Horror Stories

Meaty

Ah, a brand new slab of fresh meat. It took a lot of time and energy getting it too here and deserves my full attention to make it perfect, or at least tastier than the last time. I've gotten myself a hook to hang the meat don't know exactly what this is for, I've heard the term curing being mentioned but for me it's just an easy way to admire my catch. The word reminds me of healing but there ain't no doctor that can heal this creature. As I place the meat on the hook a pool of blood begins to form and congeal at my feet, this is a messy business and I hate mess. I whistle for Rover who needs no instruction and immediately starts salivating and lapping, that's one job taken care of, and he seems to love the taste.

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Blast, the bloody doorbell again, I throw on a pair of overalls and lock the door of the shed. My catch and Rover safely hidden away from prying eyes. Using my peep-hole I see it is my mother, interfering bitch always seems to know when I'm enjoying myself. She must have her peep-hole into my brain I wouldn't want to see into hers there would be nothing to hold my interest. I supply the expected tea and biscuit and the small talk, have a moment of fear where I imagine Rover enjoying the total fruit of my labors and then smile as I remember the hook and there's no way he can reach.

Back to mother after my usual non-committing shrugs, then outright protestations, I again reluctantly realize that resistance is futile; I have yet another date I grudgingly admire her persistence.

I will on the date act mostly like I have done with mother make small talk, throw in a non-committed shrug now and again, and nod and feign interest in whatever they are talking about. My mother, the eternal and hope-filled optimist leaves happy in the knowledge that this one could finally be the one, she'll have found me the love of my life, may be one day she'll pick the right sex, that would make a pleasant change.

A quick wash of my hands and a brushing of teeth I don't want anything spoiling the taste and smell of my lovingly prepared dish. I head back to the shed and find Rover happy and licking his lips. I shoo him outside and close the door. I need privacy for this bit. I don't want anyone or thing watching me enjoying myself of being a witness to my shame. I'm a lot more prepared than last time, it should go a lot more efficiently. I run my hand over the meat a bit bristly and spiky in places I grab my razor and carefully shave, ah yes lovely and smooth now. Next, I grab the oil and rub it all over, I can't wait any longer remove my overalls and add my special juice to the mix, it's the only relief I get these days. One last shake and shudder it's all over, I'm spent.

I am now disgusted with myself and the meat; it has to be disposed of. Not disgusted enough though that it won't make a decent meal. I get dressed and let Rover back in he will do some of the work for me, it won't be a chore to him though he and I will enjoy the fruit of my labour. Now for the rest of the prep, a nice bottle of red I think, red wine for red meat should go down a treat.

I boiled the meat last time, and it was a wee bit too salty and dry for my taste; I went for younger prey this time hopefully it will be extra tender and juicy, like a spring lamb and not mutton dressed as lamb.

Rover doesn't go for stir-fry usually, turns his nose up, fussy yoke. So I think some steak will go down well. I did a big shop last week as I am expecting not to need to buy meat for a while the freezer is going to be full. I told the nosy, and annoying girl at the till in the grocery store that my new girlfriend was vegetarian and I was giving it a go when stocking up with a lot of stuff and no meat, just in case she noticed and mentioned it to anyone. Onions chopped, spuds peeled and put on to boil, time to go get the meat.

Rovers busy chewing on something, it's a finger he always likes the bonier, gnarly bits. I have bought myself a cleaver it does a much cleaner job, speaking of jobs maybe I'll become a butcher. I'm getting hands-on experience. I put the cleaver steeping in bleach it needs to be spotless with no trace of its last use. I return to the job in hand, turning the meat in the pan, Rover waiting expectantly at my feet, I think we'll have it rare, so I'll have to take it off soon and let it rest for a while. I have some bones boiling to make a nice broth or sauce depends on how it turns out then I will decide what it is. The last bit of meat smelt a bit dodgy but this one smells good, and looks lean, not as fatty seems that being younger and some good living makes a difference after all, as they say the truth is in the pudding.

That reminds me I've having a very old-fashioned pudding, Eton mess, shop both, I'll take it out of the freezer and let it defrost, yum. What's next oh yes one of the fancy glasses mother bought one Christmas, if this is not a time for the good glasses I don't know when is

Table set, Rover sitting across the kitchen table from me, our bibs on, candles lit as its now night and the lighting is not great down here. The meat is rare blood oozing and tastes gorge. Operation clean up will be tomorrow. Rover will get rid of a lot for me that I can't eat but he'll enjoy, I have a bath full of acid for what we can't eat, everything gone, no trace left except what's in the freezer for another day. When we're finished I go to freezer and take out what I call a shoulder of lamb, very meaty cool. I think we'll have roast potatoes tomorrow as we had mash today. I dream of their sweet crusty edge as I fall into a deep sleep. Bon appétit.