Journalstone's 2010 Warped Words for Twisted Minds (10 page)

He continued like his only concern was cleaning up the blood of my beautiful sibling from their clothes. We were nothing more than a meal for this sick jerk, and he was only worrying about cleaning up.

This was the point in time where I lost all hope. I no longer felt there was anyone to help us, nobody cared what happened. We were all sitting here with nothing left to do but await our death.

It might sound impossibly difficult to lose all hope, but how many family members can you see die, eaten right before your very eyes, before you have to face the reality of your end? My life is over, let these monsters do with me what the will, I thought to myself.

 I spent the next several days watching more of the same until finally I was the only one left. They were not all my brothers and sisters. I am not even sure where some of them came from, but I noticed a few times when the father and girls came home, they had others with them.

They talked about purchasing some, but somehow the ones they bought didn’t taste as good as my family did. Apparently my family was delectable, and even the little girl chimed in how much better a flavor we had.

It is sick beyond belief to murder and torture somebody. It is even more detestable to talk about killing them and how much you enjoyed it. It is beyond anything I could ever imagine to hear a 7-year-old girl talk about the taste in her mouth as she swallowed somebody with whom I had grown up.

I wondered how they would feel. What would they think if I casually sliced them into little pieces, eating them while they were forced to sit and watch?

What would this father go through if he had to stare straight ahead as his daughter was chopped up and eaten while we all sat around and talked about how good she tasted. I knew I had no chance of escaping, but in my mind I still left a small bit of hope that somehow, someway, I might be saved.

Sadly, it is not meant to be, and today, I now face what I have feared and been forced to observe. Today it is to be my turn. Today, my life is going to end.

The father announces that today he will make some cheeseburgers for the girls. He coldly states that, with me in attendance, he is sure the meal will have a delicious flare that has been lacking for the past several months. I have no real understanding of what is making tonight special, but I begin to fathom the possibilities of a surprise that he is so thoughtfully instigating.

After he spends a few minutes admiring my skin and complementing my complexion, he moves to the bathroom where he quickly freshens up, changing out of his sweaty T-shirt. But, he leaves his shorts on for what appears the remainder of the evening. He is always in a little bit of a hurry on nights when the girls are here, getting the meal prepared so he can spend as much time with them as possible.

I hear him in the kitchen as he turns on the oven, mashing the hamburger into patties. I feel myself getting caught up in his exuberant energy as he is now quickly banging pots and pans. It is with surprise when he approaches me directly for the second time this evening. I now admire the strength that he possesses as he picks me up rather easily with one hand, carrying me with him, carefully setting me way up high on the countertop.

I feel very little as he detaches me from my slumbering state of comfortableness, and I contemplate all the possibilities that the evening might hold. I don’t understand the large slab of wood he places me on, and the large knife sitting next to the block has me somewhat unsettled. I have now known this man for several months, and it is with a little trepidation that I watch him fluidly navigate on his continued course. Why would he insist on my staying put, and why can’t he simply take my life quickly?

He, again, compliments me on my beautiful skin tone and how my perfectly proportioned figure sits stoically, entrusting him with my life as I have done with no other. He hovers over me, staring into me like he owns me. I feel my nerves beginning to perk, detecting a hint of something in his voice. That should have been enough to warn me of the impending dilemma quickly approaching. I feel I know what is going to happen, and the scream that wells up inside my physical being is stifled by his hand as it holds me firmly in place.

With his fingers wrapped completely around me, keeping me from moving in any direction, he laughingly states how delicious I look and what an honor it will be for him to have me for dinner. Not have me to dinner, but have me for dinner. The subtle dynamics of this difference vastly underscore the meaning of what is about to occur. I remember the times I spent in his family room with his children keeping him company and holding my breath, waiting patiently for their arrival. I am a part of this family, a member of this group who loves and needs love as much as any other living thing would.

As he raises the knife slowly arching it downward, I realize how little the father really cares. He has pretended to like me, spent time talking to me, nurturing me to a healthy full complete existence. But in the end, it is all for his own personal, carnal pleasure.

The knife enters me, slicing downward, cutting through me as if I am soft as butter. It doesn’t feel as I had imagined as the life fluids begin draining from my insides onto the slab of wood that had only recently been placed like a coffin awaiting my arrival. He does this again and again as I no longer struggle but fall into sliced pieces like dominos on a playing board.

Once this is complete, he throws both the top and bottoms of my physical remains in the left drain of the sink where the hot water runs slowly over me, cascading down what is left of my ripped body. I now lay in pieces, a mere semblance of what I had once been, and I realize I am only going to remain conscious for a few more short seconds. Through the fog, I hear a knock on the door and realize the kids must be here, as they too are apparently going to partake in the carnage of my frail, soft being.

The last words that I hear uttered come from the father in his excited, happy tone. I had grown so accustomed to his voice through the many stories I had heard him reading out loud to the two little ones.

He uttered almost under his breath, “Kids, we are finally going to eat one of the freshest, most scrumptious tomatoes I have ever grown. I just finished slicing it for the cheeseburgers, and dinner will be ready in just under five minutes.”

10 cups balsamic vinegar

8 cups olive oil

1 1/2 cups brown sugar

2 large minced onions

6 Tablespoons oregano

8 teaspoons black pepper

8 teaspoons salt

It took more marinade than I thought it would to cover all of her. Though, of course, she was the biggest piece of meat I’d ever had the pleasure of preparing. She had to be at least 250 to 300 pounds, which was all the better for my tastes.

Most food connoisseurs hate the excess fat on their meat, but then again they’ve never had the pleasure of tasting another human. Our fat doesn’t get tough when you cook it like pork fat does. In fact, it almost melts in your mouth as you savor the flavor.

I’ve been a killer for quite some time now, although I hate the term “killer” or “murderer.” I find myself to be better than that. I am a hunter. It started when I was around 6 years old. Small animals like squirrels and mice were my first prey, of course. Then I moved up to dogs, cats, and the occasional legal hunting trip. Finally, I began hunting the ultimate game – humans.

My first was when I was 18. He was a tall, handsome, blond jock I knew from high school. He was also mean, conceited, and got what was coming to him.

Men are fun to kill, but hunting another woman is a real treat. Men are easy to get alone. Offer them sex, and they’re yours. A woman on the other hand requires much more cunning and skill to separate her from the herd. It makes them so much more fun to hunt!

And while hunting is exhilarating, the actual act of killing my prey is where the real reward is found. Killing them without being caught forces you to be in total control of everything around you – your planning, timing, and execution has to be done just right in order to get away with your deeds successfully. There is no better feeling in the world than being in complete control.

I only started eating human meat about 6 months ago. I’d never had the desire to consume my victims until I had bear cub for the first time. An old friend of mine had been hunting in the woods and had brought his catch back for dinner. I didn’t know what I was eating in the beginning. I had assumed it was beef or deer, but it was much leaner and tasted absolutely gorgeous.

When he told me it was a little bear cub he had killed himself, the question of what human meat tasted like first entered my mind. I mean, in a way it would be no different than us eating any form of meat. People have been hunting wild game for centuries in order to provide food for their families. I simply hunted a different kind of game.

The initial introduction was quite a pleasurable experience. I had gone out hunting, as I usually do on Fridays, and met up with a man named Jeffery. He was tall, lean, and a bit hairy for my tastes, but when you hunt the prey I do, there won’t always be a 14 point buck standing right in front of you. Sometimes, you have to settle for a doe.

That experience began what was soon to be a normal routine for me. It’s a simple one, really, for males. I lure a prospect to my house with the promise of sexual activity, chloroform him, then I usually take my time in disposing of my prize.

But that first time, I was trying something new and wanted to dive right into it. I killed him quickly and proceeded to carefully cut into the muscles of his chest and legs, filleting him if you will. Usually, the screams of agony from my victims make me shiver with joy, but that night it was the anticipation of tasting him that excited me.

Even with him being lean and fit, he did still have some soft spots. We all have a little fat on us. I was a little surprised to see how yellow human fat is. It was almost as golden as corn! I was also delighted to learn his meat was odorless, like a fresh swordfish steak.

I, of course, had cut into a human flesh before, but I had never taken the time to notice these little things. Usually, I would focus on the kill and the screams, but tonight I got into my element and really savored my prey with an exciting new purpose. It was extremely liberating.

I usually like my meat medium rare, but I wasn’t sure exactly how to prepare human flesh for consumption. I have since learned from experience that it can be prepared and seasoned the way you would a steak.

Since it was my first time orchestrating a feast of human steak, the filet came out a little dry but had a lovely natural flavor, almost like a mixture of pork and beef with a little more elasticity to it. I found it went really well with a nice glass of Cabernet.

Being that I was raised in the country, I thought it would be a fun idea to make some pork rinds for an after dinner snack, only with Jeffery’s skin instead of a pig.

It tasted quite delectable, but unfortunately, the exorbitant amount of body hair became a slight problem. I kept getting little pieces of the black curly fibers stuck in my teeth. After that debacle, I decided to shave a couple sections of his skin and freeze it with the rest of the leftovers. I could always try again another day.

A normal sized human has enough meat to feed me for a good few weeks if I cut it off the bone correctly. The meat lasts longer if the person is a bit larger seeing as I don’t mind the excess lard. I actually find it most appealing. And, that brings us back to whom we have on tonight’s menu.

Cristy was the name on her driver’s license. She is a 29-year-old woman whom I met online a few months back. As soon as I saw her deliciously plump frame, I knew I had to have her. It actually took longer than I thought it would to convince her to meet me.

Usually, I hunted young, thin, attractive women who would meet up with you for drinks the same day you added them as a Facebook friend. Most of them were “models” looking for attention or simply party girls looking for a good time, but Cristy was different.

She wasn’t particularly attractive nor was she thin. She was round in both the gut and the face with short, dyed red hair. Her natural brown or dirty blonde color was only visible at her roots. I think what I had found most appealing was her rosy red cheeks. They were so plump and juicy looking. I figured I could make a lovely roast out of them with some fresh potatoes and baby carrots.

From the first moment I started talking to her, I realized she was self-centered and egotistical, despite her obesity. She talked about her new projects and endeavors in the film industry. All she had really done was make poor quality, low budget films that wouldn’t even go viral on YouTube.

Of course, her success, or lack thereof, didn’t matter to me one bit. My sole concern was an angle – using anything I could to get her where I wanted her – on my kitchen table.

I started talking about a “story” I had written and convinced her she would be perfect in it. She claimed to work in all genres, but said horror was her favorite.

I sent her a quick typed up summary of my first killing, portraying it as fiction of course, and she ate it up. She said she would love to work with me on making it into a “high quality, indie production.”

We talked back and forth on the details of where she wanted to shoot and how she thought it should look. I let her drive all of the suggestions, since I knew it would never actually be made. Plus, I wanted her to feel like she was in control of the situation. It was a very frustrating process. All I really wanted to do was taste her, to filet her juicy, plump cheeks. I had this deep, uncontrollable desire to have her as quickly as possible.

After three months of discussing production details of what she said would be her “breakthrough film,” she finally agreed to meet with me. Of course, she wanted it to be in a public setting to be on the safe side. Luckily for me, she didn’t live that far away from the bar where I usually did my hunting.

I suggested it to her, and she agreed to meet me there at 8 p.m. My mouth started watering at the thought of finally seeing my dinner face-to-face. Just imagining being able to glide my knife through her tender calves and her plump middle section made the wait that much more difficult and exciting.

She said she would be wearing a red headband with black skulls on it just to be sure I recognized her, but I had been studying the structure of her face for so long that I could never forget it. We both logged offline, and I readied what I would need to get her home. She told me she wasn’t a big drinker so I knew that simply getting her intoxicated wouldn’t do the trick. I packed a small bottle of crushed sleeping pills into my purse and headed out the door.

When I got to the bar, she was sitting at a little table in the back wearing her red headband. I waved hi to her, and she jumped up to greet me, almost knocking the table over with her massive gut. She gave me a strong embrace, and we casually sat down to talk.

I knew I would have to endure a conversation with her just long enough to catch her off guard. But I found it more difficult to hear her banter on about herself face-to-face than online.

It was the fact that she was right in front of me, ready for the taking, but I couldn’t attack just yet. We discussed her previous work, her experience as a “film maker,” and her thoughts about our wonderful project together, along with other mindless chatter. It was all about “her.”

Finally, after an hour of agreeing with all her idiotic ideas, I proposed a toast. Again she reminded me how she didn’t like to drink, but I said she had to have at least one quick shot to celebrate her upcoming success. She caved in and I headed to the bar, equipped with my bottle of crushed sleeping pills concealed in the palm of my hand.

I ordered two Lemon Drop shots and ever so slyly emptied the contents of my bottle into one of them. I then went back to the table and sat the spiked shot glass in front of Cristy. We raised both of our drinks in the air and made a quick toast to success and good fortune. As soon as she gulped the whole shot in one mouthful, I knew my fortune was about to change for the better. I, then, patiently waited for the pills to kick in.

When she started to become quite groggy, I asked one of the men in the bar to help me carry my friend to the car. Of course, they all thought she simply had one too many drinks. Only I knew better. My mouth was salivating with the sweet reward of a successful hunt.

As the men and I got her into the front seat of my car, I couldn’t help but giggle in delight. The idiots could never grasp the thoughts racing through my mind and the joy I was about to experience.

The drive home seemed like it took forever. So many red lights impeded my destiny with this succulent morsel.

Cristy had completely passed out and had even begun to snore very loudly. Her head lay in a crooked angle, dangling in an uncomfortably odd way.

I finally pulled into my driveway and entered the garage. I closed the garage door and stopped in my tracks. Remember when I said planning was important? Well in all of my excitement, I forgot to plan how to get my dinner, who weighs a substantial amount more than I can carry, into my kitchen.

I looked around to see if there was anything I could use to move her. Luckily the stars must have been aligned in my favor for what did I see as I turned around? A large blue tarp. I grabbed it and laid it out as flat as I could beside the passenger door. I grabbed Cristy by the collar of her dark red shirt and pulled her onto the tarp below. She hit it, not with a loud thud, but with more of a flop.

I closed the car door and got a good grip on the corners of the tarp. I began to pull her towards the door to my house. Damn, was she heavy! The hardest part was getting her over the steps leading from the garage to my little hidden sanctuary inside. She almost slipped off, but I stopped, repositioned her body, and pulled her slowly into my living room.

As soon as I got her safely inside, I closed the door to the garage and sat on my couch to catch my breath. I needed the break before I began pulling her again. Next time I decide to hunt a super-sized meal, I’ll remember to buy a large wheelbarrow or wagon first!

As I sat there, staring at her large plump frame, I thought of all the possibilities there were for me to use each of her body parts. Her fat could be rendered to flavor other meats. Her skin was far less hairy that Jeffery’s had been, so it would fry up beautifully. And of course, her meat could be used it so many delicious recipes.

For tonight’s dinner, I was thinking a nice roast with her cheeks would be lovely. I could even make it a stew if I quickly whipped up gravy to slowly cook the meat in. The possibilities were endless. I, finally, resumed my quest and pulled her into the kitchen.

When I looked at my table, I realized I had a new problem; how do I get her hoisted into position? Usually, my catches are light enough to stand up and plop them right onto the surface, but Cristy was going to be a challenge.

I sat her up and put one arm underneath each of hers. I tried to pick her up that way, but it just wasn’t going to work. I flipped her over onto her stomach and lifted her front by pushing her onto her knees. While I had her in that position, I quickly got myself under her and wrapped her arms over my shoulders, like a piggyback ride. It took everything I had, but I got her up off the floor and plopped her onto the table.

She lay across the middle and, I swung both of her legs up and over. I had to catch her head before she fell off and placed both of my arms under hers. I pulled her into the final position so that she lay in just the right spot. I grabbed a kitchen chair and sat down beside her to catch my breath.

I was slightly disappointed in myself. I had ample time to plan for all of this, yet the thought of how to get her into the house and onto the table never crossed my mind. It was definitely a learning experience I could take and use the next time I hunt for a full-meal deal.

I went back out to the garage and grabbed a large pile of rope to secure Cristy’s hands and feet. I first tied them together, and then I tied a piece from her hands to the floor, doing the same with her feet, so she wouldn’t be able to flail around.

Being that I’ve been killing for quite some time now, I installed special metal hoops into my kitchen floor to secure my catches. The table was also secured to the floor. The only thing I couldn’t figure out how to do myself was setting up a drain directly under the table for all the blood. The first couple of killings, I had a huge mess to clean up, and it wasn’t fun at all. I investigated the process of installing a drain and realized it just would not work in the floor.