The Damned Writers Group Forum "BLINdSIDEd" ©2..

BLINdSIDEd

�2008 Kirsten Ashenbrenner. All Rights reserved.

For a few minutes the naked girl�s face remained blue.

Her neck was ripped raw from the rope that throttled her and a small line of blood ran down along her breast, tickled her, and collected on her right n****e before each drop fell onto the bed sheet. She was on her belly with Jake�s right knee pressed like a tree trunk on the top of her tailbone. He tugged with both of his fists on the nylon that was wrapped around her neck and her back was arched like the bottom of a rocking chair. The last thing she saw before Jake slid his hungry boldness into her was the multiple shades of flaky paint on the ceiling. Then she blacked out.

The few minutes she and Jake were joined together were not as lovers, but as predator and prey. He became more and more excited he called out, �You b***h, you dirty little w***e,� while he alternatively tugged and released the rope, he thrust his pelvis and jerked his arms back and forth. Then he planted his hands at each side of her lifeless body. He finished his ritual and fell atop the girl, still grasping the nylon rope, exhausted; he slipped to her side and fell into an uncontrollable deep asleep.

~

Jake dreamed of an earlier time and a girl named Sylvia, who had reportedly committed suicide by hanging herself in her bedroom closet at the age of thirteen. He thought he was in love with her; she had allowed him to kiss her for his twelfth birthday. He walked her home after eighth grade English class one cool spring day. Her father had died the year before in a motorcycle accident and her stepmother was working at the nearby plastic factory.

After Jake and Sylvia had entered her house they took sodas from the fridge and grabbed a bag of chips, went up to her room and talked while listening to her radio.
Jake told her it was his birthday and she said, �I really didn�t know and I don�t have a gift, and I feel bad, but happy birthday Jake.�
He asked her, �Will you give me a kiss for my birthday?� She shrugged and agreed, their lips touched, mouths opened, but he attempted to French kiss her, he bear-hugged her and then as he released her he brought his hands around and rubbed along her flat chest and small n*****s.
�Stop it, Jake,� she said. But he wasn�t dismayed.
�Okay, okay,� He said, as he backed away, thinking: I wonder what her privates look like.

�I�ll take off my shirt, if you take off your blouse,� he said.
She rolled her eyes and removed her blouse and bared her chest. He was surprised when she agreed. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor.
And then, �I�ll take off my pants, if you take off your skirt,� he said.
And again she surprised him when she agreed. Silently, nervously, they both undressed.
He was excited and pressed on, �I�ll take off my underpants, if you take off yours.�
Sylvia shrugged and smirked. �Okay; I will, if you will.�

And they sat down and removed their shoes, socks and underwear. They stood up, naked, and smiled as they eyed each other�s private parts.
Jake pointed to his and said, �You can touch mine if you let me touch yours.�
Sylvia waved her arms, wiggled, and walked toward Jake and touched him. He was excited and touched Sylvia between her legs. She trembled and jerked back as if suddenly frightened. Jake lunged at her and she fell back, hit her head on the floor and had the wind knocked out of her. Jake leaned over and groped the inside the warmth between her legs, fondled her until she came to and screamed. He covered her mouth with his hands, but she continued to squeal.
 �Shut up; shut up; goddamnit!� He grabbed her skirt and forced it over and into her mouth and piled it onto her face and leaned forcibly onto her as she kicked wildly, trying to yell for help.
�Shut up; you b***h.� He felt an enormous energy come from within him and suddenly his body jerked and jerked as Sylvia flailed her arms and legs about, until she slowly stopped and her arms and legs lay limp on the floor.
Jake came to, back to reality, mentally adjusting the inner compartments of his personality and fell to Sylvia�s side, dragging her skirt with him. He felt wet and cold between his legs; he glanced down and saw his mess and wiped there with her skirt. He sat up and tossed the skirt onto Sylvia�s face, covering it.
 �I can�t look at you anymore,� he called out, �You dirty little s**t,� to no one. When he heard himself he began to laugh. He laughed uncontrollably, until he lost his breadth. He gasped and inhaled deeply, exhaled and yawned with a great hunger for oxygen and open spaces. He got up and surveyed Sylvia�s body and her room.
He became calm and thought: I could toss her off the roof and it would look like an accidental death. But they would wonder: why was she on the roof to begin with; that�s no good. I know; I could just put her in bed; she died in her sleep. But an autopsy would probably show that she was strangled. His eyes grew large. That�s it! I have to show that she was strangled: she hung herself; that�s it, that�s it! This�ll be easy. She�s been bummed out every since her daddy died. She�s been overcome by grief and depression; everybody knows that.
 Jake took her dirty skirt and threw it into the hallway, grabbed a clean one from her closet and pulled Sylvia�s panties back on and dressed her. He took a thin dress and tied it onto the wooden bar that ran lengthways in Sylvia�s closet. He went into the hall, picked up the soiled skirt and went downstairs. He hurried into the laundry room and tossed the skirt into the hamper. He grabbed a step stool and brought it upstairs.
 Jake bent over Sylvia and dragged her limp body over to the closet; he sat on the stool, pulled her up onto his lap, her head fell toward her lap. He sat there and breathed deeply, exhausted, and he began to hate Sylvia for causing him all this sudden stress and hassle.
Now he wondered when Sylvia�s mother would be coming home and that thought forced him back into action. He pulled the hanging dress over and wrapped it around Sylvia�s neck, tugged her body up further until her buttocks were at his chest. He swiftly tied the stretched material around her neck and jerked it tight, as tight as he could manage. He tied a second knot and gently released the limp body.
Sylvia�s eyes stared directly into his. �You little b***h; I�m glad I killed you; I hate you; I hate you! It�s your own fault; you did this to yourself. I hate you.�
Jake left the closet door wide open, he left her hanging there, and methodically walked across her room, let his eyes ramble along the length of her dresser until he found his token, his prize, his birthday present: a small Minnie Mouse wristwatch. He covered it with his right hand, made a fist with it hidden within, smiled triumphantly and caressed it toward his chest. �Thank you, Sylvia, this has been the most wonderful birthday present ever,� he said. �So far,� he thought. As he walked home slowly he still saw Sylvia's staring face in his mind.

~~
Jake awoke startled--back into his present--ten years from his dream and he jerked and kicked his way backwards until he was on his knees. He slowly raised his head to see a dead girl on the bed in front of him.
This girl was different--she put up a good fight; she�s in great shape, strong and wanted to live--unusual, he thought, for a prostitute.
 �I can�t do this anymore; this has to stop,� he said to no one. When he realized he was talking to himself he laughed. He began to laugh hysterically and lost his breadth. He gasped for air. He yawned and yawned. Mentally he felt as though he had just awakened from a coma. For the first time he was aware that he had felt this way on numerous occasions. He seemed to remember that it was usually something to do with disposing of a dead girl�s body.
 �Why do I always have to do the dirty work?� he wondered. �I am not going to do this anymore.� But he went over to the girl�s body and grabbed the bottom bed sheet and tugged it out from the mattress and threw it over her body. He walked around the bed and did the same on the other side. He reached down, grabbed her and lifted her up onto his shoulder.
As he carried her downstairs he tried to recall last night�s party--here at his brother Jack�s house�but he drew a blank. He went through the kitchen and down to the basement. He thought: these 4^th of July parties are getting to be too much.

He entered the garage, opened the right side back door of the old Chevy Blazer and slid Jane in onto the floor. He closed the door and got in the driver�s seat and backed away from Jack's house and began the three hour drive up north to his own farm, some two hundred miles away. The highway bored him and he fantasized about drinking this girl�s blood and eating her flesh; the w***e on the floor behind him.

~

Finally, he turned off the highway; he drove down his long driveway and up to the weather beaten, faded red barn. A 50 gallon drum emitted a gray foul smoke from its smoldering fire just beyond the barn.

Jake got out and opened the passenger door and to his amazement Jane sat up, blindsided him with a punch to his face. He grabbed his nose. 'She was still alive!' He was startled but very aware and sprung into action. She was attempting to unravel herself from the sheet.
As she began to squirm her way out of the sheet Jake reached into the back of the Blazer and grabbed a small jack that was still partly open. It had never been closed all the way from the last time he had changed a tire. It was a mean looking weapon, with angled metal corners and rust. It was a little heavy too.

As Jane lunged toward him, Jake turned fiercely towards her and forcibly bashed the right side of her face. Jane slumped onto the seat and moaned softly.
Jake looked down and saw blood oozing from her right eye socket and nose, but an even greater amount of the red stuff was gushing out from the busted right corner of her skull.
�Ahhh!� he screamed as he raised the jack over his head and came down fully onto the side of her skull;  her head and upper body bounced on the seat and his hand and the jack bounced with her body. He watched as a new stream gushed out of the mangled skull. His mouth formed a wild, broad smile. He grabbed the jack now with both hands and raised it again above his head. But he froze and watched the blood as it flowed more slowly from her eye, nose and crushed skull. He brought down the jack and eased it onto the seat next to Jane�s head. Red gunk pooled in front of it and then ran around both sides of the jack. 
Her body was jerking as though she were having a seizure, perhaps she was. Jake flipped her head over. He tried to pick up the jack but it slipped from his hands, it was slimy from her fresh blood and it fell onto the clean, left side of her face. Her mouth was frozen in�what appeared, to Jake, to look like�a smirk.
�You little b***h,� he said and he took off his shirt and used it to pick up the jack. He raised it with both hands and brought it down on Jane�s head like a sledge hammer; again, and again, and again. And again, and again, until her head was unrecognizable; just a mushy, mashed muck of a blood bathed bundle of human flesh and bony pieces. Jake realized he was laughing like an a*s, suddenly he stopped; he looked at what was in front of him and tossed the jack onto the floor.

~~
 He dragged the bloodied carcass from the vehicle and pulled it into his barn. He tied a hefty wire around the cadaver�s ankles, pulled over a hoist hook and fastened the wire to it. Jake grabbed an electrical box attached to a long thick cable, pressed a button and watched the dead body rise, upside down, until it was about a foot off the floor. He placed a thick plastic tarp below the hanging body. It began to spin around and soon it was dripping blood. He placed a clean, large, glass punch bowl below the carcass and let the blood drip as he went over to his tool bench. He stepped into an old pair of red overalls, put on goggles, and clutched a towel. And he grabbed a knife.
 Jake came back over to the carcass with a long, jagged weapon--a shiny, skinny sawknife. He grabbed the mashed head by its blood matted, blonde hair and began to slice horizontally through the neck. He continued sawing through the skin, the veins and arteries, the cartilage, the muscle tissue, and the vertebrae until he reached the other side. At first the arteries sprayed horizontally all over him, and then the blood ran like a slow faucet from the body to the glass bowl below. It looked like thick cherry juice. He licked his lips clean and wiped his face with the towel.
Jake carried the head and tossed it into a 50 gallon drum that was in the corner of the barn entrance. Next he twisted and pulled back both of the arms until he heard them pop and began to hack through one, like he was carving a turkey. First the left one: he made an incision from below, like cutting a tree limb, and then he sawed through from above, just to the side of the collar bone. More blood ran like a waterfall into the bowl and the arm separated from the body.
He held the detached arm up above the bowl and squeezed it, beginning at the hand then down past the elbow and on until he came to the open wound, and thus Jake removed most of the liquid from the pale limb.

He walked it over to the drum, dropped it in and went to his work bench. He brought back a pack of cigarettes and a coffee cup. He scooped a cup of blood from the bowl, sat down and lit a cigarette. He sipped his treasured liquid and took several deep inhales of nicotine, and smiled as he gazed ahead. He leaned his head back and blew smoke rings towards the hacked, hanging corpse. And he thought to himself: The killing is easy; it's the living that's hard.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN :)

ka2008