Out, Damned Spot! Chapter 4
How I Was Going to Fix Everything
Content Warning: Extreme body horror, graphic violence and murder, graphic dismemberment of a corpse, strong language, intense psychological distress, and descriptions of foul odors.
Reader discretion is strongly advised.
New to the Story? Start here:
Previous Chapter:
(You sickos never tapped out? Good. Deeper we go.)
I don’t recall how long I sat staring at Sharon’s lifeless body.
Could I even call it a body? Her head was pretty much gone, smashed into a pile of gooey bits of bone, blood, brain, and meat. The most shocking part was the sound. I was expecting it to sound like hitting a baseball with an aluminum bat, but the actual sound was more hollow and higher-pitched, like striking a mallet against a xylophone. At least for the first swing, the subsequent ones were much squishier. And when I turned the hammer around, that wet schlop sound, like separating two halves of a cantaloupe that weren’t cut all the way through.
I shuddered at the memory, balling my fists into my eyes and shaking my head, trying to push the image from my mind. I needed to do something; I couldn’t just sit here and dwell on this. I had a body to get rid of and a foot to chop off.
That’s when the idea hit me to make a list. Line out all the steps I needed to take to handle everything. Making to-do lists and project outlines was second nature as a project engineer. I grabbed my notebook and a pen and jotted down the following:
Cut off my foot.
Get rid of Sharon.
No, it wasn’t that simple. How was I going to cut off my foot? This list wouldn’t work. I crossed out that list. Fuck that list. I revised the list.
Research how to cut off my foot.
Cut off foot.
Get rid of Sharon.
Get rid of Sharon. What does that even mean? I needed to be more specific. When I referred back to the list, I needed to know what I meant. Still no good. I crossed out that list and turned to the next page. I made another list revision.
Research how to cut off my foot.
Cut off foot.
Dispose of Sharon’s body.
Now I was getting somewhere. This was a good start to the list. But a thought occurred to me: what if I don’t have all of the necessary supplies to remove my foot? Or to dispose of Sharon’s body? I lived in a two-bedroom apartment; it’s not like I had a selection of power tools at my disposal. I would have to make a supply run to Costco. Or Lowe’s. Or maybe both. I couldn’t buy all of my supplies at the same store. That would draw suspicion. I needed to map out a series of purchases from multiple stores.
Another list revision was needed. And when that list proved incomplete, I crossed it out and made another. Revising of lists continued for some time. Maybe it was from lack of sleep, or perhaps it was post-traumatic response from using a hammer to redecorate my living room with Sharon’s face, or maybe it was my fucking itching foot. Maybe it was all three. I’m sure I could have come up with a list of reasons why a perfect to-do list was so important, but I was running short on time.
Once I sorted out my list, a thought occurred to me. Who else was home? Who else could’ve heard what I just did? There were four other tenants in this building besides myself and Sharon. I was on the end, so only Sharon shared a wall with me. Still between her screaming and my hammer work, someone could’ve heard something.
I looked at the bloodied hammer. If anyone else were home, I’d have to—
I pushed the thought away. No, this has gone too far already. Just call the police. Turn yourself in. Plead insanity. They will sedate you. They will make the itching stop.
I looked at the mess that was my Property Manager on my floor. I doubted any police officer showing up to find that would give two shits about my comfort.
I stumbled to my front window to look at the parking lot. There were three cars out there. Sharon’s Celica. An Elantra with a “For Sale” sign in the window. A Duke Energy utility truck with the driver still inside on the phone. It was the first bit of luck since my foot started itching. With no more murders to commit, I set out to complete my list.
STEP 1: Preliminary Clean Up of Sharon’s Body
I hobbled to the utility room for a couple of trash bags and some more duct tape. I propped Sharon up and slid the first one over the stump of her head down to her shoulders and secured it in place with the duct tape. I didn’t expect her to fit in the bag; it was just a temporary arrangement until I could properly dispose of her body. I tossed a blanket over her and rolled her into it like a mummy. Step one, complete.
STEP 2: Mask the Smell of My Foot.
If I were going shopping, I needed to be able to do so without smelling like roadkill. I took off my pants. Then I worked a sock over my foot, put it in the second trash bag, and pulled it up to my knee. Before tying it off, I sprayed half a bottle of Febreze in the bag to duke it out with the rotting smell my foot has been emitting. The sting of the spray on the shredded flesh of my toes brought a new bout of pain and an overwhelming sense of relief throughout my body, but I maintained my focus and tied off the bag over my knee. I put a few wraps of duct tape around it to tighten the seal. I wrapped the tape as tight as I could, figuring that keeping circulation wasn’t a priority since I was going to lop it off.
I put my pants back on and slipped a snow boot over my now-bagged foot. After some hesitation, I decided to keep my regular shoe on my other foot. I was going to be limping and still dealing with the twitching, so I couldn’t hide the fact that I had a bum leg. Plus, I needed to be able to drive with my good foot.
The trash bag and Febreze seemed to be doing the job of containing the aroma. Step two was complete. On to —
STEP 3: Get Sharon’s Keys
I needed a car. Sharon had a car. Her keys were most likely in her apartment. I finished getting dressed and locked up my apartment, giving the place a good dousing of Febreze as I left (I kept a can on me just in case I needed to reapply to my foot). Sharon’s door was still open, and her cat was rubbing against the doorway as I approached.
Shit, Sharon’s cat! I had forgotten about the cat. Percival, I think his name was. He took a liking to my leg, rubbing up against it and sniffing it as he purred. The vibrations of his purring against the boot were strong enough to vibrate my foot and the glass shards digging into it, bringing a moment of overwhelming relief. I stood for a minute and let him rub all over it.
I found her keys hanging on the wall next to the refrigerator. I refilled Percival’s water dish and overfilled his food dish before leaving the apartment. Maybe after I cut off my foot, I would bring him with me, but now wasn’t the time.
STEP 4: Supply Run To Home Depot, WalGreens, and Lowe’s
I limped my way to Sharon’s Celica, thankful that she put up a sign to mark her parking spot as the closest to the building. The duct tape cutting off circulation to my lower leg dulled some of the itch, but I’d still get a stab of a pin prick that would make my leg twitch. The Duke Energy guy gave me a half wave as I walked to the car. He was off his phone and headed to read the meters, which wouldn’t take him anywhere near my apartment. I had made sure to close all the blinds and turn off the lights before leaving, so even if he had been outside my windows, he wouldn’t be able to see in.
Driving proved to be more problematic than I thought. I had to focus on the road and resist the urge to punch the throttle every time the itching grew in my foot. The Febreze still seemed to be holding its own, which was good. I rolled the windows down to breathe in the clean air. So refreshing.
My first stop was at Home Depot, where I bought plastic drop cloths, a footlocker, a clear plastic rain suit, and some more tape. I also bought a pack of gum because no one who just committed murder and was in the process of completing a plan to cut off his foot would buy gum. Just a guy doing some home repairs in need of extra storage space while keeping dry, nothing to worry about, folks.
Next on the trip was WalGreens, where I tried to find some sunburn spray to use as a topical numbing agent for when I cut off my foot. I wasn’t surprised they didn’t have it, but they did have another benzocaine-based spray for burns that would do the trick. I also bought some rubbing alcohol, cleaning supplies for my floor, and a Coke. All normal purchases for a normal guy, no cause for alarm.
Last on my agenda was Lowe’s for the saw. I wasn’t much of a handyman, so I had no idea what type of saw would best suit my needs. It’s not like googling “best saw for cutting off your foot?” would get many results (I know because I tried), so I browsed through the available options. Jigsaws, table saws, miter saws, hack saws, chainsaws, so many saws.
I narrowed it down to either a bandsaw or a miter saw. I kicked my foot against the display as I considered the options.
“Can I help you, sir?” A clerk asked. I didn’t even hear him walk up behind me.
“Yes, I need a saw, and I don’t know what kind to get,” I replied.
“I may be able to help you. What are you cutting?”
“Bone,” I said, then quickly added, “beef bones, for my dog. I get them from my butcher, but they’re too big, so I wanted to cut them down. I need something that will make a smooth cut and not make a lot of bone fragments.”
The clerk waved it off. “You’d be surprised how many times we get people in here needing a saw to cut animal bones. So many hunters in these parts. Typically, I tell people that a hacksaw is quite good at cutting bone, and it leaves a smooth cut.”
He pointed to a small handheld saw hanging on the shelf. I mulled it over, thinking about how I would cut off my foot with a manual saw. No, that wouldn’t work. I needed a quick, clean cut.
“I have a lot of cutting to do,” I explained. “I don’t want to wear out my arm. What about a power saw?”
I kicked the display as an itching fit rumbled while the clerk thought it over. After mulling it over for a few minutes, he spoke, “A bandsaw is an option, but depending on how thick the pieces are, you may be better off with the arm saw with a fine-toothed saw blade.”
He helped me select a saw and a few blades to see which gave the smoothest cut. I went ahead and bought a hacksaw too, figuring it may come in handy with Sharon’s disposal.
I waited as he opened up a new Lowe’s credit card for me, six months same as cash. I figured I wouldn’t be around in six months when it came time to pay, no matter how this played out. My final Lowe’s purchase was a 12-inch compound miter saw, 4 saw blades, and a hacksaw. Oh, and a Snickers bar too, why not? Just a regular guy buying regular things who needs a Snickers bar. Nothing suspicious whatsoever.
I put the miter saw in the back seat, the rest of the stuff in the trunk, and drove home. The parking lot had one less car when I returned; the Duke Energy truck was no longer there. One less potential person I’d have to deal with.
And by “deal with”, I knew what I meant by that, and it scared the shit out of me. Sharon was an impulse; had I been in my right mind and not itching like mad, I never would’ve done that. Sure, I hated her, but not enough to kill her. Now, my first impulse was to murder someone who got in my way. Was this who I was now?
I hauled my purchases into my apartment and set up the saw in my kitchen, taping off the area with plastic. I turned on the television and switched to one of the music channels, turning up the volume to help drown out the sound. Once I had my work area set up, I put on my rain suit. I was now ready to move on to the next step of my list.
STEP 5: Prepare Sharon’s Body for Disposal
I dragged Sharon’s body into the kitchen. I started with her left arm at the wrist, using the blade that came with the saw. It had fewer teeth, more of a ripsaw blade designed for quicker cuts that weren’t all that clean. I lowered the blade against her wrist, a laser line appearing over the spot where the saw would cut. Blood splattered against the saw arm as I pushed the blade down, sinking the teeth into the flesh of her wrist. I had to hold her arm down as the saw kept grabbing and trying to pull her arm into the blade. It cut clean through, and her hand flopped off onto the pedestal. I wrapped her hand in plastic, taping it up, and threw it into the footlocker.
I used that blade up to her shoulder on her left arm, cutting at the elbow and shoulder, and chucking those pieces wrapped in plastic into the footlocker. I switched to a finer-toothed blade for her right arm, starting again at her wrist and making two more cuts up her arm. I had to cut more slowly on her right arm as the blade kept grabbing, but the cut was much smoother.
I decided to try the diamond-tipped blade to cut off her left leg, starting at the upper thigh and working down. This blade was designed more for cutting ceramic and glass and was smooth, almost like the blade you’d see in the deli. I imagined cutting thin slices of Sharon’s thigh, holding them up to customers, and asking, “Is this thin enough for you?”
I giggled. Fuck this was crazy.
The ceramic blade was a horrible failure. It was a clean cut, but it took forever to work through the thick femur bone, and the friction of the blade against the meat and fat of her upper legs was starting to smoke and cook. It smelled like frying ham steaks, which was both delicious and stomach-turning. I sprayed some more Febreze when I finished throwing up in the sink.
I took that blade off and switched back to the one I had used on her right arm, and it cut just as well as it did on her arm as long as I went at a steady pace. I made cuts at the hip, above the knee, and at the ankle, then repeated the process on her other leg, wrapped all the pieces except her feet, and put them in the footlocker. All that was left besides her feet was her torso. I had no intention of cutting into her guts, so I wrapped her up in the rest of the plastic and put her in the footlocker.
I made two final practice cuts on her severed feet, simulating the cut I had to do on my foot. I pulled a chair into the kitchen and sat with my booted foot on Sharon’s severed foot, simulating how I would have to sit and operate the saw at the same time. I leaned over and pressed the saw down into the line on Sharon’s foot, cutting it off clean. I did it again, just as smoothly as the first.
This was going to work.
I wrapped her feet in plastic and stowed the rest of Sharon in the footlocker. I moved it into my bedroom and covered it with a blanket, stowing her away in plain sight until after I had finished the deed with my foot.
Sharon was handled. The body was gone, cleaned up, and hidden.
Now came the hard part.
Me.
The story concludes next week with Out, Damned Spot! Chapter Five - How It Ended.
Share this with the friend who’s way too calm about true crime podcasts.
A doozy of a downward spiral for our hero! Can't wait for the next chapter.🦶
the evolution of "the list" is a fine bit of dark humor - well done