the weird chick


February 7th, 2010

He sits in the bar, looking down as he sips his drink. The lights are dim, as they usually are, and clouds of illicit smoke hover at eye level. To his left sits a fat, balding man, taking the occasional swig from a pint of beer. To his right, an underweight woman with dirty hair and smudged makeup tries to sip her daiquiri in a classy fashion, all the while looking like a fired stripper. The man moves his glass, swirling around the drink inside.

The woman is lonely. Her feet swing lightly off the barstool, the stiletto heels tapping the legs. She drinks some more. Her shoes are red, the heels and small platform made of cork. He turns his eyes back to his drink briefly as he finishes it, asking the bartender for a refill. He turns his attention back to the woman. Her hair is tied back – an attempt to hide the mats and knots – and her clothes are ill-fitting and slightly torn. Her shoes have an open toe, and surprisingly, her nails are well-kept and polished. He stares discreetly for a bit, before apprehensively turning his attention to her face.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he says lamely. She takes a bigger sip from her drink, and smiles loosely.

“I’m new in town.”

His eyes fall down again, and he notices that her toes are long. He looks back up, then quickly turns away. “I could show you around, if you like.”

She coughs conspicuously, and looks at him. “Yeah, sure.” Another loose smile. “What do the apartments here look like? I’ve been considering getting one.” He quickly swallows the rest of his drink, as does she, and they exit the bar together.


He sits in the bar, looking down as he sips his drink. The lights are dim, as they usually are, and clouds of now-illicit smoke hover at eye level. To his left sits a woman with torn fishnets and heeled sandals, sipping calmly on a light drink. To his right sits a woman with cut-off shorts and casual shoes, several empty shot glasses sitting on the bar in front her her, along with a half-empty cooler. He turns to the left, his eyes looking down before he looks up to speak.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he says lamely. She smiles at him as she continues to casually sip her drink.

“I don’t usually go to bars,” she explains. He looks at her, one eye half closed and eyebrows raised. “I know, I look like a barfly.”

He smiles, head turned downwards to look at her feet. “Busy tonight?” he asks, voice wavering slightly.

She loves the awkward brashness, and shakes her head. “No, I don’t have any plans,” she says. “Why, do you have an idea?”

He nods, and quickly finishes his drink. She takes the cue to finish hers, and then follows him out of the bar and down to his apartment.

At the entrance she notices a few pairs of women’s shoes. As she opens her mouth to ask, he looks at her reassuringly and says: “They’re my sister’s. She likes to keep a few pairs here for when she visits the city.” The woman removes her own and sets them aside.


The television screen flickers in his bedroom as he lies there alone. A news report of several recently missing women glows from the box. He smiles slightly to himself as he strokes a foot held in his hand. The toes are long and the nails well-groomed. He turns off the power and slides out of bed. Clothes are grabbed and tossed on, with the foot being brought with him as he leaves for his front door. On the mat are several pairs of womens shoes. One pair is red with cork platform and heel, while a pair of sandals sit away by themselves. He moves the heeled sandals over to the mat and tosses the foot into the closet before leaving for the bar.

He spots a woman on the street corner as he walks towards the nearest bar, and he approaches her. On her feet she wears colourful shoes with exceptionally high heels, black pantyhose covering her legs and disappearing into the shoes. He looks down at the woman’s feet before looking up. “How much?” he asks.

“Fifty even, all-inclusive. You won’t be able to get up in the morning.”

Smiling, he grabs her hand and leads her to his apartment.

She notices the collection of women’s shoes in the entrance, but she doesn’t comment. He points to a room to the right, indicating she head that way. “I’ll be right there,” he insists. She simply smiles and goes to the room.


A large duffel bag sits by the door to the bedroom, full. Red stains cover the bottom. The woman begins to search the apartment for valuables to loot, tearing apart the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen, and finding nothing. She heads to the entrance and notices the closet. She opens the door, takes a quick look, and soon hits the floor.

“Our top story today, an apartment downtown was discovered by police containing a horrifying scene. On the floor of the entrance, a woman lay dead, apparently from fear. In another room, a duffel bag was discovered with a man inside, the person who lived in the apartment. And, if you can believe it, the story gets worse. Back in the entrance, the officers examined the closet, which is believed to be the last thing the woman saw before she died. Inside they found the missing women, their feet cut off and placed on an overhead shelf. Acquaintances of the man who lived there have been reported as saying he had a ‘strangely consuming foot fetish'”.


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