3. Seasonings or Salad Dressing?
~ Chapter III ~
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He began to chop, with his butchers knife, the body parts of the carcass (the arms, then the fingers, then the hands) ready to be stewed and cooked to perfection. He was always very particular about the presentation of the victims. Seasonings or salad dressing? He could never decide.
The head lolled in the grip of the string that was hanging it above the open fire - or the 'supreme meat machine' as he preferred to call it. The scene was almost as pleasing as seeing an elephant in a small hat enter his kitchen. Unfortunately, he did not eat elephant meat. The number of dead corpses that were left in his cellar to rot was astonishing. He didn't even have to worry about getting arrested, for he had a plan of action. He would freeze the bodies after death to ensure they didn't pass their sell-by-date. This one that was roasting above the fire was fresh from today. He'd invited them for dinner and they'd soon found that they were the dinner.
He prodded the burning eye socket with his knife. The sharp edge punctured a whole, from which blood came pouring out. Oh that smell was glorious above an open fire. But something was wrong. Surely the smell could not possibly be strong enough for him to smell it from several meters away.
Footsteps echoed from underneath the floorboards. He readied his knife, listening sharply. There was someone in the cellar. The smell of blood was more delightful than ever down there. Even better, a human was in the cellar.