Mr Jericho smiled at the taunts of the children. He was a monster, a wizard, a warlock, they said. ‘They’re just me dogs,’ he said as he waved at the three skulls lined up by the wall. ‘Terror, Nightmare and Horror.’ He grinned as the children’s eyes widened. ‘Lovely dogs. They really enjoyed young flesh.’
Amanda Pennet ushered her children away. ‘Don’t frighten them, Mr Jericho. Please. I know it’s been tough.’
‘Yes, I loved them dogs.’‘Oh yes. Of course.’ Amanda looked away. Poor man, hiding his loss behind his love for his dogs. She looked again at the three skulls.
Mr Jericho followed her gaze. ‘Some folks might think it odd. Seeing them there, together, just like they used to sit in the sun, but it makes me feel better.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll explain to the children. They won’t bother you again.’ He’d suffered enough, losing his dogs and the his wife. And if he wanted to put the dogs’ skulls on display, well there wasn’t any real harm, was there?
Inside Mr Jericho stood by the half-pulled curtain and watched them go. Once he was sure they were out of sight he pulled on his gloves and made for the scullery. In the large copper the flesh was beginning to float off his wife’s skull, causing a fatty scum to congeal on the surface. Mr Jericho spooned it away before pushing her skull under the liquid. ‘Where shall we display you, then, Doris?’
This is my response to Sue Vincent’s latest #writephoto prompt, here