Cannibalism Part 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a story of a young girl, probably in her early teenage years. In the story she, along with her is staying with her Uncle Louis, after the disappearance of their mother. Although their Uncle Louis seems to love them, they feel as though he wants something. Something more than money, gold or land. Purer....the blood of his kin.

Submitted: December 31, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 31, 2007




There he stood, his t-shirt revealed his hairy navel. His apron was smeared in brown blood stains. It may sound ridiculous, considering I was quite short and young at the time I found it quite intimidating.

He passed me a chipped plate. Thick slices of grey meat soaked in a maroon coloured sauce.

We all gazed at each other oddly. I chewed on my lip, wondering who would be brave enough to shatter the crystal ball of silence.

“Bon appetite!” cheered Uncle Louis. He flashed a wicked grin, and then began to slice his meat. I poked my meat a little, not wanting to insult my dear Uncle.

Although Louis was my uncle and he cared for me very much, I never trusted him, or the meat that came out of the dark butcher shop. No one but Uncle Louis was allowed past that door. It was forbidden quarters.

I wasn’t the only one, who felt a wave of disgust when Uncle Louis smiled and handed a plate of meat covered in that odd, thick and lumpy maroon coloured sauce. Even though she hadn’t told me, I knew that Martine felt as uncomfortable as I did in his home. Her eyes told me every thought and so did her prayers.

“Uncle Louis….is this lamb? It certainly isn’t chicken. It tastes very….different,” Martine asked wiping the gravy off her mouth. As she asked that question, the hairs on my arms stood up. I wondered what his reaction would be. Once at Christmas, a visitor asked that exact same question and Uncle Louis struck him. We never saw the visitor ever again.

My uncle’s eyes darted around the room; he squeezed the handle of his knife, causing his knuckles to go pink. “Why do you ask?” he grimaced licking his cracked lips, scratching his face. The sound was much like sandpaper wiping against a brick wall, such was his skin. He glared at her, as if to say “Go on, answer me you ignorant orphan!”

She shrugged and placed her plate in the blocked sink. Uncle Louis then clenched his teeth, and then limped to the kitchen. I always wondered why he clenched his teeth like that. He’d done it once the night before my mother disappeared. Although she hadn’t done anything to him, he just clenched his jaw and shook his head.

Later on that night, I could swear I heard a cry for help. After that I heard my uncle cackling and whistling an odd tune. I shall never forget the tune. I’m reminded of it every time an ice cream van drives past. It remained there for the entire evening.

Then I heard the sound of the meat cleaver slamming into meat. I tried to block the sound of the meat cleaver, by placing my pillow over my head. But that never actually worked.

I looked over my shoulder, and noticed that Martine hadn’t returned from her trip to the bathroom. She’d been in there for over an hour, my mind began to race. However I decided not to search for her, although my mind continued to replay a horrid image of my sister’s butchered body. It was all paranoia, I was just being foolish. She’d be fine….wouldn’t she?

The next day, I woke up to the smell of rotten meat. I remember it clearly, it still lurks underneath my nostrils.

As the odour blocked the back of my nose, I pulled on my black jeans.

Although it was around 10 o’clock in the morning, the sky was a dull, dreary shade of grey. The rain tapped at the window, as if to warn me of something. Much like the day, my mother disappeared. If only she was there on that day, to save me from ever having to stay with Uncle Louis. If only she was there to stop me from ever having to know that disgustingly, wicked smile.

“Good morning niece,” Uncle Louis grinned. His yellow teeth shone brightly, in the dim light. His breath stank of rancid milk, and meat.

“Hello,” I sighed with my head bent, no signs of a smile on my face. I no longer pretended to enjoy my stay with my uncle. I hated the fact, that I’d been sent to stay here with this peculiar man.

I knew that my behaviour was beginning to worry, and irritate my him.

There was a loud silence, it slammed against the sides of the walls and filled each corner of the room.

I could no longer bare the silence, my ears were itching for sound.

“Where is Martine? Have you seen her today?” I asked, my nostrils flared. Without even noticing, I narrowed my eyes at him. Beads of sweat decorated his head, despite this his eyes were still very intimidating.

“She left in the night….a taxi came by,” he flashed a watery smile. I nodded and excused myself from the table. I felt a dark shadow of hate, confusion and worry cover me.

Of course I didn’t believe him, his hands were stained in crimson blood. And his breath stank of meat. However he did own a butcher shop, and was a carnivore.

But my sister would never leave me with our deranged uncle. Why would she do that?

My thoughts were interrupted by the heart stopping sound of the meat cleaver. Whenever I saw the meat cleaver or even when I heard it, chills ran down my spine.

The vivid images began to return to my head. Only this time I was the victim, and my Uncle was devouring my flesh.

Slice! Slice! Whack!

The pattern made my stomach churn, and my heart race. I prayed that I’d be fine, and that my Uncle wouldn’t try to take my life. I was his family, we shared the same blood. But maybe that is what he wanted, or what he used in his sauce. The blood of his relatives.

I inhaled the sweaty air, and gazed out of the window. I could try and escape. I closed my eyes and pressed my lips together. Tears traveled down my cheeks, leaving an odd stain.

“You’ll be fine Maria,” I whispered to myself. I wanted to scream for help, but I knew that he’d hear me.

I grabbed a few of my belongings, and climbed out of the window. Maybe I’d find shelter in the North of town, where my cousins lived.

As I landed on the cobble road, I slit my left hand. Crimson coloured blood dribbled out of my palm. I didn’t have enough time, to form a bandage. I had to flee the village, and, quickly because I could hear my Uncle’s footsteps behind me. Or was it childish paranoia.

My legs began to give way, but I continued to run as fast as I could. Then I felt a hand reach my shoulder, and as I turned around I saw him.

His eyes were bloodshot, his hands were covered in maroon coloured blood and his teeth were still shining. He grinned widely and laughed. He raised his hand to reveal the meat cleaver, which was still dripping blood. My sisters blood. Thwack! He barely missed my neck, but sliced my shoulder. Blood spurted out.

“No! You Cannibal!” I screamed and kicked him hard. I had left him winded, lying in there on that cobblestone street.

“Maria! Come back here! Maria!” he howled loudly. His howl became a distant cry.

I ran further than ever before that day. I ran until my feet were covered in sores. I’m still running and he is still and always will be right behind me.

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