Gore

Gore

Harvey was watching television when the idea came to him. It was some detective show or other, he couldn’t remember which, he watched so many of them. The hero had entered the crime scene, a bedroom with walls spattered with blood and sheets red with gore. It was the quantity of blood that struck him.

They did not skimp on such details these days, thought Harvey. There was a time when things like that were passed over and left to the imagination. But now, everything had to be real, so real that sometimes it seemed that directors were in competition to show the most gory aspects of a murder.

Suddenly his thoughts took a new turn. What a prank it would be to make up a bedroom like that and then have some friends over. That, surely would be the greatest practical joke of all time.

Any novelty store must carry fake blood, he reasoned. It would be a simple matter to buy a few bottles of it and then spray it around a bedroom, giving special attention to the sheets. If the effect were half as good as on television, it would fool anyone, at least for a few moments.

Harvey thought about the idea for several days afterwards. He knew he would never do it; his friends weren’t the kind to take such a prank with good humour. In all likelihood, he would be left with some seriously stained sheets and an empty address book. But it was delicious to think about what a stir such a joke would make. The party set would be avid for it.

And that was when it really hit him. He didn’t have to be the one to make the idea work. Let others do it and he could supply the bloodstained sheets. In fact, he could do better than the fake blood thing. If he dyed the sheets with pools of red dye, they could be used several times and not fade back into their original white.

This was something Harvey could do and he set to work immediately, researching dyes to find the most suitable one and contacting a company that agreed to pack them neatly into saleable packages for him. He produced a first batch of the product and was amazed at how realistic the sheets looked. It was too discomforting to try sleeping in them, so he repacked his samples and, the next morning, took them to the nearest novelty store. The proprietor liked the idea and agreed to stock a few to see how they went.

Harvey went home and began to ramp up production.

In the next few months, Harvey extended to several outlets in and around the city. Sales began slowly but picked up as people caught the idea and wanted to try it. Harvey took on a couple of young assistants to help in the production process. He looked for somewhere more appropriate for the business. And found it in an abandoned warehouse at a very low rent.

Sales increased and Harvey began to realise that the sheets were selling in greater numbers than just for practical jokes. Something unexpected was going on and Harvey devised a questionnaire for completion by customers in an attempt to identify the cause of the phenomenon.

The result was quite surprising. Harvey’s sheets, now sold under the trademark Gore, were becoming a thing, a must have accessory for the super trendy and fashionable. People were actually making their beds with them and then sleeping in them. Harvey was slightly disgusted at the idea but knew he must strike while this particular iron was hot. He took on a few more workers and began to advertise in trade journals. Business expanded at a frightening rate.

At the same time, he began to get requests for blood-soaked pyjamas. Harvey shrugged and entered the sleepwear business. His gory nightwear sold better than the proverbial hotcakes. He was making a fortune without even trying.

Then people started asking for Gore’s bloody T-shirts and Harvey, always ready to oblige now, went into daywear. Buttoned shirts followed, then pants and, at last, the trendy could attend their cocktail parties in clothes apparently saturated in blood, looking like walking murder victims.

It became acceptable to parade around town in such clothes and became so commonplace that it was hardly noticed or remarked upon at all. Gore Products now had several factories and was quoted on the stock market. The future seemed bright for Harvey.

And then, one night, he was mugged on his way into the car park after a lengthy board meeting.

Harvey handed over his wallet to the gorily dressed man, and had the good sense not to point out the irony of the offender being covered in blood while his victim was spotless. Harvey had never been able to stomach wearing the sickeningly realistic clothing himself.

How sad it was, then, that the mugger stabbed him repeatedly anyway. Perhaps he sensed the irony and wanted to negate it, or maybe he was compelled by some primeval urge to demonstrate his power. The net result was that Harvey sagged to the ground, blood pouring from his wounds, as the attacker ran off.

But Harvey was not done for yet. He managed to haul himself to his feet and stagger outside to the street. Several passers by heard his requests for help but they walked on, muttering something about the drunkards in the city centre these days.

Harvey was found the next morning, stone cold and slumped in a shop doorway. The press reported that he was dressed in the very latest in Gore attire.


Word count: 941
For The Grim Reaper Contest, October 2023.
Prompt: Horror or Noir.