Monica Brinkman, Poe-etic once more: Of Ladies and Lore

Of Lady’s and Lore

by Monica Brinkman


“Ahhh”, a sharp, hot jolt of pain radiated knee to ankle. Lincoln panted and shifted his weight from left to right. The shackles molded to the metal table held him secure allowing a mere fraction of an inch movement on either side.

His limbs held in place, his eyes bound, his auditory perception on alert heard the nearing scurry of rodent and rustle of cloth echoing throughout the space.

“You Bastard,” rang out,yet the rat stood its place and continued nibbling at the forefinger. Lincoln felt the warm liquid ooze from the tip and heard the faint drip, drip of blood hit the concrete floor. He flipped his fingers to fend off the offending creature, repulsed at the touch of grimy coarse hair against his hand.

“Nooo”, he clenched his teeth when fang met bone, this time conscious to make no movement.

The throb turned into agony. Small nibbles at his ankle grew to large bites of flesh. With one last groan, Lincoln gave into merciful darkness of unconsciousness.

Lady Lynn jumped from the window perch, certain Lincoln could no longer sense her perfume or hear her rapid heartbeat.

Shame, she thought while walking the circumference around his long, lean body, he did have a brilliant smile, pleasing laugh and heavenly violet-blue eyes.

Never less, she’d been watching his dalliances for months, hiding her presence in the blackness of alleys and darkness of shadow seeking the perfect time to act.

This night she’d walked boldly pass him. He leaped upon her and pulled her frail body next to his. How shocked his face when this lady punched his groin and grabbed the knife from his hand.

The second kick to his manhood took his breath away. Lady Lynn giggled of how easy it was to manipulate his large body. She leaned it on her own as she walked two blocks and brought him through the cellar door.

One last glance before she’d leave him to his destiny. The stench of blood filled the air and rodents filled the table. Lady smiled.

Jack Lincoln, you’ve ripped your last woman.

The ominous London Fog!  Oh!.... Wait!
The ominous London Fog! Oh!…. Wait!





9 thoughts on “Monica Brinkman, Poe-etic once more: Of Ladies and Lore

  1. Michael Stang says:

    Let me say first I am delighted you have returned to the friendly outback. Nothing but love. Second, I was truly grateful to realize this was a revenge against a legendary villain and not a story, which would have left me in snapshot nightmares; a reason for the season. Terrific imagery of torture and murder. And Lady Lynn so thoughtfully expressed. Monica, a voice to be reckoned with. Fantastic!

  2. Miryam says:

    “Drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the concrete floor…. ” “the smell of blood”
    Yicks, I’m done for. I may not sleep tonight!

  3. Salvatore Buttaci says:

    I have always been able to visualize your descriptions. It’s a gift to write in such a way that you bond your readers in delightful entertainment. You’re the best! At first, reading your flash story, I didn’t know Jack, but the ending line was a eureka moment.

  4. Parisianne Modert says:

    Both visual and visceral this gender role reversal Dexter of the shadowlife story gives us a Robert Louis Stevenson meets Nora Roberts, bitings of rodents with schandenfreuden avenging on behalf of Lincoln’s victims. The style is a slow motion walk-through blood letting, long overdue ripping vessel for a vessel while our eyes watch through the eyes of the Lady.

  5. Jon Tobias says:

    I don’t think I’ve read a story where Jack the Ripper meets his own demise. I appreciate the twist. Great work.

  6. Diane Cresswell says:

    Phew what descriptions and what an ending!!! Revenge on the sweet side and glad its not THE Lincoln or my mind would have flipped over giving up the ghost. Good one Monica1!!!

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