The Devil

I’m trying something new. Something I’ve never done before – a multiple-part piece.

All the pieces in this series will be categorized under the “The Devil” category.

This, more than anything I’ve ever written, needs your feedback and criticism. Help, please.

 

Cheers,

Nikhil

Advertisements

The Migraine

He hunched over in the alley, relishing his prize. It had been a long, hard hunt, but it was so worth it. Every single minute that he had spent planning it, playing out every possible scenario in his head, seemed like a breeze. It had taken him an entire week, but he had finally got what he wanted.

The headache. The headache was what had started it all.

He woke up one morning, with a splitting migraine. They had plagued him ever since he was a child, but this one was particularly bad. And there was a sound, something that seemed to hammer a nail into his skull every few seconds. It was a yelling, a yapping, something that his sleepy brain couldn’t comprehend. He shook his head, wincing at the shards of pain. It cleared out the cobwebs, and then he understood.

It was the dog. The neighbour’s dog.

The poor thing had gotten three of his teeth removed, and had been in agony for nearly a week. Every few hours, he would howl in pain. And even though everyone hated it, they had known that dog for nearly a decade now. But as he considered the racket, he realized something.

He didn’t care.

He spent the entire day thinking about the dog. And the more he thought about it, the more the anger grew. A night’s sleep. So much pain. He had suffered, and quite a bit at that. And the worst part was that he had suffered alone. He had writhed in agony, while the rest of the world slumbered on. And that dog yapped.

That was the thing he hated the most. No one shared his pain.

But as he planned and plotted, he grew happier. He knew that he was working towards a goal, one that would bring him satisfaction.

And then the day dawned. Glorious and bright. He had another migraine, and oh, how he hated the sun.

He walked into the neighbour’s yard, where the pug’s doghouse was. He put his hand out, letting the little thing sniff him. The dog wolfed down the cookie faster than he would have imagined.

The ADHD medication worked even faster.

He put the sack over the pug, and put him into the camping bag that he had brought along. He then walked towards the skate park. There was an alley where he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed.

He dropped the sack on the gravel, relishing the soft groan that emanated from it. His thirteen-year-old arms were aching from the strain. He never had been as strong as the other kids.

He took his father’s scalpel out of his pocket, and a length of rope out of his backpack. He bound the dog’s limbs firmly, and drew one length of rope across its mouth. He tightened it, opening up the dog’s mouth and and forcing it inside like a bit. He kept tightening, grinning wider as the skin started to tear.

Flesh, he discovered that day, was surprisingly pink.

He picked up the scalpel, and went to work.

When he stopped for breath, there was no skin left on the creature. Of course, he was no surgeon. There were scraps of flesh missing where he had cut too deep, and there were tiny patches where he missed. But he was satisfied.

He lifted the entire bloody carcass in his hands, and started towards the drain. Nearly at the culvert, he stopped and pondered for a second.

And then sank his teeth into the soft flesh of the dog’s belly.

Flesh, he discovered that day, tasted even better uncooked.

He tossed the dog and everything else into the gutter. The backpack, the sack, even his clothes. He changed into the fresh set he had brought with him, and trotted back home.

He slept like a baby that night.

The Devil Is In The Details

Truth be told, I can’t be sure that they were all dead first.

The very first one was a young blonde. I met her at a bar, and she really seemed to like the suit. I told her that I was in town on business, and was looking for a wild night. Something to offset all the important deals that I had been making. She was very, how do you say, enthusiastic. She didn’t seem to mind the slaps, and seemed downright excited about the paddle. She liked it right up to the point where I whipped the nail gun out from under the bed. Four went into the hands and feet before she could move, nailing her to the plywood underneath the mattresses. The next one went vertically through her lips, shutting her up. And then I took my time.

Her skin was the best I had ever tasted.

I met the next one at a gay bar. I gravitated towards him, transfixed by his neon clothing. He said he was doing something called sarging, and that he was the best one around. He could even get gay men to sleep with him, despite being straight. I started talking to him, and he began by giving my backhanded compliments. “Not everyone can pull off such greasy hair” was the first one. My retort was “I’ll blow you in the bathroom”. As soon as we got in there, I turned him around and blindfolded him with the silk tie in my pocket. He grinned, and nibbled on my hand that was in his mouth. The knife cut so deep that I could feel it grinding against bone.

The rhythm matched the beat of the music.

I used to go running with her. The sweat, the energy, the burn. It was my new high. I wanted to get my body in shape, because I had a new obsession. I wanted to see if I could get a woman into my apartment without saying a word to her. I wanted her to follow me in after just looking at my body. I didn’t mind how vacuous or stupid she was. If she followed me based on my body and the look in my eye, I would be satisfied. She wanted a drink of water, because someone had stolen her bottle.

I have three bottles of her blood in my cellar, and I intend on sharing it with the next one.

I went straight to work on the horse. It was the stupidest thing I had ever done, buying a goddamn horse. What was I thinking? But it was the most magnificent creature I had ever laid eyes on, and it was defiant. Thank God I learned how to restrain beasts like that. A tranquilizer, a few pulleys, some tape and a lot of rope. I hacked it apart, one limb at a time. It didn’t smell as bad as I would have imagined.

The pieces hung from my ceiling for four days.

The goth was just begging for it. You can’t go around dressed like that, not in front of me. So I planned something special for her. I put a cast on my arm, and told her I needed help carrying my books. Being the soft-hearted child that I knew she was, she walked straight into my apartment. Boy, a cast full of rocks can really pack a punch. She woke up with hooks in nearly every inch of her body. Every time she’d talk or scream or beg or cry, I’d link a chain into a hook, and pull. By the end, I was pulling every time she breathed.

Stripping her skull would have been easier if she hadn’t been thrashing.

I dissected the next one using a scalpel. I think that speaks for itself.

Call me when you get this. My pizza is here, this may take a while.