Journalstone's 2010 Warped Words for Twisted Minds
Page 11
The knife enters me, slicing downward, cutting through me as if I am soft as butter. It doesn’t feel as I had imagined as the life fluids begin draining from my insides onto the slab of wood that had only recently been placed like a coffin awaiting my arrival. He does this again and again as I no longer struggle but fall into sliced pieces like dominos on a playing board.
Once this is complete, he throws both the top and bottoms of my physical remains in the left drain of the sink where the hot water runs slowly over me, cascading down what is left of my ripped body. I now lay in pieces, a mere semblance of what I had once been, and I realize I am only going to remain conscious for a few more short seconds. Through the fog, I hear a knock on the door and realize the kids must be here, as they too are apparently going to partake in the carnage of my frail, soft being.
The last words that I hear uttered come from the father in his excited, happy tone. I had grown so accustomed to his voice through the many stories I had heard him reading out loud to the two little ones.
He uttered almost under his breath, “Kids, we are finally going to eat one of the freshest, most scrumptious tomatoes I have ever grown. I just finished slicing it for the cheeseburgers, and dinner will be ready in just under five minutes.”
Dinner With Cristy
By Rhonda E. Kachur
10 cups balsamic vinegar
8 cups olive oil
1 1/2 cups brown sugar
2 large minced onions
6 Tablespoons oregano
8 teaspoons black pepper
8 teaspoons salt
It took more marinade than I thought it would to cover all of her. Though, of course, she was the biggest piece of meat I’d ever had the pleasure of preparing. She had to be at least 250 to 300 pounds, which was all the better for my tastes.
Most food connoisseurs hate the excess fat on their meat, but then again they’ve never had the pleasure of tasting another human. Our fat doesn’t get tough when you cook it like pork fat does. In fact, it almost melts in your mouth as you savor the flavor.
I’ve been a killer for quite some time now, although I hate the term “killer” or “murderer.” I find myself to be better than that. I am a hunter. It started when I was around 6 years old. Small animals like squirrels and mice were my first prey, of course. Then I moved up to dogs, cats, and the occasional legal hunting trip. Finally, I began hunting the ultimate game – humans.
My first was when I was 18. He was a tall, handsome, blond jock I knew from high school. He was also mean, conceited, and got what was coming to him.
Men are fun to kill, but hunting another woman is a real treat. Men are easy to get alone. Offer them sex, and they’re yours. A woman on the other hand requires much more cunning and skill to separate her from the herd. It makes them so much more fun to hunt!
And while hunting is exhilarating, the actual act of killing my prey is where the real reward is found. Killing them without being caught forces you to be in total control of everything around you – your planning, timing, and execution has to be done just right in order to get away with your deeds successfully. There is no better feeling in the world than being in complete control.
I only started eating human meat about 6 months ago. I’d never had the desire to consume my victims until I had bear cub for the first time. An old friend of mine had been hunting in the woods and had brought his catch back for dinner. I didn’t know what I was eating in the beginning. I had assumed it was beef or deer, but it was much leaner and tasted absolutely gorgeous.
When he told me it was a little bear cub he had killed himself, the question of what human meat tasted like first entered my mind. I mean, in a way it would be no different than us eating any form of meat. People have been hunting wild game for centuries in order to provide food for their families. I simply hunted a different kind of game.
The initial introduction was quite a pleasurable experience. I had gone out hunting, as I usually do on Fridays, and met up with a man named Jeffery. He was tall, lean, and a bit hairy for my tastes, but when you hunt the prey I do, there won’t always be a 14 point buck standing right in front of you. Sometimes, you have to settle for a doe.
That experience began what was soon to be a normal routine for me. It’s a simple one, really, for males. I lure a prospect to my house with the promise of sexual activity, chloroform him, then I usually take my time in disposing of my prize.
But that first time, I was trying something new and wanted to dive right into it. I killed him quickly and proceeded to carefully cut into the muscles of his chest and legs, filleting him if you will. Usually, the screams of agony from my victims make me shiver with joy, but that night it was the anticipation of tasting him that excited me.
Even with him being lean and fit, he did still have some soft spots. We all have a little fat on us. I was a little surprised to see how yellow human fat is. It was almost as golden as corn! I was also delighted to learn his meat was odorless, like a fresh swordfish steak.
I, of course, had cut into a human flesh before, but I had never taken the time to notice these little things. Usually, I would focus on the kill and the screams, but tonight I got into my element and really savored my prey with an exciting new purpose. It was extremely liberating.
I usually like my meat medium rare, but I wasn’t sure exactly how to prepare human flesh for consumption. I have since learned from experience that it can be prepared and seasoned the way you would a steak.
Since it was my first time orchestrating a feast of human steak, the filet came out a little dry but had a lovely natural flavor, almost like a mixture of pork and beef with a little more elasticity to it. I found it went really well with a nice glass of Cabernet.
Being that I was raised in the country, I thought it would be a fun idea to make some pork rinds for an after dinner snack, only with Jeffery’s skin instead of a pig.
It tasted quite delectable, but unfortunately, the exorbitant amount of body hair became a slight problem. I kept getting little pieces of the black curly fibers stuck in my teeth. After that debacle, I decided to shave a couple sections of his skin and freeze it with the rest of the leftovers. I could always try again another day.
A normal sized human has enough meat to feed me for a good few weeks if I cut it off the bone correctly. The meat lasts longer if the person is a bit larger seeing as I don’t mind the excess lard. I actually find it most appealing. And, that brings us back to whom we have on tonight’s menu.
Cristy was the name on her driver’s license. She is a 29-year-old woman whom I met online a few months back. As soon as I saw her deliciously plump frame, I knew I had to have her. It actually took longer than I thought it would to convince her to meet me.
Usually, I hunted young, thin, attractive women who would meet up with you for drinks the same day you added them as a Facebook friend. Most of them were “models” looking for attention or simply party girls looking for a good time, but Cristy was different.
She wasn’t particularly attractive nor was she thin. She was round in both the gut and the face with short, dyed red hair. Her natural brown or dirty blonde color was only visible at her roots. I think what I had found most appealing was her rosy red cheeks. They were so plump and juicy looking. I figured I could make a lovely roast out of them with some fresh potatoes and baby carrots.
From the first moment I started talking to her, I realized she was self-centered and egotistical, despite her obesity. She talked about her new projects and endeavors in the film industry. All she had really done was make poor quality, low budget films that wouldn’t even go viral on YouTube.
Of course, her success, or lack thereof, didn’t matter to me one bit. My sole concern was an angle – using anything I could to get her where I wanted her – on my kitchen table.
I started talking about a “story” I had written and convinced her she would be perfect in it. She claimed to work in all genres, but said horror was her favorite.
I sent her a qui
ck typed up summary of my first killing, portraying it as fiction of course, and she ate it up. She said she would love to work with me on making it into a “high quality, indie production.”
We talked back and forth on the details of where she wanted to shoot and how she thought it should look. I let her drive all of the suggestions, since I knew it would never actually be made. Plus, I wanted her to feel like she was in control of the situation. It was a very frustrating process. All I really wanted to do was taste her, to filet her juicy, plump cheeks. I had this deep, uncontrollable desire to have her as quickly as possible.
After three months of discussing production details of what she said would be her “breakthrough film,” she finally agreed to meet with me. Of course, she wanted it to be in a public setting to be on the safe side. Luckily for me, she didn’t live that far away from the bar where I usually did my hunting.
I suggested it to her, and she agreed to meet me there at 8 p.m. My mouth started watering at the thought of finally seeing my dinner face-to-face. Just imagining being able to glide my knife through her tender calves and her plump middle section made the wait that much more difficult and exciting.
She said she would be wearing a red headband with black skulls on it just to be sure I recognized her, but I had been studying the structure of her face for so long that I could never forget it. We both logged offline, and I readied what I would need to get her home. She told me she wasn’t a big drinker so I knew that simply getting her intoxicated wouldn’t do the trick. I packed a small bottle of crushed sleeping pills into my purse and headed out the door.
When I got to the bar, she was sitting at a little table in the back wearing her red headband. I waved hi to her, and she jumped up to greet me, almost knocking the table over with her massive gut. She gave me a strong embrace, and we casually sat down to talk.
I knew I would have to endure a conversation with her just long enough to catch her off guard. But I found it more difficult to hear her banter on about herself face-to-face than online.
It was the fact that she was right in front of me, ready for the taking, but I couldn’t attack just yet. We discussed her previous work, her experience as a “film maker,” and her thoughts about our wonderful project together, along with other mindless chatter. It was all about “her.”
Finally, after an hour of agreeing with all her idiotic ideas, I proposed a toast. Again she reminded me how she didn’t like to drink, but I said she had to have at least one quick shot to celebrate her upcoming success. She caved in and I headed to the bar, equipped with my bottle of crushed sleeping pills concealed in the palm of my hand.
I ordered two Lemon Drop shots and ever so slyly emptied the contents of my bottle into one of them. I then went back to the table and sat the spiked shot glass in front of Cristy. We raised both of our drinks in the air and made a quick toast to success and good fortune. As soon as she gulped the whole shot in one mouthful, I knew my fortune was about to change for the better. I, then, patiently waited for the pills to kick in.
When she started to become quite groggy, I asked one of the men in the bar to help me carry my friend to the car. Of course, they all thought she simply had one too many drinks. Only I knew better. My mouth was salivating with the sweet reward of a successful hunt.
As the men and I got her into the front seat of my car, I couldn’t help but giggle in delight. The idiots could never grasp the thoughts racing through my mind and the joy I was about to experience.
The drive home seemed like it took forever. So many red lights impeded my destiny with this succulent morsel.
Cristy had completely passed out and had even begun to snore very loudly. Her head lay in a crooked angle, dangling in an uncomfortably odd way.
I finally pulled into my driveway and entered the garage. I closed the garage door and stopped in my tracks. Remember when I said planning was important? Well in all of my excitement, I forgot to plan how to get my dinner, who weighs a substantial amount more than I can carry, into my kitchen.
I looked around to see if there was anything I could use to move her. Luckily the stars must have been aligned in my favor for what did I see as I turned around? A large blue tarp. I grabbed it and laid it out as flat as I could beside the passenger door. I grabbed Cristy by the collar of her dark red shirt and pulled her onto the tarp below. She hit it, not with a loud thud, but with more of a flop.
I closed the car door and got a good grip on the corners of the tarp. I began to pull her towards the door to my house. Damn, was she heavy! The hardest part was getting her over the steps leading from the garage to my little hidden sanctuary inside. She almost slipped off, but I stopped, repositioned her body, and pulled her slowly into my living room.
As soon as I got her safely inside, I closed the door to the garage and sat on my couch to catch my breath. I needed the break before I began pulling her again. Next time I decide to hunt a super-sized meal, I’ll remember to buy a large wheelbarrow or wagon first!
As I sat there, staring at her large plump frame, I thought of all the possibilities there were for me to use each of her body parts. Her fat could be rendered to flavor other meats. Her skin was far less hairy that Jeffery’s had been, so it would fry up beautifully. And of course, her meat could be used it so many delicious recipes.
For tonight’s dinner, I was thinking a nice roast with her cheeks would be lovely. I could even make it a stew if I quickly whipped up gravy to slowly cook the meat in. The possibilities were endless. I, finally, resumed my quest and pulled her into the kitchen.
When I looked at my table, I realized I had a new problem; how do I get her hoisted into position? Usually, my catches are light enough to stand up and plop them right onto the surface, but Cristy was going to be a challenge.
I sat her up and put one arm underneath each of hers. I tried to pick her up that way, but it just wasn’t going to work. I flipped her over onto her stomach and lifted her front by pushing her onto her knees. While I had her in that position, I quickly got myself under her and wrapped her arms over my shoulders, like a piggyback ride. It took everything I had, but I got her up off the floor and plopped her onto the table.
She lay across the middle and, I swung both of her legs up and over. I had to catch her head before she fell off and placed both of my arms under hers. I pulled her into the final position so that she lay in just the right spot. I grabbed a kitchen chair and sat down beside her to catch my breath.
I was slightly disappointed in myself. I had ample time to plan for all of this, yet the thought of how to get her into the house and onto the table never crossed my mind. It was definitely a learning experience I could take and use the next time I hunt for a full-meal deal.
I went back out to the garage and grabbed a large pile of rope to secure Cristy’s hands and feet. I first tied them together, and then I tied a piece from her hands to the floor, doing the same with her feet, so she wouldn’t be able to flail around.
Being that I’ve been killing for quite some time now, I installed special metal hoops into my kitchen floor to secure my catches. The table was also secured to the floor. The only thing I couldn’t figure out how to do myself was setting up a drain directly under the table for all the blood. The first couple of killings, I had a huge mess to clean up, and it wasn’t fun at all. I investigated the process of installing a drain and realized it just would not work in the floor.
So how did I remedy the blood problem? It was quite simple actually, when I sat down and thought about it. I never had visitors other than my prey, so I simply took out the kitchen table and installed the kind of table they use in morgues! The one I got had a place to hook a hose to it so you could send the fluids directly to a drain. I simply hook a long plastic tube to it when I’m using the table for my catches and run it into my basement. The blood flows right into the drain my washer uses! It’s simple, yet effective.
After I got her all tied up, I removed all of her clothing with scissors and prepared my marinade. This
is something for which I remembered to plan.
I got my big metal tub out and poured all of the ingredients into it. I stirred it up well, making sure everything was incorporated, and began to slowly ladle it over her entire body. I used my hands to make sure it got into all of her crevices and rolls. Being that she was a larger woman, I made sure to make extra so I had a little left over. It’s very useful to baste the meat with while it’s cooking.
After I got her covered all over, I sat down and waited for the marinade to work its magic. It would take at least a few hours. I made sure all the doors were locked and laid down on the couch for a short nap – a well-deserved one, if I may say so myself.
I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of screaming. My dinner was awake. It had been a few hours since I fell asleep, and I was sure she would be nice and flavored. I walked into the kitchen and reached into my pantry. As I was grabbing my apron, I heard Cristy cry,
“What the hell is going on here! Let me go!”
I saw her looking down at her naked body as she asked what was covering her. I didn’t reply. My mother taught me not to play with my food, and talking to it is surely not a healthy habit.
I put my apron on and pulled my slow cooker out of the cabinet below my sink. I, then, went back and grabbed two skillets from the same area. Cristy began to scream for help, but lucky for me my nearest neighbor lived a couple miles away. No one would hear her screams. No one would hear anything at all.
I plugged in the slow cooker and grabbed a few ingredients out of the refrigerator. Carrots, potatoes, celery, and onions. I grabbed a knife and my cutting board and began to chop up the veggies. Cristy began to struggle, trying to loosen the ties on her hands. Poor, stupid woman, I’m very good at tying knots and knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
The more she screamed, the wetter my mouth became. Nothing in the world tastes better than freshly chopped meat. The crap you get at the grocery stores has been sitting on the shelves for God knows how long, but my meat was always carved from living flesh. I know where it came from, and I know how appealing it can be.