I sat with my legs dangling off the edge of the table. If I could have walked without being lightheaded, I would have gone to the bedroom. I rocked back and forth and tried to look everywhere except for the saturated parchment paper. I knew he would dispose of it in the chimney fire tonight.
I clasped the area above the bloodied bandage and was careful not to touch the burning wound. I knew there was no way to escape. He had removed all phones, computers, and tablets from the house. He even found and removed the secret stash of stationary paper I kept under the bed. I knew he would win in the end, and I would become a mangled mess in a buttered griddle.
He stood near the kitchen stove, the pan heating up as I thought all of this. My stomach did an uneasy flip-flop as the flesh he had taken from me began to heat up and release an unearthly stench. Before I could stop it, bile rose from my stomach, and my lunch splattered on the newspaper, lined floor. He flinched.
"Kathryn," he whined, turning around. The spatula he was using was still in his hand and little flecks of skin hung off the edge. I fought to keep the rest of the bile in my stomach, but I ended up releasing the rest of it. He grimaced. "Why do you insist on ruining my dinner every time we do this?"
My upper lip trembled and uncontrollable tears streaked down my face with the speed of lightning. He didn't come to comfort me; instead, he turned and went back to flipping his dinner.
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!
