Read No Evil: Anthology of Terror

Cinephile

This story was contributed by JaCrispy_Jamaine

October 28 - Saturday

As usual, it was just me working, running the last showing of Bathsheba for the evening. The fifth time this week, and I love it.

I honestly had a better connection with Princess Bathsheba the Royal Ravager than I've ever had with the kooks at this movie theater. She's a lot like me. She's misunderstood.

And the best part is she told me that herself.

We were in the projector room. She looked the same as usual: nineteen years old like me, lovely golden hair trailing down her head like treasure pouring out of a chest and electrifying gray eyes that pierced deeply into one's soul. She danced about the room naked and shameless, her body smeared with the blood of those dickhead aristocrats she'd finished maiming beyond recognition. It clung to her like a leotard, and I'll admit everything I wanted to see was hidden by dark shades of crimson.

"Nolan Kubrick," she uttered in a sultry British accent as she rose above me on her tiptoes. "If you were the only person in the whole world unaware of the effects of your litigations, would you care to be enlightened of the harm you've done?"

I have no idea what she said, but I liked the way she said it. It matched her sophisticated, Victorian style.

She knew I was lost and spoke again in a manner as clear as crystal. "Would you ever want to be told you're a loony?"

"What for?" I replied.

"Labels, my darling Nolan." She trotted towards me, nudging the mop and its bucket to the side to reach me. "They can put you in chains. They can free you from them. A strong will is all it takes to determine the outcomes."

"Well, you would know. Being a princess ain't like a Disney movie, right?"

Bathsheba flashed a devilish smirk at me, usually the last thing her victims saw before the dismemberment began. She grabbed my hands and placed them around her waist, the blood cold against my hands as it ran down her body like rainwater. She looked like Carrie right before she massacred everyone at the prom.

"You are correct, my love," she continued, still resting my hands around her hips. "My royal status is both a blessing and a curse. It's a locked door that often hinders me from the outside world. But at the same time, it's a form of subterfuge that never fails to deceive."

I chuckled. "So while your mom and dad—the king and queen—think you're wandering the gardens, you're actually out there killing off rich assholes."

"Correct again," she added with a smirk. She took both of my hands in hers and leaned in to kiss my forehead. I could feel the blood splashed around her face dripping down my head as her lips made contact with my skin. It was cold, but at the same time, it was comforting.

I felt a dagger stab through my left hand. All that left my mouth were shrill screams I never knew I was capable of making.

"I hope you understand what's real, my beloved," Bathsheba spoke again, ignoring my cries. "And if you don't know what's real, it'll decide for you."

And she disappeared into the shadows, leaving me behind with the projector and a gaping hole in the palm of my hand.

October 30 - Monday

I spent all of Sunday in the hospital getting my wound stitched up. The doctors didn't believe me when I told them I was stabbed after being seduced by a psycho princess. So they declared it was an accidental self-infliction.