Rumour has it she has replaced her teeth with matches.
In her apartment, there is a queen-sized bed. It is littered with pillows. The pillows are stuffed with human hair. That’s what they say.
The matchstick teeth catch against the necks of the people she brings home. She sets them alight within seconds, cannot help but watch wide-eyed as fire swallows their limbs, bone and all. Later, she disposes of the body, but not before dripping honey over the char. Not before scalping them with her nail file, which she has sharpened into a shiv against her hipbones. They say she pulls each hair out one by one, say she does it lovingly, say her hands are steady. She cuts out their tongues. So I’ve been told.
She cuts out their tongues and serves them to friends under the pretence of pig’s feet. When she was a young thing, her father had a sweet tooth for her body. Helped himself to seconds so often that the sugar eventually turned him to rot. They say she mixed his ashes with soil and the seed of a strawberry tree, watered it with her own saliva. She picks the fruit by hand and dishes it up with cream, eats it every night for supper. Never gets tired of the taste. At least, that’s what everyone says.
(*Found this on some random blog I stumbled across. It's not my writing, but I liked the imagery.)
