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

by Garrett, Wade H.

  At the crack of dawn, I checked out of the motel and hitchhiked back to where my car was hidden, then drove several towns away and rented a hotel room. I went back to the bar the next night just before closing time and sat in the parking lot in my car. Just like clockwork, David came out at 2 AM and hauled ass on his motorcycle. He was swerving all over the road and riding his bike like a maniac as I inconspicuously followed the drunken bastard. Around ten miles down the road he pulled into a run-down piece of shit trailer park. I would have followed him in, but there were a bunch of backass swamp fuckers hanging out by a grill, grilling gator dicks.

  The next morning when I drove back through his trailer park I noticed there were too many snaggletooth dogs and welfare recipients for me to grab him without being seen, so I went back to my hotel. Later that night, I snuck up to the bar and poured some sand into his gas tank. I also pissed in his helmet. While I waited for two o’clock, I tied a long rope to the back of my car and I tied a large ice hook to the other end, and when I got back into my car I pulled the slack up in the rope through my driver’s window so it wouldn’t drag the ground. A little after two o’clock, David jumped on his bike and took off down the highway. The first part of my plan had failed—I was hoping he wouldn’t wear his helmet because of the urine, but he was either too drunk to notice or just fucking nasty. After a mile or so down the road I noticed he was pulling over—the sand had clogged his fuel filter and restricted the flow of gas to his engine. I passed on by and went about a half a mile up and turned around. When I came back I pulled into the oncoming lane and parked where my driver’s side window was right next to him. “Hey, you need a hand?”

  He seemed agitated as he slurred his words. “I don’t know yet, I might need a ride.”

  He paused for a moment as he glared at me. “Hey man. I thought you were blind.”

  I pointed out the window towards his engine. “Hey dude, there’s something leaking out the bottom of your engine.”

  He forgot about me and kneeled between my car and his bike so he could locate the leak. “Man, I don’t see anything leaking.”

  Before he had a chance to get up, I leaned out my car window and drove the ice hook into his back just under his shoulder, then stomped on the gas pedal. I could hear him screaming as I drove down the highway. A quarter mile or so down I turned onto a narrow gravel road, and after a short way I stopped the car and jumped out. When I ran to the back I was surprised to find he was getting up off the gravel. He looked like he had been playing in flour—he was covered from head to toe with dust from the road base. He was extremely pissed as he was trying to figure out what the hell had just happened, and as I approached him with a club, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to knock him out because he was wearing the helmet, which was the reason I had pissed in it. He was still stumbling around as I started hitting him in the stomach and crotch, but the bastard was tough and the club wasn’t doing much damage. The only reason he wasn’t able to fight back was because he had dust in his eyes, but he did do plenty of swearing and threatening. He finally pulled out a knife, so I jumped back into my car and took off down the gravel road again, and I didn’t take my foot off the accelerator until the screaming and yelling stopped. This time when I ran to the back of my car his helmet was missing and he was unconscious. I quickly stuck him into my trunk, tied him up with duct tape and injected him with a sedative. Before I headed out I found his helmet—it would suck to be connected to a kidnapping from DNA that was recovered from my piss. I also wanted to mess with the police, so I drove back to his bike and put several rotted limbs and body parts in his saddlebags. The limbs and parts belonged to a murderer that I had run across ten years prior.

  When I got back home, I dragged his unconscious body into the chamber and tied him inside this wooden box. I removed his clothes and ran an IV to his arm. He had obtained some serious scrapes during the dragging, so I treated and bandaged them. He also had bruising and probably a mild concussion, and maybe whiplash, and the best way to treat those was rest, so I closed the lid and left him in the dark.

  Several days later I opened the lid. He was obviously upset. I didn’t disguise myself like I had with most of the other ones. I simply wore a skull mask with a ragged leather cowl. I also had him positioned in the chamber so he couldn’t see any of the horrific sights—I wanted him to remember other things instead of the monstrosities in the chamber.

  He squinted as he tried to focus on me. “What the fuck are you doing, man? What the hell! Why the fuck do you have me tied up? Untie me, man. What am I doing here? Why the fuck am I naked? Are you some kind of fruitcake?”

  I showed him a picture of Anna, the little girl he had run over when he was drunk.

  He stopped trying to get loose as he focused on the picture. “Why are you showing me that? That’s…. That’s the girl…. I… Why am I here? Are you going to kill me?”

  I lowered the picture. “There are many things much worse than being dead.”

  He looked at me with uncertainty.

  “I assure you that you will understand this in due time. But first you need to tell me what happened.”

  “Fuck you, dude! I don’t know shit.”

  “If you say so.” I shut the lid of the wooden box.

  Ten days later I opened the lid. A foul odor poured out and engulfed the surrounding air—he had defecated and pissed all over himself. He was asleep, and when he awoke he immediately started jerking around. “You sick and twisted son of a bitch! Is this your idea of payback for the girl? Just wait until I get out of here! I’m going to fucking kill you, cocksucker!”

  I started to close the lid, but he quickly changed his attitude. “I did it. I did it. Please don’t close me up in here anymore. I ran over the girl because I was drunk.”

  Wow, I thought. I’ve never had a confession that quick. It usually takes a lot of pain and suffering before these scumbags tell on themselves. I scratched my head as I looked at him. “So, you have a phobia of what?”

  He stared at me.

  “Claustrophobia?”

  He didn’t respond and just continued to stare.

  “Of the dark?”

  His facial expression still didn’t change.

  “You don’t like to be alone.”

  His facial expression changed.

  “That’s it, pal, monophobia.”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond. “I… You know…”

  “It’s okay, pal. We’re going to see if we can break you of that nasty disorder.”

  “This is why you have me in here? Is this your sick way of trying to help me?”

  “Yeah, that’s it, pal. I’m just a weirdo that goes around and tries to fix other people’s problems.”

  The dumbass thought I was serious. “First, I’ve sought help, and this type of sick shit’s not going to help. Who put you up to this? And who the fuck do you think you are? You have no right to do this. I am going to have you arrested. And why the fuck are you wearing that stupid mask? How do you know me? Do I know you or something?”

  I just stood there and remained silent.

  “Answer me, you fucking idiot!”

  “It apparently didn’t work. We’ll see. No one. Your worst nightmare. And you had no right to kill that girl. Really. Cause I can. From what I read about you in the news. No.”

  He looked at me like I was crazy.

  “I’m not repeating that shit, but basically your ass is going to pay for what you did, and in the process, we’re going to rid you of that phobia.”

  “He started getting upset as he stared me. “You better back the fuck off and let me go before I …”

  “Before what?”

  “You’re not going to get away with this shit.”

  “And you’re going to be locked in this box for the rest of your life.”

  “You motherfucker I am going….”

  I took a cattle prod and shoved it into his mouth, and when I pulled the trigger his body shook violently as blue arcs jumpe
d around between his teeth, gums and tongue. Thirty or forty seconds later, he starting foaming at the mouth, then his body went limp. I quickly checked his vitals—for a second there I thought the pussy had died. When he finally came around and regained his composure, he started cursing me again, so I started shocking him in the face and eyes with the cattle prod. The blue arcs were jumping around his face as he begged for me to stop, yelling that he would cooperate and do whatever I wanted him to do. I shut it off.

  He was breathing heavily as he stared at me. “Why are you fucking doing this to me?”

  I zapped him in the mouth again. “Watch your tongue.”

  “Fuck you, motherfucker! I’m going to fucking kill you!”

  He continued to scream out profanity and threats as I grabbed a pair of wide nose Vise Grips off a nearby table covered with tools and unusual items. He quickly saw the tool in my hand when I came back, so when I tried to open his mouth he threw his head around to stop me; he looked like a kid that was being punished by having to lick on a bar of soap. I finally got a good grip on his chin, but I couldn’t pry his mouth open—he had very strong jaw muscles. Before I lost my temper and broke every bone in his face with a hammer, I walked off so I could think of a more rational way to make him submit.

  Later that day as I was walking by him he spit at me. “Yeah, that’s right. Fuck you!”

  I had gotten sidetracked and was doing some other things around the chamber, so I walked over to a table and grabbed a hammer and a nail, and when I approached him I smiled. “You must need some fucking attention.”

  He fought to hold his mouth closed as I stood in front of him holding a sixteen-penny nail, but as soon as I drove the tip of it into the front of his chinbone he screamed, and he continued to scream with every blow of the hammer. It took about ten good whacks to get through the bone. The nail had penetrated a couple of inches and was poking the end of his tongue. When I grabbed the nail and pulled down, his stubborn ass lowered his head to prevent his mouth from opening, so I drove long nails under his scalp and into the bottom of the wooden box. When I pulled down on the nail again, he opened his mouth wide open. I took the Vise Grips and positioned its knurled jaw tips in the center of his tongue. He wasn’t fighting me too much until I smashed the shit out of his tongue. The tool was so tight that his tongue had ruptured on each side and blood was gushing out of the open wounds. His eyes looked as if they were going to pop as I let go of the Vise Grips, which stay latched until they are unlatched. I could hear his teeth grinding against the metal as I walked over to a table and grabbed a comealong. He was trying to scream, but his mouth was full of nickel-chromium steel, and as he squirmed around, gagged and moaned, I secured the comealong to a nearby post, then pulled the cable over to his mouth. He tried to speak as I secured the cable to the Vise Grips, but all he was able to do was mumble unrecognizable words. He had a grimace of terror as I started ratcheting the comealong, and as the slack in the cable was being taken up, I could see the desperation in his eyes as he stared at me with fear. He started to make a howling sound when the cable became tight, and with every ratchet his tongue came farther out of his mouth, and with each click he howled louder. Not only was the cable applying a great deal of tension to his tongue, but it was also causing the long nails that were driven under his scalp to tear from his flesh as his head was being forced away from the back of the wooden box. Blood was pouring from around the nails and the sides of his tongue, and he had begun to vomit, piss and shit at the same time. When his tongue was stretched about three times its normal length his body went into convulsions and he passed out. There was no sense in continuing if he couldn’t feel it, so I relieved the tension on the cable and left the room for the night.

  The next morning David looked exhausted. His tongue was extremely swollen and looked like it was getting infected. The flesh around the nails was swollen and his hair was matted and covered with clotted blood.

  I leaned up against the box. “Hey, pal, your tongue is getting infected. We have two options for treatment. I can remove the Vise Grips, clean the wounded areas and give you antibiotics, or I can continue on with the comealong and rip your tongue out of your mouth, and then treat the nub.”

  He didn’t seem like he was paying much attention as he laid in misery, so I jerked on the Vise Grips. He tried to mumble something as tears rolled down his cheeks, but I really couldn’t tell what he was trying to say. It sounded like, help me pee, but I don’t think that was it, because when I had pulled on the Vise Grips he had pissed on himself. I repeated myself again about the condition of his tongue and the options in treating it. He became excited when I had mentioned ripping it out, so because I couldn’t understand what he was trying to say, I went with his reaction.

  I walked over to the comealong. “If you wish.”

  He was mumbling something as he stared in horror.

  “Okay, okay, I’m hurrying.” I started cranking on the handle.

  His tongue came out of his mouth about eight inches before it popped like a rubber band. Blood was squirting out of the stub and his eyes were rolled into the back of his head as his body jerked around. A few seconds later he fell unconscious, so I took advantage of the peace and quiet and cut out what remained of his tongue, cleaned and stitched the wound, and connected him to an intravenous bag filled with antibiotics and nourishment.

  A few days later when I came back into the chamber I found David asleep, so I slapped him in the face to wake him. “Today is the day.”

  He looked at me with relief—he was ready to die.

  The physical pain was bad enough, but he also couldn’t stand not having attention. He had a bad case of monophobia, which was unfortunate because he really wasn’t going to like what I had in store for him. His relieved look changed to a worried look as I stuck a homemade firecracker deep into each of his ears. He mumbled out loudly and stared in disbelief as I lit the fuses. “The last thing you will hear will be,” I paused for a second or two, and then I clearly said, “Anna.”

  POW! POW!

  He screamed hysterically as his eyes rolled wildly in his head. While blood ran out of his ears, I grabbed a large syringe and stuck the needle into his right eye. He screamed out louder as I pulled back on the plunger and sucked the fluid out of his eyeball. His eye looked like a shriveled-up raisin when all the fluid was drained. His body was shaking and he was dry heaving as I pulled his deflated eyeball out of his eye socket with a pair of needle nose pliers. He was in excruciating pain and about to pass out, so I quickly held the picture of Anna right in front of his left eye. A couple of minutes later, he finally calmed down and was laying very still as he stared at the picture, and as he focused on nothing else, I took a metal rod with a sharp hook on the end and tore into his left eye. He passed out about the same time that intraocular fluid started dripping from his face. While he slept, I removed the nails from his head, washed him down and treated his wounds. For sanitary reasons, I redirected his large intestine to an ostomy baseplate that connected to a hose instead of a bag, and I also catheterized him. Both of the waste hoses ran to a trench drain outside the box so I wouldn’t have to clean up after him.

  Over the next several weeks I treated his wounds to help prevent them from getting infected. As time passed I opened the box less and less. David has been bound inside this wooden box for years, laying in total darkness with no ability to see, hear or speak as he is forced to think about what he did to Anna. Occasionally I will wash his body and the inside of the box with a water hose and treat any sores or infections that he gets. Sometimes I have to place foam blocks under different parts of his back so I can elevate and treat the portions that get pressure ulcers.”

  Seth shut the lid on the wooden box, then walked over to Dicky. “Death is sometimes better than being alive.”

  Human Shit Factory

  Dicky remained silent after hearing the story about David. He had been hearing one sadistic story after another. Seth grabbed the bars. “Wow! No fucking comm
ent?”

  He started to speak, but then shook his head and looked down.

  “Say it!”

  He looked up. “It’s horrible what you did to that man.”

  “You continue to surprise me with your fucking comments. You know…” Seth paused for a moment. “Fuck it! Let’s move on.” Seth spun around and walked over to a torso of a man hanging a few feet from the ceiling. He was suspended horizontally and face down by large cables that were secured to four large hooks that were stuck through his flesh. The hooks were driven under each of his shoulder blades and one in each side of his buttocks. The man’s legs and arms had been cut off, and his stubs were still wrapped in blood-covered gauze. To prevent his head from hanging, he had a medium sized hook driven into each of his temples, and there were cables secured to them that attached back to the main cables that were connected to the hooks in his shoulders. The man’s penis had a large piercing ring stuck through the head. The ring had a small diameter chain hanging from it that was connected to a set of weights. His urethra had been cut and pulled out at the base of his penis, and as it hung out to the side, urine was slowly dripping from it. The man’s intestines had been pulled out through a hole in the middle of his abdomen, and it was sewn to the flesh of his body. His intestines ran up his right side to his back, then across his back and over to his head. The end of his colon was sewn to his forehead. Feces was oozing out and running down his face before dripping to the floor. There were two intravenous bags hanging above, which were secured to one of the larger cables that were suspending him, and tubing ran from the bags to butterfly needles that were inserted into the sides of his neck. The man had a human foot inserted into his ass, and the attaching leg had the knee bent so the upper portion of the leg was towards his left ass check where it appeared to be permanently connected to his flesh. Blood-covered gauze was around the joint, indicating it had been recently done. There were fresh wounds that had been stitched around the upper portion of the leg, and all the stitching and wounds looked to be recent as well, and the coloration of the flesh on the leg indicated it was circulating blood.