| I don't write stories. Please don't laugh too hard. |
[May. 27th, 2007|10:18 am] |
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| |  okay | ] |
Murder with a twist~ of lemon!
"Would you like some more tea?" he asked.
"Please." I replied.
He sprinkled an unmarked spice on top and handed me another wedge of lemon.
"What's that spice that you're using? It has a unique flavor. Unlike anything I've ever tasted before."
"Oh, that's my special ingredient," he replied. "A cook never reveals his secrets!" His lips parted into a cool smile.
His kitchen was obnoxiously clean. It looked as though everything was strategically placed. Compared to the rest of the house, this room was out of place. Parchments were scattered on the floor of the living room. I even spotted a dead mouse under a table. He caught me looking around.
"I don't have time to do much around here, but the kitchen is the most important room of the house! It's the one room I put effort into. It's where I do most of my work." I saw something change in his eyes.
I nodded in hesitant agreement. "So you enjoy cooking?" I noticed stacks of cookbooks adorning the cupboards.
"It's my passion," he replied. "Without it I would probably go insane." He let out a rather strained laugh.
Something isn't right, I thought to myself, forcing a smile in return.
Our eyes met, and for that moment I saw something unsettling. A deviance had overcome his once welcoming eyes. I broke the silence. "Well, anyway, back to the interview!"
His eyes gleamed with a menace that matched his smile.
"Oh, before that!" he added, standing up sharply, "would you care for a slice of cake? Just baked it this morning!" The sinister look returned.
That did sound good, I thought. My stomach replied for me.
He flashed me that smile as he cut off a good-sized chunk, served, of course, with a slice of lemon.
"You really enjoy lemons, don't you?"
"I love them!" he replied. "They really bring out the flavor of whatever you're eating. And also, they're good for you kidneys! Your tasty kidneys..."
"Wait.. what?"
"They're good for your kidneys, you know?" he repeated, that gleam returning.
I didn't know, but nodded warily in agreement. "Anyway, Mr. Spritzer," I said as he sat, setting the slices of cake in front of us.
"Please. Just call me Hannibal," he said with a wave of his hand.
"Okay, Hannibal," I said uncomfortably. I readied my quill and parchment. "Who has had the greatest influence on you and your work?"
He replied without thought, "My wife."
"Lovely. Where is your wife now? I haven't seen her around."
"She passed on. She was cook-- killed in a fire a number of years ago." He sighed. "She had the sweetest heart..." He licked his lips as the chilling look in his eyes returned.
"Oh, I didn't know. I'm very sorry to hear that."
"Yes, it was very delic-- tragic. Very tragic." His eyes shifted down. "Will you excuse me?"
"Sure, anything you need."
He stood up swiftly, not making a sound, and shuffled out of the room.
What an odd man, I thought to myself.
Minutes passed with no sign of his return. Tapping my foot, I looked around the kitchen. "I am in need of a good recipe to cook for my husband's birthday." I stated aloud.
Slowly rising from the chair, I walked toward the cupboards. Opening the first cookbook I saw, I cringed. The filthy book had no title and looked as though it was made before the Great shift. Flipping carefully through, I came to a page marked with a single black feather. This must be what he's cooking next, I thought, as I skimmed down the page. My heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be! Disbelief painted my face. The next thing on his list was..."kidney pie?!"
"Oh, you found it," he stated coolly.
I turned around as Hannibal walked toward me with an axe, pulled back, ready to strike. I couldn't move fast enough!
"W-what's--," I started, inching backwards.
"You, my dear, are my next recipe."
I clumsily ran backwards, hitting a bowl of lemons off the counter.
"Shoonk" replied the axe as Hannibal took his first and only swing.
My head fell slowly to the lemon-adorned floor. |
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cheezestix's journal
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