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

by Garrett, Wade H.

  Wyatt got Seth’s attention. “What kind of body armor? Did it cover your entire body or just your torso?”

  Seth lit a cigarette, then handed one to Wyatt. “I made the armor. In fact, it’s in one of my duffel bags in the back. It’s a complete bodysuit, and it’s made of Kevlar. It will only stop pistol rounds in calibers smaller than .357 magnum, but I do have pouches sewn in where I can add ballistic plates if I need them. I also have a Kevlar helmet that I made; it consists of an inner layer of rubber covered with an outer layer of Kevlar. I designed the helmet to be thin so I can conceal it under wigs, hoodies and such. It will only stop pistol rounds, and due to it being thin, I still could be knocked unconscious or sustain a concussion if shot in the head, which is still better than a bullet bouncing around inside my skull. The bodysuit is heavy and not very flexible, so I only wear it if I think I need the extra protection.”

  “Have you ever been shot while wearing it?”

  “A few times.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No, I died.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “I know you didn’t die. Just askin’ if the armor stopped the rounds.”

  “It did.”

  “Did any of the gangbangers shoot you?”

  “Do you want me to tell the story from the beginning or skip around?”

  “From the beginning.”

  “Then you’ll find out later. After I put on my bulletproof jumpsuit, I concealed it with normal clothes so no one would notice it when I left the motel. I loaded everything else in a backpack and headed out around 9:30 PM. An hour later I was driving down Brunswick Avenue. It was a busy street filled with the nightlife crowd, so I pulled down an alleyway and parked behind some dumpsters so I could complete my disguise.

  First, I changed my clothes, dyed the skin around my eyes black, then applied some prosthetic adhesive to my face. I put on the tow sack, adhering it to my face with the adhesive; I did this to insure the eye holes wouldn’t move around and block my vision. I put on my Kevlar helmet, then covered my head with a hoodie. It was now around 11 PM and hopefully the thugs would be out and about. It was a perfect night for fucking up assholes—cool, slightly misty and there was a half-moon that was casting plenty of light to see by, but still dark enough to stay hidden in the shadows. I grabbed my backpack, a bug sprayer and a pair of fourth generation night vision goggles from the trunk. I walked several blocks until I came to the park where I had seen the black assholes the night before. No one was there, so I headed towards the house with the junk cars. A few blocks down, I noticed there were three men walking towards me on the sidewalk. Two were tall and one was short. I hid behind some shrubs, and when they passed by I noticed they had on red bandanas; two had them around their heads, and the other had one around his arm. I followed them while keeping my distance. The men went to the park and sat on a picnic table. They were drinking liquor, smoking weed, and not paying attention to the shit around them as they laughed and talked shit. The area had tall trees that were blocking out most of the moonlight, so I was able to get close to them without being seen as I hid behind a row of bushes.

  I had numerous things running through my head how I could fuck them up. The bug sprayer came to mind. It was filled with Everclear and I had brought it in case I needed to burn down a house or two. I had chosen the Everclear because its odor is not as recognizable as gasoline. If people smell gas they will usually be alerted. The thought ran across my mind how it would be funny to light these assholes on fire. I pulled out my .22 silenced pistol, then swapped the magazine with another magazine loaded with special made .22 white phosphorus ammo.”

  Wyatt interrupted. “What kind of ammo?”

  Seth pulled one of the rounds out of his pocket and handed it to him. “I make them myself, and usually keep about a hundred of them with me. They contain a white phosphorus projectile encased in a plastic shell. The plastic shell also takes the shape of a normal .22 projectile, allowing the gun to cycle properly. The rounds have a lower amount of gunpowder and more of the white phosphorus. When fired, the gunpowder ignites the white phosphorus. The plastic shell holds the projectile together through the barrel and the baffles in the silencer. When the projectile impacts a target, the plastic shell simply disintegrates and the white phosphorus burns everything it comes in contact with. If a person is shot, it will not only cause severe burns, but it also produces smoke that irritates the eyes, nose and respiratory tract. The .22 round is underpowered due to the lower amount of black powder, but I can still shoot the projectile up to eighty feet away with decent accuracy.”

  Wyatt noticed the round looked like a normal .22 round except for a red tip. He handed it back to Seth. “Did you get to shoot one of the fuckers with it?”

  “Be patient and you will find out.”

  Wyatt was eager to know. “Then get on with it.”

  “I was about to make my move when one of the taller punks came walking over to the bushes with a joint hanging from his lips. Through the night vision goggles, I could tell that he was pretty fucked up as he was swaying around while sporting a happy face. He whipped out his dick and started urinating into the bushes. I moved closer, then pushed the wand of the bug sprayer close to his crotch and quickly soaked his genitals, underwear and the front of his pants. He noticed the wetness right away. He stopped urinating, then moved his dick around. He cursed for a bit, then started back. I could tell that he thought that he had pissed on himself. This dude was so drunk that he didn’t even notice the Everclear odor. Around this time one of the other men shouted out, “Yo, Big D. Stop playin’ wit yo’ dick.”

  The guy looked back as he was shaking out the last drop. “Hey, cuzz… Come over here and clean dis muthafucka off.”

  Right before he had a chance to zip up, I lit my Zippo and tossed it towards his crotch. A fireball instantly lit up the night followed by Big D’s screams that echoed throughout the park. He stumbled backwards as he frantically beat at the flames with his hands. When he couldn’t get them under control, he pulled down his pants and underwear. By this time his flesh had been severely burned. His crotch was still on fire and the clothing around his legs was blazing out of control. He was hopping around as he patted the fire around his dick and balls. By the time he extinguished the flames around his crotch, the fire from his pants and underwear was reaching up to his burnt genitals. He fell to the ground and started rolling around. The other two punks had been laughing, but finally came running over. The shorter punk stood in horror as the tall punk pulled off his jacket and started beating the flames. Big D rolled to his back while breathing heavily. The flames were out, but smoke was still bellowing out from his crotch and clothing. His hands were shaking as he felt his charred penis. “Oh fuck! My shit is burnt!” He looked at the taller guy. “Help me, G Dog.”

  G Dog’s eyes were huge as he was trying to figure out what happened. “What the fuck happened, D?”

  Big D was in severe pain and his body was trembling. “I was smoking. I must have caught my clothes on fire.”

  The short punk shook his head. “That’s the dumbest shit I ever heard.”

  Big D had a grimace of terror as he felt around his genitals. “How bad is it? My shit is numb.”

  G Dog knelt and looked, then looked at the shorter guy. “Chris. Help me get him up. We need to get him to da emergency room.”

  They helped him stand up. Big D had tears running down his face as he stood in pain. Chris noticed Big D’s penis when the moon light struck it. He gasped. “Oh my God! Is that yo’ dick?” He looked closer and noticed the outer skin was cracked open in several areas and oozing fluid. All his pubic hairs had been singed and his groin area had been severely burned. His balls were black as coal and very swollen. A foul odor of burnt flesh and hair engulfed the surrounding air. “That shit is bad.”

  G Dog nudged Chris on the arm. “Hush. We need to get him some help.” G Dog started to pull up Big D’s pants, but he yelled out. “Oh fuck! My legs are burnt! Don’t do that.�
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  G Dog didn’t know what to do. “You ain’t gonna be able to walk like dis. You know what I’m sayin’. We have to get you to the car. Try to take them off.”

  As the two ass clowns were helping Big D step out of his pants, I walked out of the bushes and into the moonlight where they could see me. I was around forty feet away. Chris noticed me first. I could see the blood leave his face as he stared with confusion. He grabbed G Dog’s shoulder. “Dog! Who the fuck is that?” He pointed in my direction.

  G Dog looked at me, then spoke to himself. “What the fuck.” His body was frozen with uncertainty, not knowing what to do or how to react.

  Chris started freaking out. “Dog! That muthafucka is supposed to be dead. What the fuck, man!”

  G Dog went into thug mode. He pulled out a handgun and started bouncing around, holding his gun sideways in the air while doing the ghetto taunt. “Yo, muthafucka! I’m gonna pop a cap in yo’ ass!” He fired several rounds, hitting me once in the chest. The impact caused me to stumble back, then I fell to the ground.

  Chris was excited as he pumped his fist. “You got his ass, G Dog! You got that muthafucka!”

  Chris’ eyes opened wide when I stood back up. He pointed. “He’s up! He’s up! Shoot his ass again G Dog! Shoot him!”

  Suddenly G Dog’s left eye exploded and flames came bellowing out the socket, then his face turned red, skin cracked open, and flames and smoke poured out of the wound. His clothes caught fire, then his hair. He took off running, stumbling and falling as he ran. His painful screams echoed out as he disappeared into the dark. Chris was horrified. He wanted to run, but his legs were frozen from fear. “What the fuck was that! You see that shit, D? Dog caught fire and ran off.”

  Big D grabbed a hold of Chris. “Get me the fuck out of here!”

  Chris watched in horror as I raised my pistol and pointed it in their direction. He screamed out when Big D’s afro caught fire. Chris’ eyes were about to pop out of his head as he stared in horror. “It’s a fuckin’ ghost!”

  Big D fell to his knees right in front of Chris, then his body seemed to catch fire from the inside out as flames and white smoke came bellowing out from open wounds throughout his body. Chris looked terrified. “He’s shooting spirits at us!”

  Big D fell to the ground and his body was twitching as white smoke rose from his clothing and hair. I started walking towards Chris. He looked at Big D, then at me, then back at Big D. “Sorry, D.” He took off running down the street. I decided to let him go and not to pop a cap in his ass so he could go back and tell the others what happened—that way they would come out, making it easier for me to find them. I was laughing as I thought about it; they’re going to think Chris lost his mind. I could visualize their facial expressions when he tells them that Dewayne’s ghost had shot spirits at him.”

  Wyatt looked confused. “Why did he think that? He must have noticed you were firing the gun?”

  “Remember what I said about the .22 white phosphorus rounds. Between the lower amount of black powder and the silencer, the gun made no noise, and it didn’t even make a flash. All Chris saw was me, disguised as Dewayne, pointing a gun at them, and his buddies were catching fire. He had no idea I was using sub-sonic incendiary rounds. The rounds had just enough power to penetrate their thinner clothing, causing the white phosphorus to instantly burst into flames when the super-heated chemical came in contact with their flesh. Flesh is around seventy-five percent water, so a lot of steam was being created as well. The rounds that hit their coats instantly caused the fabric to catch on fire.”

  “Regardless, I wouldn’t have thought it was a damn ghost.”

  “Remember what I said about how human minds are automatically programmed to calculate a situation, creating a solution based on everyday experiences.”

  Wyatt laughed. “The logical solution wouldn’t be a ghost.”

  “I didn’t say anything about logical. Maybe in your world there are no ghosts, but a lot of black folks believe in them. In fact, a lot of people believe in them. From an early age kids are told scary stories, then when they get older they start watching horror movies.” Seth looked at Wyatt. “When you were young, did you and your friends ever go to a cemetery at night and try to scare each other?”

  He nodded. “Of course. I think most kids did stuff like that.”

  “Were you not scared of ghosts?”

  “Back when I was a kid.”

  “Yeah, but the thoughts of ghosts and other scary stuff was instilled in you. That’s just part of our society.”

  “I still wouldn’t have thought that a ghost had been shooting spirits at me.”

  Seth smiled. “Maybe, maybe not. Just remember you said that. But Chris was looking at what he assumed was Dewayne, who he knew was dead. His buddies had miraculously burst into flames right in front of his eyes. The simplest solution for his ghetto mind was that it was a ghost. Even with most people, a person wouldn’t have thought, oh, this is some psycho dressed like a deceased person shooting custom-made, sub-sonic incendiary rounds through a silenced pistol. That’s not the norm, ghosts are.”

  Wyatt was thinking about something else. “Why do you want me to remember what I said?”

  “Did you even hear what I was saying about the incendiary rounds?”

  “Yeah, they catch stuff on fire. Why do you want me to remember what I said?”

  “No particular reason. We’ll see how you analyze things if something happens out of the norm.”

  Wyatt smiled. “I will not fall for some kind of prank.”

  Seth laughed. “Maybe you will, maybe you won’t.”

  Cruisin’, Thumpin’ & Hangin’ with da Homeboys

  Wyatt flipped a page in his notebook. “What happened after Chris took off down the street?”

  “I knew he was rounding up his buddies and I didn’t want them to find Big D and go on a rampage, so I quickly dragged him into the bushes and covered him with leaves and branches. G Dog had disappeared into the park and there was no need in wasting time looking for him.

  Even though the evening air was cool, my body armor had me drenched in sweat. I needed a place to cool off, and I also needed a place to hide before the punks arrived. There was a house across the street that was condemned; it was the perfect place to do both. The front door was locked and all the windows were boarded up, but the back door had been kicked open. The inside was a real shithole, littered with old furniture, trash and discarded belongings. The floor was deteriorated from water damage and the ceiling looked as if it was about to fall in. The house was pier and beam and there was a large hole in the living room. An inferno—I thought as I gazed at the hole—that’s what they needed to go along with their ghost.

  Excitement overcame me as I filled the hole with ignitable items such as trash, pillows and clothing. It was obvious no one in their right mind would simply fall off into the trash pit, so I concealed it with a plastic shower curtain and weighted the corners with bricks. The thought of burning their asses up had my adrenaline pumping and I was almost laughing as I scattered garbage all over the shower curtain and surrounding floor, blending it all together; it was like camouflage for the ghetto.

  There was a bathroom located at the rear of the house. It would be my safe room. The door was solid—unlike the hollow-core junk they make today—and it would be strong enough to hold back the punks, for a while anyway. I needed an escape route and I also needed a way to ignite the trash pit from a safe distance. The bathroom floor felt spongy, and after a few hard stomps, the deteriorated wood started to crumble. I kicked out a few of the boards, creating a hole that was a little larger than my body. This would give me access to the crawlspace. I dragged a piece of plywood into the bathroom and made sure it would fit between the walls and plumbing fixtures when laid on the floor. It was large enough that when the punks were in the bathroom they wouldn’t think about lifting it because they would be standing on it. For now, I left it leaning against the wall. If they did come in after m
e I was going to need a deterrent, something to distract them just long enough for me to slip away. There was a window, but I didn’t want them crawling out of it. Part of the ceiling above the tub had sheetrock missing. That’s where I needed them to go. I dragged an old dresser into the bathroom and set it in the tub where it was positioned under the hole. At first glance it would appear that was the only way out.

  Once I was in the crawlspace I would need another exit. I went outside and ripped off the underpinning on the side of the house that was close to the bathroom. That would be my escape route. When I came back in I pushed an old stove against the back door, then went and pried open the front door. All the windows were covered with plywood and boards; the only way in or out was through the front door.

  About ten minutes later a car pulled into the park. I could see Chris and two of his gangbanger buddies as they walked around in front of the headlights. At first, they yelled out for G Dog and Big D. Shortly after that an argument broke out, then laughter, followed by more cursing and name calling. It appeared that they didn’t believe Chris’ story—they were making fun of him and he was getting upset. A few minutes later they were getting ready to leave, so I shoved the wand of the bug sprayer through the shower curtain and locked the trigger in the on position. I left the tank sitting on the floor, allowing the Everclear to saturate the trash pile while I went back to the front door. They were still laughing and talking shit when I shouted, “Hey!”