Page 20 of Formaldehyde

With that, I release his shirt and let him fall back onto the trolley with a thud. Then I get to work on ripping open his shirt and grabbing the scalpel.

Blood splashes onto my boots like spilled wine. Drip after drip, it falls from the table. It’s warm and rich against the gloves that cover my hands. It’s heat emanating into my skin. I’ve already removed the kidney and the liver, they sit like thick slabs of meat in a butcher's shop in the metal dishes on the table. A green hue begins to cover the liver, like it’s been left out of the fridge for too long and I know if I sliced it open, a sour stench would hit me straight in the nose, like rotted eggs and day-old vomit in the bottom of a toilet.

I’ll give it to my dad for being a trooper through all of this. The heart monitor, I hooked him up to beeps in perfect rhythm as it counts his heart rate. If I’m being honest, I probably didn’t need it as I can watch with my own eyes, his black heart pumping underneath his rib cage that I’ve yet to splay open.

The meaty muscle swells and then retracts as it continues to pump blood throughout his body. It probably won’t be able to hold out for much longer considering how much of my father’s blood is pissing out of him like a leaky pipe, but still, I made the effort to make sure he was still alive whilst I took a look at his rotten insides.

His fat blubbers around like jelly as I begin to cut away his intestines. A quick knick of the scalpel and the meaty pipe comes away from the sinew with ease. I wrap it around my hand like a hose pipe and begin to pull it out of his body, then place it in another metal dish alongside his liver and kidney.

“There goes your shit pipe.” I quip, knowing full well he can’t answer me back. He’s fully paralysed now, but he’ll be able to feel everything. Every slice of the scalpel, every tear of flesh and sinew. Every artery I pull at, he’ll feel it all, but he’ll never be able to voice that agony.

My father’s toxic body is mine, and his soul is locked in purgatory forever.

“You know..” I start, looking at my dad’s pale face. His eyes move about rapidly in the sockets. “I always thought I’d get a call in prison to let me know that you’d died, instead, it was to inform me of my mum’s passing instead. An accident they said, that she had slipped and fell down the stairs, but that wasn’t the case was it?” I say with a somber tone, my hands hovering over his full bladder.

“You pushed her, didn’t you?” I jab at his bladder with my finger. The thin sinew ripples under my touch like a water bed. “You pushed her so hard that she snapped her neck at the bottom of the stairs.” I jab again, harder this time.

I should feel sadness over my mother’s death but I’m finding it very hard to do so. She had plenty of chances to escape my father’s clutches, to take me and Alina away from it all, but she never did. She stood and watched as he beat me to a pulp. Until bruises bloomed across my cheeks like deadly wildflowers.

She did nothing, the only other person who tended to me, was my little sister. And everything I do now, is for her.

The heart monitor begins to beep at a quicker pace now, the silky muscle rams against his rib bones like a trapped bird. I guess my words touched a nerve, or maybe it’s my fingers that keep poking them. Either way, my dad isn’t very happy with what I have to say.

Shame. It seems I couldn’t give a single fuck.

I check the clock on the wall, noting the time. Mr Wilson will clock in for his morning shift in a couple of hours and I need to have this fat sack of shit, stuffed with fluids into the cold storage, pronto.

Placing the scalpel down, I begin to bag and tag my father’s innards then I drop them into a hazardous waste bag for burning with the cremation I’ve got lined up in the morning.

I did say Nocturnal Mortuary doesn’t always stay on the right side of the law. Especially whilst I’m working here.

I can feel my dad’s beady gaze on me as I get to work on mixing the chemicals I need for embalming, a low hum comes from the machine as I flick on the switch, then before I dump the solution inside, I quickly slip on a surgical mask to protect my insides, then add the final chemical of formaldehyde into the mixture. The pungent smell fills the room, and whilst that’s mixing I make quick work of stitching my dad’s torso back up.

The sharp, curved needle pierces the skin with ease. Like a knife slicing through butter. In and out it slips, pulling the black cord with it until it pulls his skin taut together. I finish the stitch at his clavicle, then snip the cord with a pair of scissors.

“How are you doin', old man? Ready for the final part?” I tease with a wicked grin on my face behind the mask, a darkness in my gaze.

Short bursts of air fire through his nose and I can see the fear and panic that’s flooding his face. His eyes well with unshed tears. Any normal person would feel a mountainous size of remorse for this horrific act, but I feel nothing and I’m no normal person.

I never have been, and I never will be.

Lifting my hand, I give him a quick pat on the shoulder then bring the machine over to the side of the bed and shove the metal straw-like tube into his side. It takes a bit of force to get it through his fat, but once I’m in, the chemicals flow freely into his body. Filling him up like a bulbous water balloon. His empty gut begins to bloat with fluid, then it spreads into his arms and legs, turning him a funky shade of yellow. All the while, this man is very much still alive.

Rapid beeping blares from the heart monitor and the green line jumps across the screen in quick succession. It won’t be long before he either has a heart attack or dies from chemical poisoning, either way, It’ll be a horrific death and one I’m glad to be a witness of.

Keeping my hand on the tube, I tilt my head to the side to witness the life leaving my father’s eyes. “I’d tell you to say hello to my sister, but where you’re going, she would never be there, instead she’ll always be safe with me.” I say in a low tone, then watch his heart rate flatline across the screen.

My whole family is dead.

But there’s only one person who can make me feel better. Who I can mold back into shape, who will love me forever.

And I know exactly where to find her.

"Ethan, fuck.. I’m coming.”

Alina’s husky voice crackles through the speaker of my phone as I stroke my dick to the video of her circling her fingers around her sopping cunt. She never knew about the camera I stashed in her room, but I needed to know how she truly felt about me. I needed to see the filthy things she got up to in her room when she was alone, and thank fuck I did that.

Heavy moans and soft whimpers echo in the small space of my apartment and I can feel my own orgasm burning a hole in the base of my spine. My balls draw up tightly then hot ropes of thick cum splat against my abdomen.