About 'The Hillside Butcher'Edit
The Mansion of Delights has recruited a very dangerous gentleman. Once a small time family butcher along with his Wife, situated in the Cottage that they grew up in. Stomach bugs, migraines, puking, blindness - to name a minimal amount of problems that the cottage folk reported. They could never figure why this was happening though.
Originally, the head butcher named Thomas Gavin sold the rarest slabs of steak and the tastiest cuts of sandwich meats. An expensive butcher's indeed but totally worth the price.
Steak: £32 per slab
Ham/Pork/Turkey Slices (5 per pack): £8
Chicken had later been added to the menu, legs, wings and nuggets ranging from £7-£12 per bucket depending on the portion ordered.
Thomas had a Wife who was also part of the small business, she was in charge of sales - strictly. She never, ever stepped foot into the kitchen and Tom made sure of that. Grace Gavin aged 46, was 10 years older than Thomas but still looked younger than him. Thomas was a chubby butcher and had a huge, wire-pubed beard. His face was red and grazed probably from the years of close quarters cooking but who knows. She was none the wiser to his craziness, work came first and marriage came second for The Gavin's. No kids, lots of money and a big cottage home situated deep in the heart of The Hillside.
Thomas woke up one special Sunday morning. On a Sunday, the Butchers was closed all day and usually Tom and Grace would relax like any couple: breakfast in the morning, movie and snacks in the afternoon and drinks late at night with the average catch up of television shows that they had recorded throughout the working week. Only on this day, Thomas the Butcher had other plans.
Awakening next to a sleeping Grace, Tom rubbed his eyes and slowly heaved himself from the bed, quietly to avoid waking his wife. With success, he gathered his clothes that were bunched together on the bedroom floor and took them to the bathroom across the landing. He stood rotund bellied in the big bathroom mirror just looking at himself. He stroked his hands over his stomach, yawning and scratching his bushy beard. Looking greasy, he lifted his arms and sniffed under his armpits. They stank of spicy body odour, the left one moreso than the right one. He gazed at the bath tub but didn't consider a wash today, clothing himself in front of the mirror and brushing his teeth momentarily, he stood back facing the mirror nodding to himself and readying up as he sets off on his secret journey.
Closing the front door behind him, the morning air is crisp and fresh on Tom's fat face. Smelling fresh as always the Hillside did - not for long.He steps from the cottage home and walks along the dewy grass toward his truck. Sitting inside his vehicle it is colder than a freezer displayed by his breathy yawn that clouds up the interior for a few seconds. He turns his chubbed neck and checks the back seat, his camo-bag full of hunting rifles and skewers lay neatly where he left it. He turns the key and starts the engine, driving to his own secret shack out in the woods.
In this shack lay Thomas's victims still alive. They sat on small wooden chairs and were tied up to the back rest and chair legs. The rope Tom used had wounded their wrists and ankles, but the cold weather kept them from feeling this simple pain. They sat fully naked and gagged by the mouth. Tom's idea was to preserve their bodies in the cold, which may ripen the flesh and make it much tastier. Keeping them alive or, to leave them to a natural death was the healthiest way for human steak to taste amazing. Thomas knew this from his natural cooking method of animal meat. For human, he was trying something new.
It was 7 days that his victims sat in the shack without food but Tom did give them water. He pulled up outside the shack - each victim woke to this sound. Any sound in this desolate area was loud enough to hear from anywhere. Tom eventually arrived, unlocking the padlock and entering the shack. He saw his 3 victims looking back at him. With pale blue faces, blackened eyes and malnuerished bodies Tom's steaks were looking perfect. The floor of the shack had loose planks of wood that creaked as Tom stepped across them. He got to work straight away, slamming his camo-bag down and crouching down in an 'explaining' position.
He examined each slab of meat with no caring human emotion whatsoever. Pulling a small pocket pad out and a blade-sharpened pencil from his back pocket, he was examining the steaks and jotting notes down as if something like his car had several problems that he had to address. The victims were worsening with tired rage, yanking at their tied hands and feet, groaning and heaving through the balled gags in their mouths. The victim sat in the middle was inaudibly speaking to Tom, really trying to speak but not a word was clear. The only emotion Tom gave was a moment away from his pocket pad as he lowered it, laughing at the victim and shaking his head as if it was utterly pointless of him to even try. The other 2 victims watched on, hoping to see freedom but were well aware it wasn't happening. Tom leant at all 3 steaks equally, jotting notes down on different pages and erasing certain errors he made and correcting himself happily. At the final victim seated on the left, Tom had made several mistakes with this one. Speaking to himself saying, "It just won't taste nice like this...no no no."
He stood up and grabbed a hunting rifle from the bag, with speed he aimed it at this victim's face and pulled the trigger. The sound was crushingly loud and blood exploded out like a water balloon popping. His brains splatted on all 3 of them, the other 2 victims were now screaming behind their gags and Tom was fussy that brain and skull fragments had stained his denim overalls. He quickly reached back into the bag and sprayed himself down with some sort of anti-stain removal. Upon turning around, he saw the middle and other victim looking at the dead steak. His body remained seated but the whole face was missing, just a nubbin of spine stuck out from the neck and the bottom jaw lay springing on a thick nerve. Behind the carcass was a jigsaw strewn face, eyelids and eyebrows attached to a forehead had slapped against the wooden shack wall, slowly flopping down. The rest was too muddled to figure out, but looked like way too much blood and guts to be contained within a head. The middle victim began to puke after a few minutes frozen in fear. The vomit struggled to exit through the gag and he began to throttle and jerk as his mouth filled with a watery biled fluid. Tom sighed, grabbed a knife and slit the chord that was part of the gag. The vomit blew out all over the steak's naked thighs. His jaw however remained locked, fixated as if the gag was still there. It had been in there for 7 days afterall.
An hour had flew by. Tom cleaned the brain bits up and poured them down a small hole between the floorboards. The living victims watched him the whole way. Tom then returned to his bag, spraying his hands and shoes, to then pulling out 3 huge plastic, sealable bags. Human body sized for sure. The ungagged steak's jaw had loosened up throughout this time and perhaps 100 attempts of "Please, let me go. I won't say a word," had been attempted but Tom simply ignored him. It did annoy him though. As confirmed by the next death, Tom finally spoke. "Because you haven't shut up, giving me a darn headache. You get what butcher's call, 'the cow shock therapy'. I'll perform this more surgically for your small human head, unlike your friend there." He pointed a long needle-like skewer at the dead victim. Laughing as he did so. Again with speed, Tom stepped to the middle slab of meat forecfully grabbing his head and wragging it around in his hand. Chuckling along as he teased him with the needle. The victim attempted to bite Tom's hand, anything to attack back - it didn't work. The victim on the right was watching directly at them with welled tears in his eyes, amazed in horror at what was happening. Tom then hoffed up his morning phlegm and spat it in the ungagged mouth of the victim. He then stuffed the discarded gag back in the mouth and laughed like a fat man watching a comedy. Loud, deafening, scary. He switched the laugh to a serious act and shouted, "KEEP FUCKING STILL OR I'LL KILL YOU!!". A strange threat considering he was going to anyway. He paused after the shout and stared right into his eyes, still with his hand covering the mouth. Strict eye contact, and so close to him that his bushy beard was touching him.
The needle, pointed square in the middle of the steak's forehead was pushed gradually. It struggled at first, Tom's large fat arm began to shake as the needle broke through the skulled forehead. It then softly inserted as if pushing through a soft mesh once it broke through the skull. The eyes of the victim rolled back into his head and blood easily poured out of the mouth all over his naked body. Shaking and still reacting a minute or so later, the hands were straining and the legs kicked and jerked. Tom stood with his hand on the neck throughout, feeling for a pulse. He said, "Gone," yet the body was still vibrating in reaction. The other victim was looking at the stomach though, watching it pulsate and throb in no paticular breathing motion. It stopped. Dead.
Thomas stood back ejecting the needle from the brain and dropping it, groaning as if his back was really sore. He muttered, "God damnit" and continued to moan as he cleaned the needle. Stretching and bending his back in different angles, he turned slowly to his final victim. A silence was now within the shack. The last steak sat, not blinking but looking blankly at the floor. His breathing was out of control and thick webs of saliva hung from his chin. Tom was watching him. He also looked at the other 'ready' steaks as they sat deader than dead in their chairs. In his head he was calculating the amount of steaks and special chicken nuggets he could make from them. He nodded to himself and wrote something in the pocket pad again. Placing it back into his pocket, he waddles to the final victim and leans down on one knee in front of him. He was still looking blankly at the floor obviously in burning shock. Tom slaps his hand on the juicy thigh of the steak, not a single bat of an eyelid or reaction. Tom was confused..but carried on. "I have figured out that I have enough meat to fund what I need. I'm considering letting you go. Today is your lucky day, but I need to be able to trust you. Right now, I clearly don't trust you...not after them." Them: pointing at the dead people next to him. The victim wasn't responding still and Tom was getting cold feet. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity for somebody in this position. Tom squeezed the thigh of this man hard, nothing. He stood up, thinking, scratching his head with one hand and poorly massaging his sore back with the other. He waved his hand in front of the man's eyes to obtain a reaction -- he was totally out of it. 'Fuck it' Tom thought. He cocked the rifle and finished him off in the same way as the first steak. "More for the Cottage, I guess."
Tom spent the next few hours removing any evidence. The addition of more skull and brain made it tricky, but the burning of the shack afterwards made it perfect. Before that, Tom packaged his new meat into the plastic sealable bags and carried them out onto the grass outside. He lay them in order of how they were sat - he didn't like names in case he was ever caught, he had no information to give to the authorities, but named them 1, 2 and 3. Each bag was stickered 'Flesh' and as he finished placing them he struck a match and burnt the shack down to the ground. He sat back and enjoyed the success in the heated flames.
With a loud ring throughout the Hillside, Tom suddenly panicked. It was a siren of a fire engine in the distance. Or maybe the police? Tom did not stay around to find out. He quickly gathered his bag, but left the packaged bodies on the grass. Swearing angrily and smacking his steering wheel "Fuck! Fuck! Fucking fuck!" he drove back home to his Wife. It was a pointless journey and a failed plan. Driving along the unmarked Hillside road, he passes the fire engine that was driving to the scene. Nothing happened on his way home and he spent his Sunday night as he always did, TV shows and a few drinks with Grace.
This photograph was taken by the Police who were later called to the 'scene of the crime'. It displays a Detective examining the packaged bodies.
Detective Morris Ray. Undercover Mansioner who works outside of The Mansion as a Private Detective on strange cases much like this one. He gathered any evidence of Thomas Gavin and later caught up with him at home. Tom was angry thinking it was all over for him, reaching for his Rifle - before Morris explained that he has a chance of freedom. He proposed that Tom could either be arrested for manslaughter or live away from his Wife here at The Mansion.
We now serve the tastiest steaks ever.