There was a sombre mood at the dinner table. Garima’s parents put it down to a bout of depression and lack of sleep. However, this didn’t stop them from trying to extract whatever little bits of information they could from Garima, but she wasn’t saying anything. How could she? What she had witnessed earlier in the day was almost too much to process, and it was plaguing her mind. Some things that are seen, can’t be unseen. And the horror pinned itself to the forefront of her thoughts.
Later that night, alone in her bedroom, Garima sat silently in the dark. Despite everything, she still worried for him. What if he was just like her? What if he was only doing it so that he could feel? She understood that urge. That need. But whatever way his mind worked, he had crossed over to an extreme form of sensation seeking.
Looking at her scars, her mind cast back to why she opened her skin regularly. She rationalized it as a release of her fears, but unlike Henry, her cuts were allowed to heal. And that was the part Garima found herself struggling with.
Darkness engulfed the road. Neighbourhood cats scrambled about beneath the orange glow from the streetlights. Above this, a cold mist gently fell, kissing everything with a delicate moisture. A scene so pretty, it could be pasted across a postcard. However, Garima’s eyes could only focus on one thing – Henry’s kitchen window.
She watched him as he stood in the window, gazing out across the road back at her. In her world, time stood still as their eyes locked. And she could not help feeling him staring straight through her, deep into her soul. While lost in his gaze, she didn’t have to open her mouth and she knew he had seen her earlier today.
The passing moment seemed like eternity, and eventually, Henry made a slight signal to her. It took her a few seconds to decipher what he was trying to say. But then she understood. He was inviting her over.
Garima waited until her parents were in bed before sneaking out the back door, across the road, over to Henry’s bungalow. The night air was cold against her face.
At the front door, she was fully alert to what was happening. Despite the obvious apprehension, her body kept moving as if it was stuck on autopilot. She took a deep breath, avoiding the doorbell, and tapped her knuckles gently against the door.
It opened with a slight creak, revealing Henry. He smiled and slowly pulled the door open, standing back and gesturing for her to enter.
The madness of it all. What did she really know about this man? Why was she risking so much?
Inside the house, she was not expecting to find it immaculate and pristine. Even in the hard to reach corners of the hall, not a ball of dust, nor a cobweb were to be found.
They made their way into the kitchen. Garima stood awkwardly as she watched Henry cover the knives on the countertop with a tea towel. She noticed that he wore a long brown dressing gown – covering his mutilated body.
Garima examined him, gasping at the void where his toe used to be.
“What have you done to yourself?” she asked.
Henry didn’t reply. Instead, he went to the shelving above the fridge and pulled out a bottle of red wine, then made his way over to the table where two glasses were already waiting for him to pour. He gestured to her to take a seat and then poured some wine.
Garima reluctantly joined him. “I don’t drink,” she said softly as she slid into the chair.
“A little bit of alcohol is the least of our worries, don’t you think?” Henry replied, before taking a large mouthful. The expression on his face suggested that his taste buds clearly tingled with enjoyment.
“I suppose,” she answered, raising the glass to her nose. The smell was strong, fresh, alien to her. “Why do you do it?” she asked, while swallowing her first mouthful of wine. Her throat burned, and she started to cough.
Henry watched as she fought to control the coughing. After she composed herself, he took a sip from his glass. “You know why.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I’ve seen you. For months you’ve done things up in your room. Things that should be kept private. But you stood in front of open blinds,” he answered, his tone firm and convincing.
“I only wanted to feel alive…”
“As did I. But cutting isn’t enough. You’ve a bit to go before you realise that...”
Garima knew exactly what he was talking about. It started with a little bit of nail biting. Before long, all the nails on her hands were chewed to their stumps. It satisfied her at first, but soon, it wasn’t enough. And from biting her nails down to raw bloody skin, she’d escalated to slight nicks from a blade. Light cutting soon followed, evolving into deep, scarring wounds. Never fatal, but close enough to experience the thrill of it all.
“I saw what you did last night,” she stated.
Henry shrugged. “And? Isn't that the point of obsession? To push the boundaries to the point of destruction?”
“Is this the reason you live alone?” she asked.
Henry didn’t answer. Instead he stood up from the table, positioned himself in the centre of the kitchen and dropped his dressing gown – revealing his body. He stood before her – a mutilated man. His legs and torso had been sliced down to the tendons, with his wounds still oozing. Chunks of flesh had been carved out, leaving barely enough to stand on. “I’ve reached my limit.”
Garima recoiled in shock, gasping, then fought to keep from vomiting again. After a few minutes, she opted to drink the glass of wine in one go. Then she blurted out, “You need help, Henry.”
“Yes, I do. But who in their right mind would view this as normal behaviour? People in the outside world will only want to lock me away in some sort of hospital.”
“Hospitals are where people go to get help,” Garima innocently claimed.
“What would you know about hospitals?” he snapped.
“Well, my parents want me to be a doctor someday.”
“Ha, really? Tell me, doctor, what’s the cure for someone whose only desire in the world is to consume himself?”
Garima paused for a moment, studying his eyes, watching for sincerity. And when she knew that he was a man in pain, she couldn’t help but take pity on him. “You need someone who understands you.”
Henry dropped to his knees, sobbing.
Garima went over, picked up his gown, and draped it over him. She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and went to his kitchen cabinets. She dug out the first aid kit, then knelt down in front of the crying man. Without a word, she slowly tended to his legs.
She bandaged his limbs as best she could. He seemed thankful, but didn’t express any emotion. She noticed him looking at the scarring on her arms, then he moved slowly and gently rubbed his finger along one of the bigger ones. “You understand. Don’t you?”
“I think so…”
“Then you must give it a try.”
Garima didn’t answer. There was something in the way he spoke that she trusted. She felt his pain, and yet, suffered from it too. She watched him struggle to his feet and make his way over to the countertop. Henry Maguire, the man across the road. A man she’d secretly fancied for years, but now, she knew that she was looking at her soulmate. The one she was destined to be with. Fuck the age gap. Fuck what my parents and friends would think. They would never understand what my beloved would bring into my life. An understanding of how our minds work. A balanced equilibrium. Yin and yang in perfect harmony. She felt faint.
He held out the knife, handle first, offering it to her.
At first, she was hesitant, but allowed herself the time to shake any worries from her mind. She ran her fingers along the blade, lightly – the steel cool to the touch.
Henry studied her. “You understand, Garima. I suggest you begin where I began. Don’t go too deep. And take it easy. I’m here and will guide you.”
Using her free hand, Garima, unbuttoned her jeans and allowed them to slide down, revealing her thighs.
“Remember. Not too deep…”
&nb
sp; She nodded and took the blade to the side of her leg. The incision was effortless. The escaping blood gave her a warm sensation. With sharp bursts, the knife silently carved its way down, blood oozing down her leg, staining her jeans. She didn’t care. It was euphoric in the most unimaginable way. When she eventually had a chunk of flesh in her hand large enough, she tore it free, causing her to scream with joy.
“You did it. Well done!” Henry exclaimed.
Garima smiled and handed the lump of flesh to him. “I did it for you.”
Garima felt ashamed of herself after finishing her meal. Not a whole lot of preparation had gone into the cooking – it was almost blú. However, she followed his instructions, sprinkled salt, and gnawed away at it until it was gone. She had transcended into unknown territory and wanted to burst into floods of tears – but she managed to keep the floodgates firmly closed.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked, nervously.
“We continue what I’ve started,” Henry said with confidence, almost as if it was a matter of fact.
“And what is that exactly?”
“You’re a smart girl, Garima. You know what. My work.” He boasted – his mood shifting from down and out to upbeat and eager.
“Your work?”
Henry could sense the anxiety eating away at her, so he trod carefully with his words. He explained slowly that he had eaten human flesh before. The details of who were never disclosed, but he reassured her that he was not a murderer and it was a willing participant who shared the same desires.
“I know you’ve been watching me, Garima. I knew it from the first day that I moved onto this road. I left my windows open for you to see and you watched. I could sense that you needed me, but I had to show you, instead of telling you. You would have never understood otherwise.”
Garima felt special.
All this time, he’d actually been calling to her. She was in pain and he was the only one offering understanding and guidance. She couldn’t think of a response other than, “Thank you.”
Henry nodded in acknowledgement. “Which brings me to my next request…”
“Anything.”
“Our appetite is large and we’re going to need some more soon…”
Garima didn’t know or like where this was going. Eating her flesh had sickened her. She desired the cutting. Bleeding even. But, consumption was beyond her.
“Don’t be coy. You had your first taste today. It’ll take a while before you are comfortable with it. Trust me. And I promise you, you’ll crave more soon. And it gets better every time.”
Garima didn’t reply. Instead, she stared down at the floor, but still hung on to his every word. Was he making sense? He seemed to be in total control and this was reassuring. But what would this life cost? “I don’t want to kill anyone,” she eventually said.
“It’s part of my process. No, wait. I’m sorry, I meant, ‘our’ process,” Henry stated, “I’ve been living this way for years. But with someone like you in my life, we don’t have to live in the shadows anymore.”
“Someone like me?”
“Yes! You understand the desire. You crave it. Together we can seek and rejoice in it,” he said, almost hyperactive with excitement.
Garima nodded in agreement. “Okay. I’m in.”
Outside the weather took a turn for the worse and heavy rain pelted against the windows. All night they extracted flesh from each other – dining in each other’s flesh over candlelight.
The bad weather escalated into a storm. Thunder clapped, with flashes of lightning occasionally lighting up the candlelit room – it was the least of their concerns… until the flash revealed a figure standing in the patio doorway – Sanjay.
“Dad!” she shrieked, jumping up from the table. The action prompted a moment of chaos, with Garima grabbing the dressing gown off the floor to cover herself, while Henry backed away and stood over by the sink.
“Garima, let me in now!” her father roared through the glass. His rain-soaked face did nothing to hide the rage burning in his eyes.
Garima unlocked and opened the door, with her father barging his way into the kitchen. As he took in the bloody sight before his eyes, his expression shifted to a mix of rage and confusion.
“Dad, what are you doing here?” she asked, petrified.
“I saw you through your bedroom window. What the fuck are you doing here? What has he done to you? What is this?” her father shouted, turning his attention to Henry.
“Dad, wait. You don’t understand. We’re, err, friends,” Garima tried…
“Friends? What are you talking about?”
Henry didn’t like to feel cornered, let alone threatened. He grabbed hold of the large chopping knife on his worktop, and pointed it at the intruder, “Don’t you dare come near me.” he warned.
“I’m going to kill you for what you have done to my daughter. You sick fuck!”
“Dad, no!” Garima begged. She grabbed hold of her father's arm and tried to reason with him.
Henry looked on as Garima tried to restrain her father. “Let him go, Garima. I’m the one defending my home. If he comes near me, I will defend myself.”
“Shut up, Henry. This is my dad.”
“Henry?” Sanjay said looking at her with disbelief, “You’re on a first name basis with this guy? Oh darling, you know nothing about him.”
Henry straightened up at the impending accusation. He stood wielding the knife, and listened to Garima’s father explain why he lived alone and why no one on the road would talk to him.
Sanjay explained that Henry had moved into town with a reputation. He’d committed some crimes in other parts of the country, so he and his wife moved onto their road. No one believed the rumours, and Garima was too young to remember, but after a while, Henry and his wife had become reclusive. Days turned to months and eventually it got to a point where the neighbours wondered where his wife was. Henry claimed she left him – ran off with some guy she fell in love with in the local pub. No one knew for sure, but the rumours about his past came flooding back and it didn’t take long for them to be applied to this case. The local shops eventually stopped serving him and he became known as The Wife Eater.
“Don’t believe a word, Garima,” Henry protested. “It’s all lies.”
“Lies? How do you explain all of this then? You’re a sick bastard!” her father shouted.
Garima tugged on her father's arm again, making him look at her. She begged him to go home, but before he could reply, Henry ran over and grabbed him from behind, holding the knife to his throat.
“Don’t move,” Henry ordered, his tone darkening, “Or I’ll kill you.”
“Henry, please, let go of him!” Garima cried, borderline hysterical.
“No. Think about it, Garima, my love. No one knows he is here. We could eat and even freeze some of him,” Henry reasoned.
“That’s my father you’re talking about!” she shouted.
Sanjay struggled in Henry’s grip, knowing the man was weak, but he couldn’t take any chances with the blade so close to his throat. Instead, he tried to calm the situation. “Darling, it is okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
“It sure is, neighbour,” Henry whispered into his ear.
“Henry, please don’t do this. I thought you cared about me!” Garima begged.
“I do. I’m doing this for us. We can give into our deepest desires. We need to seize the opportunity.”
Garima broke down into tears. “Please not my dad. Anyone but him.”
“The consumption of those we love, satisfies the most.”
The statement struck a chord inside Garima. He did it! The sick fucker murdered and ate his wife. If I join him now, he’ll make me eat my father. Then how long would I have to wait before he turns on me like he did with his wife?
“Okay, Henry. You’re right. But, I need to be the one who finishes him. He is one I love and it’s my choice to make,”
Garima pleaded.
Henry forced her father onto his knees, still keeping the blade pressed against the man's throat. A dark silence descended. Thunder continued to roll outside and another flash of lightning lit up the room.
Henry slowly took the knife away from her father's throat, then offered it to her. “The consumption of those we love, satisfies the most...”
Garima repeated the statement and reached out to take the blade from him. Her hands shook violently as her fingers slowly wrapped around the handle. As soon as she was in full control of the blade, Henry backed away from the situation and began singing softly.
Garima looked her father deep in the eyes. It was the first time she had ever seen him afraid. He knelt in fear of his own flesh and blood. “I’m sorry, Father,” she whispered.
“Darling, no.”
“I’m sorry for everything!” she screamed, and in the same moment, she exploded forward, pushing past her father, knocking him to the floor, driving the blade into Henry’s chest.
Henry stood back, gasping. Looking down, he could see the handle stick out of him. And although he couldn’t see it, he felt the steel inside him, slowly taking away his ability to breathe.
“Gar, Gaaar… Garima. How could—?” he stuttered, coughing, unable to finish his words before dropping to his knees.
Her father rose to his feet, placing his arms around his daughter. She was cold to the touch, but he could not break the gaze she had on Henry.
Garima watched him fade out.
Keening Country Page 10