October 5, 2004

Methodically, she spread the old shower curtain on the table. The discernible scent of decaying mildew wafted past her nose and offended her sense of smell causing her to grimace. She reminded herself that after tonight’s debauchery, there would be every reason to pack the offensive sheet of plastic off to the waiting dumpster in the alley.

Finishing with the table preparation, she lazily began to lay out the implements she would need. Her favorite knives sharpened to a razorlike edge...knives with blades easily capable of slicing through flesh with little effort or energy. She liked it that way...easy. There was less struggling, less sliding, less need for restraint.

She took a minute to adjust the lighting and then decided that music would be nice. Something to set the mood and satisfy her spirit before she began her performance. She silently congratulated herself on having loaded the stereo earlier and with the light tap of one crimson-lacquered fingernail on the Play button she filled the room with the sounds of Mozart’s Dies Irae Requiem. Things were perfect and there was a sadistic tilt to her lips as she returned to the table.

Turning to the old wooden chair at the end of the table, she gazed lovingly at her creature. She smiled to herself and marveled once again at her ability to choose only the finest, the shapeliest, the most sought after among the crowd. She had years of experience and it showed in her choice this night.

Casually yet with an undeniable sense of possession, she helped her perfect choice from chair to table. She did not hurry things...this was a scene that was not to be hurried or rushed. This was an experience to be savored...a memory to be saved for another year. Her sigh was almost prurient in its quality as she looked down on the plump flesh in contemplation.

She always tried to make it different...each time she did this. Perfection was inherent in her mind as she began to envision her design. She needed her creation to reflect who she was...to send a silent visual statement of her power to control the knife and the victim.

Lifting her favorite blade, she made the first cut. It was always a bit intimidating, the first cut. Things could go wrong, judgments could go awry, visuals could send wrong messages to her excited brain. She listened for screams, trying to imagine the timber and pitch. Only the music caressed her ears...and perhaps silent screams that only served to heighten her excitement.

Spurred on by the scent of ripe flesh she began to move the knife faster and faster. Slashing here and there, oblivious to the passing time, seeing only the lines and curves as they appeared on the scored skin. She was single-minded of purpose now...seeing nothing but her creation and the raw power in what she could do. This might be her greatest creation yet...this might raise her reputation to new heights!

Some time later, she became of aware of the ache in her arm. It was almost over now...the energy of the scene was waning and completion was near. After a moment of intense study, she added two more strokes with the cutting edge of her knife. Two more strokes that left her trademark signature and mark of ownership.

It was done. This was the year she would win. This was the year her jack-o-lantern would take first prize at the fair.