Staring into her lovely face, “You watched me strip hours ago, don't you think it's your turn now?”, long pause, “Dear dear Deirdre, why couldn't you remain awake? Why wouldn't you?”. Beginning from the thin curve on her forehead, he energetically traces her face with a pen-like object until her chin.
The flesh languidly peels off, revealing the deepest layer of the skin—the subcutaneous tissue. There happened a wet squishing sound once it slid and touched the floors, blood strays connecting to gather a pool before his crouched knees.
“Oh no. . . I am so sorry. Please forgive me”, face bearing no emotions, he whispered then lifted one of the large objects sticking out of a duffle bag laying beside—a hammer—high above, aimed and struck the head damn hard with its pronged end repeatedly. He occasionally made use of his heels to kick, smash and scrunch stubborn parts into obedience—blood, shreds and pieces of flesh splashing and splattering against the large garage walls, cars parked in a range not far from his location and sometimes, the ceiling—until his body became soaked and the head, extinct. Not even a facial organ or skull remains were in sight.
Proceeding to her chest, he ripped off the bust of her full and wide dress. The wedding dress. He sighed, the stained jewelries and shoe finally came off. Although headless, her stark naked body managed to awake a foreign desire in him. God. . . He thought, the shape of those ti–
“HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD!!!”, rotating strobe lights suddenly illuminated the space behind him, more than a dozen SWAT vehicles speeding in. They marched towards the hunched figure, gun poised in defense while three helicopters flying above focused powerful torches on the body form.
He stood upright then turned, guns clicked, the team cautiously moved backwards. From what used to be a golden brown low-cut to the soles of his bare feet were saturated with crimson clots.
Hands reaching to poke stray pieces of flesh back into his mouth, he returned to a squatting position, facing them this time to continue his munching. He remained that way for a short while, swallowed and then stood to advance forward.
“GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES, NOW!!”, a black man behind the SWAT team yelled again via a megaphone, “AIN'T GON' REPEAT MYSELF NO MOOORE!”
He stopped dead in his steps then casted a direct glare at one of the shielded officers aiming a special weapon like the others at his face, “Join me”, he croaked and they opened fire.
The shots lasted until the third rounds of ammunition had been used up and he had collapsed. They carefully approached, guns fixed at the body, “Cuff him”, Commander Howard gruffed minutes after poking for signs of life. He turned to leave but his left foot had turned stiff, guns were cocked in defense again, the officers were focused on something else now. Their faces. . . Though they tried, the horror could not be masked.
The commander shifted to see what had their gaze, THE WOMAN WHO HAD BEEN MURDERED AND DEAD HOURS BEFORE THEY ARRIVED WAS EXTRAORDINARILY ALIVE ALTHOUGH EVERY PARTS OF HER BODY WERE MISSING.
The stiffness of his foot. . . He looked down, one of the chopped off hands was clutched tightly at his heavy-booted foot, he crashed the other one against the dead hand, but it stubbornly held on. “PASS ME THAT FUCKING GUN”, he bellowed to a trooper who shakily tossed an M249 light machine gun over.
Swiftly, he cocked the hammer way back then pulled its trigger at the target, the team flinched at the deafening sound whilst the bullet's force burrowed it deep into the ground. Blowing off the thick smoke dancing off its nozzle, he whispered with iciness, “Burn the bitch and her creator”.
YOU ARE READING
Fingers and Hammer
HorrorA suspenseful horror short story about a man who had broken free from the Military government's chains and bind as a laboratory experiment. His first reaction to the outside world had been violent, unpleasant and law-provoking. And how was the incid...
