James Jones was 45 and single. He lived quietly in his flat on the top floor of a high rise block. He mostly kept himself to himself. Certainly his direct neighbours had probably never ever seen him. That was the way he liked it and it had to be. James had been released from prison three years earlier having served nearly twenty years for manslaughter, he drove his car and hit a cyclist killing her dead. She died an agonising death taking several hours. Her family vowed revenge and he lived with the constant guilt of that last drink. The family vowed to find him and rake out their revenge. James was still terrified and happy to remain hidden from society.

By day he slept until early afternoon and by night – well that’s when it started. During the weekend, which he always took off, you would find him at any one of a number of clubs until closing time. He’s the one standing by the wall just looking, no, observing and studying. He always wondered which one of the people there, full of life and gay abandon in their eyes, he would next meet. They wouldn’t know it, of course, but he would meet some of them again and likely very soon! 

He worked the night shift, always had. For James it was the best way to do it. The cover of darkness was a great help. There were less people about and so he was unlikely to be seen. Also the fact he worked alone bought about certain benefits.

Each night he would get himself ready. Meticulous, so as to leave no trace. It had to be that way. No one could know it was him. No one could see any evidence of his dealings. Each tool would be set out. Its place precise on the tray. Previously they had, of course, been sterilised, removing any trace of his work on any other victim. There must be no way to link any of them. 

Next he would prepare himself. He stripped off and showered, paying particular attention to scrubbing his nails. Once dry, James donned fresh clothing, all well washed and contaminant free. The loose fitting trousers and similar tee-shirt. On top of the tee-shirt a thin latex jumper covered his upper torso. Finally a mask. It helped to conceal his identity and also prevent his DNA going astray.

Now he was ready to perform the ritual. Tonight was special as it was All Hallows’ Eve. There was bound to be plenty going on. 

James stepped out into the cold room. A dim light was all that illuminated the room currently. Once he was sure he could not be seen, all windows and doors covered and blacked out, the flick of the switch and a brilliant light filled the room. He placed his tray of tools down near the altar – as he referred to it – and put on latex gloves.

He collected the body, that had been discarded earlier that evening in readiness for his handiwork. He laid her gently on the altar and began. First an examination of what he had. Using the first knife he cut off the clothing. She didn’t react, which was a good start. Once naked he stood back and took her vision in. He noted the cut under the rib cage that earlier had severed the artery leading to death. The tattoos were nicely done, he though, proportionate and in keeping with her hair and multiple piercings. He did not feel the need to decorate her any further.

Before going to the next phase of his work he walked slowly to stand beside her head. He leant over he placing his mouth by her ear,

“Boo!” he called out, nice and loud. Nothing, no movement. He was satisfied that she was deceased.

He spent the next hour using special soap and water. He washed the body completely clean, taking extra care in the area of the knife wound. It was important to remove every trace of anything that had happened before. There should be nothing left to chance. This body would be looked at in the coming days and must be clean as a whistle for those next in line. Once he was satisfied he was ready for the final preparation.

He looked once more at her face. Then it struck him. She was last Friday at club La Scala. The hen do if memory served him correctly. It was the cheek bones combined with the hook on her nose. Yes that is who she was poor kid. He recalled spending some time watching her, studying her face. He watched as she danced with her arms held high above her head and her hips gyrated to the heavy bass beat of the music. She was special. There were several potential suitors that night, but none of them got anywhere and now here she was, his against all the odds. Still he had a job to do and do it he must to the best of his ability.

James got down on his knees lifted his head high and his arms even higher. For the next ten minutes he offered prayers for her soul. Each prayer held special meaning deliberately invoking the powers of the spirit world to come to her aid.

Standing back, he looked at her. Did she still look natural, alive? She was not as he remembered her from the club. He must work on her some more. He gathered his tools once more and made a variety of incisions. Collecting the skin and skilfully sewing her up tight. Then he turned to the variety of orifices she had. Each one sealed with hidden stitching. He studied her once more. Perfect, and not a trace of his handiwork could be seen.

His work was completed. He put the body back where he found it and waited. It would end up in the cemetery and there he would visit one more time to pray once more for her soul.

James was thankful that he trained for years before his killing as a mortician and he was grateful to be able to return to it.