Good Home Cookin': A Novel of Horror (6 page)

“
You’ve been out for quite
some time.”

His tongue felt like a piece of rough
sandpaper and his mouth was dry. Answering this very attractive
woman was out of the question. Had the entire ordeal been a dream?
Could he be that lucky? He tried raising a hand to touch the woman
in front of him to see if she was real and the hard reality of the
situation came crashing back in on him like a rogue wave. Without
warning, she ripped open his shirt and tilted her head as she took
in his physique.

“
You called for your mom a
little bit ago. Were you dreaming of her?”

Until I woke to find that
my life has become a fucking nightmare.
There was only one door that he could see out of this room.
Not being able to see behind him limited his options to the front
and sides. No windows either. How the hell was he supposed to get
to out of this place?

A searing, sharp pain in his lower
left abdomen caused him to almost see stars as he twisted and tried
desperately to retreat from it. That just made the woman smile all
the more.

“
Stop squirming. You don’t
want me hitting anything important do you? I just need to make a
small incision so we can have our base ingredient for the
broth.”

A strangled cry escaped his lips as
she pulled the knife back out. Blood began to trickle from the
three inch incision into a pot she’d put under the cut.

“
Don’t make too much
noise,” she said teasingly, holding up the rag.

“
Fuck you!” Dylan
responded with all the defiance he could muster at the
moment.

Her eyes took on a mischievous glint
as she maneuvered herself on his lap so that she straddled him,
bringing her face close to his. Balling up the rag, she put it back
into his mouth, and then lightly patted his cheek. He breathed in
her perfume and in any other situation wouldn’t have minded their
current position. For a brief moment, he’d considered ramming his
face into hers but feared the reaction of the rest of the group. A
scowl would have to suffice for now.

“
You are so cute,” she
cooed, lightly trailing her hand down his face, stopping to rest
against his chest. He couldn’t help but cringe at her touch. What
was wrong with these people? She hummed to herself as her fingers
crawled their way down to his stomach. His flesh broke out in
goosebumps and he couldn’t help but shiver. The farther down her
hand travelled, the closer she moved her body to his. Mere
centimeters separated them and she smiled seductively at him. There
was no denying that she was stunning but the fact that she was
clearly insane was hard to forget, even when she was sitting on his
lap.

Her smile widened as her fingers found
his wound and pushed their way in. His eyes widened in pain and
shock and he bit down viciously on the rag.

“
We need this to be a
little bigger to get more from it,” she said as she widened his cut
with her fingers.

She picked up the pot and held it
directly under the now four inch slit in his side. Pushing down on
his abdomen above the wound increased the stream of blood. His
blood filled a third of the pot already and she still didn’t seem
satisfied. Resting her head against his chest she twirled her
bloody fingers through his chest hair.

“
Saturday’s tend to be one
of our busier days, so we have to make sure to have enough soup to
last us,” she purred as she continued to play with his
hair.

Dylan’s vision blurred and he shook
his head trying to fight away the light headedness. Sitting up from
his chest, she gave a little giggle. He watched in horrid
fascination as she sucked his blood off of her fingers one at a
time. Eyes closed, she made a sigh of delight at the
taste.

“
Elena, how many times
have I told you not to play with the food?”

She made a frustrated sound at the
tone in her father’s voice, and stood up from Dylan’s lap. Upon
seeing Jameson, Dylan started straining against the ropes again.
The knife from earlier was back in his hand and tapping against the
side of his face as he studied Dylan. He nodded to Elena, who with
a frown on her face, left the room, visibly upset at being
interrupted.

“
Close the door behind
you,” Jameson said, never shifting his gaze.

With a wink at Dylan, she closed the
door, locking him in the room with the mad man.

Chapter 15

Elena stood with her back against the
door for a few seconds until she heard the music start. The blood
sloshed in the pot as she made her way into the kitchen. The
vegetables for the stew were laid out on the counter next to the
stove waiting to be cut; all of her favorites. Carrots, celery,
onions, and tomatoes. It wouldn’t take but a half hour to get the
soup going, and at that point she would require the meat to add in.
A scream from the store room was a sure sign that she wouldn’t have
too long to wait. Her pants hung on the edge of the counter where
she’d left them and she eased herself back into them.

Cutting the vegetables was the boring
part but someone had to do it. Her mother was putting the
tablecloths on the tables while cleaning and arranging the dining
area to her satisfaction. Once that was done Eleanor would start on
her pies.

Turning the heat on, she placed the
pot on the stove and stirred lightly. Checking over her shoulder to
make sure she was alone, she couldn’t resist a little taste. Elena
was the only member of her family to partake of the food they
prepared. It had remained her secret but had almost been uncovered
on a couple occasions. She hadn’t always harbored a taste for human
flesh.

* * *

Jameson and Gabe had just returned
from their “outing” and had brought in a woman who looked to be in
her early thirties. This was their fifth time and it was becoming
easier and they were beginning to get in a routine. Jameson and
Gabe found and brought in the meat. Eleanor and Elena worked on the
appetizers and desserts. The preparation of the meat was left to
Jameson. He had the stomach for it. Gabe was the one given clean up
duty.

Her mother’s arms were covered in
flour and dough. “Elena, tomorrow’s special is the stew. Would you
mind getting the base for the soup? I’m behind with these
pies.”

With a quick nod, Elena grabbed a
large pot, and stopped at the knife rack. This was the first time
her mother was entrusting this task to her. A surge of pride and
confidence swelled within her and her eyes lit up as she withdrew a
slender, five inch blade.

Her brother and father passed her in
the hallway without a word. A look of concentration was displayed
on Jameson’s face that played in direct contrast to Gabe’s look of
resignation. A part of him didn’t agree with what they did but he
was too afraid of their father to ever say or do anything against
his will.

Emotions were something that Elena
seemed to lack. At least when it concerned her feelings towards the
people they murdered. She felt no sadness or remorse over any of
it. She was her father’s daughter through and through having
inherited his gift of lacking a conscience.

The woman’s head remained down as
Elena crossed the threshold, tools in hand. She couldn’t help but
pout a little. It wouldn’t be fun unless they were awake. Elena was
patient to a certain extent and if the woman didn’t wake
momentarily… there were persuasive ways that came to her
mind.

Lifting the woman’s head showed a
darkening bruise over the left side of her face. Jameson must have
done or said something to irritate Gabe. Pressing with her fingers,
not so gently, brought a weak groan from the woman and her head
moved away.

“
There we go,” she
whispered.

Blond hair obstructed her face as her
head went back down.

“
Oh no you don’t,” Elena
declared, as she lifted the woman’s head.

One slap rocked her head to the side
and brought her fully awake. The fierceness in the woman’s eyes
forced Elena back a step. She was accustomed to fear, desperation,
or confusion emanating from their victims but not strength. Had she
not been so taken aback she may have predicted what came
next.

A thick wad of spit connected with her
face. Shock froze her for a few seconds. Maybe she was wrong
earlier to think that she was devoid of any emotion because her
stomach churned like a tea kettle with a burning rage at the
moment.

Forty five seconds later, the woman
was dead. She didn’t even have the chance to release a proper
scream, just a series of pained grunts before her final breath
wheezed out. Blood oozed from eight puncture wounds and six slashes
across her stomach, breasts, and neck. With a morbid fascination,
she watched the light vacate her eyes and felt the anger drain away
from her.

The knife fell from numb fingers to
clatter noisily on the floor. She’d never lost control before.
Apparently she was capable of emotions just not sympathy and
compassion. Anger came quite readily to her.

Her senses returned and she rushed
forward with the pot she had dropped in her explosion of murderous
rage. She had multiple options for placement of the pot but her
concern was the blood running out. Content with the blood she’d
collected, Elena experienced another first. Worry. Her father was
going to be livid. A waste of perfectly good meat.

Maybe not.

If she called for her father perhaps
he could work fast and get what was needed. She wet her lips and a
coppery taste filled her mouth. Some of the woman’s blood had
sprayed onto her. Lines and dots of red decorated her clothes and
body.

To her surprise, she found herself
lifting the pot to her mouth. The urge to drink was too powerful to
fight and she gave in. She’d always been somewhat curious as to
what it would taste like. Not once had a customer complained so it
couldn’t be bad. Rivulets of red coursed down her chin unnoticed as
she drank.

Footsteps coming down the hall
interrupted her twisted taste testing and she hastily put the pot
down. Wiping her mouth, she worked up fake tears while fabricating
a story in her mind that would help absolve her of any
punishment.

* * *

Relishing the memory, she started
cutting the vegetables for the stew. Another scream at a higher
octave brought a crooked smile to her face. It wouldn’t be long now
before her father presented her with the meat.

Chapter 16

“
You’ve given us quite the
night and almost made a mess of things. Not to worry though, this
isn’t the first time someone’s tried to escape.”

Jameson’s gaze fell on the clock on
the shelf to his right. Four am. Still seven hours until opening
time. His back was to Dylan as he arranged his collection of tools.
Eagerness and excitement filled him as he heard the young man
moving in his restraints. A look over his shoulder showed he was
almost fully recovered from the tranquilizers.

“
I like to listen to music
while I work. I hope you don’t mind.”

Hold the Line by Toto filled the
silence and he hummed along.

“
Kidnapping and torturing
people is work for you. Damn, I’d hate to see what you do for fun
around here.” Dylan said with sarcasm, shaking his head.

Jameson chose to ignore the comment
and wiped his knives down one final time.

“
You do realize people are
going to come looking for me. My friends are probably already on
their way here.”

A coughing fit took hold of Dylan and
he tasted blood in his mouth. Not a good sign.

A deep laugh echoed through the room
and Jameson’s face reddened as he turned around to face Dylan. He
slapped his side, took a breath and continued his charade of
laughter. As the last of the tranquilizer left his system, it was
replaced with a white hot anger that reinvigorated him and he spoke
loud enough to break through the mocking gales of
laughter.

“
Laugh it up while you can
asshole. I may be as good as dead but I swear to God if I get out
of these ropes I will kill every one of you sick fucks!”

The laughter stopped
abruptly.

Dylan licked his lips and stared
defiantly at Jameson. For a moment nothing happened. No one had
ever spoken to him that way and he was a bit shocked.

“
One thing that my kids
were taught early on was respect. A lesson that you obviously
failed to learn,” Jameson said softly as he walked over, a large
carving knife held in his hand.

He knelt down to the side of Dylan and
cut thin lines into the skin of his stomach. Rational thought went
out the window along with part of Dylan’s sanity as he realized
this could be the end.

Jameson’s attention was solely on
outlining the sections of meat he was going to remove. Dylan’s head
collided with Jameson’s face in a wet smack. Holding the left side
of his face, Jameson staggered away. No broken nose but Dylan was
satisfied at what little pain he could dish out.