The Artist

Another Short Horror Story
“The Artist”
by

RCRayJr

The blade lacerated her throat
and blood pours out..
The scream ends in a saturated gargle. Her brown eyes rolled back in her head.  Breath leaving her I clinched her blonde hair from behind.
Her weight in my arms under the starlight.
The smell of alcohol and tobacco permeates the damp, cold air.
Into the shadows she’s dragged.
When in the place I chose, I threw her body to the ground. I crouched over her in the blackness of the night. Concealed by dense vegetation behind a broken down, abandoned old home the demons danced in my head, stabbing at my brain with their pitchforks. I began……
The tip of her nose came off with such ease, and the eyes…..well. Some of her hair stuck to my hand as I scalped her from forehead to the back of her neck.
The carving of her face,
such a beautiful work of art. I’m reminded of carving a rare roast beast during the holidays. The eyeless skull stared back at me. With teeth exposed, she posed for me. Then….off with the head. I’ll just sit it here under her right arm like holding a bag with it’s gaping mouth and empty sockets facing the sky. Blood began pooling on the ground. Black in color in the moonlight. Steam rises off the puddle in the chill of the night.
My work?
I wonder if it’s worthy of accolades, an award or at least some sort of recognition.
I then pierce her flesh just above her pubic bone.
Her still warm blood squirt on my face and in my mouth.
Running down my cheeks it collected on the edge of my black
goatee.
The taste was so, so sweet.
I am excited.
Cutting upward into her flesh I expose her bowels.
They began to unravel slowly as
I worked the blade.
So, I helped them. Inch by inch because that’s the type of gentleman I am. The kind of gentleman who would open a door for a real lady. Not some disease infested whore like I have here.
That’s right, a gentleman artist.
The undone organs lay on the ground beside the corpse dripping with blood.
It’s skin was turning pale in the night.
Now the liver…
With precision I continued on, my
physical desires were overwhelming. But there’s no time for that. Not this time.
With my silver headed cane I swung striking the sternum, again and again and again and with determination, again. On the last strike it exploded. Then with my powerful, bare hands I split the mangled chest exposing the heart and lungs.
This is it….the grande finale.
If my other work on her face isn’t worthy of applause then surely, most certainly, this will be grounds for a standing ovation. I wonder who would stand first.
I cut the windpipe in the remainder of what was the neck with the shining
ten inch blade, then ripped through the membrane surrounding the respiratory system.
Grabbing the trachea I pulled, the lacerated organs released.
Reaching in my pocket I revealed a rusty, four inch nail and with my cane I drove it through the larynx and into the rotting, wooden, back door of the abandoned house in which this fantastic event was taking place. I laughed.
Truly amazing work. Others don’t even come close to this masterpiece.
No one I said as I picked up the corpse and began to dance. In jubilation I celebrated ending with a slow, long dip. I put the body back where it was and repositioned the head. Sad that my performance was over I bowed and kissed it’s hand.
Now I must go. The audience will be arriving soon. Frantic. Flashes going off as they take pictures with their cameras. The sound of quills scratching parchment as they take notes of what they see. Chaos, but excitement will ensue. The law fighting back the crowd. Some people will not be able to handle my expression and be sick. Woman screaming and calling for their God. Some will wonder who I am,
what was my glorious inspiration.
I am “the” artist. The greatest of all time.
I descend into the fog and mist
looking for my next living canvas.