MJ wanted to cry, to drop to her knees and weep over the turn of events that had led her here. Why couldn’t she just be normal, why did she have to take a break? Every other woman downstairs was enjoying themselves, each vied to be heard and the centre of attention. Why did she want to just hide? Why had she come in here? Why had she done this?

MJ looked again at the ruined man pushed into the floorboard. She steadied herself against a chest of drawers, remaining on one foot.

At best she would spend the rest of her time here a friendless outcast. The Shrinky, he was clean and good looking for someone so small. Had he cost money, was he expensive? MJ knew many of the girl had several times the expendable income that she did. Would they make her pay for him? What if she couldn’t?

She’d have to move back home. Return a failure, everyone would be so disappointed in her. Everyone would know she had been stupid. So stupid.

MJ choked back a sob. Why had she been so stupid?

Her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling. Breathe.

Time crept by, each dangerous second dripping away like the blood that soaked into the fabric beneath her toes.

He was dead, there was nothing she could do now. It wasn’t her fault, he had been so fragile. Why were they so skittish, why did they try to get away when they could break so easily?

It wasn’t her fault. What else could she have done? Should she have left him, make it look like a failed escape? How long would he have lasted, screaming on the floor? She had put him out of his misery. She had done the right thing even if her friends downstairs couldn’t see it.

If she admitted what had happened would they agree? Could she risk it?

No. OK.

MJ pivoted and sat onto the bed, her foot still raised above the Shrinky’s remains.

She could get away with this, it was fine. Nobody had seen, nobody would know it was her.

Her fingers worked quickly, freeing her legs as she slipped off her tights. The cloth was folded in her hand, the blood hidden. She inspected her now bare foot. The slightest stain was quickly cleaned away with a saliva coated thumb.

Leaning down, her tights now became a rag to be used to mop up the blood and viscera from the floor. It looked worse than it was, the hardwood resistant to the liquid seeping across its surface. He man had been small, there was only so much blood he could contain.

In less than a minute there was nothing left of him. The fabric in her hand, still warm with residual body heat, consumed the Shrinky’s remains. She would have to dispose of them at home, it was a small price to pay.

The garment was crushed in her hand and pushed into her clutch. Her phone was removed to take up space and slipped into her bra. The clasp struggled but clipped together. She would be throwing this bag away tomorrow, it was far too impractical.

MJ stood, smoothing a crease out of her dress and admiring her work. There was no sign of her crime, no evidence to show it had even been committed. She left the cage door open.

Let his owner waste time looking for him. Shrinkys try to escape all the time.

She smiled, she would get away with this.

Nobody would notice her bare legs, they had all drank too much. A stroke of luck that her clothing was flesh coloured.

MJ turned back to the door. All she had to do was get back downstairs, come up with a plausible excuse for her absence. That is if anyone even noticed.

She smirked, she had nothing to worry about.

As she made for the door, her smile died.

In the corner of her eye, amongst the shadows, movement.

Shit!

MJ flew at the spot, moving like a hawk or a cat.

By the door stood a row of black, chunky heeled ankle boots. They loomed beside a worn pair of Converse and a pristine pair of gym shoes. MJ moved each shoe, one by one, her eyes manic with desperation as she fought to remain calm. She prayed it was nothing, begged it to be a trick of the light.

The squeak that reached her ears hit like a punch to the gut.

She lifted a shoe, holding it by the heel. A delicate length of chain trailed after it, connected to a ring fastened around the neck of another Shrinky.

This one was female, naked and choking as her weight pushed her throat against the metal ring. Her legs kicked frantically at the open air, her eyes bulging wide with fear. MJ watched, numb to the creature’s suffering.

Slowly she extended a hand and allowed the Shrinky’s tiny feet to find purchase against her fingers. It’s skin was ice cold, the tiny woman having even less weight than her former roommate.

The Shrinky dropped to her knees, panting to fill her burning lungs. She was filthy, dishevelled and emaciated. Her skin was a collage of cuts and scars spotted by drifting clouds of purple bruises.

Two piercing blue eyes looked up at her from beneath a shag of matted hair. ‘You, you killed him.’

MJs world fell away. She fought to keep her face cool.

‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

The Shrinky was convulsing in her palm, racked by tremors, ‘No you did, I saw it, I was working as Mistress commanded, I was working, I promise, I was being good, I was being good for Mistress and then I saw it. You dropped him, you, you stepped on him, you killed him!’

MJ’s heart beat faster, she felt sick. Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!

The tiny creature moaned in her hand, rocking back and forth, trembling and fragile like an autumn leaf.

‘I think you are confused,’ MJ said softly, trying to keep the panic from her voice, ‘I have only just walked in here.’

A spark of genius struck her mind, ‘Do you need help little one?’

Her tone was soothing now, reassuring.

‘Are you hurt, do you need me to take you away from here?’

Her voice became a whisper, ‘I’ll rescue you if you like?’

The tiny woman screamed as if she had been stabbed.

‘No, no, no, no! No rescue, no escape. Mistress will know, Mistress always knows.’

The tiny woman tugged at her hair, pulling away clumps in her throes of madness.

‘Mistress will find out, Mistress will know. I must tell her, must tell her what you did. I am good, I am always good, good Filth, honest Filth. Filth would never lie to Mistress, Filth would never try to escape. Filth would never disobey. Mistress would take Filth’s legs and make it scoot around scoot scoot. Filth cannot lie and you…oh you..oh’

The creature returned to sobbing, tears cutting pale trails through the dirt that caked her face.

Filth, they named her Filth. What the fuck had the girls done to this woman?

A small part of her did somewhat pity the shivering Shrinky in her hand, under better circumstances she might even have followed up on her promise and taken her to a rescue or something.

Unfortunately any chance Filth had of being rescued was dashed by her endless wailing.

‘Shut up!’ MJ hissed, closing her fist around the creature, ‘Shut up, shut up!’

Filth continued to scream and sob, MJ’s fist barely muffling the noise. She shook her, hoping to, what? Knock her out, worse?

The tiny woman retched and would have been sick if there was anything in her stomach to bring up. She recovered quickly, seemingly indifferent to the massive hand that enveloped her. No doubt she had experienced a thousand times worse treatment.

Like a siren, she called out, ‘Mistress, Mistress, help! She killed him, she killed him, she killed him, Mistress!’

‘No, please, stop, please, you have to be quiet, please!’ MJ begged the woman in her grasp, she just needed time to think. The noise, the creatures voice, it was piercing and everywhere. Surely someone would hear, someone would investigate and find out what she had done.

Her mind started to race, her breathing getting short and panicked. Nobody would speak to her, nobody would remain her friend. She would be alone again all because she was stupid, because she needed a break and couldn’t help but touch things.

What could she do? She needed to get out of here, she needed to stop Filth from screaming. It was so loud.

Could she put Filth in her bag, wrap her up tight in her bloody tights and hope nobody heard her scream? What if they did hear though, how would she explain it? No, she couldn’t risk it.

Realisation settled upon her. She couldn’t risk Filth ruining everything. Filth would have to die.

A gasp of pain cracked through the tiny woman as MJ’s fist squeezed tighter. That’s it, she could crush her in her hand.

It was cleaner than stomping her, not much risk of blood if she was careful. She just needed to squeeze just a little harder. A crack in her hand made her shiver with revulsion. Maybe a broken leg or pelvis? Filth screamed ever louder, screaming in pain and screaming for her Mistress.

MJ needed to do it now. She looked at the red faced woman, her eyes pink with tears, her mouth agape, the sounds of terror and pain bounding across a dry tongue and past broken teeth.

The noise had to stop.

MJ took a steady breath, time to die Filth.

Wait! What about the body. MJ paused, shit, shit shit! What would she do with the body?

She scanned around the room. Nowhere to hide it. Could she throw it out of the window? What if someone saw, someone noticed? No.

Maybe if she could get to the bathroom she could flush it? If there was anyone in the hallway they must have heard the screams by now. She could be quick but what if someone turned up, what if the bathroom was occupied?

She needed to think of something, some way to stop the screaming, some where to hide the body. She just needed some way to make this right, to hide how stupid she had been.

She just needed the screaming to stop!

MJs fingers were moving before the idea had even fully been realised. It was pure instinct, raw fight or flight.

She undid the clasp around Filth’s neck, handling the shrunken woman roughly as she let the shoe fall to the floor, the chain trailing after it.

Filth barely had time to realise what was happening, barely had time to scream for help or beg for her life.

MJ closed her eyes tight, tried to push all thoughts out of her mind as she manipulated Filth with her fingers.

MJ retched as the taste of the tiny woman spread across her tongue. She was sour and earthy, her body thrashing as she was pushed into her captives mouth.

She screamed louder than ever, begging, pleading, praying to MJ and her Mistress for mercy. The sound muffled as MJ closed her mouth, sealing the woman behind the walls of her teeth and flesh.

Tears prickled her eyes as she fought not to vomit. This was the only way, it had to be done.

She slammed the woman into the top of her mouth with her tongue, the hot muscle lifting her effortlessly.

She needed to do it, she needed to do it now.

Once more MJ was almost sick, her stomach flipping as it recoiled against the morsel it was about to receive.

She slumped against the bed, steadying herself on the frame.

Her head ached, the room span, her heart tried to force itself from her chest.

Filth screamed, sealed in darkness, drowning in saliva. She screamed for her Mistress.

MJ swallowed.

A cold shudder racked her as she felt the tiny woman pass down her throat and into her body.

The screaming had stopped.

MJ sat, hr hands holding her head then hugging her knees then holding each other. She shivered, suddenly cold. In her head she was sure she could feel Filth fight against her stomach. It was jus in her head, just in her head.

Eventually she composed herself.

She was competent, she was clever, she was going to get away with this.

She fixed her make up, tidied herself up and took a deep breath.

MJ picked up her glass, clicked off the lamp and crossed the now dark room. Happy, yellow light embraced her as she stepped back out into the hall and closed the door to the bedroom behind her.

The sounds of the party drifted towards her, replacing the fading memory of the Shrinky’s screams.

It was their fault for being so fragile, she reasoned. She had just needed five minutes and they made it complicated.

A tiny smile trickled across her lips, it was their fault but they were gone now. She composed herself, she was ready.

MJ returned  to the party.