Friday, 2 November 2012



Frank lumbered down the stairs, dragging the heavy sack behind him. How could he let her get him into this mess?
This was the seventeenth time he’d been coerced into cleaning up one of her catastrophes. Sometimes it was as simple as making an apology or forking out bail, other times it was hiding a dead man; the curse of loving a lunatic.

“Hurry the fuck up.” Samantha shouted from the kitchen and took a final, long drag from her cigarette before stubbing it out.

“I'm moving as fast as I can. He’s a heavy bastard.” Frank heaved the sack across the hallway towards the front door and took a glance back at the stain trailing behind him along the carpet. “And he’s fucking leaking Sam!”

Samantha smirked as she slid on her leather gloves and strutted from the kitchen into the hallway, her blonde hair scrapped back atop her head with military precision and her long legs concealed in a pair of black jeans.

“Stop being such a girl.” She said, stepping over the dark stain on the carpet. “We’ll clean it later.”

Frank sighed, she meant of course that he would clean it later. He pushed his steamed glasses up his nose and his hair from his eyes then heaved the load out the front door. It was best not to complain too much, he thought, she was calm for now but her temper could be a volatile beast.

She skipped ahead and jumped into the driver seat of the truck. She was always the driver on these nights and he, always the passenger.

“Fling him in the back with the spades.” She said, winding down her window to light up another cigarette.

Frank did as he was told and then slid into the passenger seat, making sure to buckle his seatbelt – Samantha’s driving was as terrifying as her temper, perhaps more so. She smiled at him and flicked the smouldering tip between her fingers.

“I love you Frank.” She said.

“I love you too Sammy.” He replied and leaned his head in for her light kiss on his cheek – his payment for his work.

The drive was like any other night, out of the city, past the suburbs and on to the country roads, towards the forest. This was the best hour, a serene quiet would settle in the truck, with only the purr of the engine and the gentle fizzle of Samantha’s cigarette soothing the silence between the pair. It would be enjoyable, were it not for the speed they were hurtling along the road at. It was a wonder they’d never been caught for speeding never mind the body parts rolling around in the back.

Sometimes Frank would spare a thought for the poor bastards, silently of course, to himself. Sometimes he wondered who they were, or what they’d done to wrong the she-devil sitting beside him. He learned quickly that questions weren’t welcome; his job was to help her clean up the mess, not to ask the ‘whys’ and ‘what fors’ of the situation.

After the hour, the truck came to a stop.

“Get out.” Samantha said, opening her door and hopping out into the night.

The forest air was still that night, no scurry of wildlife or hooting owls, not even a slight breeze against the leaves. Frank’s stomach flipped inside him as he got out the truck; something wasn’t right.

“Sam, this doesn’t feel right.” He said, against all better judgement. “I have a bad feeling.”

She laughed from over by one of the trees, her eyes to the ground scouting out the perfect digging spot.

“Shut up you idiot.” She said. “It’s just like any other night. Go get the spades.”

He did as he was told and unloaded the spades and heavy sack from the back of the truck, then dumped the sack on the ground and handed a spade over to Samantha; he clutched his own tightly.

“Here.” She said, pointing down at a spot on the ground by the tree. “Get digging here.”

The next forty minutes, Frank dug the hole, deeper and deeper into the earth. He hated this part, often wondering if she would leave him there in the hole and drive off laughing into the night. She could easily do so and would it really surprise him if she did? It was just her sick sense of humour to do such a thing.
It was as that thought passed his mind, the crashing blow from behind sparked a fire inside his head and his vision seeped to black.

Frank didn’t know how long he was out cold for, it could have been minutes or hours, but when he came to, his mouth tasted of earth and his vision was blurred.

“My glasses.” He said in a daze, raking his fingers through the loose soil.

He could hear Samantha laughing above him and turned to see her standing over him with her hands on her hips and the sack by her side.

“What’s... What’s going on Sammy?” He said, squinting to look at her blurry figure.

“What do you think?” She said and picked up the sack. “You really are a fucking idiot Frank.”

With that, she tipped the contents of the sack, and the parts tumbled into the hole. Not man parts – animal parts. Squirrels, some rabbits, two cats, and the neighbour’s dog, each of them with throat slit and stomach open. Frank let out a cry as the stinking heap of death came down on top of him.
Still, she continued to laugh.

“Is this a fucking joke Sam?” He shouted up at her and her cackling stopped.

“No Frank.” She said, reaching down to take something Frank couldn’t see out from the rim of her boot.

He opened his mouth to speak but the words were halted on his tongue as two shots rang out, breaking the silence of the night, and again his vision faded to black.

Samantha stood for a while, smoking a cigarette and admiring her work, before tossing the gun into the hole, along with a confessional suicide note signed ‘Frank’. She smiled to herself as she skipped back to the truck and drove off into the night.