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

by Garrett, Wade H.

  La Venganza

  “When I got home, I went into my workshop with Orlando’s shoe that I had taken from his car. I already knew what brand and style he wore, so a couple of weeks prior I had ordered ten pairs of the shoes in different sizes from the Internet. He wound up being a size ten. I took a new pair of shoes that were his size and removed the soles. I traced the outline of the soles on a two-inch rubber sheet, then cut them out with a band saw. I glued the soles to the bottom of the rubber cutouts, then glued the cutouts to the bottom of my size twelve boots. The rubber cutouts were needed for blocking between the soles and my boots to prevent the outline of my boots from accidentally showing up if I didn’t step just right because his shoe size was smaller than mine.

  At two in the morning it started to rain as the weather forecast had predicted, so it was time to move forward with my plan. To prevent any loose hairs, skin or lint from being left at the crime scene, I wore a complete neoprene wetsuit, gloves, and a wetsuit hood. I also wore a black ski mask to hide my face. Thirty minutes later, I grabbed my duffel bag and took off down my driveway on a black painted bicycle and vanished into the dark of the night. It was pitch black, so I had to navigate by using a pair of night vision goggles. When I came to the end of my road, I turned right on the street behind the subdivision, then went down several hundred feet until I turned into the old cemetery. I cruised down the narrow-paved roads of the cemetery until I came to a concrete storm water drain, which ran through the subdivision. The drain was deep. I had chosen this route so I wouldn’t be seen and it would take me close to Kevin’s house. Up to this point I had been in complete darkness and the only way that someone could have seen me is if they had night vision goggles as well. The drain had several inches of water flowing in it, so I had to ride slowly because I couldn’t see submerged items or holes. After eighteen hundred feet, I stopped and got off the bike. The trip down the drain had been smooth except for the occasional limb or rock I ran over. After I hung the duffel bag over my shoulder, I crawled up the concrete embankment. At the top, there was a barbed wire fence. I carefully crawled through it, making sure I didn’t tear anything to prevent leaving trace evidence behind. Orlando’s house was several thousand feet further down the drain, so I removed the piece of black cotton fabric I took from his car, which I had in a sandwich bag to prevent cross contamination, and dragged it through the fence. I made sure I left cotton fibers and small torn pieces hanging on the barbs. The area was muddy, so I took his shoe and pressed it into some mud to leave soil type evidence in the groves of the sole.

  Lightning was beginning to light up the sky in the distance, so I had to make sure I stayed out of sight as I snuck down an alleyway that ran behind Kevin’s house, which was several blocks down from the drain. His gate squeaked a little as I opened it, and when I entered his backyard, I kneeled and watched carefully to see if anyone was around. The area around his house was dark. I could see there was a small amount of light coming from one of his windows. Up to this point I had been a little worried that dogs might bark at my presence, but the rain was keeping them in the cover as I hoped it would. When I felt comfortable, I snuck through his junky backyard, and when I approached his house, I kneeled again and looked around carefully to make sure there was no one around. I peeped through different windows to find his whereabouts. When I looked through a window on the east side of the house I could see he was asleep on a couch in front of a television. I snuck over to a secluded side of his house where the bushes and trees were thick, and, as I hid, I tore some old cardboard off a window frame where the glass had fallen out. I stood motionless as I examined the dark room through my night vision goggles. It was clear, so I set my bag through the opening. I could smell a stale odor as I crawled through the window as quiet as a mouse. My heart was pounding as if it was going to rip through my chest as I squatted down in a cluttered bedroom. Before I went any further I took deep breaths as I tried to calm my heart rate down from the adrenaline rush. When I regained my composure, I snuck down a dark hallway and into the living room, then over to a lamp and turned it off. The only light at that point was from the glow of his television. While I stood silently over Kevin as he was snoring, I noticed what a fat slob he was. The pig was lying on the couch wearing dingy underwear and a white tee shirt covered in stains, which was several sizes too small for his fat stomach. He looked and smelled like he hadn’t taken a bath in a long time. He was snoring like a bear, and I could tell he was in a deep sleep, so I looked around his house to make sure there was no one else there. I checked all his windows to ensure they were covered up and the doors were locked. The place was a real shithole and reeked of dirty ass and feet. He had shit piled everywhere. Empty beer cans, pizza boxes, potato chip bags, and anything else that you can imagine was lying on the floor and piled on top of every piece of furniture. His kitchen was a detestable sight as well. Utensils and dishes covered with rotted food were piled on every surface and they filled the sink to the point they were falling out. In his bathroom, his tub was full of dirty clothes, filling the air with an awful stench. The toilet was covered in dry splattered shit and piss; it reeked like a portable shit house. While I walked through the shit hole I found the pervert had child pornography hidden all over the place, and I also noticed he must have been a tile setter by trade because he had boxes of tile and bags of mortar piled throughout his house, which was a shame because he was entering people’s houses without them knowing he was a threat to their children. Kevin was a disgusting pig that should be killed simply for being an insult to the human race. In fact, I was insulting the pigs for calling him one.

  When I was finished looking around I walked back into the living room and stood over him. “Hey, pal, do you have a water hose?”

  He looked up at me in a daze. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Do you have a water hose?”

  He quickly sat up. “Get out of my fucking house before I kill you!”

  Without hesitating, I hit him in the head with a pipe before he got too loud. While the slob laid unconscious on the floor, I lit a kerosene lantern that I had brought with me and sat it on the kitchen counter top—I didn’t want to turn on the kitchen light, plus the lantern was going to serve another purpose later. The dude probably weighed over three-hundred pounds and I needed to get him on top of the kitchen table without breaking my back. Plus, I had no desire to pick him up because he was so filthy. Fortunately, he had a solid wood table. I tipped it over and dumped all the shit off it, then slid it on its side across the kitchen towards the living room. I dragged him over to the table and leaned his back against the top. I tied one end of a rope around his chest and the other end to the table legs that were in the upper position on the opposite side. I pulled the table back over to its legs with the fat slob on top of it. He was starting to come around, so I injected him with a small amount of tranquilizer to keep him asleep for a little while longer. This fucker stunk bad and looked as if he had a staph infection. He had sores all over his legs and arms, so before I went any further, I poured bleach all over him. After I let the bleach sit for several minutes, I cut off his clothes using the knife I had taken out of Orlando’s car, making sure I didn’t mess up the fingerprints that were on it. The knife was a large tactical type with a brass-knuckle handle; it kind of looked like a trench knife. The blade was stainless and I could see it was covered with the idiot’s fingerprints from when he was playing grab ass with it. I needed to secure Kevin to the table. Usually I would have nailed his ass to it, but in this case where I was pinning someone else, I used some rope I had brought with me. I made sure his torso and right arm were bound very tightly, but I did leave his left arm free. I had to hold back on some of the sicker shit that I do so it would appear as a normal murder, or actually, as if it was done by a crazed Mexican like Orlando. I had brought my own water hose with me, but I didn’t need it because Kevin already had one in the backyard, which was a good thing because it was one less thing I had to worry about being traced back
to me. After I pulled his hose through his backdoor, I connected a large rubber sleeve that was shaped like a mushroom on the threaded male end, then shoved it up his ass a few inches. To prevent the mushroom from being pushed out, I taped his ass cheeks together, taped the hose down his left leg, then taped both of his legs together.

  It was going to be a while before he woke up, so I went outside to paint some of Orlando’s gang signs. Everything was wet except for a three-sided porch on the back of his house. I laid one of the empty spray paint cans I took from Orlando’s car next to the house, then took a full can of the same brand and color and painted a gang tag on the inside walls of the porch. There was a storage building in the backyard. The door was secured with a padlock, so I took Orlando’s knife and pried the hasp off the building. The inside was as nasty as his house, and the fucker had more porn stacked in the corner. I took a couple of the magazines and stuck them in a plastic bag. This was also a good place to leave some more evidence, so I took Orlando’s empty orange drink bottles and set them on a work bench next to a porn mag, painted some more gang tags on the inside walls, and took the piece of black fabric I had dragged through the fence and hung it over a nail sticking out of the storage building door. I planted the fabric there so it would appear the nail had torn the jacket.

  About an hour later Kevin awoke, and when he noticed that he was naked and tied up, he began to panic while he frantically looked around. It took a little bit before he finally saw me, and when he did he did a double take. “What the fuck are you doing man?

  I just stood there silent.

  “This is my fucking house! Untie me now!”

  I continued to stand silent.

  “Are you fucking retarded or something? Why are you dressed like a fucking weirdo? Untie me now!”

  I’m sure he thought I was crazy because I was standing across the kitchen wearing a wet suit with a brown paper bag over my head that had holes cut out for my eyes and mouth. A few more minutes of me standing motionless and silent, he became really upset, and as he pulled at the ropes with his free hand he was cursing and slobbering at the mouth. He really got upset when he finally noticed something in his ass. “What the fuck man. There is something in my ass! What the fuck did you do, freak?”

  He was getting very loud and I didn’t want anyone to hear him, so I squeezed his mouth. “Shut the fuck up or I will stab you in the face with a fork.”

  He spit at me. “Go fuck yourself, asshole!”

  I grabbed a dirty fork off the floor and started stabbing him in the face. He screamed as I ravaged him, and as I pounded away he tried to block the blows with his free arm. I finally stopped when the fork drove through his hand and firmly logged into the upper gum of his mouth. The savage stabbing caused him to scream louder, so I had to hit him in the head with a frying pan to shut him up. He was out cold, and as I stood over him with the pan, I looked at what a bloody mess I had made of him. His face, head, neck, ears, and arm were covered in puncture wounds that came in sets of four. His hand was stuck to the top of his mouth by the bloody fork and his right eye was hanging out of its socket and dangling over the side of his face. Over the next fifteen or so minutes, I watched out some of the windows to make sure that no one had heard him screaming. I was a little nervous about staying, but his house was on a corner lot and the house on the other side was condemned. There was really no one that could have heard him except for the people across the street or someone that was walking down the road or alley, which was unlikely due to the time of night and the rain. I took advantage of the down time and painted some more graffiti on the inside of his house. I also took the potato chip bag and the cigarette butts from Orlando’s car and threw them into the backyard.

  About an hour later, I heard him stirring around so I went back into the kitchen. “If I hear a peep out of you I’ll cut your tongue and dick off with a pair of fingernail clippers.”

  He just stared at me in fear with his one eye as he moved his fingers on the hand that was stuck to his face. I tried to pull the fork out of his hand, but it was lodged in his top gum and teeth, so I had to work the fork back and forth until it broke off inside his hand. He screamed out as I jerked his hand off the remaining pieces of the broken fork. The four end pieces were still lodged in his gum. Tears were running down his face as I looked down into his one eye through the eye hole in the paper bag, and as I leaned forward over him, he stared back up towards me with fear. “Before I leave you here, I’m going to tape an ice pick in your hand.”

  He looked at me with uncertainty for a moment. It was very painful for him to move his mouth, but he was still able to mumble. “For what? You want me to fucking stab you?”

  “No, it’s to relieve the pressure.”

  He had a confused look. “What pressure? What the fuck are you talking about, you fucking psycho?” Out of the blue he became upset again and started yelling out. “Let me fucking go you sick, twisted fuck! What the hell have I done to you?”

  “Nothing to me. I’m reaping vengeance for all the kids you touched… Asshole.”

  He grabbed my arm and shouted. “I served my fucking time!”

  I grabbed the eye that was hanging out of his socket and ripped it out. After he let go of my arm and covered his eye socket, I shoved it into his mouth while he was screaming. He was throwing his head around as I shoved a rag into his mouth, then he started swinging his fist at me to fight back. I grabbed his arm and slammed it down on the table beside him, and as he shouted muffled curse words through the rag, I drove an ice pick through his hand and into the tabletop. Blood, sweat, tears and snot ran off his face as he tried to scream out from the pain, but luckily the rag muffled the sound. Since he couldn’t scream he resorted to just blowing snot bubbles out of his nose as he took deep breaths while whimpering.

  Several minutes later as I was preparing to put some tape over his mouth, I noticed he was turning blue, so I quickly pulled the rag out before he suffocated. He tried to take a breath, but he was still choking on the eyeball he had apparently sucked down his windpipe. Choking to death would be too easy of a way out for this worthless sack of shit, so I grabbed a chair and started beating him in his fat stomach. Several broken ribs later he had thrown it up. By now he was breathing erratically and crying. His face was covered with vomit as he stared up at me through his eye. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I have a disease. I beg you to please don’t hurt me anymore.”

  He threw his head around as I shoved the rag back into his mouth, and as I wrapped tape around his head, which would prevent him from spitting it out, I took some hairs that I removed from Orlando’s car and stuck them between the layers. The fat slob was crying a river of tears, which was impressive to watch because I didn’t know one eye could produce so much. I looked down at him so he could see my eyes through the holes in the paper bag. “Served your time? What about the kids you stuck your dick in? Do you think they’re done serving the sentence you bestowed on them? Disease or not, when you choose to spread it around, you affected the lives of innocent people.”

  I was sick of looking at his face, so I tied a tow sack over his head, then cut out a hole in the sack above his eye so he could see what was happening. He started screaming from under the sack as I started carving ‘Eres un a marica’ into his chest with Orlando’s knife. He was arching his back as much as his fat gut would allow as he was forced to endure the horrific amount of pain as I was cutting deep into his flesh. After I cut ‘You are a faggot’ in Spanish across his chest, I pulled the ice pick from his hand and forced him to grip it, then wrapped tape around his fist so he wouldn’t be able to drop it. When I let go of his arm he started swinging it around like a crazy blind man to stab me. It was time for him to suffer an uninviting and painful sensation to his colon as he had done to others, so I walked outside and cracked open the water valve. Originally, I planned on setting up the lantern in a way that it would catch the house on fire, then haul ass, but my curiosity got the best of me, so instead of leaving, I
sat in a kitchen chair backwards and rested my arms on the back of it so I could have a front row seat to the upcoming festivities. He was slightly moaning as I lit a cigarette. Halfway through my smoke he was starting to move around and making grunting sounds from the pressure that was building up in his abdomen. About the time I was finished, he was throwing his head around and scraping at the ropes with the ice pick. Around four or five minutes later, he was in severe agony from the pressure building up inside him, and as I lit another cigarette, he was frantically jabbing at the ropes with the pick, causing minor puncture wounds to his body. A couple of minutes later, he was in such horrendous pain from the pressure that he was ferociously tearing into his skin with the ice pick as he tried to cut the ropes that were restraining him. He was even stabbing himself through the tow sack to tear the tape that was holding the rag in place so he could scream out for help, and with every blow through the sack, blood would fill the puncture area and turn the cloth red around the hole. His self-inflicted wounds were obviously less painful than the excruciating pain from the water pressure inside his intestines.