Seth held his hands out, palms up. “Can we continue on?”
He nodded his head as if to say ‘yes’ while he covered his mouth.
“It was quite a few years ago when I read about Wayne in the newspaper. He made headline news for beating his youngest three-year-old son, Devin, to death with a piece of broom handle. I followed the trial for months, and during that time I learned he had abused all three of his kids from the day they were born. His first two children had been taken from him for child abuse a few years before Devin’s birth. When he went back to prison for aggravated assault, his common-law wife divorced him and somehow regained custody of them. According to testimony and prison records, she continued to see him in prison and have conjugal visits. A couple of years later, Wayne moved in with his ex-wife after he was released from prison, then they had Devin shortly after. When Devin was three, Wayne had beaten him so horribly that the child suffered a broken arm, leg and four cracked ribs. The child died several days later in the hospital from hemorrhaging in the brain. The paper stated throughout the trial that his common-law wife had defended Wayne. She told reporters that Devin’s death was an accident and she forgave her husband. Wayne received twenty-five years in prison and I figured I would be dead of lung cancer by the time he was released, so I forgot about him until about four years ago when he popped up in the news again. He had served nine years and was released on early parole for good behavior. This time he, along with these two assholes, was being accused of killing and mutilating fifty-three dogs and cats at an animal shelter. The paper stated the three men had broken into the shelter in the middle of the night to steal drugs, and for no reason at all they tortured and killed all the animals. The owners of the shelter said some of the animals had been burned alive in their cages, and the others had been beaten so badly with baseball bats that they were unrecognizable. Some of the animals had been tied to chairs so they couldn’t move, and their heads had been almost knocked off with the bats. The three men were out on bail waiting for their trial, and because there wasn’t much time, I quickly gathered everything that I thought I might need and hauled ass to Arkansas.
During the drive, I used my laptop and researched the other two men. I needed to learn as much as possible about them to determine if I needed to bring them back with Wayne, or just torture the shit out of them as they did the animals and leave them in a ditch. The online information stated Mark was twenty-eight and Jack was twenty-four, and they both had spent most of their early teen years in and out of juvenile camps or on juvenile probation for a combined list of crimes such as assault and battery, car theft, robbery, drug possession and sales, DUI, shoplifting and attempted rape. Both punks had spent even more time in jail after the age of eighteen for the same type of crimes; they were apparently carrier pieces of shit.
That night I stayed in a motel about fifty miles away from where Wayne lived in a crappy mobile home park, and for the next several days I drove back and forth from the motel so I could case out the area at a couple of hours at a time to avoid drawing attention to myself. After a short time of snooping around, I found out Mark and Jack spent a lot of their time in a run-down bar that was located on a wooded highway a little way outside of town. Wayne spent most of his time, when he wasn’t drunk or high, at his buddy’s auto shop located in the center of a wrecking yard. When the two punks weren’t at the bar, they would hang out at the wrecking yard with Wayne. All three had become acquainted in jail and were now friends. Wayne was known as the town thug and hot-rodder who liked to street race. He was also known as ‘Bruiser’ because he was constantly in fights.
When I decided to make my move, and before I went into town, I pulled my car into a wooded area so I could disguise it a different way because it was my personal vehicle. My car is a modified 1967 Pontiac GTO. I use it when I think that I might need the additional horsepower or for the protection. My car is painted midnight black, so I re-painted it white with temporary auto paint using rattle cans. It’s the same stuff I used on the Crown Victoria when I went after the rapist. It wasn’t the greatest job, but it was better than having my car pointed out in a line up. While the paint dried, I changed its appearance by swapping out the rims and tires with a different style. I changed out the style of my taillights and added fog lights. I also added peel and stick vinyl strips to the top, which give my car the appearance of having a vinyl top. I always keep exterior accessory parts in the trunk and backseat, which I’ve pre-fitted, so I can change the appearance of it quickly. It’s too easy for the police to trace tire tracks, so I always have an extra set of tires and rims, which I dispose of afterwards. My car would only be seen at a distance and it would be dark, so I doubted anyone would notice the paint job or the seams in the vinyl top.
When the sun set, I left the wooded area and headed down the highway. On the way into town I made a pass by the run-down bar to see if Jack’s girlfriend’s truck was in the parking lot. Mark was a free loader and always rode with Jack, who wasn’t much better, because his only transportation was his girlfriend’s truck. When I drove by I noticed the truck wasn’t there, so my odds increased in getting all three. My main goal was Wayne, but three would be a charm. When I approached the gate that entered the wrecking yard, I could see light coming from the shop, so I slowly drove down a gravel road through stacks of wrecked vehicles. The road made a circle in front of the shop, and as I slowly drove by I revved my engine, then I casually drove back towards the gate. While I drove away I could see through my rear-view mirror that Wayne was watching me as he stood at an overhead door wiping his hands with a rag.
Thirty minutes later while I was cruising around town, a lime green, early seventies Chevy Nova started following me, and when I stopped at a red light, the car pulled up next to me on my driver’s side. Through my tinted windows, I could tell Wayne was driving and his two bitches were with him. Wayne honked the horn while Mark held his arm out and signaled for me to roll down my window.
When I rolled it down, Wayne yelled out, “You must want an ass whippin’, boy?”
I held out a huge roll of one-hundred dollar bills as I revved my engine. “Anywhere, anytime.”
Wayne laughed in a smart-ass way as he said, “If you got the balls, follow me.” He spun his tires and took off. I carefully watched where I was going as I followed him into the country so I could find my way back. It seemed he was leading me to a very secluded area as we drove down a narrow two-lane farm road. I wasn’t sure what he had up his sleeve, but I figured he was up to something when we headed down a gravel road—street racers usually like to race on pavement. After about three more miles we finally pulled up to a gate that entered a pasture. While Mark opened the gate, Jack ran up to my car. “The local police have been cracking down on racers, so we’re going to an old section of abandoned highway that is down in the pasture.”
“Sounds great,” I replied.
I watched Mark shut and locked the gate behind me. I had a gut feeling these assholes were up to something. The pasture was pitch-black as I followed them down a dirt path, and as we got further from the farm road, I thought to myself I couldn’t have picked a better place to take out these idiots. I knew there was a fifty-fifty chance things could go severely wrong because there were three of them against me. I wasn’t too worried about the two bitches, but Wayne was a huge muscled thumper and I was going to have to knock his lights out before he knocked mine out.
Finally, after a half-mile or so, Wayne came to a stop on an old paved road, and after all three of them got out of the car, I turned off my engine and got out.
When I walked over to them, Wayne adjusted his balls. “We’re doing this for pink slips and that wad of cash you got.”
I adjusted my balls. “You got the cash to back up my wad?”
Wayne laughed as he pulled out a large pistol. “No. I spent it all on this hand cannon.”
While Wayne held me at gunpoint, Mark jumped into my car, and as he spun a cloud of dust into the air, Jack walked over to
me. “You’re pretty stupid fella. Now, how’s about giving me that roll.”
I handed him the rolled-up bills, then he tossed it to Wayne. When Wayne felt the roll, he noticed something wasn’t right, and after examining it closer, he pulled a cylindrical object out of it. About the same time, he said, “What the fuck,” I covered my eyes, and a second later there was a loud bang, the ground shook, and the dark instantly became bright as the sun for a fraction of a second. I immediately ran to the side as Wayne screamed while shooting in the direction I had been standing. Seconds later as Wayne and Jack stumbled around as they tried to regain their sight and hearing, I quickly ran up behind Wayne and knocked him in the head with a Billy club. When his muscled body hit the asphalt, I kicked Jack in the nuts and finished him off by stomping on his head. I removed some earplugs from my ears as the two ass clowns laid on the ground.
The flash and bang had come from a homemade flash grenade that Wayne had triggered when he pulled it from the roll of money. The grenade didn’t affect me because I was farther away from Wayne and I had covered my eyes, and I was also wearing industrial-grade earplugs. Time was ticking, so I quickly injected them with sodium thiopental and tossed them into Wayne’s car, then drove towards the gate. A few hundred feet down the dirt road I came up on Mark as he was walking back towards us. When I pulled up next to him in the dark he said, “The fucking car just died and won’t start.”
“It has a kill switch on a delay relay that cuts power to the ignition system.”
He was startled for a bit, then took off running when he realized Wayne wasn’t driving the car. He was heading towards the gate when I ran smooth over him. I could feel the car bounce as the tires ran over his body. When the car smoothed out, I stopped and got the key to the gate out of his pocket, loaded him into the trunk, then drove on down towards the exit where I found my car stalled out. After I parked next to mine, I opened both trunks. I was surprised to find Mark still alive, so I injected him with sodium thiopental, hog-tied and gagged all three of them, then moved them to the trunk of my car. Since the area was secluded, I wiped the temporary paint off my car using shop towels and a special paint remover that is designed for the temporary paint. I also removed the vinyl strips from the roof and all the added parts, but I left the tires and rims on and would dispose of them when I got home. Before I left, I put a gas can and a leaf blower in Wayne’s car, then drove back to where the flash grenade had gone off and cleaned up the area. I doused his car with gas and set up a long, slow burning fuse. My car was around two hundred yards away, so I used the leaf blower to erase my footprints and tire tracks as I walked back to it. I waited at the gate until Wayne’s car burst into flames, then I took off for home.
The next morning when I pulled into my garage, I dragged the three stooges into the chamber and stuck them into some stockades until I could decide what to do with them. Since they were unconscious, I supported their bodies with ropes that were hanging from the ceiling so their necks wouldn’t be in a bind. I didn’t want them to see the monstrosities in the chamber at first, so I set up six-foot-tall dividers around the front of the racks where their heads were. When I removed their clothes, I noticed all three of them were covered with tattoos. Jack had full sleeves and forty percent of his body was covered with them. He had some cool ones. Wayne had a large piece on his back and a few on his arms and legs. Mark’s looked like crappy prison tattoos and they were scattered across his body in no particular order, rhyme or reason. He looked like stereotypical white trash from the trailer park.
Later that day, a very aggressive and hostile Wayne regained consciousness, and as he hung in the stockade, he cursed and threatened me more than anyone else I had ever brought into the chamber. The huge muscles in his arms were flexing and the veins in his neck protruded out as he fought at the stockade. The other two pricks whined and cried for me to release them, which aggravated the shit out of Wayne. He cursed them for being pussies as they begged for help, and he threatened to beat the shit out of them when he got loose. He was making me laugh as I stood in front of him, and as I was heckling, he raised his head up as much as possible and stared directly into my eyes. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
I stuck my hand next to my mouth and gasped. “Oh my!”
He smiled with a chicken shit grin. “You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”
I kicked him under his chin as hard as I could.
He spit out some blood, then gave me a death stare. “I’m going to prison rape you, boy!”
I kicked him again, and this time he spit out two of his top teeth. He became so infuriated he started violently jerking around inside the stockade as he tried to break himself loose, and as he ferociously fought at the replicated torture device, I could hear the wood crack and pop as if it was going to shatter into pieces at any moment. Before he had a chance to break himself loose, I started kicking him over and over in the face and didn’t stop until he was dazed.
Jack looked up at me. “Why are you doing this? You got your car back.”
I walked off and came back with a picture that I clipped from the newspaper regarding the animal shelter incident. I held it out in front of him so he could see it. “Recognize this bullshit?”
“Are you one of those animal activist guys?”
“I’m a guy who takes up for the innocent, humans or animals.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“Really? So, it wasn’t you that tortured and killed all those helpless animals?”
“Nope.”
“I guess you’re just into creating havoc for innocent people.”
He thought for a moment. “People? I’ve never done anything to anyone.”
I held out his criminal history report so he could see it. “That’s not me.”
I opened his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license. “Matches, pal.”
“That’s fake.”
I examined it closer. “Nope, it’s real.”
“Actually, it’s my brother’s.”
I had to think for a moment as I flipped his license between my fingers. “Here’s how it’s going to go down. I’m not going to torture the shit out of the wrong person, so I’ll run your prints for verification. If you’re not the asshole responsible for these crimes I will simply cut your hands off and let you bleed to death for trying to steal my car. If I find out that it’s you, I will… Here, let me just show you so you can have an idea of what it will be like.”
Wayne had a full back piece tattoo—a scene of hell—and it looked like it was inspired from Dante’s Inferno. I really wanted it hanging on the wall, so I walked to his side while he was still dazed and started cutting into the flesh on his back with a box knife. He quickly regained his composure and screamed and jumped around hysterically as I cut around the outline of his tattoo. He really screamed when I ripped the large piece of skin from his back. In fact, he had screamed so loud that my ears were ringing. Blood was running down both of his sides and down his backside, so I took a large medical pad, which looked like a puppy pad, and laid it over the wound. When I walked back in front of them, Wayne was foaming at the mouth and Jack was crying. I hung the artwork on the partition in front of them, then walked up to Jack. “I like all of your tattoos as well.”
He quickly weighed his options, then blurted out, “I lied.”
“No, I think it was your brother who did it.”
Jack begged and pleaded as I stood in front of him cleaning the blood off my razor blade. I knew he didn’t have a brother because I had looked up that information on the Internet. I wanted him to admit to what he had done. “If you really did it then give me details. And I also want to know everything bad that you have ever done. And remember, I know a lot more than you think, so I really want you to lie so I can have some more tattoo wall art.”
Over the next hour or so his recollections matched everything on his criminal report and coincided with the information in the news article regarding the animal cruelty. He even told
on himself about other things where he didn’t get caught.”
Human Octopus
Seth looked at the two men that were lying next to him bound in the bone cradle, then laughed. “These two are some real dumb asses.” He looked at Dicky. “I almost feel sorry for them.”
“That didn’t stop you from being cruel, though.”
Seth picked up a picture that was lying in the bone cradle and tossed it in his cell. “Look at it.”
He picked it up and noticed it was a picture of the animal shelter aftermath.
“Now, that’s some cruel shit.”
“They’re just animals.”
“And you’re just a piece of shit.”
He started to speak, but decided to remain quiet.
“That comment is definitely going to cost you later.”
“But I….”
“Shut the fuck up! You already opened your mouth.”
“But…”
Seth pointed at him. “Do I need to come over there and treat you like an animal?”
He looked at Seth with a confused look. He didn’t know if he was supposed to respond.
“Well?”
“Uh, no.”
“Good answer. I don’t torture animals.”
He rolled his eyes.
“That’s gonna cost you also. And keep the fuck quiet. I want to finish story time.”
He put his head down.
Seth laid back on the cradle next to one of the men to get comfortable. “Around this time, I noticed Mark was in bad shape and getting worse from the shattered bones in his left leg. He would die from an infection if I didn’t operate immediately. Since he probably had other severe injuries, he was most likely going to die even if I amputated his leg, so I planned on doing some experimental surgery on him before he did. He didn’t fight as I dragged him across the chamber and over to the operating table—he was pretty much in and out of consciousness and didn’t notice all the barbaric shit around him. I needed him to be in a deep sleep, so I anesthetized him with sodium thiopental through an intravenous catheter. Ten minutes later, I began the grueling surgery. I started by slightly cutting him from his waist to his ankle, and as I made pass after pass, cutting deeper and deeper into his muscle, I made sure that I didn’t cut into the larger arteries and veins. It took hours before I finally exposed his trochanter, femur, fibula and tibia, and as the flesh on his leg laid wide open, I removed his bones one at a time as I cut them from the muscles and ligaments. I wasn’t sure what to do with the muscles in his leg because they weren’t attached to anything anymore, so I sewed each end of a muscle to other muscle, technically making one long muscle from his hip to his ankle. Most of the surgery was spent on controlling the massive amount of bleeding. The traditional methods of clamping, cauterization, vasoconstriction and such perform well, but at that time I had started using an experimental solution containing peptides that worked wonders, saving time in the process.
The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore Page 35
