Writing Bloody Flash Fiction Winner

Writing Bloody 3

IT’S WINNER TIME!

For those of you who forget the awesome prize to be won…here’s a refresher…

1.  Halloween: Trick or Treat (an anthology that includes short stories written by Kathy Palm and Amy Giuffrida, edited by Jolene Haley)
2.  Harrowed by Brian LeTendre and Jolene Haley
3.  The Bleeding Heart by Amy Giuffrida
4.  Lipstick & Zombies by Faith McKay

THIS IS AN AWESOME PRIZE…FOR AN AWESOME ENTRY. Thanks to all who entered, but there could only be one winner.

And that winner is…

THE HANGMAN- by Sergio Pereira

The Hangman

Five women on one side. Three men on the other. All hanging from meat hooks and overlooking the city like dancing marionettes. I’d seen some sick things in my time, but this…

“So what do you think, boss?” Kent asked, immortalising the room of death with another portrait that would inevitably end up on rotten.com.

His stupid question merited more of a knuckle-sandwich than a response, yet sarcasm would just have to do for now. “I think this is the work of a very sick individual, Kent.”

“I can see why you’d say that.”  Yup, the sarcasm had gone way over his head. “Do we know anything about the suspect?”

“Name’s Ken Golden. 25. Male. Caucasian. And likes to kill people. The usual.”

Kent tossed his camera bag on the grand piano, flattening the bouquet of red roses as he searched for a different camera lens (God, if this had been my place, I would’ve strung him up like the rest of the victims for putting his trash on a Steinway). He snapped a few test shots and fixed the new lens on the impaled blonde who balanced delicately with the hook through her bloody eye socket.

“We should call him the Hangman,” Kent said, revelling in his oh-so-clever nickname, “because of how–”

“I get,” I cut him off before he could continue to point out the obvious.

“Has this guy been watching too much Hannibal or what? I mean, why would anyone do this?” He slithered carefully around the next body, being careful not to move or touch it.

I flipped through my notepad, pretending I gave a damn about another “tortured” backstory. Trust me, they all had some sob story. “Says here Kenny’s mommy suffered from extreme OCD and couldn’t bear to see anything out of place. Every time her son didn’t clean up after himself or put things away, he’d get a new scar from her. I guess he’s carried these family values into adulthood. ‘Cleaning up’ and ‘putting away’ his girlfriends and boyfriends after he’s used them.”

Kent didn’t bat an eyelid. “So his mother used to knife him for leaving stuff on the floor? Man, I would’ve been dead by 13 if my parents did that.”

I said nothing. I didn’t want to encourage him.

“All right, boss. I’ve got all the pictures we need. Meet you back at the precinct later for a cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, sure,” I lied.

Kent dragged his camera bag along the piano (another strike) and wriggled his way out through the police tape.

Thud!

I shot around immediately to see one of the male bodies lay pathetically on the floor – poor sucker slipped off the hook. I went back to my notes, but a lazy noise disrupted my flow. Bleeding and carrying a twisted knife in his hand, the fallen man lumbered towards me, repeating, “A clean home’s a happy home. Everything must be in order for our guests.”

“Then you’d better tidy up, son.”

Woo hoo! Congrats and thanks for the awesomely horrific piece of flash! I’ll be emailing you with the details.

xoxo,

A

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