He dug his fingers in a little deeper and her body convulsed beneath his touch. He wormed his fingers and wet, tearing noises reached his ears as some of the flesh eased free of the subcutaneous fat beneath it.
It gave him an idea.
He removed his hand and flicked his wrist, spattering her breasts and face with her blood and a few dots of flesh.
Her eyes bulged large; almost to comic proportions; yawning open until they seemed to inhabit her entire head. He looked from them to the scalpel in his hand and a better idea arrived. Suddenly his breath was ragged. It was something she had always threatened to do and he remembered only too well the paralysing fear as he laid there, her hand around his throat and the knife’s tip hovering a centimetre away. Seeing her vacant glare and not knowing, just plain not knowing if she would let it drop.
See how she likes it, he thought, easing the scalpel closer and closer. Her eyes only bulged wider as it neared and Ben roared with laughter.
‘You’re only making a bigger target,’ he informed her but wasn’t certain and didn’t care if she understood.
The scalpel glinted as he homed in. Jabbing it forward and easing it back, getting closer and closer each time.
And then he touched the tip to the glossy white surface and he ejaculated without even touching his cock. The blade was sharp and as she blinked automatically, her eyelid parted beneath its own weight and a surprisingly strong gout of blood jetted free. Ben pulled the scalpel back again and watched her eye socket flood red. There was something else there too. Something clear and pus-like that oozed from the pin prick he’d made.
The other eye’s pupil was so dilated that Ben could picture himself toppling forward and disappearing into its depths, swallowed whole by the yawning black and suddenly the excited giggle that had been on his lips died as anger flooded him.
It was more a growl than anything that escaped his lips as he rammed the scalpel into it. Felt the eye give, felt the wet spurt hit his face, hot like ejaculate.
But it wasn’t enough and he burrowed deeper, using his free hand to scoop out the ruined remains, plunging his scalpel past the tattered optic nerves, jamming it into the soft matter that was deeper inside.
And when he couldn’t reach any further he pulled it out and slashed at the bridge of her nose, at the skin around the socket, widening the gap while her feet beat out a frantic tattoo as her entire frame started shuddering. Widening it until his fingers could fit. Widening it until he could drag out handful after handful of the gunk inside.
Widening it until he could clear it all out; destroy everything she had ever been.
* * * * *
Ben blinked and started as a gobbet of his cum splattered across his chin and the vibrator dropped from his hand onto the bed beside him.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, his mind screamed through the mental equivalent of gritted teeth as he pushed himself up and wiped the semen from his chin. How long had he been gone? He looked down at the front of his shirt and the cum stains that now dotted it. How long?
Shit! He’d known it had been a bad idea; he just hadn’t been able to help himself. When he’d found the box under the bed and opened it and seen the vibrator there, it had just been too much. And then when he raised it up and caught the hint of the lingering scent, he’d instantly been transported back. Just heard her voice once more in his mind.
Mummy needs you…
And it had sprung up clear as day. He’d pushed open the door, heard the buzzing and she had been there, legs splayed. He’d been wanking before he was even aware of it and once he’d cum and the red had started closing in, he hadn’t resisted.
Which was stupid.
What if she’d come home? Seen him lying there? Ben realised he wasn’t really thinking clearly as he pushed himself to his feet; that if she’d come home and seen him, he’d probably be in hand cuffs right about now but still he felt nervous.
How long had passed? He stooped next to the clock radio but it had unplugged when he’d swiped it off the bedside table. He glanced toward the window and saw it was dark outside but that wasn’t very helpful.
There was a flicker and he looked up sharply, almost expecting to see her leaning against the door frame – and what exactly do you think you’re doing? It would sound so casual as she puffed at her cigarette but the hand would be there, hidden behind her back.
The doorway was clear though and Ben started to relax as he crept out of the bedroom. He still listened intently; certain he’d hear the click of the lock opening. That he’d see the door swing wide in front of him.
He moved forward until the clock was in view and then stopped dead when the time registered. 10:30, he read and forced himself to swallow.
Something was wrong. She should have been home by now. Surely…
He retraced his steps and perched himself on the bare mattress again to think. Something could have come up. Maybe she was meeting someone for dinner? Maybe…
Ben thought of every excuse he could but in the end, he had to admit that he just didn’t know. He hadn’t spent nearly as long watching her as he usually did and now that he thought about it, that fact left him a little confused. It was like finding the key had somehow added a dimension of urgency to his actions. That if he didn’t use it, it would disappear or something. As well as a layer of complacency that, as he looked back over his actions, startled Ben immensely.
The urge for a cigarette was overwhelming and Ben had a lit one in his mouth before he was even aware of what he was doing. He puffed hard for a moment and then it clicked. He was forcing himself to stay despite his doubts. He couldn’t very well leave now with the place reeking of cigarette smoke. If he did and she came home, she’d know immediately that someone had been in her flat and he’d lose his chance forever.
It’s just jitters, he told himself as he scooted back into a more comfortable position. It’s been a while. You’re just a little nervous.
He tapped his ash onto the carpet and took another drag on his cigarette, his eyes drifting over the shattered remains of the phone once more to fall on the opened box beside him on the bed. He’d been too entranced with the vibrator earlier to pay the photo albums in the box any attention but he did remember seeing them before, laying beside the bed on his first visit to her bedroom window.
It would be something to pass the time. It might be a bit late now but he could learn more about her. He knew it was wishful thinking to believe he would glean any explanation for her late arrival home but as he lifted the first one free, he couldn’t help hoping.
* * * * *
The clock read 11:15 when Ben was finally satisfied that he’d gotten the flat into an approximate facsimile of the condition it had been in when he entered. He’d refolded the clothes and placed them back into the wardrobe, replaced the jewellery, reset the alarm clock and repacked his duffel bag with the exception of the hunting knife, which was lodged within easy reach in his pocket. The cum-stained underwear and cloth were stuffed in his pockets. Along with the missing eggs, he’d just have to hope they were something she wouldn’t notice.
He’d found a can of air-freshener beneath the sink to take care of the cigarette smell but he sincerely regretted ashing on the carpet now. He’d cleaned it as best as he could but a faint ghostly outline was still noticeable. Again, he’d just have to hope she didn’t notice.
After remaking the bed, Ben had flipped through the albums once more before stowing them back in the box with the vibrator and sliding it back under the frame. Now as he made his way to the door, the Polaroids inside replayed across his mind and a strange, giddy feeling invaded his stomach. This was just too strange; too freaky. He needed time to process it. Sort things out.
But what he really needed to do was to get out of here now. It was just a possibility he’d never considered; one he’d never ever dreamed of.
He paused as he reached for the door handle and listened intently. It would be just his luck that after waiting for so long, she’d arriv
e just as he wanted to leave. He couldn’t hear anything though, just the sound of his own breathing and the pumping of blood in his ears.
It was okay; he could fix this. He’d just go to his flat, pack up his stuff – there wasn’t much it wouldn’t take long – and then he would move on. Just chuck his stuff in the car and go.
Things had definitely taken too much of a leap into left field for him.
He slid the hunting knife from the sheath in his pocket and stashed it in his sleeve as he twisted the handle. It was stupid he knew. She wasn’t going to be waiting out there with one hand hidden behind her back. But he wanted to be careful nonetheless.
And the giddy feeling in his stomach only grew as he saw the deadbolt on the door. Saw that the green circle was showing and that it hadn’t been locked. As he searched for a reason why she wouldn’t have snibbed it when she left, Ben suddenly felt like an animal that had been lured into a trap. The sight paralysed him for a long moment and Ben strangely felt the urge to burst into tears.
Just get out of here! his mind screamed and Ben pushed.
Oh God, she’s going to be waiting out there…
The door swung wide, revealing no one standing beyond the screen door and Ben snorted to himself; well what were you expecting? Though he still winced as the hinges on the door creaked noisily.
He peered around as he locked the door behind him but the end of the driveway and the garden beds were swamped in shadows. Ben was painfully aware of how exposed he was beneath the glare of the outside fluorescents. She could be there now; crouched down beside the car…
She could also be turning into the driveway while you stand around just outside her door.
The thought was enough to get him moving, grinding his teeth as he eased the screen door closed and it unleashed another shuddering creak.
He quickly paced the steps to his door, unable to stop looking over his shoulder; back up the driveway, the photos playing over again in his mind. The ones of the cats. Then the old lady. Then the second album with the Polaroids of the goth-looking guy. The one that looked uncomfortably similar to the description of the previous tenant the estate agent had given him.
It was with some relief that he reached his own door, yanked open the screen and slotted the key into the lock.
* * * * *
He knew something was wrong even before he heard the door creak closed behind him and the burning fire ripped through his ankles.
He went down instantly; his legs just crumbling beneath him.
The latch clicked shut as he tried to rise but there was something wrong; there was no strength in his legs and he crashed back down, gritting his teeth as the pain hit. Sharp, stabbing pain that rocketed through his body.
He looked down and a choked, half-sob ripped from his lips as he saw the blood flowing; saw the two large gashes just above the line of his shoe; saw the exposed tendon through the cuts in his trousers.
Then he looked up and saw her and another sob ripped from his lips as she stood above him, naked beneath the clear, plastic poncho, her erect nipples taut against its surface; her pubic hair, clearly visible, forming a neat triangle between her thighs. And what was that behind her back?
Ben froze as he stared up at her; saw that look that he knew so well. The rage, disgust and hatred and it paralysed him because she knew. Mummy knew. She knew what he’d been going to do.
And it was her too. For the briefest of seconds she was there before him, reincarnated and Ben’s brain felt like it was shutting down. The hunting knife slid from his sleeve and hit the carpet with a soft thunk. He didn’t scream though, oh no, if he screamed the punishment just got worse.
Then the image disappeared; the features morphing into that of his neighbour, her face twisted with rage. She was making a soft, hissing noise as she stood above him, reminiscent of a cat with its hackles up.
Ben’s paralysis broke and he scrambled backwards as she swooped, the hand emerging from behind her back clasping the black handled kitchen knife. He grabbed for his own on the carpet but it was so hard to coordinate through the pain and he missed as she closed in. The blade sliced into his forearm as he raised it defensively. The pain was hot and immediate but he pushed it away. If there was one thing he was used to it was pain.
As she drew back for another slash, he reached out and grabbed her ankle. He yanked her feet from under her and she toppled backward. She hit the ground hard and Ben managed a tight-lipped smile as he heard the breath whoosh out of her. He tried to rise again but his legs just wouldn’t take his weight and crumpled beneath him.
She was still sprawled as he grabbed the hunting knife from the floor and starting inching towards her. Anger was pumping through him as he approached. He could clearly see her vulva between her splayed legs and he knew where he’d stab first.
It was okay; he’d fix this. In a way the pain would be even better before he took her… Just another link…
He reached for her but didn’t see her legs curl upward. He didn’t see them flying toward him, only heard a sickening crunch, had a brief taste of blood in his mouth and then slumped as the darkness seeped in.
* * * * *
The pain was everywhere as he came to. He was sitting on something cool and hard and if it wasn’t for that, he could have almost imagined he was back in his bedroom, waking after one of their sessions. The same question was playing over now as it did back then: oh God, how bad is it?
He coughed and spat as he felt the coppery taste of blood trickling down his throat but his lips were dry and swollen and it only dribbled down his front. He felt it on his skin and realised he was naked and he remembered the sickening crunch as the foot impacted and suddenly it made sense that his breathing was so harsh in his ears and that a slight whistling noise filled the air every time he inhaled.
His eyes snapped open as he tried to move and realised he was strapped down. He tried to yank himself free but that only caused more pain. And there was something wrong with his sight too. It was blurred and ringed with fuzzy darkness as though his eyes weren’t opening wide enough. He didn’t have time to dwell on it though. With a whirring click, the whole of his vision exploded into bright light, its dazzling intensity forcing his eyes shut again.
There was another whirr and then the light exploded again; bright even through his closed lids. Another whirr…
He waited, his eyes screwed tightly shut but the flash wasn’t repeated. After a minute he cautiously opened his eyes again. He saw her through the black spots that dotted his vision. She was standing in front of him, still in the plastic poncho, her head cocked to one side and the Polaroid camera held limply in a hand by her side.
As her stare pierced him it was hard to keep calm. Her face kept morphing. It was Rachel. It was her. It was Rachel. It was her. He couldn’t help it and a whimper escaped his lips as she started to move. It forced a smile to Rachel’s face that instantly twisted into her demented leer and he flinched back, instinctively trying to raise his hands for protection but they were pinned to the chair. He tried to speak but all that came out was unintelligible babble.
Rachel’s grin spread wider as she slowly stooped and placed the camera on the floor and Ben realised she hadn’t been going to attack him in the first place – despite what he’d read in that leer. Maybe he’d had all his punishment for tonight? That was often the case wasn’t it? Some nights it would be worse than others. Maybe this was one of them?
But it’s not her, he reminded himself even though the face was morphing before his eyes again and his mind flipped to the photo albums once more and he began to get really scared. His heart thumped as they flew through his head. The sheer violence of them: the mutilations, the old lady’s body torn to ribbons; the goth, his eyes wide, staring at the bloody crater between his legs. And she had done them…
But that couldn’t be right….
Mummy always stopped before she went too far…
But she’s not her, she’s not her, she’s not her. He forced
the thought into a loop in his mind and the face before him morphed back to that of his neighbour. She was still standing in front of him, smiling. The bottom fell out of his stomach as he saw that the kitchen knife had somehow reappeared in her hand.
He could feel his eyes widening and his already ragged breathing getting rougher but he just couldn’t help it. Her face, despite his efforts, was wavering again and all he could seem to think was: don’t scream, don’t scream, it’ll be worse if you scream.
‘How do you like it, huh?’
There was such anger in her voice as she spat it out that Ben was unable to speak. He was back in his bedroom cowering as she stood above him. He knew he was helpless; that he couldn’t stop her; how could he stop her? He could see his blood on the blade still, glistening under the lights as she raised it up and pointed it at him accusingly.
‘You know I just thought you were some sort of pervert.’ The voice was so reminiscent of the tone she had used and the words in his head overlapped the ones Rachel was saying, only confusing him further as they layered. ‘But I’ve just been through your little bag and I now see you’re something far worse.’
Ben could see her eyes were just as focused on the blade’s red tip as his were.
‘You just have no fucking respect,’ she spat. ‘What the fuck have I ever done that would make you think I deserve to be treated like this? What fucking makes you think you have the right to be so fucking inconsiderate?’
She paused and glared at him but Ben didn’t reply. Even if he could have, he wouldn’t dare. He knew only too well that you didn’t talk back. Talking back just made her angrier.
‘You fucking steal my clothes; my fucking underwear. You fucking peep through my window. You fucking stand outside my window and wank. You fucking wank and cum on my window. But are you satisfied with that? Noooo… Then you fucking invade my home. You go through my stuff. That’s right I’ve been back while you were out. I had to get the chair since you have no fucking furniture. I saw what you did. You ate my food. You went through my clothes. You fucking ashed on my fucking carpet. I ask you again. What fucking right do you have?’
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