The Devils Harvest: The End of All Flesh. (6 page)

I could also see the hooker’s body was slowly changing to a greyish putrid green. Skin beginning to peel, lank unnaturally blond hair with over an inch of jet-black hair at the roots, starting to fall over her uncovered bruised shoulders. She didn’t bother to hide the large unsightly love bites anymore. An advertisement to her profession – the oldest profession there was. Or it could have been marks of her death. I couldn’t tell and didn’t want to stare too closely.

After my first inspection of her I tried to keep my eyes averted slightly to one side, never staring straight into those glassy eyes. Eyes that seemed to be constantly shifting, one minute clear registering eyes drinking in their surroundings, then they would suddenly glass over, unseeing, dilated – the eyes of a corpse.

“That’s when it happened,” she continued; bringing me back to the moment at hand. “Man. Man came into being. He wanted a perfect world, a perfect subject to have and control, to rear in His perfect ways. He had His spirit creatures, but now He wanted something different, something to fill the worlds He had created. They wouldn’t have the same abilities as us, who watched from above, but they would still have qualities like us. One was immortality.” She coughed. “I soon put a stop to that, for now,” she said. “But as I already said, everything in its place.

“He said:
‘Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness.’
Who do you think He was talking to? Us, His angelic children.” She gave a small laugh, which turned into a coughing fit.

“At first all the animals were brought to man. Adam he was called. Adam gave all the beasts of the field names, the flying creatures of the heavens, all the crawling creatures. Everything that moved upon the earth. But nothing was found for him to be his partner. A complement for him. For His perfect little Adam.” She said Adam’s name in a mocking tone, as if everything that had happened was in someway Adam’s fault.

“Until He had a deep sleep fall upon His little pet. He took Adam’s rib bone to make a perfect companion.” She took on a flat monotone voice. “See, it was a rib bone for certain reasons. Couldn’t possibly be from the foot or leg because that would mean being beneath his feet. Couldn’t possibly be from his head because that would mean she was lording it over him. No, it was taken from his chest, next to his heart, so they could be equal.” Once again the mocking laugh that put my teeth on edge and for some reason made the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end. Was it a primal instinct, set in my DNA, a warning that a predator is nearby?

“And what did little Adam say when this perfect woman was placed before him?
‘This is at last bone of my bones. And flesh of my flesh. This one will be called woman because from man this one was taken.’
The cretin,” she said.

I picked up the new spiral notebook. And I noticed mud under my nails. I tried to think where it could have come from, but dismissed it, thinking it was when I dragged the black suited body outside the night before. But then thinking,
hadn’t I washed since
? And mud! Everything was covered in snow, so why the mud?

She lit yet another cancer stick, sucking on it deeply as if it was one of her paying customers. There was a thick pall of pervasive smoke hanging around her.

“We saw a whole new universe open up before us then,” she stated. This brought me back to what she was saying.

“Women had been created. That would ultimately lead many of us to our downfall.” She was looking directly at me once again. Her cheeks drawn right back in her grimace of a predatory smile. I knew all too well what a woman could do, having been married three times, each one taking more money with her than the last. But at the time I supposed it was love. Infatuation. Who knows? But like all things they didn’t last. Love is a bright candle and it soon burns out. Love replaced with spiteful words, vindictiveness and eventually the inevitable hatred.

She coughed, as if reading my mind and was trying to get me back to the moment at hand.

“As I was saying, women came along. Their bodies so different from man’s. So supple, so needy.” As she said this her hands squeezed her large saggy breasts together, and then released them. She was completely oblivious to what she was doing. The sight was unsettling. And in the process she had unclipped the buttons to her tight fake leather blouse, the black imitation leather pealing back like a decomposing black orange peal, revealing more of her sagging cleavage and more unsightly purple bite marks.

I pulled my eyes away a moment too late; she had seen I was watching her performance. She gave another one of her Cheshire cat grins. But this time she ran a blistered blue tongue over her lips, in the process smudging her gaudy bright red lipstick that seemed to have already been smeared over the lower half of her face, as if a strong hand had been held over her mouth, also gripping her nose, suffocating away her last ounce of life, the reason this figure was now sitting before me, his mouth piece.

“Eve she was called,” she said, after she seemed to regain her composure.

“Together they grunted and heaved in the bushes or simply out in the open for all to see. Studying each other’s bodies. Testing, trying, and fulfilling.” She gave a grunting noise, gross and animalistic. She then seemed to regain her composure once again to carry on with her story.

“Of course, there was only the missionary position to start with, but they soon got the hang of it, creating new ways, twisting and turn in each others grip. They were like horny teenagers on sildenafil and bremelanotide.” She licked her flaking lips.

“I used the mouth of a serpent, a ground crawling reptile. Obviously the woman knew animals couldn’t talk, couldn’t utter coherent words. But nonetheless she listened. Lapping up the words I gave her. Relishing them, tasting them in her sublime mouth that she had used on him. Oh, she was a swallower by the way.” She winked.

“In the middle of Eden sat the Tree – The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Bad. What was its purpose? Who knows? He obviously did. Why put such a powerful object in mere man’s grasp if it didn’t have a reason, a mighty purpose?” She lit yet another cigarette, blowing the smoke towards my front room’s high ceiling’s rafters.

“It is said that God knows all. The future, everything. If that is the case then He knew I would turn aside, follow another path. He knew the Tree would tempt the pair and they would eat from it, and get punished. So you could say it’s all His fault, in a sense.” She seemed to shake herself down and return to the story.

“I remember the words as if it were only yesterday:
‘Is it so that God has said you must not eat from every tree of the garden?’
I said to her. She in her stupidity replied:
‘You must not eat from it, no, you must not touch it that you do not die.’
I spoke quickly as to confuse the wretchedly slow woman.
‘You positively will not die. For God knows that in the very day of you eating from it your eyes are bound to be opened and you are bound to be like God, knowing good and bad.’”
It was only when she had finished the sentence that I realized she had, for the first time, mentioned the word God. So she was capable of uttering that word, just deciding not to when referring to Him.

“See they were walking around naked, their bodies glistening in each other’s arms. Tempting. Teasing. It would only take so much time before someone clicked. And I did.” She tapped the cigarette on her palm that she was now using as an ashtray, rather than stretch out and flick in into the fire. The burning flesh was irritating my nose.
What no purse she could have used to dump her ashes?
I thought to myself. Or like her kind she just pushes the cash down her top, snuggling it up against her wears. Pushed up against her reddened skin and bite marks, reminding her why she did what she had to.

“They were like robots,” she continued. “Mindless. Happy? Who knows? But you could say I freed them. Straight away you could notice the difference. They realized they were naked. They hid behind the bushes, now knowing what they were and what it all meant.” She suddenly looked up from her story. Her eyes darting around the room. She stood in one liquid movement that tipped her collected ash onto my old worn Turkish rug.

“Time to go,” she announced while brushing down her tight dress and skimpy top.

“Time to go?” I simply parroted. But when I looked at the walnut Vienna wall clock that hung above my wide mantelpiece I noticed she had been here for four hours. Surely not that long. The tape in the minicorder was only forty-five minutes each side and the same side was still running.

“I will return tomorrow as I did tonight.” She said no more. But she looked around one more time as if being able to see something I couldn’t. Then she fell back into the chair – lifeless. Her body slumped against the high back leather seat. One foot was twisted around one of the chair legs, the other straight out, with the other red shoe having fallen off. Her flabby arms hanging down either side, hanging just above the floor. Her head was hanging forward; her matted peroxide blonde hair cascading down over her saggy features. Cigarette – like last night – still smouldering upon my carpet. But tonight it had her fire engine red lipstick around its butt.

I stared for a few moments collecting my thoughts. I stopped the Sony recorder and placed it back on my cellarette. I took a long swig from the thick glass tumbler, which until now sat untouched next to my notepad. The strong whisky ran down my throat. I enjoyed the burning sensation, the fumes rising out my nostrils making my eyes water. I didn’t even remembering getting up to pour it.

I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to manhandle the hooker’s body outside. I stood over the slumped corpse, repulsion rising in me. Her flabby greyish skin showing in far too many places. Red swollen welts circled her neck. I was deciding on what part to grab. As I suspected, when I gripped under her hairy armpits they were stone cold and rigid. With a lot of effort I managed to get my hands under her arms and pull her along. Her feet scraping along the wooden floor. The two red shoes lay next to each other. I will sort them out in a minute I decided.

When I got to the front door I dropped her as I was fumbling with the handle. She went down with a thud. Her head made a sickening noise as it came in contact with my concrete doorstep – it sounded like someone dropping an overripe melon.

It wasn’t long before I was back beside the roaring fire, trying to put some heat back into my frozen hands. In one swig I drained the remainder of my drink. I sat motionless deciding whether I should have another. But walking over to the drinks cabinet seemed like too much effort. Then as I went to stand I noticed my hands, they were covered in blood!

I stood perplexed, wondering where it could have come from. Yes she had hit her head, but I didn’t remember there being any blood, that had congealed hours ago. I was suddenly washed over with tiredness. I decided against going through the minicorder, deciding to start first thing in the morning when I was refreshed.

I ran a hot steaming bath. Unusual for me, normally I preferred a quick hot shower; I’m not one who likes wallowing in my own dirt. But tonight was different. I felt like I needed one. Didn’t prostitutes bathe after to wash the night’s work from their skin? Was I doing the same?

That’s when I got my second shock. My clothes were splattered in blood – smothered completely. I now stood naked, the bathroom filling with steam, looking down at my saturated red trousers and jumper. Was it the same jumper from yesterday? I thought I had changed it. I swear I had put on my dark blue one with the triangle pattern across the front. Obviously not. A bloody handprint marked a spot on the chest. I must be more tired than I realized. I kicked the clothes into the corner behind the toilet. Out of sight out of mind. Slowly I sunk down into the hot bubbly water that smelt of coconut.

I ran the conversation over in my head. Each time it came out different. I decided tomorrow I would review the tape and make some notes. But for now, I would relax in the hot steaming bath and close my eyes and feel my pores release their accumulated dirt. The mysteries would come to light in the morning, after a good night sleep.

If only I looked closer at things then, it might have turned out different. I knew of nothing else until the morning, when I awoke, finding myself lying in a bath of freezing red tinted water.

Oh Boy

I
could hardly move. My joints felt frozen together. I had never fallen asleep in the bath before. But what was most puzzling was the colour of the water, blood red. Confusion was the order of the day. Something I seemed to be getting use too.

All I could remember from the night before was the interview. If it could be called that? As I sat there listening to his words, his story. Or should I say she – as he had appeared last night.

I struggled out of the cold red water. Slipping once or twice because my cold hands couldn’t gain purchase on the wet surface of the bath sides. No more bubbles this morning, just a cold oily residue on the red tinted waters surface.

I emptied the bath, leaving a red ring around the top. I stepped back in, letting the hot water from the shower slowly bring life back to my cold limbs. I used my feet and cleaned the red ring off. Still confused as to where the blood – if it was blood – had come from? I searched over my body. No cuts – nothing?

I had no idea how long the shower had been running for, but when I reached for my watch from the side of the sink, it was showing almost five o’clock in the afternoon.

I must have needed the sleep. It had been a stressful few days. What I could remember other than the interview. This seemed to dominate my every thought, churning over and over through my mind, like a confusing mantra.

I looked around the bathroom floor. No clothes. I’m sure I had kicked them behind the toilet. But no, nothing. And the bathroom door was ajar?