A heartless Valentine’s story
Gerard Smith brings us a Valentine's story with a bit of a dark twist...
Cupid’s shot his golden-arrow through the commercial love fest that is Valentine’s day for another year. Thus, this week I thought I’d write about true-love; then realised I’m not best qualified to scribe about romantic-relationships, since it’s not an area in which I’ve had much success (although I’ve still time to find my happy ever after).
But I can write about the one and only Valentine’s Card I ever received (which I still have, should it ever need to be used in evidence).
I was 25 and working as a junior art director in a London Ad Agency. Mid-morning the receptionist bounced into the office all cheery and bright, “Oooooh, look who’s received a Valentine’s Card,” she announced, brandishing an envelope. I whipped it off her, shoved it in my back pocket and got back to work. My immediate thought was one of mild dread, “What if it’s from someone in the office – awkward – I don’t fancy any of my co-workers.”
At lunchtime in the park, I looked at the envelope and saw it had an ‘East-Midlands’ postmark. I knew no one from that part of England, my interest piqued. Then I noticed the envelope was puckered and raised, it contained something other than a card. That increased my dread, “What if it’s a letter bomb?”
I opened it at arm’s length, and when it didn’t explode I pulled out the card. Bizarrely, It was a luggage tag glued onto a card, which in turn had a copper eye-shape glued to it (which has since fallen off, lost to time). I stared at it, confused; it wasn’t a typical Valentine’s Card, it lacked the usual ‘heart’ motifs; and had clearly been handmade – someone had made an effort for me.
Hand written words on the front read, “I want to toast your eyelashes for pudding…” I opened it to read the rest of the message written in capitals…“AND DRINK YOU TEARS FOR-A-LIQEUR?” It also had my name written in capitals and a large question mark.
Initially, I thought they were the most romantic words I’d ever read, I swanned back to the office feeling I had the most cryptic of scribes secretly in love with me. Back in the office the receptionist smiled, “Was it a valentine’s?” she asked. I bashfully smiled, “Yep.” She looked equally bashful, “Gis-a-look, I’ll know if it’s someone in here, I recognise everyone’s handwriting.” I handed over my mystery-missive for her forensic analysis.
I watched her face display a myriad of emotions before it settled on one of mild horror, “That’s really weird.” She handed the card back to me, “Whoever sent you that knows where you work, I’d be watching over your shoulder on your way home tonight, seriously.” I looked at it again, “I think it’s creative.” Her eyes widened, “Creative, it’s creepy – someone wants to pull your eyelashes out and eat-em while drinking your tears like tequila shots!” She shook her head, “Honestly Gerry, I sometimes wonder what world you live in.”
That evening I was hyper aware of my fellow commuters on the journey home. And, I woke in the middle of the night ruminating about who could’ve sent me my strange Valentine? I drew a complete blank.
I hoped my Weirdo-Valentino might reveal themselves, but no, they remained elusive. Over the following weeks when I heard nothing more, I assumed my tears were tainted and my Valentine had given up all culinary interest in my eyelashes. I moved on.
However, some months later I agreed to go on a blind-date, who suggested a cinema trip followed by dinner at a restaurant. The film was ‘The Silence of The Lambs.’ I enjoyed the film about a cannibalistic serial killer, but not so the company of my date. That card was front of mind and frankly it, and the choice of movie, creeped me out. In the restaurant afterwards, I excused myself to go to the toilet; and did a runner for home.
Some years later, when the eagerly anticipated sequel to ‘Silence of The Lambs’ was released I went to see ‘Hannibal’ alone. Anthony Hopkins reprised his role with delicious relish and I revelled in the far-fetched horror. However, mid-way through the movie my blood ran cold as the horror on screen reached into my reality. I sat upright to watch a scene wherein a sadistic sicko collects the tears of his terrified victims to drink in his martini. That heartless Valentine’s Card returned to haunt me.
Did a real-life Hannibal Lecter have his eye on me as potential fodder for one of his dinner-parties – who knows? What I do know is I’ve still got the card should my Weirdo-Valentino want to claim it and reveal their true intentions – that would be some story!
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