“Skin? Yes, Starling. It is. I’ve tanned it to prevent it from rotting.” His grin is demonic as he meticulously pins the skin in place, as if he’s working an animal hide.
When the idea hit him a few days ago, he disappeared from our bed and stalked downstairs to the spot where we had stored our broken doll. There, he separated Tammy from her flesh, skinning her like the prey she was. Once that was done, he had cut through the cartilage that kept her head and neck together until they were severed. He did the same with her spine and hip bones. Tammy’s lower body, together with her arms and flesh, was dumped into the woods for the scavengers to feast on. The parts he had kept, he would clean with macerating.
The skin is pinned like wings, and it reminds me of papier-mâché. Thin and fragile. Jasper takes out the ribcage from the water, which still carries a faint hint of rot, a thin layer of film floating on the surface, despite his refreshing the water throughout the days. The first few times are the worst, as thedecay infiltrates the water, and the stench makes your stomach flip. It’s putrid, and you’re unable to escape it.
I almost threw up the first time I joined Jasper, changing the fluids, curious about the process. He had smirked at me as he asked me if I was sure. Not willing to back down, I had pushed past him and led him to Tammy’s parts. The moment he removed the lid, bile climbed up my throat, the sour taste enough to make me retch. The smell was an assault on my nostrils, vile and relentless. Thankfully, after each refresh, the smell became a bit less intense, but it always lingers.
As if it were a newborn, he gently places the bones on a cotton cloth on the floor to dry.
Next, he inspects the skull, turning it in his hands and glancing into the nasal cavities and eye sockets. The brains have already been removed, turned into a strawberry-like porridge, and flushed down the drain. He had jokingly called it brain jam. The gooey substance looked like mashed, rotten fruit. He had stirred the ladle inside the cranium, probing through the thin veil, destroying the soft tissue of the brain. My face tightens as the memory curdles on my tongue and disgust pulls at my expression.
Satisfied, he places the skull next to the ribcage. Neither appears to have grease spots, and he hums to himself, quietly delighted with his work. I watch him with morbid curiosity. He fidgets with the skin, careful not to tear it, waiting impatiently for the bones to dry.
“Perhaps we can add some of the dried flowers,” I say, staring at the box.
He stops his movement and turns to me.
“That’s actually a really good idea,” he says, pleased.
I get up from my seat and walk over to the room where, only a few days ago, Tammy lay in the now-empty coffin, like a forgotten wax doll, surrounded by flowers. I grab several driedbouquets and bring them to Jasper. White, blush, and a deep red, colors that complement each other, colors I would choose for my own funeral. With care, I place the delicate stems on the table nearby.
Jasper lifts the ribs over the pinned skin and secures them. He beckons me closer and points to the flowers. I position them between the bones, arranging them like a bouquet in a vase, with precision. He sets the box upright, the vision a haunting blend of beauty and the grotesque.
We decided to place it in our bedroom, together with the skull. Relics of suffering, yet at the same time, a specter of our past. Our first shared prey. Having Tammy’s remains in our presence doesn’t frighten me; its significance is bigger than some primal fear.
That night, we make love as Tammy’s skull is directed at us. The empty eye sockets stare at our entangled bodies from behind the glass of the ossuary as Jasper impales me on his cock, and I cry out his name from pleasure.
“You keep surprising me, you know that, Darling,” Jasper says, in between bites of his freshly baked croissant. The entire kitchen smells like a small-town bakery.
“Because I don’t mind the shadowbox?” I ask.
I lazily peel the shell from a boiled egg as I hold his gaze. The nod he gives is barely noticeable, as if he still cannot believe he has found someone who accepts him,all of him. I sprinklesome salt on top of the egg and grind some pepper. I pop it into my mouth, and he grins.
“Hot.”
I wiggle my eyebrows at him. On mornings like this, everyone would believe we are just a normal couple enjoying each other’s company. They don’t understand the silent conversation that is going on between Jasper and me. The reassurance he needs from me in between the lines, and the validation I provide in return.
While Jasper drinks in every movement I make, I reach for the strawberries. I nibble on the fruit, taking small bites, savoring the sweet taste. He leans in, his eyes darkening, and I almost choke as my throat knots, noticing the change in his demeanor. I tense at the shift of energy in the air. My heart pounds loudly inside my chest, every sense on edge at what’s to come, my body reacting to the predator across me.
“Let’s try something new,” he says with a raspy voice.
“Such as?” I breathe. My words are barely audible, a silent whisper.
“I’m going to catch you.”
My eyes widen as the meaning of his words sinks in. He wants to hunt me, chase me like prey, and excitement begins to course through my body. I lick my lips and do my best to calm my breathing. I push back the chair and slowly rise to my feet. I straighten my back and walk down the hallway, feeling the burn of his stare on my skin as I move away from him. I bend over to put on my boots, struggling to tie my laces. Once they are tightly secured, I pretend to reach for my coat, but instead yank open the front door and sprint away. Jasper curses in surprise at my bold action, and I hear the screeching sound of the chair scraping over the kitchen tiles. I yelp in excitement. The cold air hits my face, and my nipples harden as it seeps into my flesh. It’s still early, and apart from birdsong echoing through the trees,there’s no other sound. I pause for a brief second, unable to decide which way to go, then push off and just go. He’ll find me anyway.
The melody of nature is interrupted by the crunch of leaves, and my breath hitches. My legs burn, but I push myself to go faster. I don’t dare look back, too focused not to trip. I twist and turn like a professional athlete as I make my way deeper into the woods, and soon all I hear is birds again. I reach a small creek and choose to take a brief break. I hide in the thick foliage and calm my heaving chest. I stretch my legs and massage my painful thighs and calves. Part of me is surprised Jasper hasn’t managed to catch me, but I am also hyper aware that I am being watched by someone. I peek around me, but I don’t see any movement.
After a few minutes, I drive myself deeper into the unfamiliar woods, the trees large and looming, and suddenly, I don’t feel as safe anymore. Wearing only a pair of thin joggers and a tank top, I can’t shake the sensation of being too exposed. In response, I cross my arms before my chest and slow my pace to walking. I strain my ears, listening to anything that sounds off, but it is eerily quiet. Even the birds barely sing anymore, as if they, too, are afraid of this unseen presence.
In the corner of my eye, I spy movement, and on instinct, I turn around. Someone ducks behind a thick bush, and all I see is blond hair. Their feet hit the dry leaves, evidence of fall, and I listen as the sound fades. I furrow my brows in confusion, and before I realize it, I track after the person. Jasper had said only travelers and hikers move through these woods, and this certainly wasn’t either of those.
“Hey!” I yell, but the person doesn’t stop, and I start to run, not willing to lose sight of them.
I’m grateful I thought to put on my boots, making it easier to maneuver through the rotting leaves and slippery mud.
Whoever they are, their long blonde hair moves elegantly through the wind as they run like a gazelle on bare feet. The idea of the twigs and stones cutting into this person's soles makes me involuntarily wince.
