COLLECTING THE PIECES

A long time ago, in this very house lived a reclusive man whom, in this story, we will call Crank.

Crank never talked to anyone, not even his own children. He had a son and a daughter, Cameron and Liz. They were both talented, smart, good-looking young people; the kind of children that would make any normal parent proud.

Crank was proud of them, or at least, he used to be. When his wife died ten years ago he kicked Cameron and Liz out of his house (they were only 18 and 16 at the time)and he lost all contact with his friends and family. He spent all of the time in his basement, which he forbade any person who might possibly be at his house for whatever reason to enter.

Even though Crank had turned Liz out of her own home at the young age of 16, and never returned her calls, unlike her brother Liz, she still loved and missed him. She longed for the days before her mother's death, when they had all been a family. Maybe, if he saw her in person, Crank would remember and crave for those days too. Maybe.

Liz decided to visit him. The next day she drove to her former home, and gasped in shock at what a horrible state it was in. The red paint was faded and peeling, the grass and weeds were waist high and taking over everything, the door hung open on it's hinges and one of the front windows was smashed in.

Holding back tears, Liz cautiously got out of her car and noticed one other queer thing; every other house on the block had a FOR SALE sign. This didn't catch her attention for very long as she was near tears looking at her childhood home in such disrepair. She felt like she needed a machete just to walk to the front porch.

Liz walked right inside, and wasn't surprised to see that the inside of the house needed just as much work. Dirty dishes were everywhere, some broken, others still topped with molding food. Flies were all over the place, as were maggots. Dirty clothes littered the ground, table tops, and backs of chairs. In the carpet, Liz noticed drops of red. Actually, everywhere there could be found red spatters. In Liz's opinion, that, plus the condition of the house equaled creepy.

Also, the stench in the house was unbearable and utterly unique. A mixture of dirty clothes, cat pee, rotting milk, and... Liz didn't want to acknowledge this...blood.

Liz searched the whole house and couldn't find her father. Then she heard a 'Shing, Shing' noise coming from a door she hadn't checked, labeled "DANGER. KEEP OUT!!!" "Dad?" Lis called weakly, scared.

The 'Shinging' noise stopped. "Who is it?" a gruff, masculine voice yelled angrily. "It's me, Liz. Can I come down and see you?" She said, relieved to hear his voice.

"NO!!!" Crank thundered. "Go away! Don't come back." Liz pushed back a wave of sadness when she heard him say that. "Dad, please. I want to talk to you. I can't leave until I see you." "I told you already, GO!" Crank warned her.

Turning to leave, Liz thought, 'No. He's my Father and he needs me. He's still distraught over mom's death. I can help him, tell him how I dealt with the pain.'

With that thought, Liz turned back and opened the forboding door silently. A wave of freezing cold air struck her with full force. The first thing she saw was blood, lots of it, staining the stairs, covering the walls, everything. The second thing she saw were disembodied limbs and organs, dripping with blood and acid and hanging from the ceiling.

The overpowering stench of the organs hit Liz next, just when she saw her Father, brandishing a chopping knife. "I told you not to come down here, Elisabeth." Crank said, smiling just a little. He started to come up the stairs, slowly, knife in hand.

The tears Liz had been holding back ever since she saw the outside of the house burst forth as she took in the terrible scene before her eyes. "Dad... What is this?" She sobbed, "What have you become?"

Liz failed to notice the sadistic smile on her Dad's face, the wild look in his eye. She still thought she could help him.

Without answering her, Crank said, "You look so much like your mother, Lizzy. I can use you." Without giving her anytime to be confused, Crank chopped off her head and dragged her body downstairs.

The truth was, the only way anyone could ever help Crank was by ending him, contrary to his daughter's belief.

And what was Crank doing in the basement? Collecting body parts and sewing them together, for his wife. He had taken her heart from her dead body and preserved it, along with her last breath. This, added to her new body, would bring her back to life, or so Crank believed in his twisted, murderous mind.

Every night, Crank would go out and collect parts from his neighbors to suit his wife. Nothing ever seemed exactly right so he kept collecting and collecting.

He's still looking for new parts.