Paint

PAINT
By
Kelly Lee

Cut stood upright, taking in the smell of iron. As he took in that metallic scent, he let out a sigh of satisfaction. A slow smile spread across his face as he admired the room, painted in that beautiful red he so loved. He sighed happily again as he padded to the bathroom, oblivious to the stickiness underfoot.
He stopped in the doorway, looked back into the main room and smiled again. Decorating always made him happy. He looked down at his body: so very happy indeed.

.....

Cut was bored. He needed to do some more decorating: he could never do enough decorating. Decorating always cured his boredom. The big three roomed farm house could never have enough paint on its walls. And the smell? No, he didn’t mind the smell. The smell was part of the décor. Since his farmhouse was out in the middle of New Mexico ranch country, no one but him could experience the smell.
Time to look for more decorating materials. But first, to dispose of the unsightly pieces lying about the main room of the house. Carefully putting the pieces in a large barrel – they made a slippery thud as he did so – he closed it tightly. He walked the barrel out to the back door of the house, where he placed it on the farthest edge of the back porch. He then grabbed his keys and got in his SUV. He drove to town, searching, stopping here and there to take a picture or two, deciding on his materials source. After, he bought dinner and went home.
The pictures were transferred to the computer, then printed up. From there, he pinned the large prints to his bulletin board. After admiring the pictures for several minutes, he grinned. He found his new materials.

....

         If he had been into that sort of thing, she was rather pretty. Dark brown hair with blonde highlights fell down her back in beautiful waves. The sunlight made those highlights look golden, and her small frame seemed as though she glided as she walked. She exited the coffee house, and she smiled a beautiful smile as she greeted passers-by. She was young, and that meant her blood was good and new. Young blood was preferable to older blood.
The young lady opened her car door, unaware of Cut sitting in his SUV, watching her, waiting for her to drive out of the parking lot. When she did, he put his own vehicle into drive and followed her. The problem was, she was going places that offered no opportunities to snatch her. It was getting rather annoying, and Cut was starting to get angry. This running about to this place or that was not on his agenda. He had decorating and painting to do. Her gallivanting around was wearing thin. So, he kept following her, and this time let her know she was being followed. One way or another she was going to help with his painting.
He knew when she realized the gray SUV was pursuing her, tailing her. He could see her start to panic. The panic actually made him enjoy the chase. Leaving one hand on the wheel, his other crept over to the passenger’s seat to grab the chloroformed gag. By this time, she had managed to corner herself in a cul-de-sac. Her little car jumped a curb as she tried to turn the car around and get away. Cut’s SUV blocked her path.
As he emerged casually from his SUV, he noticed her rolling the window up. She was frantically trying to dial 911 on her phone. For a long moment, after arriving at the car, he stared at the screaming woman, feeling his body respond to her cries. But there would be time enough for that later.
His fist went through the window, shattering glass all over her pretty hair.
“What do you want?!” she screamed.
He didn’t answer. He just reached in and placed the chloroformed gag in her mouth. Within moments, she was unconscious.

....

         Her body hit the floor with a loud thump, and a small moan escaped her lips. Cut just stood there, looking down on her unconscious form. Then, he turned and walked into the kitchen to get himself a beer. He opened the refrigerator, got the beer and, as an after-thought, the bread. Going to the table, he sat down, and, reaching for a knife from a drawer, spread peanut butter on a slice of bread.
After he finished his snack of beer and peanut butter, he went back into the main room to find that his prize had come around. She was trying to free her hands, trying to pull off the duct tape he’d put on her mouth. When she saw him, her panic began anew.
He just smiled at her and went into the bedroom to put his coveralls on. Setting out fresh clothes for later, he then returned to the main room. The girl’s eyes widened upon seeing him emerge from the other room. He loomed over her, as she then managed to sit up and scoot away from him. Her muffled strangled cries aroused excitement in him.
She scooted toward the middle of the room, just where he wanted her. Her frenzied movements became even more so when she realized that the furnishings were sparse and arranged around the walls of the area. She tried to get near one of the tables.
Cut just stood there, smiling at her. This was going to be such fun!
In all the excitement, the girl’s tears had managed to wet the tape on her mouth. A corner of it was drooping, and all her crying was wetting the tape even more. It didn’t matter, no one would hear her anyway. The fact that the tape let go of her strangled cries made the whole experience that much more exciting.
She tried to scoot away again, and yelped when his hand fisted her hair. Her yelp turned into a growl of frustration, and she placed a foot in his groin.
Cut let out a sharp yell and gasped. In response, he slapped her. His hand snaked out again and grabber her hair, yanking her up to her knees. "Do not do that again," he seethed. Then, pulling her closer, he nuzzled her neck and took a deep sniff of her feminine smell.
Ah... such a sweet smell and full of fear. The paint will be good.
This time, however, she was prepared. She bit him and she bit him hard. Her teeth sank into his neck with a strange, moist, crunching sound.
Cut let out a scream of pain and pulled away from her, her teeth scraping on his flesh. At least, he tried to remove himself from her teeth. Those teeth were sinking into his neck with a vengeance, and she was refusing to let go.
“LET GO! LET GO!” Cut cried hysterically.
She did, and she spit out bits of his flesh and blood. And she glared at him.
Cut hand slapped down on his neck: it was bleeding badly. He looked at her, slapped her again, soundly. “Bitch!” he screamed. “That hurt!”
Through heavy puffs of breath and tears, he looked at her face. Really looked at her face. Gone was the crying and screaming and panicking. Here was anger and hate. In that instant, he knew something: this would be his last kill. This would be the end of Cutter Stiles. That expression on her face told him this, and the next words she spoke strengthened this knowledge.
“Go ahead and kill me, you bastard!” Her voice was low and dangerous. “But know this: I will come back, one way or another, and make you answer for my death and whomever else you killed!”
He started at her for long moments, feeling the weight of her words. A strange emotion crept into his psyche: fear. He had not felt fear in years. Not since killing his own mother for planting that fear in him. He stared down at the girl, fully aware of this fear. It was almost as if he were trying to comprehend what she had just said to him.
Then, he reached out and sliced open her throat. He moved so fast that she hadn’t even realized that he had grabbed the knife nearby.

....

         Something was wrong. Three days had passed since he killed her, cut her up, painted the walls with her blood.
Since she bit him.
Yet, Cut found himself lacking in his desire for another kill, for more “paint”. In fact, he was strangely subdued after he had sliced her throat open. The dismembering of her body didn’t hold the same euphoria as the previous kills. He had used the blood to paint the walls, but he felt an odd sense of apathy toward what he usually found invigorating.
         And, now, Cut was beginning to dread other things. First, he was having misgivings about finding another kill. While he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was afraid that one would go badly as well. Besides, his neck wasn’t healed yet.
         Yeah. Good excuse.
         Then, there was the worry about the night. For the last three nights, he’d had the unpleasant feeling he was being watched. He’d wake up with that impression in the dead of night only to find himself completely alone. Yet, he knew he wasn’t alone. He swore he had seen a pair of eyes looking at him. He couldn’t be sure, because once he sat up in his bed, nothing was there.
         Now he sat in the kitchen, a plate of uneaten food in front of him, and he listened. Listened to something moving in the room beyond.
         A soft, slow scraping sound that seemed to get louder.
         So, he sat there, staring at the other room.
         As he sat there watching, something moved in the main room. It was a brief glimpse, but he saw… it.
         A wave of unease passed over him.
         He stood, then, tossing the paper plate of food in the trash. He now had a full view of the main room and he could clearly see it. It moved slowly around the room in wooden, jerky movements.
         Behind it another thing was dragging itself across the floor toward him, a death grimace upon it decayed face.
         Cut gasped in horror: the thing crawling on the floor was one of his kills. Its face slack from decay, flesh hanging in tatters from the cheek bones, tongue lolling out of the slack jaw. A grotesque gurgling echoed through the vast room. He stepped back involuntarily, revulsion bubbling up in his chest. He remembered her very well: he’d cut her in half to use the blood to paint the floor. She had begged for her life, pleaded with him for it.
         Shock rendered him immobile.
         That thing was getting closer.
         Abruptly, he heard other noises behind him, above him. That subtle scratching turning into maddening noise.
         Sweat broke out upon his brow: He knew what was coming. She said it would.
         The pain struck him almost immediately, searing his neck. He cried out. He glanced up through the pain and saw the creature in the other room. The thing on the floor was getting closer, but the other one -- her – she had turned to look at him, a horrible grin upon her face, that gaping wound in her throat.
         The last thing Cut saw were those eyes: those same eyes that glared at him when she told him she’d make him pay.