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

by Garrett, Wade H.

  “But you would rather create chaos for others.”

  Seth smiled. “I guess what goes around comes around.”

  Seth closed his eyes and thought back to when he was sixteen and living at Saint David’s home for boys. It was located in a small town in the middle of nowhere and it wasn’t any better than the foster homes he had grown up in. The Sheriff of that small town was a real prick to the boys who lived at the home, and he made things a lot worse for them than it already was. Sheriff Johnson, or Chuck as he was known by the locals, would always torment the boys by saying that the town wasn’t big enough for their kind, and he would harass and abuse them whenever he had a chance. Life was difficult for Seth, but there was one thing that could get him through the day; her name was Ashley Sullivan. They had become best friends and were inseparable. Being with her made him forget how cruel the world could be. He would always meet her at their secret hiding place in the woods that was next to a creek. Cedar Creek was on the outskirts of town. They had to keep their relationship a secret because the people of the small town would frown upon a girl who went out with trash from the boy’s home. And her dad didn’t approve of her seeing Seth as well. He was a drunk and would slap her around if he caught wind of her being seen with him. The Sheriff’s son, Jason, and his friends hated Seth and caused a lot of trouble for him. They were a lot older. Jason was around twenty, and he used his size to intimidate and bully Seth. The truth was Jason was just pissed because she would never give him the time of day.

  One day a carnival set up at the edge of town. Seth was sad that he couldn’t take Ashley—he didn’t want to cause any trouble for her, so instead they drove to a place in the country where kids would go to hang out, which was called Dead Man’s Bluff. The area was on a nearby mountain that looked over the town below. They arrived in the evening after the sun had set and parked near a fence at the edge of a cliff. It seemed very peaceful and tranquil as they sat on the hood of the car and watched the lights from the carnival. But that didn’t last long. A truck drove up with bright off-road lights. It stopped around ten feet away, then the driver started revving the engine. The lights were so bright that Seth held his hand in front of his face in an attempt to see who it was. Several guys finally got out of the truck and started walking towards him with baseball bats. Before Seth could get off the hood, one of the men jabbed the end of a bat into his chest. Seth jumped to his feet. He noticed it was Jason and a couple of his sorry friends, and as he stepped towards them, Jason pointed a bat at his head. “I fucking told you to stay away from her, you motherless cocksucker!”

  Before Seth and Jason got into a fight, Ashley jumped off the hood and got between them. She shoved Jason backwards. “Mind your own business!”

  Jason laughed.

  Ashley slapped him. “Punk ass!”

  Jason smiled. “Screw you! You ain’t worth it.”

  “Back to you, asshole!”

  Jason got back into his truck, and as his friends were laughing, he threw Seth the finger. “Watch your back, fucker. She ain’t always going to be around to protect your sorry ass.”

  Jason had a chicken-shit grin on his face as he peeled out and threw dirt all over Seth and Ashley. Seth was angry that Ashley stepped in between him and Jason—it made him feel cowardly. She knew Seth was upset, but she also knew if Seth had gotten into it with Jason, Chuck would have thrown him in jail—he was looking for such an excuse.

  A few days later as Seth was walking back to Saint David’s from meeting Ashley, Chuck pulled up next to him in his patrol car. Jason was sitting on the passenger side looking like a punk. Chuck rolled down his window. “I thought I told you to stay away from this side of town, boy.”

  “I don’t know why you give me such a hard time. I’ve never done anything to you.”

  Chuck got out of his patrol car. “I’ll show you a hard time, smart ass.”

  Before Seth could react, Chuck grabbed him and threw him on his back on the front of the car. He tried to get up, but Chuck was too strong as he held him down by his throat. “If I see you with that Sullivan girl again I will make you wish that your parents were hit by that car before you were born.”

  Seth didn’t say anything.

  He threw Seth onto the ground. “Boy, the best part of you ran down the crack of your mama’s ass and wound up a brown stain on the sheets.” Chuck got in his patrol car and peeled out a little as he took off. Seth’s pride was more hurt than anything else. As he was brushing himself off, Chuck had turned around a little way down the road. When he slowly drove by, Jason spit out the window. “You better stay away from Ashley if you know what’s good for you.”

  Seth had enough. He went back to the boy’s home and packed up his stuff. His friends were sad to see him go, but they knew how difficult life was for their kind. Seth walked out the door and never looked back.

  Dial 1-800-Eat-Shit

  Seth sat up from where he was lying on the stuffed man and rubbed his face as he spoke out loud to himself. “What goes around comes around.” He stood up and stretched, then walked over to a wall where a human head was mounted on a wooden plaque. He took it off the wall and brought it over to the stuffed man. He sat back down, and as he held the plaque, Dicky could see how the mounted head was grotesquely deformed and its eyes were missing.

  Seth rubbed some dust off the nametag that was secured to the plaque. “Guess whose fucking head this is?”

  Dicky just stared down at the floor as if he didn’t want to know.

  Seth read the tag out loud. “Sorry ass Judge.”

  He shook his head as he stared at the floor.

  Seth laughed. “You didn’t think I would forget about this piece of shit did you? He was as guilty as his son the Dickhead when he used his power as a judge to cover up his son’s indiscretions. I wish the headless bastard was still alive so I could sew his balls to his tonsils, but he wound up getting off easy.” Seth leaned the plaque against the bars of the cell, then sat on the floor. He leaned his back against Richard’s corpse. “You have to hear about Judge Terryhole, who I refer to as ‘Mr. Potato Head’, and how I used a unique persuasive device to retrieve a confession and other interesting information out of him.”

  Dicky rolled his eyes.

  “Hey, ass wad, at least act like you give a shit.”

  He took a deep breath, then looked at Seth.

  “The judge wasn’t hard to find like his worthless son. He was living at his beach house down in Corpus Christi, which was convenient for me because I was overdue for a vacation. I was probably going to be away for a week, so I tripled everyone’s IV bags and loaded my car with everything I might need. It was late in the evening when I pulled out. The trip down through Texas was going great until some asshole in a truck got a bad case of road rage. I was minding my own business driving in the right-hand lane when I noticed a red truck was weaving in and out of traffic driving recklessly with no regard for anyone else’s safety. Before I knew it the jackass was speeding towards me, and as he approached the rear of my car I moved over onto the side shoulder to let him around to avoid any problems. When he passed by, the prick laughed at me and threw me the finger. I was so mad I wanted to run him off the road so I could cut off that finger and shove it up his ass, but I didn’t want to jeopardize the integrity of my trip, so I just gritted my teeth as I watched him disappear in the traffic ahead of me.

  Around two in the morning I became extremely tired, so I pulled into a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. I got out of my car to stretch my legs, and as I was walking around the area I noticed a red truck with a large rebel flag in the back window. It couldn’t be I thought to myself. When I walked closer, I recognized a bumper sticker that read If you don’t like my driving, dial 1-800-Eat-Shit. It was the prick that threw me the finger. There were several big rigs in the area, so I maintained a cautious distance. As I casually walked by the truck I noticed the asshole was asleep. Over the next few minutes as I walked around, I thought of an idea that would be more
on the lines of getting him back. When I got back to my car I dug through the trunk and found a bottle of white shoe polish, and as I looked at it I smiled—I thought back on how I lured a crooked car dealer to my car by simply writing a dirt-cheap price on the windshield.

  A few hours later, I was awakened from the loud exhaust of the red truck, and, as it was pulling away, I started laughing as the white letters, ‘I HATE NIGGAS’, stood out like a sore thumb on the tailgate of the prick’s truck. I laughed as hard as I could as I watched him drive off down the highway—I knew between his bad attitude, the rebel flag and the crude remark, he would get his ass kicked. Now that the punk was gone, I got out of my car and stretched a little before heading down the last stretch of road that would lead me to Mr. Potato Head.

  Thirty minutes down the highway the traffic started backing up. It looked like a wreck had occurred about a mile or two up the road. As I approached the area of the highway where the slowing of the traffic was originating, I noticed there was a group of cars on the side of the highway and a there was a large commotion in the grassy median. The traffic was moving about twenty miles an hour from everyone slowing down and rubber necking. When I was finally able to see what was going on, I noticed it wasn’t a wreck at all, it was a large group of black people beating the shit out of the prick in the red truck. As I slowly drove by, I even caught a glimpse of a large black lady stomping on the guy’s head as he laid helplessly in the grass. I started laughing so hard that I almost pissed myself. The prick got exactly what he deserved.”

  Seth looked at Dicky and noticed he had a solemn look. “Come on. Don’t look so intense. You know you wanna laugh.”

  He just stared at Seth.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? Any one of these fuckers in here would trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

  He looked down. “I just don’t find racism funny.”

  “Racism?” Seth laughed. “If you haven’t noticed I operate an equal opportunity torture chamber.”

  He shook his head.

  Seth got a little aggravated. “You’re one of those fuckers that thinks only white people can be racist. All ethnic groups have people that are racist. Everyone is so quick to throw in the race card. But it’s really simple; humans dislike humans if they are different in any way from themselves.”

  “I understand all of that, but the N-word is derogatory.”

  “If the N-word, as you put it, is so derogatory, the blacks wouldn’t use it, or even the lesser insulting term, nigga, which according to some blacks is not derogatory, and the one I actually used.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “It’s only derogatory if someone other than a black person says it.”

  “Really? Is chink, gook, jap, kike, cracker, raghead, wetback and spic derogatory terms?”

  “Of course, they are.”

  “You’re right. That’s why you don’t see those other ethnic groups calling each other those names, or a variation of them. It’s an insult. So, if the N-word was such a horrible name, including the lesser insulting term where the ER was replaced with an A, then why do the blacks use both of them so much?”

  “I…. It’s probably.…”

  “Point made.”

  “But there is no need for bigotry.”

  “A bigot is a person who is utterly intolerant of any differing creed, belief or opinion. Making fun of a sensitive subject is simply poor taste or dark humor.”

  “Black people wouldn’t find it funny.”

  “They find it funny when it’s the other way around.”

  “That’s different. They have been oppressed.”

  “A lot of people have been oppressed through history.”

  “But slavery…”

  “You own a fucking slave?”

  He looked up with a confused look. “Of course, not.”

  “How many did your parents own?”

  “None?”

  “How about your grandparents?”

  “No one in my family did.”

  “Nor did my family or myself. I’m sick and fucking tired of the bullshit. Slavery happened to all kinds of people since the beginning of time. The same assholes that had slaves back then are the same assholes that run corporate America today. They’re the same ones who have created modern day slavery through crappy minimum wage jobs while dangling unaffordable things in front of people, such as nice homes, cars and belongings.”

  “I understand all that.”

  “I don’t think so, pal. Like I said, people dislike people. If humans were all the same in every aspect, from physical and mental characteristics, abilities and accomplishments, wealth and lifestyles, opinions and religious beliefs, heritages and traditions, some asshole would eventually find a minuscule difference in another person so they could have a reason to dislike them. It’s really that simple. And it all stems from envy and jealousy, and it has been that way since the beginning of human existence.”

  .

  Theater of Horror

  Dicky just stared at Seth as he sat on the floor of his cell. Seth put his right arm behind his head to get relaxed. “Time is running out and we’re not in here to discuss ethics, so let’s get on with the judge.”

  Dicky raised his knees while leaning back against the wall. He rested his arms on his knees and his chin on his arms.

  Seth looked at him and smiled. “Now that you’re all cozy and have gotten how racist I am off your chest, let’s proceed. It was late in the evening just as the sun was setting when I finally reached the coast. It took another thirty or forty minutes until I came to the strip of beach where the judge’s house was located. His street had numerous cars parked along the shoulder and I could see there was some type of get-together at a house that sat way off the road, which was also his closest neighbor. When I drove by his house I noticed it was dark except for the front porch light, and I could see the reflection of vehicle taillights under a carport, meaning he was most likely home. I went down the road a little way, turned around, and when I came back I parked my car with the other cars. At this point I really didn’t have a plan, but the convenience of parking my car incognito with the others relieved some tension. Everything I might need was in one duffel bag, so I grabbed it and quickly began walking across a large empty lot towards his house. The area was almost in complete darkness, so I wasn’t concerned about anyone noticing me. The houses were spaced a great deal apart, allowing me to walk around his house at a cautious distance as I checked for dogs, people, cameras and security lights.

  After I had made a circle around the property I snuck up to the house, which was also dark, except for the faint light that was coming through a window on the east Side. From the window, I could see the light was coming from a fireplace, and I could see there was someone reclining back in a recliner and it looked as if they were asleep. I was surprised the window was open and only a window screen was preventing me from entering the house, but I was still cautious as I cut through the screen with my pocketknife because I wasn’t sure if there was anyone else in the house, including dogs. Even though there wasn’t a window sensor the house still could be wired with a security system that utilized motion sensors, so I had to proceed with caution. I quietly slipped through the window and knelt while I cautiously examined the room. After a few minutes, I quietly snuck over to the person in the recliner and noticed it was Judge Terryhole. On a table next to him, sat an empty bottle of bourbon and a pack of cigarettes. The room smelled like a beer joint as he snored like a grizzly bear. He seemed to be in a deep sleep, so I left him be as I roamed around his house to make sure there was no one else there. When I went upstairs I found a woman asleep in the master bedroom. Her head was almost hidden by the blanket, but I recognized she was the judge’s wife by comparing her to a photo. While she slept, I inserted a needle in the calf of her leg and injected her with sodium thiopental, which would keep her asleep through the night. I went back into the living room where the judge was sle
eping and snooped around some more. The room was like a walk down memory lane for some old timer. The walls were covered with antique weapons and paintings of military type stuff from different eras. There were glass display cases full of police and military memorabilia and there were several bookcases filled with war novels and legal books. The mantel above the fireplace was lined with trophies, whatnots and keepsakes. I was standing on the ledge of the fireplace and piddling with some of his awards on the mantel when the noise had awakened him. When he got his thoughts together he pulled a revolver out from a magazine rack that was beside his recliner. Without hesitating he pointed the gun at me and yelled out in an aggressive tone. “Gotcha, asshole! Move and I will blow you’re fucking head off!”

  I threw my arms up. “Please don’t shoot.”

  The judge scrambled out of his recliner and jumped to a tactical stance while keeping me in his sights. “All right buddy, you really fucked up now! I’m going to take you down.”

  I remained still.

  He cocked the gun. “Drop whatever you have and get down on the floor now. And you better keep your hands in sight or I will fill you full of holes.”

  I released the items as he requested and they broke when they hit the floor. The judge quickly noticed the two items were trophies he had won from a shooting tournament.

  He gritted his teeth. “You cocksucker! I said get on the floor.”

  When I stepped down from the ledge another trophy fell out of my trench coat and broke when it hit the floor.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you boy! I’ll teach you to break my shit! Empty out your pockets. And take it slow, ass fuck, or I’ll blow you away!”

  I reached into my pocket and slowly pulled out my hand in the shape of the universal ‘fuck you’ sign.