New Face

Lather. Rinse. Think. Think through the fog.

I’ve had the strangest dream just last night. That is all I could gather, the strangeness of it. What took place in it, exactly, escapes me. Trying to recall details only makes it fade further into the fog of my morning daze.

Lather. Rinse… no luck.

All that cold water feels refreshing on my face, though it’s doing nothing to jolt my memory in the slightest. Age does this to you, I once heard people say. But I had never really thought about what it would feel like to be losing hold until now.

The Painter of Souls

Splashes of red coated Millie’s white canvases, her confident black lines forming humanoid beasts. I stared at the painted man closest to me, his hollow sockets for eyes and his mouth a sewn slit. I could almost hear his plea. It came desperate and muted, barely a whimper. I shuddered, though I made a conscious effort to keep my smile on.

“So what do you think?” Millie said, startling me out of my reverie.

I cleared my throat and looked for the right word, “Well, it’s… um, interesting.”

Millie grinned in return. “Thanks, I knew you’d love it!” she sounded chirpy, as though she hadn’t a hand in crafting my nightmares. “I’m really glad you’re here, you know.”

The Devil I Knew

I remember the first day I met Sam. He had his head bowed as he trudged in behind the class teacher, barely lifting his feet. The uniform looked like an ill fit on him. His dark hair fell in his brown eyes, his gaze cast down at his old sneakers. The air felt heavy in his presence, though it hadn’t bothered me much then.

“Now, why don’t you introduce yourself to the class?” Mrs Lin had said.

She made the first mistake, resting her bejewelled hand heavy on his scrawny shoulder. He shrugged her hand off in an instant, rage in his sudden movement, before looking back down again. Chang rose up to his notoriety as the class troublemaker, clearing his throat as he sang, “Weirdo alert.”

That was the second mistake. A few boys chuckled, inviting a furious glare from Sam towards Chang. It was just for seconds, but it was enough to drive the entire class to uncomfortable silence.

“Well, Sam?” Mrs Lin continued as though she hadn’t noticed anything amiss. She had just the slightest hint of annoyance in her voice that was always too loud in any case.

Sam said nothing in reply and seemed to sink lower where he stood. Mrs Lin frowned. She was not one to press a problem child; she wasn’t paid enough to double up as counsellor, who wasn’t even paid in appreciation.

Moving On

I watched the seconds pass, failing to outpace my pulse, and stopped the clock’s alarm right before it went off.  I sat up on my bed, with my blanket still wrapped around my feet. Lifting my ear, I hear only the ruffle of it against the pillow. I sieved out the real sounds from the imagined and concentrated harder than I ever needed to.

The house was silent.

There was no one home.

Even so I could still hear the echoes of her presence. Feet pacing back and forth behind the door. Muttering words I can’t make out. Knives tinkling in the drawer. Cups clattering against the marble floor. All of that, even when I knew very well I was alone.

This was what fear was. Irrevocable, and it lingered.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I stepped out of the bedroom. Family portraits stared down walls in the hallway that screamed empty, shouting lies and lies all over. I longed for calm, but nothing was ever static. The clock still ticked. on The wind whistled. My teeth ground. Even in the quietest moments, I could hear my warm breath escape. This was just the way the world works.

The Cold Case of Johnnie Doe

He didn’t have a face.

It had been two whole days since Frank first laid eyes on the tiny mutilated body and he could remember every part of it, there or otherwise. He couldn’t look away from the hole where its face once was. Its. He couldn’t think of the child as a he but an it, an animal, all so he could stop his stirring nausea with a lie.

He didn’t have a face.

The perturbing words – his own disbelief – resonated in his aching skull, no matter how hard he tried to stop thinking about it. He had been the first on the scene. Some stranger had called it in and left before he arrived at the canal with Kang. His partner was always stoic, and even he had to look away.

The Butcher’s Meat

Nobody bought from the Butcher no more
They wanted to know but didn’t like what they saw
They devoured the meat, couldn’t stomach the gore
Preferring the same meat shelved in the store

Nobody bought from the Butcher no more
Except for the young girl who lived next door
She said meat was still meat whether thawed or raw
For the butchering went on as it did before

The Butcher thanked her but still he was sore
That her pocket money was all he could score
To get them to come back, he’d need reasons more
He looked back at his patron, so tender and raw

The next day he waited as he chopped until four
That was always when she came up to his door
Creak went the hinges, then a thump on the floor
The Butcher’s knife was the last thing she saw

A line formed at the Butcher’s stall once more
Rumour had it he sold the tastiest boar
No longer could the people recall the uproar
Once they tasted the meat, they rewrote the lore

Except for a woman who hadn’t gasped in awe
Instead, what she saw had shaken her to the core
She screamed as she saw what the boar skin bore
The birthmark of her daughter she couldn’t ignore

To the crowds she implored but was left on the floor
Screaming “Murder! Murder!” he would have to pay for
To that the Butcher socked her in the jaw
Then carried on with a whistle and the buzz of his saw

Still the people came and asked him for more
There were ladies, gentlemen, one and all
The meat would run out, but he knew there’d be more
To a child, he mirrored the smile that she wore

The Butcher’s Meat © Brimstone Tales. Photo by Aboodi Vesakaran from Unsplash.