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

by Garrett, Wade H.

  It was several weeks later before I secured him back on the rack. He wasn’t happy with what I had done to him and the portal seemed to gross him out—he refused to look at it. Now that I had my guinea pig, I was ready for the experiment and it was time to install a specially made glass hood over his head. The hood was all glass and was shaped like an antique diving helmet. The lower part sat on his shoulders and it had straps that ran under his armpits so it wouldn’t fall off his head. The helmet had an automatic suction device that would draw the smoke from a row of fifteen cigarettes and inject it inside the helmet. It was designed to deplete one cigarette at a time, then move to the next one in line. It would take about an hour and twenty minutes to completely burn up all fifteen Marlboros. The doctor despised the smell of cigarettes, and when I flipped the switch on the auto-smoker, he screamed, bitched and gagged at the same time. The helmet muffled his voice and it was funny to watch his mouth move as he looked around inside the glass helmet. By the time that the forth cigarette was lit, his face was flushed, and before it was depleted, he had thrown up all over the inside of the helmet; it looked like a head floating in a chocolate shake. He was breathing in a lot of carbon monoxide and I almost couldn’t see him bitching from the thickness of the smoke, so I opened a vent on the top of the helmet. I thought I had laughed earlier, but seeing his head jerk around while moving his mouth inside the vomit covered glass helmet with smoke pouring out the top was hilarious. When I finally got control of myself, I looked through the portal. With every breath he took, I could see smoke entering and exiting his lung. Because this was actually an experiment, I took a digital picture of the inside of his lung with plans on doing it one a week as long as he lived.

  Over the course of a few years I did various operations on the doctor from inspecting his organs to simply cutting deep gashes into his flesh and sewing them back together. I also would tear sections of his skin from his body so I could transplant them to a different area where I had torn that skin away. He had a patch on his stomach covered with the long hair from his back, and his neck had a patch that was covered with pubic hair. His right knee had a nipple from his chest, and his other nipple was on his forehead. The patch around his lips was covered with ass hairs, and each of his cheeks had an armpit hair patch. After years of playing musical skin patches with his body, he looked like a hairy patchwork blanket. I eventually amputated his limbs at every joint one at time, and as I cut each of his joints apart, I would secure them to the planks away from his body in an anatomically correct way with about four inches of gap between them. I also kept my word and he was burned every so often as he took the place of the black man in the gibbet. I filled the auto-smoker several times a day and he was forced to inhale cigarette smoke continuously for years, which really set me back financially.

  Years later, his tolerance for pain increased so much that I lost interest in the procedures, and he had pretty much become a living torso that was covered with scarred flesh. The Doctor lived for almost a decade as he hung on the rack, and over those years he never said another word, but occasionally I would catch a glimpse of a tear running down his face. He spent his remaining years staring at his horrendous image in the antique mirror that I kept in front of him.”

  Seth grabbed a picture off the rack. He tossed it into the cell and told Dicky to look at it. “That’s the last one I took of the inside of his lung. It made me want to quit smoking, but there is too much stress of having to deal with all you scumbags.”

  Dicky just glared at Seth as he rubbed Jimmy’s shoulders.

  Seth started to walk away, then turned around. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Try to get some rest after you take care of ol’ Jimbo there. You’ll need it later.”

  Dicky had a sneaky look on his face as Seth walked into the darkness. Jimmy was sound asleep, and now that Seth was gone, he pulled the skeleton key he had made from Sandy’s rib from his waistband. He knew there were cameras, but he had to take the risk. The key slid in the hole perfectly, but it wouldn’t turn the locking mechanism, so he pulled it out, then ground it on the side of a stone to make some adjustments. The second time he could feel that the locking mechanism started turning. He looked around, knowing if Seth entered he could use his knife made from a rib to attack him. He took a deep breath, looked at Jimmy to make sure he was still asleep, then turned the key the rest of the way. His heart seemed to stop when he heard a click. A feeling of salvation overcame him as he pushed on the door, but when it didn’t open, his heart seemed to stop again. He pushed harder, then started jerking on it, but it still wouldn’t budge. He stopped and listened. He could hear a faint rumbling sound above his cell. He started jerking on the door again, but it still wouldn’t open. The rumbling sound was getting louder as the seconds passed. About the same time that he looked up, sewage came gushing out of some spray nozzles that were mounted in the ceiling. He took off running, but slipped in the brown liquid and fell on his stomach. He covered his face as it was raining shit and piss in his cell. The nastiness was drenching him and everything in his cell and it finally became so bad that he crawled to his corner and started crying. It seemed as if it was never going to stop, and it was coming down so hard that the two floor drains in his cell were barely keeping up.

  Jimmy was standing as far back as his chain would allow him. He reached to his ear and grabbed the key that Seth had given him. He unlocked the chain that was secured to the collar around his neck, then threw it on the floor. He started to walk away, but Dicky shouted out, “Hey, please unlock my door.”

  Jimmy turned around, looked at the key, then back at Dicky. “You just ain’t never gonna learn, is you? You be lucky yous covered in all dat shit. Dats all I has to say about dat.”

  Dicky remained silent for a moment as he thought about how the sewage had actually saved him from a very unpleasant situation.

  Jimmy started to walk off.

  “Where’re you going?”

  Jimmy turned around again. “Back to my holdin’ cell. Dat white man is fuckin’ crazy.”

  Dicky covered his head as the filth continued to rain down on him.

  Jimmy walked across the chamber and disappeared into the dark.

  Demented Minions

  Dicky sat up from a deep sleep after being awakened by the loud sounds of screaming and begging, and as he looked around he noticed that there were creepy-looking beings throughout the chamber who were torturing people. The beings had no legs and they were moving around by their arms, which were restricted by chains. They were covered in worn and grungy clothes and their heads were hidden under hoods. Their faces were hidden behind a rusted steel device shaped like a medieval mask. The masks were solid except for the cutouts around their eyes and mouths. The cutouts had small diameter steel rods welded in place a quarter of an inch apart. On the right side of each of their masks were two ninety-degree brass fittings, and each of the fittings were connected to steel braided hoses that ran downwards from their masks and across the room where they were connected to a galvanized control box.

  Dicky stared in horror as he watched the beings torture people. One of the masked beings was using a wooden tire thumper to beat the toes, feet, ankles, and knees of several people chained along a wall. The chained victims’ lower torsos were covered with huge knots and massive bruising from years of apparent torture. The bones in their legs, ankles, and feet had been broken so many times that their lower extremities were unimaginably deformed.

  A second being was torturing a man, who was lying on the floor, by sticking a long needle in and out of the man’s ball sack. The man’s legs were being forced back towards his chest, and his ankles and lower legs had been broken and they were wrapped around behind his neck. At the back of the man’s neck, his feet overlapped each other and they were sewn together, and his hands were sewn to each of his butt cheeks. The man had been sewn in that position for such a long time that his legs and body had become unnaturally deformed. While the being punctured the man’s sack, the man was squ
irming around on the floor in a faint attempt to escape the horrific pain. Sperm and blood was oozing out of the puncture wounds and the mixture was running down the crack of his ass, forming a puddle on the floor.

  A third being was using a razor blade mounted on the end of a plastic doll arm to slice the flesh on a man bound inside a steel cage. The cage was covered with spikes that pointed to the inside, and as he hysterically moved around to evade the razor, he was pushing against and dragging across the spikes, which were gouging and tearing puncture wounds in his flesh. The man’s body had thousands of old scars from previous cuts, and his flesh throughout his entire body looked like alligator skin.

  A fourth being was forcing what appeared to be a large letter opener under the skin of a man nailed to a table. After the being jabbed the pointed end of the letter opener into the man’s skin, he would then slowly slide the flat piece of metal seven to eight inches under the man’s flesh as he worked it around. The man had thousands of small punctures and scars all over his body, and at the newest of the puncture wounds he had a long bruise under his skin where the letter opener had torn his flesh loose from the underlying layers.

  The screaming and begging sounds of the people being tortured was almost deafening. Dicky sat on the floor with his hands over his face to block out the horror. A few minutes later, one of the beings walked over to him with a water hose and stood next to the bars. He stood up and started to speak to the cloaked being, but before he had a chance to say anything, water come shooting out of the hose, spraying him. The pressure was very strong and the water was stinging his skin. He covered his face as the being washed the sewage from his body. He stood quietly in his dark corner as the being washed down his cell, and as the last part of the filth was washed down the floor drains, Seth entered the chamber. “I see you’ve met one of my minions.”

  Dicky walked out into the center of his cell, and as he stood dripping and barefooted on the wet stone floor, his face held a grimace of terror.

  “What’s wrong, pal? Cat got your tongue?”

  He looked over at the being that had washed down his cell as it was rolling up the water hose. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple really. Every couple of weeks they inflict pain upon others to redeem themselves for past indiscretions and poor decisions. They also clean up the mess around here when I’m out.”

  He looked confused.

  “What? Do I look like your maid?

  He remained quiet as he looked at the other beings.

  “No need to worry. They’re only allowed to come out of their room every so often. I wasn’t planning on telling their story, but since you apparently had some kind of accident in your cell, they were compelled to come out and clean up the joint.” Seth looked back at some of the beings as they were still torturing people, then turned back to Dicky and laughed. “And they get so bored they look for any excuse to come out.”

  Dicky walked backwards until his back touched the wall, then he slid down to his backside. He really didn’t know what to think. He thought he had witnessed some barbaric and strange things before this.

  Seth leaned against the bars. “Their story is the most unusual. You shouldn’t have a reason to doubt what I did to them because it’s obvious that I am capable of doing some unimaginable and unthinkable things. You should have come to know this by now after listening to my stories, not to mention you’re in the middle of a torture chamber filled with the most horrendous and gruesome things that not even the worst thoughts or dream could conjure up.”

  Seth yelled out at the being who was torturing the man on the floor, and when it looked, he called for it to come over to where he was standing. The being left the needle sticking in the guy’s balls and began crawling towards Seth. It stopped several feet away from Seth when there was no more slack in the steel braided hose. The being sat upright on its stub, sitting silently with its head down. Seth asked for the being to introduce itself to Dicky. It raised its head for a few seconds and made an eerie sound. Dicky noticed the being was a man without legs because it was dragging its callused penis around on the floor. He could see short chains were restricting his arm movement—they were connected between his wrists and a metal band that went around his waist.

  Seth pulled the hood off the man’s head and revealed the mask. It looked more like a medieval helmet, covering his entire head. Seth unlocked the mask portion and removed it from the helmet. The cloaked man reached up and held it next to his head. While the dim lighting of the chamber revealed his face, Dicky could see that the legless man’s face was grotesquely covered with nasty looking warts, knots, and sores and some were oozing with pus. The skin around his eyes and mouth was porcelain-white, looking like Vitiligo. The rest of the skin on his face and neck was covered with patches that had no pigmentation, and he also had some type of fungus infection that was causing reddish-brown spots, resembling Tinea Versicolor. The de-pigmentation and infections were most likely caused by his unhygienic and unhealthy way of life. The man had to hold the mask close to his face because there were two small polyethylene tubes that were connected between the mask and a hole in the side of his cheek. When Seth told the cloaked man to open his mouth, Dicky stared with uncertainty as he noticed he had something entangled in his rotted and discolored teeth. Every tooth had a small hole drilled through the center, and small copper tubing was woven in and out of all his teeth through the holes. The holes had been filled in around the tubing with what appeared to be gold. Two pieces of polyethylene tubing were connected to the ends of the copper tubing, then they ran through a hole in the side of his cheek, from there they connected to two brass fittings on the inside of the mask. The braided hoses connected to the other side of these fittings.

  Seth secured the mask back on the man’s helmet, then walked over to the cell bars. “Back in the late sixties a man named Chuck Woodall came upon a young couple parked in a wooded area. While the couple was making out, Chuck pulled the boy from his car and knocked him out with a club. When he regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a tree. Chuck forced the young man to watch as he raped and stabbed his girlfriend, then stabbed the boy thirty-six times and left them for dead. The girl miraculously lived and Chuck was tried and given the death penalty. The United States Supreme Court abolished capital punishment in l972, commuting Woodall’s death sentence to life imprisonment without parole. He was released in the eighties when the prison system became overcrowded. Shortly after being released, Chuck abducted, raped, tortured, and murdered five women. He was tried and found guilty, and by this time the death penalty had been reinstated and he was sentenced to death. Our judicial system did what it should have done years ago—he was executed by lethal injection. Since I don’t have the ability to resurrect and torture the shit out of Chuck, which would have actually been a good thing for him because Satan is really fucking him up way beyond anything that I can come up with, I decided that all the members of the parole board who had let him out of prison were the next best thing. They are partially responsible for the brutal deaths of those five women, and because of them, the women’s families are left suffering while the members of the parole board continue with their lives. I understand Chuck is the one who did the horrific crimes, but you wouldn’t release a vicious pit bull with a history of aggression into a playground filled with kids, then say it wasn’t your fault that the dog mauled a couple of them.”

  Dicky stared at Seth for a few seconds, then stared at the four cloaked beings. He had a look of disbelief on his face.

  “That’s right. Members of Chuck’s parole board. Or what’s left of them.” Seth covered the man’s head up with his hood. “This is Mr. Goodman. He was the Presiding officer.” After Seth told the cloaked man to continue with his duties, he walked over and leaned up against the bars. “I knew abducting the original members of Chuck’s parole board was going to be extremely difficult and risky, and I was either going to get all nineteen of them or none of them. Some of them were retired and
the others were still working as attorneys, teachers or employed in the justice system, but luckily, they were still living within a fourteen-hundred-mile radius. During my extensive surveillance and research, I discovered that sixteen of them were still living in Texas; eleven in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, one each in Waco, Round Rock, McAlister, Austin and San Marcus. The other three lived out of state; Tulsa, Denver and Las Vegas.

  It took a while to figure out how I was going to deal with the eleven in the Dallas-Fort Worth area without causing an alarm before I could get all of them. Luckily, I stumbled across the fact that a Mr. Lawson, who replaced Mr. Goodman as the Presiding Officer, was having a retirement party in a couple of weeks. Mr. Lawson took the position shortly after Woodall was paroled, and the eleven individuals in the DFW group had been involved with him either at one time or another through the judicial system or through the university where he worked as a professor. To make a long story short, I called the eleven individuals that were still in the DFW area, and the one in McAlister because it was fairly close, and told them I was with a company hired to create a collage for Mr. Lawson’s retirement party. I asked them if they would like to participate in having their pictures taken, as well as sign their signature on a scroll, which would be part of the collage. I stated Mr. Lawson’s associates wanted to create something special for him so he could have a way to proudly display his contribution to society. I didn’t elaborate, so everyone assumed the contribution was related in the area they were associated with him. It’s funny how people won’t hesitate to jump on a bandwagon when it makes them feel important. By stating associates, they wouldn’t be able to make a simple phone call for verification. Associates could be anyone that is or has been associated with Mr. Lawson, and any inquiring individuals would be able to verify that he was having a retirement party. And by using this guy, the others that were outside the DFW area wouldn’t be tipped off when I made my move because most of them were never associated with him. Surprisingly, all twelve were interested, including the one from McAlister who had only worked with Mr. Lawson for a few days during a charity event. I told everyone that I would notify them at a later date to schedule their appointments. Because the other seven were scattered around, I came up with a different plan that was suitable in abducting each of them. There were twelve commissioners in all, six board members and Mr. Goodman. The fabricated story about the collage would allow me to abduct twelve at the same time so no one would catch on until it was too late. It only took me a few hours to drive to Desoto. After I studied the small town, I rented a suite at a strip center using fake information. The strip center that I decided to use was located away from the busier area, and a majority of the other suites were empty. A few days later, I furnished the waiting area with the usual items associated with that type of business, and I hung a sign on the door that read Reed’s Custom Photography.