by Amy Cross
“There's a bit we missed,” Freddie whispers, “where she takes a hit to the other side of the face, and you can hear some of her teeth crunching. We can go back to that bit later, if you want.”
“Let me go,” Molly Holt gasps, as if she can barely get the words out. Her left eye is only half-open, and her right eye is bruised and swollen shut. “Do whatever you want to me, but please let me go after. I won't tell anyone, I swear.”
A moment later, there's the sound of somebody chuckling off-camera. After a few seconds, the chuckle becomes a full-on, throaty laugh.
“Just let me go home,” she whimpers, with tears flowing down her cheeks. “I want to go home. I want -”
Suddenly she gasps as something starts sizzling, and a moment later the camera pulls back a little, just as a pair of feet step into view. Hanging down low, almost to the ground, there's a metal rod with a glowing red tip.
“Gonna brand her,” a man's voice whispers. “Like a fucking pig.”
“Isn't it cows?” the other voice asks.
“I think they brand pigs, don't they?”
“I don't actually know.”
“Pigs don't roam in fields, so why would you need to brand them?”
“They do have to be identified, but not with a hot iron. At least, I don't know. Damn it, you've got me thinking.”
As the two men continue to discuss farm animals and branding techniques, Molly Holt stares up at them with fear in her eyes.
“Where first?” the first voice asks finally. “Her back or something? Come on, let's stay focused.”
“Please let me go home when you're done,” she sobs, as she rolls onto her side and pulls her hands across her bare chest. It's almost as if she's trying to curl up into a ball. “You can do anything you want to me, but -”
“Oh, we know that,” one of the men says, as he walks around behind her. “You don't have to tell us what we can and can't do. We know that already.”
He gives her butt a brief kick.
“We can do,” he continues calmly, “anything we fucking want. Anything.”
“Just let me go home after,” she whimpers. “I'll do anything, but please let me go home. Let me be -”
Before she can finish, one of the men places the sole of his boot against the side her face, pushing down as she continues to sob. After a moment he tilts the front part of the foot forward, pressing against her cheek.
“Please,” she sobs, her voice distorted now by the pressure, “just -”
Suddenly she screams as the man presses the red-hot metal against her waist, and the camera zooms in to catch the sight of her skin sizzling and smoking. Her body shudders violently and she starts kicking, but some unseen force off-camera grabs her ankles and keeps her from struggling too much. The other man slowly rolls the metal bar across to her hips and then finally lifts it away, leaving behind a seared dark red strip of skin. Molly's screams are louder than ever, and her body shudders for a few more seconds before falling still again as she starts whimpering.
“Yeah, that's gotta hurt,” the man mutters as he wanders out of the frame, although a moment later the red-hot tip briefly jabs at her belly, causing her to scream again. “Gotta hurt a lot. How does it feel, Molly? How does it feel to get in touch with your inner animal?”
“Where else are we gonna do her?” the other man asks, his voice barely rising above the sound of Molly Holt's sobs.
“Wherever we want,” the first man replies, followed by a shuffling sound off-camera. “I don't see anybody here to stop us. Do you?”
He kicks the back of the girl's head.
“Do you see anyone, Molly?”
A moment later one of his hands comes into shot and takes hold of her waist, twisting her onto her back as she continues to cry out. At the same time, he forces her legs wide apart and moves the tip of the metal rod closer to her crotch.
“Are you serious?” the second man asks. “What if we want to do her again before -”
“We're way beyond that point,” the first man replies. “Come on, get real.”
I close my eyes, just in time to keep from seeing what happens next. I hear the screams, though. Horrific, blood-curdling screams that make me scrunch my eyes even tighter shut. I know that I'll see the most awful things if I look at the screen, things that I'll never be able to un-see, and I can't bring myself to open my eyes for even one second as Molly Holt's scream gets louder and louder, and as the sound of sizzling skin fills my ears.
I want to put my hands over my ears, or even to run out of the room, but instead I simply wait as the cries continue for what seems like an eternity. I just hope Freddie and Becky don't notice that I'm not actually watching the video.
Finally the sizzling stops, but I still don't dare open my eyes, not yet.
Molly Holt is still screaming, and she sounds less like a person and more like an animal.
I can't look.
I won't look.
I've already seen enough awful things.
I don't need to see this. I feel like if I see it, I'll become a different person.
And then suddenly the sound changes, and I open my eyes to see that Freddie is dragging the slider along a little further. My heart is pounding, but I don't know if either Freddie or Becky even noticed that I closed my eyes during that part.
Becky's still staring at the phone.
When the video starts playing again, the screen shows a close-up of Molly Holt's burned and bloodied and bruised face. She can barely even keep her left eye open now, and a faint gurgling sound is clicking in the back of her throat. Her right eye is swollen tight shut, and most of the right side of her face is swollen too, with thick purple bruises running all the way down to the side of her neck. She's letting out a faint whimpering sound, and she's holding her trembling hands in front of her face, as if to protect herself.
Every single one of her fingers is broken and twisted.
I wait, but the camera simply stares and stares at her face, until slowly her left eye starts to open more fully. There are bloody red spots around the pupil, but somehow she's still managing to look straight at the camera.
“Get ready,” Freddie whispers.
I glance at Becky, but she's still staring at the video.
“If you watch this,” Molly Holt gurgles suddenly, causing me to look back at the phone, “if you...”
Her voice trails off.
In the background, there's the sound of the two men chuckling.
“If you watch this,” she continues finally, as more blood runs down her chin, “if... If you watch this, tell my parents I love them.”
A shudder runs through my chest.
“Tell them I'm sorry,” she whimpers, “and that I wish I'd done everything different...”
Again her voice trails off, as if she's on the verge of losing consciousness, but somehow she manages to keep her un-swollen eye open.
The voices are still laughing off-screen.
“Please don't watch this,” she adds finally. “Don't let anyone watch it. I don't want anyone to see. Please, I'm begging you, don't watch it.”
She falls silent, except for a continue faint clicking sound in her throat as she stares into the camera, and then a knife's blade comes into the shot.
“Do it,” one of the men says, “before she bleeds out from another hole. That'd be no fun.”
“Please,” she whispers, looking up at someone behind the camera, and lifting her head slightly in the process, “let me go home. Let me -”
Suddenly a hand grabs her head and holds her in place, and I watch in horror as the knife is driven deep into her neck. I hear a gurgling sound as the blade cuts straight across her throat, and a torrent of blood comes gushing from the widening wound, splattering against the ground. Once the knife has cut all the way across, the blade pulls back and the hand simply holds the head in place as the last of her blood comes running out of her slit throat.
“If you watch this,” she gurgles, as she opens her
swollen right eye to reveal a pulped, bloodied mess, “I'll kill you! If anyone watches this video, I'll come back and...”
Her voice falls silent, but her eyes remain open as more and more blood flows out. Finally the splattering sound comes to a stop, and I wait for her eyes to close.
They don't close.
She's still staring at the camera.
I think she's dead, but the hand holds her head in place for a couple more minutes. The only sound now, apart from the faint hum of the camera, is an occasional chuckle from one of the men.
And then suddenly a boot comes into view and hits the side of her face, sending her slumping down to the ground. The camera pulls back, showing a view of her bare, bloodied body. One of her hands is reaching out, with broken, twig-like fingers casting a shadow across the concrete.
“Is she dead?” one of the voices asks.
“We just cut her goddamn throat,” the other man replies, “so what do you think? How's the tape doing?”
“Almost at the end.”
“Okay, turn it off and switch it out. Then we'll cut her up.”
And with that, the video stops and the screen goes black.
Chapter Eleven
“So now are you glad you watched it?” Freddie says with a grin, turning first to me, then to Becky, then back to me. “What did I tell you? Is that sick or what?”
I stare at the blank screen for a moment, before looking over at the exact spot on the ground where Molly Holt's body fell. There's even a faint dark stain in the concrete, which might be blood from when her throat was cut, and I no longer have any doubt whatsoever that we're in the exact room where she was tortured and murdered. When Freddie said earlier that he could feel it in the air, I thought he was talking out of his ass. Now, however, I think I can feel the same thing. It's as if the air is still reacting to her long-gone scream.
After a moment, I look over at Becky.
“Are you okay?” I ask, worried that she might be about to break down and start sobbing.
I wait, but she's staring at the far wall, as if she's thinking back to the horrible things we saw in the video.
“We're making history here,” Freddie says as he slips his phone away. “We might very well be the first people to come down here since that video was made. The place has probably been completely abandoned ever since, completely undisturbed, and now we've come in here and found the exact spot where all that stuff went down. This must be what it was like when they discovered Tutankhamen's tomb!”
He looks down at his feet, then at mine, and then over at Becky's.
“I think you're standing right where she died,” he tells her.
She turns to him. “What?”
He points at her feet. “Right there. I think that's where Molly got her throat cut open. You're standing on the exact spot. And with bare feet too! Gross!”
She looks down for a moment, before taking a step back. When she turns to me a few seconds later, I can immediately see that her expression has changed, as if the video has left her a little dazed.
“So,” Freddie continues, turning to me, “now are you gonna get on your knees and apologize for doubting me? 'Cause you kinda owe me, buddy.”
“You've got to be kidding,” I tell him.
He holds his hands out. “You did doubt me. You acted like I was completely out of my mind. Like I was an idiot.”
“You're still an idiot, Freddie.”
“Well that's nice.” He turns to Becky. “Did you hear that? After everything I've done tonight, after all my efforts to bring a little peace and dignity to poor Molly Holt, my reward is to be called an idiot by my best friend.”
“We have to call someone,” I mutter, taking my phone from my pocket and seeing that I still don't have any bars.
“Damn straight,” Freddie replies. “Does anyone have any contacts in the media?”
“I mean the police!” I hiss.
“Sure, the time for that will come, but we could sell our story here. Well, technically it's my story, but you two could get a cut seeing as you'd be corroborating it all. We can get the lawyers to work that out later, I wouldn't want arguments about money to sour our friendship but -”
“Oh God!” Becky blurts out suddenly, turning toward the exit before stopping and hurrying to the far corner, where she leans against the wall and bends over. Almost immediately, she starts retching, and finally she throws up.
“Are you okay?” I ask, hurrying over to her.
She raises a hand, gesturing for me to keep back, and then a moment later she vomits again. I hesitate, not really wanting to get too close, and wishing I'd brought some paper towels.
“Don't contaminate the crime scene,” Freddie says with a sigh. “If you're gonna be sick, could you try to do it upstairs somewhere?”
“Leave her alone!” I say firmly, turning to him.
“It's a valid point!” he yells. “You can't just go around vomiting when you're at a crime scene! Vomit contaminates everything! I mean, hello? Splatter?”
“Freddie, I swear...”
“Or do you think I'm wrong? Fine, go find a crime scene and vomit everywhere, see what the cops say. Trust me, they won't like it very much.”
“I've got to get out of here,” Becky stammers, wiping her mouth as she turns and stumbles toward the exit. “I can't breathe.”
“It's okay,” I tell her, heading over to help. “We'll go outside and call the cops. They need to know about all of this.”
I try to take her hand, but she pushes me away. I stay close to her, however, until she stops at the exit and turns to look back toward Freddie.
“Why didn't you tell us about the curse?” she asks.
He furrows his brow. “Huh?”
“The curse on the video!” she continues, starting to sound a little desperate. “Why didn't you warn us?”
“What curse?”
“It was on the video! She said she'd come back and get revenge on anyone who watched it!”
“That wasn't a curse,” he replies, “it was just...”
He pauses, before shrugging.
“It was just something she said,” he adds finally. “People say stuff all the time.”
“She said she'd come back and get anyone who watched the video of her being killed,” Becky replies, with anger in her voice. “She was looking right into the lens when she said it! Why didn't you warn us before we watched the video, you little asshole?”
“So? Millions of people have watched that video around the world. As far as I know, nobody's ever mentioned anything about her coming after them.”
“Sure,” she replies, “but they weren't in the exact same basement where she was killed, were they?”
“No, but...”
His voice trails off, and for a moment he seems a little lost for words.
“That doesn't mean it's a curse,” he says finally, with a hint of a whine in his voice. “I mean, a curse is, like, something specific. That wasn't a curse, it was just her saying stuff 'cause she was pissed off.”
“Pissed off?” Becky yells, starting to panic. “Is that how you think she felt? Pissed off?”
Freddie holds his hands up. “Hey, don't get mad at me. I didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry you didn't like the video, but I honestly don't think there's anything to worry about. I mean, anyone can say anything in a video, but that doesn't make it true. Curses suck ass, anyway. They're not real.”
“You're sick,” she tells him, before turning to me. “Both of you.”
“I didn't want to watch the video!” I splutter. “I only watched it because you two did!”
Muttering something under her breath, she turns and hurries out of the room, leaving me standing alone with Freddie.
“Don't take this the wrong way,” he says after a moment, “but I don't think you and her are gonna be a thing. I think she thinks you're a bit of a loser.”
“You're a real idiot, you know that?” Sighing, I hurry after Becky, hoping that maybe I can
make her understand what really happened. She probably thinks I'm just as bad as Freddie, that I'm some kind of sick freak who likes watching videos of people getting butchered.
As I make my way along the concrete corridor, I can see the other flashlight up ahead. Becky's already making her way up the wooden stairs, and it sounds like she's desperate to get out of the house and go as far away as possible. Frankly, I don't blame her and I want to go with her.
“Hey, wait!” I call out as I reach the bottom of the stairs and look up. “None of this was my idea!”
“I should never have come out here,” she mutters as she gets closer to the top. “Hanging out with dumb kids, traipsing through the forest just to get to a dumb old house and watch a shitty video of some dumb bitch -”
Suddenly she cries out as one of the steps shatters beneath her, and she slumps down as her left leg crashes through. Landing hard, she immediately tries to get back up, but even as I start hurrying up after her I can tell that something's wrong. When I get closer, she's starting to whimper, and I look down in horror to see that a thick, broken piece of wood has sliced straight through her left leg, leaving her impaled as she frantically tries to pull herself free.
Chapter Twelve
“Don't try to pull it out!” I yell, dropping to my knees as I see glistening blood smeared all over the side of Becky's leg. “You'll make it worse!”
Tilting her head back, she lets out an agonized scream.
“It's okay,” I continue, grabbing the flashlight from her hand and aiming the beam at the wound. I flinch as soon as I see the broken shards of wood poking out through her skin, and it's clear that when she landed she somehow managed to impale herself on a section of the step. The wood runs into her leg on one side and out the other. “You're going to be fine,” I add, watching as blood runs from the wound and dribbles down her leg. “We're gonna get you some help.”
“What's going on up there?” Freddie yells as the beam from his flashlight suddenly hits us.
