Lust at First Bite

I deeply regret having to say this but I'm afraid I'm just not what I was anymore. Hello, my name's Nancy and l've only recently discovered that I'm dead. This has come as one Hell of shock to all who know me and myself in particular since it wasn't what I was planning on being at all.

A short time ago, I was a happy, lively, twenty year old library assistant, blissfully engaged to be married. I was still living with my parents since my fiance, John, and I were saving every penny for a deposit on a home of our own. For that reason, we didn't go out much but that didn't really matter. After all, we had eachother and a long and fulfilling future together to look forward to.

The first hint of a possible problem coalescing in my personal paradise came when my intended told me he'd enrolled for a course in college that would help him progress in his career as an apprentice funeral director. That meant he wouldn't be able to see me on Thursday nights, but I considered this was okay because it all fitted in with his ambition of one day owning a funeral parlour of his own. A laudable ambition in my opinion since, sooner or later, everybody needs the services of an undertaker and that, to my mind, suggests stability, security and a sustainable income. After all, no matter whatever else happens in this crazy world, people are never going to stop dying, are they!

It was only by accident that I found out our local college don't actually do courses in embalming. You see, they sent me a prospectus in response to my request for info on what courses were available with regard to library and information services. Every course the college ran was listed, but there was nothing directly linked to undertaking at all. Okay, there were book keeping and accountancy courses but neither of these were on Thursday evenings.

One thing was certain, John was lying to me regarding what he was doing with his Thursday evenings. I suppose I could have just asked him straight out what he was up to, but I didn't want him to think I didn't trust him. So instead, I decided to follow him and see for myself.

Now, I know what you're thinking: you're thinking that this girl's got no training in surveillance techniques and her sexual partner would surely be able to recognise her from a mile away. However, don't forget that I am a trained library assistant and libraries have books on just about everything. It took me less than thirty seconds thanks to the dewey decimal filing system to lay my hands on a book on surveillance techniques. Well okay, I admit it was only a copy of "Surveillance Techniques For Dummies" but it did cover most of the basics. Apparently there's only two golden rules to tailing somebody: 1; don't get spotted. 2; if you do get spotted, don't get recognised.

I took all this on board and by the time I'd positioned myself across the street from John's work place, I was sporting a borrowed wig, wearing borrowed clothes and I'd even changed my make-up. My own mother wouldn’t have recognised me...... if she hadn't happened to run into me on her way home from shopping. "What are you up to on that ill fitting gear, Nancy? Checking up on your boyfriend?" How do mums know these things? Had she done something similar with dad? Anyway, she didn’t make a fuss and left me to it.

Dead on five thirty, John left the funeral parlour. I noticed he was carrying one of those big, round, stoneware jugs with a stopper in the top that farm labourers used to swig ale or cider from under spreading chestnut trees at lunchtime in the olden days. This was strange. Lunchtime had been hours ago. I whipped out my mobile and took a picture as evidence of uncharacteristic behaviour. He didn't give me a second glance.....which rather upset me until I remembered that he wasn't supposed to.

I followed him. It was easy because he was on foot and never looked round. Had he suddenly sprouted wings or caught a bus, I might have been in trouble but fortunately, neither of those things happened. That jar must have been heavy to carry though because John kept changing hands. Eventually, we wound up at a rather olde worlde cottage on the edge of town. It stood in a very overgrown garden which provided me with lots of lovely cover and allowed me to get really close without being seen.

John was about to knock on the door when it swung open. Clearly, he was expected. It was dark inside the cottage but I could clearly make out a figure standing in the hallway. A female figure. So, this was his little game was it; swigging cider with strange women while his loyal fiancee stayed home and saved her pennies. As I peered through the privet, I could feel white hot anger bubbling up inside me. I was being betrayed, taken for a fool. I could pardon him for getting drunk, even with another woman; but lying to me? Unforgivable!

Incandescent with rage, I broke cover and charged into that cottage before the door closed. My anger must have given me superhuman strength because I was able to snatch the heavy stoneware jar from John's hand and hurl it out into the garden. It landed on the flagstone path and shattered in an explosion of.......blood?