Sirens broke the disturbing sizzle of skin on the pan. He jerked his head up and glared at me. He didn't have to say what he was thinking because it was written all over his face. I could tell that he thought I had somehow called the police. He seemed to relax when he realized he had taken everything from me that could have contacted them.
He scooped the steaming flesh onto a glass plate and set it next to me. He picked his fork up and munched on a bite, smiling as if it were a dessert instead of skin. A cold shudder racked my body. He never failed to eat in front of me.
"Do you want some, Kathryn?" he asked calmly, holding the fork up so I could see the flesh dangling off of it. I shook my head and suppressed another vomit escapade.
His eyes glinted wildly, and he grasped the arm he had taken the flesh from. I cried out in pain. It never seemed to lessen even though I had gone through this countless times before. He seemed to get some kind of sick satisfaction from my discomfort.
"When I drop the next mug, Kathryn," he whispered, taking another bite and chewing, "I won't bother to cook you."
My heart sank. He was going to go through with his evil plan. After all, he would be the one who would always win.
YOU ARE READING
Peter, Peter
HorrorWarning: If you have nightmares after reading about cannibals, this is probably not the best book for you. Having said that, I hope you enjoy the story!
