Kiss me. Kill me. The Candy Wrapper Killer. / Chapter 02

*Due to technical difficulties, Part 02 to "Kiss me. Kill me. The Candy Wrapper Killer" will not be posted till later this weekend.



But please enjoy other wonderful stories from the "Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales"!!

Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales

http://www.clearlykristal.com/
http://www.worldsworstmoms.com/
http://www.bulamamani.com/
http://www.susannenelson.wordpress.com/
http://www.itsadomelife.com/
http://www.debiehive.blogspot.com/
http://www.mollyfield.com/
http://neargenius1.blogspot.com/
http://the-suds-box.blogspot.ca/
http://www.quirkychrissy.com/

Kiss me. Kill Me. The Candy Wrapper Killer.

[Fiction Friday Challenge #03 - 1st Draft - 'February Love"]

*Prompt: When was the last time you looked into someone’s gorgeous eyes? Maybe they were sea green and seemed to have all the secrets of the world behind them? What would happen if you had a chance to know this person intimately? Then you find that person has a dark secret that would bring your perfect but lonely life to its knees.

Note To Readers:

This will be my first attempt at writing a longer story for Fiction Fridays. Below story will continue for the next 3 Fridays. Each week a new prompt will challenge and guide the story further. Hope you will stay tuned! Enjoy this week's Friday Fiction.

 

“That will be $4.20.”

The bright, buzzing fluorescent lights overhead kept flickering, making her badly platinum dyed hair look almost like an…angel.

“Hey! Sir? That will be $4.20!”  The gum-chewing, bored-looking, bad-attitude-wielding, eye-rolling angel spoke again, this time with some irritation.

“For a pack of gum and chips?” Rez asked incredulously, eyeing the angel shrugging her shoulder and Rene, the owner, sitting further down reading a newspaper, ignoring both of them. Rez snorted and pulled out some change and dropped it on the counter. 

Grabbing the gums and chips, he leaned over to ask. “You don’t even know the irony of the 420, right?” Seeing a blank stare from the angel, he laughed, shaking his head, Detective ‘Rez’ - Ramirez Jesús De La Cruz of the Toronto Police 14th Division - walked out of the convenience store into the cool morning air on Spadina Street. Still chuckling, he looked down at his watch! Damn! It was 4am. If he rushed now, he could get home in time to have breakfast with his son before he left for school.

Taking a big swig, he grimaced from the taste of the stale coffee. Eyeing the styrofoam cup of dark poison, he reluctantly swallowed the rest. Fuck this shit! It was old as fuck but he needed something warm, and he needed the caffeine. Ok. He needed mostly the caffeine.  Rolling his empty coffee cup into a ball, he started passing it from one hand to the other, imitating play-by-play hockey game he had watched a week ago. Rez eyeballed the garbage can to line the shot, and with a flick of his wrist, he hollered, “He shoots, he scores…!.” The rolled up coffee cup bounced off the edge of the can just as his phone vibrated.  He swore. Just like his hockey team, he couldn't even score! Lifting his mobile up to look, it was his partner, Ronald Wong calling. “Wong. I hope this can wait. I’m on my way home to get some beauty sleep!” Rez answered half jokingly.

“Rez, another call came in. They found two more bodies. They think it matches the other cases we’ve been working on. The Captain wants us to go down to check it out. Where are you? I’m on my way to the car now.” 

Fuck this shit. Rez knew it was going to be another long day.

“Yo’ Amigo. I’m down the street at Rene’s.”

-----

Accept for the occasional beeping coming from the car’s internal police radio system, both Detectives was quiet, lost in their thoughts thinking of what was ahead. 

Rez realized if these deaths were linked to their cases, it would be their 5th, with the body count now up to ten. Ten in two weeks! Fuck this shit!

Rez had gone through his notes and the autopsy reports. All the victims were couples. They had died from wounds they had self inflicted and on each other. They all exhibited small punctures with a bluish halo tinge around it and all of them had usually high levels of Dopamine, Oxytocin, Norepinephrine in their systems. The Medical Examiner had noted that it was odd to see those chemicals at such levels as it was only naturally produced in the body during, and for a short period of time, after sexual intercourse - the technicians had joked and called it ‘Death by Love’ - further, the medical examiner couldn’t explain what may have caused the small puncture wounds, or even the bluish bruising around it. She had sent a sample for further analysis to their sister-lab in Ottawa hoping that their new machine could come up with more answers.

‘Death by Love’? Was it a new drug on the street? Last year’s craze was Bath-Salts! What’s causing the victims to hump like crazy bunnies, then go berserk and start hurting themselves and killing each other?

What the hell was happening? Rez was worried.  He wasn’t sure what they were dealing with.

Fuck this shit!

----

Nodding a hello at Rez and Wong, the investigative officer in charge named Winch started reading off his notes.

“The two vics were found D.O.A, possibly knife wounds to the neck. One male, the other female, both, if I was to guess, to be juveniles, possibly 14, no ID’s on them. Both suffered from lacerations to faces, arms and the chest. Cause of death? Take your pick. We also found a golden candy wrapper by the male vic’s body.” Winch stopped, to look up from his notes at Rez and Wong. “I heard talk about your case and the candy wrapper that's when I went on the bull-horn to your office. It’s a ‘dead’ match to your case, eh? You get it?” Winch laughed at his pun and handed the plastic baggy with the candy wrapper.

Rez stared, not amused.  Turning, he looked at Wong slipping on gloves to inspect the bagged candy wrapper closer. Turning back to Rez, Wong nodded, looking grim.

Fuck this shit.  It was the same type of candy wrapper found near all the bodies. Rez pulled out his gloves and walked towards the bodies. Kneeling down to get a closer look, his trained eyes noted the half, opened eyes of both of the victims. He bet that somewhere, the victims would both have the same bluish puncture marks on them, but he would need the M.E. to confirm that.

The bodies still looked fresh. They looked young. Fuck this shit! 

"Who found the bodies?" 

More paper shuffling from Winch, "No clue, A call came from a public phone to the dispatcher."

Shooting a tired look at Winch, Rez waved him closer. “It’s a match. Can you send all the evidence to the 14th Division, including the M.E.’s report? Who’s the M.E. for this?” 

Looking down and shuffling though his notes, Winch replied, “Dr. Hammond. A Dr. Cassandra Hammond.” Rez nodded his thanks and stood up to walk back to the car, letting Wong sign off on the paperwork.

Dr. Cassandra Hammond. Cassie, his sweetie. He’d been have dating Cassie for about two weeks now.

He smiled, remembering how they met.

She had come to the 14th Division for a meeting with his Captain. He and Wong had accidentally piled into her and her box of files in the hallway. Half smiling, he remembered how Wong, while helping pick up her files had tried to sweet talk her, trying to get her name. She coolly answered, after eyeing Wong up and down, noting his badge, "Detective, I am Dr. Cassandra Hammond, the new Police Chief Medical Examiner, and I am here for a meeting with your Captain!"

Laughing at Wong’s painful expression, Rez turned to see grey, beautiful eyes, sparkling with humor, staring back at him. Rez heart just about stopped and his voice got caught in his throat. Her heart-shaped face held a small little smile, which she quickly hid behind a cough and a hand. Looking back again, she gave him a little half smile as she walked away…no, sashayed away, giving him full view of her long strawberry-blond hair, long, tanned legs in heels and a body to die for. Rez knew he was in trouble. A week later he asked her out, and they have been inseparable ever since. He was smitten. S M I T T E N!

Turning back to yell at Wong to hurry, Rez stopped in his trek and stared. Right above the tree line, near the crime scene, he saw someone....something....floating and glowing! Wings? What the hell? Floating and glowing? With wings? Blinking, he looked again and the thing had disappeared. What the fuck?

Stripping off his gloves, he reached into his pockets and found his gum. Ah…fuck this shit. It wasn’t a great day to quit smoking anyways! Stuffing the gum back in his pockets, he grabbed his cigarettes instead and waited for Wong to finish up with Winch.

Floating, glowing freaks with wings! Death By Love! And they call me nuts! He though, sucking in deep his cigarette.

----

Brunette hair flying in all directions while long, toned legs held firm the man beneath her as he strained against her in the backseat of his car, his hands digging painfully into her sides. But she didn’t mind it. She loved the pain. Looking down at the stranger she had picked up at the bar earlier, he said his name was John, while she had whispered in his ear, that her name was Candy.

She sighed. Looking down again at John’s flushed face and harsh breathing, twisted from the sexual pleasure. She wondered briefly if he'd have any family that would miss him? Mourn him?

Unhurriedly, she moved her gloved hands up her hot skin, exposed between her unbuttoned shirt to the nape of her neck, where she carefully slid under her wig, to pull out a syringe.

Suddenly, the man called John began bucking wildly underneath her. Tenderly, she pushed the man’s face aside and nonchalantly pushed the syringe to inject its contents into the man’s soft neck. Eyes widening and with labored breathing, John stopped moving. The man had been paralyzed. 

Twisting to grasp her evening bag on the seat beside her, she slowly took out another syringe, this time a little bigger, a little wider, with a longer and thicker needle. Turning the man’s head back and holding it firmly, she plunge the syringe into the center of the man’s forehead forcefully. There was a sickening wet, crunchy sound.

A slight widening of his iris, the only indication of life, John began to die.

Focused, deliberate, she pulled on the inner chamber of the syringe, as golden, yellow liquid began filling the tube quickly. Extracting the needle out, she pulled the chamber out of the syringe and shoved a cap on and tightened it. Spying a pen at the back, she looks down at John again, “You don’t mind me borrowing this little old pen, do you, sweetie?” She asked smiling.  Taking the pen, she scribbled hastily on the label -‘LUST”. Looking at the golden vial, all she had to do was refine the pure liquid further at her lab and her product will be ready for the market! In fact, her newest client will pay her handsomely for this. She giggled, pleased.

Pushing her dress down, she freed herself from John and opened the car door. Looking back, to make sure she left nothing behind, she blew a kiss to the dead John!

As heels click on gravel road, Candy strutted out from behind a secluded alley, her phone began to ring. Reaching up to snatch the brunette wig off her, she answered her phone, “Dr. Cassandra Hammond speaking.”

---The End of Part 01--

Note to Readers:
If you'd like to read more of Friday Fiction, please join us - "Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales" - and read up on my other amazing cohorts of writers every Friday!

Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales

http://www.clearlykristal.com/
http://www.worldsworstmoms.com/
http://www.bulamamani.com/
http://www.susannenelson.wordpress.com/
http://www.itsadomelife.com/
http://www.debiehive.blogspot.com/
http://www.mollyfield.com/
http://neargenius1.blogspot.com/
http://the-suds-box.blogspot.ca/
http://www.quirkychrissy.com/

The Bad Egg

[Fiction Friday Challenge #02 - 1st Draft]

Invent a / your character (who) has two personality traits that are completely incompatible, that don't fit together at all. For example: this character is incredibly messy and is also a total perfectionist. Or: this character is a pacifist and also has a really explosive temper. Or: this character believes in strict, traditional family values but is promiscuous by nature. You decide. Then think of a situation in which these two sides of your character would be in direct conflict with each other. Write the story / scene.

 

“Men? Any questions?”

A delicate cough interrupted the silence.

He sighed.

“Ladies….and men! Any questions? Alright, you have your instructions!”

Suddenly, the Captain slammed his papers onto the table and reached up to rake his hair with his hook in frustration. “Folks, I cannot emphasize how important this is. He is one of our men and we don’t leave one of us behind!” 

Chairs scraped as each body made to leave the briefing room, realizing that the Captain was right. They filed out solemnly, each giving the Captain a silent promise; they were not going to leave him behind, and headed to the weapons room.

Each went straight to collect their weapons of choice: Knives, guns, bows and arrows, swords, sliver, holy water and magic wands, and began strapping them to their black uniform.

One of them, Peter, was looking grim. They had been looking for the perpetrator for 6 months. If the sources were correct, they were going to be able to get that son of a bitch tonight!

They had too! Peter thought vehemently. Too many children have gone missing! The world outside will begin to notice.

“Hey Pan! Let’s go!” Peter turned. It was Tiger Lily, his second in command. Behind her, his team, The Lost Boys - specially trained in warfare techniques and armed combat! They were deadly, and they were ready.  But some…one was missing. “Where is she?”

“Tink? She said she will meet us there.”

Grabbing his duffle bag, he followed Tiger Lily out. Smiling a little when one of the dwarfs whistled and the other chimed in mockingly, “…while you work” – which elicited laughter all around. The mood lightened considerably.

Peter Pan began whistling himself and headed straight to the door to the parking lot, passing a huge insignia on the wall, which read, “Protection and Investigation of Magical Persons Bureau”, otherwise referred to by the general populace as P.I.M.P. - the 'B' was silent.

----

The alarm went off. A voice groaned and reached over to slam it off.

“Stupid alarm.”

Bleary eyes peered to look at the time. 7pm.

Almost dark. Al thought. Scratching his balls, he yawned and stretched. He groaned. He gingerly  held the side of his face. It was swollen and throbbing. He grimaced. The pain in his tooth had gotten worst! Shaking his head, hoping to clear the pain, he slumped out of bed and shuffled to take a piss by the side table near the bed.  Leaning over to his left with his other free hand, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and gulp it down. Looking down, he impatiently said, “Now pee dammit!” Rolling his eyes upwards and grunted with relief as hot liquid spurted out finally.

Finishing the last of the whiskey, he belched and threw the empty bottle behind the sofa. His stomach growled. He was hungry. Suddenly, with a harsh intake of breath, his hands began to shake as sharp stabs rolled up on his sides, forcing him to bend over from the pain.

Al began salivating and making painful, mewling sounds. He needed FOOD! There was left overs from last night’s feast, Chinese!

Stumbling past the soiled, unmade bed and a green shag carpet strewn with rotten garbage and empty liquor bottles, he headed in to the mini fridge in the side alcove of the motel room. Holding on to the side wooden cabinet with glass sidings, he steadied himself and flung opened the fridge door! Dirty, clawed paws, desperately shoving the contents within into his open maw; he couldn’t swallow fast enough. He slid to his knees and began to gorge like the gluttony of a drug addict.

Through sickly, yellow light cast by the fridge, Al saw his reflection against the glass sidings. He was gnawing on a bone. He stopped to stare. His fur was matted, thick with dirt and dried blood. His eyes were bloodshot red. His whiskers were droopy and lank, while his mouth was bloodied with bits of flesh. The side of his face was swollen from the bad tooth. Moving his eyes up, he saw his ears, they were flopped over, no longer majestic and proud.

So, in a seedy, dark motel room by Jarvis Street, over the sounds of chewing, slurping and bone crunching, Al, the Easter Bunny, finished the last remains of a Chinese little boy he kidnapped last night.

How could you?

Startled, Al dropped the bone and scrambled closer to peer at his reflection!

How could you?

The soft voice asked again.

You were supposed to be the champion of children around the world! Giving out chocolates eggs and candy treats. Now, you eat them!

The voice said sadly.

“Who are you?” Al growled.

His paw rose to gently trace his reflection.

I am you. Before the pain from the tooth took you over and changed you. Please stop and go Home. They can help you! This pain you have? The need to eat children? It's the pain making you crave the sweet flesh of children. It is their innocence you are craving. Innocence - it is what you are missing! You need to go home and have that tooth removed! Go Home! They can help you! Will you stop and go Home?

Pleaded the voice.

“Home?” Al said. It was hazy but he remembered a little of a place called Home. Filled with rainbows, butterflies and happiness. Filled with flowers, sunshine and laughter. Filled with rules and regulations and forced visits to the dentist! The dentist! Shuddered Al.

No! He won’t go back! Grabbing the bone off the floor, he smashed hard against the glass sidings to break it. Grunting, he stood up. He was hungry again and needed to get more food. Careful not to look at the broken glass, he walked by and began hopping out of the motel room to search for his next meal.

----

“Peter! He’s on the move, headed south on Yonge Street.” Crackled voice suddenly came on through his earpiece. Adjusting it, Peter whispered some last instructions and signaled the rest of the team to get ready. Peter looked worried.

Tiger Lily grabbed his hand to reassure him, “He will see the signs and follow. Belinda is a good witch and her spells will work! He is after all a magical person! Maybe a little furry!” The attempted joke made Peter smile. Tiger Lily was right. Those casted spells were powerful and will lure Al to here!

“Peter! He saw the signs! He is following them. ETA in 5 minutes!”

Gesturing signals to his team, Peter turned and hurried up the steps to get into boy’s bedroom. He quickly and quietly slid between the blankets of the bed and forced his breathing to slow down. He didn’t want Al to get a whiff of him. He hoped the smell of the boy on the blankets would mask and hide him from Al’s detection. The boy and his parents were safely tucked in the attic. Belinda spelt them to sleep. Two of his dwarves were guarding them. Peter hoped the reports were right and that Al would break into the house through the basement, not the attic.

Hearing heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, Peter feigned sleep.

---

Al rubbed his snotty nose with the back of his furry, ragged arm and walked into the boy’s room. The boy smelt so good. So sweet.

Shutting the door quietly behind him, he peered around. Toys on the floor, with half made forts and colored drawings stuck to the walls. Al’s eyes saw family photos. Ah. The boy’s name is Billy. Turning back to the sleeping form on the bed, Al drew in another deep breath. Hmmmmmm, Billy smelt sweet!

Closer now, Al whispered gently, “Oooooh Billy….Billy. Its me, the Easter Bunny…and boy do I have a surprise for you!” Preparing to pounce, Al laid his knee on the bed.

Suddenly, Peter flung out the blankets over Al and jumped up! Al, falling back onto the floor, surprised! Growling to get up, Al yowled when strong hands held him back. Looking behind him, he saw Jack and The Giant holding him, and to the sides, a few of the lost boys holding a bow and aiming an arrow at him.

Snarling, Al turned back to the figure before him, “Peter Pan!”

“Aloysius Greenhill. We have been searching you for a long time.” Peter knelt and smiled coldly, “You have been a bad bunny.”

Shaking his head, Peter paused and stared, "Al, we've been friends for a while now...the pain must have been that bad because this isn't the real you. If you had just gone to the doc for your checkups, she would have found that bad tooth and taken it out! Can't you see? You have changed! The toothache has driven you mad and making you crave the flesh of children! Will you come Home, willingly submit to the dentist?"

“I’m the fucking Easter Bunny, I am cute. I can do no wrong!” Growled Al.

Crinkling his nose over the stench, Peter sighed and stood up. Ignoring Al, he continued, “Alright Al. You have given me no choice. By the doctrines established over this land, section 3A, paragraph 2, I hereby proclaimed that laws have been broken and thereby giving me, Peter Pan, rights over one,” peering down at Al, “Aloysius Greenhill, all in presence say ‘aye’!”

A chorus of ‘ayes’ and one grumpy ‘nay’.

“What you gonna do Pan?” sneered Al. “You have no magical powers to make me to do anything, and that bitch Belinda? She ain’t got the juice to even get me off!” He laughed out loud, suggestively.

Peter smiled, this time, warmly, “Oh Belinda and I won’t. But someone else will!” Peter whistled and out flew Tinker Bell!

“Ha! What’s that LITTLE fairy gonna do?” Al eyed Tinker Bell suspiciously.

“She’s not just any fairy, Al." Peter smiled evilly. "She also moonlights as the Tooth Fairy!"

Laughing at Al's shocked face, Peter stood back, "And tonight, we are going to do a little extraction. Tink's going to remove your SWEET TOOTH!” Turning to his men, Peter said, “Hold him down boys!”

Moving closer, Tink grinned, “Open wide silly rabbit!”

A pure look of terror shone out red, rabbit eyes, Al began to scream.


--The End--

Note to Readers:
If you'd like to read more of Friday Fiction, please join us - "Fearless Fiction Femmes" - and read up on my other amazing cohorts of writers every Friday!

Fearless Fiction Femmes

http://www.clearlykristal.com/
http://www.worldsworstmoms.com/
http://www.bulamamani.com/
http://www.susannenelson.wordpress.com/
http://www.itsadomelife.com/
http://www.debiehive.blogspot.com/2013/01/fiction-friday-challenge-episode-3.html 
http://www.mollyfield.com/
http://neargenius1.blogspot.com/
http://the-suds-box.blogspot.ca/
http://www.quirkychrissy.com/

Jams For Jesus

[Fiction Friday Challenge #01 - 1st Draft]
Your character commits a crime. (What is the motive?) Your character's husband/wife/S.O., discovers your character changing, dealing with the evidence, and wants to know what's going on. Write the conversation. What happens next?

Wh-eeash. Wh-eeash. 

She paused at the bottom of the basement stairs and glared down with resentment at the orthopedic shoes she was forced to wear. She hated those shoes and the sounds it made. It was the only type of shoes she could wear comfortably without having shooting pains up her spine. She glared at the shoes again. Turning to shut carefully the opening in the wall, cleverly built with shelves to hide a door to a secret room, she bend over to pick up a basket of her jellied jars and saw bits of bloodied cheese-cloth peeking out from under the wall. She swore, then chastised herself for swearing! She didn’t have time and toed some boxes to hide them instead.

Giving the shoes a final sneer, she sighed resigned and struggled up the stairs with the basket. The wooden steps creaked, each board bending under protest at her gargantuan body. Wh-eeash. Wh-eeash.

She paused halfway up, the basket clincking while she tried to catch her breath. The upstairs wooden cuckoo clock chimed 12 o’clock; she was late, very late. Raising her fat arm, she swiped her hair and sweat beads aside, and hurried up the final last steps. She stopped when she heard her kitchen screen door opened.

“Mar-tha! Maaar-thaaa! It’s me, Alma!”

Martha’s face twisted in disgust. She’d known Alma’s voice anywhere. That harlot’s voice was like a sow in heat….after being ridden, she thought crudely and snorted!

“Martha?”

Martha took a deep breath and assumed the expression befitting a Christian sister with the Women’s Auxillary Group, Daughters of Virtue of the Southern Mount Baptist Church, affectionately known as DOVs. Her face suddenly filled with warmth and dimpled smiles, she walked out into the kitchen.

“Martha! For landsakes! You aren’t ready yet. You aren’t wearing that, are you?” Alma eyed Martha's polyester periwinkle blue  housecoat up and down over her bifocals. “John is in the automobile waiting to drive us! For landsakes! Hurry up and get changed! Are those the new batches of jelly?” Making shooing noises, Alma grabbed the basket to inspect the jellies. Alma had turned 65 last Tuesday and justified her bossy nature by believing that anyone younger than 65, needed her guidance. Martha was 64. Of course, she did not hate Alma because of what happened 10 years ago - the night Alma got drunk and tried to seduce George...at the back porch...of Church!

Turning to walk towards her bedroom at the back of the house, Martha’s face twisted into a rage. Stupid heifer! She hated Alma.

Walking down the hallway, Martha passed walls of pictures; of family, church picnics….and tenants - she rented her garage room to retired Christians. Gently straightening the frames, she heard snoring in the other room and smiled. That would be George, her husband of 45 years. She met him when she was 19 and he was just 22. Sweet George. She loved him fiercely.

“Martha! Hurry on up!”

Martha sighed. She hated that....breathing slowing, she allowed herself to think...SLUT!

----

Two hours later, firmly seated at the DOVs round table, sounds of delicate, joyful bites of crackers and Martha's new jelly concoction, the meeting was ajourned. The Daughters had agreed that they were going to sell Martha’s famous jars of jelly again to help raise the funds they needed for the next Southern Christian Convention. The ladies were talking excitedly for ‘Jams for Jesus’ night and the Jam Competition they were organizing this year again. Some in hush voices, wondered if after 3 years, anyone would be able to break Martha’s winning streak – they all agreed her jelly jams were to die for!

----

Waving goodbye to Alma, Martha walked in straight to the kitchen and immediately saw the yellow note stuck to the fridge. George had gone into town and would be back in time for supper.

Good. Martha thought as she hung her coat. That gave her enough time to bottle more of the new batches of the jelly – they should be cooled enough now down in the basement. She chortled, excited at the new recipe she had used! It had a spicy savory kick to it! As Martha headed to the basement, a loud knock came at the front door. Who the hell could that be? Walking towards the door, Martha saw that it was Sheriff Johnson. Keeping calm, she opened the door exclaiming with a smile,

“Good afternoon Sheriff Johnson, how are you? Tara and the kids?”

“Good Afternoon Martha – we are all fine. I’m sorry Martha but I am here on official visit.”

“Why Sheriff, sounds serious.”

“Martha, Jebediah Le Croix was a tenant of yours?”

“Why yes. But he left a few weeks ago to go back home to his people in New Orleans, I think. A sister?.”

“Yes that is the accounting folks in town been telling me. His sister called us, he is missing.”

“On no! I am so sorry to hear this, he was such a gentlemen!”

“So Martha, nothing suspicious you could think off?”

“No Sheriff. He was excited in leaving.”

“Alright Martha. If you think on anything else, could you give me a call?”

“Oh I certainly will Sheriff…my Lord, I’ll say a prayer too!”

Closing the door behind her, she purse her lips and started humming “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” and headed back to go down to the basement. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she pushed a lever to release the hidden door. Kicking aside the boxes, she reached down to pick up the bloodied cheese-cloths and walked in and reached up to turn a light on. Still humming, Martha threw the stained cloths into a black garbage bag and walked over to the cooling vat of liquid. Fishing a large ladle hanging on the side of the wall, she began gently scooping all the gel-substance on the surface into a sieve and bucket untill only black liquid was left. She smiled at the amount gathered; she was going to be able to make at least 30 jars of jelly!

Please with the quantity, she sang even louder…”Are we weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care…” - and did not hear her front door opening and the footsteps overhead.

Wrinkling her nose over the noxious smell, Martha grabbed the edges of the vat and hauled it to a make shift sink and heaved over the contents. The coppery bitter smell intensified as soupy, black, thick liquid, and small and big floating brown bits, made its way out of the vat, over into the sink. As Martha poured the remaining liquid out, big solid chunks of….bones….fell out. Whistling now, she began gathering the bones, as long as her arm, and threw them into the waiting black garbage bag below her. Peering into the vat, Martha reached in to free a last piece of bone, and held it up against the light. It was a human skull. She giggled and started whispering to the skull….

“Martha….? I'm back early. Sheriff Johnson gave me a ride....” A shocked George looked in from the opening of the wall. “What’s going on here”? Walking in, he looked around the room. On the far right on metaled shelves, neatly stacked, were several human skulls, beside each, a framed photo. Walking closer, he realized in horror, they were all pictures of tenants Martha and he had over the last 3 years. In the middle shelve, an empty space with a framed picture of…..Jebediah Le Croix, the missing man. Leaning closer, George grimaced at the scotch-taped yellow paper that said, "recipe for cajun savory"!

Following behind George, a voice apologising to Martha for the disturbance, explaining that he had run into George and asked if he could buy some of the famous jelly jams, was Sheriff Johnson! He skidded to a stop, his words caught midway. “Oh God Martha! What the hell….!” Sherrif Johnson began swearing, ripped his walkie talkie to call the station.

“Martha. What have you done?” George asked in hushed tones. In the background Sheriff Johnson was yelling asking for more officers and a forensic team.

Martha answered in a weird voice, still staring at the skull, "They were all almost on their way to Heaven, George. At least that's what happened to the first one, Mr. Andrew Dickson. He had died and I didn't know what to do. I had just returned from Church. The Daughters had decided on making jams to help raise the funds needed for our Convention. You weren't here. You were visiting our son in Virginia." Continuing, she smiled, "Besides, they were all old, I was just helping them to meet Jesus. And, they.....they were instruments in helping raise money for God!"

Martha turned from the skull to George, then to Sheriff Johnson as he walked in again, this time with handcuffs in tow.

Martha screamed!

“God damn you! I was just going to finish bottling up Mr. Le Croix! He was the last of my savory batch. I was going to start with my sweet batch next week. It was going to be a new recipe I was trying out!!” Eyeing Alma’s picture on the table as Sheriff Johnson cuffed her - she was going to frame Alma's picture that evening. Too bad. Martha thought. She had ordered all that extra organic honey for Alma.

-- The End --

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A Monster’s Requiem

[1^st Draft]

He took a longer, deep, drag of his cigarette, this time, holding that sweet smoke in until he felt light-headed and dizzy from the lack of air. He loved the feeling of being weightless, devoid of thoughts and presence, just a feeling of euphoria. He released the smoke slowly, almost reverently, pursing his lips into an ‘O’ making smoke-rings. They looked like halos. He thought, amused.

His half opened eyes, heavy lids hiding grey intelligence, lazily traced the smoke-rings above him. He wondered briefly, at the rings, where the essence of the smoke went when it disappeared? Did the essence have 'essence souls'? In essence....a Spirit? Smoke Spirit? He chuckled softly at his clever words. Father Pietro would not be amused at all at his blasphemy. Father Pietro….he smiled fondly recalling the time…..WAIT!

He suddenly stood up, dropping his half-smoked cigarette. A memory! He had remembered something! This mind had loosened its hold and allowed a memory to escape. He mustn’t lose it again. It had been so long!

He took slowed measured breaths, afraid, least this precious memory disappeared. He held this curdle, gently in his mind, like a newborn. He went strand by strand, hoping to gain more glimpses, more clues from this lost maze. His hands clench tightly on the sides of the old leather armrest, creaking strains protesting against the sudden violence. No! He cannot lose this! Not again!

And as fast as it came, the memory slipped away. He was back again in the dark.

Alone.

Again.

He looked around the room with tortured grey eyes now, only a single candle alight to show his anguish. For a moment, he saw dim shadows dancing on the walls, struggling seemingly to get closer to the light for warmth....or were they mocking him?

Why can’t he remember?

He closed his eyes and sat heavily back down; quiet again, only his harsh breathing could be heard.  He wanted to rally against this injustice, beat his head into submission, take a knife and cut the truth out….maybe just cut his life instead. Leave this existence. He could go and find out where the essence of that smoke disappeared to.  But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave now that he found Her. Her.

A muffled sound broke his thoughts of Her.

He opened his eyes and turned to the window. Was it time yet? He jumped out and walked purposefully to the opening and hungrily stared out. Was it time yet?

There She was. He gazed at Her lovingly. Longingly.

Lying quietly and still, Her beauty shone from within her alabaster skin, touches of orange, glows from candlelight, colored slightly her petal, turned lips and cheeks, giving it a pink hue. Her hair, color of black coals, with sliver specks looked almost alive by the flickering candles. 

She was so beautiful. Unearthly. Almost an angel. And he wanted Her, all of Her. But the Doctor said He had to wait. Tonight was the last night of the procedure. Then He could have Her, the Doctor had said. Jealously twisted deep in him. He didn’t know why. He didn’t want the Doctor to touch Her. 

The rage began to build. She was to be his. She belonged to him. Only Him. The rage took over and his mind began to fill with thoughts of killing. He saw his hands, wet and red, clutching a knife, plunging in deep into a chest. He marveled at the blood, the way it sang to him as it ran down his arm. He raised his hand to admire the red thickness of it. Ah…it smelt sweet.  So sweet! Did he dare? He raised the tips of his fingers and tasted, tentatively at first. Yes! It tasted as sweet as it smelt. He shifted his weight and looked down. His other hand was twitching uncontrollably. He saw the blade in it, and looked curiously. Where did he get the knife? He raised it closer and saw his reflection; grey eyes against grey steel amidst the blood, and saw eyes turning from glee to horror!

He blinked furiously and looked around! He was still in his shadowed room! It was just a memory, come, and now gone. More questions. His raged filled him again until he could hear his harsh breathing, drumming loud in his ears like a war song.  He looked up and saw the lying form. Her. He uttered a ragged groan. His eyes forcibly softened and the rage calmed.

Tonight. You will be finally be mine, He thought and began musing of all the things He would show Her, all the grand adventures they would share together. Together.

He smiled gently to himself. He would not be alone again. Ever. Now that he has Her. He looked anxiously at Her again, making sure it was real and not a dream. In his musing, He had not notice the door opening. A loud slamming brought his eyes, straining to his left. It was the Doctor and his assistant.

The Doctor eagerly walked towards Him, and leaned over to whisper feveredly, “Are you ready? Eager to HEAR her beating heart, as much as my eagerness to FEEL her heart beat? A life hangs in the balance tonight!” Laughing hysterically, the Doctor turned to point at the hanging pulley as it began to crank, synching up bit by bit pulling Her body up. Lightning flashed outlining Her motionless body jerking by the force of the pulley as it swung side to side. Higher and higher to the gnawing hole in the castle’s roof where several large metal coils stood ready.

Looking ahead at a mirror, He saw his vile, roughly sewn bits of flesh; deep, jagged cuts with thick, bulbous mounds marking where different colored skins were hacked and joined into red flesh with careless sewing. Only grey eyes marked him to be a man. What MAN?  His rage came alive at the thought and raw visage before him. The Doctor did this to him! Made him into this monstrous animal!

Sounds of moving chains grinding as He looked again, out of the windows of his eyes, this time a murderous grey. A low guttural voice came out, like rock on steel. He growled quietly, “Yesssss Doctorrrr. Tonight. A lifeee hangssss in the balaaance.”

The Doctor turned and gestured wildly to his assistant, “Igor! It is time! The storms are ahead and the final steps must be taken tonight! Tonight! She will be ALIVE!”

Overhead, thunder howled at the lashing winds.

Soon, He thought. 

The Monster turned again to Victor Frankenstein and smiled. He will need to find a knife.

- The End -