Alex Hunter was the first in his class to be given an adult library card. He used it to borrow 'Jaws', triggering a love of all things frightening.
Now, all grown up, he's a corporate communications specialist by day. By night he's a weaver of stories, strange and terrifying.
Alex lives in London with his horror-allergic husband, Ben, and pug Bertie. He's praying to all the gods that his debut novel will be unleashed in 2025 and is working on his second.
Connect with Alex on Instagram right HERE.
THE GIFT
by
Alex Hunter
The box was on the doorstep, as she’d known it would be.
Every Valentine’s Day for a decade there was a gift. This year it was a small box, wrapped in red paper tied with a ribbon.
Audrey looked up and down the street, no one in sight, before leaning down and picking up the package. As she took the gift through to the kitchen, she held it to her ear and gave it a shake but couldn’t guess at its contents, the wrapping paper crackled.
***
She sipped her coffee, strong and black, with a small sigh of satisfaction and looked at her present. She’d placed it on the island where it stood out redly against a sea of white marble.
She lifted a small, sharp, knife from the block on the countertop and cut through the ribbon.
As always there was no note. No indication at all as to who her mystery admirer was. The Valentine’s gift had been hand delivered under cover of darkness.
Several years ago, Audrey had spent a long night waiting to see who came to her door and had seen no one. Despite this, a gift was there when she opened the door onto a frosty morning. She smiled at the memory – that particular year the box had been huge and heavy and she’d had to slide it over the threshold, ignoring an offer of help from her busybody neighbour.
***
Audrey took her time over the unwrapping. It felt almost ritualistic as she sliced through the paper.
The box was about four inches square and made of a light wood, oak perhaps, with a small brass hook keeping it closed, hiding its secrets.
Audrey took a deep breath as she teased the clasp open with a long, pink, fingernail. Inside tissue paper wrapped the gift, there was no note – there never was.
As she plucked the tissue paper away, she gave a small moue of distaste. It was blue.
She’d never been attracted to blue, always preferring dark brown or maybe even green.
It looked moist, shiny. Fresh. The white a little yellow and the pupil tiny, just a pinprick in the blue.
Carefully, Audrey lifted the eyeball from its nest of red tissue paper and felt overwhelmed by how romantic it all seemed.
***
In the end she went for fried, telling herself ‘screw the fat content!’
She had considered popping the eye in a smoothie, maybe with some blueberries and greens, all helping towards her five-a-day. But fried seemed more appropriate somehow.
She plated it up served with sweated onions, tomatoes and a pinch of parsley.
Audrey took her time with breakfast, after all she wanted to get the most out of this year’s Valentine.
It was, she had to admit, disappointing. The texture, even fried to a brown crisp, was a tad rubbery although the optic nerve (which Audrey thought of as the ‘stalk’) had a nice meaty flavour, with a hint of venison. A string of it got caught in her back teeth and she picked it out with a fingernail.
***
She thought again of the big box that had arrived that time she’d stayed awake, praying to see her mystery man. Oh, that had needed a lot of wrapping paper, all of which she’d recycled, mindful of the environment.
The leg had proved delicious. She’d tried various methods over a period of weeks, hacking chunks off the limb, which she’d stored in the chest freezer in the garage, hemmed in by Ben & Jerry’s.
Slow cooked had proved best, left to steep in the crock-pot while she was at work. Saliva filled her mouth at the memory, thinking of how the meat had fallen away from the bone like a lean bit of brisket.
One evening she’d had the neighbors round; told them it was pork. She’d served it braised with a bottle of fine wine, which they’d all enjoyed.
***
As she got ready for work, hair pulled back in a ponytail, face on, Audrey experienced a wave of irritation that was close to anger.
Any eyeball, blue of all things!
She looked forward, every year, to Valentines but she wanted her gifts to last. She wanted to savour the flavours, to enjoy the love for weeks, not minutes.
She gave a shake of her head. No matter. Good things come to those who wait. After all no torso had yet been left outside her door and that, surely, would be the ultimate expression of affection from her secret admirer.
Hell, she could eke that out for months! An eyeball, though, that was gone in a minute with nothing leftover.
***
Later, much later and exhausted from work, Audrey squidged her head back onto the pillow and swept her arm across the cold, empty side of the bed.
As she started to drift into a peaceful sleep she thought back to Patrick. Her lover, best friend and confidante had been gone for, what was it, thirteen years maybe even fourteen.
They’d shared everything. This bed, this life. It had been a good marriage, perfect Audrey thought.
Until it wasn’t.
She snapped back to wakefulness and realized she’d used the same knife to kill her husband that she’d used to cut the ribbon on the box. The same knife that had severed Patrick’s artery as he slept had sliced through the red paper that wrapped her gift and cut through its jaunty bow.
She smiled at that, enjoying the echoes from her past, happier days.
Pat’s feet were in the chest freezer, surrounded by her favourite ice creams. The rest of him she’d enjoyed, had taken her time over. Why, she’d even had the neighbours round and spit roasted his thigh in the backyard. But his feet. No way. She’d drawn the line, and it was staying drawn.
Sleep stole over Audrey and her night was filled with happy dreams of meals eaten and those yet to come.
She was loved.