Another 'short' chiller for bedtime readers, but not for lovers...who 'use' candles



She tried to watch with interest, waiting,
In his flat filled with memorabilia,
As he proceded to make his 'Candle of Love'.
Realising how cruel he could be
And that she was no longer her
Blithe and infectious personality,
Tonight, she resolved to end her sadness.

Slowly, he placed the tub of wax
Upon the heat to slowly soften it's contents
And then another, warmed, to make more than pliable.

He would glance her way appreciatively, even
Stop his task, to enclose and kiss her
With the passion of possession.
She had not been aware of encroaching sleepiness,
But, as she opened her eyes...she screamed, silently.


Fear gripped her heart, in this far from lissom hold.

The room had limited observation, as though
Made, through two slit peepholes in the wall.
She could just see in the dressing table mirror...
Her eyes blinked in horror
And her mind in disbelief.
Standing there, on a plinth,
Protruding from the bedroom wall,
Was...the stablised statue of herself
In all her naked, waxen splendour
And her watered eyes flashed..."Too late!"