Murphy's Last Kill

Murphy’s Last Kill

By Josh and Jennifer Brown

© 2021 Josh and Jen Brown Publications

[email protected]

For Murphy, owning a funeral parlor had its advantages. People brought you bodies and wanted you to take care of them, work your magic, if you will. Some people wanted you to make their loved ones look as though they are just “sleeping”. Others, for whatever reason, wanted you to burn the bodies of their loved ones until they are so charred, they turn to ash. Put ‘em in a fancy urn so they can stick ‘em on the mantle. No one thought a thing about what you did or batted an eye at the processes required to accommodate their wishes. No one thought a thing at all, and that’s what made all this perfect.

Four years ago, Murphy purchased an old funeral home. It was a Victorian, settled in a part of the city that had seen better days but was having a bit of a comeback. It took almost a year of renovations for it to finally meet code, pass all inspections, and get the equipment back in working order. Murphy spent the year meeting people in the community, gaining their trust, and ensuring once he opened for business, he would have people want to use his services. It worked.

Murphy was, in the parlance of our times, a hipster. A deliberately slightly quirky-looking fellow, who might look right at home hanging out in an upscale coffee shop, wearing a $600 scarf. The rectangle frames he wore drew you to his bright green eyes. He looked harmless.

Murphy was single, too; a “confirmed bachelor,” some might say. And he was a sucker for a hot redhead. He appreciated all types, as well as both sexes, but a redhead…mmm, that just did something special for him.

Sydney was a redhead with legs that seemed to go on forever. She was slim with beautiful green eyes. Those lips, though, they were something. They were full and perfect. He enjoyed every moment he got to kiss and suck on them earlier on their date.

He leaned in to kiss her cold dead lips. When he did, he opened his mouth and gently bit her bottom lip. Her naked body was displayed on an embalming table as he drained her blood. Normally he puts sheets on people, but he didn’t for Sydney. He wanted to continuously admire her body as he did his special routine.

Lifting the camera, he took several pictures of her. He did this with all of them. He was an artist, after all. But he had to admit, he was especially enjoying the process at the moment.

When he performed his special routine, he used special equipment. The embalming table Sydney lay on wasn’t a typical one. Murphy took pride in his creation. He had manipulated the table by making it so he could pull the table apart a couple of inches between the chin and base of the neck. He welded a stabilizer to secure the head for the drop, as well as, a metal post on each side, a bar across the top to keep it steady and sturdy, and installed a pulley that would drop and raise a guillotine blade. This would make the beheading quick and neat. He also ensured the table was placed over a drain, just to make sure, should there be some slight blood spillage from the decapitation.

He washed her make-up off with make-up wipes. Murphy liked starting with a clean slate. He brushed her long red hair, put it in a loose ponytail, and placed it so it would hang over the top of the table, out of the way. He noticed again the small pentacle tattoo, just behind her left ear.

He thought back to earlier in the evening when he had first noticed it. The others had all shown the depth of their fear as they realized the moment of their death, “no” or “please” being their final words. Sydney had shown no fear. “You will see me again, Murphy,” she said, as calmly as a conversation about the weather.

He tried to shake off his disquiet. “You are beautiful,” he said and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

While the blood finished draining, he set up his first workstation. One of the nice things about his occupation was no one ever questioned his supplies, his work, and evidence disposal were a 2000º fire away. This setup could not be any better.

Murphy laid a piece of plastic on the worktable and placed the bag in the chair. He got out makeup, a hairbrush, dry shampoo, hair ties, screwdriver, scalpel, large pot, salt, and a styrofoam head.

He took the pot over to the sink, filled it with water, and placed it on the stove, setting the temperature to low. He just wanted to warm up the water while he was preparing the head.

Once the blood stopped dripping, he leaned in and gave Sydney another kiss as he untied the rope that operates the blade. “Don’t worry, beautiful, this won’t hurt,” he whispered with a low chuckle.

“One…two…three!” There was a thump as the blade cut through her neck, smooth and easy, as always. Murphy giggled and did a faint sounding rapid clap, almost like a giddy schoolgirl. He always enjoyed decapitating them. That might be his second favorite part.

He picked up Sydney’s head and walked over to the worktable, went back over to her headless body, and took it over to the walk-in cooler. “Now to get your face picture-perfect, sweet pea!”

With a pouty face, he looked over at the corpse laying on the gurney beside Sydney. “You don’t have to look so sad. I will pay you some special attention here shortly. Your family will love how beautiful I am going to make you, doll. I just need to finish getting Sydney taken care of first.”

He heard a bang over near the worktable where he had placed Sydney’s head. He hurried over to the area, thinking maybe her head had fallen. Upon inspection, everything seemed to be in its place.

Before getting started, he turned on some music to work by. He always enjoys listening to classical music while he’s working on his masterpieces. It helped give him clarity and provide a sense of focus for him.

“I am going to bring out your beauty like never before, sweet Sydney.” Murphy wrapped a small piece of plastic around the base of Sydney’s neck. He didn’t want anything to drip or make a mess from the fresh cut.

He picked up a make-up sponge and a bottle of foundation. He began to apply it gently on her bluish satin skin, as to not bruise her flesh.

“Your skin is flawless. It makes for such a beautiful canvas.” Once applied, given her skin tone, he chose pinks for her eyeshadow. Blue was his favorite color and wanted to incorporate it somehow. He decided to go with blue eyeliner and a pale pink lipstick with shiny lip gloss. He wanted her lips to shine in the photos. They are one of her best features, after all. She had long ginger lashes. They were easily visible once the mascara was applied and against the pink shades on her eyelids.

He took her ponytail down and brushed her long red hair. She had wavy hair that seemed to bounce back to shape with each brushstroke. Sydney’s hair smelled delicious; it was a fruity scent. Each movement released a faint hint of the heavenly fruitiness.

Now, to add the final touch before the photo session begins. He removed the scarf from his neck; the scarf of his very first victim, Anna. He held it in both hands and brought it up to his face. He closed his eyes and thought of the moment he strangled her with it. She was a feisty one. He opened his eyes. He was smiling. “You’ll always be my favorite, Anna,” he said softly.

Murphy made sure Sydney’s head was placed perfectly. He ensured the plastic around her neck was still secure before placing the scarf, just so, under Sydney’s jawline. Anna may have been his first, and favorite because of it, but Sydney is a very close second favorite. Once he was satisfied, he picked up the camera and began taking the photos for his collection.

“You were born to be a model, Sydney!” He set the camera aside, pleased with his work. He would miss seeing her beauty before him, but he would have the photos to remember her by.

He sat on the stool next to the table, removed the scarf, and placed it back around his neck. “Before we get started, I need to wash your face and put your hair in a tight ponytail. Don’t worry, I won’t pull too tight.” After removing the make-up from her beautiful face, he sat momentarily admiring her.

Murphy picked up the hairbrush and one of the hair ties he had set on the table, pulled her hair back into a nice, tight ponytail, and secured it with the band.

He took hold of her head and inserted the screwdriver into the corner of her left eye until he reached the back of her eye socket. He worked the screwdriver around the socket, using the orbital bone as a lever until her eyeball popped out. He usually found that to be the most difficult part. Sometimes they were hard to pry out, like cracking an egg without breaking the yolk.

Once the eye was out, he picked up the scalpel and cut the optic nerve, fatty tissue, and extraocular muscles so he could completely remove the eye. He repeated the process with the right eye.

Next, he was ready to remove her scalp. He took the scalpel and carefully cut it along the hairline. It was important to remove all the hair. You didn’t want that in the meat or broth.

Once he removed her scalp, he walked over to the sink with her scalp in hand. He had turned it so the bloody part was facing up in his hand and laid it on the plastic-covered counter. He leaned down to smell the fresh blood, and ran his finger down the middle, then licking it off, “Nothing like the smell and taste of a fresh kill.”

He picked up the bottle of iodized salt and saturated the inside of her scalp, massaging it in to ensure it would process as it should. He then placed her scalp, salt side down, on the styrofoam head he had sat on the table. This helped the scalp keep its head-shaped form as it dried. Murphy occasionally liked to wear the scalps of his victims when he was embalming his clients. He picked up the styrofoam head, scalp in place, and walked over to the heat lamp. He positioned the head on the table and aimed the lamp towards it. He made sure it was a few feet away. This would help harden the salty skin of the scalp faster, without damaging the hair or styrofoam.

He hummed to the music as he neared the scalped head. Sitting back down on the stool, he picked up Sydney’s head. “Now, to finish removing your skin,” he said smiling. He picked the scalpel back up and used it to cut the flesh from the tissue and muscle. Once he finished, he took the skinless head over to the large pot and put it in the water. Cooking at a lower temperature made for a very flavorful broth. He was pleased to see some of her brains floating in the water. He didn’t care for the texture of them, but they added a nice flavor.

He took the skin from her head and placed it in a baggie and put it in the fridge. He didn’t want it to spoil while he removed the skin from Sydney’s body.

He did a little skip as he went to the walk-in. He opened the door and saw the two bodies waiting for him. “Mrs. Ryan, I will get to you shortly. I am almost finished with Sydney.”

He heard a knock on the fridge door. Startled, he turned and darted for the door to see who was there. Murphy was alone.

He pulled the gurney out of the fridge, closed the door, looked around once more, and went over to his workstation. “Alright! Time to work on this beautiful body of yours.” Before the skinning could take place, he removed the visible hair from her body. He likes to use some of the skin to make jerky and ‘bacon’, and with some of the best cuts of meat, he creates some of his favorite personal dishes.

He placed his scalpel at the opening where her head once was. He started to hum, losing himself in his work.

After about half an hour, Murphy closed his eyes as he deeply inhaled the pork-scented air. “You smell divine!”

He stopped for a moment to check on the broth. He could see the muscle had already started to fall off the bone. In his experience, by the time he’s finished skinning the body, the skull is ready to be removed from the water.

He inhaled the aroma once more while stirring. After setting the spoon down, he returned to the gurney, picked up his scalpel, and continued working. He continued to check the broth every half hour until he had skinned Sydney’s body completely.

When this portion of the task was complete, he placed the skin in baggies and put it in the fridge with the rest of the skin he removed. He returned to the gurney and took some pictures of the skinned body. “I keep getting better and better!” Murphy set his camera down. “Now, to get the rest of the good stuff!”

He picked up his knife and started to cut filets from her breasts and thighs. He unlocked the gurney wheels and started towards the crematorium. Once there, he put her body in the awaiting wooden box, opened the oven door, and slid the box into the fire.

Clapping once, he rubbed his hands together. “Now, for my favorite part!”

He removed the skull from the pot, placing it on the processing table, and walked over to get the bag that housed his tools: brush, toothpaste, buffer, towel, a small piece of plastic, Dremel, gloves, and metal plate. These are the special tools. They make his beauties the ultimate masterpieces in his display.

He placed the plastic down first, then, laid all the tools out on his workstation in two neat rows. A well-practiced routine practically eliminates room for error.

He leaned into the skull, “You need to cool for a few minutes before I clean you up. I need to go check on Mrs. Ryan.”

He chuckled to himself. “Now, now. Don’t be jealous, Sydney. You are my main focus. No need to be angry.”

He kissed Sydney’s skull on the forehead. It was hot against his lips. He placed it on the workstation and went to check on his client.

He opened the door and walked over to Mrs. Ryan. “My dear, you just have a little bit longer and I will be ready to pay you my undivided attention.”

For a split second, he thought he saw George’s face looking back at him. George was his second victim. Surprisingly, he was much easier to kill than Anna. At second glance, he saw Mrs. Ryan’s face.

He was feeling a bit hungry. After all, he has been quite busy this evening. Murphy went over to the stove, set the oven to preheat, then over to the fridge, pulled out one of the baggies of flesh, grabbed a knife, cutting, board, and cookie sheet.

He cut the meat into strips, like bacon, and placed them on a lightly greased cookie sheet. He then placed the pan in the oven. A nice SLT – Sydney, lettuce, and tomato – sandwich sounded just right.

Murphy filled a bowl with some water and returned to his workstation. As he went to pick up the toothbrush and toothpaste, he noticed the toothpaste was gone. He looked under the table; it wasn’t there. He went back over to the oven; it wasn’t there. The fridge; not there either. He returned to the workstation and looked in his bag. Maybe he only thought he had set it out. Nope. Not there.

He scowled. A well-practiced routine eliminates errors. And this is just not an error that he makes.

He heard a faint laugh. “Who’s there?” He turned, but, didn’t see anyone. He went to where the sound came from…no one was there.

“Fuckin’ loopy,” he said to himself and shook his head.

He went to get another tube of toothpaste from his supply closet and returned to his station. He touched the skull to see if it would be too hot to work with. It was just right. He didn’t want it completely cooled off; that made it a little harder to remove any pieces of meat or tissue that may be still stuck on.

The brush he used was firm, but not too firm, and the toothpaste not too abrasive. He didn’t want to leave scratches on the skull, just wanted to clean it well. He put his gloves on, dipped the brush in the water, and put toothpaste on it. He picked up her skull and started brushing her teeth first. “Gotta get the pearly whites, first.” He said smiling.

He heard another noise come from the same direction he had previously. He turned to look. Nothing there.

“My mind is playing tricks on me, Syd.” Her skull just grinned back at him. He continued working, but with a nagging feeling of not being alone. He tried to shake it off as simple nerves. Once he was finished cleaning her skull, he went to check on his snack, taking it with him. He placed her skull next to the sink.

He took the cookie sheet out of the oven. He placed two slices of bread in a toaster, letting it cook while he cut the tomato and lettuce. The sound of the toaster releasing his toast made him jump a little. He laughed and made his SLT.

He looked over at his work, “I am sure you taste as good as you smell.” He picked up her skull and rinsed it thoroughly with hot water to ensure all the toothpaste was removed.

Returning to his workstation, plate, and skull in hand, he sat down and took a bite. He closed his eyes and moaned. “Sweet Lord have mercy! You taste better than you smell, and I didn’t think that was possible!” Looking over at her skull, a faint face appeared. He leaped up. It started as Rachel and morphed into Steven’s face. He closed his eyes and looked again. Just the skull appeared.

“I must be really tired, Syd. I’m having hallucinations.” He took the buffer and attached it to the Dremel, taking the towel to remove dust as often as needed. He buffed her skull to his satisfaction.

He kissed her forehead again, “You are a true work of art.” Her skull shined.

He heard a loud bang. Startled, he jumped to his feet and looked around. “Who’s there? Come out!” Silence.

Even though he had this down to near-perfect precision, he still got a bit jumpy and paranoid when he was creating his art. He felt enlivened, but vulnerable in how it consumed him. He had never felt it so much as tonight, and he was ready to be done.

Now that he was finished, he had a special place for Sydney’s skull. What none of his client’s families knew was, he had a secret trophy room hidden within the walls of the basement. When anyone is in the parlor, it is right under their fucking feet. He felt a sense of pride rush over him.

He opened the door and walked over to the shelf space set aside for Miss Sydney Duncan. “Peter Pan,” he thought, but then he shook his head. That was Sandy Duncan. He laughed at himself and placed the skull in its designated spot.

He looked back at his collection. “You, ladies and gents, are a sight for sore eyes!” He walked over to the first one, “Anna Tillman July 17, 2015” was on the nameplate. The original bearer of the scarf. “Each of you is special to me. But Anna, you will always be my first. You were my test to see if I could really fulfill my desires.” He placed his hands behind his back. “You were a feisty one at that! You put up quite a fight. But I gotcha, didn’t I?” he chuckled.

Sydney was his sixth victim. He collected two per year; one male, one female. He turned to leave and felt a tug on the scarf. He turned, but nothing was there. “Weird fuckin’ night,” he said to himself.

He turned to face his collection, with his right hand on the door, he said, “I will see you guys later. I must go take care of Mrs. Ryan. She has been patiently waiting on me and work still pays the bills. I love you all.” He closed the door and locked it behind him.

Heading back to the walk-in fridge, he heard a bang. He ran to where the noise was heard. He didn’t see anything, nor was another sound made. “There must be a mouse or something in here. I need to get some fucking traps. Those little bastards have had me on edge all night,” he yelled into the empty room. Again, he felt his face go red at his foolishness.

He opened the fridge door and took hold of Mrs. Ryan’s gurney. “Now, my lovely Mrs. Ryan, you have my undivided attention. Let’s get you prepped for viewing.” He smiled down at her, Bill was looking back up at him. He jumped back. “What the fuck!” He slowly neared her body, Bill was gone.

Murphy was shaken to the core. He had work to do and needed to focus. He placed the gurney above the drain. “Mrs. Ryan, I am going to make you all pretty for your family,” he said nervously.

He had washed and set Mrs. Ryan’s body and limbs before he worked on Sydney. She needed to be in the proper position before she became more difficult to work with. He had already placed the eye caps on the eyes and secured the eyelids in place. Her mouth was closed upon arrival, so he didn’t need to wire it, but had sewn the jaw shut and manipulated her mouth into a peaceful sweet smile.

While lost in admiring his work, he felt another gentle tug on the scarf. He quickly turned to see who was there. No one. A faint giggle followed.

“Whoever’s there, you better show yourself! I am tired of your games.” He paused. Not another noise was heard. “When I catch you, you WILL be sorry, I promise you that!”

He waited a moment and walked over to the doorway, hoping to sneak up on whoever was playing their games. No one was there. He went back over to Mrs. Ryan. He was wound up tight and had to get his mind focused on prepping Mrs. Ryan. “Alright beautiful, it’s time to remove your blood and replace it with embalming fluid.”

Murphy hooked her up to the centrifuge pump and started the process. He felt another tug. Again, nothing was there.

“I’m coming for you…” was whispered into his ear, unmistakably close and clear. He spun around, nearly toppling himself. The room behind him was empty. He was about to scream as he felt a catastrophic crack rip across a load-bearing portion of his mind.

“What is going on with me?” He looked at his watch. He’d been going for over twenty hours. “I’m losing it. I don’t have time to stop right now,” he said.

Sydney’s body had been in the crematorium for about two hours. Her ashes should be ready. He got to the doorway of the crematory, when he felt another tug on the scarf, this time much harder.

He stopped walking. “You’re going to die tonight, Murphy!” He spun in a circle as fast as he could, no one was there. Laughter erupted.

“Who’s doing this? What do you want?”, he shouted.

Loud laughter filled the room. Murphy covered his ears and screamed, trying to drown out the laughter. It was coming from all around him.

He rushed to the crematory to remove Sydney’s body. He grabbed the tool to pull out the gurney, opened the door, and removed the ash that was once her.

There was another pull on his scarf. “Go to your showroom, Murphy,” the voice said.

“NO!”

“NOW! Or I will MAKE you go!”

Nervously, he went to open the door. He was shaking and scared.

“Open the door.”

Against his better judgment, he did as he was told.

“Go in.”

He started to slowly enter when he was shoved inside. Upon looking around, there was nothing out of place or missing. “What? What do you want me to see?”

“We can’t allow you to do this anymore.”

“Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?”

“Look at what YOU did to US! Look at us, Murphy! We’re going to do the same to you!”

Suddenly, in unison, all the skulls turned to look at him. Murphy felt the front of his pants get warm and then instantly cold. He knew he had pissed himself.

He felt another hard shove. He caught himself on the door, breaking a fall.

He was pushed again, this time he fell backward. He felt the scarf tighten around his neck.

He struggled, trying to loosen it from around his neck, but the harder he tried, the tighter it got.

The invisible forces started pulling his body across the floor towards the crematorium. He fought the best he could, but he was losing.

As he was being pulled past a table, he grabbed one of the legs. His fingers were weakening. All of a sudden, he felt someone, or something, rather, start to pry his fingers from the table leg until he was forced to let go.

None of this was real. He knew that. And he knew just what this was. It was Sydney’s final revenge. Her final words. The lack of fear on her face, sinking deep into his brain. In her last moment, she had broken his mind.

He told himself that in the morning, he would be the one with the last laugh.

Suddenly, the dragging stopped. He stood up. His knees shaking. It was all he could do to stand.

“You are going to suffer for what you did, Murphy.”

He struggled to speak. With a raspy voice, he asked, “Who are you?”

A face manifested right before him. His eyes widened.

“Recognize me now, Murphy?”

“A…a…anna. No, it can’t be!”

“Oh, it’s all of us, you piece of shit!”

Anna’s face turned to George’s, then Rachel’s, Steven’s, Bill’s, and then Sydney’s.

He felt a hand take hold of his shoulder.

He turned and tried to back away. But it was not an empty room. And the fingers dug powerfully into his shoulder.

Mrs. Ryan was standing. Her small, elderly body sagged with age, but he could see the muscles in her extended arm flex as she dug her fingers into his shoulder. Her features were that of Mrs. Ryan, but there was no mistaking the unique (and, even in this horrifying moment, he couldn’t help but see the beauty) expression of her face. It was Sydney.

He heard the metal gurney crash to the ground as Mrs. Ryan began to move. Blood and embalming fluid spilled as the centrifuge crashed to the ground. She crushed his shoulder with the strength of six people. “I told you that you’d see me again, Murphy!” she said, and it was now undoubtedly Sydney’s voice. Stitches popped from her mouth as she spoke.

She pulled him to her face and kissed him. Bile rose in his throat as he breathed in her early rot. “We can’t keep this to ourselves!” The voice now morphed. It was Sydney’s voice. But, at the same time, he could hear them all—Anna, George, Rachel, Stephen, Bill, Sydney.

She gripped harder, and he felt his collarbone break. She lifted him and slammed him down to the worktable. He felt the air eject from his lungs. He tried to scream. Tried to talk to Mrs. Ryan/Sydney.

“Let me go. Please! Please let me go!”

All of these things he wanted to scream. But, he could only move his lips like a fish out of water.

He tried to push against her arm. To get away from her and flee. But, she slammed her other hand down into his chest and froze him in place.

“This won’t hurt a bit, doll,” she said, in the chorus of six voices. He heard the clicking and slamming sound of the guillotine setting into place. His eyes were wide. He wanted to fight, but her hand on his chest rendered him powerless. He heard the slam as it came down, and felt barely a pinch on his throat. But, he knew at that moment, he was as good as dead.

He remembered reading once that the human brain could remain conscious for minutes after decapitation. This was the moment that he learned that that fact would be true.

He closed his eyes, held his breath, and prayed as laughter filled the air. He heard the blade’s release and his life quickly passed him by. The blade stopped at his throat. He opened his eyes, gasping, and silently thanking God for sparing him.

Anna spoke, “You didn’t really think we were going to let you off that easy, did you?”

He tried to speak but couldn’t.

Bill spoke, “Just relax, Murphy. That’s what you told me to do. The more you fight, the worse it will be.”

He heard the handle of the crematorium clank and the creak of the steel door open. Suddenly, he felt the heat rush into the room. The sound of the gurney rolling out filled the air. He felt the hands of his victims grab him on various parts of his body. The invisible hands slammed his body and head down onto the scorching hot platform. He felt the agony as it seared his flesh.

He had never been a religious man, but he just kept praying to a God he never truly believed in and begged for death before he was rolled into the hellish heat of the crematorium, but to no avail. He heard the track move, he felt the heat intensify.

He felt the flames take hold of his feet and moving up his body as he heard the steel door slam behind. Lastly, he heard once more, “I told you you’d see me again, Murphy!”

“We’re all going to watch you burn. ROT IN HELL!”

His blood-curdling screams quickly turned into crackling and popping noises. And just like that, pure silence.