Peter stroked the blade along the blotched bone, peeling away the last gritty shards of meat. His lips curled in quiet satisfaction, the knife sending shudders through his fingers. Content, he gathered up the gristle and plopped it into the slop bucket, where it nestled in a soggy pool amongst various bloody chunks. He laid the cleaned bone down carefully beside the tender cuts and stared at her severed head.

Peter couldn�t help but smile. Her twisted, perpetual scream looked quite comical, and he enjoyed the lingering hint of terror in her eyes. They still glowed, tear-glazed and eternally animated. Beautiful.

He wrapped the choice flesh in tinfoil and tucked it into the little fridge below the counter. Next he took her head and placed it on the shelf. Her blonde hair complimented his other trophies. A healthy addition to his collection.

In all, nine heads stood in line. Some had decayed so far their skin wrinkled, eyes reduced to maggot infested, gooey puss, with noses half eaten away.  But Tina hadn�t reached that point yet. She was perfect. Peter patted her soft locks affectionately, thinking how sweet she�d been. How satisfying.

He glanced at the clock and wiped the sweat from his brow. He took a little axe from the table, turned, and went to work on her headless torso. He hacked at the sternum. It cracked open like a walnut, allowing him to pry the ribs apart. Inside lay the soft sponge of dead lungs, wrapped around a tangled mass of veins and arteries, clustered around the heart.

Peter plucked out the prize with utmost sensitivity, making precision snips to free it.  He held it for a moment to savour it, then drew the dark red organ to his mouth. It tasted raw. Congealed. Blood squirted from the aorta as his teeth sank into the left ventricle.

So good.

Eventually, the last grain-textured mouthful slid down his gullet with a throaty, smacking sound. He sucked the blood from his fingers and rubbed his filled belly, but his hunger was far from extinguished. He turned his eyes to the girl crouched in a ball by the corner.

He glanced at the clock, licking his lips.

Still time.

He picked up a serrated blade with a pronged end and heavy ridges.  It was unusual to have two in a night, but his earlier hunt proved exceptionally successful. His work paid off, and it seemed a shame to waste rich pickings.

Peter approached the huddled girl, the blade dangling by his side. She looked up at him, her huge eyes alive with terror.

�Please,� she begged from a crumpled heap at his feet. �Oh God, please.� Her desperate fingers scrabbled at his legs. �I just want to go home.�

Peter smiled and gave her hair a gentle stroke. �I�m so sorry, dear.�