the very spirits of Haiti were in the room with us .
I seize the opportunity and rush psychopath , still on the ground , and kick him square in the teeth .
" Let ' s go to the basement , shall we ?" I ask , my voice dripping with bitterness and irony .
I pick him up by a new ugly sweater he ' s wearing today , a portrait of a baby cow , and I fling him down the stairs and into the basement .
Wilky and I take our sweet time climbing down the basement steps , reveling in psycho ' s pain . He ' s a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs and his nose is bleeding .
" How does it feel , motherfucker !" I scream as I reach the bottom step and punch him straight on in the face . I punch him in the stomach for two minutes before I wind down .
" I ' m keeping you alive and awake ," I said , pacing in circles around him . He ' s moaning and blood is dripping out of the corner of one mouth . He smiles . I slam my foot down on his left arm and he screams at it breaks . I do the same to the other arm and he doubles over in pain .
Now it ' s time for Laurel ' s revenge . That first punch to the face was exhilerating , but she needs her retribution .
Crippled and crawling on the floor to get away , I kick him over with one boot . I begin punching his face over . And over . And over . And over . Again and again . He ' s seeing the white that Laurel saw , but not getting knocked out . I practiced developing this fine line for the past three years , and it feels wonderful to finally be able to execute it .
I feel no shame as he is truly a monster deserving of all this and more .
Next , Wilky and I saw off his leg to keep the ankle bracelet in place . Now we ' re ready . Wilky and I had already dug Laurel ' s grave up . Wilky had ceremoniously lit many candles around the grave and on the tombstone . He ' s at work ; chanting in Creole the whole time .
Bad sweater man looks absolutely terrified as Wilky ' s chanting gets louder and louder . There is a sharp scratching noise coming from the casket .
Panic-stricken , our victim tries to move away from the coffin but his arms are broken and he can hear the neighborhood dogs as they enter the house and make their way down to the basement , where they have him encircled . Their eyes reflected the cold , dead look of his soul , and he began to cry .
I still think of her as my wife , but whatever she is now pushes the casket open from the inside . She makes a ghoulish noise -- ghouls ' s night outright .
Seeing Laurel emerge from her coffin , psychopath tries to scream but can ' t . His voice is stifled like his victims '.
I approach the cretin of a man and push him in the casket with Laurel . Hissing and moaning , she comes toward him and he cowers and whimpers in response .
Zombie Laurel has the expression of a vengeful ghost . With one swift movement , she reaches her arm back and sticks her hand through the man ' s chest and rips his heart out .
Blood pours everywhere as Laurel bites into the heart still beating in her hands .
With his mind still working , the psychopath falls back and I lean down above him and whisper sweetly , " Who wants to die smiling ?"