Mary and Laura had spent the evening in the cafe catching up. It had only been a week since their regular coffee night, but they had much to discuss. Even if they didn’t have a lot to talk about, the silence didn’t bother them since they were both knitters, and could enjoy the presence of an understanding friend while they worked on whichever projects they’d yet to finish or abandon. They were Thursday night regulars, the barista knew their orders and had taken to reserving the table for the two women so they could always sit in the same seats.
After a couple of hours, their cups empty, and conversation lulled Laura and Mary packed up to go, and it was Mary’s turn to pay. They wished each other a good night, Mary went to the counter to pay and Laura began her walk home in the cool evening air.
It was dark, yet Laura walked with confidence, enjoying the exercise and fresh air. She had made this walk every Thursday night for almost three years and she stayed on well-lit paths, barring a two minute shortcut across a dark field that saved her about ten minutes of walking.
While crossing the field Laura was on autopilot, thinking about what her plans were for the next day. What was did she have left to do at work before the end of the week? What was she going to make for dinner? Laura was focused on organizing her Friday, and she hadn’t noticed the dark figure that had left the cafe right after she did.
Had she noticed it, she might have recognized figure as the man that spent his Thursday nights at the same cafe that she and Mary had their regular visit too. They had never spoken, and Laura would swear that they’d never even made eye contact as it appeared as though the man was there to read and drink coffee. She may not have even been able to describe his face below the tip of his nose as it was always covered by a book.
In the middle of the dark field, The Bookworm grabbed a fistful of Laura’s hair and she yet out a yelp as he spun her around to face him. The moonlight reflected off of the whites of his eyes, wide with adrenaline. He had been anticipating this moment for months now, and his patience was about to pay off. Vibrating with excitement, he could barely speak. He hadn’t realized that in his excitement he’d been breathing through his mouth and when he started to speak through his dried up throat, his voice was hoarse. “Hello beautiful, it’s your lucky night.” he rasped as he threw Laura to the ground. He landed on top of her to stop her from crawling away.
He’d been fantasizing about this moment for a long time. Picturing Laura struggling to get away and try to scratch his eyes out while he countered her movements, controlling her. Her screams filling his ears, and the scent of her fear emanating through her pores, invigorating him. The Bookworm would tear at her clothes, cover her mouth, and run his tongue across her cheek to taste her tears. Months of building up courage was coming to a head as he laid on top of Laura, his weight pinning her to the ground, his anticipation too much to bear.
However, The Bookworm noticed that something wasn’t living up to his fantasy. Laura wasn’t trying to get away or fight back. In the middle trying to make sense of the situation he felt a sharp pain at the base of his skull and his body went limp.
“Hello Sister.” said Mary. She stood over Laura and The Bookworm holding a knitting needle, the end shiny with blood.
“Hello Mary, long time no see.” Laura laughed at her joke as she rolled The Bookworm off of her.
“I saw him follow you home, so I thought I should follow him. I’m glad I did.”
“I’m glad you did too. I’m blessed to have such a protective sister. I suppose we should take care of this.”
“We should. Let us begin.”
Mary removed her clothes, folded them, and placed them in a neat pile. She had a large scar down the middle of her back, running from the nape of her neck to her tailbone. Laura followed suit, placing her clothes on top of Mary’s, revealing a jagged scar on the front of her body starting at her collarbone, terminating between her legs.
Mary reached into her project bag, retrieving a work in progress she only ever worked on if it was a special occasion. The knitting needles looked primitive. It was hard to tell if they were made of wood or bone, they were white and dirty and gnarled like they were the crooked fingers of a witch. The yarn was out of the ordinary, thin and silvery, it looked wet, and sticky. Mary stood at The Bookworm’s feet and began to knit, her practiced fingers catching the fiber and the bent needles, the pattern instinctive.
As he lay on the ground staring up at his captors, panic was racing through his body, but he couldn’t act on it. He was immobilized and all he could do was reflect on the bad choices he’d made that led him here, and watch Mary knit. He saw Laura move behind Mary, slipping her arms around Mary’s waist, producing her own pair of witch fingers and begin helping Mary with her project.
The women knit as one and it became difficult to tell where Mary ended and Laura began. While the needles ticked and tocked against each other, they were absorbed by the women’s hands, their arms stretched and spindly now, each one terminating in a long, bony finger. Their scars began to move and pull apart, splitting open a pair of wet, bloody mouths. Laura pressed her new mouth against Mary’s, one torso swallowing the other up, ribs cracking and expanding to make room for the organs squishing against their partner, as the two knitters became one four-armed monstrosity.
The Bookworm could hear the snapping of bones as he saw the women’s pelvises shift and coalesce to accommodate four legs. Mary’s legs slid upwards to protrude from the sides of her abdomen, making space for Laura’s legs to slot in underneath them. While their bodies fused, so too did their heads. Like melted candles their faces flowed into one another, oozing into four swollen, dark eyes, and a wide, screaming mouth containing 64 teeth, and a long, thin tongue. Straight black and brown hair sprouted, covering it’s skin, leaving only the long fingers bare. This newly formed creature was the last thing The Bookworm saw as it finished knitting his silken tomb over his face and the top of his head.
Ensconced inside, he could now only hear the monster as it moved around him, it’s breathing pained and laboured. He still felt the fabric around him shift as it prodded at him, not realizing that he had been punctured yet again. The venom entered his body, filling him up, enzymes beginning the slow, painful process of dissolving him from the inside out. His screams, though muffled, were music to all four of the creature’s ears.
When The Bookworm’s screaming subsided, the monster used a fingernail to make a slit in the cocoon and plunged it’s head inside. It slurped at the soup, it’s giant mouth helping it drink quickly, and it’s teeth ground the bones to dust. It pulled it’s head out, slick with human offal, opened it’s wide toothy mouth and ate the shroud they had weaved. It gave a satisfactory sigh.
The process of separating itself back into the two sisters was as painful as it was when they combined. Bone ground on bone, and tendon pulled on muscle as arms, legs, and heads moved back into human proportion. The creature’s hair withdrew, the sluice from The Bookworm falling to the ground. The women’s giant, matching wounds sealed themselves shut, the scars slightly wider than they were before the main course of the evening.
Mary walked to the pile of neatly folded clothes, picked them up and handed Laura hers. “I don’t know about you, but I’m stuffed. I don’t think I’ll need to feed like that for months.” she said, patting her round belly.
“I didn’t realize how hungry I’d been, sister.” replied Laura. “It had been too long since the last feeding.”
“Now, now, dear sister, we can’t be greedy. The last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves.”
“You’re right, of course. Maybe we should travel more, see the sites, sample the local… fare.”
Mary let out a shrill laugh, “Oh you’re awful, sister. You may be right though, maybe we ought to book a holiday in 3 months. It would tide us over until the new year, certainly.”
“That sounds wonderful, I’d love to visit somewhere tropical. Anyway, it’s getting late and we should be getting home, sister. Same time next week?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The two sisters parted, leaving behind a dark shadow in the dark grass in the dark field.