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By Emmanuel Williams

In a cabin somewhere in the Rocky Mountains, a woman lived, alone and away. Away from the complications of others and their stupid fucking problems.

The only company she found in years had been a book laying on the ground left by… well god knows who… but its pages kept her company for a good week, so she kept it.

The cover read “Boney’s Cookbook”, and it had strange, ungodly recipes that called for seasonings, oils, and broths, but every single recipe called for a different section of… 

Human bones!

It was a cold night as Beatrice walked through her lonely woods when she came upon a group of men with backpacks and hiking boots who obviously had no idea where they were making camp.

Her time had come, she knew it.

She crept upon them as they slept their second night. Fools, they each slept in their own tent. No one would know she was here.

When her black dagger slit the man’s throat, the only sound was a light choke as the blood spilled carefully into his sleeping bag. This she dragged back to her cabin, and disrobed the man completely.

The book contained a series of recipes that all belonged together, and said that at the end it would summon her “savior”.

She wanted very badly to meet this savior. Whatever life came from it had to be better than being responsible for her own orgasm for 17 years and counting.

These intruders were not attractive to her, but a means to the end of her obsession with Boney’s instructions.

Beatrice cracked open the book for the first time and six years, and noticed a new page just before the recipes she was about to perform. In scarlet cursive, it read:

*

“Never use the same body twice

Toss the rest to a fiery demise

Or you’ll never meet your savior’s eyes”

*

Scowling, she flipped past the page and checked for the first bones required, everything else she had collected over the years. Until now there was only one missing ingredient per recipe…

“A pair of feet from the same body,” she recited aloud to the cabin. A heavy cauldron sat bubbling in her fireplace. Underneath the fire burned hot and heavily stacked with wood.

She took her chopping axe off the wall above it and slumped her victim down on the chair. But before she could lift her axe, she noticed his cock was uncircumcised. 

She peered closer, and kissed it…

Took it in her mouth…

When she was satisfied, she found the dagger she had slit his throat with, and took the cock from the man’s hips in delicate slices to preserve as much of the girth as she could.

Pulling a bucket from under the sink, she threw her trophy within, and resumed the recipe’s instructions.

The first foot came clean off in one huge lift, drop, and follow through. Blood puddled beneath him slowly. 

The second foot was botched. She had only gotten half through before the gash splashed her face and cotton-white apron with blood and unexpected force. Stepping back she cursed Boney and his stupid book, and waited for the stream to abate.

When she struck again, she placed both feet in the cooking broth and let it cook until the fire went out hours later.

The concoction made her breakfast and lunch, but before dinner, she remembered there were more recipes to cook, and her first victim still sat in the chair, leaking all over the mainroom. Of course walking on blood was half the fun, but she had to put her mind back to the task.

The wood had burned out and Beatrice built a new fire to burn the remaining potion, along with separate pieces of chopped hiker. Of which the torso was slowest to go.

Then it was out to the camp.

She hoped they’d still be there. After all, it’s not everyday one of your mates goes missing completely. For all they know, however, he could simply have chosen to sleep away from the cabin. Unless she left any blood leaking when dragging him off.

The camp looked undisturbed. And she crept into the next tent.

He choked as the last had.

Soon she was back in her cabin.

Beatrice disrobed her second victim with increasing excitement. In her rush, she used the dagger and cut down the side of the man’s pajama bottoms, but couldn’t wait any longer. She cut the other side half way down the side and peeled the flap down to reveal another cock. 

This time circumcised.

She went to town. And collected the phallus in her bucket for later…

“A severed pelvis crushed to fit the pot,” read Beatrice.

This was tricky. It’s not like she had a sledgehammer readily available. Was her axe gleaming in its perch above the cauldron? Of course! The back end!

After dismembering last night’s victim, it was quicker work hacking the body into its pieces. Isolating the pelvis took special care at the lower back and hip joints. And she had to pull bowels apart and set the bone itself in the fire to get rid of the excess meat. 

Once she was satisfied, she placed the pelvic bone on the floor, turned her axe backward, and aimed straight down.

At first it just rocked back and forth with a small chip off. She wound her arms from the ground and then smashed. 

Alas!

Chunks of pelvis hit the cauldron like a diver plopping into a lake.

Again she left the potion bubbling overnight, and ate her fill until dinnertime. Burning the remains, and heading into the camp.

A knife to the neck without disturbance. Cradling the bloodfall into the bag. Dragging and dragging and dragging the poor boy…

“An empty skull…Light 13 candles… burn remains before adding bone to pot…”

She did as she was told, but first she held the man’s cock in her throat. Saliva dripping ever so late in her wet grip. Quickly she added him to her bucket, which she felt like hiding in case the seance worked…

A beheading is far simpler than breaking down a human carcass, but she botched it just like the second foot. And had to wait for the blood to stop spreading like a super soaking plague. 

Then Beatrice finished the job.

As she cracked open the skull, she stopped dead. 

Someone was there.

“Speak your intentions,” she hissed, without turning. But she gripped the dagger tight all the same.

“You think you will be saved,” said a voice, deep and without pity. She spun to see a navy cloaked figure, his head pale above his collar. His mouth was patient in expectation, but… with sockets for eyes. He stood there, looking every bit the summoned demon she had been waiting for.

“Where are your eyes?”

“You were warned were you not,” was his reply.

“What is this!” She could not keep the lividity out of her shriek. “I command you to deliver your promises! I am she who summoned you!”

“The instructions were clear.” He had not moved an inch. Like a messenger more than the threat it felt like.

“I did everything required. It was fun, thank you- the most fun I’ve had all my life! And now I want my reward!”

His head rose slightly, as if he could see her now.

“Toss the rest to a fiery demise.”

She slammed her dagger and dropped her head in exasperation. When she looked up to deliver her retort, her savior had vanished.

“NO! NO! NOOO!”

Beatrice stormed over to the bucket of cocks she had hidden, and threw them into the fire. There before it she slumped, crumbling, crestfallen and weary.

The air began to fill with the stench of cock until Beatrice began to choke offensively, profusely. Until she could no longer breathe.

Black smoke left the chimney and filed out through every open window…

*

The End