Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

There was murmuring in the background. Then: “Why?”

“I thought maybe you two would like to come over for some drinks. Talk about what happened. Words were said in the heat of the moment, things I’m sure we all regret. It would be nice if we could all make up. I don’t want my old job back or anything. I just thought we could settle things. Whaddya say?”

A long pause. Finally: “Ah, I guess. Okay. Sure. We’ll be over in an hour.”

“Super. See you then.”

Just over an hour later, Dave and Rochelle turned up. “Evening Hartford,” Dave said.

“It’s good to see you,” Rochelle said as she followed Dave into the house.

“Glad you both could make it. Come in and sit down.” Hartford led them into the lounge room. Dave and Rochelle took a seat on the sofa. “Drinks?”

“Please. I’ll have a whiskey. On the rocks.”

“And I’ll have a gin and tonic,” Rochelle said.

Hartford nodded, hurried over to the drink cabinet and made the drinks. When he returned, Dave smiled up at him. “So. What’re you up to? Things going well?”

“Can’t complain. Been working on a new project, as a matter of fact. Top secret, though. So I’m keeping busy.”

“Is that so?” Dave said and took a sip of his drink.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve got snacks in the kitchen. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Really, there’s no need,” Rochelle said.

“No, it’s my pleasure.” Hartford hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the frying pan. He then strolled back.

“Really, we’re not hun…” Dave started, but when he saw the pan raised in the air, he gasped.

Hartford brought the pan down hard, and it cracked Dave’s head with a loud thong!

As Dave flopped to the floor, Rochelle screamed and dropped the glass of gin and tonic. “OHMYGOD!!” she cried, and that was the last utterance she ever spoke.

There were a few annoyances Hartford had to deal with. Namely, cleaning the small amount of blood that had soaked into the carpet, dragging the two bodies into the bathroom and taking off their clothes. He found these tasks menial and uninteresting. But, as he was too tired to bother about getting a prostitute, they were unavoidable.

After doing those bothersome jobs, Hartford settled down to the real work. He hacked off their heads and sawed off the tops (Dave had a real big head, which was perfect for Hartford’s needs). Then he opened up their chests and stomachs and tore out all their organs. He didn’t mind the mess and smell anymore. And he didn’t even vomit once. Finally he had Dave and Rochelle’s spinal cords. He held one up and tested its elasticity. It bent nicely.

“Sensational,” Hartford muttered and felt a warm tingle surge through his naked body.

He washed himself off in the shower, just to cool off, then took a long drink of Sprite.

Next he sliced off the skin. And as with all the other times, he only cut the skin from the torso: this had the most surface area, therefore was the most useful. When he had four gory slabs of skin (one complete with two saggy breasts), Hartford scrubbed them free of all flesh, tendons and blood, then dried them using the hair dryer. He took the two spines, the slabs of yellow, wrinkled skin and the two skull tops into his work shed. In there he also had hordes of leg and arm bones, three more skull tops and two spines he got from the hooker and purple fedora. He spent the rest of the night and early morning making the final parts of his project.

By seven o’clock he was finished. Done hammering the final nail into the leg bone, he fell back into his chair and cried. They were tears of exhaustion, but mostly they were tears of happiness, because he was finally going to have one. All he had to do was put all the pieces together, and then it would be over. Well, not quite. He still had one more thing to do. But that could wait.

So, wiping the tears from his blood-streaked face, he gathered all the parts and took them into the house, into his special room. Afterwards he got dressed, stuffed all the remains of Dave and Rochelle into a garbage bag and carted them outside. Along with all the other remains, which he had kept in his shed, he built a huge fire in his backyard.

He stood and watched the blaze for about an hour, transfixed by the glorious and soothing motions of the flames. And to him, the rancid odour of cooking flesh was the nicest smell in the world.

Finally, after stacking more wood on the fire, Hartford headed inside. He took a shower, cleaned the bathroom thoroughly, and with a can of Sprite in his hand, sat down in the chair by the phone.

Frank Wainwright stepped out of his car, slammed the door then turned and gazed at the house. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered and coughed. “This is freakin’ nuts.”

He threw his cigar to the pavement, hitched up his pants and headed for the front door.

Ten years , he thought. It’s been ten damn years and then what? A damn phone call. Son-of-a-bitch wants to see me.

He shuffled up the steps and stood by the door. And waited. And coughed. Was he really ready for this? Did he really want to see him after all this time?

Then why did you drive all the way over here? You’re curious, that’s why. Haven’t seen your boy in ten years.

He took a shallow, phlegm-filled breath then rapped on the door.

Maybe he’s broke. Needs some cash. Yeah, that’s probably it. Got no friends, so who does he call? His dear old dad.

The door opened and Hartford smiled out at him. “Dad! It’s good to see you.”

Frank nodded. He wanted to say: Jesus Christ , but held back. His son looked terrible. Sagging eyes, pale complexion and a gaunt face. He was barely recognisable.

“Come in, Dad.”

Frank stepped inside the darkened house. The door shut behind him. “You could use some light in here, Hartford. A bit of fresh air, too.”

Frank’s senses weren’t exactly in tiptop form, but even his crusty old nose could detect some strange smell underneath the thin layer of pine-scented cleaner.

Christ, he’s really let himself go , Frank thought.

“So I was surprised when you called me. I was watching the game. Didn’t even know who it was for a moment.”

“Yeah, it has been a while, hasn’t it Dad.”

“Please, call me Frank.” He coughed.

“You sick? Because you look well, Dad. I’m sorry, Frank.”

“Ah, you know. Just the perks of getting old. You’re looking well, too. Keeping busy and all that?”

Hell this is awkward , Frank thought. He would much rather be at home, getting drunk, watching the tube. He didn’t even know why Hartford wanted to see him. To catch up? To try and mend broken ties?

“Yeah. I’ve got things to keep me busy. But my life isn’t all work. Matter of fact, I had Dave and Rochelle over last night for some drinks.”

“Dave and Rochelle? You mean your cousin Dave and his wife?”

Hartford nodded.

What the fuck ? Frank thought. He knew that Hartford had been fired from that tailoring place a month ago. Apparently Dave and Rochelle fired him for constantly being late and not working hard enough. Well at least that’s what Charlene had told him. It was the last time he had spoken with her before she died.

Why would he want to have them over for drinks? Frank wondered, but he found he didn’t care. There were more pressing matters that needed to be dealt with.

“Ah, I don’t mean to be rude, Hartford. But why did you call me? Why did you want to see me after all this time?”

Hartford grinned. Frank was reminded of a skeleton.