Another Day

[Published in the Dark Fantasy Newsletter #4]

Hugo ran his thumb along the edge of the blade, as he viewed the three figures hunched on the front pew. For a brief moment, he wondered how it would feel, what it would be like to be one of them...
"Who's next?" he said. His voice reverberated around the abandoned church. Three pairs of sad eyes met his. Chains rattled as the first one got to his feet. He hadn't shaved for over a week, and his dark hair was greasy and matted. He was drugged up to the eyeballs. They are always on something, thought Hugo. They
have to be.
He dreamt of Glenda as the blade sliced into the warm flesh of the victim's neck. In the lounge that morning, his wife in the armchair giggling as she watched breakfast television. Hugo watched as the figure slumped to his knees on the stone floor. Blood fell with him. He gurgled, but only slightly. Twelve inches of horror still in his hand, Hugo spotted more blood dripping from the edge, the drops resting upon the victim's denim shirt. Then he gazed into the fellow's eyes. They were glazed. As he looked, he thought. No ambition...
Carl clapped his hands. "Cut!"
Hugo turned to face him.
"Take two!" added Carl.
Hugo laughed. "You must be joking!"
"Let's have a break."
An image of Jesus covered almost the whole of the window pane. Hugo stared at it as he chewed on lukewarm bacon. Carl had sent Jimmy for coffee and sandwiches. Wrist cuffs rattled, grabbing Hugo's attention. Two were left. Which one next, he wondered. A burst of afternoon sunshine filled the church. He sipped some coffee, but it was too hot. Female eyes glowered in his direction. Short chestnut hair, skull earrings, a plethora of freckles. Definitely not his type. I'll have you next, he thought.
Carl provided a fresh blade. Glenda entered Hugo's mind. Before breakfast they had made love. Deep in the stomach this time, again and again. He had licked Glenda's body all over. The skin was warm, and exciting. He lingered on her nipples, and her inner thighs. The flesh there was so sumptuous. He glanced at the girl. A grotesque expression on her spotty face. She clutched the wound, as blood escaped between her skeletal fingers. Hugo watched her collapse to the floor. The death mask he had witnessed so many times in the past. He studied her face. Definitely not my type, he thought.
Hugo cast his mind back. The Job Centre had nothing for him, and seven years on the dole was no way to build a future. Not once had they contacted him. All those interviews he had attended. He was always early, well-presented, good manners, spoke well. Sucking up to them all. He felt sorry for Glenda. Most of all, he did it for her, as she meant the world to him. It was no wonder he had been forced to seek alternative employment.
This one was whimpering, whereas the others had been silent. Perhaps he wasn't ready, but it was too late. And Jesus was watching. Hugo held the blade, which was shorter this time. He didn't mind, so long as it did its job. Glenda was his saviour. In the supermarket the previous day. They couldn't decide on which frozen pizza to buy. So mundane. In the end, they purchased both. After all, they could afford things now. The blade pierced the skin easily, and the whimpering died, slowly. He toppled forwards, and hit the cold floor face first, thus forcing the blade even deeper, deeper into his neck. The blood ran, how it ran. Hugo could smell fresh urine. Then the sound ceased, and everything was silent. And Jesus looked on.
"That's a take," said Carl.
Hugo removed the hood. His face was sweating. However, it was a necessity. He didn't want those freaks to recognize him, those freaks with more money than decency.
"We'll make a killing with this one," said Carl. "Ha ha! Killing. Get it?"
Hugo forced a laugh.
As the Citroen cruised into the drive, Hugo recalled the afternoon's events. Life just isn't precious to some folk, he mused. The church had been inspiring. On the way home he invented his own commandment. Thou shalt not kill - except in the field of adult entertainment. That made him chuckle.
He entered the lounge, and spied the back of Glenda's neck as she sat in the armchair, her hair tied back in a pony tail. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. A sticky mess covered his hand as he observed the fatal throat wound, and the wild vacant eyes. Images formed in his mind. The death mask of the girl with the skull earrings. Jesus spying on him. Then he recalled a whimpering voice, begging for mercy -- but it wasn't the girl.
Glenda had warned him about bringing his work home.

END