Deadly Ever After

Flash Fiction Friday: THE WHITE ROOM excerpt from Alistair Cross

TODAY’S BREW: Red velvet Dark Roast. I need something dark and decadent for today’s post.

By Julie

Jared Anderson, aka Alistair Cross, gets immediate attention from me whenever he writes something new.  His work is haunting, sexy, brooding and eerie. His poetry I read over and over for its jarring images and richness of language. The man himself is hilarious, or I wouldn’t like him. It’s possible I have a crush on him now.  SHUT UP, YOU DO. (Sorry, knee jerk)

I have a bunch of his work to pick from for Flash Fiction Friday, and I want to put it all up, so this will sort of be Allistair Weekend. It’s happening. Today, you don’t get any poetry. NO, YOU COME BACK TOMORROW FOR THAT. Today, an excerpt from his work in progress. I want to die at how much you guys will love this.

Download 314502_102607213178371_100002872777585_9875_6911060_n.jpg (108.1 KB)

That’s the guy.


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This is not him. This is his book. Come on guys, you knew that.



work in progress

* * *

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. His voice was steady and gentle, almost soothing.

Marnie gaped at the air like a fish suffocating on oxygen. She felt the painful thrum of her heart beat in every nerve ending of her body. Fear held her in place as he walked slowly toward her. Her mind raced, but whatever sense the situation might have made, it eluded her.

He stood directly in front of her now, staring down at her. His eyes were intense and busy, as if he were trying to take in as much of her as he could. His respiration was heavy but controlled, and his breath, as it pulsed down on her, smelled sweet and somehow sickening.

The man knelt, as if he were going to propose marriage to her. He took the fabric of her apron and lifted it, slow and gentle, above her knees.

“What do you want?” Marnie’s voice sounded foreign to her own ears.

“Shh,” said the stranger.

He pried her legs apart from each other in a fluid, non-threatening way, as if there were nothing unusual about the act. Bringing his face closer to the center of her, he inhaled, and appeared to be relishing the scent of her.

Marnie stared down at the man, trying to make sense of what he was doing to her.  She was terrified and somehow excited, uncertain whether this was a nightmare or a fantasy.

He grabbed a handful of each of her plump hips and pulled her to edge of the chair. A mouse-like squeak slipped from her lips.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” she whispered.

He probed his head between her knees again, using it to pry them apart until his face was at her core. He inhaled her again, then pinched at the fabric on either side of the seam in her slacks and ripped the fabric away from itself.

Marnie squeaked again, tensed, and felt utterly helpless as he began to tear at the material with his hands and teeth. Terrified, Marnie put her hand on his head as if to push him away, but the man’s neck seemed to have more strength in it than both her arms.

He clawed and chewed at the material, a low growling noise, like an angry dog, issuing from somewhere very deep in his lungs.

Marnie felt pieces of her pants slip away from her flesh and in less than thirty seconds, her lower half was bare except for the few shredded remnants of what had been her slacks and panties.

The man had bared her flesh like an expert, somehow managing not to hurt her. She instinctively brought her knees together to conceal her privates, but the man pushed them apart again, burrowing his face into the thickness of her meaty, plentiful thighs until she could feel his breath on her most intimate place. He placed a hand on each of her hips, holding her in place. It was a powerful, solid grip, and she wondered if she could have escaped it if she tried to.

Her breath came in shuddering gasps. She whispered the word no more than once, but somehow, she knew it went unheard.

She felt something sharp, like the edge of a paring knife gently tracing the skin in the hollow where thigh and pelvis met. The pressure increased, then she felt a slight pricking. She panicked a moment, realizing the man had bitten her.

She screamed and tried to scramble away, but the man’s arms became iron bars that locked her in place. Then, just as her anxiety peaked and she thought she might have to bring the computer monitor down on his head, she felt a pleasant, tingling warmth where just a moment ago there had been pain. Within seconds, her fear drained away like slow rivulets of rain down a window. A kind of warm, soothing electricity moved like a velvet serpent through her veins, replacing her terror with an unequivocal sense that everything was okay, that nothing would ever be wrong again. Marnie let her head loll back in her chair and widened her thighs to allow the man more room to work with. “Who are you?” she said in a breathy whisper as her mind began to lift and wander away from her.

She thought she heard a voice, but she couldn’t make out any words. Her nerve endings began to tingle with a rapturous buzz, and a silky feeling wrapped itself all around her. She felt light, as if she were no more than a mote of pollen on barely perceptible breeze. She wondered if this was what it must be like to die, then realized without any dissent or trepidation, that this was exactly what dying felt like.

I KNOW, RIGHT?!  Do yourself a favor, pick up BEAUTIFUL MONSTER while you wait for THE WHITE ROOM.

Beautiful Monster is available at:

Damnation Books:

Barnes & Noble:


Contact Alistair:

Twitter: @crossalistair


Facebook Fan Page:



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8 thoughts on “Flash Fiction Friday: THE WHITE ROOM excerpt from Alistair Cross

  1. Awww… I have a crush on you, too…
    Thanks for this. You rock.

  2. Pingback: The White Room | Cross Talk

  3. Of course you do, baby. Of course you do. Thanks for giving me so much work! I love it all!

  4. Great piece from White Room!

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