Logan Fourie

The May Featured Writer is Logan Fourie

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by Logan Fourie

The stories had it all wrong. He was beautiful, resplendent, awful to behold…

I woke up with the sound of thunder and a crash of lightning. I looked over to the clock on the wall which told me it was early. Two a.m. early. I sat up and rubbed my groggy-face. What woke me up? I wondered.

I slung my legs off the side of the bed and sat there a moment. Was it a dream that woke me up? Nah, I don’t dream much anymore. What was it? I got up and walked towards the window. I pulled the curtain back slightly and peered out into the black night. The rain streaked down the window like slivers of quick-silver. The night was as black as pitch, only to glow white with the sporadic lightning bolts that would shatter and tear at the solid black sky. The night would be beautiful if it wasn’t so violent and dark and cold.

I was about to turn away from the window when I saw something move out the corner of my eye. There! In the alley, I was sure I saw movement. I tried to gleam some visage from the deep shadows, but the dark was completely unyielding. Probably a stray or a rat or just the wind, I decided.

No wait, there it is again. There in the corner. There was definitely something down there; somebody down there. I wondered what to do. I was a woman living alone, yet I felt no fear. The curiosity overwhelmed me.

I grabbed my jacket and raced out my door and downstairs. The rain had died down a bit, becoming a fine drizzle that was icy-cold and drenching. I got to the alley and peered into the darkness again.

“Hello, anybody there? Are you all right?” I asked, suddenly realizing that this was rather stupid. I didn’t know what or who was out there. It could be some crazed drug-frenzied maniac. It could be a mugger just waiting for a Good Samaritan to poke their head into the alley only to have it shot off.

But what if somebody was hurt? I called out again, “Hello, anybody there?” 

This time I was gifted with a response, albeit only a soft moan but a response nonetheless. I walked closer, quietly, carefully. There in the corner was a bundle wrapped in darkness. I stepped closer, gingerly reaching out with my hand to touch the bundle.

It moved, frightening me.

I calmed myself. “Don’t worry, I want to help.” I tried to sound as reassuring as possible. I slowly pulled off the remnants of debris to reveal what was hidden beneath.

I was expecting a lot of things but what I saw took me by complete surprise. It was a man, a naked man with white-blonde hair. He turned and looked at me and I actually gasped. He stared at me with the brightest shade of azure-colored eyes I had ever seen. So blue. So pure. So piercing. So cold…so alien. In contrast, his features struck me as the epitome of beauty and perfection. He reminded me of those marble statues of David and others, simultaneously cold and beautiful.

I took off my jacket and draped it over the man and helped him up. I slung his arm over my shoulder and carried-dragged him back up to my apartment and lay him on the couch. He was half conscious. What was he doing in the alley? Why was he naked? Where did he come from? Who was he?

I hunch down. “Hey, you okay?” I asked. No response. “What are you doing out in the alley in the rain?”

Finally, the man spoke. “I…I fell. I fell fur…further than I thought possible,” he said quietly before passing out completely. I sat down on the chair opposite him and just stared.


There are screams of anguish and fury. The sky is stained a deep crimson, like blood staining white linen. I looked around to see a blasted wasteland. I could tell that at some stage it was beautiful. There were corpses of grove trees and revenants of meadows. Now all that remains is the fallen beast of a fruitful scene. A scorching wind rose up and drove the smell of carnage before it. I gagged silently as I turned to see where the offensive gust originated. I gasped in terror as I saw a killing field. Thousands upon thousands of dead and dying men and women were lying strew across what could only have been the aftermath of a great battle. My ears bled from the screams of the dying. The ground was corrupted by the rich red blood. I fell to my knees and wept. I pressed my hands against my eyes to staunch my tears. They felt sticky and smelt hot and metallic. I pull my hands away from my face and looked down at them, aghast. There were pools of thick, rich red. I looked up towards the heavens and saw the blood-stained clouds break into a torrent of sanguine rain drops, as if something up there above the clouds was bleeding to death. I opened my mouth to let out a scream of anguish but no sound escaped…well…at least nothing that sounded human.

I started as I bolted upright. I was in bed. My sheets were wet; they clung to my skin. I felt my heart race like a charging mustang. I rested my head on my hands and tried to remember the dream that scared me so but to no avail. I threw the drenched sheets aside. What in the seven hells? My silver nighty was stained and soiled. How the hell did that happen? I questioned myself.

That was when I remembered the storm. Did that happen? I bolted out of bed and threw a dressing gown over my spoiled nighty and threw my bedroom door open. I looked at the couch and saw the stranger there, still sleeping. The sun bathed him in golden rays, and his skin was almost glimmering in the sunlight. He looked almost…ethereal.

I watched him in silence. His broad chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm. He was still naked save for my jacket still draped over his body. He stirred and I started. I was suddenly aware of my own vulnerability and quickly tied the band of my dressing gown around my narrow waist. I tugged my long auburn hair out and over so it draped over down my back.

He turned over and looked at me with those eyes. Those bright, blue eyes—piercing my soul. I gasped in terror and rushed back into my bedroom and slammed the door shut behind me. What possessed me to bring a complete stranger into my place? Why didn’t I just call the cops or an ambulance or anybody else? And what was I thinking falling asleep still with him there on my couch?

But he didn’t seem interested in me, the whole night I sat there asleep wearing nothing but my short silver satin nighty. He could have done anything to me and I wouldn’t have been able to stop him. Maybe, in some sick twisted way, that is what I wanted; lord knows I haven’t been laid in a year. Hell, I haven’t even had a boyfriend since…Patrick. I felt this was part of an adventure; as though I was suddenly the star of my own movie with the script being written in real time.

I stepped back out into the lounge and saw him standing there. He turned and looked at me with those bright azure eyes that seemed to penetrate my soul. He smiled and that is when I realized I was staring.

“Sorry,” I said.

“For what?” he asked. “You took me in. I’m grateful to be out of the weather.”

“Do you want coffee?” I offered.

“Coffee?” he asked quizzically.

“Yes, coffee. You know, black gold, nectar of the gods.” I replied with a slight giggle.

“God…” he answered under his breath. It may have been my imagination but it almost sounded like he said it with disgust.

I shrugged my shoulders at the absurdity of it all. I went into the kitchen and put on the kettle and set out two cups for coffee. I felt a strange feeling of excitement. Here I was, making coffee for a stranger, wearing nothing but a tiny nighty and silk gown.

I glance over at him; he was absolutely beautiful. I found myself staring. I couldn’t take my eyes of his smooth alabaster skin, his sculpted muscles, his soft blonde hair, his blue eyes…Oh crap, he sees me staring at him again.

I quickly looked away and grabbed the singing kettle off the stove and quickly poured the water into the cups. I glanced up again and see him looking back at me, smiling. I flashed a quick, sheepish smile back and picked up the cups to carry them to the circular glass dining room table.
He looked at me and gracefully moved towards the table and sat across from me. My heart skipped a beat as I suddenly realized that he was still naked.

I blushed and told him I’d get him some clothes. I still had Patrick’s shirts and pants in my closet. I turned to hurry back to my bedroom to get this Adonis something to wear…pants at the very least…when he grabbed my wrist. His grasp was firm but gentle. His touch smooth…and cold. It almost felt like ice water biting into my skin. I looked up from my captured wrist up into his smooth features and piercing blue eyes. He simply smiled and said, “Thank you.”

I had not noticed before but his voice almost had a musical tone to it, almost as if he was lost in a perpetual song. I smiled in a silly manner and nodded as he released his grip. I walked to my room, glancing back at him. He just sat there, watching my every move. I have not been watched like that since…Patrick. I started as I banged my head against the frame of the door. I grimaced as I rubbed my head vigorously. I glanced back at him. He still sat there…staring…almost as if he did not quite understand what was happening. I smiled and walked into my room and shut the door behind me.

I hurried to the closet and took out a shirt and pair of pants that used to belong to…Patrick. I gasped as I touched the material. Gawds I missed him. I brush away a tear and took out the clothing. They still smelled like him.

I had been meaning to throw them away but I could just not ever do it. It always felt like he was here, watching me, while I had them. It felt like he was always here…protecting me. I guess that was why I had not been on a date since…since…since he died a year ago. Gawds, has it already been a year since the accident? I back up and sit down hard on the edge of what used to be our bed. Yes, exactly a year to the day.

It was a night much like last night. Dark, stormy…violently beautiful. We were driving back from visiting his folks for the first time. We had just announced our engagement. I twist the thin red gold band around my finger at the memory. He was driving, I was sleeping beside him. I don’t remember much of the accident. I just know what I was told. A truck driver fell asleep behind the wheel and veered into our side of the road. Patrick blasted his horn and swerved out of the way off the road and into a gully and into a tree. He was killed on impact I was told. He did not suffer. It was not for several hours before we were discovered by another driver passing by. The truck driver, apparently drove off never to be seen again.

After being revived by the EMTs, I was told that I should also have died but, by some miracle, I survived. Since that day it has always felt as if Patrick was watching over me. I know it is silly and I am told by my friends almost every day that I should move on. Patrick is gone.

But I can’t. He was always with me and will always be with me. I breathed in deep and wiped away the tears. I got up and put on a pair of jeans and white tank top. That was when I noticed the mark on my wrist. His ice-cold grip seemed to have ‘burned’ an impression into my skin.

I gingerly touched it. It stung for a second. It reminded me of when I was a kid and I licked some ice off a pole. That sting froze my tongue in place and my dad had to pour some warm water down the pipe over my tongue to release it. That sting felt just like this. As I rubbed it the mark slowly melted away. I stared at my wrist before looking up at the closed door. What was he? Slowly I exited the room and saw him, still sitting exactly where I had left him, still smiling, staring. I averted my glance and edged towards him. Something was biting at the edge of my mind.

Something is wrong here.

I saw movement to the left. What was that? I spun to face the desk in the corner to see…nothing.

I stared in fear at the empty desk bathed in gold by the rising sun. I could have sworn I saw…Patrick…sitting there as he always did in the mornings, doing his crosswords. But there was nothing there. Could I have seen a shadow?

“What’s wrong?” I heard the almost angelic voice sing to me. I turned to him and then back to the desk. I felt my heart beat so fast that it felt like it was about to burst from my chest. I shook my head and turned back to the man and simply shook my head and wiped away a single tear. I had to admit that I was not sure who I was trying to convince. Especially because it still felt like something was there, just beyond my sight. I could almost hear Patrick’s voice call to me.

I sat back down across from my guest. I looked up at him and offered him a cup of coffee. We sat in silence. He watched me as I sipped my bitter brew. I felt myself blushing again. His stare was intense. It was as if he had never seen a woman before and he was taking in every detail.

I saw his cup of coffee standing untouched. Maybe he doesn’t drink coffee. I shrugged and went on with mine. The hot, black liquid warmed my chilled limbs. It was strange. I had not noticed it before. I was sitting with the sun bathing on me but I was chilled to the core. Maybe it was because of the sweat-soaked sheets, or perhaps I was still cold from the rain of the previous night. Whatever it was, it made me feel unease.

Finally, he responded in the silky-smooth voice of his that sounded like smoky glass.


I cocked my head to my shoulder. I guess he was saying that his name was Loki. I felt my brows furrow. What a curious name. I am sure I had heard it before but I could not put my finger on it. I nodded and replied that my name was Kaitlyn.

I smiled and he returned the smile. I shivered at the sight of it. It looked like an imitation. Like somebody or something that has never smiled before and is seeing it for the first time and trying to emulate it—like an android trying to smile because it interpreted it as a social convention it needed to imitate to be accepted.

“Loki, is that a family name? Maybe from your father?” I inquired in a vulgar attempt to try qualm my unease.

“My…father…” he almost spat it out, as if he was trying to expel the word like some bitter gall.

I sensed that the mentioning of his father angered Loki so I dropped it. I sipped at my coffee some more as I pushed the thought of Loki and his father from my thoughts. Besides, it was none of my business.

But he went on, so I listened. He explained how his father had kicked him out of their home, how his father had banished him. I watched his face grimace into a mask of pain and anger. I felt a twinge of recognition, as if I had seen that expression before, but I could not for the life of me remember where. I kept listening.

That was when I felt another shiver, as if somebody walked over my grave. I glanced over my shoulder. I could have sworn I heard a voice. I looked back to Patrick’s desk. I was almost certain I heard him whisper “Kat…get out.”

I stared at the desk quizzically. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I looked back at Loki. He was silent and staring at the ground. It looked like he was softly seething. I wanted to say something but I felt as if I had caused enough harm for now. I wanted to reach out and comfort him but something stopped me. Something between the memory of his touch ‘burning’ me and…something else. It was almost as if something beyond realities reached out and held my hand back. Something warm and safe. Something…familiar. My hand hovered just inches from his almost glowing skin. I shook my head and stood up.

I felt my stomach growl. Wow, I had not realized how hungry I was. I decided to make some breakfast and I asked if he wanted as well. I was trying to change the mood. He sat, there staring a hole into the carpet for a moment before suddenly looking up.

I gasped. Those crystal blue eyes were now inky black, like two deep holes. Holes leading to…nothingness. I felt a shiver and again the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My breath was caught in my chest and my heart pounded so hard I could hear my blood rushing through my veins. I wanted to turn and run. Something at the edge of my consciousness egged me to run, but I was frozen to my spot.

He smiled and as quickly as the dark black-holes appeared they were replaced by the soft blue glow of earlier. I felt at ease once more. Something deep inside screamed silently. I bit my bottom lip and turned towards the kitchen. I stood by the counter out of sight and pressed my hands down onto the cool tiled surface. What have I gotten myself into? Ever since I brought this strange man into my home things have felt…strange. I grimaced as I tried to think. Why did I feel so uneasy? What was it about Loki that unsettled me so? Loki? Why does that name sound familiar? Loki? Loki? I gasped.

Fuck! Loki! My brain screamed in recognition. Patrick had used that name before in his research. Patrick was a Theologist and was doing his thesis on the lesser known religions and beliefs. Patrick’s thesis basically stated that many religions shared common beliefs and superstitions. He also said that many of them even shared gods. Part of his research led him to a minor god from Norse mythology. A god named Loki. Loki was the adopted son of Odin, the All Father. Loki was also a trickster god and one of his main goals was to bring about Ragnarok, the Norse version of the Apocalypse, the End of Days. Patrick had drawn correlations between Loki of Norse mythology and a few other gods and demons from other mythologies. Patrick had noted that there was stark comparisons between Loki and the demon Abbadon (Demon of Destruction).

Patrick had explained tirelessly to me the similarities between the deities. Loki was jealous of the other Asgardians, especially his adopted brother Thor. Loki had often used his magic to trick the gods, as well as man.

I began to sob again thinking of Patrick. If only I listened more. If only I paid him more attention. If only I had more time. If only…

A soft gentle touch touched my shoulder. I gasped. Was that Loki? No, this touch wasn’t cold. It was…warm…safe…familiar. I turned and looked straight into the kind gentle face of…Patrick. My eyes widened and my mouth dropped. This is it. I have completely lost it. My mind had finally broken.

The face smiled softly as he leaned closer and kissed my forehead. I felt goose-bumps dance up and down my skin making my skin crawl. He considered my eyes with those steel gray eyes of his and I saw his lips move but no sound came out. I tried to focus but all I could make out was I love you Kat…there was more but I could not make it out. And with that, he vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

“Patrick!” I screamed, but he was gone without a trace, as if he was never there. I stood there a gasp. What the hell just happened? I looked around the kitchen. Did I just see that? Was Patrick really here? I turned to face the counter again. And there, as if it had always been there, was a single orange rose. I touch its soft velvet petals. It can’t be real, I told myself, but it was. I lifted the rose to my nose and breathed in its fragrance. I could have sworn I smelt Patrick’s cologne mixed with the fragrance of the rose. Patrick gave me a rose exactly like this on every anniversary.

“Kaitlyn?” a soft angelic voice sang behind me. I started. Oh no, I had forgotten Loki was still there. I spun around, hiding the rose behind my back. I had no idea why I did that. It just felt like the right thing to do.

I again shook my head and sighed. I told him that I had just thought of a close friend I had lost but it was nothing to be concerned about. As I lied I recalled that chill. The chill that seemed to be growing with every passing second I was with Loki. He looked at me and smiled. But this smile was different. It was more knowing. As if he had caught me on a lie. He came towards me. As he approached me he began to explain that he knew I was lying. He knew everything about me. How he had fallen. Fallen? What does he mean by fallen? Is he being literal? Why does it feel like he is being literal?

As he came closer the air froze around me. It burned my lungs. Puffs of stream rose from my breath. I began to panic. Slowly my frost encrusted brain began to make the connection. I turned to run but he reached out and grabbed my wrist. I screamed in pain. The grip was no longer gentle. It was strong and violent. I spun back to face him, to thrust the knife I had picked up deep into his chest. His chest. His chest was not the smooth alabaster of before but rather a seething mass of spoiled muscle. I cringed as I followed his chest up to his face. No more the beautiful angelic face but rather a face contorted and ugly with anger and spite. Wings rose from his back. Not wings of feathery light as I had hoped, but tattered bat-wings of leather. I screamed now from fear more than pain.

I shook my head and screamed as I thrust the knife deep into the rotting flesh. The knife simply shattered against the seemingly soft flesh. He grinned a toothy grin and pulled me in closer. I felt his arms wrap around me and pull me in close. I sobbed from fear and disgust. I wanted to escape but I was helpless. Trapped.

Suddenly he screamed and shoved me away. I slammed against the kitchen wall, my head jerking against the unyielding tiles. I felt warm water ooze out from my skull and crimson bathe the white. I sank to my knees.

He was still screaming as I lazily looked up. The rose. The rose stuck to his chest as he clawed at it. He clawed at his flesh retching out chunks of it. Pieces of him rained to the floor in sickly globs of ooze. His flesh began to smoke, then burn, then flame. He burst into flames as he screamed and clawed and cursed. I could not make out the words he screamed. They were to alien. My vision blurred as I felt a puddle of crimson pool around beneath me. I smiled weakly as he burned and writhed and cursed. Fuck you, you bastard. Go back the fuck where you came from. Go back to hell. I cursed under my breath as I felt the last of my life seep away.

It went dark. Inky dark. Warm and safe. Like a thick velvet blanket. I opened my eyes, and in the dark, I saw a shape. A shadow within the shadow. I knew I should be afraid but I wasn’t. I was calm. At peace. The shadow approached me. It reached out to me and took my hand. It was warm…and familiar. He lifted me to my feet and the darkness was bathed in white light. Patrick. Beautiful Patrick smiled back at me.

“My beautiful Kat. I have missed you. I have always loved you. I have missed you…”

Logan Fourie is a 37-year-old South African English teacher who loves writing and reading all things horror and gothic. Much of his inspiration comes from authors like H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Alan Poe and John Carpenter. He tries to instill his passion for novels and reading in his students. Logan feels that the world is in sore need of more literate people and writers. We all have stories to share.