Stuart MacBride - Halfhead

Copyright Stuart B. MacBride 2009

Theres blood everywhere.

It sparkles in the artificial light like diamonds scattered onto dark-red velvet. It fills the air with the scent of burning copper and hot rust, tugging at her belly. It soaks through her jumpsuit, making the cheap fabric cling to her gaunt body like a second skin.

Its wonderful.

She falls to her knees in the filthy toilet cubicle; shuddering in ecstasy. With a trembling hand she reaches forward and touches something that looks like boiled beetroot, but isnt.

Memories burst across her tattered brain: succulent, delicious memories. The hunt. The kill. The sweet, sweet release. She wants to moan, but no sound comes out

For a long time she just sits there, surrounded by the fruits of her labour. And then, bit by bit, her mind begins to return. A mind she hasnt used for over six years. All sharp edges and buzzing noise.

Bees and broken glass.

For the first time since the trial, she understands where she is: this is a toilet. Cheap, municipal tiles encrusted with human filth and coated in a film of blood. Pine disinfectant fighting against the acrid stench of old urine. Slowly she stands, the sticky handful falling from her numb fingers, splattering against the floor.

As she steps out into the low room a cloud of flies startle into flight and dance drunkenly through the boiling air, in toxicated on haemoglobin.

Not bees. Bluebottles. Theyre pretty.

She holds out a hand and one lands on a sticky red fingertip. Hairy little legs. Fragile glass wings. Her thumb jabs forwards, trapping the wriggling shiny body. Holding it there. It buzzes and wriggles. A tiny life.

And then, slowly, she squeezes till it pops. A little explosion of yellow. A tiny death.

Broken bluebottles and glass.

Theres a mirror mounted on the wall above the sinks. Its cracked, layered with graffiti. Mimicking the rooms shabby contents: the dirty walls; the streaks of arterial red; the flies; and the thing in the bloodstained orange and black jumpsuit, staring right back

Broken.

Suddenly everything is still. Even the bluebottles settle, not daring to spoil the moment.

Tears blur her eyes as she finally understands what she has become. The face in the mirror is not the face of a human being, its the face of an animal. A killer. A halfhead. No hair, no mind and no lower jaw.

She cant even scream.

Control, this is Delta One Four, do you copy?

Affirmative Delta One Four. You are cleared to proceed.

Jacobs, youre on sweep. Phillips: back door. Ill take point. On three, two, one The heavy plastic door slammed back against the toilet wall and suddenly the low, stinking room was full of flies. Move! Move! Move!

Jacobs charged in, his Field Zapper pointing everywhere at once. Out in the corridor Phillips was facing back the way theyd come, covering the entrance. Detective Sergeant Cameron ran into the toiletsthen slithered to a halt on the blood-smeared tiles. Seven years with the Bluecoats and shed never seen anything like this. There was something dark and sticky smeared all over one of the toilet cubicles. It used to be a man.

DS Cameron reached one hand up and keyed the little switch buried beneath the skin of her throat.

Control She turned her back on the butchered remains. Weve got a problem.

Now, can anyone tell me what this is? Anyone? Yes, Sophie?

A small girl in a neon-blue tabard dropped her hand and grinned a gap-toothed grin. Its a bad person.

Thats right Sophie! The teacher smiled. They were good kids. Now, can anyone tell me why they cut bad peoples heads in half?

There wasnt even a moments pause: all twelve of them leaped up and down screaming, Because theyve been naughty!

To be honest, the halfhead they were staring at didnt look all that naughty, just another poor soul who wasnt going to cause any more trouble. A man with half a face, a fried brain, and a barcode tattooed on his forehead. He was slowly mopping his way across the entrance lobby, cleaning the marble-tiled floor until it sparkled. The small group followed him, ignoring the priceless works of art lining the walls. Theyd found something much more interesting. Some of the children pulled faces, sticking out their top teeth, pulling in their chins and rolling their eyes. One or two of them pretended to clean the floor with special, invisible mops. It was amazing just how much imagination they had.

Now, then, the teacher said as they rounded the corner, what do you think the bad person did? Nigel, what do you think? What did he do?

Nigel examined his boots for a minute. Wath he mean to thomebodyth cat?

Ooh, that would be naughty wouldnt it?

Yes! they screeched.

Excuse me. The voice came from a well-dressed man waiting for the lift.

Just a moment. Young persons, what do we say to the nice man?

We dont talk to strangers!

Thats right! The teacher turned and beamed at the gentleman in the dark-blue suit. Arent they clever!

There was a slight pause, then the man said, Delightful.

We like to come here and look at all the pretty paintings, dont we?

Yes!

For the first time the stranger smiled. Obviously the children had worn down his initial reserve. Theyd taken someone theyd never met before and, in a matter of seconds, turned him into a friend. They were wonderful that way.

I couldnt help overhearing your question, What did he do?

Nigel jumped up and down, waving his hand in the air, desperate to be the centre of attention again. He wath mean to thomebodieth cat!

The stranger reached forward and ruffled Nigels hair, bringing an even bigger grin to the lads face.

He was indeed. A lot of them are to begin with. Before they escalate. The man dropped down and winked at the circle of children. Moths, frogs, cats, dogsThen this one turned his attentions to little boys. He liked to cut their fingers off, one by one, and stick them somewhere dark and private.

Ooh! A little girl tugged at the strangers sleeve. Did he stick them up their noses? Did he? Nigels always sticking his fingers up his nose.

No I dont! Dont lithen to her, sheth a poo-head.

Am not!

Are too!

Er, look, I dont think this is entirely appropriate. For the first time the teacher noticed that the strangers smile didnt go as far as his eyes. In fact, now that he really looked, there was something decidedly sinister about the man. Come on, children, weerhave to be going. He gathered them together, trying to get them to safety, but the nasty man kept on talking.

Then, when they didnt have any fingers left, he would cut off their toes. If they were lucky they died from shock. If not, they were still alive while he opened up their tummies. With a kitchen knife.

Thats disgusting! How dare you!

The lift doors pinged open and the man stepped backwards through them.

When we caught him there were fifteen little boys buried under his floorboards and three more in the freezer. His expression hardened as he stared straight into the teachers eyes. Try and remember that next time you feel like taking the piss.

A soft chime sounded and the doors began to slide shut. Whats your name? Ill report you to your superiors!

Clunk. With a dry whirr the lift departed taking the horrible man and his unpleasant stories with it.

Safely cocooned within the glass-walled car the nasty man in the dark-blue suit reached up and keyed his throat-mike.