“So, I was making the rounds, asking my neighbors for charitable donations for starving kids in Africa. I remember saying to him, you got something stuck between your teeth. How ironic is that? Since that’s when I noticed what he had a taste for. I’ve never spoken to this guy before, ever, even though he’s right next door,” Nan said, gnawing on her index finger; she swallowed a fleck of black nail polish. “It was green though, not flesh colored, probably spinach or broccoli.” She shuddered.
Detective Dante Alvarez grimaced, then nodded, his face flat, his eyes sharp, as he scratched notes onto a yellow pad of paper. He pressed down real hard, Nan noticed. Hard enough to etch her witness’ statement into the dining room table, she wondered. Her fifteen minutes of fame should be transcribed somewhere in case she missed taping it. On Channel WCSH at six, the reporter had reassured her three times.
“Dante, that’s a nice name, like the author of the nine circles inferno story,” Nan said, pointing at his badge with the chipped nail. “So Dante, what level of hell do you think Saul Rankin will get? Being a cannibal and all, I’m thinking the refrigerator-section circle,” she added with the snort-chuckle noise she made when flirting, hoping the handsome, stoic detective would surrender a smile.
“In hell?” he replied with down turned lips.
She flushed under her white foundation. “Yeah, well, okay, maybe not.” She chose another finger to sample and fought the impulse to twirl a lock of her inky hair.
“So, that was your only exchange with Mr. Rankin?”
“Yes, detective.” The lie puckered Nan’s mouth a bit, tasting tart as it crossed her lips. She had hit on Saul Rankin most days, especially when she knew–after all the strung out strangers, odd containers, and curious smells that peaked her appetite. But the nerd had never taken her bait, showed no interest in her piece of ass. She had hoped to become his lackey Igor apprentice, an occasional dinner companion, or whatever. During their last exchange at his apartment door, Saul had finally managed a shy smile with a garnish adorning his bicuspid. But still, no invite. Fed up, she called the cops.
Detective Dante Alvarez stood up to leave and gave Nan’s hand a gentle handshake. “Thank you for calling us. You’ve spared lives and saved this community. I’m sorry. This has been very traumatic, I’m sure. But Social Services can arrange counseling for you. I highly recommend it.”
She grinned sheepishly, held his hand too long. “Will you be there?”
“Ah, no.” He showed her his back.
“Well, so long and to hell with you, Detective Dante,” Nan thought, eyeing his rump. She slid her tongue over her teeth, starved for something, craving everything, wishing she had fangs.
©2009 Rebecca Nazar
Rebecca’ Nazar’s horror stories have appeared in Potter’s Field Anthology, Champagne Shivers, Bard and Sages, Bewildering Stories, Side Show Fables Museum Freaks, and the Daily Tourniquet.
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October 24th, 2009 at 5:41 am
What a great, and tasty, little story Rebecca. You just never really know your neighbours…nor do they know you.
October 24th, 2009 at 11:04 am
Well, anyone fancy a kebab? Nasty n nice!
October 24th, 2009 at 5:53 pm
Ohhh, nice one Rebecca! I just happened along it by chance. It builds and the ending is actually nice. It’s not campy or expected. Razor sharp work!
October 26th, 2009 at 5:01 am
Nice one, Becca. I’m not sure which of those delightful tenants would be the creepiest to live next door to.
October 26th, 2009 at 6:22 am
I love it. “so long and to hell with you, Detective Dante” is classic!
October 26th, 2009 at 6:37 am
Thanks for reading and your praise, guys. It means a lot.