Sharing Nightmares

A.G. Vid || Skin Hunter

Skin Hunter by writervid

The boy was carving.

His artwork was almost complete. Just a few more strokes of the knife and he would be done. Usually, he prepared the pieces with only notions of practicality, and only for his numerous clients. But today...today was different. It was his off day, and he was a hard worker for a boy of five years. He could have a little fun.

He pressed the knife against the girl's temple, adjusting the grip to accommodate for his long nails. Usually, he avoided slicing the head; when clients ordered their meals, they liked them to look pretty. He won a little more in his game every time he had a happy client, and it was an added bonus if the meal's hair was past her bust, unmarred by toxic hair dyes, and wasn't greasy, dirty, or caked in blood.

The Carver always got a bonus. He was the best at his craft, the best at the game.

He angled the knife so that he wouldn't have to cut through skull, and carefully began scalping the girl. She'd been a pretty one, with red hair down to her waist and a thick figure that most in their tiny mountain village would envy. She'd have made a great body to win another round.

His knife glided on her skin like oil on water. Warm blood trickled onto his fingers, and he licked it off, savoring each drop. God, she tasted heavenly--even better than sweets. Which reminded him...

He grabbed a jar and let the blood drip into it. He would freeze it later for a frozen treat. Usually, he didn't take much to eat from his artwork, but he was hungry and this was for his own...personal pleasure.

He started humming a tune, an innocent little song. "Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of...

Bang.

The door slammed open. The Carver didn't bother to look up from his work. "Hello, walk in client that I usually don't accept?"

"I need your help," someone said breathlessly. Deep voice, with the rough texture of tree bark. The Carver's colorless, fleshy lips curled upwards. Poor, probably, as most nobles were trained to talk in smoother and higher pitched voices, and clearly desperate. It would be fun to milk this one of his life savings, and, well, maybe a little more. If the man was going to the Carver, he was going to the best. He would pay what he had to pay.

The Carver looked up, and he smiled.

What a pure, clean face this visitor had, unblemished and smooth. And what shining snow white teeth--hard to come by in these parts. And those luxurious locks--thick, blonde curls that cascaded over the man's shoulders, the sort of hair that most of his customers would pay a fortune for--that most of his clients would be happy for. And happiness for them was good for him. The Carver's tongue darted over his lips, just wetting them.

"What's the body part?" he hissed, his voice soft like snow. "What's the thing you want?"

The customer gulped, Adam's apple bobbing. His cheeks flushed with blood that made the Carver's heart do a riverdance. He wanted a bag of that, to be sure.

"I need a heart."

Carver licked a drop of blood off the knife, savoring the metallic taste before responding. It was important to make the customers wait, to let them know who they were dealing with. The biggest winner, the greatest Carver--the best they'd ever seen.

"What money do you have, dearie?"

That beautiful face grimaced. "Only five hundred. But--I'll throw in a year's work! I'll do anything!"