July 22, 2010

Hatchet Job

Filed under: Essays — unwriter1 @ 3:11 pm
Tags: , ,

It was the first day of the month, payday. Like clockwork, Jim arrived at the bank to collect his money. As always, Molly gave him a twenty dollar bill telling him Kat would be in later to pick up the rest.

Yep, it was payday and all the bars in town knew it. They also knew his wife, Kat, better known as Hatchet Kat. Dave was lucky. He only lost a finger when he put the frosty mug down next to Jim’s pile of cash. That is why the first of every month is Hatchet Kat day and all the bars in town close. The second and third days, depending on when Jim sobers up enough to walk to town are safe because by then he would be broke. It was around a year ago that the overhead crane Jim operated came down, with him in it. He was on disability from that point and his normal angry temperament got worse.

It was starting off like the first of every month. Leaving the bank he would stop at the ‘Buy-it-Here’ convenience store. With his supply of cheap whiskey, Jim made his way to the broken down shack he and Kat called home. A typical first- of-the-month scenario and it would be the last.

It was the first of the month and the police and paramedics were standing by. The emergency room had staff ready also prepared for Kat’s monthly visit. Jim was a violent and mean drunk. This month would be different.

Kat had had enough. Jim would come home either plastered or in the process of becoming so. Then before he passed out he always beat Kat to within an inch of her life. He was always angry about something and took it out on his sweet wife. The paramedics knew this and were on standby for her 911. Not this time.

Staggering up to the door he was dumbfounded to find it locked.

“Stupid Bitch!”

Ten minutes of near misses he finally got the key into the lock. It didn’t matter how hard he turned that key because he then saw the two new deadbolts. He couldn’t see the board Kat had across the door on the inside. Had he tried, he would have discovered the back door was the same way. Instead he stumbled and tripped his way to the root cellar. He had a pint and two six packs stored there. Kat knew this also.

She waited until she was sure he was out. Hatchet in one hand, lantern in the other, into the root cellar she went. She raised the finely honed blade:

“One digit for each can and bottle you drank, you dirty bastard.”

Off came ten fingers. The eleventh digit was right below his waist.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“There’s been an accident. My blade slipped.”

She was cleared of the murder charge using the battered spouse syndrome.



  1. ahem! I never expected her to get revenge so furiously – but — karma ya know.
    It was a good read – and he got what he asked for.
    Thanks for sharing.

    Comment by Billie A Williams — July 22, 2010 @ 7:50 pm | Reply

  2. Violence is all around us, these things happen all too often. It makes one wonder whatever happened to love. Does it even really exist. Thanks for the read, maybe it will help someone in need.

    Comment by Angie Hartson — July 23, 2010 @ 4:54 am | Reply

  3. Ah, of course – the BSS. Gets you off every time, lol. Fun one today, Ron Twaine. 🙂

    Comment by The Old Silly — July 23, 2010 @ 11:57 am | Reply

  4. Hello, merely a short note to swing in and express kudos for your remarks in this article. I mysteriously found myself here just after reading through up on a lot of celeb physical fitness stuff over on Bing… guess I managed to get kinda sidetracked! At any rate I’ll be returning in the near future to read your posts down the road. All the best!

    Comment by Morph Muscle Builder — July 23, 2010 @ 2:03 pm | Reply

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