Ricki
The invader quietly moved through the dark kitchen. Dressed head-to-toe in black with a matching ski mask, they blended in with the shadows and kept close to the walls.
The house was grand, with vaulting ceilings and expensive furniture. Tasteful paintings (not prints), extravagant mirrors, and ornamental rugs filled the rooms. Sculptures of all different media littered the area, some made of hardened clay, others glass. Far from an artist’s studio it was only a place of collection, storage for pretty things, not for creation. It was a home replete with wealth but deprived of any real feeling. No children ran through these halls or played in the many rooms; the décor was too fragile.
The intruder knew their way around. In slants of silent moonlight they made their way through an elegant dining room, pausing at the large oak table to withdraw a short, sharp knife from the small bag at their back.
A beautiful silk runner, deep crimson, ran along the length of the table. Its smooth, supple surface almost shone in the light of a large bay window from the south wall. With almost revered concentration they dragged the blade through the soft fabric, splitting it in half lengthwise all the way down to the other end, careful to move the ornamental bowl of woven balls in the process. Satisfied, and checking to make sure the blade had scratched the smooth wood underneath, they replaced the bowl and moved on.
The same care was put into quietly slashing the overstuffed pillows and cushions of the luxurious furniture. The stuffing was lovingly pulled out and spread around the rooms, looking like a sudden snowfall had magically appeared indoors. Nothing was left untouched.
Standing on tiptoe the intruder went from painting to priceless painting, slicing them to ribbons. As they drew the tip of the knife across delicate landscapes and portraits of people who really weren’t that attractive, they had to cover their mouth to suppress snorts of helpless laughter.
The impressive staircase was carpeted in white and flanked on either side by carved wooden railings. It curved slightly at the top, arching gracefully from the ground to the second floor in an eye-catching display of architecture.
At its feet they withdrew a small container and unscrewed the cap. Making their way up they tapped the bottle behind them, leaving fat drops of black ink that stained the carpet below. It trailed all the way to the top and as they reached the upper hallway they looked back down at their work with satisfaction. The ink was a long blight on the purity of the stairs like a stream of gore.
And they were just getting started.
The master bedroom was a ridiculously overlarge area that could have been comfortably split into two with room to spare. Sneaking through the half-opened door without a sound, the invader padded across the thick carpet, grimacing at the heavy scent of perfume in the air.
Shrouded in shadows, the hazy outline of a huge four-poster sat against the west wall where soft snoring could be heard amid the dark mass of blankets. Ignoring this for a moment, they turned to the small cage beside the bed.
A tiny dog sat on a thin blanket wearing a muzzle. Upon seeing the intruder it perked up its ears and began wagging its tail enthusiastically.
“Hey Ricki, shhh,” they whispered, crouching down and poking a gloved finger through the bars to give the dog a pet. “Don’t worry, we’re almost out.”
Ricki whimpered and licked their fingers in response.
Straightening up, they moved to the closet. The doors slid open effortlessly, revealing a generous walk-in that was full to the brim with clothes. More specifically, a dozen fur coats, several pairs of fur-lined boots, full-fox scarves, mink hats, lambskin gloves, and a rabbit-fur shawl.
The intruder scowled as they stepped inside. As if it wasn’t bad enough being skinned alive, your flesh was worn by heartless, soulless people only looking to add to their evening outfit. As they removed another larger bottle from the bag, they thought of them and the grim victory that their fur would never be worn again.
Going from rack to rack, they spouted the fake blood over each garment, rationing as there wasn’t a lot to work with. It was enough to render the items useless however, and that was enough.
After everything had been soiled appropriately and the bottle emptied, they left the container in the closet and walked calmly to the bed.
A mess of hair could just be seen above the puffy comforter and the intruder looked down at the shapeless form with disdain. She had always been a heavy sleeper; wouldn’t have known if a hurricane just passed through. Gingerly they pulled back the blanket, revealing her sleeping figure swathed in a thick leopard print robe. Her jaw was wide open, sucking in air with a rattling drawl and letting it out in a rough exhale. Sleeping beauty indeed. How did he ever live with her?
Derision quickly turned to mirth as he withdrew a container of honey from the bag. She hated honey.
Popping the cap he carefully squeezed it down her arms and over her fingers, trying to get it as far into the sleeves as possible. Streams of sticky gold zig-zagged across her torso and down each leg, pooling around her toes. Finally, biting his lip to stop from laughing, he delicately dribbled it into her long hair and around her face.
The comforter was replaced without a hitch in her loud breathing, and the empty bear-shaped container of honey was left beside the bed where its happy face would greet her in the morning.
Turning to the cage, he freed Ricki and removed the muzzle. The small terrier was ecstatic at seeing him and squirmed in his grip happily.
“I’ve gotcha, boy, don’t worry. She’s not gonna hurt you anymore. Let’s get outta here.”
Walking down the expansive lawn of the house brought with it a righteous sense of satisfaction. The moon was bright and victory was sweet; but more importantly, Ricki was safe. A quiet sense of happiness stole over him and his only regret as he strode to his car was that he wasn’t going to be there when his miserable ex-wife woke up.