Merlin opened the oven door and, as always, winced as the heat blasted his face. But it had to be done, just like clockwork, his weekly ritual. He wheeled the gurney over positioned it, and slid Bobby Planet’s corpse into the incinerator. Merlin felt beads of sweat on his forehead as he closed the door to the oven.
He sat down and put his head between his knees. The seduction was always easy, especially this time, Bobby so enthusiastic to have sex with an older daddy type. Kneeling over Bobby just as he climaxed, the strangulation put Merlin over the top – but the cleanup had really pissed Merlin off. Bobby had made such a mess. Incredible that a gay man, even a young one, didn’t take care of himself before going out for a hook-up. Merlin would remember next time to make sure that his victim douched before they had sex.
He looked up when he heard a voice upstairs from his entryway, a squeaky soprano.
“Oh yoo-hoo, Mr. Atkins,” his neighbor, the inevitable Mrs. Hackshaw, said. “I want to talk with you about the city’s plans for the oak tree between our lots.”
He heard the stompy footsteps of her high heels on his linoleum floor. Damn – he’d left the door to the basement open.
“Are you downstairs, Mr. Atkins?”
Merlin grabbed a hammer and concealed it behind his back. This time he’d have to improvise.
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