I've been hanging out with one of my characters for a while; he's rapidly growing from a short story character to something a lot more meatier. He's popped up on several flash stories of late, and I think I need to invest some serious effort into making him a fully fledged character worthy of his dastardly deeds. He is, after all, a psycho, and his name is Hackett. He's evolving before my very eyes.
For those who like a little gristle in their horror, I've included two flash stories involving Hackett: Confluence and Palette.
A billowing violet flourish, a fanfare. The sound of the opera in the background transcended the stink of fear and drowned out the man’s screams.
The high-pitched wailing grated on Hackett’s nerves.
The first slice cut through the larynx and instantly silenced; followed by a deeper cut which carved through sinew and muscles and slowly, deliberately, separated head from the neck.
The eyes fascinated Hackett; the tongue had become slack, but the terror bloomed in the man’s expression. Pain, death. Last moments captured.
Nerves made the man’s mouth twitch madly in a silent scream.
It was time for dinner.
The soothing sound seeped through the hallway; ambient musical strings floated like granules of dust caught in a beam of light.
Hackett eased back in his chair, smoked his cigarette. Cool cerulean tendrils stroked his face as he listened to Rachmaninov’s dulcet concerto No 2.
His finished artwork hypnotised him; deathly indulgent and deep velvety red. She was beautiful now he’d skinned her, peeled and pruned and...
Weeping strange colours and glistening beneath the dull light, she was tremulous, drowning in her fear and pain.
Her palette fascinated him. He exhaled; carved a path through the smoke.