Before I left, I went back inside and cleaned things up so no one would know I had been there. I also wiped down the car he was driving. There was no need to get rid of it, so I left it where he had parked it, because the car belonged to the elderly woman and not the asshole. She probably didn’t even know his real name, and if the police were called they would think some kids had stolen it for a joy ride and then ditched it. The only thing that linked me to her was the letter I had sent, but the dumb ass had it in his back pocket.”
A Horrific Son of a Bitch
“The drive back to Texas from California was long. I drove non-stop except to get gas. When I got back home and opened the trunk, Brian was wide awake and pissed off. He tried to kick at me, but the rope between his ankles and neck restrained him. He glared at me with hate in his eyes as he violently fought at the ropes. He was desperately trying to yell. The stitches in his lips were beginning to tear his flesh, but he ignored the pain due to his obsession to get to me. I pulled out a wad of money from my pocket, and as I waved it in front of him I sang in my old man voice a slightly modified version of a rap song that I had been hearing on the radio. “I got my mind on my money, money on my mind,” and then I added my own lyrics, “I gotta bitch in the trunk, a trunk full of bitch.” He was going absolutely nuts by the time I started to sing the phrases for the third time, and before I knew what happened, he had torn his lips loose and screamed out he was going to kill me as he flopped out of the trunk and onto the concrete floor like a fish. He was full of piss and vinegar and ready to tear ass, but his attitude completely changed when I shoved a modified cattle prod into his bloody mouth and shocked his tonsils. To make sure he would be completely submissive, I held the back of his head tightly to the floor as the two electrodes gouged and shocked his esophagus. When there was blood, saliva, tears, piss and vomit all over the floor, I released the trigger.”
Seth walked off, and a few minutes later he walked over to Dicky with a cattle prod. He stood by the bars and showed him the device. “These usually produce around twenty-thousand volts, but I modified it to be around eight-hundred-thousand.”
Dicky looked confused. “That would kill someone.”
“The voltage may be high, but the amps are very low. Milliamps in fact. And amperage is what kills.” Seth held the end of the cattle prod a few inches from the bars and pulled the trigger. Blue arcs instantly jumped from the electrodes and zapped the rusted metal while making a loud arcing sound. Seth pulled the electrodes further back, causing the arcs to jump between two bars like a plasma ball. Dicky stood to his feet as he stared in fear. Seth released the trigger and lowered the device. “The higher voltage delivers a devastating shock, taking over the muscle groups it touches. The longer I shock the fuck out of someone, the more energy I can pump into them, ensuring their normal functions will be debilitated longer.”
Dicky just looked at Seth as if he was crazy.
Seth held the cattle prod up and pulled and released the trigger a couple of times, making an arcing sound each time. “This will definitely get someone’s attention, don’t you think?”
He nodded to indicate yes.
“That’s the way to participate during show and tell.” Seth walked back over to Brian and sat down, then propped his feet up. “This guy was big, so there was no way I was going to drag him fighting me, or drag his heavy unconscious body, through the house and into the chamber. This was the reason I didn’t use a tranquilizer on him originally. I thought it was time for him to carry his own weight, literally. Since his arms and feet were still hog tied, he had to hop along like a rabbit as I forced him through my house with the cattle prod. He really wasn’t fighting back—he didn’t feel threatened by me because I was still disguised as the old man, or he knew I would light his ass up again, but either way I could sense he was cursing me in his head. When we were halfway down the stairs that went to the basement, I had to zap him in the back of his neck to keep him moving; the smell of death and agony that lingered in the air was making him feel very uneasy. Nowhere on earth can a person encounter such undesirable odors in one place, and unfortunately it was only going to get worse for him with each step. He was hopping along pretty well with just a little motivation from the cattle prod here and there—he even hopped through the furnace with only a few jolts—but when he started heading down the tunnel towards the chamber everything changed. The creepy stone passageway and the disturbing moaning sounds were starting to upset him, and before he had a chance to go nuts, I knocked him unconscious with a club. After I removed his clothes, I mounted him in this stockade. I also faced him towards a bare wall so he couldn’t see any of the horrific things in the chamber. He would probably remain unconscious for a while, and his limp body was creating pressure on his neck. I didn’t want him to suffocate, so I slightly supported his waist with a rope that was hanging from a ceiling beam. I left enough slack where he wouldn’t be able to hang comfortably, but it supported him enough so his neck wouldn’t be in a bind while he was unconscious.
The next morning I disguised myself as the old man again, and when I went into the chamber I found Brian wide eyed and bushytailed. When he saw me, he started jerking around in the stockade and foaming at the mouth as he glared at me. “You cocksucker!!! Get me the fuck out of this thing!”
Before I did anything uncalled for I needed to know if he really had a low IQ. “I want to play a game, young’un.”
His aggression quickly changed to uncertainty. “Why am I here? What are you going to do to me? Who are you?”
“To take an IQ test. Give you an IQ test. The one who is going to give you the IQ test.”
He glared at me with an irritated look as he shouted in a stern voice, “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, old man, but I suggest you release me now! Did you hear me? You better release me now before I rip your fucking head off!”
I connected an air hose to a pneumatic box stapler. “Depending on how you answer some questions will result in you being released or receiving another surprise…. And what the fuck happened to your gangster slang, beyatch?”
He started jerking at the stockade again. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! You old son of a bitch! Fuck you and your fucking games! You better fucking release me now!”
He wouldn’t calm down and his violent jerking was causing the stockade to crack and pop, so I got his attention by shoving the cattle prod into his mouth and lighting him up for a few seconds. After he spit a couple of times, he began to curse me again, so I pressed the electrodes to his forehead and pulled the trigger. He violently threw his head around in an attempt to evade the arcs. The electricity was taking the least path of resistance, which were his eyes, mouth and nostrils. The arcs were jumping back and forth between his eyes, nostril and mouth. When he finally settled down and yelled out he would do whatever I asked, I showed him a clip of one-inch long staples, then inserted them into the staple gun. I rested the tip of the stapler on his back as he was being forced in a bent over position by the stockade. “Question number one, who is the president of the United States?”
“Yo fuckin’ mama, asshole.”
He screamed at the top of his lungs, begged, pissed and slobbered at the mouth all at the same time as I shot staples into his back and sides. He violently kicked at me to stop the pain, but I took the blows without missing a beat. He finally yelled out the correct answer about the same time I emptied the fifty-round clip. He could kick like a jackass and I really didn’t want a broken leg, so I nailed his feet to the floor with concrete nails. He was in such agony that he started vomiting and crying at the same time. He was foaming at the mouth as I reloaded the staple gun, and after I laid it on his back I asked him another question.
After an hour or so, and hundreds of staples later, I realized he wasn’t mentally handicapped, nor did he have a low IQ—he was fairly intelligent. He answered almost every question correctly, except for some physics, biology and chemistry questions, which I asked just so I could get to staple him
.
“One last question… Why did you do such horrible things to those elderly people?”
He looked up at me with anger in his eyes. “This is about them? You want some type of revenge, old man? I’m going to tear you the fuck apart when I get loose, you old motherfucker!”
“Not until I kill you a whole bunch of times.”
He looked at me like I was crazy, but he would soon come to realize what I meant. He threw his head around as I wrapped a rope around his neck, and before he had a chance to speak, I began to strangle him. He gagged and foamed at the mouth as I choked him into unconsciousness, and right before he passed out, his eyes opened wide as if they were going to pop. I let the pressure off the rope right as he went limp. He wasn’t breathing and was likely on the verge of death, so I kicked the shit out of his stomach until he started gasping for air. Several minutes later when he regained full consciousness I choked him again the same way. The fourth time I had to use the air hose to fill his lungs in addition to kicking the shit out of his stomach to get him breathing again. His eyes were extremely blood shot from the blood vessels rupturing, and his face was grossly swollen and discolored from the stress of being asphyxiated. Around the eighth time or so I had to use a defibrillator to restart his heart. I didn’t think he would survive another choking, so I began to shoot staples into his body. He tried to scream, but his vocal cords had been temporarily damaged from the rope—all he could do was moan and cry. He finally passed out after about two hundred staples.
Surprisingly, an hour later he was stirring around and ready for some more pain, which was perfect, because I needed to remove the tar from his head and clean his wound so it wouldn’t get infected. The dried tar was completely embedded in his hair and stuck to his scalp. There wasn’t going to be an easy way to remove it, so I simply grabbed a wad of tar covered hair with both hands, and with all my strength I ripped it from his head. The tar not only tore most of his hair from the top of his head, but it also tore a palm size piece of flesh from his scalp. His moaning was echoing throughout the chamber and his muffled screams and horrified facial expression were a little unpleasant to watch. I could have simply bandaged his wound after I cleaned it, but instead I stretched the shit out of his skin and sewed it closed. The tension on his flesh was so tight the skin on his forehead was now on the top front of his head. His eyebrows were almost in the center of his forehead and his eyelids had so much tension on them he wasn’t able to close his eyes. He finally stopped moving and I wasn’t sure if he had passed out because his eyes were being held open. For curiosity sake, I stuck a needle into his left eye, which I left in place, and when he didn’t blink I knew he was out cold. It’s hard sometimes to tell if someone is conscious, or if they’re being still on purpose so they will not be tortured. Everyone in here knows painful things don’t happen when you’re asleep or unconscious. Brian had enough for one day, so as he hung unconscious, I pulled the nails out of his feet, unbolted the stockade’s pedestal from the concrete floor and turned it around so he could have a bird’s eye view of the chamber. I hung an intravenous bag filled with nutrients and antibiotics on the end of the stockade and ran a tube to a butterfly needle that I had inserted into the top of his left hand. I also connected a heart monitor to him so I could monitor his condition when I was out of the chamber. I don’t have to come down here every day because everyone has an IV bag, and some of these lowlifes have a heart monitor I can monitor from my laptop from anywhere. The chamber also has a CCTV system I can monitor from my laptop.
Over the next few days as I was out of town taking care of some business, I noticed Brian’s heart beat was erratic. Most of the ones I bring into the chamber freak out for the first few days, and it’s very stressful to their body. I’ve lost seven of them due to stress related heart attacks.
When I arrived home from my trip I was a little excited to see how his mental stability would be after hanging in the stockade for several days with all the terrifying monstrosities that were all around him. It was around midnight before I had a chance to head downstairs, and when I entered the chamber I was wearing my usual disguise of being the undead. This disguise is something I’ve perfected through the years, and I can fool even the most skeptical of people. I usually only do the makeup thing with the newcomers just to mess with them, and I will do different looks depending on the situation. He originally thought I was a psychotic old man out for revenge, which was explainable and something his mind could understand, but now he was terrified and uncertain of where he was. He noticed me right away when I walked into the chamber looking like something from the depths of hell. He didn’t say a word when I walked up to him. “Have you seen an old man around here?”
He stayed as still as possible and remained quiet as his body trembled with fear. He held his head down while looking slightly upwards, kind of like a submissive dog. I grabbed the staple gun from the table. “Who in the hell stapled your back?”
He remained silent, but he did have the facial expression as if he wanted to tell on the old man.
I knelt in front of him. “Why in the hell is there a needle sticking out of your eye?”
He looked down and didn’t say anything.
“This is bullshit! Wait until I find that old bastard.”
I tossed the gun back on the table and spun around and walked out of the chamber. A few hours had passed when I came back into the chamber, but this time I had disguised myself as an elderly woman by wearing a medium length, thinned out, gray-haired wig, a long flowery dress, white hospital shoes and enough facial prosthetics and make-up to fool anyone. I noticed Brian was staring at me as I slowly walked into the chamber hunched over while using a four-legged walker. After a few feet I stopped, looked around, then acted like I was in shock, and as I held my left hand over my mouth I softly spoke in an old sounding voice, “Oh my! Oh my goodness!”
While pretending as if I was scared to death, I quickly spun around and began hobbling back out of the chamber, but before I had a chance to take a third step a sound of desperation echoed in the chamber when Brian yelled out, “Ma’am! Please help me! I need your help!”
Some of the others in the chamber started screaming out for help as well, so I turned around and frantically hobbled over to him. “Oh, young man, what in the world? Your head… Oh my! Oh, tell me, what can I do?”
He had regained part of his voice, and in a raspy sound he quickly answered, “Unlatch the end of this thing I’m in… And please hurry!”
I hobbled over to the side of the stockade with the walker. “It’s locked! I can’t open it.”
“Oh shit! Then can you get some help?”
His back was blood red and extremely swollen from the staples. “Oh, goodness sake, young’un, what in the world happened to your back?”
Panic overcame him. “Lady! Please just go get some help before that old man comes back.”
“Old man! What old man?”
He started to get upset. “We don’t have time lady… Just… Just go get someone!”
A few others in the chamber were getting angry and yelling at me to go get some help as well, but I ignored them and hobbled to where I could see his face. “Ya catch the name of that old man?”
An expression of confusion came over his face. “I think its Tom or something. Why does that matter? Just go get someone.”
I stood upright and shook my head. “So, this is where that old geezer has been hidin’ all these years? I’m tellen’ you, I mean to have a word with him.”
For the next few seconds I looked around the chamber like I was disappointed, and when I spotted the staple gun I hobbled over to the table and picked it up. I pretended like I barely had enough strength to hold it. “Did he use this on ya, young’un?”
“Ma’am! I really need you to go get someone.”
I laid the staple gun in the basket on the walker and hobbled back over to him, then picked it back up. “How does this thing work, young’un?”
He was getting des
perate. He thought the old lady had lost her mind. He looked at me as if I was an idiot and said in a condescending voice, “If you go get some help, I’ll show you how to…”
POW!!!!! The stable gun fired. He jumped. And then with an excited voice I said, “Yaaaa just pull the trigger.”
He took a deep breath. “Now can you go get some help?”
Without any warning, I aimed the gun towards his head and shot a staple into his forehead. He screamed out in a muffled and painful sounding screech. “What the fuck are you doing you crazy bitch!”
“Watch that tongue, young’un.” I shot three more staples into his face while he jerked his head around and yelled. Blood was running down his face and dripping on the floor as he cursed at me and fought at the stockade.
He glared at me with hate and made a growling sound.
“What a potty mouth. If I had a bar of soap, I’d make you lick it.”
“Fuck you, you old motherfu……”
I reached over and grabbed his lips. “Ya gonna wish I did,” and after I pinched them tightly together I shot a staple sideways into his gums. One end of the staple shot into his top gum and the other end shot into his bottom gum. I quickly removed my fingers from his lips and shot a row of staples across his entire mouth the same way as I had done the first one. The staples had penetrated his bones and shattered his front teeth at the roots. His eyes almost popped out of his head as he tried to scream from the excruciating pain. He started bobbing his head around as I shot staples into his face and forehead. When the gun ran out of staples I stood in front of him clicking the trigger. “Now look what ya did. You broke the damn thing.” I tossed the gun onto the floor, then hobbled out of the chamber, leaving him crying and bleeding from his mouth, face and head.
The next day I came into the chamber as myself, no disguise or makeup. I pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. I didn’t say a word as I started pulling the staples from his swollen mouth. Tears flowed down his face and he moaned in agony as each staple tore out a piece of flesh. When I pulled the last one out, his mouth fell wide open as he let out a deep moan. He tried to speak, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was thick, dark colored blood and broken teeth. The sludge oozed down his chin and dripped to the floor. After he spit out a few bloody clots and a few more pieces of teeth he was finally able to mumble, “Please don’t hurt me anymore.”
The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore Page 6
