Sliced and Diced Read online

  He lived in a bachelor flat. He had an open plan kitchen, a small cupboard and a single bed. I couldn’t see any pictures on the wall, and the walls were painted a stark white. The main piece of furniture was his desk. There were no splashes of colour to be seen anywhere in the room or on him. The only colour scheme was brown and white. He had a box-like thing, which he kept on his desk covered by a sheet. I had this compulsion to know what it was. Why was that one thing so important to him? I decided to spy on him. It was as simple as that.

  I kept my bedroom curtains closed with just a slight crack for me to see out of. I borrowed my brother’s binoculars and I had a reasonable stock of snacks piled up high next to my bed. I was all set for a few days of voyeurism!

  I gave my mother a call on my cell phone and told her about “Mr Strange”. She, of course said I was being silly and that he was probably just a writer or a student and that I needed to mind my own business. I, on the other hand, thought he was just plain batty. There was just something strange about him. For one thing if he were a writer he would have to go out sometime in order to do research. Besides in order to be a writer you have to experience things to write about, unless of course he had an amazing imagination, such as mine. Now if he was a student he had to go to lectures or at least hand in assignments, but he didn’t. So what was he and when did he buy food? That was another thing that confused me. When and what did he eat? I never saw him eat a thing. Not a single morsel.

  He could’ve been a hermit that for some reason suffered from some strange phobia. What interested me was the reason for the phobia or fear. Did something happen to him as a child? Was he locked away in a cupboard or a cellar for years and came out as a half-witted animal? Is that one of the reasons why he locked himself in his flat from dawn till dusk? Is he afraid of people?

  He could also have been a vampire who stalked the streets at night. Maybe that was why there didn’t seem to be any mirrors on the walls. The one in the bathroom that I could see from my window was broken. He could also have been a serial killer who preyed on innocent victims after midnight when I was already fast asleep in bed, unaware of what was going on in the world around me. Another Hannibal Lector; and where was Jody Foster when you needed her.

  My mother thought that he was completely harmless. He probably couldn’t afford to buy any pictures or replace the broken mirror. I discarded my mother’s belief for the plain and simple reason that it was simply too boring an explanation. She just had no imagination. I preferred something a little more intricate, one that was slightly gorier, more fantastic, and definitely a lot more interesting.

  What could he be besides a vampire or a serial killer? The thing on his desk could have been a computer that he just kept covered. But I’d never actually seen him work on it or even uncover it. It could also have been a severed head that he kept as a memento from one of his more memorable victims. I munched on some chips, put the binoculars to my eyes and watched him through the crack in my curtains.

  The moon was high in the sky. Streetlights reflected on the tar of the road below. Tires screeched and I heard the sound of metal on metal. Footsteps pounded on concrete as someone ran. Running away from the scene of a crime. I watched Mr Strange and carried on munching away on my snack collection. He hadn’t moved in hours. My back was killing me. I needed to stretch, but I couldn’t tear myself away from my vigil. I shifted my position. My numb bum regained some feeling in the left cheek. My brother’s binoculars were firmly fitted to my eye sockets. I was not going to move until the mystery of Mr Strange was solved. Nancy Drew move aside.

  His head jerked up. He looked out the window and smiled. He smiled at me. I tried to convince myself that there was no way that he could see me. My bedroom lights were off. There was no way he could see my reflection through the curtains. He was not smiling at me. He was only smiling in my direction. His lights went off. There was a knock at my door. Strange. I turned away from the window and put the binoculars on my bed. I made my way to the front door. My hand was on the doorknob. My lights went out. I heard someone breathing heavily right next to my ear. I felt something wet on my neck. It was pitch black in my tiny flat. I couldn’t see anything. The wetness on my neck was someone’s tongue. My heart started to pound. I wanted to run. I needed to escape. This wasn’t what I had in mind. I felt a sharp pain in my neck as he bit me. I felt weak as my blood left my body through the punctures in my neck. My heart beat slower and slower. Tingles swept through my body.

  I wasn’t ready to go into the light just yet. I had too many things to see and do. I was falling. Falling through the earth. Just falling. Nothing was going to stop my fall. Nothing was going to catch me.

  “Your mystery is now solved.” I heard a voice whisper and the door closed.

  My heart beat a slow dance in my chest. Yes, my mystery was solved. I opened my eyes, rolled onto my stomach. I pulled myself, arm by arm, back towards my bedroom. Back to my window. Back to the binoculars.

  Another mystery waited.

  Slice

  The view from my perch is spectacular. I can see the whole city from up here. But it's not the view most people come to enjoy. This is where teenagers and married men with prostitutes come to play in the backseats of their cars. This is where cars rock and windows mist up. It's also the hunting ground of predators. Predators like me.

  The lights from the cars below look like thousands of ants scurrying around, oblivious that someone’s lights will soon be snuffed out forever. I watch as one of those ants winds its way up the hill towards me. Its lights dim and brighten as it hugs the turns in the steep road. I step behind the tree so its lights don't give my position away. It stops a few paces further, close to the edge. The BMW’s bumper is scratched by one of the branches from a bush lining the edge of the cliff.

  Moving like a silent panther, I sneak in closer. A balding man in his forties hands a rolled up fifty rand note to a young girl of about sixteen. The girl pushes his blubbery stomach out of the way so she can unbuckle his belt, and unzips his pants. The girl looks like she wants to throw up. They don't know that I'm watching, waiting. Lights come around the bend. I duck out of the way just in time. I'm fast, like lightening. I can't be pinned down by lights. I can't be caught by anything. I am all powerful. I am the bringer of death.

  I wait for the second car to stop. 'Love you like a Love Song' by Selena Gomez streams through the speakers of an old battered Beetle. I hate that song. Two teenagers, not much older than eighteen, climb into the backseat. The boy probably just got his driver’s license. They kiss passionately, like only young lovers can. They have yet to experience disappointment in love. Perhaps they will experience the greatest disappointment of their short little lives tonight. I have the power to grant them life or take it away. Who will I allow to live?

  A light breeze rustles the leaves of the bushes around me.

  “That's good. You like sucking my cock don't you, you little bitch.” The balding man groans and holds the girls head down.

  My decision is made. The blade of the panga is sharp and will hack through bone nicely. It'll be a slow, painful end. It's the end he deserves. Using the wooden handle of my panga, I smash the driver’s side window. Glass shatters and the shards cut the girls face. Screams erupt, disturbing my peace of mind. The Beetle's engine stutters to life. Tires squeal. The teenagers escape. I'm not worried. I didn't want their heads as trophies. The trophy I'm after is still within my grasp. The fat man stares at me with scared piggy eyes. His mouth is wide, open like a dead Monkfish just pulled out of the Atlantic. The girl’s screams pull on my nerves.

  Sticking my arm through the hole where the window glass used to be, I unlock the door and pull the man out. The girl jumps out the passenger side door and runs. She runs for her life. Clever girl.

  “Please don't kill me. I've got some money. You can have everything I have.” The man blubbers and begs for his life. His pleas will not sway me. It's pathetic that he hasn't realised that he's going to die and there'
s nothing he can do about it. Only I can change his fate. I consider letting him live as I bring the panga blade down. He puts his arms up to shield his face. The blade slices through his flabby flesh and strikes bone. He screams just like the girl, only a little more high-pitched. Blood sprays the car tires. I bring the blade down on his arm again. His high-pitched scream reverberates in my ear-drums. He sounds like he's been castrated. The thought gives me an idea. I look down. His pants are still unzipped. I re-adjust my position and strike down. Blood pools and seeps through his pants, nourishing the earth. I don't think anyone will be sucking on that again.

  His screams fade as he loses consciousness. Damn! I'd hoped he'd stay conscious longer. I can never tell how much a person will be able to take before they pass out, especially these big guys. The smaller ones seem to last longer. Weird.

  Sirens sound below. The teenagers or that little whore must have called the cops. Bloody cell phones. I miss the good old days when I had time to hunt my prey properly. But I still have some time before they get here. I contemplate waking him up. A few slaps across the face won’t work. I have to use more extreme measures. My grandmother’s smelling salts under his nose have the required effect. The strong smell of ammonia makes me sneeze. He slowly opens his eyes and realisation flickers. The sirens come closer. Something like hope drifts across his face as he hears them too. Hope quickly disappears as I raise the panga. The fear in his eyes, as I bring the panga down on his short fat neck, gives me a thrill. I am all powerful. I am the bringer of death.

  His head rolls a few steps on the uneven ground. The sirens are now only a few minutes away. Picking up my trophy, I walk down the narrow foot path hidden by the shrubs and bushes. Nobody knows about the path. It's my little secret. A smile pulls at the corner of my lips as I look down at my latest acquisition. He'll look good on the wall with the rest of my trophies.

  The Bride

  The old couple walked into the marriage broker's office. They both wore their white mourning clothes, which were starting to turn brown. They'd been wearing the same clothes since their son died. His status as a bachelor had caused his family and the village some concern. The few girls of marriageable age, in the surrounding area, had been paraded in front of him, but none had caught his eye. His mother had also not approved of most of the girls' lineage. His was a bloodline that any family would be proud of, and one that many families would pay a large sum of money for. But the daughters from the better families had already been married off before their son had reached his maturity and now it was too late. They'd waited too long and been too particular in their choice of bride. He'd died alone.

  “Please sit,” the marriage broker gestured at the two chairs opposite his desk. 'What can I do for you?'

  The grieving mother looked to her husband for permission to speak. The husband, aged by his grief, gave his permission with a single nod of his head.

  “My son is lonely in the after-world. He cries out for a wife.” The mother wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “Has your son contacted you from the hereafter?” The marriage broker leaned forward in his seat.

  The mother nodded and wiped another tear from her face. The father examined his shoes.

  “Has he indicated if there is a specific woman that he wishes to have as his bride?” The marriage broker leaned further forward and rested his chin on his cupped hand.

  The mother shook her head.

  “It is most fortuitous that you have come to see me. I have a catalogue of young women that are perfect for these purposes. They will not be missed. They are all second children. I will consult their zodiac charts and find the perfect match for your son. I will deliver the bride for a nominal fee. You could go to one of the other brokers, but I assure you they will not give you the quality that I do. The bride will not have a mark on her, I promise you this. She will be perfect. The other brokers are not as careful as I am.”

  “How much?” The father choked out the question. It tasted foul in his mouth.

  “Twenty thousand Yuan.”

  “What? Have you lost all sense?” The father stood in his outrage. The mother touched her husband's hand and silently implored him. His anger left him and fell back into his seat.

  “When will you be able to deliver her?” The mother asked.

  “Twenty four hours.” The marriage broker said with a self-assured smile.

  “That will give us enough time to prepare for the ceremony,” the mother said.

  “We will pay you the twenty thousand on delivery, but she had better be all that you have promised. If she is not, your wife will have to find a new husband,” the father said.

  “You will not have to worry. The girl will be perfect.” The marriage broker stood and thrust out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  “We do.” The father stood and shook his hand.

  The marriage broker watched the old couple leave and walk down the street, their heads bowed and holding hands. He already knew which of the girls in his catalogue would be perfect. Getting her would be a problem, though. Her father was protective even though she was just a female and a second child. Her father would also not sell her. He was a strange man. Most of the other fathers of the girls on his list would be amenable to a small payment, but not this one. The marriage broker would have to be creative.

  The girl took the same narrow foot path from the well to her father's cottage every morning. That morning was no different. The buckets of water were heavy and she took her rest on a rock. Her shoes were too tight. Her father couldn't afford to buy her a new pair. The marriage broker watched as she took a shoe off and rubbed one sore foot. It was a strangely erotic moment for him. He was a predator stalking his prey, and like any silent and deadly predator he pounced before his prey could bolt. The girl was unconscious and flung over his shoulder before she could put her shoe back on her foot.

  The journey back to the village took a little over an hour on horseback. The girl only woke up once they reached the outskirts. She made a futile attempt at escape. If he hadn't needed her alive for the ceremony, it would have been tempting to kill her. Girls who fought back irked him. The thought that she wouldn't see another sunrise made him feel better. The ceremony would be perfect, even if he had to beat her to an inch of her life. She only had to be breathing; there was nothing in the ancient texts that said she had to be conscious during the rite. But he would be careful not to leave marks, especially on her pretty face. Her face had to be perfect for the ceremony.

  It only took one punch to her stomach to make her compliant. She dressed silently in the red satin dress he'd acquired for the wedding. She was the perfect bride, silent and obedient. Her soon to be in-laws would be pleased and so would her groom. She was well worth the twenty thousand Yuan.

  The moon was at its zenith when they reached the cemetery. Paper effigies of the household products as well as effigies of servants the couple would have had in this life formed a circle around the grave. They would be burnt so that they could join the couple in the afterlife. The groom had been dug up by his family and lay on a bamboo table in his wedding outfit. His decomposing hands were covered by pristine, white gloves. He'd only recently died, so his body was still in the early stages of decay. His parents had lovingly cleared the maggots out of all his orifices. The bride realised what was about to happen when she saw her groom. Her screams irritated the marriage broker and upset the parents. She stopped screaming after one more fist to her midriff.

  The mother examined her soon to be daughter in-law like she would have inspected a horse. She checked the girl’s teeth and hands. Once she'd completed her examination she simply nodded her approval at the marriage broker. The father handed over a pouch containing the agreed upon amount. Their business was concluded. It was now just a matter of conducting the marriage ceremony.

  At the summons of the Taoist priest, the groom's spirit appeared next to his body. The shock of seeing his own corpse made him shimmer out of focus. He almost fled, but the pries
t managed to calm his spirit. The bride was led to stand next to her groom, beside the open grave. She would spend her wedding night and all of eternity with him in their tomb.

  The priest said the words over the bride’s hysterical wailing. They were pronounced husband and wife. The effervescent form of the groom planted a tentative kiss on the bride's tear-soaked lips. The mother force-fed the bride a piece of cake laced with a fatal dose of cyanide while the groom’s body was lowered into the hole. The scent of almonds drifted up the bride's nostrils as she swallowed the morsel. Her breath came in gasps and her heart rate quickened. Her legs buckled under her as she sunk to the ground. The marriage broker stood behind her and pushed her into the grave. Her unconscious body landed on top of her groom’s corpse. The brides limp arm fell over her husband's chest in a grotesque simulation of an embrace. Her body convulsed as the earth was shovelled onto their bodies.

  The spirit of the bride rose out of the grave and joined her groom next to his parents. The bride stared down at her body while it was covered by shovels full of dirt. Her wailing had stopped and was replaced by an eternal silence. She would never again utter a sound that was audible to human ears. She would never again speak to her father or cook him his meals. She would only be able to say goodbye to him in his dreams. The groom put his arms around his shimmering bride. The paper effigies were set alight and as their possessions burned, the couple made their way to the after-world. The mother and father wept tears of joy. Their son was no longer alone in the after-world; he had a companion for all eternity. They were bound together forever. Nothing could separate them, not even the bride.