The wine was dry. It burned his throat as it slid down. Delicious. Vintage wine. Expensive, but one should spare no expense when eating a fine dinner. He set the glass of dry red down and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. It left traces of red, faintly resembling stains of blood, on the white napkin. He looked around at his guests, all of whom were so caught up in the meal that no conversation was occurring. They were enjoying, and this pleased him. He loved to cook and treat his guests, and his passion showed in the tremendous and divine flavour that poured forth from each morsel of meat. He had finished his plate and was waiting for his guests to finish before offering them seconds, as well as retrieving another plate for himself. Finally someone spoke up, breaking the deafening silence.

“Henry, this food is simply incredible. You MUST give me your recipe,” Marge said in between a mouthful of food.

Henry sipped his wine and a smile crept over his face at the compliment.

“A good chef never reveals his recipes,” he said with good cheer.

“I thought the saying was ‘a good magician never reveals their secrets'?” Dave asked.

“Well, a good chef and a magician are one in the same – they both produce magic,” Henry said smugly.

Everybody laughed. His charm seemed to fill the room. His aura demanded attention and when he spoke, everybody listened. A magnetic personality like that combined with feverishly good looks was sure to guarantee an abundance of friends and followers. Dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. Mysterious eyes, the kind that give absolutely nothing away – regardless of who looks into them. A good frame, muscle he had worked tirelessly to achieve. Always well dressed and even better spoken. Without a doubt, all traits one would classify as belonging to a perfect man.

His wine had finished. He poured another glass and took a deep sip. Cherishing the taste, swirling it around his mouth.

“Seconds, anyone?” he asked.

Unanimously everyone agreed they would like more. He gladly obliged. He cleaned the plates and headed for the kitchen. He could hear the chatter bubbling after he left. They were discussing how beautiful his house was. The pure white walls and marble floor. High ceilings coupled with chandeliers made it look like the house of a God.

“More wine?” he shouted from the kitchen.

Marge shouted back that yes, more wine was indeed needed. He left the plates and headed down into the cellar. He browsed the many bottles for a moment and carefully selected yet another vintage wine. He blew the dust from the bottle and smiled to himself. Perfect wine for the perfect meal.

He returned to the table, carrying the bottle under his arm and a plate for each of the guests. They ate ravenously, as though they had not eaten in days. It really was delicious. Perfectly cooked. Soft, tender and juicy. Bursting with flavour and sliced with the precision of a samurai.

That was the last of the meat, unfortunately. All that was left in the kitchen that contained flesh was her head. Legs, arms and torso had been devoured. He wouldn’t serve them her face anyway. It was beautiful. Once the guests had left, he would sever the head and add it to his collection, and dispose of the bones that he and his guests had picked clean. The head would look so good amongst the other trophies retained from dinner nights.

Written by AlexJHickey
Content is available under CC BY-SA