Meat-eater

It was a cold winter night, and the streets of Soho were almost empty of people. The staff remaining in the stores were hurriedly putting the “closed” signs on, and the lights were gradually being turned off by people who obviously couldn’t wait to return to the cosiness and warmth of their homes. Very soon, the few people left around would be making their way to the nearest bus stops and underground stations.

At that moment, Michael realised that he was the only person walking on Dean Street, the lights of Chinatown ahead of him getting brighter the closer he got to the famous area. He wasn’t on the lookout for something fancy. All he needed was a decent meal somewhere. Earlier that night, he had decided – after endless thought and countless sleepless nights – that he would terminate his eight long years of being vegan. Although meat always used to be the main component of his diet and the way he enjoyed every bite of it, tonight he decided that he wouldn’t be picky on its quality. Something modest would simply do the trick.

               A deep urge to stay away from the crowd, made him turn right two blocks before he got to Shaftesbury Avenue, one of the busiest roads in Soho. It’d been a while since the last time he got out of his house, hence he deliberately attempted to stay away from people as much as possible. His decision proved right, as down the alley he saw a small wine bar/restaurant, giving the street the only source of light in the area. Getting closer, he noticed a guy, probably a staff member of the store, rearranging the display behind the glass front. Next to him was a huge, dry, succulent piece of meat, hanging from a hook. A warmness filled up his chest, and immediately he knew that he was in the right place. This was the right place to “sin” again.

               By entering the small, cosy restaurant, Michael was met by the smell of red wine, that got perfectly along with the wooden interior of the place. Fortunately, the only people inside, the man from the display earlier, who eventually was the bartender, and a couple of a man and woman, one would guess in their forties, who gave him a quick look just as he entered the restaurant before they go back to their romantic conversation.

               “I’ve got to let you know that we’ll be closing soon, mate” spoke the man behind the bar, while Michael was still standing near the entrance admiring the place.

               The newcomer just nodded with a smile and slowly walked towards the bar, where he took a seat on a stand.

               “What can I get for you?” asked the barman after he patiently looked at Michael reading through the menu that was laid on the bench in front of him.

               “I came here to eat meat” replied the man sitting at the bar, in a deep, hoarse voice, accompanied by a creepy smile on his face.

For the first time, the bartender paid close attention to the man who had just entered the store, and the couple from the nearby table glanced at him again, this time a bit more thoroughly. Something in the presence of the latest customer gave the people who’ve already been there the chills.

“You… you’ll have to be more accurate than that I’m afraid” muttered the bartender, this time looking intimidated by the man sitting in front of him.

“I apologise for my bad manners. It’s been a while since the last time I dinned out” replied Michael repentantly. And he continued, “For the first time in eight years, I’m going to eat meat again, you know.”

“Wow! And what made you take this decision?” asked the barman.

“Being vegan… that diet didn’t agree with me. It felt right at first, but very soon I started feeling sick and tired.”

“But why did you become a vegan in the first place?”

“The pursuit of meat… it’s not an easy task, my friend. The amount of stress that comes with it… the hunt… and the hiding…” At that point, Michael stopped talking and pondered somewhere on the wooden wall behind the bar, his look empty but intense, it felt like it could stop the passing of time.

In a moment of silence, he stood up, and he took a few steps towards the exit. Though, he didn’t leave the store. He just stood behind the glass part of the door, and he observed the dark, empty alley in front of the restaurant. Amid the awkward moment, and while all the attendees inside the store kept staring at Michael, the bartender, in a weak voice he asked, “Sir… excuse me, I don’t understand… are you… a hunter?”

The mysterious man suddenly turned around, wearing a wicked smile on his face, and he whispered, though clearly and loud enough for everyone to hear, “I’m just a meat enthusiast.”

No one knows what exactly followed that night during the massacre that took place inside the small wine bar/restaurant in Soho. According to what the media statements next morning, the police found three bodies inside the premises. What terrified everyone, though, was the fact that the third corpse, the one that belonged to the employee of the store, was missing a few parts – the tongue, cheeks, arms, legs, and genitals were never to be found. They were seemingly cut by someone experienced, who knew exactly what knifes and technique should be implemented.

The lead investigator in his first interview verified everyone’s worst fears. A nightmare that the citizens of London, and especially the community of Soho and the surrounding areas, still tried too hard to forget. The wounds, still fresh after all this time. After almost nine years, the “Cannibal of Soho” was back. All the signs pointed that way. Within a few hours, the whole city stood in a state of delirium and panic. Life in central London would never be the same again.

While the lead investigator’s interview was airing on almost every television in the country, a man in his one-bedroom flat in Stratford, East London, didn’t pay too much attention, neither he seemed to be worried about the return of a serial killer in the city. Whistling along “Sweet Child of Mine” from Guns and Roses, wearing just his underwear and a blue apron with the stamp of the UK flag in the front, he looked as happy as anyone while mixing the content of a pot on an electric stove. If only someone stood in his living room, they would be able to see the washed, freshly cut human hand waiting to be finely cut on the man’s chopping board.