Barter: The Butcher

1

“The mysterious killer known as the Butcher remains at large,” said news reporter Gwen Connelly. “Since his hunt began six months ago, police estimate he has killed at least four people. Citizens are cautioned to stay alert and report any suspicious people or activity to the police.”

2

Hunters have a variety of areas to hunt for their food: lions have the savannah, sharks have the vast oceans. Scott Baxter had always favored the Grasshopper Bar (locals just called it Hopper), and this was his main hunting ground. He would come to Hopper once every month and find some lucky rat to receive his gift.

This particular night, he sat at the bar and scanned the room, the loud music thundering in his ears. Across the room he saw him: a man, early thirties, short brown hair, wearing glasses, a blue dress shirt and black pants. He was perfect. Scott strode across the bar, sipping his drink for encouragement and approached the stranger.

“Hello,” Scott said bashfully.

“Hello,” the man said, but he didn’t pay Scott much attention. He wanted to stop but something pushed him forward.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Scott said, and the man finally looked at him.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he said. “My name is Alex, Alex Milgrove. Something with vodka this time.”

“Scott Baxter,” Scott said, smiling. He hurried back to the bar and returned with the drink, handing it to Alex.

“So, what do you do?” Alex said, taking a swig.

“I work with meat,” Scott said. “I’m a butcher over at Vic’s Meats and Butchery; I co-own it with my brother.”

“Sounds intriguing,” said Alex, looking Scott up and down. “I love a guy who knows his meats.”

“What do you do?” asked Scott, surprised at how well this was going.

“I’m a social media manager for Thresdon and Sons,” said Alex, taking another gulp of his beer. “It’s tedious at times, but it’s what I love.”

“Very cool,” said Scott, and they continued their chat for almost thirty minutes, with Alex continuing to drink in that time frame. Finally, Scott had enough courage.

 “I was just wondering,” he said, “if you’d want to come back to my place. I could put on some tunes, and show you how I handle the meat.”

For a moment, Alex didn’t respond as he looked at Scott. The longer Alex didn’t speak, the more Scott thought he had messed up; he also didn’t know if it was all the alcohol fighting against Alex. He began to breathe again when Alex finally laughed.

 “You should see your face,” he said, giggling. “Yes, that does sound nice. I would like that.”

“Awesome,” Scott said, and he led the way to his car. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Scott’s house. He helped Alex into the house led him to the couch. When he was safely lying on it, Scott hurried to the kitchen, where he withdrew a bottle of sleeping pills from a cabinet over the sink. He shook three out and crushed them up into powder. He poured a glass of sparkling water, dropped the powder into the water, and stirred until the powder had dissolved. He returned to Alex, handing him the glass. Alex took a big gulp, then another.

“You were going to show me ….”he began to say but he didn’t have a chance, for at that moment, he slumped back against the couch and fell fast asleep.

3

When Alex finally woke up, he couldn’t tell where he was, it was too dark. He tried to stand but couldn’t; he was strapped to a chair.

“Hello?” he shouted, and groaned; he was slightly hung-over, and his head was lightly throbbing. He shouted again, but no one responded to his cries. He waited, drumming his feet on the floor. Finally, after five minutes, he could hear footsteps coming towards him.

“Hello, can you hear me?” he said. “I’m tied to damn chair!”

A door opened, and a hand flicked on a light switch. Alex blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden light, and he looked up. It was Scott standing in the doorway, now dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt covered by an apron.

“Scott?” said Alex, confused. “Where am I, and why am I strapped to this fucking chair?”

Scott, who had crossed over to a nearby metal work table, slammed his hands onto it, yelling.

“You don’t remember?” he said. “You wanted to come home with me, and this is my home!”

“I remember that part,” said Alex, “but I don’t remember consenting to being strapped to a chair!”

“You also said,” said Scott, “that wanted to know how I handle my meats. Now, I’m going to show you.”

He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. He returned ten minutes later, this time dragging something behind him, the thing thudding on the stairs as it was dragged down. Scott reentered the room and Alex saw what he was dragging: the body of a young girl, no older than ten or eleven.

“She’s already dead,” Scott said nonchalantly. “Normally, I do this while my meat is still living. But this one, I felt should just be dead beforehand. I suppose it makes it more humane.”

Alex watched, horrified, as Scott dragged the young girl’s body over to a wall to his right. Alex could see a metal hook drilled into the ceiling. Scott heaved and set the body to hang upside down, ankles suspended by the hook, her blonde pigtails just barely scraping the top of a bucket on the floor.

“What are you going to do?” said Alex, his voice weak. Scott turned to him, and Alex saw he was clutching a fillet knife, and a cleaver was sticking out the pocket on his apron. Scott didn’t speak, only held a finger to his lips, shushing Alex. Scott then returned his attention to the girl and ran the blade across the girl’s soft throat. Blood began to pour from the wound, drip down the face, and into a bucket below her head. Alex began to scream.

“It’s you!” Alex shouted. “You’re the Butcher!”

Scott neither confirmed nor denied this; he simply watched the blood drip into the bucket, a smile etched onto his face.

“Don’t you dare do that to me!” said Alex, and Scott turned to face him, leaning on the table.

“I won’t,” he said. “I didn’t bring you here and strap you to that chair just to kill you.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Alex said.

“You don’t,” said Scott said simply. “I’ll be honest, you don’t know if I’m telling the truth. But think of it this way: I could’ve killed you after you’d fallen asleep. Instead, you’re still alive.”

“Then why,” said Alex, “am I here?”

“I am looking to retire,” said Scott. “I can’t continue being the Butcher forever, and I don’t intend to. I want what every master of their craft wants.”

Alex didn’t respond.

“A student,” Scott said. “An apprentice, someone I can pass my knowledge to.”

Still, Alex didn’t speak.

“I want you, Alex,” said Scott. “I want you to learn from me, to be the Butcher after I retire.”

“You’re sick,” said Alex. “I’m never helping you.”

Scott simply stared at the young girl’s body, not speaking. He finally sighed and strode over to Alex, the fillet knife in his hands. Alex began to scream, terrified at the possibilities that could be coming. Instead, Scott simply raised the knife and brought the hilt down onto Alex’s head. Alex tried to speak but simply rocked back and forth in his chair before finally giving into unconsciousness.

4

Alex finally came to what must’ve been hours later. He immediately noticed that he was lying in a bed, and the cold steel around both wrists told him he was handcuffed to the bed frame. He wasn’t going anywhere. He also noticed that wherever he was, it was completely dark, and he didn’t know where he was.

“Help me!” he shouted. “Someone, anyone! Please, help me!”

There was no response. The darkness now was his only friend, and it felt to be an all-consuming darkness. He couldn’t even see his own chest, let alone the rest of the room. As he lay in the bed, handcuffed and alone, he began to realize something: it was the silence that terrified him more than the darkness. Would Scott ever come back, or was Alex by himself now, left to his own devices?

The minutes crept by, and they slowly turned to hours, and neither the darkness nor the silence gave hints to yielding. Before long, his stomach began to rumble. He hadn’t eaten since before going to Hopper, and he didn’t know how long ago that was now.

“Scott!” he shouted. “Please, I’m hungry. You can’t let me starve if you want me to learn from you. You might as well just kill me now.”

Admittedly, he thought that would rouse Scott to action, but no one came or said anything. No food or drink was brought to him. What would kill him first, Scott or starvation?

5

At least two days later, Alex was beginning to feel it would be starvation that would kill him. There was nothing for him to do but starve and sleep, and he couldn’t sleep due to the lack of food and drink.

“Scott, please!” he shouted. “Please, just kill me!”

To his amazement, he heard footsteps. Someone was coming! They approached the door, which opened. The lights finally came on, and Alex had to close his eyes from the brightness.

“You will break,” a voice said, and Alex recognized it belonged to Scott. “Sooner or later, you will break. You will neither eat nor drink until you submit to me and what I ask of you.”

 “You deranged psychopath!” Alex shouted, finally opening his eyes. “Just kill me now.”

Scott didn’t respond, only strode forward, smirking. He leaned down and kissed Alex forcefully on the mouth. Alex tried to bite him, but Scott was too quick; he pulled back before Alex could get anything.

“You will break,” he said. “I can tell. You will break, and you will be mine.”

With that, he retreated to the door, the lights went out again, and the door closed, entrapping Alex once again in complete darkness, no end in sight.

6

“Scott,” said Alex weakly. “You win. I submit. Please, help me.”

It had been five days since their last conversation. Still neither food nor water had been given, and Alex was on the edge of dehydration. He could hear Scott coming down the stairs and stop just outside the door, but he didn’t open it.

“Are you sure?” he said. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Just give me some water,” said Alex, “and I’ll do whatever you ask, I swear it.”

At last, Scott opened the door and turned on the lights. Alex closed his eyes again, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they finally did, he opened them again and blinked several times. He saw Scott standing in the doorway, a bottle of water in one hand and the handle of the fillet knife sticking out of the apron’s pocket. Scott dragged over a folding chair, set it up next to Alex, and sat down. He slowly began to fill the bottle’s cap with water, dropping it into Alex’s mouth. Alex lapped at the water, thankful to have even a taste.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you. Would I be able to get something to eat?”

Scott didn’t respond. He set the bottle down on the floor, leaned forward, and smacked Alex across the face with the back of his hand. He leaned back, picked up the bottle, and began dripping water again.

“Don’t ask me that,” he said. “I will decide when you get to eat, and I decide when I know you won’t betray me.”

To Alex’s surprise, he saw tears running down his cheek. Scott leaned back in the chair, panting.

“I hate hurting you,” he whispered. “I hate it, but you force my hand. Please don’t make me do it again.”

Alex didn’t speak, only wishing he could rub his sore face with his hand. Wiping the tears away, Scott stood and set the bottle into Alex’s mouth, allowing the water to flow freely. Without another word, Scott strode from the room, closing the door behind him but leaving the lights on.

7

When Scott returned later on, Alex saw, to his surprise, that he was carrying a tray laden with food. As he got closer, he got a better look: a steak, a baked potato, and roasted vegetables. Scott swept across the room and set the tray down in front of Alex. He crossed over and unlocked the handcuffs. As soon as he was free, Alex tried to swing at him but failed; his muscles were so weak because of the lack of food.

“You need to eat if you really want to fight me,” said Scott. “I really hope it doesn’t come to that though. I want us to be partners, to be able to trust one another. What better way that to build trust than with a meal? Sit up, and I’ll help you.”

Alex, shooting him a dirty look, eased himself up, and Scott giggled in delight. He brought the tray forward, sat down in his chair, and began to slice the steak. He stabbed it with the fork and brought it to Alex’s mouth, and he took a bite. Despite his loathsome attitude towards Scott, Alex couldn’t deny it: it was so tender and juicy, easily one of the best bites he’d ever had in his life.

“I can’t lie,” said Alex. “That’s easily one of the best steaks I’ve ever had.”

“You’re a teaser,” said Scott, blushing. “It’s a recipe I’ve always used. I’m glad you like it so much.”

“You not only know how to cut meat,” said Alex, “but you know how to cook it. What cant you do?”

Scott giggled and continued to feed Alex, and he finished the whole plate. Smiling, Scott got to his feet, secured Alex to the bed and, with the plate and silverware in hand, and headed towards the door. When he reached the threshold, he turned to face Alex.

“Do you know what cut of meat that was, Alex?” he asked. “I only ask for honesty.”

“No, I don’t,” said Alex, and Scott smiled.

“Remember that girl I had in here about a week ago?” asked Scott. “I knew she’d pair well with those vegetables.”

Alex’s eyes slowly grew to the size of dinner plates as he began to understand.

“Look at the bright side, Alex,” said Scott. “Now, you get to learn from the best. We’re going to have so much fun!”

Laughing, he left, closing the door behind him.

8

The next day, Scott spent the day teaching Alex how to butcher. He had kidnapped a young woman, late twenties Alex guessed, and showed him where to cut, how to hold each knife, and how to get the most amount of meat from each body part.

When Alex finally had the grip, their partnership began. Alex was sent out to find their victims, bringing them back to the house, where Scott would do his work, splitting the butchering work evenly with Alex. Together, they killed at least five people.

On this particular night, they had just finished butchering their latest kill when Alex leaned in and kissed Scott on the lips. Surprised, Scott took a moment to respond but leaned in, returning the kiss.

“I know how to celebrate,” Alex said, and he led Scott back to the bedroom. He led Scott to the bed and lightly pushed him onto the bed before leaving the room, heading towards the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of champagne and handed it to Scott. Scott took the bottle, raised it, and began to drink. He polished off the bottle in less than two minutes, belched, fell back against the mattress, and fell asleep. As Alex watched him, he reached into his pocket, retrieved his phone, and called the police. Detective Andrew Kling answered.

“Hello, this is Detective Kling,” he said.

“Kling, this is Milgrove,” said Alex. “He’s ready.”

“Yes, sir,” said Kling. “We’ll be right there.”

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the front door. Alex went to the door and opened it, and five police officers stormed into the house. Scott awoke with a start to find officers handcuffing him.

“What the fuck is this?” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Scott Baxter,” said Kling, coming into the bedroom, “you’re under arrest for the murder, butchering, and cannibalization of nine people.”

As he read the names, Scott paid him no attention. Instead, he remembered each rat fondly; several of them had tasted so sweet. All the same, how did these pigs find him? 

“Adios, Butcher,” said Kling as the officers hauled him out of the bedroom. When they reached the front door, Alex came forward and locked eyes with Scott, and it all began to make sense.

“You bastard,” Scott hissed. “You informed on me. You set me up!”

“You’re delusional,” said Alex, almost with pity. “You’re delusional, and you need help.”

“How long?” said Scott, his voice growing quiet. “How long have you been informing on me?”

“Since that first night you let me out,” said Alex. “The Butcher must die.”

The police hauled Scott out of the house, and Alex watched them go. As he did, he began to breathe easily again; he had almost broken character, but it had all gone according to plan. The police thought they had the Butcher. In way, they did. The fillet knife was in his pocket; it calmed him.

9

Butcher sentenced to Life in Psychiatric Hospital

The trial of Scott Baxter, infamously known as the Butcher of Blakesfield, concluded today, bringing a well-deserved peace to Blakesfield residents. Baxter, 32, was found guilty by reason of insanity on multiple counts of kidnapping, murder, and cannibalism. He was sentenced by Judge Ryan Costern to spend the remainder of his life at Barter Psychiatric Hospital, headed by Dr. Thaddeus Hill.

“We’re very happy to have caught Mr. Baxter,” said Sherriff Tom Will. “We especially wanted to thank our informant who, for his own safety, has chosen to remain anonymous. Without his help, we couldn’t have brought this psychopath to justice and done right by his many victims.”