TW: Gruesome topics and talk of de@th

My door clicked softly, letting out a creaaaaak as it swung open. I saw the silhouette of a masked figure in the threshold freeze at the sound.

“Oh hey!” I said cheerily, pushing my nerves down. “I just made coconut curry. Do you want some?” The intruder seemed taken aback. I guess this didn’t happen very often.

“It does smell good I suppose.”

She was surprisingly soft spoken for someone holding such a wicked-looking knife.

“Alright! I could use the company. What’s your cool serial killer name? I’m Scar by the way.” I was pushing it, but it would be awkward if i didn’t know what to call her.

“Wait… you’re also a serial killer? Scar’s a pretty sick name. Mine’s The Chiseler. I carve stuff out of my victim’s bones.” I handed her a steaming bowl.

“Oh I’m not a killer at all. Scar’s short for Scarlet. I think what you do is super cool though! Y’know, fixing overpopulation one murder at a time. I’m a psychology major, business minor though. I’m probably talking too much; sorry, bad habit of mine. Do you like the curry?” I rambled.

“I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a while I’ll admit. It’s delicious!” She seemed to relax a bit, dipping the sticky rice I gave her. I was getting a little worried now that she was getting down to the bottom of the bowl. She still might want to kill me, given how the brains of psychopaths work. That must be what she was. She showed a lot of signs. I would just have to give her something else to want instead of my death to feed her inherant selfishness. I finished my curry, because there’s no use dying on an empty stomach if that was to be my fate.

“I have some ice cream too if you want!” I offered. I knew I had to buy myself time.

“Why not,” she responded, a hint of a smile at the thought.

“Is chocolate raspberry good?” Not that I had anything else, but it was courteous to ask. She nodded, and I got it out of the freezer.

“So,” I started as I put the ice cream into bowls. “Tell me more about your carvings? I love art.” She seemed surprised I was asking, as most people would be horrified at the thought of turning peoples bones into statues.

“Well I love making little portraits of my casualties. It immortalizes them. But of course there’s a lot more bone, so I do all kinds of stuff.”

“Wow, you must be talented.” She smiled.

I continued, “You could easily turn that into a career of some sort. Y’know, sell your art. I could set you up an Etsy shop! And to keep people from being suspicious, you could use animal bones in the ones you sell. You might even be able to open a gallery!” I could tell from her face that sounded like a dream.

“I have wanted to do something like that. Maybe I won’t kill you after all. It’s not satisfying when people don’t beg… and maybe you could be useful to me in other ways,” she considered. “I do really feel like killing someone right now though. And unless you have a suggestion of someone else in the vicinity it’s gonna still be you.” I felt horrible for what I was about to say, but it would spare my life.

“Well my neighbor in the apartment across the hall cheats on his husband all the time. I can hear it… ugh. He could be your target. You might even get a two for one!” She sized me up, trying to figure out if I’d snitch on her to the cops if she went over there. Psychopaths don’t trust easily, so this was a gamble. I handed her my phone shakily.

“Good enough. Be right back!” She grabbed her knife and left.