During the entire long and grueling operation, I had to bear the sound of Wayne’s loud and obnoxious mouth; he was screaming curse words and threats at me and Jack for what had happened to his back. So, when the last stitch was sewn, I walked directly over to Wayne and shoved a large knife into the side of his cheek, through his mouth and out the other cheek, then cut outwards from his mouth, which cut his top and bottom lips apart.
He tried to scream, but the large amount of blood that was gushing from his mouth caused him to gag as he fought for air. I quickly used a hemostatic agent on his cuts to stop the bleeding—it would be a shame if he died from a couple of gashes. Now that Wayne was quiet, I went back to the germ-free tent and monitored Mark’s vital signs. I wanted him to recover, so I administered antibiotics and a sedative through his intravenous catheter. The antibiotics would help with infections, and the sedative would help him rest so he wouldn’t agitate his leg by trying to move it. And to help it heal faster, I covered his leg with a plastic bag and filled it with pure oxygen. If he didn’t die, I planned on administering the topical oxygen therapy for sixty minutes a day for four days, followed by a short resting period, and repeating the cycle as needed.
When I checked on Wayne a short time later, I found him passed out—the big tough guy must have had a glass jaw. It’s funny how some of the weaker ones can take a horrendous amount of pain, but the big bad asses faint at a sight of a needle. While I knelt in front of him and checked his wounds, Jack cried out, “Please let me go. Wayne made me do it all. I didn’t want to rob you. I think you’re cool.”
I ignored the suck ass as I was trying to wake up Wayne. He was in a very deep sleep, so I slapped him across the face, and when he finally awoke, I started pulling out his teeth with a pair of pliers. By the time I had pulled three or four of them, he had passed out again. I waited several minutes until he regained consciousness before I started back, and I was only able to pull two more before he went unconscious again. I only pulled his teeth when he was awake, and it took hours of him screaming at the top of his lungs and passing out before all of them were lying on the floor. It had been a very long day, so I picked up his teeth, and after I slapped the shit out of Wayne’s face a couple of times, I headed upstairs for a quick nap.
Several hours later when I came back into the chamber, I walked up to Jack and hung a tooth necklace around his neck. Wayne looked over at the blood-covered necklace and became instantly hostile. Even though it was extremely painful for him to move his mouth, his absolute hatred for me allowed his anger to boost up his adrenaline enough to overcome it as he cursed and made threats. Clots of blood and snot were dangling from his mouth and face as he snarled like a pit-bull. I started laughing at him because the cuts in his cheeks and the swelling around his gums prevented him from pronouncing his words correctly; he sounded retarded. He became very violent as I stood next to him laughing. He glared at me with hate in his eyes. “Ib gon ta ill ya, den rison uk ew n da ash.”
I looked at Jack. “To translate, he told me he is going to kill me, then prison fuck me in the ass.”
I reached over and slapped Wayne across his swollen and ravaged face. “What are you, some type of sick homo? All you do is talk about fucking someone in the ass.”
“Ib gon ta kill ya.”
I slapped him again. “Do you want to fuck me or kill me? Or maybe you just like to butt fuck dead people.”
“Uck u and your mama… Bitsh.”
I walked over to the dividers and moved them out of the way. Wayne’s facial expression went from an aggressive look to a very terrified one, and Jack started crying. Wayne started to say something, but I grabbed the top of the stockade and inserted the end of my boot into his mouth, then pushed the weight of my body upwards using his lower jaw as a step. To his horror, I started bouncing up and down, and with every thrust the cuts in his cheeks tore deeper as the joints in his jaw cracked and popped. Finally, his jaw snapped and my boot slipped out of his mouth. When he finished screaming, he tried to close his mouth, but it wouldn’t move. I had stretched and torn the ligaments and tendons in his temporomandibular joints. I bitch slapped him across the face again, then walked over to where Jack was being quiet as a mouse. “You want a TMJ disorder also?”
He held his head down and didn’t say a word.
Over the course of several hours as I tortured a few others in the chamber, I would occasionally look across the room towards Wayne and ask, “Did you say something?” and when he wouldn’t reply I would say, “I didn’t think so.” Before I left the chamber for the evening, I inserted an 18th-century Roman medical instrument called a vaginal dilator, or speculum, in the ass of Wayne and cranked it until he almost tore. He was crying as I walked in front of him, and as tears ran down his face, I slapped him a couple of times across his bloody and swollen cheeks, then exited the room.
Mark’s heart monitor continuously alerted me throughout the night. The tent he was in was made of clear plastic, so he was able to see the outlines and shadows, and hear the gory sounds, of some of the monstrosities that surrounded him. His erratic heartbeat was a combination of his leg hurting and his fear. Every time I went down to the chamber to check on him, and each time I left, I would slap Wayne across the face. He wouldn’t even look up at me as I slapped him, but I could sense he was cursing me in his head.
A few days later, I had to amputate Mark’s foot due to an internal infection caused from his shattered metatarsal bones. He wasn’t very happy about losing his foot. He was really going to be upset when he found out what I had done to his leg. Up to that point he had thought I had repaired his broken bones.
It was late in the evening a couple of days later when Mark started screaming, so I walked over to check on him. He was frantically feeling his leg through the bandages.
“What’s wrong, pal?”
He looked up at me with fear and uncertainty. “There’s something fucking wrong.”
I laughed. “Yeah, you’re in the middle of a fucking torture chamber.”
“Look! My leg is wiggling around and it’s killing me! What’s fucking wrong with it?”
While I watched, I noticed it was slightly moving around as his muscles contracted, and because there wasn’t any bone structure, it was wiggling around like a slug. This hadn’t happened until now. The only thing I could figure that was causing it was I had stopped his muscle relaxers a day earlier, and now with each passing minute it was getting worse. Around fifteen minutes later, he started screaming as his leg began to violently twist and bend in all directions. He tried to hold it straight, but it was moving in too many places. “My bones! The car must have crushed my bones! Please make it stop!”
While he freaked out, I grabbed a box and dumped its contents onto his stomach. He just sat dumbfounded as he stared in horror at a pile of blood-covered bones. “There’s your problem, pal. Your damn bones have fallen out.”
He looked up at me and started crying as I was throwing them back into the box.
“Don’t be so sad, pal. I could have cut your leg off.”
Over the course of several weeks Mark required intravenous antibiotic therapy to control the internal infection in his leg. It took a couple of months for him to fully recover, but for some reason he would scream from the pain in his leg. I’m not sure why having no bones in your leg is painful, but every time his slug of a leg would move he would scream at the top of his lungs. It was so damn hideous looking, and the way it moved around was so unnatural, that I decided to perform the same surgery on his other leg and both arms. Wayne and Jack watched me for months as I worked on Mark and tortured others in the chamber. I pretty much ignored them, except for the slap across Wayne’s face as I came and went and the occasional crank on his vaginal dilator. Over the course of ignoring them, Wayne didn’t make a sound, but Jack begged and pleaded most of the time. I could tell he was getting antsy from being bound in the stockade for such a long duration.
Months later when Mark made a complete recovery
, I hung him in front of Jack and Wayne on a ceiling support beam. I mounted an electric fence controller on the opposite side of the beam, then connected a pair of positive electrodes to his arms and a pair of negative electrodes to his legs. The electric fence controller was an old-style type that sent out pulses of current and was easy to modify because it didn’t have solid-state circuitry. I rewired the controller and installed time-delay relays so it would send out a current for two seconds every eight seconds. The cycle ran for fifteen minutes at a time, then it would shut off for two hours before starting the cycle over. When I turned it on, Mark’s arms and legs moved around like octopus’ tentacles each time the current went through his body. His screams were almost ear piercing, and they seemed to drag on forever. As Jack and Wayne stared in horror, I turned and faced them. “Your turn is coming.”
Wayne started breathing heavy and Jack started crying.
I walked away, leaving them staring at the barbaric sight. Every so often when I would walk into the chamber, I would stop at the stockade while holding a scalpel or some other type of tool, and I would make some kind of comment like, it’s time, or, you ready, or, I needs some bones, or some other comment, and then I would act like I would get distracted with something else and walk away. I left them alone for months, only aggravating them with the comments. I wanted the anticipation of being turned into human octopuses to torture them mentally.
The Gruesome Torture Device
About two months later while I was in the back of the chamber I overheard Mark and Jack arguing and cursing each other. Wayne and Jack were still bound in the racks and Mark was still hanging on the ceiling support beam. The pain in Mark’s extremities finally went away and the electric fence controller no longer had an effect. He had become extremely upset about how I had treated him, and he would curse me every time I walked by.”
Seth walked over to the bars and leaned up against them. “The human mind and spirit is so unpredictable I gave up years ago trying to figure them out. At first, Mark was scared and cowardly. Now he was begging for more pain. The anxiety of being bound and forgotten about is excruciating to the point that some people want any kind of attention or acknowledgement at any cost. In some cases, a person is so angry at how they had been humiliated and violated against their will, and the fact they will never be the same again, gives them a burning desire to die. A few have become impervious to pain and their minds have gone into some type of vegetative state, and the ones who have reached this type of mental state are hanging from the ceiling with intravenous bags.”
Dicky didn’t say anything.
Seth walked back over and sat on the bone structure. “While the two argued, I casually walked closer to hear what was so important that it couldn’t be said when I wasn’t in the chamber. As I listened, I heard Jack say, “Fuck you bitch! That’s why you’re all fucked up looking!”
Mark responded, “You’ll be the bitch when you’re screaming like an ass fag!”
Jack laughed sarcastically. “Not by you… You fucking slinky bitch!”
I walked over to the two dip shits. “Do y’all need some attention?”
Without hesitation Mark yelled out, “I want that motherfucker over there to be fucked up like I am!”
Jack didn’t say a word as Mark hung on the beam smiling like a possum eating shit. I shook my head. “You two must be retarded.”
Out of curiosity I turned to Mark as he cheesed. “How do you want me to fuck him up?”
“Cut his head off and sew his neck to his asshole!”
I tried to keep from laughing as I looked at Jack. “Jack, do you want to shit down your neck every time you take a crap?”
Jack stared hatefully at Mark. “Shut the fuck up, Mark!”
I turned back to Mark. “If I cut his head off, he would die.”
He thought for a second. “Then just fuck him up like me. I don’t give a shit anymore.”
I looked at Jack. “Any last wishes?”
He started crying and snot started running out of his nose. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do whatever you want!”
“Anything I want?”
“Yes sir. I’ll do whatever you ask if you won’t hurt me.”
I handed his left hand a two-foot long metal rod. “Okay then. I will make it simple. All you have to do to prevent yourself from being turned into a human octopus is to poke both of your eyes out with the rod.”
He looked at me like I was crazy.
“You have until midnight, which is about three hours away.”
Three hours later, I dragged a one-eyed screaming and begging Jack into the operating tent, and sixteen hours later the surgery was complete. When I was leaving the chamber, Mark blurted out, “I told that motherfucker!”
I stopped and looked up at him. “Your turn will be tomorrow.”
His possum eating shit grin turned upside down. “My turn?”
“You didn’t think you were just going to hang there forever, did you?”
His face turned pale as I walked out of the chamber.
Two days later, I removed most of Mark’s ribs and amputated his other foot and both of his hands, and for the hell of it I connected the end of his left leg to the end on his right wrist, and vice versa for his other leg and arm. His legs were so flexible from the lack of bones that they had bent backwards into a horseshoe shape with ease. The longest part of the operation was connecting hundreds of blood vessels between his legs and arms, ensuring that I wasn’t mixing up veins and arteries. Mark and Jack didn’t say a word while they laid next to each other as they recovered from their surgery. Jack healed extremely fast, and within seven weeks I was able to connect his arms and legs together and remove most of his ribs. There is something I forgot to mention. Before I sewed Jack’s limbs together, I intertwined his arms and legs in with Mark’s. Lucky for them they had different blood types or I would have connected them to each other. I used their bones and hair to make the basket, then hoisted them up into the ventilation shaft. I was really surprised they didn’t die from an infection. I never know how far I can push the limits. Sometimes, I can completely destroy a person’s mind and body and they keep ticking like a Timex, and sometimes the simplest operation or common cold will cause someone to keel over.”
Seth walked to a large mechanical machine covered with dried blood, vomit, shit, piss, and rotted meat, and as he rested his arms on it he said, “I built this for Wayne. I didn’t feel like repeating the bone removal surgery, which would be too easy of a punishment for him anyway. I wanted him to feel helpless, the same way his son did every time he beat him, and I wanted him to feel overpowered by something larger and stronger as he screamed for mercy. I designed the mechanism in CAD, and rounded up the parts at some local salvage yards. It took about four full days to build it. The machine had to be disassembled in my shop and reassembled in the chamber due to its size and weight. To ensure that it would work correctly, I tested it on a corpse, and after I made some adjustments, I removed Wayne from the stockade and tied him down in the center of it. He really didn’t fight too much because his body was extremely exhausted from having to endure such a long duration in the stockade, but he did curse me the entire time. His jaw had somewhat healed crooked and the rear portion of the gashes in his cheeks had healed together unevenly. He had to curse and make threats out the side of his mouth.”
Seth sat on the edge of a table mounted in the center of the machine. “This thing is one of the most gruesome torture devices in the chamber. Unfortunately, you might find yourself strapped in it one of these days, so you might want to listen closely. The part that I am sitting on is a stainless-steel tabletop with arm and leg attachments; it’s shaped like a human body. It’s approximately forty-eight inches long and eighteen inches wide. The leather straps connected to the tabletop held Wayne’s torso so tight that he couldn’t move an inch. His extremities were supported by these four metal extensions that are secured to the main table. The top two extensions held his arms perpendic
ular to his body and the bottom two extensions held his legs flat and spread eagle. These one-and-a-half-inch solid steel rods ran down each side of his arms and legs, and their height is adjustable where they are connected to each end of the table extensions. These paired rods were adjusted to where they were slightly above his extremities. I fabricated a trolley out of a steel plate and two-inch pipe by sliding a twelve-inch piece of the two-inch pipe on each of the one-and-a-half-inch steel rods, then welded the steel plate to the two-inch pipes. Each of Wayne’s extremities had one of these trolleys installed on the pair of steel rods that were located above that limb, and the trolley would slide up and down from the end of his hand or foot, to where that extremity was connected to his body. On top of each trolley there’s a large electric winch-like device and a set of industrial-type rollers that faces towards the table. The rollers are sixteen inches long and spaced two inches apart. The winch device is made up of an electric motor, a gearbox with a 400 to 1 ratio and a small rotating input drum. The rotating drum is a two-inch solid steel rod by twelve-inches long, and a small hole is drilled in the center of it for the connection of a steel braided cable.
The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore Page 36
