Foul ichor coats lazy hands. Scrabbling, gripping, clinging claws. Rough lichen encrusts. Slick wet mould hangs. Hastily formed skeleton rattles. Higher and higher. Nose pressed to coarse skin. Fingers grazed and trapped. Heavy boots cracked against worn rungs.

Until with a final heave, the body slipped cumbersomely snake-like onto the rotten decking. Clothes caked in grime, slime and who knows what else. Folding up like a concertina smeared an extra coating of gunge across filthy palms and torn trouser knees. Continually shuffling backwards until the precise fold lengthened out vertically. Smacking into the low hanging branch you cursed, as you ran deft fingers along a crack. Searching for a small bronze key.

At last the biting touch of cold metal. Wiping your fingers on a dropping leaf did nothing to aid in your grip. Teasing out the item, you managed to persuade it to slide into the well oiled lock. Click. You were in. In to your childhood’s treehouse. Except joyful tea parties were no longer held, oh no. Something far more sinister was being served.

Cleverly camouflaged as a run down hellhole the treehouse interior was state of the art. Pristine yet tastefully worn. No child would be foolish enough to step foot inside the rickety woods; your secret was safe.

Click. Oh so tender and sweet. A lover welcoming you home. Stepping through the door, you bowed your head ever so slightly. Fresh pine board groaned gently under your weight. Wiping away the horrors of the woodland floor on a cheerful yellow mat, you push closed the door. Shutting out the storm that was creeping in.

Your eyes wander around the house of horrors. Alabaster shelves contrasted the midnight blue of the accent wall. Each shelf lined with jars, bottles and frames. Suspended in formaldehyde twisted grotesque specimens; that if not for diligently written labels of swirling text would be a revolting mystery. Curling waxy tails, staring dead eyes, paws caught in a forever wave, entire beings begging for freedom and organs lost without a job.

Padding over to the centre oak table, you studied the sleek white plastic covering todays delight. Hand picked by an anonymous friend. Trembling fingers wiggled over the corner, holding back as if remembering something. Gloves answered the call, covering anxious hands, soothing with gentle touch.

Peeling back the rustling cellphone that with a static crackle final revealed the prize. Shaking away the clinging cover, you grew irritated at its reluctance to leave. Until hissing with fury you stuffed it unceremoniously into the bin. Slamming shut the lid sealed its fate.

Running your finger over soft skin covered by a velvety fuzz, a grin began to form. Just as a parent picks up their infant, you scooped the cadaver off the glaring stainless steel. Settling it onto a wooden slab stained by gouges, scars and holes. Pulling out the limbs before violently driving home four golden pins. Each ringing crash of the hammer uncaring and cold. Bones splintered and cracked like Maltesers crushed by childish hands.

Admiring your handy work, you selected the scalpel, glinting dangerously under the interrogating light. With measured breath you touched the point to the yielding flesh. Pressing down you drew a perfect line of red down the centre, stopping at the navel. Fascinated by how the skin unzipped, peeled back, slowly revealing hidden wonders.

Crossing the chest with a horizontal score, an immaculate ‘T’ was formed. Turning the deadly claw flat you let it run freely under the dermis, unveiling almost milky white intercostal muscles. Savouring the resistance under your gifted fingers, you went deeper. Until glistening organs filled your vision. A medley of reds, tints of orange and purples.

The golden rule: never perforate the intestines or stomach.

The heavy smell drifted lazily around you, coiling between your hair strands and under bitten nails. A scent that could only belong to a bank, rich, papery, tangy like old copper coins. Yet somewhere beneath the warm notes a sour bitterness lingered. One that calmed your nerves as your gloves turned crimson, marred by the child’s ruby rivers. Methodically removing each organ in turn, you studied the beauty in the intricate structure. Marvelled at the anatomy that somehow was woven to sustain life.

Snuffling grunt stole your attention, peering towards the stoic chipped blue door. The shadow shifted and warped as a snout poked through the grate. A wickedly intelligent creature. Artiodactyl feet trip-trap away down the long echoey corridor. Leaving you alone, trapped and caged like the wild beast you are.

Slinking under the door as if waiting for the patrolling guard to leave, a note made itself known in the unwavering silence. Unfolding the thick pressed parchment, you read the word that excited you: Tonight.