Invitation

April 16th, XXXX

I saw something curious today. I don’t know if I was hallucinating, and I’m not even one to write in a journal, but perhaps it will help sort out my thoughts. At the time of writing this, it is about past the middle of the night. I can’t sleep. I don’t want to sleep. Not after what I saw.

I had left the local bar, long after my co-workers had left. See, we were out for a while, a party to celebrate a few promotions, nothing too crazy, and I stayed back to talk to the bartender, who is an acquaintance of my family’s, about business. Again, nothing crazy. It was a typical night. I said my goodbyes, and walked out. It was dark, I was a little tipsy, and I ended up losing my sense of direction. I never was good at it to begin with, but being intoxicated made it worse. It got a little fuzzy around this time, I believe I just began to wander a little bit to try to find anything I recognized, when I heard a noise behind me. I stopped in my tracks because it was … wet sounding, I suppose. As carefully as a drunk man could, I snuck towards the direction of the sound, turned the corner, and stopped. A person. With long hair that went past their waist, and an outfit that seemed to show that they worked for someone else. I called out to them, just to make sure everything was alright. And then they turned around. Blood. It’s all I could think about. Splattered on the person’s face, wiped on their apron, pooled at their feet. As I followed the trail, it led behind them, and directly to a person. Dead. Half chopped up. A neat and tidy cut, the weapon in question a butcher’s knife held in the right hand of the attacker, despite the gore that surrounded them. I wasn’t sure how to react, I’m not sure the other person knew how to either. But finally, they smiled. Not in a natural way, just with their mouth, as if they weren’t aware that you needed to feel the smile as well as put it on.

“Hello.” The person said, a softness in their surprisingly masculine voice. “You aren’t running away.”

“No. I’m not.” I said, after a minute’s hesitation. “But you aren’t either.”

“No.” The person mimicked me, “I’m not.”

We stood in that back corner, just staring. Finally, the person tilted their head, the smile still stuck, unwavering.

“Well. I’m going to continue. This is my dinner for tonight. Can’t allow the flies to get all the good meat.”

And the person raised up that butcher’s knife, and continued to chop.

As I said before, I wasn’t in my right mind. So I fully blame the attitude I gave going forward, on the alcohol in my system. Or maybe I’m trying to justify why I actually stayed. Why I did what I did.

“Who was this person?”

The chopping stopped.

“A drunkard.” I shivered. “He was hitting his girls.”

“So he was bad?” I asked.

“Very.”

“Is this your first time killing someone?”

The person turned to me, the slight light from the moon made their eyes look luminous and cold.

“No.”

“Is this your first time eating someone?”

The grin stretched a little wider. Their canines looked sharp.

“No.” The person began to pack up, putting different parts of the body in separate wrapping, but gathering it all in one bag. “You sure are weird.”

“You kill and eat people.” I responded incredulously. They barked out a laugh, a puff of air filled with a disconnected empty sort of emotion.

“And you just stood and watched me. You’re still talking to me. You haven’t called the police. I think that’s pretty odd.” I couldn’t argue with that. “So, since you’re still sticking around, I’ll extend a formal offer to you.”

They stuck out their hand, bloodstained. Chunks of a dead human speckled up their arm.

“My name is Lark. I’m very hungry so I can’t plan anything tonight, but I want to invite you over to dinner. I live down south, in the town over. Ask for directions towards the Cotter’s property.”

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked, surprisingly calm for a man being invited over to a cannibal’s house. Lark shook his head.

“No. You seem interesting to have around. You seem nice.” He pointedly looked at the bag of chopped up human remains. “You have questions. I’ll answer them at my house.”

“Okay.”

I shook his hand, the blood and gore smearing and squishing against my own.