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

by Garrett, Wade H.

  Silence fell upon the hood.

  “Hey!”

  A moment later one of them yelled out, “Yo, who der?”

  They couldn’t see the house in the dark, much less me standing in the doorway. “Hey, over here, asshole!”

  “Who da fuck is dat!”

  “Yo’ mama.”

  They got in their car and backed up quickly, then turned slowly, using their headlights as spotlights. At first, they were lighting up an empty field next to the house, and as they turned, the lights were heading my direction. Suddenly, I was lit up as I stood motionless in the front doorway. About the same time the headlights passed me by, the car’s brakes locked up. It sat there for a moment, then backed up, lighting up the house again. I had moved from the doorway but left the New York Giants jackets hanging on the door knob. The car sat there for a moment, then started easing forward, then stopped again. I could hear them cursing and bitching, debating if they had actually seen Dewayne or not. I heard a door open, then someone say, “I ain’t fuckin’ scared. You muthafucka’s are just messin’ around.” The headlights were casting a human shadow in the room and it was getting smaller as the person came closer. Suddenly the wooden porch creaked, then a hand with a gun came poking through the doorway. When the punk’s elbow crossed the threshold, I wacked his arm in half with my sickle. An ear-piercing scream echoed out the same time that the arm hit the floor. He was yelling for help as he scurried back towards the car. I didn’t wait around either. I grabbed my jacket and the arm, ran to the bathroom and closed the door, thinking they were going to storm the house at any second. But they didn’t come in. I cracked open the door and noticed three shadows bouncing around. They were still by their car and it appeared the other two punks were helping the one-armed bastard. While they were fucking around outside, I covered my hands in blood from the arm, then climbed up on the dresser, leaving bloody handprints where I had grabbed it. I added some prints around the hole in the ceiling, then pressed my hands against the wall behind the dresser and slid them downwards, leaving hand smears. I wasn’t sure if they were going to come in after me, but I decided to leave my safe-haven since I had a severed arm in my possession—fucking with them would be worth the risk.

  I quickly went into the kitchen and wrote, Dewayne was here, on the refrigerator door with blood. I laid the arm inside of it next to a jar of rotted pickles, then formed the fingers into the universal fuck you sign. The punks were starting to get loud as they were cursing and pumping each other up, and before they got enough courage to come in, I went back to the bathroom and stood in the doorway. I could see their shadowy movements (air punches, grabbing dicks and strutting around) as they talked about how they were going to fuck me up. About that time shadows with guns started getting smaller, meaning they were heading my way. I closed the door and barricaded it with a board, crawled under the house, then lowered the plywood. The living room floor started squeaking and I could hear whispering as the punks looked for me. I couldn’t tell if it was just two of them, or if the one-armed bastard was with them as well. Suddenly someone fell through the hole, and before they realized what happened, I shot an incendiary round at the pile of trash. A large fireball erupted, followed by ear piercing screams and wails. The light was causing my night vision to blur. I moved the goggles to their upwards position and away from my eyes. Now I could see that there was a thug in the center of the burning debris. He was violently moving around as the flames engulfed him, and I could tell that the plastic shower curtain was being melted onto his flesh as he rolled around on top of it. In less than a minute the thug stopped moving and his screams were replaced by cursing and shouting from up above. I eased towards the hole, and through the flames and rising smoke I could see him. He was tall, muscular and had dreadlocks. I could see the rage on his face as he watched his buddy burn. He looked towards the front door and shouted. “Terrence! Terrence! Get yo’ ass in here and back me up!”

  The one-armed thug came walking up like he was dying while holding his shirt around his nub. “I will do what I can, Juice, but my arm is hurtin’ really bad.” He looked in the hole. “Who is that?”

  “It’s Chris. Muthafucker killed him.”

  Terrence forgot about his pain and instantly went into thug mode. “What the fuck! I’m going to kill that muthafucker!”

  “Let’s get him, cuzz!” The two punks took off into another part of the house, using the light from their cell phones to guide their way. I could tell that they were being aggressive as they stomped around on the floor, going room to room, kicking open doors and turning over furniture. When they came to the refrigerator I heard one of them yell out, “Someone is fuckin’ wit us, cuzz. You know what I’m sayin’.” When they opened the door, Terrance became angry. “There’s my fuckin’ arm! Muthafucker thinks that shit is funny. I’m gonna fuck him up!”

  “Muthafucker could be anywhere by now.”

  “I’m callin’ da home boys. We gonna get this bitch.”

  It was time to get moving before I had thugs running around everywhere. I pulled three bottles of Everclear from my bag and climbed back up in the bathroom. I sloshed the liquid all over the walls and floor, emptying two of them. I opened the last one and tossed it into the attic. I banged on the wall, then crawled back under the house, lowering the plywood behind me. The thugs quickly found the door and tried to open it. “Fuckin’ door is locked! Muthafucker is in there! Get the fuck back!”

  POW! POW! POW! Numerous gunshots went off. Suddenly the door busted open and they stormed the bathroom with their guns drawn. “Look… Muthafucker is in the attic. His ass been shot.”

  They began shooting the ceiling and didn’t stop until their magazines were empty. By now I was already crawling through the hole in the underpinning. The Everclear was dripping from the floor above and had formed a puddle on the ground. The punks probably couldn’t smell it due to the gun smoke. When I heard one of them say that I must be hiding in the attic somewhere, I shot an incendiary round at the puddle. The flammable liquid instantly caught fire, and as quick as flames had erupted on the ground, the bathroom window blew out, followed by a large fireball. I could hear someone screaming at the top of their lungs as I ran to the front of the house. I was having so much fun and didn’t want it to end that I decided to take their car, an older Cadillac with fancy rims and tinted windows. When I ran up to it I found a surprise; Chris was alive and sitting on the ground with his back against the front tire. He had somehow crawled out of the hole and made it across the yard. He had severe burns and the plastic shower curtain was stuck to his body; he looked like the monster in the movie The Blob right after it absorbed someone. The fire was getting out of control and people were coming out of their houses. They stared in horror when they noticed me dragging Chris up on the hood of the car. He was moving around slightly and making a howling noise as I secured him to a windshield wiper arm. I got in the car, and as I slowly drove down the street with him screaming for help, people were running inside their houses and slamming their doors shut. The house was now completely engulfed with flames and I needed to find some of the other assholes before too many cops showed up.

  I made a left turn, went down a couple of blocks, then made another left to head over to the house with the junk cars. As I was driving down a street something caught the corner of my eye. I stopped, then backed up slowly. Someone was limping down an alleyway. I also noticed they were missing an arm; it was Terrence. Somehow the lucky bastard had escaped. When he saw the car, he started waving his arm in the air to get my attention. I pulled down the alleyway and stopped about ten feet away from him. He started walking over to the passenger’s side until Chris screamed out. He stopped in his tracks as he looked at the horrifying sight, then took off in a fast limp. I floored the car and hit him with the front bumper, knocking him down. The car bounced violently as the tires ran him over. I didn’t want to leave him where he could be found, so I put him in the passenger seat. When I got back in the car I noticed he was b
usted up pretty bad and on the verge of death, but he was alert. He could barely move his mouth as he stared at me. “Is dat you Dewayne?”

  I picked up a joint from the ashtray. “Shit. We can’t let dis go to waste.” I leaned over stuck it in his mouth. “You need dis mo den me, cuzz.” I lit it. “You ready to go fo’ a ride?”

  The joint was hanging from his mouth as he stared at me with a grimace of terror. “Where’re we goin’?”

  “Fo’ a joy ride, cuzz.” I turned on the stereo system, and as a dirty rap song played, we cruised out of the alleyway and down the street. The car’s woofers were thumping as we pulled in front of the house with the junk cars. I could see some movement coming from a window, then the front door opened. A punk with a large afro, wearing only shorts and flip flops, came running up to the passenger’s side. I rolled down Terrence’s window. He was so fucked up on alcohol and drugs that he didn’t notice me, or Chris, or that Terrence was all fucked up and missing an arm. He was stumbling around as he looked into the car. “Yo, niggas, where da fuck y’all been?”

  I leaned on the console to get closer to him. “Fuckin’ up some shit, homie.”

  He laughed as he groped his balls and danced around. “Y’all comin’ in? We got a slammin’ parrrtay happenin’ up in dis muthafucka.”

  “Who be in there?”

  “D Rock, JZ and Deuce. A few hoes from Clear Creek. Tag and JJ be in there too. You gots to come in and check it out, cuzz, you know what I’m sayin’?”

  Now I knew there were five more punks in the house. “Heeeell yeah, cuzz!” I pointed to Terrence with my thumb. “Help dis fool out. He be all fucked up and shit.”

  The thug was smiling and jiving around as he patted Terrence on his head. “Playa can’t handle his shit like ol’ G Money.” He laughed. “He just like a newjack, cuzz.”

  I pointed to the door. “Open da door, fool.”

  When he opened the door, I used my right foot and kicked Terrence’s ass out onto the ground. G Money started laughing. “Look at dis wacked out mofo. Get yo’ ass up, cuzz.” He reached down and grabbed Terrence’s arm, and when he went to pull him up his hand slipped off his stub. Confusion overcame him as he looked at his blood-stained hands. “What the fuck!” He looked back down and noticed Terrence was bleeding and half his arm was missing. I turned down the stereo, and when he heard Chris moaning, he stumbled over to the front of the car. “Oh shit!” He looked back in the car. “What the fuck is goin’ on?” He finally noticed me and started to run. Before he could take his first step, I put several high-velocity .22 rounds in his head with my silenced pistol. I got out and took off my tow sack now that the whole ghost thing had lost its luster, plus it was hot as hell. I put the three punks in the back seat and parked the car on the other side of the street. I walked back to the house and looked through a window. There were four thugs and three hood rats hanging out in the living room. They were smoking dope, cutting up, and listening to Snoop Dog. All the other windows were dark and nailed shut. The back door was also boarded up, so the only way in and out was through the front door. I didn’t want to storm the house because I didn’t know where the other thug was at, so I went over to the electrical service panel and shut off the main breaker. As quick as the power went off bitching and cursing came echoing from inside the house. I wasn’t sure how many thugs were going to come out so I crouched down under some bushes. In less than a minute a punk came walking around the side of the house using a lighter to guide his way. I could see him clear as day, or more like green as day, through the night vision goggles. When he noticed the breaker was off, he shook his head. “Who the fuck turned this shit off?”

  “I did, fool.” When he turned around I shot him in the neck. He fell to the ground, choking as he held his throat. I shot numerous rounds into his knees and elbows to prevent him from crawling off. Several minutes later another thug came out, and I knocked him in the head with a small billy club. I pulled out my knife and severed his spinal cord at the center of his back so he wouldn’t be a threat, or be able to run off. After several minutes had passed and no one else came out, I went to the service panel and started turning the main breaker on and off until I heard the screen door shut. An angry thug came walking around the corner. “You muthafuckers better stop playin’ games.”

  I cracked him in the head, then drove my knife into the joints of his elbows and knees, severing ligaments. I sliced the back of his hands and his wrists, severing the tendons to his fingers. I knew there were at least two more thugs and, since the power was off, I went into the dark house using the night vision. The hood rats were sitting on the couch together and one of the thugs was passed out in a recliner. The house was pitch black and they couldn’t see anything, so I eased down a hallway to find the other one. He was in a back room giving it to a hood rat doggy style. I shot him in the back with a tranquilizer dart, then shot her in the ass when he fell to the side. To my surprise the dart didn’t knock her out. She sprung off the bed and took off down the hallway nude with the dart stuck in her right butt cheek. She ran right out the front door and across the yard. The other hood rats were still laughing when I came back into the room. The commotion had also awakened the thug in the recliner. He somehow sensed me and went for his gun, leaving me no choice but to shoot him with my silenced .22. Most people wouldn’t have known a gun had been fired, but the sound of the slide combined with the smell of the gun powder in the hood was a different story. The damn hood rats were as quick as their name implies; rats. They were out the door and down the street before I had a chance to react. I really didn’t care though. I would have only tranq’ed them and it would have been a waste of good darts anyway. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with the punk in the back room until I noticed a hat rack with five red bandanas. I grabbed them and went into the bedroom. I tied one around each of his arms and legs, using them as tourniquets, then cut off his hands and feet by slicing through the tendons at his wrists and ankles.

  By now the hood rats were probably spilling the beans. If I left the bodies behind, the rest of the thugs would go on a witch hunt if they came to investigate. If the house was empty they would most likely think the hood rats were high and that Juice and his buddies were out fucking around. I decided to take them with me. I moved the car into the driveway, then dragged all the thugs outside. Chris was unconscious and Terrence had died. I put them, Juice, and the other dead fucker from the recliner in the trunk. The guy with the severed spinal column got to ride shotgun and the other three I sat in the backseat. For safety reasons, I put their seat belts on in case we got in a wreck.”

  Wyatt blurted out. “Seat belts? You were concerned about their safety after the shit you did to them?”

  Seth laughed. “I also didn’t want them crawling around the car while I was driving.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Have you always had a dark sense of humor?”

  Seth shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. And why does it have to be dark humor? Funny is funny.”

  “Apparently, you’ve spent way too much time in the chamber.”

  Seth laughed. “We’ll blame it on that.”

  “Now that you had all them in the car, what did you do?”

  Seth smiled. “Went cruising.”

  “What are you saying; that you just drove around with them?”

  “Yes. At first it was boring because they were unconscious, so I gave them an adrenaline shot. Fifteen minutes later they were awake, cursing and yelling.”

  “Were you disguised as Dewayne?”

  “I had on the jacket but not the tow sack.”

  “So, they saw what you looked like?”

  “Not exactly. I still had the black dye around my eyes. Also, the adhesive was still on my face and it was covered with strands of canvas from the tow sack. I probably looked like a psycho.”

  “I bet they were pissed.”

  “Of course, they were—their bodies had been mutilated and I was rubbing salt in their wounds by making the
m drive around with me in their car. Up to this point, they had been bitching and moaning to themselves as they regained their wits. The punk with no hands and feet was probably the most upset and was the first one to address me. He leaned forward from the backseat and shouted, “Hey, motherfucker! You’re not going to get away with this! You hear me?”

  I turned down the thumps. “What did you say?”

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

  I laughed. “What the fuck happened to your ghetto slang, biatch?” I looked over at the fucker with the severed spinal column, sitting shotgun. “At least that crybaby still has the use of his limbs, or what’s left of them… Right, homie?”

  He looked over at me as he sat in his seat like a limp noodle. “What the fuck did you do to me?” He looked back at the punk with no hands and feet. “JZ, I can’t move my arms or legs. This mutherfucker must have drugged me or something.”

  I laughed. “Wrong. I severed your spinal cord.”

  His eyes got big as he stared at me with uncertainty. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Means your ass is a quadriplegic.”

  He started crying. “Why would you do something like that?”

  “Cause you is a punk.”

  JZ nudged him on the shoulder with his stub. “It’ll be alright, Deuce. This motherfucker will get his.”

  Deuce noticed that JZ didn’t have a hand and his open wound was oozing blood. “Oh shit!” He noticed his other one was missing as well. “What happened to yo’ hands?”

  “Motherfucker cut them off.” JZ became angry and started hitting me in the head with his stubs. I grabbed one, then punched the end of it. He fell back and held his arms in his lap as his body trembled. I reached down to the floorboard and picked up a cluster fuck that was tied together with a rope. I tossed it over my shoulder and it landed in JZ’s lap. “There you go, asshole. Now you can stop bitching and moaning.”