Pig Ignorant
By Rachael H. Dixon
Stereotypically speaking, I’d probably be regarded, by most men, as being an attractive woman - despite what I am. Ashen blonde hair, ice blue eyes and a tidy figure, I suppose I am a bit of a head-turner. But white overalls covered in blood, and the smell of death constantly clinging to me like shit to sheets, is definitely a stomach-turner.
My name is Beth, and I’m an Abattoir Operative.
Despite being a looker, I never have men knocking at my door. But that’s okay, because I’m not really into that kind of thing. That’s not to say I’m not heterosexual, I’m just rather indifferent. So when two men came knocking at my door one dark wintry night, it was guaranteed that there was going to be trouble...
In my defence, before I carry on, let me just explain that I haven’t always been so reclusive. A failed marriage, combined with life generally having a tendency for kicking me in the teeth, meant that I simply withdrew myself from society, as much as I could.
It’s almost laughable, but back when I was happily married, I would have squirmed and retched at the mere thought of slicing up a pig, but these days I’m apathetic to my job. I used to be an office worker. Total contrast, I know.
It was a hard decision to make, but being tougher, and slightly jaded, I’d moved to a new town to start afresh - finding myself a likeable cottage, standing alone in a network of fields, and a new job at the local slaughter house, which is a pleasant bike ride away from home. I’m certainly not living the dream, but I’m getting by just the same.
My workmates, all men, tend to get along with me just fine. But there are two in particular that are inclined to leer from time to time, often making the odd smutty pass at me. Being in their late teens, I wrote them off as being a couple of hormone riddled tosspots, and tried my best to steer clear of them.
Until the night of 13th January, that is...
It was 5:05pm and already pitch black outside, as I wrapped up my shift at the abattoir. Snow had been forecast by the smiley weathergirl on channel three, so I was eager to make haste and get going. Cycling in the snow is a real bitch.
People had long since stopped offering me lifts home, because as a rule of thumb I never accepted. It took me all my time to form superficial friendships at work, so I certainly didn’t want any of them impinging on my own personal time and space.
Buttoning up my coat and securing the heavy backpack on my shoulders, I stepped outside. The snow hadn’t yet started, but the wind was biting cold. I watched white swirls of breath billow up from my mouth, all the while pondering whether I should read a book or watch television later that evening.
Swaying more towards a good detective book, which, after a little thought, seemed more favourable than suffering a deluge of half-witted game shows, I trudged across the car park towards my bike. And that’s when I noticed my two lecherous colleagues enjoying a cigarette in the smoking shelter; Macky and Rob.
Head down, in a conscious effort not to be spotted, I quickened my pace and hoped they wouldn’t see me.
No such luck.
“Hey, Beth,” called Macky, “Nice tits!”
Both he and Rob laughed loudly.
“Fuck you,” I snarled, irritation deeply furrowing my brow.
Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Macky flicked his cigarette butt away and shouted, “I was only joking...”
“Go to hell, you pointless knob-jockey,” I responded, extending my middle finger as I steered my bike from its parking space.
I could hear Rob’s laughter carrying in the wind as I rode off down the street. And I could picture the look of rage on Macky’s face for the duration of my journey home. I should have known better.
By the time I was all bathed and robed, with my feet kicked up and a good book to hand, it was 9:30pm. And I’d more or less forgotten about the incident with Macky and Rob earlier. After all, I’d heard worse from them in the past. Granted I’d never retaliated before, but at the end of my tether they were lucky that I’d only sworn at them.
Their lewd behaviour had left me as easily as my bloody bathwater had drained down the plughole. Now fed, with a clean body (like that of an office worker) and a mind purged of all thoughts of the abattoir and its associations – I was feeling as content as I ever could be. So when there was a knock at the door, I didn’t feel remotely apprehensive – just slightly irritated. I was halfway through a very exciting chapter.
Probably sounds silly - a woman living on her own, no neighbours within half a mile, not in the least bit dubious about answering the door to an unexpected visitor in the brooding darkness of winter. I don’t scare easily though, and seriously, nothing remotely exciting ever happens in this boring town – the most I’d expected was a broken down motorist asking to lend my phone.
Instead, when I swung open my front door, I was greeted by the menacing faces of Macky and Rob. And judging by their dilated pupils, I suspected they must’ve been whiling away their evening with something significantly heavier than a good detective story.
“I thought I told you where to go,” I said firmly, looking directly into Macky’s snake eyes.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He hissed, barging through the door forcefully, grabbing me by the wrists.
As I tried to prise my arms free, he held on tight and I was lifted into the air by Rob, who had now joined us in the hallway. His large arms grasped tightly around my waist, and Macky let go of my wrists to slam the front door shut.
I didn’t bother screaming, nobody would have heard me, and besides, I didn’t want to give Macky and Rob the satisfaction. I didn’t bother struggling either. Rob, who held me aloft, was a bear of a man and as a slight woman it would have been a cold day in hell before I’d manage to break free. To conserve my energy was the best I could do.
Macky moved down the hallway and kicked open the kitchen door, then motioned for Rob to carry me through.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yelled, feeling more angry than intimidated.
Macky slapped me hard across the face.
“Think you’re too good for the likes of us, huh?” he spat.
Reaching into his jacket he pulled out a length of rope and immediately set to bounding up my wrists and ankles, all the while Rob keeping me controlled in a fierce bear hug that threatened to pop my ribs.
While Rob exhaled heavy nicotine breaths onto my neck, Macky swiped his arm across the island in the centre of the kitchen, knocking pots, pans and cutlery to the tiled floor with an almighty clatter.
Rob then threw me down onto the island’s work surface, so I lay facing upwards, and Macky was instantly by his side, aiding in pinning me down. I must admit, this was the precise moment when I first thought, oh fuck, this isn’t going well.
My ex-husband had always said that I was like a Yorkshire Terrier, never afraid to take on something larger, always biting at ankles, so to speak. And instead of expressing fear to these two morons, I let my pet mouth take over.
“Come on then, dickhead, what’s all this about?” I barked.
“It’s about you coming to work at the abattoir, thinking you’re all high and mighty. Never got any banter for us, have you? Always swishing that blonde hair and parading that fine arse of yours about,” replied Macky.
Then looking over to his accomplice he added, “nothing but a prick tease, huh Rob?”
“Aye, that’s right,” Rob answered, his large mouth grinning.
Before I had chance to respond, Macky jumped up onto the bench, with great speed and agility, fluently straddling me – one of his elbows rested heavily in the crease of my neck. Wheezing for breath, I suppose I was no longer maintaining a look of nonchalance, instead giving Macky exactly what he wanted – a face wracked with fear. And the fear intensified even more so when I saw the glint of silver, as he withdrew a large carving knife from his jacket.
“Fucking hell, Macky,” gasped Rob, “What are you doing? We were only meant
to scare her a bit.”
“Shut up, or get out,” snapped Macky.
Rob’s arms dropped slackly to his sides, as he looked nervously at the knife and then at Macky.
“This is ridiculous. I want nothing to do with it, man,” Rob finally replied, in a high pitched whine.
And with that he turned and fled from the kitchen. As for Macky, he didn’t even protest as his sidekick scarpered and left him. Instead, he carried on staring down at me, still wearing a look of sincere loathing.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, panting heavily.
“I haven’t decided yet...”
Yanking at my dressing gown, he parted it open and studied my naked body beneath. Then with the tip of his knife he began to trace the contours of my breasts. Whilst looking very thoughtful, he suddenly said, “Maybe I’ll cut you up, like a pig.”
“Well fucking hurry up about it then!” I shouted. Of course, I was calling his bluff. And it may have worked, had I not enraged him further by spitting a large glob of phlegm into his face.
Rather than wipe his mouth and cheeks, Macky raised the knife high, and before I even had chance to decide whether he was being serious or not, he speared my shoulder to the kitchen work surface.
I’m not sure what shocked me most, the searing pain in my shoulder, the amount of blood that gushed from it within such a short space of time, or the fact that Macky, who was still sitting astride my stomach, was now laughing shrilly.
“That quick enough for you?” He asked hysterically.
The pain as he un-wedged the knife from the worktop surface and slid it back through my shoulder was excruciating, and for a moment I feared I might black out. And I suppose I may have done, had he not slapped me around the face with his bloodied hands.
I have my own reasons for working at the abattoir. And I also suspect that Macky does too. The excitement on his face was undeniable, as he slathered my warm oozing blood onto his hands and then around my naked flesh. I can only conclude that he is something of a bloodthirsty maniac; someone who gets off on blood and death.
I could definitely see and feel that he was getting very excited.
Groaning, I tried to think of some way to avoid the inevitable, as he struggled with his belt. But I needn’t have bothered. It all worked out, oh so perfectly, the moment he bent his head and licked blood from my nipple.
Now it was my turn to laugh; a good heartfelt laugh, filled with a sense of relief. This inane laughter hurt my shoulder like a bitch, but it was worth the pain just to see the look of confusion on Macky’s face.
“What the fuck’s up with you?” he asked, hostility taking over the prior look of maniacal pleasure on his face.
“You’re really fucked now,” I replied, still chuckling.
Jumping down to the floor, he suddenly looked scared. And I relished the moment, swinging my legs to the side and sitting upright on the kitchen counter.
“What have you done to me?” He cried, suddenly clutching at his throat and clawing his skin.
“You’re infected, shithead,” I responded.
As I stared into his eyes, I saw the look of blind terror as he recognised something was terribly wrong. It must have been the same fleeting look that had haunted my eyes three years ago - on that unfortunate night in June, when I'd been attacked. But now this was justice in itself, this new attacker of mine had just sealed his own fate with a kiss of death.
I sat for ages, laughing unashamedly like a hyena, and watched as he subtly transformed into what he was to become.
Despite popular belief, I’m by no means numb in the head and I am conscientious. There’ve always been calculated reasons behind my actions. For instance, divorcing my husband and running away, taking up work in an abattoir – none of it was by chance. Of course, it was all ill-fated, I didn’t ask for any of it, and I can’t help being what I am.
Lucky for my ex-husband and the residents of this town I still empathise with humanity.
Looking into Macky’s now ice blue eyes, I swiftly kicked him in the nuts and said, “that’ll teach you to fuck with a zombie.”
Choker
By Lee Mummery
My Great Uncle was a lonely man but one who had lived through so much and always entertained me with stories of his youth, his folly and his travels on the occasions when I visited him.
The one story that I remember best of all is the one I now tell to you, and I tell it exactly as he told it to me…
“What I am about to tell you is true, I am so often noted for my tall tales but this one is completely and sadly quite accurate. It is a story of my time spent in Egypt, a long time ago but I start by asking you a question, have you ever been in love? And don’t pull such perplexed an expression, that is answer enough for this old man. You have not, at least not so much as to fill your entire being with purpose and reason to exist. To love and be loved in return is the essence of all things, the meat and drink of a man’s life.”
My Great Uncle paused to take a drink of his brandy and settled back in his large chair.
“This, my dear William, is my story…”
“I saw her first on one of my frequent trips to Egypt and I was captivated from the outset, perhaps it was then I fell in love with her or perhaps that came later.
She was a servant girl but that did not diminish her beauty, the only problem was that she was barely twenty and I was nearing my fiftieth year.
Not that I minded of course, but this was in the 1930s and such things were bad form for an English gentleman, especially a renowned professor such as I.
It was her beauty that captivated me, the first time I saw her I found myself staring open-mouthed like some schoolboy with a crush, and when she smiled at me my heart swelled as if to lift me off my feet, even though I was old enough to be her father. Hers was a timeless beauty seldom seen except on those crowned queen through the ages; surely Helen of Troy and Cleopatra herself were no more exquisite examples of woman.
Her hair was long and dark and swung in a ponytail the length of her back; her eyes were such a deep dark brown they were almost black, and when she laughed they sparkled like the stars overhead.
Such a laugh, such a voice, it sang and brought a dizzy and foolish grin to my face I can say.
The slight upturn of her nose, her high smooth cheekbones and the way a smile always played at the corners of her mouth, her skin was so soft her touch was like the sigh of the wind.”
Tears came to my Great Uncle’s eyes but did not fall, he paused in his tale as his eyes shimmered with memories of the past,
“We should stop,” I said but no, he enthused we must continue.
“This is a story that can only be told once for within it has so much a man can take that to stop now would mean it would never be finished.” He leaned back in his chair and drank of the brandy in his glass; it was her beauty he continued…
“It was her beauty that enraptured me so but as I talked to her and befriended her it was her innocence, intelligence and initial shyness that endeared her to me.
She was a servant girl but within her I saw the potential to be far more, I sought to be her teacher but selfishly I fell in love with her and in turn she came to love me, but that came later.
And so I became her guardian and her tutor to all other eyes and we alone knew of our love, if it were to become known there would be a scandal and my beautiful Shari taken away from me.
Such deception did sadden us but the thought of loss scared us even more, we walked a tightrope in our charade.
It took a great deal of time and money to persuade both her and whom she worked for to allow me to teach her, she was an orphan I heard, and her employers somewhat reluctantly let her be taken for her studies.
A situation that wealth and patience helped along, the old couple had been offered money for her in the past but I explained that I did not want her in that way.
In time the woman, Shari, for she was a girl no longer came under my guardianship and m
y giddy heart breathed a sigh of relief.
I showed her a great many things but never gave into or revealed my secret desire, she blossomed and every day in her radiance I was in bliss.
In her own way, and her own time, she showed her love for me and the things I taught her, music, art and literature, I doted on her and gave her everything she could wish for.
What pained her, and I in turn, was that we had to hide our love from the world.
I hated such secrecy but if it was discovered and such scandal allowed to run rampant it would be the end of us, so in private we were lovers, and in public I was nothing more than her guardian.
It was the most grievous of errors to take her, that one year later, back with me to London and I would come to regret it until this day and every day after.
It was a mistake for her to walk by herself late at night but she was upset and not far from home, her mind busied by sorrow and anger so that the thought of danger was buried somewhere at the back.
Now that I think of it perhaps it was my fault, I was the one she argued with and who left her at the theatre.
My own stupid foolish pride had robbed me of the only thing I loved in this world, and had I thought my beautiful Shari were to be forfeit for an old man’s stubbornness I would have never lost my temper in the first place.
We spent the first day in the capital walking around the museums and art galleries much to Shari’s delight, seeing things she might have never seen before with almost a child’s wonder. I had arranged tickets to the theatre that night for the opera and we dressed in our finest attire.
She wore a beautiful choker of leather with a spider’s web of gold thread and a small ruby in its centre, she had worn it the first moment I set eyes on her and every day after, it was her mother’s and she never took it off.
The Spinetinglers Anthology 2011 Page 3