Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

“Fuck!” he screamed.

He stumbled back and fell over his legs. Simon crashed to the hard floor, knocking his head on the tiles with a dull thud. A sharp explosion shot through his skull and he saw flashes of bright light dance before his eyes.

Sherry came dashing in, wearing only her bra and panties. “Simon, what happened?”

She hurried over and helped Simon to his feet. Still dazed and clutching the back of his head, Simon gingerly pointed to the washbasin.

“Are you okay? Let’s go on out to the lounge and sit down on the couch.”

But as soon as Sherry let go of Simon’s hand, his legs buckled and he fell on his behind. Sherry gasped and struggled to get him back on his feet. “I’m sorry, darling. I thought you could stand by yourself.”

She finally managed to get Simon to his feet. This time, with her right arm around his waist and her left hand holding onto Simon’s, she walked him into the lounge room and over to the leather couch. She carefully sat him down.

“How are you feeling?”

He moaned.

Sherry straightened up. Simon didn’t collapse into a heap on the floor — he stayed sitting up, his hand resting at the back of his head.

“It better have not been a damn spider,” Sherry mumbled, grinning slightly. Leaving Simon, Sherry hurried into the laundry room and over to the basin. She stepped up to the sink and peered down. What she saw was a severed head. It was staring right up at Sherry, its eyes partially open. It had longish hair and its mouth was locked in a grotesque gape, as if about to speak.

Sherry backed out of the laundry, out of the bathroom. It was only when she was out in the hallway that she screamed. She turned and ran into the lounge. Simon was trying to stand up. “Simon! Oh my God, Simon! There’s a fucking head in our sink!”

Simon nodded slightly as he finally managed to stand upright all by himself.

“So I noticed,” he sighed. Simon shook his head and craned his neck. “Damn that hurt.”

“We have to call the police,” Sherry said quickly. She hurried over to the phone and stopped. Stuck on the handle was a small piece of paper. “Simon, there’s a note.”

Simon staggered over to Sherry. “Well, read it.”

She bent down and lifted the note off the phone. It was folded in half. She opened the note and read it out loud.

“Like your present? Ha Ha. Oh, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, look in your laundry sink…Done it?

Now, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to meet you, but I had other things to do. You understand.

I’ll make this short and sweet. Go into the kitchen and open the fridge. There you’ll find another present. One I think you’ll like more than the other one. And don’t think about calling the cops…I’ve cut the phone line and I know where you live, remember!!!

That’s all for now. See you in the kitchen.

Ciao.

P.S. don’t put any clothes on, darling. I like you just the way you are…”

Sherry looked up at Simon, tears in her eyes. “Oh my God. How did he know I wasn’t going to be wearing any clothes?”

Simon was bewildered. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on. Think we should call the cops?”

Sherry shook her head. “No. I mean, he warned us not to. Besides, if he knows I’m not wearing any clothes…” Sherry threw down the note and picked up the phone receiver. She placed it to her ear and heard nothing. No static; just dead air. “He’s cut the phone.”

“Shit!” Simon spat. “What are we going to do?”

“Go into the kitchen,” Sherry said.

They both hurried down the hall and entered the dark kitchen. Sherry turned on the lights and they both scanned the room. There was no sign of any intruders.

“How did he get in?” Simon whispered.

Sherry shook her head. She began walking towards the fridge.

“No, hey!” Simon called. “I’ll look.”

Sherry turned around. “And bang your head again? You stay there.” She approached the large fridge. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handle.

“Be careful, darling,” Simon said, his voice quivering.

Grinding her teeth together, Sherry flung open the door. Resting on the top shelf was a large, bloody machete.

“What is it?”

“It’s a machete,” Sherry said.

Simon hurried over and peered inside. He reached in and took the large machete out. The blade was grimy with both wet and dry blood and there was another note attached to its handle.

Sherry grabbed the note off the machete. She opened it and, again, read it aloud.

“It’s me again. You get the idea how this works. This was the weapon used to kill the poor person.

Now, my love, take off your bra and go into your bedroom. Look in the closet.

If you both don’t do what I say, well, you don’t wanna know. Believe me.

Ciao.”

Sherry scrunched up the note and threw it down to the kitchen floor. “I don’t believe this. I’m not going to take off my goddamn bra for some sick weirdo.”

Simon was still holding the machete. “I think you’d better,” he said. “Who knows what kind of psycho we’re dealing with.”

“He’s not watching,” Sherry said.

“How do we know?” Simon asked.

Sherry looked at him hard, as if this were all his fault. She quickly unfastened the bra and let it fall to the ground.

Simon gazed at the perfect curves of her small breasts. Her nipples were hard and they were covered in goose bumps. His penis began to stiffen.

“Oh God,” Sherry groaned. “You’re sick.”

Simon’s face went hot, and he could tell he was blushing. He shrugged. “Sorry,” he said.

“Come on,” Sherry said sharply. “What are you going to do with that?” She nodded towards the machete.

“Take it with us. You never know,” he said.

Sherry turned around and hurried out of the kitchen, Simon following close behind. They arrived at their bedroom, and Sherry went over to the closet.

“Wait!” Simon said. “This time I’ll look. I’m the one with the machete. Okay?”

Sherry nodded. Simon strode up to the closet and took a hold of the knob. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered.

“Just hurry up and do it,” Sherry told him.

Holding the machete firmly in his left hand, Simon flung the closet door open. He was ready to strike, but frowned and lowered the machete when he saw nothing in there. “Can’t see anything,” Simon said.

Sherry joined Simon and studied the dim closet. She squatted down and saw blood on the carpet. “Simon! There’s blood.”

“What?” Simon crouched down and saw a small pool of blood seeping into the carpet.

They both flinched when a drop of blood fell from the bunch of clothes and landed on the floor.

They both stood up. Before Sherry had a chance to do it, Simon flung the hanging clothes to the side and gasped.

When Sherry saw the headless body hanging by a thick hook, she jumped back and began crying.

Simon stepped closer and studied the corpse. He guessed the head in the sink belonged to this body. It was a woman, and judging by the flat stomach and long slender legs, she used to be young, perhaps around the same age as Sherry. Blood sheathed the lifeless body like a can of paint had been poured over it.

“Is there a note?” Sherry asked from behind.

“Jesus, do I have to look?”

Sherry huffed. “Fuck! I’ll do…”

“No,” Simon said. “You wait there.” There wasn’t much of a stink, so the body couldn’t have been dead for long. Still, Simon held his breath and stepped into the closet. He wrapped his arm around the body and searched for the note. The skin felt icy cold and sticky from blood. He could feel himself wanting to gag, but he swallowed and continued the grotesque hunt. “I can’t feel anything,” he called back. “Maybe it’s…” He stopped. He closed his eyes and tried hard not to puke.