Darkness Beckons Anthology by Mark Morris

Author:Mark Morris
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror; gothic fantasy; supernatural horror; speculative fiction; short stories; anthologies; horror short stories
Publisher: Flame Tree Publishing
Published: 2023-08-24T11:56:07+00:00

The Late Mrs. Applegarth

Mark Gatiss

The tablecloth was stark and white as a blank page. Ken drew a pattern on it with his fork, like sled tracks in the snow. Like in that film he saw years ago. The film he saw with Anna. There’d been wine. Hands brushing. Then a kiss. It was perfect.

Too perfect.

“Ready to order, sir?”

Ken ordered what he always ordered. The fish for him, veal for her.

When it came he told himself to slow down or he’d gobble it all up in fifteen minutes flat.

* * *

The empty chair across from him was like an accusation. When Anna was alive, he’d never been good with marking anniversaries. Garage bouquets. Impersonal chocolates. Hastily scrawled cards. Now he marked the passing years with this meal. This lonely vigil. Pointless, he knew. Like saving her number on his phone. But what else did he have? What else was left of her?

At last, the waiter, tired of bumping into the chair, pushed it in so it slid snugly under the table. Ken opened his mouth to say something but didn’t. What was the point? She was gone.

He glanced over at Anna’s untouched plate, cutlery just as it had been laid out, gravy congealing around the chop like old brown blood.

Out of habit, he dabbed his mouth with a crisp napkin, pushed back his chair and made for the Gents.

The light in the lavatory was harsh and white, almost painful. Idly, he watched the stream of his piss rocking the little blue disinfectant tablet from side to side. He stared through a tiny window at the black night outside. Sighed hugely. He should go. Settle the bill. Get home. This would be the last time. Five years of memorialising. Of ‘celebrating’ a life. Making up for all the things he’d never done for her. But this would be the end. It was time to move on.

When he got back to the table, Anna’s plate was empty.

Not cleared away. Empty. The potatoes and carrots gone, the gravy scooped up, the veal chop only a rind of dun-coloured fat.

Ken frowned.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, sir?”

Ken pointed at the empty plate. The waiter scanned the room. Peered at the bobbing heads, the laughing families, the lonely singletons.

“Oh. She was here.”

“Who?”

“Your friend.”

“I wasn’t… I’m not expecting anyone.”

“Well, she seemed to know you. I’m sure she’ll be back any time now.”

Ken felt suddenly cold. It passed over him like a prickling wave. His scalp shifted as though it had come unmoored.

“Who…did she say she was?”

“Didn’t say, sir. Just apologised.”

“What for?”

The waiter smiled. “Being late.”

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