Someday I'll Kill You

The dried blood on his fingers looked like spaghetti sauce. He giggled at the thought.

"Spaghetti and meatballs for dinner tonight," he whispered to himself, flexing his hands in front of him. He giggled even more at that. He was clever and witty; no matter what anyone else said.

He picked up his hacksaw and continued cutting through the elbow on his blood-stained workbench. He had to finish quickly; rigor mortis was setting in, and the body would be too hard to dismember soon.

Looking back over at the corpse, he grinned maliciously and licked his lips. She had screamed for so long before finally succumbing to death; it had excited and terrified him at the same time. The initial rape meant nothing to him and was only to make her realize that he was in control. His favorite part had come after the first knife wounds were made, and she was overcome by the pain. That's when she realized she was going to die.

The grandfather clock bonged above his head, spurring him on to make quick work of the girl. He kept her body naked and her eyes open, occasionally leaning over to smile at them and laugh at their emptiness. He carefully wrapped everything he cut off and packed it into the deep chest freezer. That would feed him for at least a month. He threw the skeletal remains of his victim in a tarp and rolled it up tightly, tying the ends with twine.

"Abel! Aaaabel!"a sharp voice poked through the basement ceiling. He whimpered and scrubbed his hands with puce soap in the washtub. "Where are you, you stupid dolt?"

"I'll be right up, ma'am," he yelled up the steps. He shoved the body bag behind a loose brick in the wall, giving the dead girl a vicious kick before closing her in. He heard his mother's cane tapping across the kitchen floor.

Glaring at the floorboards above his head, he whispered, "Someday, I'll kill you too."

Bethany Bachman writes in Philadelphia and admits that this story came from a very dark, angry place in her mind that was visited today.

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