past dinnertime, storming, and he was on his way to show up unannounced as part of his surprise.

Claire would be happy regardless, but he'd always feel the sting of failure at letting things be this way. He'd have to make it up to her somehow. No time to think of that now, however. He stopped under the protection of a large tree, the only rain to hit him being the fat drops that fell from the leaves.

Still gripping the umbrella, he readjusted the box of chocolates stuffed inside his jacket, hoping his body heat wouldn't melt them too much. After chancing a glance at the bouquet of roses he was trying not to crush while shielding them from the elements, he began to continue his trek through the storm.

Only for someone to slam into him, knocking him and his gifts to the ground.

"I'm so sorry!" the individual said, reaching for him. They hefted the man to his feet with ease and quickly scooped up the fallen goods. "Here."

The flowers and chocolates were back into Mark's arms before he could even take a proper look at the stranger. He looked down at the bouquet and noted it was drenched. Some of the petals had fallen off and the whole thing looked awful. The box of chocolates, though still sealed in their plastic and thus safe from the rain, had somehow managed to become dented. The umbrella was unable to be saved, having been taken by the gusts of wind.

Mark's veins filled with an icy rage that made the rain feel like a sauna by comparison. "You've ruined everything!" he shrieked, voice cracking. He dropped the items and whirled to face the stranger, their back to him, and lunged from the cover of the tree.

The knife went in easily, and took just as little effort to pull out. It repeatedly slid through muscle with that same ease, and it wasn't until the stranger collapsed that he had any trouble stabbing them.

Mark watched the rain and blood mix, his anger quelled only slightly by the fact they'd learned their lesson. He stayed out of cover, letting the rain wash away whatever evidence may have splattered onto him. Now that he looked, the corpse by his feet appeared to be a young woman. At least, judging by the hair and the charm bracelet.

She looked a little too similar to Claire, but he knew it wasn't her. She'd never be out this late.

Mark sighed and turned to the ruined gifts. He couldn't present them to her now. He'd have to wait until her birthday in the next couple of weeks to properly surprise her then. She didn't like when he gave gifts out of the blue; they were only accepted when there was a reason for it. He'd learned that once the receptionist at her old job wouldn't let him through after a surprise visit a random day of the week.

He was glad when she finally left that job.

After scooping up the soiled flowers and chocolates, he turned to head back the way he came.

Only for the woman's supposed corpse to block his path.

Now that she was facing him, he couldn't believe he ever mistook her for Claire. This woman was deathly pale--perhaps from the stabbing--and had eyes darker than the surrounding storm. She stood still as a statue, a cold scowl across her features.

Although she wasn't physically imposing, something about her demeaner made his insides scream. He took a step back, then another, knots of worry tightening within his stomach.

Her wide, frigid eyes merely stared back. "That was just unnecessary," she said, voice emotionless.

Mark wanted to spit out a rebuttal, something to show her he wasn't afraid, but found his voice paralyzed. Something was wrong with this woman. His stomach felt like lead. He didn't know if he was going to throw up or lose control of his bowels.

By the time he realized it wasn't fear he was feeling, it was far too late.

"Today, a gruesome scene was discovered on Fort Street early this morning. An elderly woman reported seeing blood and viscera on the sidewalk two houses away from her own as she was about to spend some time on her porch to feed the birds. Police reported the man as 28-year-old Mark Hampton, who was last seen at the local drugstore buying Valentine's Day gifts for the woman he called his girlfriend.

"This woman has requested to remain anonymous, but has given us a statement. She describes her relationship with Mr. Hampton as that of a victim, stating that the man has been stalking her for several months and even caused her to quit multiple jobs and file a restraining order. It's been ruled out as a homicide, however, due to lack of evidence and no viable suspects. Authorities suspect it was the doing of some sort of animal, yet no one is sure what creature could do such a thing to a human body. Some say..."

The news report continued on, pondering the death of a deranged man as the woman got up to leave the bar. It seemed that even here she couldn't escape the outside world, as several patrons remained glued to the screen, spreading gossip and theories amongst themselves.

She supposed it was time to move on anyway. She'd spent too long in this place and caused too much of a ruckus to stay put.

People always said she was too nice. She'd shoo their assumptions away, insisting that she was anything but. She prided herself on being neutral at best, and yet...

That would be the last time she'd ever apologize for bumping into someone.