He became irritated. “Get down on the floor wise guy before I fill you full of lead!”
I could tell he was really enjoying his power trip from the tone of his voice, so I continued to mess with him. “My back is a little stiff. Can I just sit in your recliner?”
At that point he became really aggravated and had an aggressive look on his face. “You lazy fuck! I said get on the floor!”
I held my hands in the air as I started slowly moving toward his recliner, and with every step his anger increased. And as I got closer to his chair he became so aggravated that spit flew out of his mouth as he shouted, “I said get on the floor, asshole! Do not take another step! Last warning!”
Even though I knew he was at his limit I continued moving towards the recliner.
“Pow!!! Pow!!! Fire came out of the gun.
I fell sideways, landing in the dickhead’s chair. My body was twitching as he dragged me onto the floor by my trench coat, and as I laid motionless, he examined his recliner as he quietly mumbled to himself. “No blood. Motherfucker better be glad he didn’t get any blood on my leather.”
He slid the recliner backwards a few feet, then started kicking the shit out of me. The third time he kicked, I grabbed his foot and threw him off balance, causing him to fall to the floor. I stood to my feet. He had a stunned look on his face as he laid on the floor—he had shot me twice with a .357 magnum. When he regained his composure, he popped the other four rounds towards me. While he held the smoking gun, he looked very puzzled as I continued to stand over him.
A few seconds later, he started scooting back away from me on the floor as he had a scared look on his face. “Get the fuck away from me!”
The judge was squirming backwards as I quickly grabbed a trophy off the mantel, and before he could react, I cracked him over the head several times until he was unconscious. While he laid on the floor bleeding, I laughed to myself thinking about his facial expression after he shot me. Of course, I had found the revolver when I first examined the room, expecting an asshole like the judge to have a weapon close by. I had removed the hollow points from their casings and filled the ends with candle wax. Before I made another move I quickly tied him up, then sat on the front porch in the dark to see if anyone heard the gunshots. There were firecrackers being set off at the house next-door party, which was the only reason I had planned on making that much noise in the first place. I’ve always wanted to do the blanks in the gun trick, but in most situations, that would have alerted someone.
Around thirty minutes later, I went back into the house and dragged him over to his favorite recliner and sat his unconscious body in it. While he slept, I went to my bag and got some thread, needles, duct tape, and a handful of tools.
When he finally awoke, he found himself in excruciating pain. When he focused in on his projector screen he tried to scream, but the stitches holding his lips together would only allow him to moan. While he was unconscious, I had stripped him of his clothes and sewed his naked body to his chair. His shoulders and love handles were sewn to the back of the chair, his arms to the armrest and his legs to the leg rest. He didn’t have a large mirror handy, but I did find a camcorder, which I had sat on a coffee table that was in front of him. I had connected the camcorder to his projector that was mounted on the ceiling so he could see himself on the screen, which was funny, because his screen, which was built into a wall, was so large he could see every stitch in his body. His image was almost three times the actual size of him; it was like being at the theater, a theater of horror. Over the next minute or so he just sat mortified as he stared in horror at his projector screen. His eyes were bulging out as he examined himself closely. A short bit later, tears started running down his cheeks and he began to whimper like a puppy. When I lit a cigarette, the flame of my lighter caught his eye. He turned his head and looked at me with disbelief in what I had done to him.
He tried to mumble something.
“Believe it or not it’s going to get a whole lot worse than this before the night is over.”
He started frantically looking around the room in hopes that someone would save him from his nightmare.
“Where is your piece of shit son?” The judge had no idea I had already found Richard two days earlier. I just wanted to mess with him a little.
He mumbled through his stitches. “Why are you doing this?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question.” I kicked the leg release, causing the chair to recline back and the leg rest to open, stretching him horizontally. This was causing a great deal of tension to his stitches. He moaned out from the horrific amount of pain. The muscles in his neck were sticking out as he fought the chair from reclining further, and as he squirmed from the excruciating pain it would recline more and more, which in return would cause more tension to his stitches.
“Hey, fuckhead. Where’s Richard hiding?”
He tried to speak, but the stitches in his mouth prevented him from speaking clearly.
“If you don’t tell me now I’m going to cut your package off.”
He mumbled something.
I pulled a knife out of my sheath. His eyes became huge as he stared at the sharp blade with fear, and as he was desperately trying to speak, I was moving the knife towards his family jewels. As soon as the point of the blade touched his sack, he shit all over himself. While he continued to fart, I grabbed the back of the recliner and forced it to the fully reclined position. His stitches were under so much tension that his skin was starting to tear. He was in so much agony he tore his lips apart so he could scream, and before anyone had a chance to hear him I grabbed his mouth. “Now that you can speak, tell me where Richard is hiding.”
“Don’t know. I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in months. Please! Please stop! I told you what you wanted to know.”
I hit him in the head with his revolver to silence him for a while, then went into the kitchen to get something to eat. While I was heating up a Hot Pocket in a microwave I got an idea that seemed interesting. When I was done eating, I took the microwave apart to see how it worked, and after examining it, I removed the door and by-passed the door safety switch and start circuit so the microwave could be turned on and off with the cord. I tested the appliance’s circuits, ensuring they would work as I needed them to, then grabbed a roll of duct tape and the modified microwave and went back into the living room. When the judge awoke about an hour later, he found his mouth had been re-sewn closed. Sweat and blood poured from his naked body and his skin was pale as a ghost as he laid bound in his recliner while staring at his screen. He was in so much agony he just lay motionless. I was sitting on the couch across from him. “Now, are you ready to tell me where Richard is hiding?”
He mumbled through his stitches. “I don’t know.”
Seth was so exhausted he fell asleep as he leaned against Richard’s corpse. A few hours later, he was awakened by the sound of a soft voice. While he sat quietly he tried to focus in on the unusual sound. It wasn’t the normal crying and moaning sounds that haunted the chamber. He could hear a man whispering in a calm voice full of joy as if he was at total peace. While Seth continued to lie still he could hear the man saying, “Father, I know that I am a sinner. I know that Jesus died on the cross for my sins and I thank you so much for my salvation and forgiving me for the things that I’ve done.”
When Seth stood up, he startled the man who was praying—he apparently didn’t know Seth was in the room. Seth walked over to him. The man held his head down silently as he was being bound to the wall by chains.
“Unlike the unfortunate others in this room that will see hell when they die, your suffering will end here after death.”
The man raised his head up and stared at Seth with disbelief. A tear fell from the man’s face as Seth raised his sickle and ended his suffering. Seth lowered the blood-covered sickle to his side, then turned and looked upon some writing on a wall that read, For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoeve
r believeth in him should not parish, but have everlasting life, and for whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.
Seth walked over to Dicky and grabbed the rusted bars. “Death does not come easy in here. Only a very few are granted the relief from their suffering when deserved.”
Dicky stared in uncertainty, for he didn’t understand what had just taken place. Seth tossed his sickle on a table that was covered with different kinds of tools, then left the chamber.
Gateway to Hell
The next morning Seth walked up to Dicky. “Rise and shine, sunshine.”
He was still waking up and didn’t say anything.
“Time is running out, so let’s finish the story about Mr. Potato Head.” Seth sat in a chair that was next to the cell and propped his feet up on the bars. “The judge stuck with his story that he didn’t know where Richard was even though the pain of being sewn to his chair was excruciating. To persuade him to tell the truth, I took the microwave and sat it over his head, then wrapped duct tape under his armpits and over the appliance so he wouldn’t be able to knock it off. I plugged an extension cord in a wall outlet, then sat on a couch with the end of the cord and the microwave’s cord. The judge was lying motionless when I plugged it in. Within a few seconds, he started jerking his head around, and as the microwave hummed, I could hear a weird arcing and popping sound. Around eight seconds later, smoke was starting to puff out from around his neck while he moaned and jerked around violently. Before he passed out I killed the power to the unit. I laid back on the couch while he cried, and as I watched the smoke as it was puffing out from under the microwave, I thought how it wasn’t very appealing; it was actually boring. Within no time, I thought of a more exciting idea, so I removed the microwave from his head and took it back into the kitchen where I completely disassembled it so I could examine the interior sections again. The bottom of the microwave didn’t have any important electrical or mechanical components, so I used a serrated kitchen knife and cut a large u-shaped notch out of the bottom from the door opening side, then reinstalled the door and reassembled the microwave.
The judge was whining and moaning as I slipped the microwave back onto his head, and as I had planned, the u-shaped notch fit his neck perfectly. His head was now centered in the middle of the microwave and the bottom of it sat on his shoulders. There was no need for duct tape, because with the door shut, his head was locked inside. The microwave kind of looked like a comical Abbot and Costello space helmet. Before I sat back on the couch I opened the door to the microwave. “Where is Richard?”
“Don’t know.”
“Awesome.” I closed the door.
He started begging for me not to hurt him anymore, but instead of granting him his request, I sat back on the couch and plugged in the cord. When the interior light came on, I thought how this was going to be much more exciting now that I could see his head through the glass door. His eyes opened wide as the microwaves started burning him, and after a few seconds the arcing and popping sounds started coming from inside the unit again, but I couldn’t tell from what. With curiosity, I kneeled in front of him and searched for the sound, and as I watched with excitement his eyes started swelling from his intraocular fluid heating up. The pain was so intense from every molecule inside his head burning that he tore the stitches from his lips, and when he screamed a puff of smoke came barreling out of his mouth. When the smoke finally cleared, I knew where the arcing and popping sounds were coming from. He had a mouth full of fillings that were arcing, which was just like leaving a fork in the microwave.
In a short period of time, his body began to violently shake and he was starting to tear the stitches out of his skin where he was sewn to the recliner, so I killed the power before his head exploded. Even with the unit off he continued to jerk around and scream, then he vomited all over the inside of the glass door. While I watched him gag, I thought to myself how the power had only been on for about twenty seconds and it must be nice to be able to afford such a high quality appliance. I went into the kitchen to get some popcorn—the smell of burning teeth made me hungry. When I came back into the room I opened the door to the microwave. “Now are you ready to tell me were Richard is hiding?”
He started begging for me not to hurt him anymore and that he would tell me anything I wanted. He told me how he pulled strings to cover up his son’s crime, but he didn’t know his whereabouts. I could sense he was holding back information, but he starting telling on himself after I told him I was really craving popcorn and the only microwave in the house was on top of his head. Over the course of several hours he confessed to a lifetime of corruption. He recalled dates, events, and names of people for whom he covered up their crimes or found not guilty, or gave lesser punishment all for monetary or political gain. He gave me the combination to his safe where he kept written documentation and recordings of conversations of these events just in case he needed to blackmail someone.
Over the next hour, I sat on the edge of the fireplace and quickly skimmed through the files. The judge did have a lot of detailed information about worthless people that should have gone to prison but were unpunished—either they or their family paid him off or helped in advancing his career.
When I was finished looking at the files I reopened one that was very disturbing. “Tell me about Andrew.”
He stayed quiet as he laid in a pool of his own blood, piss and shit, and as he drooled at the mouth he talked to himself.
I got a little aggravated. “Spill the beans, asshole! It’s fucking inevitable!”
He tried to speak but he could barely talk. He was now becoming a little incoherent. The only thing I could figure was his brain was beginning to swell from the damage caused by the microwaves. His ravaged lips were also very swollen and becoming more painful. His eyes were open, but extremely bloodshot and glazed; I think he was blind. His body was covered in fresh and dried blood from where his skin had been torn from the stitches. His head was swaying forward and backwards, causing the door of the microwave to swing open and closed. I gave him an adrenaline injection, and within a few minutes he became coherent again. I showed him the file. “Tell me about Andrew.”
Blood and mucus was running out of his mouth. “What do you want to know? Everything is in there.”
I tossed the files to the side. “It’s bad enough to overlook murders, rapists and thugs, but how could you let a child molester off on a phony technicality?”
He didn’t say a word as he held his head down while sporting a facial expression like a retarded kid.
I grabbed the file. “Oh, let’s see, here it is. I understand now. A hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars did the trick. Lucky for you, and Andrew, his father had a bank full of money. Oh, lookey here. Ain’t this nice. The child’s father went to prison for two years for attacking Andrew with a club after he found out he got off on a technicality. Wealthy criminals must love the American judicial system. Hell, all criminals must love our judicial system.”
He still just sat dumbfounded as he stared at me.
I tossed the file down. “Now I’m hungry for some popcorn.”
The judge cursed me as I walked toward him with the box of Orville Redenbacher’s. He had his second wind I guess because he knew he was probably going to die regardless of how much begging he did.
I tossed a bag of popcorn beside his head. “This is going to be your gateway to hell.”
He started to speak, but I interrupted him by slamming the door in his face. He started throwing his head around in a faint attempt that the appliance might fall off. He was full of adrenaline and was not going to give up without a fight, until I plugged it in. I sat right in front of him and stared through the glass so I could see if his eyes were going to explode. Around fifty seconds into it, the excruciating pain from his head cooking, eyes burning, blood boiling and fillings arcing was so extreme that he tore the flesh from his arms where they had been sewn to the recliner. He started hitting the microwave with his han
ds in a dire panic to hit the stop button—he didn’t know that I had bypassed the circuit. A few seconds later, the foam around his mouth started boiling, and as he screamed, the moisture in his mouth was turning into steam. His facial expression wasn’t anything I had ever seen before, and I had thought I had seen some really fucked up facial expressions. His skin was cooking and started to turn dark in patches across his face. His brain must have been cooking as well, because he was yelling gibberish and his hands were making weird gestures. I remembered seeing a meat thermometer in the kitchen, so I quickly ran and grabbed it off the counter, and when I came back I jammed in into his chest to see what the temperature of his blood would be. About the same time the gauge hit a hundred and twelve, the judge lunged forward and pushed off the recliner with his arms with such momentum that he tore himself loose from the chair. Huge chunks of flesh and stitching lined the chair as he fell forward to the floor like a partially skinned rat. The microwave continued to heat up his head as he frantically flopped around on the floor while he beat, slapped, scratched and tugged at it. A few seconds later, he stopped moving and just laid on his back and screamed. I could see his eyes were grotesquely swollen from the fluid inside of them boiling. Suddenly, he arched his back and screamed at the top of his lungs the same time his left eye exploded, blowing boiling intraocular fluid all over the door. I looked over at the thermometer and it was now reading a hundred and twenty and climbing. To ensure he was dead, I let the fucker cook a few more minutes until brain matter started oozing out of his eye sockets and ears, then unplugged the unit. While he cooled down I read through some more of his files. During my research, I discovered some interesting facts about his wife; she was as sorry as he was. He had kept records on her as well, most likely in case they ever got a divorce.
After I ate some popcorn, I went and rounded up the microwave and its removed parts, the tools that were used to modify it, the broken trophies, the gun and the wax candle that I used to fill the bullet casings. I took them to the upstairs bedroom where the judge’s wife was still in a deep sleep from the sodium thiopental. First, I rubbed her fingers all over the candle, ensuring I got wax under her fingernails. Next I took her fingers and planted her prints on all the items, which included waxy residue. I removed the empty casings from the revolver and added her prints to them. I put the casings back in the cylinder and stuck the gun back in the magazine rack. I threw the microwave and all its parts into a trashcan that was outside. I put the tools back where I found them and tossed the trophies in the fireplace. I took a pair of the woman’s pants, a shirt, pair of socks and shoes from her closet and rubbed some of the judge’s blood on each piece. I washed and dried them and put them back into the closet. I flushed the needle and thread I had used to sew the judge to his recliner down the toilet. I put a fresh set of the woman’s fingerprints on the glass and frame of every picture of the judge, then smashed them throughout the house.
The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore Page 18
