Strawberry Blonde

TW: Pedophilia 

By Chloe Payne

The shit and piss soaked rug burns into my nostril hairs late in the night.

It gurgles and splutters lively out of its host — before setting into a burgundy crisp mess on the wooden floor panels. Crimson specs can be seen on an orange left alone. I begin to think that both products of life are just as juicy as each other, only she hadn’t been skinned yet.

The mouth was still agape even without a voice. Her red lipstick smeared across her cheeks mixing with her solidifying fluids.

***

It was 3:23 in the afternoon when I walked into the building; a list in hand and notion set.

Red onions, lettuce, spam- red onions, lettuce, spam.

Tommy, my furry little friend, liked spam.

It was fairly quiet; every now and then a mother rushed around with a rattling trolley and a child at their side. I grazed by the red onions and lettuce picking the few that were left without decay.

The canned goods sign directed me to my next item. I sighed at the sight of a woman piling up her trolley with spam, as her child cartwheeled down the path.

Control your children! I imagined yelling at her. Selfish, she’s stealing all the spam.

I proceeded to walk towards the woman to grab a can before they were all gone. Accidentally, I made eye contact with her: her brows slightly furrowed.

‘Don’t take them all’ I chuckled lightly.

‘Oh- er- sorry, here, how many do you want?’ She fumbled.

‘Just one’.

She handed over a can with a weak smile ‘sorry, I’m just stocking up before the family camping trip. My partner, she…’ she continued.

Pfft. I didn’t care for her boring life story— I just wanted spam and to leave.

‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this- I’m sorry- you probably have places to be’ she said as she looked down into my basket. I could see she attempted to avoid my eye contact.

‘Its fine’.

The little girl bounded over and tugged at her mother’s sleeve, before she whispered into her ear. Her ginger ponytail curled in a ringlet tied with a purple bow atop her head. Her hand covered her mouth with the mother’s attention caught.

‘Emma! You can’t ask that,’ the mother muttered, scolding her child.

The girl had turned her gaze onto me, she stared directly into my eyes. ‘Do you want to be my daddy? How old are you?’ she asked, her voice squeaky.

I wouldn’t want to be with your mother, it’s you I would want silly!

I thought the girl to be quite rude – however, her beauty compensated for her tongue.

I’ve had experience having dealt with rude girls before; but none that could be as pretty as her. She was young, much younger than me. She had a youthful glow that brought an innocence to her – it felt she was much more mature – nay, she was a woman.

I could imagine taking her to the theatre: watching a romantic film. Her beautiful honey shimmering gaze would bore into mine as the credits rolled. Her soft cherry flavoured lips would pucker towards me, her strawberry-blonde lashes would be fluttering flirtatiously.

‘Emma..’ I let the name roll off the tongue. ‘No, darling. I’m 18’.

‘I’m turning seven next month’ Emma had said with pride.

Mmm, seven. Young, but acceptable. Soon she might have a boyfriend, what if she has a boyfriend? Will they get married?

‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

Emma chuckled and blushed. ‘No!’

Her mother’s eyes squinted at me, they dart across my face to my shoes. Her once polite smile had begun to disappear.

‘She’s only 6!’ her mother snapped. The woman glared at me; it was her way of setting conversational boundaries for her child with a stranger. Her hands had tightly grasped around Emma’s shoulders, pulling her close. I could hear her jaw clenching.

‘It’s fine mum. We’re just talking.’ I smirked and winked at Emma.

The tension between us is undeniable.

‘We should get going – come on ‘Em,’ the woman guided Emma past me.

‘It was lovely to meet you Emma’ I said with a grin.

She smiled as her mother tugged her away from me.

I kept my eyes on her strawberry head as it bobbed along to the register and out the doors.

Instinctively, I paid for my groceries and followed.

Emma stepped into a yellow station wagon with the plastic bag in her grasp.

Small puffs of smoke left the exhaust before it set off.

I shuffled to my red mini; slung the bag into the squished back seat, where a trash bag sat that had been forgotten earlier that morning. Naturally, I traveled two cars behind the wagon.

It was a short drive before I reached Emma’s home and parked across the street to benefit from the direct view into her living room.

The room was painted with family pictures of Emma, her mother, a woman and a few including a male with a frown plastered onto his face – I assumed it was the husband.

Both Emma and her mother unloaded the boot while the woman from the pictures ran out to help with a beaming grin and kissed each of the girls on the cheek.

The unfamiliar woman from the picture had eyes as suspicious as mine because her attention darted at me. She pointed to my car while her mouth flapped.

I sped off to ensure I would not be seen as a creep and traveled home.

***

The oak door squeaked and clicked as I entered, the shopping dropped at my feet.

The television crackled as ‘The Brady Bunch’ tune tickled the speakers.

I ruffled through the bag before finding the spam before going over to Tommy’s bowl.

‘It was on special today’ I mumbled to him.

His glassy eyes stuck to the bowl as it squelched and slopped out- adding another layer to the pile. I flopped my hand around in an attempt to scare away the flies, but they had been too stubborn and sucked themselves back to his food.

‘You’d have been hungry by now Tom; it’s been a month.’

The wooden floors creaked beneath my feet as I trod over to the couch and rested my legs up for another episode.

***

I flick the power off as the screen turns to static, this turned out to be a trigger to the loud crying.

I sigh heavily and follow the sound to the door at the end of the hall and open it.

‘Shut up!’ I say.

The girl twists and twitches against the homemade cuffs of a torn cream sheet: now fading to burgundy.

She blubbers in return with her snot soaking into the material over her mouth. Particles of orange fluids splutter through the cotton.

Her puddly eyes dart from mine to her fresh stub ending at the fibula. It was a tough job but it had to be done. It oozed yellows and reds beneath the gauze.

‘Fucking hell, it’s going to get infected if you keep moving around on it,’ I groan and rush over to tend the wound. ‘Ridiculous.’

She screams.

I am forced to poke her wound to make her stop. ‘You’re going to get us both done in. I’ll kill you if someone hears.’

Her breath become steady as I feel it push against my neck and I begin to examine the nub.

I look back up at her face and see her eyes rolling around while her head lolls back from side –to-side. She screams herself into consciousness.

‘Right’ I grumble and jump up. ‘I fucking warned you… I fucking did.’

I snatch the switchblade from the dressing cabinet and begin to slice.

It went straight through the ties on the wrists before cutting into the gag.

Her eyes widen and she begins to drag herself to the door.

I kick her over onto her back and stare into her soft dark eyes then glance at her bright red lips.

 

*This was originally published in the ‘Tertangala: Horror Issue’ (2023)