by Matt Shaw
I pushed down on the blade. Just get on with it. As I pulled back with the saw, his head twisted towards me. His eyes fixed to mine. I stopped what I was doing. Transfixed for a moment by something I couldn’t explain. Something about the look in his eye. I pushed his head to face the other direction. Should never look into their eyes when they’re dead. Learned that lesson the first time I killed someone. At least I thought I had. It’s not what you see in their eyes which turns my stomach and haunts me. It’s what you don’t see. It’s hard to explain but the eyes are the windows to the souls. When there is no soul - there is nothing but darkness there. A darkness caused by me and - more to the point - a darkness that I will one day slip into.
Before Jon revealed he had a girlfriend - there was a kindness in his soul - but that was gone now as made evident by the accidental look into his dead eyes. I did that. Whether it was deserved or not, I did it. I took that soul.
I tried to put it from my mind as I resumed the messy task at hand. Thankfully it didn’t take long for the saw to cut its way through - separating head from neck. A few more cuts and we’ll be done. He’ll be done. Then it’s just a question of digging the hole and cleaning up.
I sat back a moment and wiped my brow. So tired. Wish I had been more prepared for this. If only I had had the damned plastic sheet…
* *
I hurried over to the edge of the plastic sheeting and took hold of it before folding it over the client’s body. I walked back to the bed and stripped it off, throwing the dirty sheets on top of the client. Once the bed was stripped I headed to the other side of the plastic sheeting and also folded that over the client - cocooning him in a perfect plastic wrap. Perfect. I walked to the edge closest to the bedroom door and grabbed a handful of plastic laminate. The good thing about having laminate flooring across the upstairs of the house? It made it easy to drag someone wrapped in plastic across it. Well - certainly easier than it could have been and definitely minimal mess. Just a few spots here and there to clean.
* *
My kitchen looked like an abattoir by the time I had bagged up the body pieces in black bin bags kept under the sink. I wanted to get him in the ground to start the - usually fairly easy - process of forgetting about him and moving on with my life; usually into the direction of the next cheating scum. I knew it wasn’t that easy though. If I left the mess in here, until last, then it would have just been harder for me to clean up. Wet blood smears and makes a mess of things causing you all kinds of hassle but dry sticky blood really clings onto things and is an absolute nightmare. To stand any chance of getting rid of it you have to soak it again. Once soaked, you start rubbing it and - yep - same process as if you had started with the cleaning when the blood was already dripping.
I filled the washing up bowl with hot soapy water and moved it from sink to floor, next to where the worst of the blood had pooled. A wire scrubbing pad was floating on top of the water along with a sponge. Thankfully I had more of both under the sink as it would take more than just one of each to clean the mess up. I hesitated a moment and looked around. Such a state.
Come on, can’t just stand here staring at it - need to clean it. Need to get rid of the gore, dig the holes and bury him once and for all. Be done with it and move on as quickly as my mind lets me - and going by the way his face keeps lingering at the forefront of it; this could take a while.
I sighed heavily and spoke out loud in an effort to motivate myself, “Come on. Need to get this done. Sooner it’s done, sooner you can put it to bed…”
* *
“Clean yourself up.”
The monster spoke to the young lady as though she were a piece of shit sticking to the sole of his shoe. It was always the same when he had finished what he needed to do. He adjusted his clothes as he tucked his cock back into his pants. The young girl just sat there with her back to the door she had earlier tried to escape from, a spool of semen running down her chin from where she’d not swallowed it all. She didn’t speak to him. She didn’t argue. She never did. Temptation was great but she knew she couldn’t - not with the collection of spunk hiding under her tongue ready for her to spit out at the first given opportunity.
The monster didn’t like her spitting. He wanted every drop gulped down as though it were her favourite custard dessert. Extra thick and creamy; reminding her of a ‘joke’ he once oozed into her ear post-fuck.
“How do you know if a man has a high sperm count? The woman has to chew before she swallows.”
She shuddered at the thought. The monster turned his back on her and she got up from the floor, wiping her chin with the back of her still-shaking hand. She headed for the bathroom but stopped dead at the sound of someone banging on their front door. The monster also froze. Another bang and he slowly turned to the door. A quick glance to the girl.
“Get in the bedroom.”
Someone - voice unrecognised - called into the apartment from beyond the door. The police. Anger in their tone. Hostility. Another bang on the door shaking it on its hinges.
“Get in the fucking bedroom!” he hissed.
The young lady ran into the bedroom and closed the door. The man composed himself and walked to the front door. He opened it as though there were nothing for him to hide or be ashamed of. Several police officers burst into the apartment - their way paved by a stern looking officer in a suit holding up a badge.
“Mr. Ellis - I’m arresting you for the rape of a minor…”
The officer in charge turned to his uniformed colleagues and told them to find the girl whilst he read the monster his rights. The officers filed down the hallway, sticking their heads into the rooms but they found nothing other than an emptied wallet by an open window. Curtains blowing in the breeze.
* *
I dragged the bags into the corner of the room by the back door. I didn’t want to leave them out back until I was ready to deal with them. People didn’t come by this house uninvited but - even so - I couldn’t afford to leave the rubbish there just in case…
I unrolled another black big bag and picked up his shirt, dropping it into the ready liner. His underpants were next. I set the bin to one side - on the kitchen work-top - and picked up his trousers. His wallet and keys in the pocket. There was a drain out back which dropped into the sewer; the perfect home for the keys. Not the first set to be lost down there and certainly not the last. The wallet would burn with the clothes later but only after I’d taken the money. Money only, never cards. Cards and all identification, like the wallet, burns easily enough.
I opened the wallet and smiled at the sight of the cash; a nice thick wad. I took the notes out and put it on top of the fridge; the only surface that didn’t appear to have a splattering of blood. I pulled out the credit cards and dropped them into the bag with his clothes and… I froze.
My heart was beating hard enough to burst through my ribcage.
“No…”
His face was staring at me from his full driving licence. A slight smile. The kindness in his eyes I’d seen yesterday. Hair combed back like he was trying to make a good impression when he went for the picture to be taken. Next to that his details; date of birth, birth town, first name… His surname…
My surname…
“No…”
B E F O R E
The mother slammed the front door to the family home and screamed out loud; loud enough to drown out her daughter’s sobbing and begging from behind the door - out in the cold. She looked up and saw him standing there, at the top of the stairs, clutching onto his favourite teddy bear. The front of his pyjamas soaked in urine where he’d wet the bed; too afraid to climb out and go to the toilet due to all the shouting and screaming. Tears rolling down his six year old face as he sobbed.
The mother, still wailing, crawled her way from the front door to the bottom of the stairs. She made it no further before collapsing onto her front in floods of tears. The little boy sat on the stairs and didn’t dare move.
* *
“D
on’t worry about him, he’ll be fine.”
The mother’s older brother was standing in the very same hallway a day later. By his side was a suitcase filled with some of the boy’s clothes and a handful of his favourite toys. The mother had called for help. She couldn’t cope with the boy on top of trying to sort her head out. The boy didn’t understand just as he didn’t understand the noises that used to come from his sister and the monster. He’d just lie there, in his bed, with his eyes scrunched tight for fear of being next on the visitor’s list. Now he was standing by his uncle. He recognised the face from family Christmas parties but didn’t really know the man. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay with his mother. She didn’t want him. Why didn’t she want him?
* *
Scared little boy lying in an unfamiliar bed. Yet more tears spilling from his eyes and he’s told by the uncle he is getting to know that he mother has gone to Heaven. He’s promised that everything is going to be okay and he’s promised that he is safe now. His aunty standing in the corner of the room - a sympathetic look upon her pale face. Her eyes also red from tears unwanted.
“And we’ve found your sister,” the uncle said, “we’re getting her back.”
Scared little boy forced a smile. He didn’t understand why his mother was shouting at his sister or why his father left the home but he missed them both. If one could come home - it might make things a little easier for him. The uncle ruffled his hair and said he’d be downstairs if he needed anything and that he shouldn’t be afraid to come and see him. The uncle stood and promised again that everything was going to be okay.
* *
The little boy awoke to see his uncle standing by the side of his bed. A sad expression on his face and news on his lips that his sister wouldn’t be coming home right away but - hopefully - soon instead. The little boy didn’t say anything. He just nodded. He didn’t know why she wasn’t coming home right away and wondered if it was because she didn’t want to see him. He swallowed the thought down and hoped she’d change her mind.
The little boy wasn’t the only person who wanted her to come home.
* *
First night on the street alone and the money stolen from the monster’s wallet wasn’t enough for a room for the night. A kind stranger had pulled up next to where the young lady was standing and asked if she were okay. He offered her a seat in his car to warm herself up and asked her what was wrong when he saw the look on her face. The young lady explained she’d run away and that she couldn’t go home. She explained - spilling her guts - that she didn’t have enough money to stay anywhere and the man smiled at her. He said that everything was going to be okay and showed her a wallet full of cash. He asked if she wanted to earn some for herself and the young lady - already aware she was in the presence of another monster - asked what needed to be done.
The man replied with a smile.
E P I L O G U E
15 Years Later
His name was James
I dropped to my knees and screamed as I read the driving licence again. It couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be. I pulled the black bag from the kitchen work-top down to the floor with me and fished out the credit cards. It’s not right. It’s a sick joke. That’s it. A sick joke someone is playing on me. The cards will prove that. I looked at the first one and then the second - both had the same name. James Ellis. I screamed again that they were wrong. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t. There’s no reason as to why he would be here with me. There’s no reason why he would have let me…
I gagged as I recalled our time spent together. I threw up when I felt a little bit of him trickle from between my legs. It’s not possible. It’s not him. He was only six when I left. He was only six. This couldn’t be him. I threw up again as I recalled the taste of his cock in my mouth. Another scream as I remembered the look on his face when I swiped down with the blade…
Please God no!
Everything was piecing together in my head. Bit by painful bit…
The times he’d pull away at my touch.
The questions he asked - not just about what I do but about my family.
The fact he got embarrassed and ran from the appointment when I made a move.
No.
Why hadn’t I recognised him?
I refuse to believe it.
It’s not him.
It’s a sick joke.
It has to be.
I picked the identification back up and looked at the picture. Even now I know it was him - I don’t recognise him. How the years have changed him. It can’t be him. Please don’t let it be him. Please… My mind taunting me with how he felt inside of me, the fact that I felt a connection to him I hadn’t felt for many years… The look on his face when I slashed him with the knife. His final words. No. Please.
“No girlfriend! No girlfriend!”
The whole reason he had come to me was a lie. His final words letting me know he wasn’t a cheat. Was he ever going to tell me his true intentions for coming? Why didn’t he say something before anything happened? It could have all been avoided! What was he so scared of? So many questions to remain unanswered. His final words trying to tell me why he’d come here. Why couldn’t he just say something? Oh God. The regret he felt after he came. Why didn’t he stop me? Why’d he go through with it?
I threw up on the floor.
Kitchen of blood and puke.
Why did he let me do it? Why did he let me believe he was one of them?
I threw up again.
Why did he come and find me?
How did he find me?
I screamed as loud as I could. A scream which echoed through the quiet empty home.
T H E E N D
A PLEA FROM THE AUTHOR:
Well hello you! The fact you’re reading this suggests you made it to the end of my book. I hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Whether you did - or whether you didn’t - I would like to take the time to say a massive thank you for giving my work a go. It really does mean the world to me and there aren’t enough words in the world for me to express as much. Without you - the readers - I am nothing more than a mad monkey sitting at a keyboard frantically bashing away at the sticking keys.
If you would like to find out more about me - as an author and a person - feel free to get in touch on Facebook (www.facebook.com/mattshawpublications). I love the interaction with you guys. I’m sure you can understand it gets incredibly lonely sitting at a computer day in and day out working on these so it’s nice to break it up with a little bit of social interaction and general madness!
Now - if you enjoyed this story - and would like to help me out a little, then you could think about leaving a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or anywhere else that readers visit. The most important part of how well a book sells is how many positive reviews it has, so if you leave me one then you are directly helping me to continue on this mad journey. And - for those who do manage to leave a review for me - a great, big massive thanks in advance and, as a little bonus, feel free to copy it to my Facebook Page for a chance to be brutally murdered in my next story…
Anyway, that’s me done! Once again thank you for your time and I really hope you enjoyed what you read.
Kind Regards,
Matt Shaw
Other titles from Matt Shaw
Extreme
Sick Bastards
SickER Bastards
Psychopath For Hire
PORN
WHORE
TORTURED
Rotting Dead F*cks
ART (co-written with Michael Bray)
Serial Killer Books
CLOWN
Consumed
The Peter Chronicles broken down in order
Happy Ever After (book one)
G.S.O.H Essential (book two)
A Fresh Start (book three)
PETER (book four)
All Good Things (book five)
Once Upon a Time (book six)
9 Months Book 1
9 Months Book 2
9 Months Book 3
Supernatural books
The Cabin
The Cabin II: Asylum
The Cabin Books (books 1 and 2 collection)
A House in the Country
The Lost Son
Heaven Calling
The Missing Years of Thomas Prichard
Bitten
Psychological Horror
Control
Love Life
SEED
Evil Lurking Within
Smile
The Infestation
Buried
The 8th
Romance is Dead
The Chosen Routes
The Last Stop
Writer’s Block
Short Stories
My Deadly Obsession
The Breakdown
Influenza: Strain‘Z’
Collections
9 Months Trilogy
Happy Ever After Volume One (Peter Chronicles books 1-3)
Happy Ever After Volume Two (Peter Chronicles books 4-6)
Tastes of Horror (Smile, The 8th, The Cabin, Happy Ever After, Buried, The Ward)
Scribblings From a Dark Place (collection of short stories and access to film MENU)
A Taste of Fears 1 (short stories based on readers’fears)
A Taste of Fears 2 (short stories based on readers’fears)
The Story Collection: Volume One (The Last Stop, The Chosen Routes, Writer’s Block, Smile, Love Life)
The Story Collection: Volume Two (Buried, The Dead Don’t Knock, The Breakdown, Romance is Dead)