by John Nicholl
Simpson knocked on the front door only once before pushing it open and entering the hall. That surprised me. He seemed a very different proposition to Big Boy, more confident, more full of himself, wiry and in shape despite his age. He walked down the hallway without speaking before stopping at the base of the stairs. I studied him closely as he stood there. I was looking for weaknesses, any sign of nerves, but he seemed assured. There were no weaknesses to see. He tilted his head to one side, his face expressionless, and then he called out one single word in a rasping, hoarse smoker’s voice that filled my cottage with sound.
‘Hello!’
That one word seemed to echo in my head. It vibrated off the walls. I do realise that it doesn’t make a great deal of sense for me to say that. But that’s how it seemed to me at the time. Simpson was very different from any of my previous guests. Something about his bearing told me he was going to be a fighter. This was my Armageddon, a battle between good and evil. And I have to admit that I was feeling far from confident as he sauntered up to my slaughterhouse door.
I very nearly didn’t summon him at all as I stood hidden in my nook. A part of me hoped he’d turn away and leave, but only a part of me. I knew it was now or never. Whatever my misgivings, whatever the dangers, I had to stop him. I couldn’t let the bastard win. I began tapping my computer keyboard, but my fingers failed to work as if I was losing control of my hands. Stress can do that, I know that now, but it shook me at the time. I resorted to calling out my welcome but my words stuck in my throat, not wanting to escape. But at the second attempt, I succeeded. There was no going back now. It was far too late for that.
‘I’m in here, and I’m waiting for you.’
He smiled sardonically as if mocking my very existence. ‘Oh, so you’re waiting, you little tart.’
And then the beast strode into my slaughterhouse without another word. By the time I crept out of my hiding place, ever so slowly, ever so carefully, cursing the sound of my bare feet on the plastic, he’d already found the light switch. He laughed as he flicked the switch and turned to face me, head back, Adam’s apple bobbing, dark mercury fillings in full view. For a fraction of a second, I considered running for the hall and the front door beyond it. But I looked down at the knife held tightly in my hand, and I knew I had to use it. I was the only obstacle between the beast and my butchers’ tools, laid out on the floor behind me. Either I was going to use them on him, or he was going to use them against me. And he had the look of a sadist. I really had to act.
I was wishing I hadn’t drunk quite so much alcohol as I began swaying ever so slightly to and fro. But I had to strike first however unbalanced. He was taller than me, more muscular and no less determined. A surprise attack was the only advantage I had left.
The monster man glared at me, dressed in my overalls, at the knife in my hand, and then at the butchers’ tools behind me.
‘Oh, you have made a big mistake, love. I eat little girls like you for breakfast. I bet you’ve got a tight little body underneath those overalls. Why don’t you take them off and drop that pathetic knife of yours before I slit your fucking throat with it?’
I gritted my teeth, holding my ground. ‘Aren’t I a bit old for a filthy nonce like you?’
He took a step towards me, laughing. ‘Ah, right, that’s what this shit is all about. You’re one of those sad little victims. Always whingeing, always moaning, you’re pathetic. This is a dog-eat-dog world, love. Only the strong survive, and that’s not you. I’m going to gobble you up. What part of that don’t you understand? You’re a fucking snowflake.’
I let him take one final step towards me before hurling myself forward, attempting to strike him with the blade. But he moved quickly, dodging to one side and punching out, landing a heavy blow to my mouth, splitting my lip.
The beast laughed again, coldly, calmly as he weaved from one side to another, his hands raised as fists, preparing to strike again. ‘You’ll have to do one hell of a lot better than that, love. I learnt to fight in prison. I was in there with some right hard cases. You’ve got no idea who you’re dealing with.’
I spat a tooth to the floor and then lunged at him again, the knife held in front of me. I pulled it back and then thrust it out with all the force I could generate, landing a glancing blow to his left hand as he attempted to parry my attack. The blade sliced his palm, cutting the flesh, inflicting a two-inch wound. He lifted his palm to his mouth, licking it as dark blood dripped down his chin and to the plastic-covered floor. I could see the rage in his eyes as he screwed up his face. A feral growl emitted from his mouth. He was taking on the shape of a beast right there in front of my eyes.
I was panting hard now as I reached down to pick up my hammer, holding it in my right hand with the knife still clutched in my left. I was shaking, but the sight of the monster’s blood encouraged me. I was careful to protect my butchers’ tools as we mirrored each other in a deadly dance. He tried to dodge past me, and then it happened. Just as I was tiring to the point of exhaustion, the puppy man slipped in his blood. He somehow managed to stay on his feet, but his stumble gave me the opportunity I needed while he was still off-balance. I lifted the hammer high above my head, bringing it crashing down with all my strength, striking him a heavy blow to the left side of his skull a couple of inches above his ear. The beast staggered backwards like a drunken sailor, and then both his legs suddenly gave way as a stream of blood ran from his head wound, soaking into his jumper and shirt.
It was so very tempting to hit him again, to rain down blow after heavy blow until his skull was shattered and his brain revealed. But I held myself back. I’m still so very proud of that. I wanted him dead but not quite yet. There was any number of horrors I was keen to inflict before he took his final breath. But I was hungry; I was thirsty, and I was wearied. I hurried to the bathroom, fetched what was left of my sleeping draught, returning to the monster’s side before forcing his mouth open and pouring around five times the prescribed adult dose down his throat. The beast would sleep, and I would rest. I was going to need all my energy for what came next.
26
The puppy man woke up on my slaughterhouse floor at around five the next morning, handcuffed to a black-painted, cast-iron Victorian radiator, which I’d turned off, together with the rest of the heating. The beast tried to yell out when I threw a bucket of cold water in his face, but he couldn’t say anything. There were just garbled sounds which made no sense at all. I’d forced a medium-sized orange into his open mouth after drugging him the previous day, and secured it with long lengths of strong yellow tape wrapped around his head, which was now swollen but no longer bleeding.
He’d no doubt try to scream as my plans for him materialised. That was as inevitable as night and day. But I was in no rush to hear him. I would remove his gag at some point. He would have his opportunity to plead his case, but not quite yet. There would be plenty of time for that.
I’d cut off all the beast’s clothes while he slept, and so he was naked, cold and shivering. I’d already moved his car. And I’d placed a broom handle between his legs, from his groin to his ankles, wrapping a large quantity of tape around his legs for their entire length. I’d be safer that way. I’d be able to work without fear of him kicking out. And there’d be other advantages too. I was confident my preparations would make him feel more vulnerable, increasing his distress. And it gave me better access to his body. He couldn’t curl up, raising his knees to his chest, which would make the entire process easier for me. I had considered inserting the broom handle into his rectum for several inches. But the angles weren’t right, and so I abandoned the idea, such a shame.
All my butchers’ tools were still laid out on the slaughterhouse floor a short distance from the beast’s bare feet. I could see him looking at them as I threw the bucket to one side, bouncing it off the nearest wall for the fun of it. His eyes burned red as he began throwing himself about, twisting first one way and then another, tugging violently at his handcuffs, but wi
th little, if any hope of success. I think he may have had a premonition of what was to come because he pissed himself. It was my turn to laugh now as yellow urine soaked his lower body, and the steel handcuffs cut into the skin of his wrists. I stood there in front of him, watching as he continued struggling, right up to the time he slowed and eventually stopped. He’d given in, and I found some satisfaction in that.
I dropped to my knees a few feet in front of him, staring into his tear-filled eyes. ‘Oh, no, now you’ve gone and soiled yourself. Maybe I should have bought you some nappies. Are you ready for some fun, nonce? Your worst nightmare is about to come true.’
He was whining now, like one of those imaginary dogs of his. Oh, the irony!
‘You should have stayed in prison when you had the chance. You could con the idiot authorities, but you can’t con me. I know exactly what you are, you piece of filth. You’re the disease, and I’m the cure. Buckle up, Mr Puppy Man. This is going to be the worst day of your sad life. Prepare for a bumpy ride.’
The beast began rocking violently, attempting to pull the radiator from the wall. But things were made to last in those long-gone days. His efforts were wasted. He made no impact at all.
I rose quickly to my feet, stood over him, drew my arm back and slapped his face hard with an open hand. ‘Shut the fuck up! I’m in control here. I can do whatever the hell I want. And don’t go thinking you can escape me. False hope is no hope. Others have tried and failed. You’re going to die as they did. But we’ll have some fun together before then. I want you to nod once if you understand.’
He pressed himself against the radiator as if trying to disappear into the wall. But he didn’t nod. I picked up my utility knife, gripped his head with one arm, holding it in place, and then I sliced off the tip of his nose. He wailed as blood poured from his wound, soiling both of us in red. I released his head, taking a backward step to admire my work.
‘When I give you an instruction, you follow it. What part of that don’t you get? Maybe now you understand how your victims felt – all those little children who encountered a beast. I’ve got all the power now, and you’ll do what I say. If you don’t, I’ll cut something else off. It is that simple: a finger maybe, or a toe, or that tiny little dick of yours. You’ve done a lot of damage with that thing, but you’re not going to need it anymore. Nod once if you understand.’
This time he nodded.
‘Very well done, Mr Puppy Man, now we’re getting somewhere. I think at last you’re starting to comprehend your predicament. Give me a minute; I need a bit of breakfast before we continue. But don’t you worry, I’ll be back with you soon enough, and then we’ll start your trial. You’ll be found guilty of course, that’s a given. But it’s only fair to allow you to have your say. I may even remove your gag for that. You can plead your case, make your lame excuses. And then I’ll decide on your punishment. You may be able to influence how much you suffer. I may even show you mercy, but probably not. It’s not as if you showed any to those little ones you treated so very badly. Things have gone full circle, Simpson. You’re the victim now. This is it, your time to pay.’
And with that said, I turned away to leave the room. I wasn’t in the mood to eat, but a strong, sweet coffee was very welcome. I was tempted to add a tot of whisky to the aromatic blend but decided against it– something I found more difficult than it sounds. I felt refreshed and alert when I returned to my slaughterhouse, where I found the beast weeping, his face a bloody mess. Not a pretty sight, but it pleased me nonetheless. I stood immediately in front of my captive noting everything about him. I cleared my throat and spat in his face before speaking.
‘Tell me how many children you abused before being caught and imprisoned. Nod once if it was more than ten, twice if it was more than twenty, and so on. And remember, I’ve read your probation file. I know the sort of vile things you were involved with. Lie even once, and I’ll punish you. Make no mistake. This is a time for the truth.’
The beast didn’t move an inch. He sat there glaring up at me with his hands cuffed behind him. I could smell his fear. The room reeked of it. His lack of response left me physically shaking as I picked up my hammer. I lifted it high above my head, bringing it crashing down on his left kneecap. He recoiled with a guttural groan as I repeated the process on his right leg.
‘I’m going to ask you again. How many?’
He nodded now, but only once.
I picked up the blow torch next, lighting it and burning his bare chest for a minute or two as his whimpering became an agonised wail. There was a smell of charred meat that stimulated my appetite. I stopped when he was close to passing out. I didn’t want that. I needed him awake.
‘How many?’
The beast nodded three times.
I paced the room, attempting to cope with the emotional impact of his statement. I needed a drink. Thirty children was terrible; no, that’s an understatement. It was horrendous. But I was sure he was still minimising his guilt. They always do that. There had very probably been more. I relit the blow torch, burning all the hair from his head. The scalp was left red and blistered.
‘I want the truth, nothing but the truth. This is your final opportunity to come clean. Confession is good for the soul.’
The puppy man nodded slowly, a total of five times.
I screamed now and then ran for the vodka bottle. I gulped down my fill before approaching him again.
‘Fifty! Fucking fifty! You’re a plague, a virus. What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re the scum of the earth.’
He looked away for the first time, averting his eyes to the door. That amused me. He wanted to be anywhere else but there. I picked up my utility knife from the floor, holding it in clear sight.
‘Fifty cuts for fifty victims, that’s my kind of justice. Now, where shall I start?’
I sat facing him, straddling his legs close to his shattered kneecaps and began slicing his flesh, all over his upper body, each cut approximately an inch long and two to three inches apart. Soon the entire area became a sea of red as the blood ran from his wounds. I’d just reached the total number of cuts commensurate with that part of his sentence when I realised he was barely conscious. His chin had fallen to his chest. I had to act quickly. I ripped what was left of the partially molten plastic tape from his head and removed the orange from his mouth, something I could only achieve by extracting four of his front teeth with pliers.
I stood back, looking at him, planning the final stage of his trial and punishment. He was almost unrecognisable as the monster man who’d arrived at my home so full of lousy intention the previous day.
I felt satisfied with what I’d achieved up to that point. But it wasn’t finished. There was more to come. He’d suffered, but not nearly enough. Another bucket of cold water and the beast was awake again; not wide awake, but hanging on in there, clinging onto his miserable life as if it mattered. As if it was worth something.
‘Do you feel any remorse for what you’ve done? I’m interested. Really, I want to know.’
I struggled to understand his reply. His mouth opened, but his words were garbled. I placed my face close to his, repeating the same question, louder this time.
He tried again, attempting to speak slowly, to force the words from his mouth. I got the general gist but no more than that. He was trying to tell me to kill him. He wanted it over. I sliced off his right ear. Death would come, but not quite yet.
‘Are you sorry for your crimes? You should be. You’ve damaged a lot of innocent lives.’
He raised his head momentarily, mouthed the words fuck off, and then dropped his chin again. I cut off his other ear, throwing it to the floor behind me, close to the door. When the beast attempted to spit at me, I couldn’t take anymore. I picked up my utility knife to cut his throat. He bled out in seconds. He won’t be hurting any more children. That, I can guarantee you. Now it was over; child protection at its most influential and decisive. I’d done my bit, and I’m proud of that.
Dismembering the puppy man’s wiry corpse was less onerous than Big Boy’s, but it was still demanding, which was no surprise at all. I didn’t have to deal with the mounds of flabby flesh but sawing through the beast’s sinew, ligaments and bone was taxing, especially after the effort involved with his trial and eventual execution. Over two hours had passed by the time I finished dissecting the body. My mouth was on fire, and I was aching. I drank almost a quarter of a vodka bottle to dull the pain but with only limited success. I was so drained that I started crying. Even my usual musical accompaniment didn’t raise my flagging spirits. I couldn’t bring myself to dance at all.
I began bagging the body parts after a light lunch which was challenging to eat. My traumatised gum was still causing me a good deal of pain despite two analgesic tablets washed down with alcohol. I used a newly acquired metal wheelbarrow to transport the limbs, torso and head to my rose garden at the back of the cottage. It was easier that way. I’d learnt from experience. I’d decided to create a second flower bed. And so the digging served a dual purpose. Firstly to hide the evidence from a misguided world, and secondly to create a scented oasis I could enjoy in the warmer months. I plan to plant new roses in the spring, which will gain nourishment from the puppy man’s decomposing flesh and organs. I’ve decided that pink blooms would best complement the yellow flowers already planted. It’s going to be stunning. I’ll look forward to that.
The ground was soft but saturated after the recent thaw. The digging was more challenging than expected, as puddles of muddy water formed in the hole within seconds of me bailing it out. I had intended to dig down five or six feet or so. But I soon realised that such a depth wasn’t realistic given the conditions. I’ve already explained that I like to be flexible. And so I decided on three feet. Even that wasn’t easy. It had started to rain again by the time I dropped the beast’s final body part into his grave. I quickly shovelled in the earth, stamping it down as necessary in a finishing flourish.