Chapter 3 of The 3 Little Piggies

Chapter Three

The bright morning crowed loudly at me through the window.  My room, still in total disarray, harbored a very frightened being.  Last night Leanne and I had gone down to the Nags Head in search of a light meal.  It was a quaint unassuming English style pub that put up some good food and had a comforting atmosphere.  Chicken and salad was all I could attempt – other than the bottle of Chardonnay which would have sufficed if I’d had my way.  Then again, Leanne is full of good intentions and food is a necessity. And I could hardly say I was force-fed.   We always managed to talk endlessly about everything – regardless of the fact that we talked to each other on the phone almost every day.  Neither of us had had a man in our lives for a while – both of us concluding that it was a disastrous situation.  We were positive that it wasn’t ourselves that were so useless at relationships and therefore blamed it all on the male race.  So we were going through a dry-spell, this happens on the big jobs.  Neither of us had an overwhelming desire to get married nor bear children, which we had been brought up to believe was a natural occurrence.  Personally I think that being pregnant is a totally unnatural state for your body to be in – if it were a natural thing we would look like that all the time or for at least most of it.  Maybe before contraceptives were invented it was a natural way to look but hell, we are in the new Millennium now.  I guess some men would be happy with that and keep us barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen permanently – forget it!

I found it hard to keep up the chitchat and pretend nothing was wrong but I made a brave attempt – saving face by stating I was a little shaken by the unusual sleepwalking episode and also blaming it on my period, which wasn’t due for another two weeks, and of course Leanne being my best friend knew that.  She had had a near miss about seven months ago and when she told her fiancé that she was pregnant he had run away – charming, anyway, that’s a whole other story.  So this is one of the hundreds of reasons as to why we were taking a long and most enjoyable break from men.

So therefore I wake up in my own bed alone and glance cautiously around.  My clothes still lay in their bundles with not a drop of blood in sight.  I was relieved to say the least.  I had dreaded the idea of not actually waking up out of this nightmare.  Stretching languidly I checked the time – ugh – 9.34am.  Shit. Saturday is trash day and I guess I missed again – oh yeah!  Too bad, there are many Saturdays left.  I rolled over and curled into foetal position falling into a deep sleep – I’m dreaming…

The concrete was hard and cold.  The basement, dark and clinging.  This girl he’d trapped was really quite pretty, in that sort of big eye, wavy longhair kind of way.  He wouldn’t mind giving her one, but then you have to go through a major hassle of totally disposing the body.  He had a new meaning for the words ‘cut and tuck’.

Katherine Augusts’ body was carefully decomposing throughout the gloomy house.  She had been ‘cut and tucked’ into several corners of this rambling hellhole.

He had fucked her – Oh Yessiree Bob!

He had slit her throat just as he was climaxing in every possible way – her death-throes sending him into inexplicable ecstasy that ended all too soon.  When she lay dead at his feet, he thought to himself, if they can move like that when they’re dying – why can’t they buck around like that when they’re alive?

He had a dreamy look on his face as he stared down at Jaqui Lomax.  Then he crouched down next to the snivelling heap in his basement.  She looked like a startled wild animal.  Jacqui’s heart was almost bursting out of her chest.  A terrible feeling of dread permeated her bones, stole into her heart and took her soul away.  This was a good thing because he ended up strangling her.  What he did next to Jaqui was not her reality, it was mine.  I saw him masturbating in her scream less mouth.  I saw him sweating and panting as he hacked through her bones, chopped off her pretty head.  I saw him – I recognised him.  I knew him and he knew me.  Suddenly he looked towards the ceiling, holding the dead girl’s head high, he emitted a high-pitched screeching sound that was only broken as he snuffed in air – I could only assume he was laughing.

© Kait King, 2015

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