It was an enchanted evening to be sure, as Christine had put together some of Norman’s favorite dishes in preparation for their anniversary. He was so good to them all, even if Edgar insisted that Norman smelled of fresh blood every time he came into the house. Christine sat the last dish down, clasping her hands together at the perfection of the table spread, and she left to get ready, awaiting the night that Norman would move in with them. She was going to ask him tonight, and everything had to be perfect.
Norman had arrived scant moments after Christine had gone upstairs, and the smell of food was something he couldn’t resist--there was something delicately sweet on the table, sending up sugary wafts of temptation to his nose. His stomach rumbled, and what could a little taste hurt? A finger swiped at the icing, and there was a noise behind him as he sighed in pleasure. The cake knife was within reach and he grabbed it, turning around and thrusting it into whatever was behind him. It just so happened to be Christine, who staggered back as Norman saw red.
There was little time to speak in-between the knife thrusts, until her body lay prone on the floor, eyes open and mouth slack. Blood was everywhere, dripping from the knife, splattered across the floor and across Norman’s suit. Norman dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor as he knelt over Christine’s body, his hands shaking. She was dead, but even dead she was so perfect, so clean...so ripe for the taking. Rose and Rankle were elsewhere, and Edgar was out taking a run, so it seemed the perfect opportunity.
He shut the doors behind them, hiding the two of them away in the dining room. Christine’s blood was pooling around her, making the floor slick beneath her. Norman hurried to get the button undone on his pants, shedding his dinner jacket and taking in awe the rose petals around her head from the destroyed bouquet he’d brought for her. There was a squelch as he slit her carefully made dress up the center part, laying it out beside her like butterfly wings. Her underwear was shoved hastily aside, and Norman buried himself inside of her still-warm body with a grunt.
It was like having the best candy in the pile, the forbidden fruit, even as Christine’s limbs went limp as he moved them. He could do anything to her, anything at all. More blood spilled from her open wounds and trickled from her lips, and as he reached climax, Norman felt himself relax. Just like one of his perfect kills, this was the feeling he craved time and time again. But when he opened his eyes from blissful orgasm, Christine’s eyes were glazed over, her head turned at an odd angle on the floor. She was a mess, and he had to finish the job.
But where to put her that wouldn’t be found by one of her friendly monsters? Not the basement, and not the fridge; both of the monsters there were familiar with him. No, he’d have to search the house for the perfect spot. His pants were hastily pulled up, shirt sloppily tucked in as Norman wiped his bloodied hands on the crisp white fabric. The sounds of footsteps echoed as he peered through the door--it was Rose, cavorting about the house with Rankle. Fuck. Maybe, if he used the other door, there would be an out.
Behind the parlor doors, there was a hallway that ended with a dead end, lined with numerous rooms. Perfect. As soon as he entered the hallway, something shifted in his stomach, a sick feeling that just refused to go away. Sounds of slamming doors startled him, and Norman turned around, to find that the parlor doors had disappeared. More slams, and the layout had changed, shifting in an otherworldly way.
The house knew. And it wasn’t going to let him out.
He screamed furiously, before running and opening one of the doors, dashing inside as it closed behind him. Another hallway. Steep stairs leading towards the basement, where he didn’t want to go, but as soon as he tried to open the door that he’d just come through, Norman was faced with Edgar’s bloodied face. He’d been near Christine’s body. Norman ran, jumping inside door after door, never making it anywhere close to an escape route. Finally, his body collapsed as the world around him went dark, swallowing him within the depths of the house.
“Norman? Norman!” A gentle shake aroused him from slumber, and Norman found himself staring back at Christine, alive and brilliant as ever. It shocked him, and he scooted back, hands grasping at his body. No blood, nothing other than the neatness of his outfit wrinkled just slightly.
“Christine?” He murmured, looking up at her. It was the same dress she’d had on before, when he’d killed her and abused her corpse in the parlor. There was so much confusion, that when she offered him her hand, he didn’t hesitate to take it.
“Rose put some...extra oomph in the icing, it seems.” Christine shrugged her shoulders, the ones that Norman had ran his blood-stained hands over, as if it hadn’t happened at all in the first place. “You took a bite and I found you convulsing on the parlor floor. Thankfully, it wasn’t too potent.”
Norman couldn’t believe it, the fact that the entire ordeal had been a hallucination. He didn’t know whether to be upset, or to be pleased at the fact that there were no consequences for what had happened in his head. The thought that he’d killed Christine made him shudder; he almost wanted to do it again in a different way. Maybe if he tried the icing again…
“I think I’d be down to try it again. It was a rather lovely dream, and I’d like to have it again.” Norman smiled, thinking that it had been a most perfect dream indeed. Christine nodded, but moved the cake away from him for just a moment--after all, dinner came first.
“I’ll ask Rose what her additive was. And for all you readers out there, remember to keep the little ones away from any extra ingredients in the kitchen.” Christine winked off in the distance, and somewhere in the parlor, Rose and Rankle looked at each other.
“Who the hell is she talking to?”