ART: A Novel of Extreme Horror and Gore

by Matt Shaw

  Thinking about myself on the news programs, and in the papers, was scary. On the one hand it will be great to see my face in the media, and even greater to know that the detective hadn’t been able to stop me from becoming famous, but on the other hand it would have been useful to remain anonymous for a little while longer. Not entirely necessary – would just be nice. If the worst case scenario did happen and they did pull me in, at least the house was more or less ready for some guests. It’s just that the perfectionist dwelling in me, alongside the darkness, wanted to fill every room and see the whole plan through to the end. That same perfectionist wanted to really give them a gallery to appreciate and make the most of all potential opportunities for fame. Wouldn’t want to disappoint them.

  In the main room I turned my parent’s old television set on. The amount of times I’d come back to this old house over the months, every time I was half-expecting to find someone had broken in and taken it. Each visit I’d been surprised to see that it was still here. Everything they’d left - well, I had left - was still here. A house frozen in time. As the months had gone by and the dust had begun to settle, I had to confess that it was getting a little creepy in here, especially with the ghosts of my parents roaming my mind, taunting me. The ghosts were all but gone, thanks to my mind being pre-occupied with thoughts of what I needed to do and thoughts of what I’d already done. And even if the ghosts had still been present - it would have been harder to hear my parents’ poisonous whispers telling me that I was nothing more than a failure and that I would never amount to anything when, over the past week, I’d achieved so much.

  A week? Jesus. Time sure did fly when you’re having fun.

  I’d spent the next couple of idle hours hopping from channel to channel. Thankfully, none of them showed my face yet. Nothing saying anyone was looking for me. I felt a little deflated but then it could be that they were still trying to get an image of me. It’s not as though I’d left one in the apartment. They’d be able to get one from the gallery, but that was a question of whether they’d even found out about where I’d once worked. Not being a police officer, or having a clue as to how things worked there, I wasn’t entirely sure how long it would take to run a complete background check on someone. My previous experience of background checks, when I started new jobs, usually hinted that it took a while but no doubt the police could fast track it when they really needed to. Not that the background check would reveal much. Only that the name registered to that apartment was fake, my place of work and some old credit cards which I didn’t really use that often. I turned the television off and tried to lift my spirits. It’s good that I wasn’t on the news yet. It meant I had a little longer to go unnoticed amongst the crowds. It’s good, all good. Stop thinking about missed opportunities for fame – it would come as soon as we went ‘live’.

  * * *

  I threw some clean clothes on – yesterday’s clothes were tainted with bloodstains and bits of intestine - and grabbed the van keys from the hook next to the front door. A quick glance over my shoulder to see if I’d forgotten anything. Think I’m good. Opening the door I’d squinted as the brilliant sunlight had taken me by surprise. Okay, hadn’t expected that. Thank God there was still a chill in the air. Didn’t need it getting any warmer. After all, the warmer it was the faster my bodies would rot. Couldn’t have that.

  I stepped out of the house, closing the door behind me - but not before I gave my front pocket a gentle pat to ensure I’d remembered to pick my wallet up. Same credit cards I’d used yesterday. No need to get rid of them yet, as they couldn’t be linked to a crime. Confident I had everything I needed, I hurried to the van and hopped into the driver’s seat, sliding the key into the ignition and firing the engine up with a feeble splutter. Damn hire vehicle - wonder how often they serviced them? Slipping the gear stick into reverse I backed out of the driveway, careful to avoid the whale’s broken heap and my own personal car as I did so. It didn’t matter if the hire vehicle was dying a slow vehicular death. Only needed the van to last me a couple more days and even then I didn’t need to do a lot of driving - so long as I found what I was looking for quickly. And, when I was ready to resume looking for subjects, I was sure a quick search in the red-light district would bear fruit. After that, whether the engine lasted or not, it really wasn’t my concern.

  Okay, first stop - I needed a stationery store. Thankfully there was a small one in the nearest village. A small, family-run affair. It should have the bits I was looking for; A4 card, some clip frames and black magic markers. Nothing too unusual or hard to source. Should have remembered those bits on Friday. And here I was thinking I’d been organised. Just goes to show - you never could plan enough. Probably would have been worth making notes as I’d gone along rather than being reliant on my memory. But then, notes equalled paper trail.

  Ten minutes after leaving the house I’d arrived at the stationery store, abandoning the van by the curb-side. Minimum hassle. Just the way I liked it. Quaint little store. It never used to open on a Monday, but hard times, and customer demand, forced it to do so. The owners had made a fuss and said it would only be for the summer months but, not surprisingly, the summer months had soon turned to forever.

  I jumped from the van and walked through the front door. A small bell above the door-frame signalled my entrance, followed seconds later by a plump girl coming from out the back of the shop. In my mind I was envisioning her having a small television set out there or, at the very least, some magazines to idly thumb through whilst passing the slow hours of the day.

  “Afternoon,” she said.

  As soon as I’d seen her I’d forgotten my original purpose for visiting the store. My mind, transfixed by her looks, immediately threw a scenario into my consciousness, just from the sight of her alone. I smiled and wished her a good afternoon in return before turning my attention to the items of stationery I needed.

  “At least the sun is shining today,” she said referring to the weather. “I thought it was never going to stop raining.” She must have been bored. Probably saw me as an easy way to kill a couple of tedious minutes.

  I grabbed a handful of white A4 card from near the counter and placed it next to the till point. I smiled at her again, acknowledging what she was saying. She was a pretty woman - late twenties, possibly early thirties maybe? Plump but not like the whale. She had been fat in an unhealthy way. This lady was definitely smaller. Thank the lord. Not sure I would have been able to lift another beast - my back had barely survived the last one.

  It was the shop assistant’s plumpness which had attracted my attention when I’d first laid eyes upon her. It was her shape which had piqued my interest and had planted the idea of a new, surprising, scenario - a humorous one to lend some comedy to the proceedings. At least one which could help with an insanity plea if they weren’t already convinced of it. Whatever. All I knew was that I wanted her. I needed her.

  “Clip frames?” I asked.

  She points across the store to the far wall where there were frames piled on top of each other. Some fancy looking and some like the basic glass clip-frames I was looking for. I nodded a thank you to her and went to fetch some. As much I had liked the expensive wooden ones, I thought it would be overkill for what I needed. Besides they only had one of them and I needed... what? Mentally counting up, I calculated I needed three. I picked up four - better safe than sorry - and went back to the counter where they were rung through the till.

  “Anything else I can help you with?” she asked.

  I turned my attention to the pots of pens - each type in their own individual tray in front of where I stood. I grabbed a couple of the medium-tipped black markers, putting them on the pile of goods I’d already chosen. I looked at the shop assistant and smiled - the best smile my mask allowed. Couldn’t let her see what was thinking.

  “Just one more thing,” I said, a quick casual glance down to her hands. Fingers specifically. No rings. Always a bonus.

  “Oh?”

&n
bsp; “Your phone number..?” I said, flashing her another smile. It had been a long time since I had tried something like this and, even then, the last time hadn’t been the success I’d wanted. Whatever her answer was to be, she at least blushed a little.

  CHAPTER 21.

  MONDAY

  I couldn’t help laughing to myself while I dragged the body of the plump shop assistant into the house, hours after our initial encounter. What I had in mind for her was still causing me some amusement. I was just hoping that others would be as tickled by it as much as I was. Not that it mattered either way as, with her addition, I reckoned I finally had enough pieces to make the gallery work. Just needed to get them displayed to the same standard I’d set for the rest of my work and then I needed to secure Detective Andrews himself for, without him, my work wouldn’t have as much of an impact.

  The girl’s body had dropped to the floor with a satisfying thump. Here would do. I’d set her up here. The first one they’d all see coming into the gallery. As I was admiring her cooling corpse I couldn’t help wondering whether she was now in heaven wishing she’d given me her phone number instead of denying it, or perhaps wondering whether things would have worked out differently for her. I wasn’t sure if it would have been any consolation for her to know that things would have been a little different but not terribly so. I supposed the main difference was that that I wouldn’t have had to follow her back to her home and I wouldn’t have had to hit her with the handy brick I kept in the front of the hire van. Chances were we could have had a pleasant evening together.

  And then I would have clubbed her to death.

  Out of breath from the strain of dragging her body in from the van, I couldn’t help slumping down next to where I’d dropped her. Just needed a couple of minutes to sort myself out, catch my breath, and then I could get on with turning her into an amusing sculpture. I chuckled again as the idea popped back into my mind once more. I have to say, when I first started this hobby, I hadn’t been sure how easy it was going to be. I hadn’t been sure how I’d think up all the different pieces I wanted to create but... yeah... it had been pretty easy going. And to think, my so-called-father used to struggle to create new pieces of art.

  Yeah, dad, who’s the failure now? I thought, a smug grin spreading across my tired face.

  Another minute had passed by. I could have stayed where I was, leaning against the wall, next to the body, for much longer, possibly even for the rest of the night, but there was too much work to be done so I forced myself up onto my aching feet and went into the kitchen where I’d stashed my tools.

  From under the sink, I retrieved the small leather bag I needed, before returning to the little plump girl who was already stinking. I would need supports for this model, some wires strung from the ceiling to keep her in a standing position. I would also need... going into the small bag, I fished out a Stanley knife. Pushing the safety mechanism, the sharp blade slid out from the handle. I grinned at the sound of the blade revealing itself. Love that noise. Where was I? Oh yes. I would also need to gut her. Couldn’t have anything in the stomach for this piece.

  I pushed the blade down hard upon her flesh until it disappeared into her stomach then slid it the length of her gut. I pulled the blade out and dropped it as soon I felt the old familiar stirrings from below. For a split second I panicked, knowing what was coming, but then I calmed myself down.

  It didn’t matter.

  Whatever it was I did, it didn’t matter.

  Just go with it.

  Enjoy it.

  Embrace it.

  It’s a part of who I am.

  It had just revealed itself recently.

  That was all.

  Nothing more and nothing less.

  Certainly nothing to panic about.

  I hadn’t even finished my internal pep-talk before I realised I'd unbuttoned the flies of my trousers. Seconds later, my erection was free. I heard my own voice telling me to enjoy it and embrace it and that, at this late stage of the game, it was okay.

  I couldn’t help thinking of Detective Andrews as I slid myself into the gash I’d made. The cool feeling of the girl’s internal organs lubricating my penis. Good. Saves it from getting friction burns. I unconsciously muttered my thanks to Detective Andrews as I began thrusting in and out of the girl’s body - her fat stomach wobbling with each motion. Thank you for having given me the determination not to let these actions bother me anymore. Thank you for having made me see the bigger picture. And thank you for having made me realise this is the person I am - killer, pervert, artist.

  Gathering momentum I sighed. Who would have thought that this would feel so good? I repositioned myself so I could squeeze her sides in to make for a tighter fuck hole. A funny squelching sound echoed from the wound and through the hallway as I felt her internal organs tighten around the head of my cock. A pleasant feeling as I throbbed harder. Thoughts of cutting the whale’s head off, rimming the school girl’s empty eye-sockets, bathing in the whore’s organs as they spilled over me once I sliced her stomach open, so many thoughts dancing through my mind. And the skin: the thought of the blade slicing the skin messily from the body of both the whale and the school girl... So vivid. So pretty. As pretty as the models looked after their displays had been completed.

  And then it started to hit me, the familiar tingling spreading down my thighs. The orgasm shot through and out of me into the corpse’s stomach. The mess didn’t matter. It would soon come out, along with the rest of her innards. I breathed a heavy sigh of pleasure.

  “Thank you Detective Andrews!” I said out loud, withdrawing my penis, a string of stomach lining catching on the end of it. Must have got tangled with all the thrusting. No matter, I wiped it clean with my own top. There was no issue with my clothes being bloodied once again - just as previous clothing had been dirtied on other nights working on my other sculptures. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t have got messy anyway... but the rush of the orgasm had been worth it. I found myself laughing as I adjusted myself - returned my penis into my pants and did up my flies. So totally worth it and now that that was out of the way, I could continue with what needed to be done. I began by sticking my hand into that very same hole I’d just fucked, grabbing whatever I could and pulling my hand out - a handful of... I don’t know what... coming out in my firm grip; some of which was coated in semen.

  I threw the sticky mess to the floor and was instantly shocked to discover just how far the splatter radius spread. Couldn’t leave it there. I would have to clean it up before guests could come over. It’s so sticky, so messy... Definitely a slipping hazard...

  Throwing another pile of internal mush in same place, I thought how it would have been a smart idea to put some sheeting down first. So many bodies in and yet I still had much to learn. What with model-making and clean up duty - it was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER 22.

  TUESDAY

  Patterson had made me go home after the incident with the box, and told me to take Monday off as well. I wanted to work, but he hadn’t given me a choice. Said I needed the rest. Fat chance of that happening. The clock told me its 1:44am, so that means it’s technically Tuesday morning, although to me it’s still Monday as I haven’t slept yet. The house felt so empty without Lucy. At least I knew she’d got to her sister’s in one piece. Wyatt checked in to let me know all had gone well, so that at least was one worry off my mind. Still, here I sat, three quarters of the way through a bottle of Jack Daniels and almost a full twenty-pack of fags smoked.

  So much for willpower.

  Still, even though this insomnia was kicking my arse, there were a few positives. Despite the care he thought he’d taken, we managed to get some more on Benton. Turns out the prick worked at the art gallery. We’d managed to pull his records and even a photo from when he’d had to have his I.D card made up. I had that fuzzy printout of his face right here. Not for the first time tonight, I held it up in front of me and stared into those shadowy eyes. Photograph or n
ot, I almost felt him staring back at me. Some people say that you can always see it in the eyes, you know, whatever it is that makes killers kill, crazy people crazy, and nutcases nutty. I had always agreed with that in some respects, but as I looked at that photograph, I wasn’t able to detect anything. Nothing at all. No humanity. No compassion. The eyes were as dead and lifeless as the paper they’d been printed on.

  Realising my thoughts were a little too coherent, I’d taken another slug of my sour mash friend, enjoying the burn as I impatiently waited for it to make me too drunk to care about the world for a while.

  First thing tomorrow, I’d head over to the art gallery. I knew he wouldn’t be there, but the people he worked with could be our best shot at finding out exactly who he is and give us a little insight into the man behind this persona.

  In hindsight, we should have checked the art galleries first. This guy obviously had an eye for drama, for making visual statements. As I sluggishly lit up another cigarette, I thought about how different things would have been if we’d only understood sooner where we should have been looking. The other thing that bothered me was where he was committing his murders. Forensics failed to find anything at the flat, so I could only guess that he had another place which he called home, somewhere private and quiet where he’d be undisturbed. Maybe a family home?

  My heart beat a little faster at this possible lead, and although I considered it, I decided that ringing Patterson at almost two in the morning when blind drunk probably wouldn’t do me any favours. Instead, I fished a pen out of my jacket pocket, and scrawled on the bottom of the photograph of Benton Family home???

  That was about all that my alcohol-ravaged body had been willing to let me do, so I let both pen and printout fall to the floor as I took another slug of JD. I felt tired now, and my eyes were getting heavy. I half considered phoning Lucy but suspected that she would appreciate my drunken ramblings even less than Patterson would. Besides, I didn’t know what I’d say to her anyway. My every movement felt as if I was underwater; slow and ponderous. It appeared to take an age to lift the bottle to my mouth. I spilled some of the booze down my chin, but by that stage I hadn’t really cared. I was tired. So tired. I was thinking that maybe I should close my eyes, just for a second to get rid of the headache. Just a quick snooze maybe…