Knock for Hearts

No!

Scott’s heart pounded in his chest at the abrupt knock at the door. He flailed and flopped to the ground, the anxiety rendered him clueless on what to do. From where he lay with his chest heaving in and out, he could still see the news report on the TV:

“Police still have no suspects for these truly grizzly deaths,” the reporter said, her expression solemn. “What’s more baffling, is that coroners have no medical explanation for the exact cause of death either.”

The screen cut to a different shot, of an older gentleman in a white lab coat.

“Each of the past four victims has been covered in all sorts of bruises and cuts, but I seriously doubt the actual cause of death for any of them was from blunt trauma."

“What makes you say that?” an off-screen reporter asked.

“Because one other thing they all had in common was total blood loss, and none of the injuries were deep enough for that to occur.” the coroner explained. “The only cuts on the victims were superficial at best.”

“So there are no clues to the manner of death as far as their injuries go?” the reporter asked.

“Well…” the coroner glanced off screen, and frowned. If viewers didn’t know any better, they might wonder if someone was trying to coach his words. He shook his head and proceeded, apparently against better judgement. “Nothing that’s considered natural…each of the victims was missing his heart.”

“I’m sorry,” the reporter gasped. “Their hearts were missing? How was there no penetrative chest wound?”

Bam! Bam! Bam!

“That is what we don’t understand,” the coroner said. “These men had no hearts, and no blood. It’s a complete violation of everything we understand as doctors, and there’s nothing more humbling for us than to come across a problem we can’t identify.”

The knocking persisted, and Scott began to army crawl across his wooden floor and into his expansive kitchen. He pulled his phone out from his back pocket, and his heart sank like a stone as it died before his eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he muttered. His hand shook erratically as he wrenched his top drawer open, which flew straight off its hinges, and an entire collection of kitchen knives spilled out all over the floor. Scott chose a large carving knife, and clutched the handle for dear life.

“My colleagues don’t even want me to mention that this is what it looks like…” Scott heard the coroner saying from the TV. “And the last thing I want is for horror fans to start making conspiracy theories. Naturally we will continue to investigate for any more legitimate causes of death, but unfortunately, these are the only known facts.”

“And what about the fact that all of the victims are male, middle-aged, and married?” the reporter asked.

“That’s not exactly within my scope of practice,” the coroner said. “As a scientist, if I had to venture a guess, it would suggest more about why they were chosen, but I don’t think it has any bearing on the way they died.”

“But wouldn’t you agree,” the reporter continued. “That the distribution of the hearts to each of the victim’s wives is deeply alarming?”

“Deeply,” the coroner agreed. “I encountered

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Scott exhaled sharply and clutched his knife close as he huddled in his kitchen. He had facts of his own to share about this case - not that he, or any of his four dead friends would ever have shared them. The words of the lead anchor turned incoherent to Scott as he trembled and prayed for his life.

We weren’t bad guys. He thought. We just liked beautiful women.

“My wife is the woman I live with,” was his motto. “But it’s inhuman to love only one woman.”

Why couldn’t they understand that? His friends did, but until society evolved, like they did, they had to keep the game from women' s ears, because it would never make sense in their pretty, fragile little brains.

Whether it had been a minute or an hour, Scott couldn’t tell, but it eventually occurred to him that the knocking had ceased. His eyes darted around the dark kitchen, and he let out a sharp sigh. Nothing was out of place, except for the sheer volume of knives on the ground.

This is ridiculous. He scolded himself silently and pulled himself up, but he still clutched the carving knife firmly in his right hand. He glanced at the TV as he crept back into the living room. Its ambient light, and the crackle of his fireplace were the only telltale signs that someone was home.

“It’s probably nothing,” he muttered unconvincingly. “It was probably some homeless drunk.”

But Scott still ripped the front door open, and held the knife up high, poised like Norman Bates, to see absolutely nothing. There was nothing and no one on his front step as Scott let his arm relax to his side.

The cold chill of the October night wafted inside, but it was nothing the cold that punched through his back. He saw the door slam in front of him, as some unseeable force dragged him backwards. Scott swung his knife wildly behind him, blindly jabbing at whatever it was that seemed to be literally dragging him around by his heart. He screamed in pain, as that force slammed him against his front door, and his nose broke with a loud crunch. Hot blood poured down his lips, and that metallic tang coated his tongue.

Then whatever it was released him, and Scott flopped onto his back. His vision blurred and he saw double, no - quadruple. He wondered if he’d been rendered stupid, because he could have sworn that Julia stood over him.

“Is this heaven?” he asked as he spat out his own blood.

“You really think you deserve heaven?” Julia’s voice snapped back, and Scott’s vision cleared. The figure over him was both Julia, and not. She was clad in a white gown, and seemed to have stepped straight out of their wedding photo. Except she wasn’t solid. Julia’s figure shimmered in the light of the TV and fireplace and seemed to have no feet.

“Jules?” Scott stammered. “I’ve missed you.”

“Did you?” Julia’s voice was echoey, as if far away. “Is that why it took six other women to replace me?”

“You don’t understand…” he tried to explain. “Because you’re a woman, you don't have the same needs...it's complicated - ”

“You didn’t even MOURN ME!” Julia shrieked, and picked Scott up by his throat.

“Come on Julia!” he wheezed and tried to pry her fingers off, but found that he could not touch her. “Don’t be hysterical!”

“You didn’t even look for me…” she snarled. “I’ve been gone for two months and you didn’t even look! No report that I was even missing! Nothing! You didn’t know or care that I died!”

“Of course I cared…” Scott protested. “But my friends started disappearing! I had to hide, I…”

Julia squeezed harder on his throat. “You had your little harem didn’t you? Oh, you really think I didn’t know?” Scott began to gag and flail as he felt his life slipping away. “Oh yes, I found out. You love to talk about everything women don’t understand.”

Colour drained completely from Scott’s face as he all thought completely failed him.

“Alison found out first, about Joe.” Julie smirked. “Then Meredith found out about Mike, and told all of us. Once Clara found out that Earl was part of it, she came up with a plan to confront all of you at once. It involved me disappearing, but no one counted on me dying. Boy was that car crash a game-changer.”

Scott’s eyes widened with realization as Julia’s ethereal hand plunged into his chest, and gripped his heart again.

“You…” Julia’s ghost hissed. “And your friends never used your hearts for anything useful…so I’ve returned them to those they were sworn to…” She wrenched Scott’s heart clean out of his chest, and he dropped like a marionette with the strings cut. “And this one…is mine.”

As she stared down at his empty shell, Julia sneered at Scott's heart as its last feeble pumps finally came to a stop.

“Come to think of it…I don’t even want it anymore.”

She dropped next to Scott’s, whose eyes still bulged in death. With a flick of her ghostly hand, sparks popped over the gate of the fireplace, and spread along the wood floor. They grew into flames, and licked the furniture. The TV crackled and popped as electricity burst out and fed the fire. Julia floated out the growing inferno and disappeared into the night, leaving no trace but the billowing smoke.