“Right, and when you do you can move the TV closer. There’s a glare on it from the window in the morning.”
“Fine.” Edith bites down the suggestion that he could get up and do it himself or find something more productive than watching TV all day. She leaves the room without a backward glance.
The seconds tick by inexorably slowly as she waits until the sound of his spoon against the bowl has stopped. After a little while she hears the bowl roll off the bed and onto the floor. She goes in to see if he is asleep. He is.
Taking a deep breath, Edith puts her plan into operation. Tentatively she pats Terry’s cheeks for a response and finds none. She slaps him, hard and with great satisfaction and again finds no acknowledgement. With a huge sense of relief she takes out the meat grinder from the home ware bag and sets it up on the kitchen top. Nerves flutter in her chest as she picks out a meat cleaver from the knife rack and grabs the wooden chopping board.
She puts a plastic sheet under as much of Terry as possible trying not to choke on the scent of his sweat infused T-shirt. The chopping board goes on the bed and she lays his wrist on it. Back in the kitchen she turns on the front right hand ring on the cooking top and lets the flames play over the base of a wok on a low heat with a little water in it. Edith delves into Terry’s wardrobe for the tie she had given him last Christmas and uses that as a tourniquet for his upper arm. There is so much fat there she can’t be sure it would make any difference, regardless of how tight she pulls it.
Preparations done, Edith takes the wok, now empty of water and carries it in her left hand. With her right hand she picks up the cleaver and brings it down onto the slimmest point between his wrist and hand with all her force. Adrenaline gives her a boost. The hand comes off. Edith takes the bloodied stump and cauterises it with the heat from the metal wok base. The smell of her son’s cooking flesh and the blood makes her gag but she resolutely sees her task through to completion.
The wok has stuck to his skin but she tugs it loose. She will put some olive oil on it next time. The plastic sheeting has held the blood and she is surprised to see that there isn’t as much as she’d been expecting.
Edith repeats the process on his other hand and then his tongue. The wok doesn’t fit in his mouth so she cauterises that with the spoon he used to eat his ice cream with.
Job done, she washes the severed limbs, food preparation and hygiene is important to her, and then feeds them through the meat grinder and stores the resulting mince in the fridge for later. She toys with the idea of finishing the rest of Terry but she is quite tired now and will need more strength for the larger bones.
Before she goes to sleep she texts Tom to arrange to see him at the weekend after the Church fete. As a rare treat she pours herself a large glass of wine and sits in front of the television with some chocolate, relishing the peace. It doesn’t bother her that Terry is in the other room. He is silent and therefore undemanding.
Edith sets her alarm for five a.m. as usual but instead of changing to race to her morning job she calls the company to say she isn’t feeling well and that she won’t be returning for the rest of the week. Her boss sounds annoyed but she doesn’t care. This is her time to focus on her dreams.
She leans back against the cool pillow and puts her headphones on to hear another thirty minute session from a downloaded self-help aid. She believes that she finally understands what self-help means – less hoping and dreaming and more action.
Suitably galvanised she returns to Terry’s bedroom to see if he is still breathing. There is a thin dribble of saliva hanging from his empty mouth and his chest moves slowly up and down. The stumps where his hands had been are dressed in a fresh bandage, put into clear food preparation bags and taped up to his arms. No blood will seep onto the clean linen.
She knows he will be starting to regain consciousness soon if she doesn’t do something about that. In the kitchen she powders up another ten pills wondering if that is too many but not daring to risk giving too little. She mixes them with water before adding the mixture to a syringe she has stolen from work and injecting it straight into Terry’s arm.
She repeats her actions of yesterday. Plastic sheet, tourniquet to the leg, heat wok, meat cleaver, chopping board on bed, feet severed, wok base pressed to leg.
The feet present her with some problems. She knows Terry didn’t shower much or take any interest in his personal hygiene but they are a mess. Toenails grow curled in on themselves, hair sprouts out from toes and the dirt in between is practically begging to be planted. She chucks them into a bath of water and leaves them to soak for a few hours.
Edith carefully bandages the legs and binds them in plastic bags.
It was the bulk of the body that Edith finds the logistics of somewhat challenging. She could certainly fillet the carcass but short of using a crane to dump him in the bath with his feet she was stumped. Much like Terry, thinks Edith to herself and giggles at her own bad humour.
The body is despatched over the course of the week and by the third day Edith is aware that Terry is dying. His breathing has become laboured and it takes fewer sleeping pills each time to knock him out. She sits with him, stroking his hair, singing lullabies as he dies. When his last breath is exhaled she says a prayer over his corpse and has a minute’s silence. Then she returns to the job in hand. Although the heating is turned off the apartment is warm and she doesn’t want the meat to spoil.
Little is wasted. She makes soap with the body fat and uses a steak tenderiser to bash the big bones into smaller pieces that will fit through the grinder. At one point her neighbour comes by to check on her and she lies and tells him she’s putting flat pack furniture together. He smiles in sympathy and offers help. She thanks him but says she’s finished, which she has.
Terry is no more. He is spicy burgers and hot curry. She enjoys the irony that he is a lemon scented soap that he would never have used when he was alive. He is chilli kebabs. She has not tried the culinary delicacies but they smell delicious.
Her hard work is about to pay off. One of the church group has offered his car as a taxi and helps her with the containers. There is more meat than either of them expected and Edith invents a lottery windfall that helped pay for the ingredients. The volunteer looks impressed and promises to be first in line at the barbecue. She smiles at him and waits for the thunderbolt of judgement that she is sure will find her.
She sits on a bench by the barbecue and watches the line build up. The smell of hot charcoal mingled with meaty spices soon has a long line of impatient foodies clamouring for their share. Edith is sure that this is the point where she will be found out. Someone will take a bite and her secret will be revealed.
There is a system on the barbecue line. A burger is put into a bun then handed to another volunteer who covers it with fried onion. It is then given to the customer who moves down to the sauce table and smothers the meat with ketchup and mustard. The meat is heavily seasoned but Edith doubts they can taste it at all.
The day moves quickly. Now the fete is almost over and she watches with a curious stab of loss as the last burger is flipped on the barbecue and expertly ensconced in a bun. The burger cook passes the food down to a small child who greedily dollops ketchup on the meat.
The sun is starting to set now; the happy visitors are reaching for their cardigans and hunting in pockets for their car keys. The day has been a success.
A voice from behind her startles Edith. It’s the vicar; he’s waving a piece of paper in the air and looking excited. She’s been avoiding him all day out of the vague fear that the sight of his dog collar would induce a confession out of her. As he approaches she feels nothing but a bone-deep tiredness.
“Edith, there you are my dear.” The vicar gives her arm an affectionate squeeze and the warmth of his hand on her naked skin reminds her that it’s time she too wore warmer clothing. “I just wanted to thank you again for everything you’ve done in the way of burgers and suchlike. My wife told me she had never seen
such a bit pile of meat outside of a supermarket! I had one of the kebabs and the taste was absolutely divine, whatever you did with the marinade was inspired!”
She smiles warmly as he tells her how much he appreciates her and all the other volunteers and as she begins to tune his words out he forces her to focus when he presses a small bag of pound coins into her palm.
“What’s this for?”
The Vicar looks temporarily embarrassed. “The fundraising was a huge success, we almost doubled what was raised last year and that’s purely thanks to the popularity of your food. It can’t have been cheap to rustle up all that meat and this probably won’t cover all the costs but I don’t want you too out of pocket.”
“But…”
He holds his hand up to stop her words, gives a brief smile and excuses himself. Edith watches him leave. She never expected money. As she opens her handbag to find her purse she reasons that this means God forgives her. Surely if there was a punishment heading in her direction it would have been delivered by now. It’s been a long time since there was money in her purse that wasn’t allocated out into something to placate her son with and the walk to the bus stop is taken with idle day dreaming.
Ten minutes away from home and her phone vibrates with a message. Edith’s stomach flips as she sees it’s from Tom. “I miss you, come over with wine, stay.” He includes his address, it’s close. She doesn’t need to think. “Yes, I’m on my way” she taps out and joyfully presses send. She feels like a teenager again, before life got complicated.
Unable to wait until a stop with a connection to Tom’s house she rings the bell as soon as she sees a corner shop. Red wine seems somehow more romantic and she places the bottle carefully into her basket with some late season strawberries and a small pot of chocolate mousse. She blushes with thoughts of the evening’s entertainment and her heart soars at the freedom her life presents before her.
Edith daydreams again. In her mind she and Tom buy a caravan and drive off around Europe. By day they explore the local sights and by night they greedily explore each other under a canopy of stars. When they need money he does odd jobs while she makes their home pretty and clean.
If she has to wait much longer to see her beloved she thinks she’s going to explode. There’s a taxi outside the corner shop which she grabs and pays for with the Vicar’s money, there was thirty pounds in total. She has never been happier.
The front of Tom’s house is more unkempt then she was expecting. The small patch of grass is long and needs cutting; it is peppered with rubbish that the local kids have chucked over the fence after school time. The paint on the door and windows sills is peeling and a geranium on the door step died long ago.
Her enthusiasm is still strong but Edith begins to feel the slightest whisper of unease. The doorbell doesn’t work. From inside the house she can hear gun fire and shouting, an action game played at full volume. She frowns and raps loudly, three times, on the door. There is a different type of shouting now, coming closer. “Will you please turn that down?”
Tom opens the door wide and that’s when the smell hits her. She has lived with that smell and others associated with it for too long and it chills her. The smell is made of sweat, stale food and body fluids that should be flushed down a toilet. She puts her hand to her mouth and with her eyes asks him to explain.
He looks embarrassed and steps outside. With one hand he takes her grocery bag and with the other he pulls her towards him, kissing her gently on the forehead. She tells herself to stay calm; everything will be all right if she just stays calm. The noise inside has changed to a driving simulation.
“It’s so good to see you”, he murmurs into her neck. A fresh breeze drifts by and with her eyes closed she can imagine they are in an Italian piazza, far away. She needs to see inside although she fears she already knows what’s going to be there.
“Let me open this bottle and pour us some wine.”
She nods, grateful for the activity and follows him as he enters a dark hallway towards the kitchen. The noise is coming from a closed door on her left, Tom doesn’t pause as he walks by but she notes that the smell is strongest at this point. She wonders if it would be rude of her to open a window but as they reach the kitchen she sees that the windows are all open anyway.
Tom has his back to her. “I should have told you before but I was worried you would go right off me if you knew.” He reaches into a cupboard for two miss-matched glasses and pours a generous amount of wine into each.
“Told me what?”
“I have a son and a daughter with my first wife. She died giving birth to Lizzie so I raised them both myself. They have their problems.” He drinks a third of his wine in one long gulp. Edith watches him in silence, she feels sick. “Lizzie didn’t have enough oxygen when she was born so goes to a specialist school from nine a.m. to three p.m. in the week. Mike found it hard without his mum, he has his own problems.”
“Problems.” She doesn’t say this as a question for she already knows the answer but she also knows that if she doesn’t say anything at all she will scream instead. Tom hands her a glass and she holds it close.
“Mainly my fault. He has a big appetite and I indulged him when he was younger and now he’s older somehow it’s even harder to say no.”
Edith hangs her head and nods. Yes, she knows how that feels. She has to leave. Now. There is no life for her with Tom. Her heart breaks a little.
“I thought that I couldn’t share my life with anyone because whoever I fell for would have to take on my kids as well as me.” He smiles brightly at her for the first time since meeting her at the step. “But you understand how I feel, don’t you?”
“Hmm?” Something has changed in him but she doesn’t know what.
“Mike’s a big user of chat rooms and he made friends with someone a couple of weeks ago who also had eating issues. His friend sent him a selfie and there you were in a photo behind him.”
She feels the ground sway beneath her. “That was a very old picture.”
“You looked lovely, I’d already met you by then but knowing you were going through what I was made me love you even more.”
The ground is now tipping wildly, she holds on to the kitchen top to avoid falling. Tom drinks half of what’s left in his glass and tops himself up.
“I went over to your flat today but your neighbour said I’d just missed you. Told me I should try the fete at the local church. I arrived just in time to see you unload the meat from your friend’s car. Such a lot of meat.”
Again she nods. He knows. He knows what she’s done and yet he’s still smiling at her. She doesn’t understand.
“So I went back to your apartment and broke in. Yes, I know, it’s over-stepping the mark but I had to find out if my suspicions were right. You had a broken double bed in front of the TV, a meat grinder in the kitchen and bed sheets soaking in bleach in the bathroom.”
Now she succumbs to the swaying of the floor and she lowers herself to the ground. There is no way her legs will hold her. For some reason she is still holding the glass of wine, Tom notices and takes it from her. He kneels down beside her.
“I love you. I’m not going to judge what you did because Lord knows I’ve had days when I wanted the madness to stop too.”
She looks up at him; he takes her hands in his.
“But if things happen for a reason, and I hope they do, then I believe you’ve come into my life to save me. I can’t care for my kids on my own anymore and now you’re here I don’t have to. We’re going to be a family, we can do this together.” He kisses her right hand before easing himself up and reuniting with his wine glass. She watches him drink deeply again.
“I can’t, Tom. Not again.” Tears are falling down her cheeks onto the floor that she now realises is sticky and unclean. The walls are closing in and her head is pounding. She needs to get out.
His expression changes and looks at her without emotion. “Yes, you will. You will or I’ll go to the police an
d everyone, including your lovely church group who tucked into him, will know what you did. Not only will you go to prison but I’ll see to it that the story makes all the papers. You will never be able to escape this.”
Edith sobs, her heart is not only broken, it is obliterated beyond repair.
He watches her for a few minutes as he drinks the rest of his glass and quickly finishes what’s left in the bottle. Wine, or any alcohol for that matter, is his weakness. What started as a way to cope with the pain of daily life has become part of daily life and he has no desire to cut back.
She can feel his eyes on her. There is no sympathy to be offered, no kind word given. With her sleeve she wipes snot from her nose and slowly stands up. Silenced.
“Come and meet my son.”
Tom puts his hand behind her back to steer her and leads her back up the corridor to the closed door. He opens it with something close to a flourish and she can see genuine affection in his eyes at the sight of his son. The boy is at least twice the size her own son had been but the scowl he throws at her as his game is disturbed could be a mirror image. The rubbish around the bed is higher, the smell worse, the amount of time needed to care much greater.
As Tom introduces her to Mike she doesn’t hear what he is saying, she is looking out of the window thinking about buying a bigger meat grinder and wondering when the next church fete will be.
Ghost Writer
Sometimes if felt as though the youth of today had no work ethic at all. Grant blamed the relentless flood of reality shows and brainless celebrities flaunting their fancy holidays and flash cars all over the internet.
Celebrities, ha! Even the word made Grant want to recoil. He’d yet to meet one of the new batch that was worthy of a second glance. Admittedly most looked pretty but then if you spent your entire life primping and preening you were likely to get your money’s worth, weren’t you? The women, well, girls mostly, made him deeply uncomfortable. If you got too close to them and looked into their eyes you could see hunger and pain in equal measures, it chilled him, it really did.
Twist and Scream - Volume 6 (Horror Short Stories) Page 4
