Then, something changed. Her eyes, once so innocent and childlike, suddenly developed an unsavory glint. Momentarily, she seemed to leer at him, exposing an underlying predatory quality. It was the same look a black widow spider might give her unfortunate mate moments before pouncing and mercilessly ripping him apart.
Kenneth was transfixed. He could do nothing but watch her.
Then, with their eyes interlocked, she seemed to glide towards him like a ghost. He took her in his arms and they embraced. A pleasant, light-headed sensation washed over him. It was intoxicating. For a while he became lost in her sweet scent, and the intimacy of the moment.
Kenneth could scarcely begin to comprehend what happened next. Her right hand slid down his chest, over his middle-aged slightly rounded stomach and, unbelievably, down to his swelling crotch where she squeezed gently. It was exquisite. His breath hitched in his throat. It had to be a dream, a wonderfully erotic dream. Any moment now he would wake up alone in bed with an enormous, insatiable erection, drenched in sweat and in the grip of frustration.
Ever so slowly, savoring each glorious second, Kenneth ran his hands down her back to find Vera's firm, rounded rump. Then they kissed, softly at first, but then wildly, passionately.
Vera flicked her sweet wet tongue expertly around his sour-tasting mouth. He had never been kissed like that before. Kenneth tried to resist, even tried to push her off. This was all moving too fast. But he found himself fighting a losing battle, and he was more than happy to concede defeat.
They began clawing at each others clothing as a selfish, primal urge took Kenneth’s hands all over her gorgeous body; probing, caressing, pinching. All the time, she kissed and moaned softly into his mouth. The desire was almost palpable, as together they were swept away on a tide of euphoria.
The next thing he knew she was on the floor, naked from the waste down and legs spread invitingly. Discarded clothes lay strewn all around her. She looked up at him longingly with those beautiful blue eyes, now wide with lust, and implored him down on her.
Kenneth knelt like a priest at an alter ready to worship the alter of the flesh, the mere act of which made her moan in anticipation. Clumsily, he lowered himself on top of her, carefully maneuvering his position he took his full weight on his hands, splaying his palms on the plush carpet either side of her head. She gasped sharply as he penetrated her and he almost climaxed immediately. He shuddered on the brink of ecstasy, then pulled himself back with every nerve and muscle in his withered body tightening, and started again.
Lost in the carnal pleasures of the flesh, neither party was aware of a third party entering the room through the open front door until a voice bellowed through the air, “Christ, Vera, what the fuck are you doing?”
Kenneth and Vera both leaped to their feet, simultaneously scrambling for their clothes and turning to face the intruder. Framed in the doorway was a huge mountain of a man, so large he actually physically blocked the only escape route. He was unshaven and rugged-looking, his face glowing red with rage and his oversized hands clenched into fists at his sides.
The boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend.
Soon, he recovered from the initial shock of finding his girlfriend (or ex-girlfriend) screwing another man on the living room floor and, rather ominously, prepared to inflict some damage. His eyes settled on Kenneth, and a low growling emanated from the back of his throat. He was about to snap.
Kenneth’s first thoughts were for Vera. If this nutter went on the rampage, she would likely be the object of his aggression. Kenneth would have to protect her. Didn’t he say he would? Didn't he promise? This could be his chance to prove it. Prove that he wasn’t just talking rubbish and telling her whatever she wanted to hear, like so many other men probably had in the poor woman’s miserable life. He meant it.
She stood to his left, cheeks flushed, still trying frantically to arrange her clothing to preserve her modesty, for what it was worth. Their eyes met fleetingly, and Kenneth was taken by the turmoil of raw emotion on display. Fear and panic merged seamlessly with shame and guilt, and was that a single, brutal shard of hatred? The merest damning flicker of deceit?
Somehow, Kenneth knew what she was going to say before a single word had passed her lips…
“Clive… help me. He just busted in here. I couldn’t stop him. He pushed me onto the floor and tried to make me… he made me…”
She threw Kenneth a fleeting glance, a glance so full of absolute contempt that it turned his blood to ice, and then ploughed on…
“He’s mad, Clive! He stormed in just after you left, shouting and swearing at me, calling me names. He made me do things, Clive! Terrible, terrible things!”
Her words, each spiteful, vitriolic syllable exasperated by an impressive range of false vocal hysterics that would make any actress on the planet proud, cut him like a knife.
Why was she doing this?
Kenneth thought they had a bond, but he had been wrong.
Vera’s words deteriorated into a flurry of abuse, and Kenneth looked on despairingly. He would not, could not argue with her. What would be the point? The man-called-Clive wouldn’t believe a word. Why would he? And besides, no words could be said to describe how betrayed he felt. The last tattered shreds of faith he had in human nature were being slowly, painfully ripped away.
Vera was now in the protective circle of Clive's arms, clinging to his beefy, tattooed neck like a frightened child, and doing a very convincing impression of a rape victim. The big lummox just stood there, staring and lapping up every vindictive lie she fed him, while Kenneth tucked his shirt into his trousers and self-consciously did up his fly.
Despite himself, Kenneth understood Vera in some superficial way. The woman must be absolutely terrified. She had been upset to begin with, and now this. Her main priority was self-preservation, as is most people’s if they are brutally honest about it, and her self-defense mechanism had simply kicked in. The physical safety of her elderly neighbours came a poor second.
Absurdly, his cheeks flushed with shame.
In a way it was all his fault. If only he hadn’t been so nosy in the first place, so damn eager to help, then he wouldn’t even be in this mess.
Kenneth was dimly aware of the thug of a boyfriend moving Vera gently to one side and advancing towards him, full of murderous intent. It was like seeing him move through water.
But no, damn it! He would not take this lying down. The bitch was lying! It was all her fault!
It had been her who seduced him. She had been the instigator; he had come here only to offer his assistance. Because he was worried. Concerned. He was just being a good neighbour!
Kenneth felt the rage welling up inside him like an uncontrollable torrent. He didn’t try to fight it, he knew it was useless now. The woman’s attitude was just fucking typical. You try to help someone out of a tight spot, and you end up getting fucked in the ass. People in this day and age just didn’t care. Everyone was out for themselves, no one played by the rules anymore.
Well, he had had enough! No more betrayal, no more manipulation. This time he was going to fight back. He was going to make a stand.
Kenneth, now a slave to his anger, flew at the boyfriend, surprising him, and unleashed a vicious barrage of blows, most of which connected, driving his would-be assailant to the floor. He shrieked in delight, which turned into a triumphant, animalistic howl as the look of stark surprise on the man’s face morphed into a look of fear, then alarm, horror, and finally acceptance as the life was smashed mercilessly out of him.
Kenneth found that once he had started, he couldn’t stop. It was a release. All that pent up frustration. At last, he had an outlet.
He punched and pummeled until his shoulders were too stiff to move, and then he started kicking. It had always been Kenneth’s problem. Knowing when to stop. It was his temper that did it. It was almost as if at certain times, someone or something else took over his body, leaving Kenneth little more than an interested spectator.
&nbs
p; Pretty soon the beefy boyfriend lay in a crumpled heap, a pool of congealing blood forming around his battered head. He was making gurgling sounds, like a baby, and blood was coming out of his mouth, nose and ears.
After a while, he stopped gurgling.
It was then that the first scream echoed around the flat.
Vera. In all the excitement, Kenneth had forgotten all about her. Until that moment, she must have been struck dumb with shock, what with seeing the man in her life getting kicked to death in front of her. Then she snapped out of it. Now, she was crouching in a corner, howling and screeching like a wounded animal.
That would not do. That would not do at all. All that screaming would surely attract attention. Thankfully, screams were not uncommon in areas like this, so they were often dismissed. People just didn’t want to get involved. But still, better safe than sorry…
One hard kick from his gore-splattered boot put a stop to all the bothersome screaming and crying. Then he scooped the unconscious woman up in his arms, and carried her through to the kitchen as if he was a groom carrying his new bride over the threshold of their new home. There, he lay her on her back on the wooden kitchen table. She murmured quietly, still unconscious.
Finding an impressive range of utensils in the kitchen drawers, Kenneth lay them out on the table around Vera’s prone form, expertly, deliberately. Then, he went to work.
First, he slit her throat with one measured slice of a carving knife. Then, he started to slice away at her shapely thighs. She had such sublime legs! Falsely browned and a little freckly, and she could perhaps do with a waxing, but sublime non-the-less.
The succulent flesh which came away from the bone could grace the tables of royalty. If, of course, they shared Kenneth’s taste.
At one point, while he was hard at work making cutlets, Vera stirred and awoke with a start. Damn, he had assumed she was dead. The cut to the throat had evidently not been fatal. She opened her eyes and gazed up at him questioningly. Then she tried to sit up. Of course, this was a big mistake. Kenneth supposed it was quite difficult to assume a sitting position when you are missing most of your rump and legs.
A bemused expression spread across her face, and Vera looked down at her ruined body. Her eyes widened in terror, and for a moment Kenneth thought he may have to sock her over the head again. But then she slumped back without so much as another whimper. Maybe she was really dead this time, or maybe she just fainted away in a state of shock. Who knew? Who cared? It would all be over soon enough.
There had been no need to betray him like that. It was plain malicious. Unforgivable. It was a matter of principal…
All these thoughts and a multitude of others tumbled around in Kenneth’s broken mind as he slowly cooked Valerie’s flesh in a frying pan with some vegetable oil, delicately seasoning as he went with some dried parsley and basil flakes he found in one of the cupboards. It smelled delicious, but Kenneth had mixed feelings. As a rule he only ate people he liked. He had to feel that connection with someone, and then cement it by ingesting then digesting them. He wanted to make them a part of him, so he could carry them with him forever.
However, Vera had turned out to be one of the most vile and vindictive women he had ever met, and he had met more than a few. God only knew how many hearts Vera had broken on her selfish crusade. Or how many dreams she had crushed. All that pain and suffering. The world would be a better place without her.
Kenneth wasn’t keen on the boyfriend, either, and didn’t exactly relish the thought of slicing and dicing his tough, sinewy frame. The poor bastard was probably under Vera’s spell, another victim of deceit to add to her collection. Even so, Kenneth had taken an instant dislike to the bloke. He was too confrontational, and just plain rude. No doubt he thought bullying his way through life was the only way to achieve anything.
As soon as he finished eating, Kenneth would have to pack his meager belongings and move on again for the third time this year. Shame, he was just beginning to settle here. He would probably have to change his identity again as well, and that was getting expensive. Another sign of the times. Maybe he would move to the country, city life didn’t really appeal to him. He had some money saved, and would take what he could from Vera and her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, before he doused the place with petrol and torched it.
Shit. If only he’d had enough time to properly assess the situation. Then he could have been better prepared, maybe formulated a plan. He could have made what happened today look like a home invasion, or murder-suicide.
Yes, that was it.
He’d done it before.
It was easier and a lot less risky than finding himself in a situation like the one he now found himself in. Backed into a corner with his options limited. He could have called the local constabulary to report a domestic incident that really sounded very nasty, officer.
Anonymously, of course.
Not that being anonymous mattered. His name was fake, anyway. His whole existence was fake. In fact, Kenneth couldn’t even remember his real name anymore. It had been so long since he had used it.
The police would simply assume it had been a crime of passion, they had fallen for similar tricks before. They would make some inquiries, and get confirmation of the couple's volatile relationship history. The lazy bastards always made the most convenient and obvious conclusions. If they were more astute and better at their jobs, they would have made the necessary connections years ago, tying him to dozens of suspicious deaths all over Britain. And Greece, Spain, France and Italy. But evidently, even the boys in blue, our sworn protectors, had given up the ghost and become resigned to watching society crumble around their ears.
As he put the finishing touches to the meal, Kenneth felt the first twinge of guilt. He was a nice guy, really he was.
Well, he tried to be. He tried very hard, thank you very much.
It was just that he was tired of being a victim, and had developed a very short fuse over the years.
Vera had been pretty as well.
What a shame.
At least she tasted nice...
The Night Everything Changed
Harvey lay awake in his bed. It was late, but he knew that sleep was impossible now. His racing mind and pumping heart simply would not allow it. He felt small and insignificant. Helpless and vulnerable. More than anything, he was scared.
He buried his head beneath the covers like a child attempting to block out the night, all the while knowing it was useless. The dreaded cacophony of sounds would easily penetrate this flimsy protective coating and once again set him on a path to torment and personal terror. Trying desperately to control his breathing, he waited.
Soon, as expected, the noises came. If the weather happened to be rainy or windy, they were much harder to hear clearly. But on a still, quiet night such as this, the noises seemed to fill the world.
The soft, disembodied thumps and scrapes first alerted Harvey to the unfolding drama. He didn't want to listen, but found he was powerless to resist as the sounds grew steadily louder and more urgent, seeming to drift gradually into clarity. A sudden splintering of wood turned his blood to ice and kick-started him into action.
The noises were coming from the direction of the garden shed, carried effortlessly on the night's gentle breeze.
Harvey sat up in bed and listened closely, fighting against the familiar inner turmoil. He should investigate. There could be an intruder. The shed was where he kept the tools and other materials required for his job as a landscape gardener. His livelihood.
Suddenly, the eerie cacophony of sound abruptly stopped.
Harvey strained to hear the conclusion of this strange episode. A muffled thump, something that may or may not be a grunt or a groan. Then a few more thumps in quick succession sounded followed by empty silence.
He lay back down on his bed and buried his head beneath the covers. Soon, sleep came to take him away to a safer, better place.
He dreamed of digging.
He was
in a narrow trench six or seven feet deep, and the muddy floor was like quicksand sucking greedily at his lower legs. He tried to free his left foot, but found it held fast by the mud. That revelation was enough to send him over the edge of panic. He reached up, grasping frantically at the smooth, slippery sides of the trench, seeking purchase by finding none.
The mud seemed to be comprised of living organisms, and made obscene wet slurping sounds as Harvey struggled against it. He was sure his heart actually stopped for a moment when he first felt the tiny, yet powerful fingers begin to close around his right ankle.
His eyes snapped open and darted frantically around the tiny bedroom, seeking out any threat. He shook his head and tried to focus his mind for what seemed like an age before the gruesome lingering images of the nightmare subsided.
At some point, he realized it was no longer dark. It was morning. Still shaking, he made his way gingerly to the kitchen where he made himself a cup of strong, black coffee, and sat at the table with a cigarette. The only way to start the day.
He hadn't been himself since the accident.
He groaned aloud as his fragile mind was drawn back to that night three months before.
The night everything changed.
He tried to resist the pull as his imagination pulled him back, but it was useless. Soon, he saw himself lying in his bed, shattered but unable to sleep. Tired after a long day. Then, the noises came again, the muffled bumps and knocks coming from the shed in the garden, followed by a splintering crack as a wooden door was forced open.
They were the same noises he heard almost every night, like a recording played just for his benefit. Harvey had an idea that what he heard now were phantom noises, some kind of residue or ghostly imprint left on the atmosphere. But back then, the night everything changed, he recognized the noises for what they were. The tell-tale sounds of an intruder trying to break into his garden shed.
The revelation hit him like a body blow. His tools!
X: A Collection of Horror Page 6
