Evil is the Butcher: THEY'RE HANGING ON HIS HOOK (DI Bethany Smith Book 8) by Emmy Ellis

Author:Emmy Ellis [Ellis, Emmy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-03-15T16:00:00+00:00

* * * *

The cow—Angela—swung on her hook just like those others had back in his youth, except it wasn’t cold in the back of the artic, not with his halogen heater on, plugged in to his little generator. She was in the way, trying to get close to him while he hung Julieanne Lynch next to her. Why did they always do that, get funny when an extra mummy arrived? Jen was in a grump, too, her sticker smile on the floor again, as well as the knives.

They all became cows once a new one took their place.

He stood and waited for them to stop wavering, and once they’d all stilled, he climbed two steps of the ladder and hugged Julieanne around her waist, her belly to his cheek. He sniffed her body-from-the-coffin scent, so needed, so wonderful, then let her go, giving her a shove. She bashed into Angela, and Angela jostled Jen, then Jen tapped the next one in the row, a ripple of dead bodies, all the mummies dancing. For him. Giving him their time. Making up for the days, the months, and the long years when they hadn’t.

Bitches, the lot of them.

Stop that. They’re not bitches. Remember The Enlightenment.

Remember the things that ground you. The hook. The smell. The feel. Revolting. Beautiful. Safe.

Roland steadied Julieanne and climbed one step higher. He leant close, closer still, his nose pressed to her cheek, and breathed in the scent of her pallid skin, the faint aroma of makeup the funeral director had put on, something to get her all pretty for viewings. He licked her while all the others moved on their hooks, some spinning from the force of the domino effect. And he remembered that time in the meat room, being inside the cow, and asked himself, “What would it be like to be inside you, Mummy?”

He got down, rushed over to his kitchenette, and stroked the cleaver in the drawer, one from Daddy’s shop. He could cut her, slice her right down the middle, and her innards, they’d spew out, slapping on the floor. He’d remove everything inside her, scooping it, tearing it with his bare hands, stuff getting under his nails, and he’d bite it all out, swallow it. Taste it, love it.

And there he knelt, over Julieanne, who was prone on the floor, and he’d done all those things, using whatever the hell had been close enough to clip her ribs and throw them to the side, her cavity wide open, and he’d thought he’d been standing at the drawer, when he hadn’t, he fucking well hadn’t.

“Oh yes, sniff…and…lick. Do it, boy.”

Roland tipped forward, his head landing inside her, flesh against his face.

She smelt beautiful.

He sniffed. He licked. And did that funny breathing Daddy had done until wet heat filled his pants and he shuddered.

He loved Mummy, inside and out.

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