25 November, 2013

The Basement - a 223 word microfiction

(Image courtesy : mrmomsunite.blogspot.com via Google)


His hands were red.  The metallic, coppery smell still hung in the air.  It was messy but he still had a lot of time left, with her.  He grinned to himself as he headed towards the kitchen and helped himself to a cold beer.  A slow, wicked grin spread across his face as he imagined the kind of things he had in store for the woman in the basement, over the next few days. 

He was forced to keep her in the confines of the basement because that was the only place in the whole house which was soundproofed.  “The kind of things I imagine and then do to her, I need a soundproof room” he reflected, his face, a rictus.  He had left his collection of tools in the basement.  They were messy too – covered in splotches of red but they had satisfied him today.   He had had to use the drill on her too today, as the knives alone had not given him the usual high.  “Noisy but beautifully effective” he mused, grinning, as his thought fleetingly flitted to the woman, who lay in the basement, without some bits of her torso.

His phone buzzed.


“The museum has brought the deadline forward” the message from his agent said.  “They need the sculpture by the weekend”.

3 voice(s) said so:

Just Like That said...

Thomas Harris (he's one of the authors when reading whom, I feel like being caught in a cobra's gaze - I want to pull away, but am too horrifiedly fascinated to do other than continue to read . . .) I knew it couldn't be the obvious. . . :-D.

Jam said...

Lovely story. Loved how you managed to build up the shudders and shivers in us by talking about 'her' and the drill and the red blotches, only to end up having us realize it was only a sculpture and nothing more morbid

Supriya Kabra said...

that was scary!