Frederick Hamilton - Spare Key

He’d had to restrain from giggling as he’d scraped at the pan. He hadn’t wanted to give her any idea of what was happening. What was going to happen.

Ben swallowed his first mouthful as he looked around. The taste of it was momentarily sickening but the sensation lessened with the second mouthful. His eyes continued to rove as he ate mechanically until they fell on the remotes lying beside him on the couch. He picked up the first one and the television burst to life at his touch, displaying a blue background with AV1 nestled in the corner.

He studied the other remote for a moment and located the play button. He paused before pressing it and looked around at the scattered covers. The scream ripped from the screen unexpectedly, causing Ben to jump and drop the remote.

He scrambled with the television remote and turned the volume down a few notches, his heart rate gradually settling as he stared in fascination at what she had been watching.

The film had obviously been shot on a shoe-string budget. The lighting, the framing, the actor’s dismal attempts to indicate pain all pointed to it but what money the production team had possessed had obviously been funnelled into the make-up and effects.

As he watched the lady drilling into the man’s skull, Ben was momentarily taken aback at the realistic blood spray and the chunky goop that was seeping down from the drill bit. The colour was slightly off but apart from that it looked like the real deal and for a moment Ben watched fascinated.

He spooned another mouthful of his eggs and then set the plate aside on the couch. He chewed slowly as he walked over and sorted through the scattered cases on top of the screen. Another little warning bell went off in his head as he perused cover after cover. Each seemingly more and more garish with its gruesome imagery and hyperbolic promises of gore and horror.

So she likes horror films , he told himself, trying to pinpoint why he seemed to find that fact so disturbing. Lots of people do , he thought and pushed the niggling doubt to one side. But there was something still bothering him as he returned to the couch and his plate of eggs. The scene had changed and now showed a buxom, young lady in a cheerleader’s outfit, hacking at a man with a machete. The man was backed into a corner, his hands raised in a pitiful attempt to ward off the attack and just briefly, it was his face the man was wearing and the demented leer of his attacker belonged to her .

The nausea flooded through him and he spat the half-chewed mouthful onto the plate. He switched off the television and paced for a moment until the sick feeling cleared.

Don’t be stupid , his mind raced as doubt flooded in, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know. How could she? She’d never think you’d…

He needed something to steady his nerves. That was all. He glanced at the clock on the way to the kitchen and saw it was eleven o’clock. Plenty of time to relax. Plenty of time.

Although wine wasn’t his favourite choice of alcohol, when he rummaged through the pantry and saw the bottles lined up inside, he was more than happy to make do.

* * * * *

Ben’s excitement was growing as he looked up from the two empty bottles of wine on the bench to the clock again. Four o’clock. It was so close to time.

The wine had left a sickly sweet taste in his mouth but had also banished the strange, momentary dread he had felt. Now he was ready, oh so very ready and even though he didn’t know the exact time she’d be coming home, he decided to move to the bedroom now; move and wait for her there.

He stowed the empty bottles back into the pantry and wiped the large streak of semen from the door of the cupboard – he hadn’t been able to help it; while he’d waited the red had encroached. He didn’t want anything to tip her off if she walked straight into the kitchen before heading to the bedroom.

Only two minutes had passed when he glanced at the clock again on his way to the bedroom. Time was slowing down as he waited but that was okay. It would just build the anticipation. He sat down on the bare mattress, the delicious images filling his mind. Images of her flesh and the way it would yield to him. He wished he could smoke but didn’t dare. He didn’t want the smell to alert her . The light airy fragrance that permeated the flat would do nothing to hide it.

But that was alright too. Just more anticipation. It’d be the first thing he’d do once she was strapped down: light a smoke as he stood above her and then… then he would put it to good use, he thought as he raised his hand and studied the faint scars dotting his knuckles.

The thought of it alone was enough to send his hand scrabbling across his lap, searching for his penis.

What time would a waitress normally finish work? He wondered as he began to tease it erect again.

* * * * *

The leather apron rubbed just perfectly against his skin as he ran the scalpel across her stomach, the red slowly welling in its wake. He raked it down until the line parted the curly hair of the pubic mound and joined with the natural incision between her legs.

He could hear her muffled screams against the gag in her mouth – unnecessary maybe, since he had already excised her tongue – but he quite enjoyed the idea of her being forced to swallow her own blood. It was that or choke.

His hand was trembling as he reached out and eased a finger into the cut, teasing the two sides apart. He hadn’t gone too deep – not yet – but the blood was still flowing fairly steadily and Ben had to stifle a giggle as he watched it. She had no idea it was coming. That the power in their relationship had been about to do a complete one-eighty. And that just made it all the sweeter.

He dug his fingers in a little deeper and her body convulsed beneath his touch. He wormed his fingers and wet, tearing noises reached his ears as some of the flesh eased free of the subcutaneous fat beneath it.

It gave him an idea.

He removed his hand and flicked his wrist, spattering her breasts and face with her blood and a few dots of flesh.

Her eyes bulged large; almost to comic proportions; yawning open until they seemed to inhabit her entire head. He looked from them to the scalpel in his hand and a better idea arrived. Suddenly his breath was ragged. It was something she had always threatened to do and he remembered only too well the paralysing fear as he laid there, her hand around his throat and the knife’s tip hovering a centimetre away. Seeing her vacant glare and not knowing, just plain not knowing if she would let it drop.

See how she likes it , he thought, easing the scalpel closer and closer. Her eyes only bulged wider as it neared and Ben roared with laughter.

‘You’re only making a bigger target,’ he informed her but wasn’t certain and didn’t care if she understood.

The scalpel glinted as he homed in. Jabbing it forward and easing it back, getting closer and closer each time.

And then he touched the tip to the glossy white surface and he ejaculated without even touching his cock. The blade was sharp and as she blinked automatically, her eyelid parted beneath its own weight and a surprisingly strong gout of blood jetted free. Ben pulled the scalpel back again and watched her eye socket flood red. There was something else there too. Something clear and pus-like that oozed from the pin prick he’d made.

The other eye’s pupil was so dilated that Ben could picture himself toppling forward and disappearing into its depths, swallowed whole by the yawning black and suddenly the excited giggle that had been on his lips died as anger flooded him.

It was more a growl than anything that escaped his lips as he rammed the scalpel into it. Felt the eye give, felt the wet spurt hit his face, hot like ejaculate.