FanStory.com - Piece by Pieceby Ric Myworld

Hello… freaked-out Felix Ficklefarmer here. And welcome, to another Friday night scarecrow scream fest. Taking all you newbies back to days of the corn. Rockin’, boppin’, and choppin’ ‘um in the fields. So break out your hoes, hammers, hatchets, sickles, and chainsaws. As the wind blows, that cold ain’t the weather. Oh, yes, and never mind that creepy organ music. It’s just to set the mood, and besides, we can’t find where it’s coming from. Wondering through the gardens of time, keep your eyes open and watch every step. You never know what awaits you.

Let us help you enjoy every movie morsel of tonight’s attraction, "Piece by Piece..."

I woke up this morning thinking I’ve never been so drunk in my life, at least, not that I can remember.

Every word out of my mouth keeps replaying in my head. I will never be able to face any of those people, ever again.

“Hello, Mrs. Thompson, you sure have nice tits.” Whatever prompted me to speak so offensively with such a vile word to address an always-polite woman is beyond me. Is that any way to speak to your boss’s wife?

I don’t use those slang references in normal conversation, so why last night, and to her. I just don’t know what came over me. Anyway, without a doubt, there went my job.

I wish I could remember how I got home. I haven’t the slightest idea. Did I drive, take a cab, or did someone bring me?

Oh, my aching head, wobbling as I stumble my way across the living room. “Hi, you pretty baby.”

She’s so feisty. Jumping, spinning, rolling over to get her belly scratched. Then, she licks any part of me her tongue can reach.

“Stop licking me! Come on Miss Grumpy, do you need to go out? Come on let’s go potty. You’re my sweet, little buddy.”

Miss Grumpy is a very fitting name for my little mixed-breed yapping-ass mutt. She barks at everything.

In the yard, I put her down and she runs off barking, up and under the big shrubs lining the front of the house. She likes to chase chipmunks, squirrels, birds, or anything that moves.

At six pounds, it isn’t likely she will ever catch anything. But if she does, and they bite back, as I suspect they will, I would be willing to bet she lets loose rather quickly.

The barks turn to growls, vicious as she can sound, with a bark or two thrown in.

I squeeze between the two middle bushes to see what she’s after. And there it lays—a woman’s bloody forearm—crawling with ants and flies.

Fingers, hand, and arm intact to the elbow, then, a three-inch piece of bone from the bicep area protrudes inside exposed stringy tendons, blood vessels, and muscle.

Grump still growling, I snatch her up and sprint for the house. My pooch gathered up in one hand, me gagging into the palm of the other.

Once inside, I run straight to the bathroom. Unable to make the toilet, a geyser of puke erupts from my mouth splattering everywhere.

No sooner than my feet hit the slimy, goop-covered tiles, they slip out from under me. My butt lands with a thud, splashing a spray of vomit in all directions.

I strip off, still nauseous and gagging between every foul-smelling breath of air; I use the muck-drenched clothing to wipe up the pasty chunks swimming in wing sauce, artichoke dip, and a not-so-healthy helping of last night’s libations.

I’ll break out the bleach and disinfectants later. But for now, I step in and shower with near-scalding water, trying to kill every germ and drown-out the soured smell.

The steam rolls thick as I step out and search my way to find the door handle and exit the room. As I open the door, cold air hits me with a rush. The breeze causing a sort of minimizing effect and putting goosebumps on my goosebumps.

Waking up on the couch this morning, I figure that’s about as far as I could stagger in last night’s condition. But entering my bedroom, I find my bed a wreck.

Blanket and cover twisted and halfway off in the floor with something spilled on the sheets. The drawers of the chest and dresser all pulled out, with clothes hanging on them and scattered all over the floor.

Getting closer, the sheet stains are still wet, and as I push down with my fingers, blood puddles from the mattress. I pick up a pillow and freeze. Underneath lays curly tendrils attached to two bloodshot eyeballs.

I grab the bedding and yank, wanting to make sure there is nothing else in my bed.

Then, thump on the floor, a foot with painted toenails. Not just any foot, but one I recognize. It belongs to my date, Natalie, from last evening. No sooner do I see it, I notice her sandal against the far wall.

I want to sit down and cry. How could this have happened? Who could have committed such a grisly murder? Why didn’t Grumpy bark? She always barks at everything, as I said before. How did they get in and out, and where are they now?

I must call the police, but now that I’ve disturbed all the evidence and my fingerprints are on everything, who is ever going to believe I’m innocent? On the other hand, am I?

I’ve had a crush on Natalie for a couple years. I would never have hurt her. She stole my heart from the beginning. Somehow, that doesn’t sound right to say, just now.

I open the closet door. Blood drips in a constant rhythm from the top shelf, where sits her head with hollow sockets. When I look down, her heart and other organs are scattered across my shoes.

Dizzy and weak, I faint.

**********

As I’m seemingly coming to myself, I hear voices calling my name and fingers poking me. I manage to open my eyes but everything is out of focus, dark and blurry.

Then, as everything begins to come into view, I see all my friends and fellow employees from the party.

There stands Natalie, last night’s date, all in one piece. What a relief to see she is okay.

Yet, it’s hard to picture how I could have ever imagined such repulsive sights and smells as the morbid scenes in my mind from this morning.

My nose itches terribly. So, I move to scratch it, but nothing happens. It feels like I’m reaching for my nose, but I can’t seem to touch it.

Then, I look over to see my right arm missing, the left is gone too, and when I look down toward my legs, they are gone as well.

In a panic, I try to scream, but can’t make a sound. Please, I pray, this can’t be real. Oh, God, let me wake up from this nightmare!

At almost that exact time, Natalie’s mouth blossoms into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her face, and she says, “What’s the matter… ‘Cat got your tongue?’” Oh, no, my tongue can’t be missing too!

Three police officers step in grabbing Natalie by both arms and slam her to the floor.

Once handcuffed, they stand her up as two of the cops walk her out.

The other cop walks over and whispers in my boss’s ear, not realizing I can hear every word, and says, “Sir, I’m sorry for this terrible tragedy, but we should all be thankful she’s off the streets. We’ve been trying to catch this Psychopath for years.”

“What do you mean, officer? Surely, you aren’t talking about Natalie. She could never have done this.”

“Yes, Sir, she gives her victims large doses of Ketamine, often referred to as “The Black Hole,” which is a hallucinogenic, dissociative anesthetic: a drug that distorts perception of sights and sounds and produces feelings of detachment (dissociation) from the environment and self.”

“Officer, you must be mistaken. Natalie is a wonderful person, one of the kindest and nicest I’ve ever known.”

“Well, Sir, you had better rethink your feelings for Ms. Natalie. We found... in her garage, two freezers full of body parts. Your friend here, his parts weren’t even all the way frozen.

Hello, and welcome back, it’s Freaked-out Felix Ficklefarmer here again. We hope you enjoyed our feature presentation and made it all the way through it in one piece. Ya’ll come back now, Ya hear. HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!