The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

‘Put this on,’ she said in a neutral businesslike voice.
‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘A pig’s face.’
‘Do as I say.’ Again this strange yellow gleam in her eyes.
‘Mais oui, madame.’
Arve Støp put it on. It covered all of his face, smelt of washing-up gloves and he could only just see
her through the small slits for eyes.
‘And I want you to –’ he began and heard his own voice, encased and alien. That was as far as he
got before he felt a stinging pain over his left eye.
‘You shut your mouth!’ she shouted.
Slowly it reached his consciousness that she had hit him. He knew he shouldn’t, it would ruin her
role play, but he could not help himself. It was too comical. A pig mask! A clammy, pink rubbery
thing with pig ears, snout and overbite. He let out a guffaw. The next blow hit him in the stomach
with shocking power, and he doubled up, groaned and fell back on the bed. He was unaware that he
wasn’t breathing until everything went black. Desperately he fought for air inside the tight-fitting
mask as he felt her wrench his arms behind his back. Then, finally, oxygen reached his brain and
the pain came at the same time. And the fury. Bloody cow, what did she think she was doing?! He
wriggled free and would have grabbed her, but couldn’t move his hands; they were held tight
behind his back. He jerked and felt something sharp cut into his wrists. Handcuffs? The perverted
bitch.
She pushed him into a sitting position.
‘Can you see what this is?’ he heard her whisper.
But his mask had slipped sideways, he couldn’t see anything.
‘I don’t need to,’ he said. ‘I can smell it’s your cunt.’
The blow hit him over the temple. It was like a CD skipping, and when he had the sound back he
was still sitting upright in bed. He could feel something running down between his cheek and the
inside of his mask.
‘What the hell are you hitting me with?’ he shouted. ‘I’m bleeding, you madwoman!’
‘This.’
Arve Støp felt something hard pressed against his nose and mouth.
‘Smell,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it good? It’s steel and gun oil. Smith & Wesson. Smells like nothing else,
doesn’t it? The smell of powder and cordite is even better. If you ever get to smell it, that is.’
Just a violent game, Arve Støp told himself. A role play. But there was something else, something
in her voice, something about the whole situation. Something that put all that had happened in a
new light. And for the first time in ages – so long ago he had to think back to his childhood, so long
that intially he didn’t recognise the feeling – Arve Støp noticed: he was frightened.