The Candy Man: One of the most extreme serial killer novels you'll ever read... (DCI Mac McGreavy Book 4)

by Gavin Graham

  The masked man approached the woman from the side and whispered something into her ear.

  She was grinding her teeth on the taut rope that pulled against the corners of her mouth, so thick that it formed a gag and meant that she could barely breath as snot filled her nose, and she made pathetic attempts to beg and plead for her life; it was all to no avail for her time to die had come.

  She was moonlighting with The Reaper and she knew it.

  From her rear, he ran his fingers down her spine, from the back of her neck all the way down to the crease of her buttocks that glistened with sweat.

  She twisted her head skyward as if to yell to God for help.

  The man in the mask took advantage of her position and yanked on her hair violently, pulling her head close to his mouth, and slipping his tongue into her ear.

  He found a new stride of energy and wasted no time in pouncing to her front.

  Her eyes were pleading with him to spare her life and not do what he was about to do.

  He took a firm grip on a handle that was attached to the end of the chain and he slowly started to pull her live, breathing, pulsing body across the sharp spikes. The woman yelped and shrieked as the points ripped through her flesh and bludgeoned her insides, stabbing into her womb and leaving her as a mutilated mess as she bled to death and he masturbated frantically at her side.

  Colin buckled off his seat, went down on his knees, vomited all over the floor.

  He flinched, in terror, snapping his head to the side as a tremor bolted in his elbow bone. He couldn’t bear to look. The silence of the room and the sounds of tearing flesh made him feel like he was right there and he almost felt scared for his own life. He was frozen. His eyes were wide as he took it all in. His brain was foggy with incoherent confusion as he listened to those most primal and primitive of screams that were like nothing he’d ever heard before. His posture was rigid, his legs stiff, and he clenched his eyes shut as if sucking up a profound pain.

  He stared up at the screen, as the human slaughter ensued before his very eyes, yellow fluid dripping from his teeth like a salivating wolf that was hungry to attack its prey. He wanted to kill the killer, it was that simple, he wanted to have a few minutes alone with him in a room so that he could sodomise and strangle him. He wanted to abuse him sexually like a prison bitch and make him bleed as he wept and struggled to breath. He’d never felt such a thing towards a man but that’s how deeply the river of hate ran. It was an automated reaction and surpassed the depths of what could have been an immediate response of emotion and sympathy for the victim, yes, it went way farther than that and with clenched fists and gritted teeth he wanted nothing more than to give this bastard a taste of his own medicine. He saw a weak man who preyed on the vulnerable and pretended to be something all-powerful, dominant and strong.

  It was all an act.

  The killer was only powerful in his own eyes.

  To Colin, he was just scum who’d be better off dead, and that was the hard truth about what he truly felt.

  Chapter 21

  The shard & the churn

  The fleeting moment, when a decision is made, the shadow of demise looms like a haunting spectre.

  I know it.

  I feel it.

  I’ll shiver in that last moment, the erotic finality of her shady passing, as she takes her last breath in the tiny confines of my cell. It takes a moment like that to know who and what you truly are, the almighty awakening of The Beast 666, yet not a soul gets to witness the crime as it unfolds.

  A crooked shard of glass may cut my hand, fingers sticky as I grip the jagged shaft tightly, bleeding my blood on her blood. Cherry liquid would gush from her neck like the busting of a dam as I stab and stab repeatedly with the razor-sharp point. Blood dripping, her crimson life-force, I revel like this in every act of murder. The show comes to an end, all of your suffering diminishes, I shan’t mourn your passing. My ectoplasm shall wash across your paling flesh, as you fade, as the dark angels take your soul. There will be no sympathy, no guilt, no remorse. Your destiny was only to arouse me in your moment of death, story told, it’s the only worth of your fake gold.

  You can exhilarate me.

  Yes.

  Yet, it is transient.

  The grand feelings will pass, depression will set in, washing over me like a rotten disease and a mental illness.

  But, never shall my faith wither, for there will always be more victims to feed this addiction hence my faith in evil is but an eternal flower. This is my only conciliation. Their destinies shall be confirmed in time. Blood will flow darkly and thickly from their every fold as their grey faces turn with succulent twists to my morbid comedy.

  Dramatized trauma.

  Accusatory confusion.

  Orgasmic.

  Watching her eyes turn into the sockets as I tense and tremble, seeing her for what I have made her, broken. Her body will twitch in death as mine does in sex, smiling in her face as she dances the jig-of-death, surrendering to the pull, the flickering flame in Lucifer’s name. Nothing more than a pathetic husk, stained flesh, marked by my seed.

  I am here to destroy worlds and end lives.

  When misery is invited it shall rain down upon them, certain grounds should never be explored, and such curiosities are seldom virtuous; that is part of my esoteric teachings. Evil is not something to play with, but girls like to play, do they not? They cannot resist, to push the limits, giving their freedoms into the hands of a sexual sadist.

  They relish the danger.

  Dark thrills.

  Deathly spills.

  I ignite it in her curious loins, something sinister, so that maybe darkness can be the new light, even the true light.

  Evil can be the new sexy.

  Murder is the new black.

  I’ll make you taste it.

  It’s all-powerful.

  I’ll churn you to liquid-heat as you drip like a river for me. You’ll believe what you want to believe, that I’m capable of love, as well as the most horrific inflictions of extreme pain. Somewhere in our shared madness we will find each other and flourish to walk in a garden of serpents and beasts. Terror is a mere vehicle to enlightenment, that fear of death, it illuminates invisible pathways so that you may see as you once were blind. There might be a strange kind of therapy to be had in it for both of us.

  Evolution.

  Growth.

  The foundations of something greater; perhaps. You think my place of promised evils and kinks will be the cocoon within which your core-awakening can be aroused, from those sensual eroticisms, and in those adult experimentations.

  You are naïve in believing that just like all the others.

  They never asked about the machete, the axe, grotesque sex-toys lined with razor blades, designed for extreme vaginal mutilations, but, seeing alone is far from knowledge and wisdom. We must taste and feel, for I to kill, for you to die. Lambs to the slaughter are blind, not wanting to believe, they hoped, wished, cried, pleaded, prayed for salvation in the confines of these concrete walls. This is a dark and dangerous place and you never should have sought to conjure such a sinister force as I, but, it will be too late.

  You will know it.

  All those women of Glasgow who vanished, the possibility will hit you like a tonne of bricks, that I could be the one.

  The monster.

  The evil one.

  The serial killer.

  Oh, I can just feel how the curiosity will thrill you to wetness, and it turns me on too. So, don’t be such a prude, be adventurous and submit to death.

  Take a risk.

  See where it gets you.

  Accept my offer.

  I dare you…

  Chapter 22

  The Blood Eagle (Murder 2)

  Rose felt dirty even before the snuff film began to play.

  Why was she even in this position? That was the question that she wanted so dearly to be answered in her own mind. She wanted desperately in that moment to be some
where else, even though it was her own home, she felt that it was being violated by a force of evil, a thing that was being forced into her life whether she liked it or not. She was about to watch a murder and no part of it was right.

  She took a deep breath and pressed PLAY.

  The room was like something you’d see in an erotic horror novel; not that she’d ever read such literature but it certainly conjured such images in her mind.

  That basement was a thing of pure evil and in merely seeing it she felt like she was being touched by The Devil.

  There was a red, leather chair in one corner, a gynaecological unit, finished in black and decorated around the edges with studs and spikes. It was a remarkable and terrifying thing to see. She saw shelving units with a large collection of sinister sexual devices, like a modified drill with a dildo on the end and a nail that protruded from the tip, the sight of it caused a cool chill to caress his spine. The walls of the room were covered in drawings, diagrams and magazine cut-outs of what appeared to be different positions, bondage configurations and acts of torture. The illustrations were edited and doctored with his own additions that were more violent, sadistic and deadly. There was a huge array of medical equipment in surgical drawers and a mass of black leather straps and whatnot that hung around the perimeter of the room from the ceiling.

  Whips.

  Chains.

  Masks.

  There was a book shelf in the corner with some small skulls (they appeared to be human) and every kind of knife you can think of: paring, boning, skinning, cleavers, shears, the lot…

  A nude man with a sinister, screaming mask that had black eyes and a metallic sheen, launched into her view and began to present sheets of paper upon which words were written; his member with partly erect. Verse 2: Live well…drink the fortified juice of the grape…satisfy lust with whores who stain our sheets in the slink of blue nights…feast…gorge…drink aged spirits till the bottle is dry…feel no guilt in enjoyment or indulgence…I am the architect and ultimate master of exorcisms…trust in me…follow my word…do not worship false gods or those who know only the fiction of misguided folly and corruption…mind control…politics…power hungry fools…all their ideology is selfish…communism…fascism…capitalism…their resources are mere weapons of mass-manipulation…technology…finance…media…they paint me to be the criminal…I am the mere liberator…a good Samaritan…the only true prophet…bow not to their cunning of mind and tactics of betrayal…know them and see them for who and what they are…do not trust in them…study me in science and history and music…feel me in nature…know me in purity and impurity…I am in charity as I am in sin…I am in life as I am in death…my law is the only law and that shall be the scripture of my secret temple…with gardens of serpents and golden statues…tables lined with port and fine foods…beds with silken sheets…perfumes made from intoxicating oils of wood and pungent spices…fresh blood from virgins shall glisten richly with a viscous and eternal flow…bring them here to see and hear and know my truth…in our solemn and luxurious kingdom of wisdom you shall commit all sins in my name and only in my name…anything else shall be blasphemous to the sacred-self…cast off the sheep…expel them…dismiss them…follow not the false word they preach…their sins are ugly and impure…like the flowers of youth tortured and destroyed at the hands of soul-deprived monsters…this is punishable by blade and chopping-block at the divine equinox of the stars…your sin is my sin…we hunt together…your pleasure is my pleasure…we torture together…I am in you and you are in me…I am The Candy Man…kill as I kill and together we will reign supreme in the blazing infernos of Hell…

  The man took a blade and went to the woman’s rear where he plunged the weapon into the base of her neck and pulled down to open her up.

  The look in her eyes as she was mutilated, the man slithering his blood-drenched fingers into her body, could not be put into words.

  She never would have expected that a man could cut a woman open and pull her ribs and lungs out of her back to give her the appearance of a winged creature; she’d heard of the Blood Eagle method of torture but never thought she’d be watching a video of it played out in real life.

  The victim had her feet tied together and her arms were cuffed and connected to chains that hung from the ceiling. He used a knife that was unlike anything that she’d ever seen and cut into her with such force that the ribs were completely severed.

  Rose touched at her gut and felt that she’d throw up. She wanted to say something but was speechless, her mouth opening and closing, mostly agape in shock. She wanted to watch but covered her eyes. Her body convulsed suddenly like an electric jolt had been fired up her spine. It was like the room wasn’t there, like she was floating in space, a Void that was somehow claustrophobic and squelched her throat with a fist of dark nothingness. “You cannot do this, can you, how can you do this…?” she hushed, sober and alert, her voice a dry whisper. She wanted to scream at the screen and plead with desperation.

  Stop!

  Please!

  Just…stop!

  She had no choice but to watch and the sound of cracking and snapping bones as they were pulled out to the sides to form wings would be a tormenting trauma that would be with her till death. Watching him casually pull down her lungs and drape them over the wings was simply beyond human comprehension.

  She flinched like she was bottling up the pain of being kicked in the stomach. “Evil…evil…evil…” she reiterated the words as though the odd mantra were a defence mechanism. She ran her fingers through her hair and wanted to pull hard at the roots. She felt as though she was on the verge of hyperventilation, dizzy, worried that she might pass out. Her eyes welled-up. She felt as though her own innards were being mutilated. She wanted to cry but she couldn’t.

  “There is no God,” she thought to herself. “What God would allow this evil to exist on earth?”

  She covered her nose as though the room was suddenly being overwhelmed by a sickeningly foul smell. Her face twisted like she was involuntarily taking a portion of the victim’s pain. She buckled in a dry heave at the sight of what was to come next. She wiped away tears of anger. She was grinding her teeth so hard that her jaw began hurt.

  It was well-known that her new boss, Mac McGreavy, was a troubled alcoholic and people said that he drank as a means of coping with all the awful things he’d had to witness over the years; she now understood.

  Yes.

  She really understood.

  She started to cry.

  Chapter 23

  Vermin (Murder 3)

  Jimmy locked his bedroom door and sat on the bed.

  He felt like a child again who was about to be punished.

  He pressed PLAY.

  The woman who was about to be eaten alive was restrained on a wooden table.

  It appeared as though it was to be used as a ‘rack’ upon which the victim would be tortured. The female didn’t move. Perhaps, she was drugged, sedated. Perhaps, she was paralysed by fear, too weak to physically respond to the terror she felt inside.

  Did she know at this stage that his intentions were not erotic in nature?

  Did she know that his true objective was to break, destroy and kill her?

  “You may be wondering what is going to happen to you, I know, it must be confusing,” the killer spoke. “But, the life that you took had no chance to be confused, because it was never given the chance. You took that life away. Now, your life will be taken away, and that is karma in perfect motion…”

  The camera was recording.

  Another Death Candy production was underway.

  The introductory focus of the snuff film was again the naked form of a masked man who came to the camera with a set of papers, his semi-erect member pointing up to the lens, it was impossible to know if he was smiling but the black eyes were dead and fuelled with madness. He began to present more of his twisted monologue in the form of printed sheets of A4. VERSE 3: My heart beats for the glory of death and t
he realisation of justice…our tongues should salivate for joys to be had in the twilight shadow of the demon’s constant call…your soul…my centre…sacred to the core…demons are more divine than angels…darkness is more sacred than light…listen…read…serve…follow…be like me a covert King of lands and all things…in secrecy unite and rule a world of shadows…enjoy the harlot in life and death…in sex and murder…the scarlet woman will walk toward you with black hair and brown eyes…know her…invite her…that goddess who condones and encourages the death of her sisterhood…she begs even for her own death…so noble she is…she who is known only to those who know the glory of an almighty destroyer of worlds…her skin is milky and bare…a splendrous priestess…her bosom bare and wondrous…her nipples aflame with pertness and sensitivity…her sex is milk and cream…she is temptress to one and all…sister to many…a daughter…foe of all foes…mother of no lands…her sons and daughters were dispensed with heartless glee…her flower is tarnished gold that stains the fingers when touched…let her death be the ultimate reward…come now and kiss in the evils and salts of earth…stand tall over her decaying corpse and she may bow to you like a false angel who worships only the demon…smile as she bleeds and all mysteries will be revealed unto you as they were to me and all bold entities who went before me…lay with her beneath the stars as we conjure and bring to life the deepest facets of your subconscious mind…she is love and hate…she is now your addiction…you will drown in her demise…lose your mind…kill freely and without remorse…it is the most delicious and liberating of all things known…justice is ours…my psyche as your psyche is a secret vault…with all jewels of pleasantry…greatness is inside you…so come forth and kill in my name…see it…feel it…look within yourself to find me…embrace my call as you pick up the blade…know me as the ilk of the brave and bold…embrace the severity of consequential retaliations…the do-gooders…the naysayers…allow them to come forth and label you the outcast…they are the brain-washed victims of a mind-control factory in a sad modern age…fools who worship fools…fools who follow fools…be drunk in me and I shall be drunk in you…destroy those deserving of our severe punishments and show dire violations of our sacred laws…be it down to your own assessment and determination…you are judge…you are jury…you are the almighty executioner…The Candy Man is the true Messiah…stand and deliver…our time has come to kill all and take back the glory…