Cadaverine

First came the smell, sickly and heady like fermenting alcohol. But with every step, it grew more rotten. Seb breathed deeply and heard May gasp behind him. She didn’t appear to like the taste of petrol the stench left behind because she pulled her shirt over her mouth and nose. Not such a good sign. Seb sped up lightly.

He stopped at the edge of the ditch and began to move branches out of the way. Dwarf trees grew very densely here, roots strangling one another for whatever water gathered in the hole during wetter seasons. Now, in the dry and unforgiving heat of the summer, their branches snapped with a hollow creak. They had to regret their sprouting choices; Seb sure would have. He hated to be crowded, fucking overseen all the time. He hacked and twisted a path down the slope.

There she was, finally, lying at the bottom between short, choked weeds. Seb turned to help May down with an outstretched hand. He watched her eyes open in horror, then turn away, pull her shirt off her mouth, and vomit into the grass. Bit of a pussy so far.

‘What the fuck is this, Seb?’ she retched.

‘It’s a sheep, init,’ he confirmed and prodded what used to be the side of the animal with the tip of his sneaker. ‘Come have a look. It’s less gross than you think.’

In response, May heaved, this time dry, and turned back to look at him slowly. Seb stood over the carcass, so close to its borders surely he would need to present a passport to the gods of death now. He stared straight at May. She realised he was searching for something inside her, reaching out for understanding. She felt her forearms itch from the hairs rising in goosebumps.

‘Come,’ he stretched out his hand. ‘Watch the maggots.’

She stepped closer. This was the only date she’d ever really been on; all the others had been pranks. She would turn up and nobody was there, and then she’d hear giggles from around the corner and have an egg or a sandwich crust or whatever else was at hand thrown at her. Barn Owl they called her, because of the glasses, the stern look, the mousy hair. As far as derogatory nicknames went, Seb could appreciate this one, not only creative but pretty accurate. He liked owls.

‘Look,’ he commanded and took May’s clammy hand. He wondered what was stressing her out: the proximity of a putrid, half-swollen and half-eaten mammal, his fascination with it, or just being out with a boy without adult supervision.

The maggots looked like a second coat of fur, clustered around softer tissues. There was no eye left, only a white pit of moving insects, and a horde peeking out of the ear they could see. Seb could swear when he stared long enough the head moved gently, rocked by the steady unyielding motion on the legion that must have been consuming its brain. He was looking forward to the day they would break through the barrier of skin and fur and expose the skull.

He prodded the belly again. It was lightly swollen. The worst of the gas had now been processed, and the smell was much less heady than the week before, but still May put her shirt up again.

‘Why… what’s so special about this?’ he heard her ask faintly. A neutral sign.

‘Well, isn’t it cool? Look how it’s just disappearing. It’ll be nothing but clean bones in a few months, I reckon.’

She nodded. ‘Do you come here often?’

‘Yeah, sometimes,’ he underplayed. ‘I like nature.’

There was a long silence. ‘Sure. Nature. I like nature.’

He shot her a sideways look, feeling a little annoyed having to lose track of the teeming life in front of them for a second. ‘You prefer butterflies and flowers?’

She shrugged now. There wasn’t so much fear, or disgust left in her stance. ‘I can’t smell it so much anymore,’ she confessed.

‘In humans, sense of smell numbs down to about 50% of intensity within about a minute of registering a new scent.’

‘Shall we go now?’

Seb nodded. ‘You want ice cream or something?’

That Friday, May said she would call. Seb had hopes for her, the Barn Owl. He thought she might enjoy what he had to offer. He wasn’t going to try and woo her with brands, cinema, blind groping under the bra which would hurt her boobs. Of which she had a generous helping; he didn’t know how nobody had noticed how nice they were. He didn’t want to see maggots crawling in those.

On Saturday morning, the sun ripped through the slats between the blinds in his bedroom and went right for his eye. He lay there half-awake, thinking about May. He wanted to see those boobs without a bra on, he was certain now. They could visit again in a few days. He hoped the next stage of decomposition might be more appreciated by May as he anticipated less smell. He was certain now he’d seen some movement under the matted fur, life ready to enjoy the light of day after a hard month’s work digging through the tunnels of dead entrails. It was a shame not to have a camera to document the progress and enjoy its memory for years to come.

There was a knock on his door. ‘Don’t even bother coming out,’ his mother said so quietly he had to strain to make out the words. ‘You’re grounded for the weekend.’

‘Grounded?’ Seb repeated hollowly. This happened a lot, for reasons he didn’t always understand, but he couldn’t imagine even a glimmer of opportunity for his mother now.

‘May’s mum called. You’ve been disgusting again.’ Despite the low volume, contempt banged on the door to Seb’s bedroom. He heard footsteps and remained in bed, unmoving like his sheep. Maybe after all, she did deserve to have her fur matt too, her huge comprehending eyes eaten from the inside, the Barn fucking Owl.

Seb couldn’t understand why May’d tell on him. She gobbled the ice cream he’d bought her like it was her first time. An erection filled his trousers watching her. They didn’t talk much, but she must have guessed going out with him was going to be a quiet affair overall. She wasn’t stupid, or was she, maybe. Maybe behind her own silence was an empty room, not a thousand scribbles noting things away dilligently. Maybe it was plain walls and no doors.

Regardless, fucking regardless, something real bad was going to happen to May Spalding, the Barn Owl, the traitor. Seb closed his eyes. He saw the ice cream disappear inside her like church wafer, a confirmation of their union, a signature on their non-disclosure agreement. Money was spent out of Seb’s pocket that he had saved with great difficulty and through some hunger as his mother was a stingy arsehole, and yet May betrayed the ice cream pact. Who the fuck told their parents what they did with friends during the summer holidays, anyway. Wide-eyed nerds.

He lay in bed with another erection now, completely despise himself triggered by remembering her and how a little melted and went down her boobs and she scooped it with her finger. There were many hours to go before his mother would let him out, or maybe she wouldn’t soften before the end of the weekend. He’d decided a long time ago his mother would have a terrible accident one day. She too would be left to rot, but Seb wouldn’t come to watch her disintegrate back into nature. That would be disrespectful.

Seasons came and went. The sun rose and fell like a juggling ball, again and again, through the slats of the blinds. Seb’s mother slowly shone bones through scraps of flesh, and he was free. This is what freedom smelled like: decay. Years passed while he plotted against all those who wronged him. Big Billy who called him a freak with a long ‘r’ every time he saw him, hissing like a snake. He could be clubbed over the head to death — an easy, big and empty target. Big Billy’s best friend, Small Billy. For nothing in particular, just hanging out with Big Billy, and laughing at his jokes. And also for being a sidekick to someone called Big Billy and not minding.

Many others he imagined slashing like a tyre, kicking to a pulp, pushing off steps. Most of all, Barn Owl, the cause of his loneliness and aging in confinement. For her, there would be a special place in his heart, the darkest spot where blood circulated only out of necessity and moved along quickly.

Monday morning came forty-five hours after May’s mother’s phone call, and he was let out like a tiger out of his cage. Seb felt ancient with hatred and surprised his mother was still alive. She unlocked the door wordlessly and disappeared back into her bedroom, as if she knew she might be made to disappear for real. He prowled the house, banging cupboards in the kitchen in search for snacks. He hadn’t been fed all weekend, and it had put his mind on a knife’s edge. At least it had become clear to him that to kill he needed to keep himself respectfully empty of shit.

He emptied the bottles he kept under his bed for this very occasion. It wasn’t his first ride on the rodeo. The first time his mother shut him in, he had to pee through the window and suffer great thirst, but now there was always a six pack of mineral water serving a double purpose of hydration and urination.

He found lasagne in the fridge. His mother didn’t like lasagne, so this had to be a silent apology. He ate quickly, wondering whether she’d be woman enough to poison it if she feared him quite as much as she should.

He washed up the plate, this was it now, his first and last meal. He sharpened a small but vicious paring knife, hid it between some shirts in his closet, and went for a walk. No more food. Then Barn Owl, one way or another.

May’s house stood alone and proud on a big piece of property with extensive gardens out the back. He remembered her bedroom window because he’d often walk by in the dark and search for her silhouette hunched over the desk. There was something beautifully thoughtful about her that he had wanted to fuck and see up close before all this.

By Seb’s reckoning, her parents should be away at work. Nobody else in. And if they were home, he doubted they would recognise him as the freak. They were the sort of stuck-up people who could only look down, but Seb was well tall.

He picked up a small stone and smoothed it against his trousers, polishing away dirt. Even now he wanted to be clean with her. He threw it gently at the window. No reaction. Maybe she wasn’t in her room. He picked another and dusted it off when she appeared. He heard the crack on the hinge and she motioned him closed.

‘Seb?’

‘You alright,’ he half-asked, and she nodded.

‘You alright?’

He shrugged.

‘Do you want to come in?’

He nodded this time, and she disappeared. He moved slowly towards the front door. The knife was under the pillow, damn it. He wanted to make a date here, not slash her up already. Oh well, he could always choke her. Then he could really see what intention lay behind the glasses that refracted any curiosity.

May was at the door now. ‘Come, I want to show you something,’ she urged and took Seb’s hand. He cringed lightly but took it. Her fingers were long and warm and soft. She led him through the subdued hall. ‘I am sorry, Seb,’ she whispered and squeezed his hand. ‘I thought it was cool, what we saw. Bit weird but cool. My mother sure didn’t fucking think so.’

Seb stopped. ‘Why did say then?’

‘I don’t know, honestly. Look, I am sorry. Wasn’t on purpose.’

Seb’s mind buzzed hard at work. He wanted everything from May now, he discovered with unease. To make her bleed, but also a sudden urge to see her neck crane back and offer arteries in vulnerable pleasure. He wanted to see her stop moving for what she’d done, but also to watch her boobs drift up and down with her body’s breath.

May opened the patio door to a huge garden. Posh wankers and their acres. ‘Come, now,’ she urged him. He instantly recognised a faint smell of decay and frowned.

A row of trimmed yuccas reminiscent of a maze stood unmovingly at the far edge of the garden. Seb could go by his nose now and didn’t need May to lead, but she counted the mutilated crowns with her outstretched finger anyway. ‘There,’ she headed between the ninth and tenth tree, and pointed again for Seb.

He looked behind the trunk. There it was. A crow, or maybe a magpie, difficult to tell now as its plumage had matted and was mostly covered with maggots. He recognised that same rhythm his sheep carcass beat to — the rhythm of natural disaster, violent and steady. Crawling.

‘You like it?’ he heard May and remembered where he was again.

Without another word, she went back inside the house, crossing the garden in an effortless jog like nothing she looked in PE classes. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea, yes?’ she yelled from the door and disappeared into the halfdarkness of the hall.

Seb stood there a while, observing, until his legs ached so much with an undefined desire that he had to motion after her.

He found her in the kitchen, watching the kettle on the stove. ‘May,’ he croaked. ‘You’re so weird.’

She nodded and laughed. ‘Your mother told mine you’d be grounded all weekend,’ she turned to the stove again. ‘I am really sorry.’

He was in front of May before he knew it, stopped right before the boundary of her body, moments away from skin contact. Surely now he’d need to present his passport to the gods of life and hormones. He reached for her waist, and she didn’t dodge him. Her face, like a sunflower, turned to follow his. She grabbed him back and pulled herself to close the gap. Her lips landed on his and moved, and he ate her back, biting down gently for a metallic hint, alive and morbid and everything in between. The kettle whistled a song the bird in the garden could no longer.

‘I killed it myself,’ May whispered.