The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore

by Garrett, Wade H.

  “Call 911 now! A gang of violent savages with flame throwers is heading in our direction!”

  The old man jumped to his feet and took off running. He almost knocked his wife down as he ran into his house. Without hesitating, I ran over and grabbed the vato’s hair, and as I pulled his head back, I swung the sickle so hard I almost decapitated him with one blow. His head came off with the second swing, then hightailed it out of there with my early Christmas present. I had to get rid of the car I was driving because I didn’t know if the woman who had been carjacked had seen it or if there had been cameras in the area.”

  Mr. Propane Torch

  Seth walked across the chamber, and a moment later, he came back with a preserved head. He stood in front of the cell holding a rope that was secured to the top of the gangbanger’s head. “I’ve always taken precautions and am prepared at all times. This has really saved my ass numerous times over the years. One slip up and I would blow my cover and end up being on the run for the rest of my life, which I’ve already made arrangements for just in case. The newspapers have labeled me the ‘Angel of Vengeance’. It’s really irritating, but it could have been worse, I suppose. Those fuckers always have to come up with some kind of label—it makes their headlines more interesting. If I ever go rogue, they will have to call me the ‘Angel of Death’—I will not be selective with the scumbags and lowlifes I go after. It will be a crusade on cleaning house before I am taken down.”

  Dicky raised his head. “You will be caught eventually.”

  “Yeah, probably, but it will be too late for your ass.” Seth laid the head on the floor, then sat down. He propped his feet up on the bars and lit a cigarette. “The next morning the newspaper had a front-page article telling of the grisly murders. The paper stated the police had no leads, except for the marking on one of the victim’s chest. They believed the murders were gang related.”

  “So, you pinned the murders on others. That’s mighty white of you.”

  “You would really like how I made your disappearance look.”

  Dicky had a worried facial expression. “What… What did you do?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? All I can say is your family and friends think you’re some kind of sicko.”

  He jumped to his feet. “Tell me! What the fuck did you do?”

  “It doesn’t matter, pal… And besides, if you somehow magically escape, I ensured you will not be able to go home.”

  He pumped his fist. “You tell me what the …”

  “Hush! You need to save your energy for the upcoming festivities.”

  “Screw you! I’m not listening to your shit anymore.”

  The sounds of moaning and crying in the chamber stopped. Seth sat quietly as he smoked his cigarette.

  Dicky looked around the chamber for a moment, then sat down in his dark corner. “I meant… You know… Please continue on with Bill.”

  Seth rested his head on the back of his chair. “As I was saying earlier before you opened your mouth, the police assumed the murders were gang related. Later that morning I went into the chamber and walked straight up to Bill. “Good morning Bill, Mr. Propane Torch is here to see you.” I will never forget his facial expression. He knew it was his turn because I hadn’t said a word to him since he had been brought into the chamber. I had completely ignored him over the last seven months except for when I had to change out his IV bag and wash him down. The agony of being bound to the table for such a long duration had almost caused him to go mad.”

  Dicky had a look as if he wanted to say something, so Seth asked, “What’s on your mind, pal?”

  He stayed silent.

  “You will tell me what you’re thinking. You apparently need the interactive time.”

  “How did he… For seven months. You know, bed sores and infections.”

  “Good question. You’re paying attention. And you’re right. Being bound against something for that long of a period would be an issue. The table top he laid on rotated from the ends. I designed it to automatically flip every other day so I didn’t have to have interactive time with him as you so badly need. When he was upside down, he would hang from his leather restraints so his back would be relieved of the pressure points.”

  “Why the games?”

  “It’s actually torture. And it requires a lot of patience and holding back.”

  Dicky had an expression that stated, whatever.

  Seth leaned forward in his chair. “He might not have been physically tortured, but being confined to the table for such a long time was as excruciating as anything else I could have done on a long-term basis.”

  He still had the same look on his face.

  “Torture can come in so many ways. You would think that I’ve run out of new things to do because I’ve been doing this for decades. But believe it or not, I have a first waiting for you.”

  Dicky looked around the chamber for a moment, then his facial expression changed to one of concern.

  “Don’t worry, pal, you’ll find out when story time is over. And by the way, it’s good to know you need a lot of attention. And stop worrying about the future—it’s inevitable. Now back to Bill. He was terrified. There was nothing he could do to fight back because he was bound to the top of the table. He had been very vocal for the last seven months and now he was pleading for me not to hurt him. When I unbuckled the restraints on his left arm, he became frantic and began jerking and pulling at the ropes in an attempt to get free. Spit was running down his mouth as he frantically begged for mercy and his eyes were filled with fear as he focused in on the torch head I was installing onto a propane cylinder. The fear and anticipation of what was in store for him was agonizing. He had witnessed a lot of horrific things over the past months and he knew there were no boundaries to the suffering in his new world. When I lit the torch, he started foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal and screaming at the top of his lungs for help as he stared at the blue colored flame. Before I began, I looked down at him. “At one time the sound of your voice horrified me. And now I can’t wait to rip out your tongue.”

  He raised his head off the table and looked into my eyes. “I know you. I can’t remember your name, but I recognize those fucking eyes. I made a man out of all of you brats, and this is how you repay me?”

  I grinned a little. “Well then. If being belittled, humiliated, tortured, confined, starved and sodomized are the ways to become a man, then you’re going to become fucking Mr. Universe.”

  He held his fist up and shook it at me. “No one talks to me like that, you motherless cocksucker!”

  I grabbed a pair of pliers and jumped on top of the table and sat down on his chest to where I was facing his head. To prevent him from grabbing or hitting me, I held his left arm down with my knee, then gripped a handful of his hair so he couldn’t turn his head. While I held his head tightly, I began to pound on his mouth with the end of the pliers. “Give me your tongue!”

  He was fighting back as much as he could. “Stop!!! Get the fuck off me!”

  It took about four or five hard blows before he opened his mouth. “Stick it out.”

  “Ahhhhh! Okay, okay!”

  When he stuck out his tongue, I grabbed it with the pliers, and as I pulled back on it, his head came off the table as he tried to relieve the tension, but I pulled back further and harder. When I had his tongue out as far as it would go without tearing, I shoved a long piercing rod through his bottom lip, through his tongue and out his top lip. To prevent the rod from falling out I bent each end in a U shape. When I released his tongue, he started moving his lips a little as he was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and as he opened and closed his mouth, his lips would slide up and down on the rod while the thick portion of his tongue held it in place.

  Over the next few minutes I sat calmly on his chest while he was trying to dislodge the rod; it was made of heavy gauge stainless steel and only a pair of pliers could straighten it out. When he finally realized what I had done, he b
ecame angry and began mumbling threats. Without saying a word, I started burning his tongue with the torch. His screaming was almost deafening as I burned him. The flame finally caused his tongue to rupture and it became black as a burnt weenie over a campfire. During his screaming and heavy breathing, he inhaled a lung full of his own burning flesh, which was causing him to violently cough and gag at the same time as he screamed and cried. Every time he exhaled, gray smoke would puff out of his nostrils; he reminded me of the bull in the Bugs Bunny cartoon. The pain finally became so intense his body went into convulsions and he began choking on his vomit. I didn’t want the fat bastard to choke to death, so I quickly grabbed a knife out of my sheath and cut a large hole in the side of his cheek. Blood and vomit immediately gushed out of the hole, and when his throat was clear he started screaming again. The wound in the side of his face was bleeding profusely, so I cauterized it with the torch so he wouldn’t bleed to death. This guy had some tolerance for pain, which was unfortunate for him because I usually stop when someone passes out. Curious on how much he could take, I cut another large hole on the opposite side of his face and pulled out all his upper and lower molars with a pair of fencing pliers. Blood was pouring out of his mouth, so I packed a powdered clotting agent into the holes in his gums, and cauterized the wound in his other cheek. Bill was in a lot of agony and was on the verge of a heart attack, so I nailed his hand to the table top and left him to recuperate.

  Two days later when I entered the chamber, Bill seemed a little down and out and didn’t want to talk. “Come on, pal, don’t pout.”

  He still wouldn’t look at me.

  “I killed Sara in the barn with a pitch fork.”

  He jerked his head towards me and mumbled something out of the holes in his face. I couldn’t understand him. His tongue was so swollen it was forcing his mouth to be stretched open to the point the bent sections of the steel rod were tearing into his lips. His gums were so swollen they were protruding out of the holes in his face. I’m sure the horrific amount of pain he was in was also making it difficult to speak as well. The sight of him was making my face hurt. He truly looked like a monster. The statement I made about Sara had really upset him, and he was desperately trying to communicate.

  I made sign language gestures at him with my hands. “I can’t understand you.”

  He continued to mumble.

  It was going to be impossible to make out his gibberish, so I grabbed an Electro pharynx off Jack the molester—he didn’t need it anymore because he had died a year or so ago. After I installed new batteries in the device, I tied it to Bill’s neck. He quickly became frustrated as he tried to talk. The Electro pharynx made him sound like a malfunctioning, retarded robot. After listening to him rant and rave for a few minutes, I grabbed the device and stuck it to my throat, and as I danced like a robot I sang a modified version of Mr. Roboto by the band Styx. “Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, domo... domo. Thank you very much, Mr. Roboto, for killing Sara with the pitch forko, doing the job that nobody wanted to do o. Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.”

  He became extremely hostile as I sang the song. His adrenaline rush also helped him overcome his pain, which allowed him to scream out. Mucus was spraying out of the holes in his face with every yell. He was a smoker, so the mucus was yellow and it was also very elastic-like. He had that shit spewed all over his face and head and it was stretching from his face to the table top and between the holes in his face like spider webs. Four or five minutes later he had begun to calm down, so I pulled the nails out of his hand and strapped the Electro pharynx back to his neck. He didn’t notice I had lit the torch—he was too busy messing with his face and bitching at me for what I had done, but he quickly forgot about that when I started burning his right leg from his toes to his hip. He violently fought at his restraints as the putrid smell of flesh filled the air around us, and as he screamed out, the sound of the Electro pharynx accompanied his voice as if they were singing a duo. While I cooked his flesh, he was slamming his head against the table and frantically throwing his left arm around in every direction. He would bang his head several times, then he would pull on the leather restraints for a second or two, then he would reach towards me, then back at the restraints. He continued to repeat the cycle in a desperate attempt to knock himself out, break the restraints and magically escape, or with the power of telekinesis, grab my arm, then in a super human way beat the shit out of me. After several minutes of screaming at the top of his lungs and acting a fool, I finally pulled the flame from his leg. When he calmed down, and when he could talk, he mumbled and the Electro pharynx echoed out in a robotic sound. “Please, please, I will do whatever you ask. Just stop hurting me.”

  I turned off the torch. “Rip your dick off with your left hand.”

  He raised his head up and looked at me for a few seconds with a what the fuck expression, then he laid his head back on the table and started staring at the ceiling.

  After I relit the torch and started burning his leg again, he had no choice but to do what I had asked, so without hesitating he started tugging at his wiener. His eyes were about to pop out of his head as he stretched his dick like a rubber band, but as soon as he tore a few small surface veins, he let go and tried to grab the torch. “Grab your dick and not the torch if you want the pain to stop.”

  He yelled, “Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” as he started frantically pulling at his dick again, and after he stretched it to where his skin was beginning to rip he let go. “Please stop! I can’t do it! I can’t. It hurts too bad.”

  Before he had a chance to say another word I started burning his face. He reached over and grabbed the torch head with his hand and jerked it away. While he held on for dear life to the red-hot nozzle, burnt-flesh smelling smoke poured out between his fingers as a sizzling sound came from inside his fist. Just for curiosity I didn’t fight back—I wanted to see how long he could endure the pain. As I expected, the big pussy jerked his hand away only after a few seconds. He frantically rubbed the palm of his hand on his chest to relieve the pain.

  The Electro pharynx echoed out. “Just kill me and get it over with! Take your fucking vengeance! You’ve tortured me and killed my wife. What more do you want? Just kill me.”

  I slowly walked around to his left side with a hacksaw. “I am taking vengeance. Vengeance for everyone you have wronged.”

  He became very angry and tried to grab my throat as I was standing next to him on his left side, but to his surprise, I quickly grabbed his arm, and with all my strength I broke it backwards over the side of the table until his arm was at a ninety-degree angle. His humerus had torn through his skin and blood and bone fragments were gushing out of the hole and were running down his arm. While I held his arm down he screamed in absolute horror.

  “Vengeance doesn’t include death. And what more do I want? I want you to scream every day until you die of old age, and then I want you to scream for eternity in hell.”

  His hollering and screaming were echoing out in the chamber as he lay on the table in excruciating pain. I waited a few minutes for him to calm down, and when he was finally, well not relaxed, but not in as much pain due to his arm going numb, I set the blade of the hacksaw on the upper portion of his arm. “This is another one for Chip.”

  He screamed erratically and was blowing slobber out of the holes in the side of his face as I started cutting into his flesh. For a special treat, I made sure I was sawing into his arm very, very slowly. I wanted him to feel the blade as it cut through his flesh and muscle at a fraction of an inch at a time. He passed out when I started cutting into his bone, so I pulled the blade out of the cut and quickly poured a hemostatic agent into his wound so he wouldn’t bleed to death. He started coming around after I threw ice-cold water onto his face, but I waited another three or four minutes until he was fully conscious before I continued.

  He looked over at me. “Please just kill me.”

  I shoved the blade back into his blood clotted wound. His body went into convulsions as
I sawed through his bone, and as soon as his arm was severed, and right before it hit the floor, he was out cold again. While he slept, I cauterized, cleaned, and bandaged his bloody stump. He was going to be out for a while, so I went ahead and left so I could take care of a few things.

  The next morning when I entered the chamber Bill was very upset, and as soon as I walked up to him he yelled out, “I do not deserve what you have done to me!”

  “I feel the same.” I freed his right arm, then lit the torch. “You deserve a lot more.”

  He didn’t say a word as he glared at me.

  I walked over and stood next to his charred leg. “You have one arm left, so I suggest you tear off your dick so we can move on to bigger and better things.”

  Surprisingly without any motivation from the torch he gripped his dick tightly and grotesquely stretched it until some of the larger surface veins in it ruptured, and as he held his eyes tightly closed he screamed with everything he had. I was grossing out as he was stretching his wiener by at least three times its normal length, and the harder he pulled the thinner it would get.

  As soon as the small rips from earlier started to tear he released it. “I can’t do it! Please don’t make…”

  I shoved the torch head into one of the holes in the side of his face. Flames were bellowing out around his swollen and charred tongue, still bound by the long piercing rod. He grabbed my arm to pull the flame from his mouth, but he was too weak and his attempt failed, but his screaming did extinguish the flame. Even though the flame was out, propane was still being pumped into his mouth and throat, and when I pulled the ignition trigger on the torch his nostrils caught fire. I stepped back with the torch and watched with excitement. His screaming was causing flames to blow out of his nose and the holes in his face like a dragon. A few seconds later, the flames had extinguished and he was back to screaming and yelling. During his heavy breathing, he must have sucked in a lung-full of propane when the flame was extinguished, which would explain why fire had come out of his face. While he coughed and blew out mucus all over his face and head, I walked off and grabbed a large wooden cylindrical shaped device. The wooden device was about twenty-one inches long with an eight-inch outside diameter and a seven-inch inside diameter; it kind of looked like a hollowed-out tree stump. I shoved his arm through the hollowed section of the wooden device, then laid the device on the table where his arm and the device were perpendicular to his body. I adjusted it so that it was shoved up tight against his armpit, and where his hand was barely sticking out the other end. To prevent him from being able to move the wooden device, or pull his arm out, I toe nailed it to the tabletop with long nails. He looked at the device, then at me. “I told you I could’‘t do it!” He thought he was done pulling at his dick because his arm was stuck inside the wooden tube.