A Knife's Tale (ONC 2021)

Chapter One

I thought I'd stay buried in the confines of the bin forever. All around me were stupid toys and trinkets, broken corkscrews, scrap metal, and dulled blades.

But, when I saw the leather-gloved hands parting the pile and the store's light reached me once again, I hoped that I'd finally be purchased, and be able to go for another adventure.

The man's face had a charming air, the insignia of the House of Benson emblazoned the breast of his jacket. His light blue eyes, smooth blonde locks, and imposing size likely made the ladies swoon to win over his heart.

What little they knew, he wanted to rip their hearts out.

Someone of nobility had no business in a pawnshop at all, let alone digging through the junk bin. Rumors would spread and hurt their reputation, no doubt.

But here he was, picking up metal objects, pulling his gloves off, and jabbing them into his own hands. The first knife he tried couldn't even make a knick, and he tossed it aside. He kept trying more and more of them as the look of disappointment grew on his face.

Then he took me.

It felt amazing, moving again after such a long time. Just like the others, he tested me out on his fingers.

But I was different. I cut him through to the bone, and I would have cut further if he hadn't stopped himself. I suppose I could call this a victory against this insane man, but he didn't seem upset at the giant gash on his finger or the blood spurting out all over the junk bin.

No, he had the widest smile.

He was prepared for injuries and took a needle and thread from the pouch strapped to his belt. The guy stitched himself back together right in the store, amidst the glances of the other customers. They knew better than to say anything about the proclivities of a man of his stature to his face, though.

After he dabbed some healing balm to his finger, it almost looked uninjured.

I knew then that my newest adventure would be far from normal. He carried me up to the counter while whistling a tune.

"How much for this blade?" he asked, flashing the elderly woman shopkeep a dazzling smile.

She was unimpressed. With her years, she'd likely seen it all. "Dulled knives from the junk bin go for fifteen orr. Take it or leave it."

He passed her a coin worth thirty. "Keep the change as my gift to a gorgeous woman."

"Take your change," she scoffed as she tossed it over to him. After which she began sweeping the floor, indifferent to his flattery.

He didn't mind it and tucked me away into his pouch. As he walked out of the store, I examined the items in his bag. I could guess a few things about a person based on what they carried. This guy only carried an assortment of orr coins, his medical supplies, and the portrait of a blonde woman.

I supposed she must have been someone important to him at the time. But now I knew better. All the girls he brought into the basement bore a strong resemblance to her.

When he got outside, he took me out of the bag once more and held me up toward the sky. The invigorating feeling of the sun warming the steel of my blade made his laughter barely noticeable. For the first time in a long while, I was content.

I didn't realize that would be the last time that I'd see the sun.

***

He picks me up from the bench and points my blade toward her. She's chained to the wall of this miserable dungeon, sitting in a puddle of her own blood and filth. The girl's long past the point of tears—the life in her eyes left after the first torturing. The beauty she had on the first day of living here has been replaced by the burns, the cuts and scars on her face, the missing nails on her hands, and the bruises from trying to resist the chains when she still had some fight in her. All of which were caused by this detestable man who owns control of my life.

The grasp of his right hand on my handle is light as he strides closer to the unmoving woman. He whistles a tune I don't recognize, but it's too jaunty and upbeat for this dark dungeon. Two footsteps in front of her, he stops.

"Well, Annalisa, I hope you've enjoyed your stay so far. It's been rather fun."

I hate when he does that—using their names. It makes what comes next more difficult.

She doesn't respond. No animosity, no glares, no remarks back at him. Just her empty, soulless stare.

"And, that's why you'll be taking your leave today. It's more amusing to play with the mice than it is to play with you anymore."

He takes the last steps forward, kneels down and places his left hand under her chin, lifting it up like a lover would.

"My sweet Annalisa," he says before he kisses her lips softly.

And his other hand plunges me into her chest.

The killer knows exactly where to stab, and I glide between her ribs with the ease of cutting butter. For a brief second, all I can see around me is her flesh, flush with blood and squirming with life, and all I can smell is iron. I pierce through her warm, still-beating heart and I'm pulled out of her chest as quickly as I went in.

Her blood on my blade joins the dried stains of the seventeen others before her. Carolyn, Lucinda, Yvette, Marybeth, Beatrice, Claudia, Paulette, Kathryn, Laura, Xenia, Opal, Rachel, Nora, Deborah, Jennifer, Petunia, Grace.

And now, Annalisa.

I try not to look at her, but it's hard when she's right in my field of perception. The life returns to her eyes, brighter than ever before as the flash of realization of her incoming death hits her. It only stays for a moment before it dims and her pierced heart ceases to function.

And it's that look that makes me think, "Oh shit, I killed another one." Even if it's more his fault than mine.

He's never said so much as a word about himself, not even his name. I don't know why he indulges in his peculiar hobbies any more than the girls do.

He tosses me back onto the bench, without so much as wiping me off first, and my handle hits a jagged nail poking out of the boards. I'm nothing to him—just a tool to suit his interests. It's not so much painful as it is uncomfortable. I land facing the ceiling, limiting my view to only what's above me.

I can hear him unchaining Annalisa, and him gently placing her into a large burlap sack. Soon, he's hauling her up the stairs, which groan from every step he takes up. He won't be back until his urges hit again, and it could be weeks or months.

Alone, all I can do is stare up at the ceiling as Annalisa's blood dries.