Knitting Wounds
by Michelle Howarth
Steve shuffled in his seat, hating his wife for beating him into this. He was no pushover, but there were only so many times he could say no to the broad side of her toaster. So now he sat on his hands, fingers itching, and stared at the circle of faces.
To his left an old granny sat mumbling to herself, knitting and cursing whenever she dropped a stitch. Beside her was a Pencil-man in a smart suit, and then a Blob-man, stuffing marshmallows into his cheeks like a hamster collecting for winter. Across the room was a guy who looked like a vulture, and a plump woman who wore false fingernails.
The man next to her held a clipboard and had his baseball cap turned backwards. He tapped his pen and said, "Welcome to our first S. K. A. Meeting. I’m Simon, and I’d like to thank you all for coming. Remember, we’re not here to judge each other, but—"
Pencil-man was up like a shot. He grabbed Simon by his collar, pushed him off his chair, and shoved a car key into his eye. "You got nothing on me, man. You hear? No witnesses. Nothing."
Simon took a deep breath. "I said we’re not here to judge each other."
"Oh," Pencil-man muttered and withdrew his car key. "That’s different, then." He looked at the pulverized eyeball on Simon’s cheek, and said, "Sorry."
"Quite alright," Simon said. "Anyone got a tissue?"
Blob-man extended a chubby arm to hand over a dirty cloth.
"Thank you," Simon said, and cleaned out the rest of his eye.
"No problem," Blob-man said with his mouth full. "That’s me snot rag, that is."
"Lovely."
"Arses!" Granny burst out.
Steve swung his head just in time to dodge the fist that came flying towards him. "Hey, watch it."
Her face screwed up. "Knit one, pearl two."
Steve raised an eyebrow. "Okay then."
Simon mopped out the last of his eyeball and gave the snot rag back to Blob-man, who wiped his mouth with it and ate another marshmallow.
"Right," Simon said. "Who’d like to start?"
"Knickers," said Granny.
"Anyone at all?" Simon prompted.
Steve looked around the room and saw all gazes drop to the floor. He made the mistake of looking at Simon.
"How about you?" Simon said and pointed at Steve.
"Um, okay. What do I do?"
"Tell us your name."
"Steve."
"Hello, Steve," the circle chanted.
Granny farted.
Steve wrinkled his nose at the egg sandwich stench.
"Well done, Steve," Simon said. "Tell us about why you’re here today."
Steve pushed his hands further beneath him. His fingers still itched. "Well, Katie, me wife, wanted me to come."
"Very good. Would you say you have a problem?"
"Guess so," Steve mumbled.
"Why’s that?"
"Fannies!" Granny cried and quick as lightning buried one of her knitting needles into Blob-man’s chest.
He coughed up a half-chewed marshmallow, doubled over and clamped his hands to the bloodied needle. "What the hell?" he sputtered.
Granny folded her arms and refused to look at him.
"I asked you a question." Blob-man struggled to his feet.
"Let’s calm down, now," Simon broke in. "Let’s analyze this. Now then, Mrs. err?"
"Candlestick."
"Why did you stab, err?"
"Pops," Blob-man filled in.
"He ruined me knitting," Granny said.
"And how did he do that?"
"Bloodied it all over."
"But he wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t stabbed him, would he?"
"Might have," Granny said.
Blob-man collapsed into a puddle of blood. "I need a doctor," he choked.
Simon waved him off. "All in good time."
"But ..."
"This is Steve’s time. Right, Steve?"
"Huh?"
"Tell us your problem."
"Oh, well, my fingers itch."
"Okay, good. Are they itching now?"
"Yes."
"Okay, and—"
"Simon," Pencil-man piped up.
"Not now, wait your turn."
"But..."
"Wait a...oh, good grief!"
Steve saw Vulture-man stooped over Blob-man’s slumped body. He’d ripped a hole in his belly and was busy chewing spilt, yellow fat.
"Stop that!" Simon yelled and batted Vulture-man away.
"What?" said Vulture-man. "I didn’t kill him. Mrs. Candlestick did."
"That doesn’t mean you get to eat him."
"How come?"
Steve pushed down on his hands. His fingers really were itching. He glanced around the room, desperately wanting to scratch.
"Rule one," Simon said. "No killing. Rule two, no eating anyone. And rule three—"
Steve had to scratch. He pulled his hands out from under him, drew his gun from his pocket, and fired.
Simon’s head exploded. Brain matter splattered the wall as his corpse flopped to the floor.
False-fingernail-lady, who hadn’t uttered a word so far, pulled an axe out from her skirt, screamed and charged at Steve. She tumbled when her left breast disintegrated. Vulture-man tried to escape, but Steve shot him in the arse. Pencil-man attacked with his car key, but buckled when Steve blasted his balls off. That only left Granny.
She clawed her arthritic hands. "Bring it on," she croaked.
Itch scratched, Steve pocketed his gun. "I’ll see you next week," he said.
He couldn't help thinking that the first Serial Killers’ Anonymous meeting had gone quite well.
Michelle Howarth’s dark writing has appeared in Everyday Weirdness, the Drabblecast, Absent Willow review, Dark Fire, Thaumatrope, Strange Publications Fifty-Two Stitches anthology, Morpheus Tales Magazine, and Ballista Magazine, where she was awarded first prize in their short story contest 2008. She also enjoys acting as submissions editor for Shock Totem magazine.
From the author: Knitting Wounds is the twisted tale of what happens when like-minded, twisted people gather together to change their wicked ways. The characters included are simple in their complexity, but all gifted in their own special ways. Whether or not they will succeed in their goals remains unseen, however several of them most likely have hidden agendas. Others are driven by impulse, and of course, complicated knitting patterns and forever itching fingers.
very cute :o)
Posted by: wm ollie | 02/21/2009 at 01:18 PM