Finding his day had been dreadfully uneventful, Dalie exhaled the smoke from his cigarette, a useless thing that really didn’t meddle much with his biological chemistry enough to make a difference, and tossed it on the ground. He stepped on the butt with his boot and rotated his foot atop it, casually extinguishing it, then returned his focus to the street before him. He looks both ways for traffic and pedestrians then teleported to a grassy hillside in Ireland.

The hour of the day was slightly younger than the day in Sweden, also much clearer than the sparse cloud cover, causing Dalie to squint until his eyes adjusted to the bright, exposed sun. He started hiking down the hillside until he found the first sign of life, some farmer’s herd of sheep in the distance grazing. The herdsman and dog seem nowhere in sight, Dalie concluded as he surveyed the land. He approached the sheep in the same slow stride as before. A few sheep responded to the approaching stranger by running around the circular cluster of other sheep and stopping on the opposite end. 

Dalie’s pant-leg brushed against the wool of one young sheep yet it didn’t respond to him until it noticed him reaching down for it. The sheep attempted to bolt away yet Dalie grasped it by the scruff of the neck. It cried out gaining the attention of other sheep, yet they appeared frozen where they stood, uncertain of what to do about this stranger at present. Dalie teleported himself and the sheep away from its habitat before any of the other sheep made a single movement. 

Teleporting himself to someone else’s kitchen, Dalie lifted the struggling sheep and sat it down on the counter. With one swift movement, he broke the sheep’s neck. Death followed a few seconds after the paralysis. Dalie checked a few drawers and cabinets until he found a few  knives that he felt would be of use and set them down next to the carcass. 

He picked up the chef’s knife and started to cut open the sheep, muttering to himself the song, “Mary had a little lamb,” as he plunged the knife deeper. Having a significant cut in the young sheep’s underbelly, Dalie dug his hands into it and cracked open the rib cage. He proceeded to skin the animal, not caring about the very large mess of blood that proceeded to stain the counter, the cabinets and drawers below, his arms, his clothes, and the floor. He started setting aside organs once the skin was ripped off, and severed the head from the body from the broken place of its neck. He tossed the head of the sheep into the sink.

After several minutes of messing with and tearing apart the dead thing with no real cooking intention in mind, Dalie chopped the lamb meat and organs on a chopping board he managed to find in one kitchen space then slid it all into a large frying pan and turned the fire on below it, smearing blood on everything he touched. 

Taking a break from the slaughter of the animal, he looked around the kitchen for a moment, the first time he actually surveyed the kitchen he was in. After a few minutes of thinking about the pros and cons about the kitchen, Dalie returned to cooking, using a spatula to turn over the meat.

A few minutes passed, the kitchen’s only noise was the blood and meat responding to the heat of fire. Then Dalie could hear a distinctive click from a door in another room. Sliding the pan off to a burner that was turned off, Dalie left the one burner on and casually slipped into the pantry and waited to hear the resident of the house’s response to their tampered kitchen.