Party dish

Party dish


Anne opened her eyes and tried to focus. Her shoulders and hips were blazing in agony, but she didn't know why. She looked to the left, her gaze captured by the reflection of light off a cheap-looking bracelet and ring. Okay, there's my left arm. She tried to flex her wrist or move her fingers, but nothing happened. What's wrong with it? Why can't I move anything? The angle's all wrong, too. It slowly dawned on her that not only could she see her entire arm, but the exposed edge of her shoulder was singed, blackened. She tried to scream, but could barely produce a moan.

A voice—somewhat high-pitched, but still pleasant sounding—drew her attention to her right.

"Ah! Good, you're awake again. In case you've forgotten—severe trauma can sometimes affect memory—your pimp, manager, boyfriend - whatever - was here yesterday looking for you. I told him you had provided excellent service, and that I was looking forward to having you again in the future. Of course, he didn't understand exactly what I'd meant. My point is, he won't be back.

"I was also completely honest with him. You did provide excellent service, and today you'll be a most important part of a very special day."

Anne's moans were rough and scratchy.

"You want to try and stifle those, my dear. Your throat must be incredibly sore after all the screaming you've done, not to mention all the severed nerves at what are now your extremities; being dismembered is extremely painful, even if the power saw made it a quick process. I'd give you something for the pain, but then you might not be conscious enough to celebrate with me and we can't have that, now, can we? At least you were unconscious when I cauterized each area so, thankfully for you, that part was painless.

He'd lied. Anne's body had twitched and jumped like someone holding a live wire. It had fascinated him so, he'd nearly forgotten to move the torch's flame away a couple of times.

"Well, the fryer looks like it's ready, so let's get started, shall we?" As he sliced away strips of thigh and calf, setting them on a platter next to the bubbling grease, the man began to sing.

"Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday, dear Jeffrey! Happy birthday to me!"

Prompt / Word Count ▼

Prompt: A horror story about a birthday party.
Word Count: 393