Most People Think What Happened To Our Local Baker Is An Urban Legend, But I Know The Gruesome Truth

The only thing more endearing than Annalise herself was watching her work.

I watched, spellbound, as she crawled into her lover’s bed, shaking Alessandra from her slumber. My enemy smiled drowsily as Annalise drew her hand back.

She plunged it hard into Alessandra’s rib cage, the forbidding strength of her fingernails scraping at her internal organs.

Alessandra’s eyes went wide as she screamed, and Annalise took that as an opportunity to snap forward and bite at her left eyeball, snagging a chunk of it and drawing it into her mouth. I watched the pus paint her lips and a shudder of pleasure rippled through my body.

Alessandra continued to scream as Annalise’s left hand joined her right, ripping into the baker’s torso and shredding her organs to ribbons. The blood coated Annalise’s arms, a stark contrast to her tan skin. She was beautiful naked, but she was magnificent bathed in gore. As she continued to tear apart Alessandra’s body, I found myself wishing to see her so clothed for the rest of my life.

After a great length of time, the screaming stopped. Alessandra lay in pieces on the bed, one of her arms torn from its socket and hanging loosely by its shredded muscles; the flesh on her face clawed away; her torso flayed open and internally rearranged.

She was a masterpiece, one that I had helped create.

I sat with my tea for a long time, staring at the scene in my mind’s eye, until I was pulled from my thoughts by a sudden awareness that Annalise was standing in front of me.

She and I stared at each other for an endless moment, each assessing the other. The look in her eyes was triumphant, exultant… but not satiated.

She licked her lips, and then she asked, “Do you want me?”

Yes, my mind screamed in a frenzy, God, yes, more than anything.

Instead, I answered, “No,” even as I felt my soul burning from such a despicable lie.

She smiled at me one last time – a conspiratorial smile – before vanishing like the impossibility that she was.

And I was left alone to my thoughts.

beetlejuice

CLICK TO THE NEXT PAGE…

More From Thought Catalog

  • https://thoughtcatalog.com/rona-vaselaar/2016/08/my-sister-died-when-she-was-15-and-theres-a-part-of-me-that-wishes-shed-stayed-that-way/ My Sister Died When She Was 15, And There’s A Part Of Me That Wishes She’d Stayed That Way | Thought Catalog

    […] Read Part One Read Part Two […]

  • https://thoughtcatalog.com/rona-vaselaar/2016/08/theres-a-sinister-secret-into-how-i-keep-my-sister-alive-and-its-going-to-damn-us-both-to-hell/ There’s A Sinister Secret Into How I Keep My Sister Alive, And It’s Going To Damn Us Both To Hell | Thought Catalog

    […] One. Part Two. Part […]

  • https://thoughtcatalog.com/rona-vaselaar/2016/08/if-you-knew-the-truth-about-what-has-been-keeping-my-sister-alive-youd-never-step-foot-into-our-house-again/ If You Knew The Truth About What Has Been Keeping My Sister Alive, You’d Never Step Foot In Our House Ever Again | Thought Catalog

    […] One. Part Two. Part […]

blog comments powered by Disqus