Last Dresser Drawer

By Brandon Berntson All Rights Reserved ©

Horror / Humor

Last Dresser Drawer

I come into my apartment and notice the smell, like wet pennies. I flick on the light. It’s small, my apartment. I go to the drawer and open it. There are many drawers, and they are all the same. I open the drawer to Confession and Lies. I see one of my eyes staring at me as it floats in a pool of blood. I didn’t know their eyes could float, now mine because I own them. It surprises me every time. Some of her black hair is in there still, too. The strands make scarlet webs on the outside of the drawer. People think it’s just the way I’ve decorated.

I can’t let anyone see this! What if they start to suspect? My friends are loyal, however, and I trust them.

I dip my hand in the blood and bring a mouthful to my lips. The lights go out, and I am enveloped in total blackness.

I take the mouthful anyway, tasting hair between my teeth. I rub my face in it and close the drawer. I hear the blood slop over the drawer and onto the floor, splattering my feet.

In the dark, I wipe my hands on my coat, adding to the other bloodstains there. I go to the bathroom, turn on the light, and look at myself in the mirror. I smile. I take the black ink out of the bathroom cabinet and paint my eyes and teeth.

I can’t live this way with anyone else. I am all that I can live with. That is enough.

“Villain,” I say to my frightening reflection. “Look at you with blood on your lips.”

I smile, painting my face, wondering when they’ll catch up with me.

Panicking, I finally remember to go to the door and lock it.

“Did you put her body away?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers.

“Where are her toes?”

“In the silverware drawer. The one above your favorite.”

“That was the one I was just at.”

“I know,” he says.“ That’s why I put out the light.”

I look around, shaking my head. That was close!

“What did you do with her teeth?”

“I ate them.”

“Amanda? Susan?”

“In the cellar behind the wall.”

“Here,” I say. “Help me with the others.”

He helps, and we get the rest of them downstairs.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“Someone’s pounding on the door!”

“Don’t answer it!”

“What if it’s the police?”

“Tell them you’re in the shower.”

I run upstairs to the bathroom. I paint my face black, rub blood on my hands and face, adding to the color from one of the many drawers.

“Police!” I hear through the door. “Open up!”

I stamp my bloody hands on the cupboards and walls, the refrigerator as I go.

Don’t panic! I think. Don’t panic!

I open the door and put on a winning smile. Blood drips down my chin.

He’s standing there big and authoritative. He’s all dressed in dark blue like the rest of them.

“Heard about a disturbance down here. Everything all right?”

I nod, pretending to be puzzled. Disturbance? Harmless me? What on Earth could I possibly do?

“What kind of disturbance?”

“Loud noises. Things like that. Bumpin’ and thumpin’. You been jumpin’ up and down?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No, sir.”

He narrows his eyes. “Hmmm.”

He looks around, eyeing the apartment. “Just who are you trying to be, anyway?”

I shrug. “Little obsession of mine. Like to paint my face. Sometimes, I…”

“Yeah yeah. Just keep it to yourself, buddy.”

I nod.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well,” he says, eyeing the apartment again. “Just try to keep it down, will ya?”

“Yes, sir.”

He looks at me, giggles at my make-up, and shakes his head. He turns, walking back to the patrol car, which is parked under the street lamp. I shut the door.

“Whew!” I say, locking it. “That was close.”

“What did he say?”

I didn’t even know he had come upstairs.

“Nothing. Just to keep it down.”

I look around.

“Well,” he says. “I thought you had a date?”

“I do,” I say. “I was trying to get ready before he knocked on the

door.”

“What are you going to wear?”

“Something nice. She’s taking me out, she said.”

“Lucky you.”

I make sure some of the drawers are empty, but I find only one left.

“I thought you were going to buy another dresser. We need another dresser.”

“I’ve been busy. Quit hounding me!”

“Sorry.”

I look through the closet, push a body aside, and find something nice to wear.

“Oh, she was nice,” I say, reminiscing.

“Janice,” he says. “Her name was Janice.”

“Hey, is this okay?”

I turn around, but he’s gone. I go to one of the drawers, finding something to tie around my neck.

“Where the hell did he go?” I ask myself.


Authors note:

If you like this tale, you might enjoy the collection, Body of Immorality: Tales of Madness and the Macabre, among many other dark horror and fantasy tales found here:

http://www.amazon.com/Brandon-Berntson/e/B0075FG106/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1430959552&sr=8-2-ent


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