By Megan Thompson

“The dead still get goosebumps”, I state with a sly smile to the group that has gathered in the office kitchen. They give me a chuckle, and I wink back. They are used to these odd statements from me, it’s one of my signatures moves. What they perceive as “quirky”, I see it as a “there were hints” moment. There’s an adrenaline rush when I drop these lines, they of course, don’t understand. They also don’t know that I’m eating Heather from the HR on a toasted brioche bun with a smear of aioli, fresh romaine lettuce, feta crumbles, and a juicy garden tomato.

When the police come knocking at their doors after I skip town and leave the evidence behind, they’ll be speechless, shocked, disgusted, I cannot wait. You see, I hate these people, I hate most people really, but coworkers foster a different kind of hate, one that simmer deep under the skin, bubbling and toiling with every “good morning”. This is the 5th company I’ve been with; I’ve been all over the news, unfortunately, they can’t ever get a clear picture of me, they sure as hell don’t know my name, they’ll honestly never find me.            

I don’t really know how I stumbled upon my little game, my delights, my addictions. I recall learning about a certain group of hungry and desperate pioneers in elementary school. I can recall the “ewws” and gasps from classmates while I sat stone faced, wondering what a person might taste like. Back then, I imagined something like BBQ, with all of the spices and flavors already there, however, I now know that human flesh has to be dressed, marinated, slow cooked. A little later into my teen years, my curiosity still getting the best of me, I decided to take a bite out of my sister, I look back now and realize what an absolute idiot I was, I do still profusely apologize to her over it. Thankfully she still loves me and lets me borrow her clothes. I didn’t get an actual taste of it until I was 20 years old, I took a job at a mortuary (cliché, right?), transporting bodies. No, I didn’t just go in a slice a chunk off of someone’s grandma, I waited for the right moment, the right body. I remember the night, it was hot and sticky outside, the mortuary was called to pick up a motorcycle accident from the morgue. I don’t know what the details were, but this guy was in pieces, you couldn’t identify ass from elbows. I remember driving the hearse with the bag in the back, mouth-watering until I said fuck it, pulled the hearse over and slipped a piece of Ray E. Anderson, 30, out of his body bag and into my bag. The rest of the night is a blur, I cannot recall dropping him off to be prepped, nor do I remember driving home. All I remember is removing what was left of the skin on Ray D. Anderson’s thigh, sprinkling him with salt and pepper, and slow roasting him in the overnight. I recall not sleeping with anticipation. While waiting for Ray E. Anderson to cook, I whipped some potatoes, made my favorite steamed broccoli, baked some rolls, and for the grand finale, I baked my favorite maple banana cake. Ray E. Anderson was a feast to behold, once I finally cut into his tender flesh and shakily took my first bite, I was hooked, nothing has been the same since. Matter of fact, my mouth still waters when I think of taking that first bite of Ray E. Anderson, and how exquisite he truly was.

I prefer fresh meat now, the kind that I can bring home and cut the way I prefer. Jason from Sales sliced like butter, he had some meat on his bones; I simmered him slowly with vegetables so the fat would melt in my mouth. He was a delight, I also served him at the company pot luck, they really enjoyed it and have asked several times for the recipe or for me to bring more in. Unfortunately, there aren’t 2 Jason’s from sales, but I am eyeing up the husky receptionist. I think she would make a fine fatty stew. I really can’t wait to share her. She’s coming over for a girl’s night. She said she needs to let loose, I told her the same. I honestly can’t even remember her name, I think Lauren, either way, I’ll slip a little something in her drink and she’ll be out within minutes.

I cooked her slowly in the crock, I added seasoning, potatoes and carrots. I’ll serve her over mashed potatoes like a classic roast dinner. I cut her up like a beef cow, I got the best part of her for the roast, the smell of her is mouthwatering and I cannot wait to have a bite. I let my co-workers know about bringing the stew in tomorrow, they’re excited, it softened the blow of Lauren quitting overnight through email.

Here is another fun little fact, every time I take a co-worker, I wear blood red lipstick to work the next day, I always get compliments because it’s so out of the ordinary. I don’t know, taking lives and then consuming them makes me a feel a little powerful. Speaking of powerful, I have a date tonight with a co-worker, I don’t normally go back-to-back with my meat but honestly, he’s kind of cute and I can’t wait to make him into ground Nate for taco Tuesday. Honestly though, I’m a little concerned, his brown eyes regularly bore into me making my stomach flip. I can’t wait to get him alone, I see something dark in him, what if? What if he was like me? What if we could do this together? These thoughts passed quickly before I stomp them out, these things will get you caught, no one can never know. Fuck him and then eat him, those are the rules. 

When he knocks on my door, my hands start to shake, Jesus Christ, do I like this man?  Our eyes meet immediately, and a grin plays across his mouth. Fuck, this one was a mistake. We exchange pleasantries and unlike anything before, we grab one another and go straight to the bedroom. He makes me come 4 times before we make it dinner, his eyes never breaking from mine. This man has fucked my entire plan up, I can’t kill or eat him yet.

Once we make it down to the dinner table, we’re both starving, however, I forget to grab the drugged drink from the table and he swallows it in one big gulp, fuck, fuck, fuck. I watch as his eye go droopy and his words start slurring, he doesn’t show an ounce of panic, it’s like he knows what I’m doing, and he knows that I’m not going to do it. We make eye contact one last time before he goes down.

I drag him up to my room and put him in my bed. In the morning, I pretend that we drank too much and passed out. He knows, I feel it, he makes me come 3 more times before saying anything. He tells me he knows what I do and he wants in on it, he’s been watching me for months. Honestly, this turns me on with how much it scares me. I have a lot to think about, however, I can’t let him leave. Decisions need to be made but before I do that, we fuck again, this time, his brown eyes bore into mine the entire time, he pushes his forehead against mine, and holy shit, I think I just fell in love.

Days go by, we don’t leave the house. It’s a weekend full of fucking and confessions. I give him all of the gory details, and he’s in. He even tries some of my food and fucking loves it. This bitch may just be my soulmate. I agree to let him help me with the next one, Jess from accounting. A pretty young thing with too much make up and too black hair but still absolutely stunning in a try hard way. He can lure her to my house under the ruse of a date, she’ll fall for it, I watch her day in, and day out make eyes at him.  He’ll pretend my house is his and once he gets her inside with a glass of wine in her hand, it’s curtains. We both agree that this will be the last one in this town, he puts in his notice on Monday morning, she comes over Tuesday, and Wednesday, we serve her at his going away party. After, we’ll fuck in the office and skip town.

When Monday rolls in, there’s such sexual tension between him and I at work, we can barely hold it together. I’m in a little sundress and he’s his tousled, black shirt and jeans best. We keep sneaking looks at one another and meet in the bathroom to fuck again. We have to keep things cool though; she can’t catch on. When lunch time rolls around, the staff gather in the kitchen to discuss his leaving, she’s there and of course she’s giggling at his jokes just a little too loud and her eyes are lingering a little too long. Is this jealousy? When she grabs his arm, and he leans in to whisper his proposal, I almost blow the whole thing, I feel my face go hot and my hands start to shake. He gives me a wink, and damn, I’m in too deep with him.

When Tuesday evening rolls around, I am ready, I have watched her giggle and grab his arms for two days now. I don’t like her anymore. She arrives at my door and I sneak a peak when he opens, she is god damn stunning in a mini dress, too heavy eyeliner and her hair waved just perfectly. I hate her. I watch him to see if there’s lust in his eyes, and while there’s lust there, it’s not for her body, it’s what we’re going to do to her. He wastes no time getting wine into her and within 30 minutes, she’s down and it’s our time to shine, but first we fuck, this seems to be a pattern. Yikes. Anyway, he does surprisingly well for a newbie, he lets me show him how to slice her, his eyes hanging on to my every word, he’s attentive, he’s adorable, and we share a lot of laughs.

Once we have her seasoned and, in the pot, we sit down for a discussion. I am admitting to him how much I have fallen and how much blind trust I am putting into him, he agrees and proposes that we leave town tomorrow evening and get married in the next town we come across. Absolutely brilliant honestly.

Wednesday has arrived and I send him to work with Jess soup, while I call in late so I can finish cleaning up. We, of course, fucked that morning before he left but once he was out the door, I went to work. As I loaded my things in the car, I sent him a text that reads, “I’m sorry, I really do love you, but I don’t trust you.” I turn my phone off and head to the police station. Once there, I explain that I have been dating and living with a co-worker, his odd behaviors raised my suspicions and this morning after he left for work, I went back in the house to snoop. Once inside and once I began digging, I came across something that was horrendous (cue the tears and gagging), I go into details about Jess, and explain how many other co workers have went missing. They question me more, I ask if it would be okay to run and get something to settle my stomach, stupid small-town cops agreed, and I’m out of town and on to the next.

That evening when I settled down in a run-down motel in some other shitty no name town, I caught the news. The cops got him right in the middle of his going away party, they told everyone to stop eating immediately. Boy, I would’ve loved to have been there to see the nausea run across their faces. Anyway, the news says that he confessed to everything, they even showed him being led out of the building, his brown eyes bore into me through the tv screen. I probably made a mistake; this man really did love me and wouldn’t betray me even though I did him. Oh well.

Maybe I’ll return someday and visit him, but for now, I have a map, a new town to terrorize and hopefully in a few weeks, pre-natal vitamins to take.

Bio: Megan Thompson is a budding horror writer from the hills of Appalachia where she takes most of her inspiration. She holds a BA in English from a local University and has her hand in many pots when it comes to hobbies, with horror writing being her favorite one. She has previously published “Stapelia Grandiflora” and “The Waiting Room” with The Yard: Crime Blog.

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Publishing Editor for The Yard: Crime Blog.

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