From the Personal notes of Doctor Hannibal Lecter
Despite my assurance to Mrs Watson that she’d be no match for me, I nevertheless took the precaution of whipping out my emergency-knock-out kit, and before she’d moved another inch, I’d applied a swab of chloroform to her nose. Clasped in my warm embrace, I held her close while she jiggled about like a child’s puppet. The thrashing of her buttocks against my strong serge trousers was amusing, though my lack of testicles (and their related characteristics), ensured that I remained true to my purpose.
“Now look here, Lecter,” muttered Lambton. “This sort of behaviour simply isn’t cricket.”
Dropping my charge to the ground, I took a step towards His Lordship and issued a sharp right hook. He fell to the floor like one of those sacks of tuberous crops that make up the dreary diets of the working classes.
The next few minutes were taken up manoeuvring the limp bodies of Holmes and Watson onto the trestle tables. After stripping them of their outer garments, I allowed myself the pleasure of gazing upon their naked forms (ruminating on the particular ‘cuts’ I might utilise), before securing their arms and legs.
All this had been executed with my usual swiftness and professional etiquette. It was particularly satisfying to note that at no point during the procedure had my pulse risen above 82. It was time to turn my attention back to the female of the species.
Being a gentleman (of sorts), I chose to leave her fully clothed. Quite what I shall do with this cross-eyed Mary, I have yet to decide. I may wish to strip her of everything later, including her skin, but I am presently undecided on how she should meet her death.
As my ‘clients’ would be asleep for a while longer, I took the opportunity to pop upstairs to the kitchen where I entertained the cook, the housekeeper and the parlour maid in a jolly game of run-away-before-I-kill-you. They all enjoyed it immensely, though sadly, I was unable to persuade any of them to remain on the premises. I am in no doubt they will hurry to the village and inform the authorities, but this should still give me a good forty minutes to complete my ‘tasting’ session with the good doctor and his detective friend before the cavalry arrive.
Back in the cellar, I wound up the gramophone and selected a suitable recording to accompany my endeavours. Just as the music started, I heard a moan from one of the tables.
“Ah, you’re awake. How lovely.”
Watson struggled against his bonds for a moment, then turned to glare at me.
“That’s Doctor Fiend, if you don’t mind.” I waved a hand at the gramophone. “Music while we work?”
The doctor frowned. “Is that the Goldberg Variations?”
I nodded. “Indeed. I always like to have a little Bach in my bite.”
“Is that meant to be funny?”
“Yes, though I naturally would not expect you to be amused.” I went to the knife rack and selected a suitable chopper.
“Do one thing for me,” he whined, as I approached the table. “Make it quick.”
I smiled. “Sorry, I’ll have to pass on that one. I like to eat slowly, you see.” I heard him gulp as I leaned over him. “Ready when you are, Doctor Watson…”