Gross, gross, gross!
Warning. This is gross. Do not read it if you are squicked by cannibalism.
“Quiet, girl; I don't want your money.” Tom regarded the young woman, bound to the thick bole of an elm, with detached loathing. Now that she'd found him, he couldn't allow her to simply wander off with news of his whereabouts. That wouldn't do; that wouldn't do at all.
“Then... what do you want?” voice small, quavering. Tom snorted and leaned in close, letting the putrified aroma built up from years on the run, with little to no opportunity to tend to oral hygiene wash over her. He took malicious amusement in watching her try to flinch away.
“I want to eat your skin.” he whispered, then chuckled darkly as she paled. Then, stopped. Well, why not? He was hungry, after all, and it would certainly solve the question of what to do with her.
He banked the fire and set his skillet on the coals to get hot, and set to work. He didn't bother killing her first; there was something musical in her screams. He was almost sad when they petered off to broken whimpers. When all that could be heard in the clearing was the rustling of flames and the sizzling of cooking meat, he found he rather missed their cheerful accompaniment.
“You're actually quite delicious,” he told the half-butchered corpse. “Really, very tender and flavorful; sure you won't try a bit?” He offered a laden fork, and then remembered himself. “Oh, but of course not.” He chuckled. “Though it's really quite marvelous; perhaps someone else would like to try a bit. You know, you'd taste quite nice baked into mince pie....”
“Quiet, girl; I don't want your money.” Tom regarded the young woman, bound to the thick bole of an elm, with detached loathing. Now that she'd found him, he couldn't allow her to simply wander off with news of his whereabouts. That wouldn't do; that wouldn't do at all.
“Then... what do you want?” voice small, quavering. Tom snorted and leaned in close, letting the putrified aroma built up from years on the run, with little to no opportunity to tend to oral hygiene wash over her. He took malicious amusement in watching her try to flinch away.
“I want to eat your skin.” he whispered, then chuckled darkly as she paled. Then, stopped. Well, why not? He was hungry, after all, and it would certainly solve the question of what to do with her.
He banked the fire and set his skillet on the coals to get hot, and set to work. He didn't bother killing her first; there was something musical in her screams. He was almost sad when they petered off to broken whimpers. When all that could be heard in the clearing was the rustling of flames and the sizzling of cooking meat, he found he rather missed their cheerful accompaniment.
“You're actually quite delicious,” he told the half-butchered corpse. “Really, very tender and flavorful; sure you won't try a bit?” He offered a laden fork, and then remembered himself. “Oh, but of course not.” He chuckled. “Though it's really quite marvelous; perhaps someone else would like to try a bit. You know, you'd taste quite nice baked into mince pie....”