Friday, December 3, 2010

A Christmas Slaying, Part 2...The Fun Begins

"We wish you a bloody Christmas, we wish you a bloody Christmas, we wish you a bloody Christmas and a painful New Year!"
Harold sang at the top of his lungs as he dragged his mother back down to the basement. He was walking backwards down the steps, dragging her by the feet, her head thumping loudly against each step. Sixteen steps in all, each one, thud, thud, thud, each thud a satisfying sound to Harold's ears.
Once he was at the bottom of the steps, he lifted her, tossing her like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder and carrying her to the far side of the basement. Placing her on a table, he wrinkled his nose in disgust at his mother's nude form. Her breasts were sagging, reminding him of two deflating balloons.
It had given him no pleasure, seeing her wrinkled, exposed body every day, but knowing the agony it had caused the bitch, made the disturbing experience worthwhile. Beginning another tune, Harold opened his toolbox and set to work on her body. He only wished she were still alive to feel the pain this would have caused. "Still," he thought, looking at her face and the hole in her head, where the hammer's claw had struck her, "that had felt pretty good too." Prying her mouth open, Harold used pliers to begin pulling her teeth.

Judy was in the kitchen, baking cookies, when her husband came in, pulling his coat on. "You have got to be kidding me!" Judy said, shutting the electric mixer off and staring at her husband in disbelief. "I know, I know," Frank said, putting his hand up to stop Judy before she said any more. "I know it's Christmas Eve and I promised to stay home..." "But someone needs your help, and you just can't say no." Judy said, finishing her husband's sentence. She gave a deep sigh, giving her husband a weary look, "Would it kill you to say no just once?" "No one needs my help. I'm forwarding all my calls to Steve, so that we can spend the day together. I just have to pick something up. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

“Twenty minutes?”  Judy’s voice sounded doubtful.
“An hour tops, maybe two.”  Frank said, giving his wife a deadpan look.

“Frank, come on!  Please tell me you’re joking.”  Judy looked like she was ready to throw the cookie batter at her husband.
“I am,” Frank said, smiling and pulling Judy into his arms.  “Seriously, only twenty minutes.  I have to go pick up your present.”
“My present?”  Judy raised an eyebrow, curious.
“Twenty minutes,” Frank promised, kissing her on the lips.  Then he headed out the back door, anxious to run his errand and get back to his wife.

Judy stood alone in the kitchen, a feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach.  A chill ran down her back and she pulled her sweater around her, grasping the front with her hands to ward off another chill and anything else that might flow her way.  Memories of last Christmas Eve, her and Frank’s first as a married couple, came to mind and she shuddered, trying to push the recollection away. 
Frank had been gone that day too, when Harold had come by.  His friend had always given her the creeps and she had always tried to avoid being around him, but he’d ignored her when she’d said Frank wasn’t home, pushing his way into the house.  If only Frank had been home, what transpired would never have happened.

Refusing to dwell on it, Judy picked up the electric mixer and began working the cookie dough again.  She pushed the images of Harold on top of her, pinning her to the kitchen floor as he raped her, out of her mind.  It wouldn’t happen again.  EVER.  She had told Harold the other day that he was never to touch her again.  She’d tell Frank if he did. 
Harold’s words echoed in her ears, laughing at her, mocking her. “You’re not going to tell Frank.  What do you think he would do if he knew you’d been banging his best friend, almost since the beginning of your marriage?”
“You raped me!”  Judy accused. “I’ll tell him that!”
Harold had laughed.  “You can’t rape the willing babe and trust me, you were all too willing.”
Judy bit her lip, a tear rolling down her cheek.  She knew he was right.  She hadn’t stopped him when it had first started, but when she’d come to her senses, begged him to stop, he hadn’t.  But Frank wouldn’t understand that, especially since it had continued every week since then, for a year now; until last week, when she told Harold no more. 
“I swear,” she had said, “I. Will. Tell. Him.”  She enunciated each word, trying to drill it into Harold’s head that it was over. She hoped he believed her, because she didn’t know if she could do it, if he didn’t.

  The bone had made a loud crunching sound and Sheila, who had been screaming, her face contorted in agonyThe sun was just coming into the basement window when Harold finished dismembering Sheila’s body.  It had taken all night, pulling her teeth, cutting off her fingers one by one, then her arms, legs and head.  He had only needed to do nine fingers, since he had cut the right index finger off two days ago.  His whore mother had passed out as he cut through the bone, her finger falling to the floor with a squishy, plopping sound., made a choking sound and then passed clean out, her head hitting the floor when she fell. 
Her scream had been like music to Harold, filling him with such joy.  He’d relished the sound, remembering all the times as a child, all the beatings he had endured at her hands and Hank’s.  Now, it was she that had to endure the pain.  He’d gotten so excited, that when she passed out and hit her head, he’d gotten a hard on.  He’d had to hurry upstairs to relieve the tension, which was a shame, since it meant he wasn’t there when she came to.  In afterthought, he should have relieved himself in front of her prone body.  She’d never had a problem with him watching her and Hank in the act.

As he cut off her remaining fingers, he’d been surprised to find that he was being aroused.  He had thought since she could no longer feel pain he would be okay, but the memory of her scream, the way it echoed off the walls of the basement, the pain and agony in her face, had all come together in his head, causing him to lose control.  It was quite a rush.
Harold placed her body, one piece at a time, into a garbage bag, and then he put the bag into the deep freezer, moving some things around.  He wanted to make sure there was plenty of room for more bodies.

Grabbing the mop, he began cleaning up the blood.  When he was finished, he felt exhausted, but there was no time for rest.  He headed upstairs to use the phone.  Harold dialed a number, then waited.
“Hey,” he said, speaking to the voice on the other end.  “I could use your help for a few minutes…if you have time.”
Harold listened to the answer and then smiled.  “No, it won’t take long.  There’s something I need help with, in the basement….yeah, it has to do with what’s been keeping me busy the last few days…Great!  I’ll see you in five minutes.”
Harold hung up the phone, humming to himself.  This was going to be fun.

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