The Killing Floor by Alice J Black
All of his life, Nigel had never fit in. Not with his parents, not at school, not in any relationship, and for a long time he couldn’t figure out why. Until he met her.
She smiled at him across the café, her lips a little lopsided and her blonde hair pulled back into pigtails. He met her eyes and looked away. Nobody normally looked at him and when they did, it wasn’t with the fervour she watched him with. He ordered his coffee, picked up the tray and stepped tentatively among the tables.
“Hello,” she greeted him in a small, sweet voice.
Their meeting was like an awakening in his mundane world and though he normally stayed away from human interaction for fear of making a fool of himself, something drew him in. “Hi.” He smiled back, heat rushing across his cheeks.
“Want to join me?” She pointed to the chair opposite, palm facing the ceiling in an open gesture.
His natural reaction would be to turn away but the place was busy. Most of the tables were taken and usually he would have refused such an offer through lack of confidence in his own social skills, but if he wanted to stay and enjoy the coffee he had no choice.
“Thanks.” Nigel sat across from the small woman and placed his cup on the table. When he looked up, he realised she was staring. Clearing his throat, he glanced away and then back only to find her still staring, a smile on her face.
“I’m sorry for staring.” Her grin widened. “But there’s something about you.”
“Wh–what do you mean?” he stuttered. Had he been recognised from some geeky school photo or was he being called out on his nefarious gamer tags?
“I mean, I sense something about you. What’s your name?”
“Nigel.”
“I’m Phoebe.”
He nodded once. “Nice to meet you.”
She sat back in her chair, still observing. Her hands were clasped across her stomach and one leg was curled beneath her. Her eyes were blue and keener than anything he had ever seen.
“Nigel,” she began, voice quiet, “have you ever heard of the Guild?”
He shook his head. He knew of guilds. He knew clubs and clans and guilds but none in real life. They were all in his gaming life.
“I suspect it is something that would interest you.”
“You do?”
Nodding, she leaned forward again and he got a whiff of her perfume. Soft, subtle and feminine. “Come with me.”
When she stood up it was like she held an invisible leash that led to his throat. He sprang to his feet, coffee long forgotten, and followed her out of the Basement Café. He felt like a puppy, eager to please and happy for some contact, and the truth was she was the first person to show him attention for a long time.
They walked down streets, across the town and down alleyways. He was lost before he knew it but, under the watchful eye of Phoebe, he didn’t care. Nigel didn’t even stop to consider what the Guild could be. He didn’t care. The moment the woman had told him there was something special, he’d been caught up.
Finally, after they seemed to walk for miles, Phoebe stopped dead in front of him. Nigel stopped short and almost toppled but managed to catch his balance. He watched as the small woman knocked on a door. He realised there was a pattern and it was committed to memory within seconds.
A minute later, a small hatch was drawn back and a pair of steel-grey eyes stared out. They glanced over Phoebe then flicked to him. He bit his lip. What did it mean? Were they going to be granted admission or did his face spark controversy? He didn’t have to wonder for long as the door opened seconds later.
“Come on.” Phoebe winked at him and stepped inside.
Nigel followed her. As the door shut behind him, he found himself face to face with a man who had the stature of a giant. He must have been over six and a half feet tall and his shoulders were wider than anything Nigel had ever seen.
“Who’s this?” the man asked, looking Nigel up and down.
Nigel shuddered under his gaze. There was no way he wanted to get on the wrong side of this guy.
“This is Nigel.”
Phoebe grasped his arm and a tingle ran down his skin. He stared at her fingers where they glanced his arm and realised he didn’t remember the last time he had been touched. It had been months, years even.
“I met him in the coffee shop.”
“Basement?”
“Yes.”
“Why’s he here?” the man boomed, his voice deep. He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare at Nigel.
“Relax, Dave. The guy’s fine.”
“That’s what you think.” Dave shook his head. “You better go see the Boss.”
“Sure thing.” She winked again and skipped towards another door.
Nigel was quick to follow, his footsteps heavy compared to hers. They made it to the door and she pushed it open with ease. Nigel followed her inside and his jaw dropped.
He had never seen anything like it. The room was huge, the ceilings high and supported by thick beams. The walls were made of stone, with stained glass windows dotted around the room, some mottled with dirt and others just dulled with age. Ahead of him, two long tables stretched the length of the room, with simple benches for sitting on either side. They were crammed full of food, drink and people.
At their entry, all heads turned their way. Nigel kept close to Phoebe as she made her way to the top table. He heard whispers – no doubt at his presence – and calls to his host as she skipped further up the hall. Finally, she stopped in front of a table that overlooked the entire room. Behind it sat a man with a dark goatee and sharp eyes, and beside him was a woman with long, fair locks and a wry smile on her face. Nigel knew without a doubt that he was the Boss.
“Who is this?” the Boss asked. His voice was soft with a hint of authority. Beside him, the woman curled on his arm, her stare unwavering.
“This is Nigel,” Phoebe announced, pushing him forward.
“And he is here why?” The Boss eyed Nigel with hawk eyes and a twist in his lip.
“Nigel would like to join the Guild.”
“Is that right?”
Nigel nodded as the eyes of the man bore down on him. He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything. Instant belonging had been his the moment he’d set foot in the room, and although anxiety rolled in his gut and fear prevented him from speaking, he knew, in time, this would come to be his second home.
It seemed the stare and the silence lasted a lifetime. He was being weighed up, thought out and set into a pile. He just hoped it was the right one.
The Boss nodded. “Very well. Nigel, you must go through the trials.”
Nigel’s heart thumped. He was accepted into their folds. All he had to do was go through a few trials and then he would be a part of something. Part of a team. Wanted. Accepted. “Yes,” he managed to say.
The Boss’ mouth curved into a half smile. “Phoebe will mentor you. Induction begins today.”
Beside him, Phoebe hopped up and down, her arm grazing his. “Come on, Nigel. We have a lot of work to do.”
Her fingers wrapped around his arm and dragged him away from the top table. As he turned, he caught sight of the benches and his new family. They all eyed him silently. Some wore grim smiles, others grimaces, but he didn’t falter. He was willing to take the bad with the good.
He followed Phoebe down a set of stone steps and into a dark basement, where he found himself in a long corridor. There was a copper tang to the air and the chill licked his skin. He shuddered but continued to follow.
Phoebe stopped in front of a door, unlocked it and kicked it open with her boot. She flicked a light and it burst to life, illuminating a square chamber. The ground beneath his feet was sandy and the walls emanated a deep cold that permeated his skin, but the thing that drew his attention was the woman sitting in the chair in front of him. Her ankles were bound with rope, her arms drawn behind the chair and presumably tied. A gag covered her mouth but he cou
ld not mistake the fear in her wide eyes, the tear tracks on her face.
“What is this?” he addressed Phoebe, his voice a whisper.
“This is your first trial.”
Nigel looked from the woman to Phoebe. “What do you mean?”
Phoebe sighed. “Nigel, the Guild is expecting you to do this. The Boss doesn’t accept just anybody into the fold. He rarely offers the chance of the trials. He saw the same thing in you that I did.”
“What did you see?”
“That you have a flare for killing, just like the rest of us.”
Nigel’s jaw dropped. His hands hung limply at his sides. He dared to look at the woman who strained against her bonds, a muffled plea coming through the filthy cloth covering her mouth, and it all clicked into place. The Guild was a group of killers. They lived together, ate together and probably killed together. His first trial, as it were, was to kill the woman in front of him.
He swallowed hard. Never before had he considered the possibility that he could be a killer. Sure, he had moments much like any other human alive where he was so frustrated he thought he could, but the idea to actually go ahead with it had never crossed his mind. He wasn’t that sort of person.
“There are instruments on the table to the right. You can use any one of them,” Phoebe said, directing him to an old wooden table.
He saw them all laid out neatly: knives, hammers, nails, pliers, guns, tasers, power tools and other things he had never seen in his life. Instruments hung on the walls above the table and all of them looked as dangerous as the last. All of them put there for one purpose: to maim and kill this woman.
“Phoebe,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.” She nodded once, her eyes hard. “You have to. Already you know too much. Should you not complete the trial, you must face the punishment.”
“Punishment?”
“Death.”
The word hung between them like a balloon waiting to pop. He almost didn’t dare take a breath. The simplicity was genius: kill or be killed. It was a moral choice, one he never thought he would have to make for himself. He glanced at the captive woman who pleaded with wide, red-rimmed eyes. His jaw dropped and then closed again. Words failed him. What she was asking – what they were asking – was murder. Sure, he wasn’t the best person in the world, but was he a murderer?
“Nigel, you need to decide.”
Phoebe’s voice was flat, harsh, and as he looked at her in the severe light of the basement, he realised she wasn’t the entirely cute, cheerful personality he had met at the café. This woman was one with secrets, one who lured him in with promises of happier times. Her bubbles and cuteness were masks she wore to snare people, perhaps as a way to cope with life. What did she know about him anyway? She’d brought him to this place thinking he was a killer. Why would she think that? He had given her no reason yet he was there.
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Nigel,” she said in a low growl. Gone was the gorgeous smile, replaced with something so dark he almost looked away.
He swallowed. There was no way out of this. Kill or be killed.
He glanced at the bound woman and then at the tools on display. He would do it. He would kill the woman and he would leave and go to the police, tell them he was forced to murder. He couldn’t forfeit his own life. He knew he didn’t have much of an existence to begin with, but he was a coward. There was no way he could give in and let someone kill him, and he suspected it wouldn’t be a quick death. At least with this woman – his trial – he would make it quick.
He took a step toward the bench. The woman in the chair bucked, eyes bulging. He forced his gaze away. He took four more quick steps, eyes on his feet and the way the thin layer of sand shifted beneath them. He reached the table. The tools were lined up with the precision of someone with OCD. His hand grazed the handles and a chill ran through his fingers.
He didn’t want to do this and figured he would blow chunks as soon as he hurt the girl, but he had to do it. There was no way around it. So the least he could do was make it as quick as possible and not let the woman suffer. He grabbed a knife, wrapped it in his palm and faced the woman. From behind he saw her hair hung limp and greasy. He wondered how long she had been there.
He swallowed and took a step forward. He was doing her a favour. The woman would die down there no matter what. His killing would be merciful. He pictured the band of murderers upstairs and wondered how long they would take, what sort of torture they would put her through.
He took a step closer and saw her body quiver. He glanced up and saw Phoebe’s eyes trained on him, the briefest of smiles on her thin lips. Inhaling, he looked down at the woman. It helped not being able to see her face, to hear her scream or know her name. That would have been the defining boundary.
Lifting the knife in his hand, he watched his shadow throw across the wall and the way the woman’s head snapped towards it. She knew it was coming. She bucked and thrashed but her bonds were too tight. Closing his eyes, he muttered something close to a prayer under his breath and, without allowing himself to think anymore, brought the blade down.
He’d intended it to go over her shoulder and pierce her heart, but she wrenched to the side and the knife sliced through her neck instead. Blood spurted from the wound and he skittered back, heart pounding. It wasn’t a deep cut but she would slowly bleed out. That wouldn’t do.
He made another attempt. This time, the knife sunk into her chest but he hadn’t thrust hard enough. When it slid back out, goose bumps rose on his flesh. He went a third time, aiming to kill. It felt good to rip her skin, to be the one in power for once.
Something in his stomach flipped and a smile curled his lips.
His hand became a frenzied tool as the knife hacked at her flesh. He moved around, his feet carrying him to face her. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her eyes perpetually bulged from their sockets. The woman was terrified, in pain, and he loved it. He realised with a sick relish that sliding that knife into the woman’s flesh was home. He was finally home. This is what he had been missing all these years. This is who he had been hiding.
He chopped and slashed, the knife opening wounds on her face and neck until she looked like something from a nightmare. She was cut and bleeding and her spirit was ebbing. Her head lolled on her shoulders and fell forward. She was on the verge of death. He knew it wouldn’t be long. He had to see it, had to see the life leak from her eyes.
Crouching, he pushed her forehead back. Her eyes came to rest on him and instead of the terror he’d seen moments ago, he saw relief. Then her eyes glazed over and she was gone.
He took a deep breath and dropped her head. She sat still, lifeless in the chair she was bound to. Blood snaked down her body and dripped to the floor. He realised he was panting. His body was exerted, and for the first time in his life he felt good. He felt like he had just done something he was meant to carry on doing for the rest of his life. He had found his calling.
Then a hand was on his shoulder. It was soft and warm. Nigel pushed himself up, toying with the knife in his hand. Emotions rushed through his body. Adrenaline, heat, lust. Turning to face Phoebe, he pulled her slender body close and pressed his lips to hers. She tasted sweet and soft and opened her mouth to slide her tongue into his mouth. He shuddered. She felt soft and womanly, yet there was a killer hidden inside. Just like there was a killer inside of him.
When he pulled away, his arm still holding her close, she leaned back and giggled. “You did it, Nigel. She was your first.”
They both looked at the woman. Her clothes were redder than their natural colour and the sandy floor around them was soaking up the blood.
“What now?” he asked. The room was a mess. He was a mess.
“I’ll show you.” Skipping around the body, Phoebe hit a switch. Beneath the chair a trapdoor opened and everything – wooden chair, body and blood – disappeared through it. He heard a dull thump.
&
nbsp; “Where does it go?” he asked.
“You’ll see soon.” She grinned. “Oh, and Nigel, welcome to the killing floor.”
***
He knew from that moment, his life was going to change forever. He was finally at one with himself, at peace with the world and eager for more. “What’s next?” he asked as Phoebe showed him to a room. It was kitted out with everything he could need from a bed to a walk-in shower.
“Take a shower. You’re disgusting.”
Her face melted into a smile and he couldn’t help but smile back. He understood her demeanour now. She was a cold-hearted killer just like him, but with her kin, she was herself. Just like he would be.
She left the room, pulling the door shut behind her, and Nigel was left alone. His heart still thumped and his fingers clenched and unclenched like they longed to hold the knife again. He wondered what the next trial would be, when it would be, and when he would be officially inducted into the folds of the Guild.
Nigel took a shower. The water was hot and strong, washing away the blood and gore. He watched as the red liquid swirled down the drain. When he got out, he pulled a plush towel from the rail and dried off. A fresh set of clothes waited on the bed. Phoebe must have snuck in while he was showering. He tingled at the thought. It seemed his thirst for blood had awakened something else too.
He dressed and sat on the bed. His feet danced and his fingers intertwined with one another. He wanted to move, to act, to kill. Instead it seemed he was destined to sit there for a long time.
A few hours later, there was a rap on his door. Nigel jumped up and rushed across the room, still wired from the kill. He opened the door to find Phoebe. She looked glamorous in a black mini, her hair cascading over her shoulders.
“Wow.”
She giggled. “You like?”
He could only nod.
“Come on. It’s time for dinner, and to meet the rest of the crew.”
He stepped from the room and pulled the door shut behind him, eager to meet the family he would spend his life with. As they walked down corridors and descended stairs, he made a mental note of the direction. With his photographic memory, he knew he would find his way back to his room later.
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