‘How I love you. I have loved you so much. Should I say how I love you? As you strolled across poppy fields, a flaming poppy yourself, you swallowed the entire evening. And the dress that billowed around your ankles was a wave of fire in the setting sun. But you bowed your head in the light, hair still burning, inflamed by my kisses.
‘So you went down there, turning to look back at me as you walked away. And the lantern swayed in your hand like the glow of a rose lasting in the twilight long after you were gone.
‘I’ll see you again tomorrow. Here, under the window of the chapel, here, where the light of the candles falls about you, making your hair a golden forest, and daffodils nestle around your ankles, tender, like tender kisses.
‘I will see you again every evening in the hour of dawn. We will never part. How I love you! Should I tell you how I love you?’
And the dead man quivered in happiness on his white death table, while the iron chisels in the hands of the doctors broke up the bones of his temple.
the shortest horror story ever: