This is the third podcast episode in the ongoing story of pizza obsessed, tumblr veteran and budding teenage magician Scarlet Rose Parker.
In episode two Scarlet discovered her mum had been captured by an evil demon, found out a little bit more about smelly homeless guy Martin and actually did some magic!
Written, read and produced by Michael Cairns
The next podcast instalment will be out next saturday. Happy listening.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
This is the second podcast episode in the ongoing story of pizza obsessed, tumblr veteran and budding teenage magician Scarlet Rose Parker.
In episode one Scarlet discovered she had a control freak for a computer, her mum had a spell book and she met a slightly smelly homeless guy called Martin.
Written, read and produced by Michael Cairns
The next podcast instalment will be out next saturday. Happy listening.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
This is the first podcast episode in the ongoing story of pizza obsessed, tumblr veteran and budding teenage magician Scarlet Rose Parker.
Written, read and produced by Michael Cairns
The next podcast instalment will be out next saturday. Happy listening.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
Part one is here
Part two is here
Part three is here
Part four is here
“Why didn’t you just say you needed space. I thought you liked how close we were.”
“I do, I do, I love you, you know that, it’s just sometimes I want to do something on my own.”
“Yeah, but why that? That, I thought, it was special, you know, something we did together, date night, you know?”
Her voice had gone quiet, and winsome, and she saw by his face that he had known it was wrong. He shook his head.
“I just, I didn’t know how to tell you, without you being hurt.”
“Oh, so this is better, is it, getting hurt by finding out that you’re cheating on me?”
“You should be grateful I’m not fucking them! Christ, it’s just a bit of casual murder, it’s not like it’s anything serious.”
He was shouting at her, and she shied away, putting her hands up. He came towards her, his own hands held out.
“Aww, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout, really. Look, how about if I promise I won’t do it again?”
She looked at him, the tears coming now, unbidden and unwanted.
“Do you mean it?”
“Of course I do. God, you mean so much more than them, they were nothing, really.”
His hands rested on her cheeks and she let him turn it upward, his lips pressing against hers. She sighed, and relaxed against him, wrapping her arms around his chest and feeling safe, protected. As his lips moved to her neck, she whispered in his ear.
“Do you want to go out tonight? We could find someone, you could bring your knife…”
He moaned into her neck and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
It had been good, for a while then, like a second honeymoon. Then it happened again. This time she had no patience, and confronted him immediately, but his response was entirely different. It was like he didn’t care anymore, like he couldn’t be bothered to make it work. She asked him to leave, and he told her that if she kicked him out, he’d go to the police. She’d threatened him in return, and he’d slept on the couch.
It wouldn’t matter which of them grassed on the other, they’d both go down. So the months went by, lying side by side in a cold bed, washing two sets of clothes with different blood stains. There was pleasure in it still, for her, but the joy was gone, the feeling that they could do anything, go anywhere. They still went out together occasionally, on special occasions. She got him a dancer for his birthday, and he brought her the most lovely garrotte, with these curved wooden handles, for their Christmas kill. The months became years, the body count grew, and they drifted further and further apart.
The final straw was their anniversary. It was the sixth, and the first one he missed. He came home late to find her sitting in the lounge, the candles long burned out, the cheerleader face down on the floor, axe buried deep in her back. She didn’t speak, just went upstairs, not letting him see the tears. Strange, she thought, as she listened to him dragging the body out the kitchen door, the things that matter when nothing does. There was no reason to be upset, not really. But she was. She liked to think it was the dinner that sat wasted on the kitchen table, or maybe the champagne that was flat, and had cost more than she liked to think about. But the truth was, he just didn’t love her anymore.
So she’d set the trap. He’d come into the kitchen from the wrong direction and she had been so sure he’d see the ropes. But she’d shouted, and he’d turned, and she pulled the handle, and just like the guy online had promised, up went David, trussed nice and tight.
She’d expected to hesitate, that it would be difficult somehow, but as soon as he started bleating, saying sorry for this and sorry for that, it was easy.
She stepped out of the shower, stretching and feeling like a new woman. The chains she hadn’t known she was wearing had fallen away, and the future was full of opportunity. She wondered into the bedroom, smiling as she heard the gentle dripping still coming from the kitchen. Getting dressed, her eyes never strayed from the bedside table. She pulled open the drawer and took out the plane ticket, one way. She’d heard America welcomed anyone willing to work hard, and make a name for themselves. She grinned, grabbed her suitcase, and picked up the matches.
Part Three is here
As he opened it and began to flick it across the body and room, she realised that it wasn’t water. Moments later, he pulled matches from his pocket, lit one, then stuffed it back into the box, and as the packet went up, he tossed it onto the body. Bright yellow flames leapt toward the ceiling, and she stepped back, eyes narrowed.
She hesitated at the exit to the garden. What if they bumped into each other? She crouched down, staring at the front door, all-too-aware of the heat beginning to come from the house. She was about to step out when the front door opened and he came out, pulled his bike from where it stood, and pedalled speedily away, not once looking back.
She waited another minute, then ran to the car and drove away. She made it out of the housing estate, and to the nearby drive-through before she parked, and the shaking started. She sat staring up at the golden arches through a haze of tears. How could he? How could he after everything he had promised her? What else wasn’t he telling her? Should she get a Big Mac, or chicken burger?
That had been the start of it. They’d kept going out together, finding fat old businessmen to throw off bridges, and old ladies to tie up and torture, but she knew his heart wasn’t in it. She trailed him, more than once, and enough to know that his choices were always the same, young, attractive women. So she tried to make it work, finding equally hot girls for the two of them, but although he seemed to enjoy it more, still, he went out on his own.
Eventually, she confronted him.
“David, we need to talk.”
“’Kay, what’s up?”
She hesitated. Despite going over and over this in her head, she still didn’t believe she was actually saying it, still didn’t quite know how to.
“You’ve been killing, on your own, without me.”
He stared at her, mouth open and face reddening. She hadn’t needed proof, but at least he knew it was wrong.
“Why, David?”
She heard, and hated, the pleading in her voice.
“We had such fun. I’ve never made you kill in a particular way, I’ve never cramped your style, so why?”
He was looking at the floor now, his hands opening and closing. Her eyes were stinging, but there was no way she was going to cry, not now. Finally he looked up at her, and gave her that crooked grin, and she nearly threw her coffee at him.
“Don’t do that, don’t be an asshole.”
The grin went and he looked pissed all of a sudden. He sounded it too.
“We have to do everything together. I mean, everything. I go to watch the rugby, you have to come too. I go shopping, we have to make a day of it. I wanna chop someone up, suddenly it’s a road trip. I need my own space, sweetheart, I always have.”
Part two is here
She shoved open the car door and stormed across the street to the front door. She raised her hand, and hesitated, just for a moment, which was when she heard the scream. She’d watched plenty of horror movies, she knew what a scream was supposed to sound like, but this was different. There was a whole new level in this, like the sound of a rabbit caught in a fox’s jaws. It was pathetic and monstrous at the same time, and she backed away from the door, then dropped to her knees, out of sight of the front window.
The hair on her neck had risen, and she had goose bumps all over. She scuttled sideways, looking for a side gate, and when she found it, she reached for the catch, and ever so slowly, opened it and went through. She was stood in a narrow gap that ran down the side of the house, no windows facing it and she stood, and took a deep breath.
Hold on a second, call the police. She thought about her man being dragged off, dumped in a squad car, and she shook her head. She didn’t know what had happened, but she needed to, before she called them. She walked quickly down the side of house, and round to the back.
Another scream cut into her. It was quiet, muffled by the double glazing, but she could hear the desperation, and the terror. She froze beside the patio doors, then peeked carefully in.
They were in the lounge, and all her worse fears were realised.
The woman was on her knees, blood streaming from deep cuts in her face and arms. He stood above her, cycling clips in place, a large plastic apron covering all but his shoes, and kitchen knife in hand. She clapped one hand over her mouth as the blade came down, cleaving through the softer part where the neck met the shoulder. The pretty woman went down, and he bent, and swung, and swung. She fell on her knees, retching, staring at the light hairs on the backs of her hands. Strange the details you noticed at times like these. Not that there had ever been ‘times like these’ before.
She pushed herself up, wiping her chin with her hand, and turned, reluctantly, back to the window.
Each time the knife came up, droplets of blood flicked off and splashed across the patio door. She jerked back every time the soft thuds announced a new spatter. Soon, she was watching through a red haze, the glass covered.
The body was a mess. He dropped the knife atop the body, shrugged off his apron onto the pile, then peeled off surgeons gloves and let them fall with the rest. He had done this before. The thought made her lip curl, and her hands clench into fists. He made a careful, but swift inspection of his clothes, and stepped out of the room. He returned a few moments later with a bottle of water.