God I’m famished. My stomach is beginning to suspect that my throat’s been cut and seldom have I heard it so vocal in its disdain. I wouldn’t mind but I ate a hearty meal no more than two hours ago and thought that would have seen me through ’til bedtime. Yet still these hunger pangs persist and I’d snack on the hide of a scabby horse right now if one were presented me, with or without side garnish. I’ve always had a fast metabolism and applied the “little and often” logic as I understand the importance of fueling up at regular intervals and also how fast lethargy can strike should you fail to do so. Right now I feel downright ravenous and my hankering is not for a garden salad either. You see, I’ve always been something of a carnivore and my staple diet likely comprises around 80% meat. Vegetables do nothing for me whatsoever and, while fruit are considerably less offensive to me, I can’t remember the last time I fulfilled my daily five quota. Slide a nice bloody steak in front of me, on the other hand, and I’ll be licking the plate clean before you can say grace. I’m guessing I would have fared rather well back in the Jurassic period.
The thing is, while I’d never turn my nose up to a succulent sirloin, recently this hasn’t felt quite sufficient. I’m not entirely sure when these fresh yearnings began, or indeed, what caused the sudden change to my dietary requirements. But there’s only one finger-licking enough to sate my appetite nowadays and let’s just say it’s not your over the counter variety. Since developing a fondness for human flesh, preferably straight from the bone, I’ve saved almost seventy bucks every week on my grocery bill. This is all well and good, particularly in our current financial climate, but not so when your cellar is chock-full of dead bodies and the smell is getting harder to disguise with every day that passes. Needless to say, I pack them in ice, just to decelerate the spoiling process. But I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up this charade before riot police come crashing through my front door and shoot on sight. How many civilians is a small town required to misplace before shit grows suspicious? Whatever that figure may be, I’m fairly certain I’ve already surpassed it.
To be fair, I’ve been most selective when choosing my victims and plumped for the deadbeats and nobodies that society shouldn’t miss. In my own little way, I’m doing the community a service here, although I dare say the authorities wouldn’t see things that way. Last week was my birthday so I treated myself to a street hooker and she slid down rather delightfully it has to be said. However, she repeated on me something chronic and I really could’ve done without the dysentery if I’m brutally honest. I guess it’s just an occupational hazard and something I’ll have to get used to if I wish to continue my cannibalistic pursuits. Food preparation has never been my strong suit you see; not when I can get my chomping gear around a living subject. Given that I consider myself courteous, I made sure she was heavily sedated before sinking my incisors into her skull-cap and sucking her brains through the gaping cavity. Indeed, I’m assured that Misty wouldn’t have felt a thing. I may be an anthropophagist, but I’m not a bastard. This isn’t some wild fantasy I’m fulfilling here; it’s necessity and nothing whatsoever personal against any of my quarry.
Which brings me to you and I wish to extend my most humble apologies for snatching you against your will. I trust that your shackles aren’t too uncomfortable and give you my word that it will all be over soon enough. I’d imagine you’re still feeling a tad woozy from the chloroform, and again, I’m frightfully sorry for forcing the issue so. That said, had a strange man you’d never met approached you in the subway and requested to take a bite out of your back fat, then I couldn’t envisage you offering him your blessing. Needs must I’m afraid and it was simply a case of wrong place, wrong time. I understand that will be of scant consolation presently but you can’t blame a guy for making conversation. I have a tendency to run off at the mouth when nervous and feel like I owe you at least some kind of explanation, given the underhand manner in which I made my moonlight acquisition. By now you should know precisely how this will play out in earnest; raw meat is just that much more flavorsome so you’ll not be put through the rigmarole of being slow-roasted. I’d go as far as saying that you won’t feel a thing but that all depends on whether I run out of morphine as I’m currently done to my last dose. My bad.
I know this may sound a little unorthodox but you’re more than welcome to join me for entrée you know. I’ve lovingly prepared a platter of battered goujons using the last scraps from the vagrant I procured last Thursday and nothing would make me happier than sharing them with you. I believe finger food would be the correct term as there’s ten of these tasters in total and the two on the sides may be a touch gristly. Please don’t think I’ll be offended if you decline my offer as I’ve got no problem polishing the lot off in one fell swoop. Just thought it would be only polite to ask. Judging by the look of abject horror in your eyes, I’m pretty sure I’ll be dining alone tonight and it’s no more than I fully expected. You see, while the indigenous tribes of the Amazonian rain forests celebrate this kind of behavior, here in the suburbs people eating is generally frowned upon. Folk conveniently forget that cannibals have needs too and not necessarily all revolving around our appetites. I haven’t been on a solitary date in six months, ever since waking up one morning with a curious craving for raw meat. It gets lonely hiding yourself away from civilization and there aren’t any dating sites that accommodate my kind, or at least, not to my knowledge.
You may recall me mentioning a prostitute earlier and, let me assure you, I treated Misty with tremendous respect right up to the point where I drugged her and commenced slathering her marrow. For your information, she came of her own accord and I gladly reimbursed her to the tune of her somewhat extortionate $200 price tag. I had half a mind to haggle Misty down but then I remembered that I’d get ever last dollar back at the tail-end of our transaction anyway. It’s not like she’ll be running out to buy herself a new pair of heels once I’ve used her Achilles tendons to floss with is it? Charity begins at home I hear and it’s not like rent’s getting any cheaper. I’d get a part-time job if it weren’t for the fact that lunch breaks would be excruciating. What am I supposed to do? Take a packed lunch every day? Too dicey by far, I need to keep a lid on my exploits or else run the risk of blowing the whole operation. Benefits is the only way I see; in exchange for bi-weekly face-to-face appointments which consist mainly of curbing my desire to lunge forth and take a chunk out of my advisor’s cranium, I bank a cool $300 every calendar month and my landlord remains off my back.
I’m running off at the mouth again aren’t I? Do me a favor will you and give me a sign every time I go off topic. I know you’re bound and gagged but the eyes are the prize after all. Speaking of which, they are you know. Quite the delicacy eyeballs and strangely similar in taste and texture to lychees, provided you trim away the optical nerves pre-consumption. Regrettably, they’re little more than after dinner mints in the greater scheme of things and ill-equipped to stave off the hunger. But after tearing through all that sinew, it’s nice to conclude with a palate cleanser and they serve that purpose frightfully well. Fret not if you’re at all squeamish with regards to eyes as you’ll be stripped to the bone some time before I produce my stainless steel ice-cream scoop. I assure you that it sounds worse than it is; once I’ve worked my way through your nerve endings, you’ll be blissfully unaware of my carving prowess. It’s the least I can do as you’re essentially my guest tonight and I have to be attentive to my guest’s needs or else come across the most ghastly host. Word has an uncanny knack of travelling fast in small towns such as ours. Before I know it, I’ll be hot topic at PTA meetings and condemned as a pariah soon after. Mine is a lifestyle choice, no more or less, and I’d much rather go it solo through personal choice than be chased down the street by lynch mobs every time I pop to the local five and dime for a bottle Frank’s hot sauce.
Did you hear that by the way? In case you haven’t been acquainted yet, that distant jingle you may discern is my dinner bell and denotes the start of this evening’s planned banquet. Tell you what, I’ll dim the lights to create the right ambience as atmosphere is critical and I’d much rather send you out on a high. Which reminds me, blink twice if you’d care to impart any final worse before the feast kicks off in earnest… that’s one… and there’s your second… your wish is my command. Bear with me a moment while I release the straps and remove the 8-ball from your mouth and then I promise you, I’m all ears. Just to be clear, you’re not likely to scream for help or anything unruly like that are you? It’s just that the walls in this place are wafer thin and Mrs. Bloom from number 7 could hear a pin drop in Bangladesh. Tak about nosey neighbors; I’d add her to the menu options but her arthritic joints would no doubt taste ropy and she’d barely weigh 100 lbs dipped in goose fat since being diagnosed with an overactive thyroid back in February. So what do you say? Do we have ourselves a deal? Loose lips sink ships remember. There you go, feel free to say grace while you’re speaking your last. It would seem obscene not to give thanks for such an elaborate spread. Needless to say, you have my full and undivided.
“YOU CRAZY FUCKING CUNT! HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!”
Now that was a decidedly stupid thing to do wasn’t it? Did I not make myself abundantly clear? Were my instructions not implicit enough? I distinctly recall informing you that screaming would not be permitted, yet you chose to disrespect my wish entirely and do the exact opposite. If I sound a little crotchety at present then you’re damn right I’m not best pleased. Have I not been completely upfront from the offset? Honestly, I invite you into my home, make you the star guest at my dinner party, pour my heart out about my innermost secrets, and this is how you repay me. The Ya̧nomamö tribe taught me to accept my punishment for acting out of turn during my two-week Peruvian vacation. If they were here now to witness this despicable show of insolence, then I have a fair idea what their advice would be – to make you die slowly. It’s lucky for you that I’ve integrated so well into society since my return as I have no intention of dishing out that kind of harsh discipline. When all is said and done, you’re still my guest, and I must treat you accordingly. Actually fuck it, I’m done with playing host with the most. Where’s that stainless steel ice-cream scoop?