The Monster You Love

His hands move with mechanical precision. Each stroke of the blade along the whetstone makes a scraping sound that electrifies his nerves. Scrrch, scrrch, scrrch, the sound sings to him, a duet of steel and stone.

Good boy.

Outside, the last tinges of red on the horizon, barely visible between the glass towers of the downtown, fade to a purple stain heralding the night. It’s almost time.

Time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

He tests his thumb against the knife’s edge, feeling no pain as it slices into his flesh. A thin line of blood follows in the blade’s wake. His mouth moves into a shape that isn’t a smile. He looks like an animal trying to mimic its master’s grin but failing.

Hide the blade and don the garment.

He rises from the easy chair, slides the knife into its sheath at the small of his back, and walks across the near-empty room. A frame of 2x4s stands at the far end, its base affixed to the floor with bent, brutely hammered nails. He reaches out, pulling the leather shawl from the frame’s hooks. Patches of hair—blonde, brunette, silver-gray—decorate the garment, each carefully stitched to the tanned skin. He drapes the shawl over his shoulders, covering his upper body completely.

Look upon your majesty.

He takes three steps to the old mirror hanging askew on the back of the apartment’s front door. He gazes into its fly-spotted glass and sees a predator, a killer, a hunter dressed in the hides of his kills so that his prey will think he’s one of them. He touches the knife’s handle at his back, caressing it like a lover.

Go now and teach them. Show them that for all their accomplishments, they’re still prey.

He opens the door and vanishes into the dark corridor outside. The door closes slowly behind him, leaving the apartment empty. Empty but not silent. A whisper, like a breath from the grave, slithered through the air.

My beautiful, beautiful monster.