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

by Garrett, Wade H.

Mark had a redneck accent. “Shut tha fuck up, boy! You’re fixin’ to have sum real shit to worry ‘bout when I gets done with ya.”

  Josh was confused. “Who is this?”

  “Your worst fuckin’ nightmare.”

  “Can I talk to Jack?”

  “What, you want to jack my cock?”

  “Uh, what was that?”

  “You heard me, cock knocker.”

  “Listen, we’re willing…”

  “No, you fuckin’ listen. I’ll rip your shit out.”

  “Rip what? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  “Clean out your ears, boy. I hear nothin’ but a squirrelly-ass bitch.”

  “Hey, Jack, I’m not trying to start a fight. We’re at your mercy.”

  “Damn straight you are. And my name ain’t Jack.”

  “Sorry. What is it?”

  “Call me Daddy.”

  “Uh, okay. We’re going to cooperate and do whatever you want.”

  “Cool. Then pull out your knife and kill that bitch.”

  “Do what?”

  “You have a hearing problem, boy?”

  “Kill who?”

  “That bitch sitting next to you. Stab that fucker in his neck.”

  Josh had a look of concern. “I can’t do that.”

  “Hand tha phone to Tommy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’m going to actuate your nut stick thingamajig.”

  “He’s driving.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass. Give that fucker the phone before I do some real fucked up shit to ya.”

  “Sir, I’m not trying to argue. He can’t take the phone because he only has one arm to drive with.”

  “Then drive for him.”

  He handed the phone to Tommy, then grabbed the wheel. “This is Tommy.”

  “If you can find a way to kill that one-eyed pussy next to ya I will let you go.”

  “Who is this?”

  “The badass that you stole tha car from. Now gets to it, boy.”

  Tommy looked over at Josh as he held the phone to his ear. “Can’t we find another way to resolve this?”

  “No. And you best be getting on with it if you know what’s good for ya.”

  “I… I can’t do it.”

  “Put me on tha loud speaker.”

  Tommy nodded at Josh. “Take the phone and put it on speaker phone.” He motioned for Josh to mute it.

  Josh nodded back. “It’s muted. What’s going on?”

  “The crazy fucker wants me to kill you.”

  “He told me the same thing.”

  Tommy was troubled. “This is getting way out of hand. I don’t think we’re going to be able to reason with this backwoods fucker.”

  “I know what you mean. I feel like we’re in that movie Deliverance.” Josh got an idea. “I know. We can make scuffling sounds, then I will moan out. You can tell him that you killed me with a knife. That way we both can get out of this.”

  “That might be our only chance. We need to do whatever it takes so we can get to a hospital.”

  “So you want to do it?”

  “You think he will fall for it?”

  “He sounds as dumb as a box of rocks, so yeah.”

  Mark was looking at the TV. “I can hear you fuckers.”

  Tommy and Josh looked at each other as if they had been caught red-handed. “Tommy’s face was red as a beet. “Hey, we were just messing around with you.”

  Mark was irritated. “Fuck you! You already ran your mouth. And if you fuckers mute the phone again, I will... Hold on a second.” He was gritting his teeth as he looked at me. “Hey.”

  I muted the phone. “What?”

  “What kind of shit can I activate?”

  “Nothing remotely. The booby-traps are only activated if a sensor is triggered.”

  He looked at me with disappointment. “Shit. I guess put me back on. I’ll try something else.”

  I gave him a thumbs up.

  “Hey, fuckers, you there?”

  “Yes, this is Josh.”

  “Hey, I accept your apology. You can stop the car and get out now.”

  Josh had a feeling something was wrong. “Uh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” The car swerved a little. He looked at Tommy and noticed he was looking woozy. Josh put the phone to his ear. “I need to get Tommy to the hospital.”

  “I said it’s all good. Y’all go ahead.”

  “I’m not sure where we’re at. We’re way in the country somewhere.”

  I stood up, then muted the phone. “It’s late. I’m going to bed. Tell me what happens in the morning.”

  Mark had a shit-eating grin as he hung from the post. “I have this, boss.”

  “Don’t be a suck ass.” I unmuted the phone and laid it on a table. I could hear Mark talking to the punks as I walked out of the chamber.

  Early the next morning I came into the chamber in my night robe with a cup of coffee, eager to find out what had happened. Right off the bat, I noticed the four camera views were blank on the TV. I sat in my recliner. “So, what’s happened to Tommy and Josh?”

  Mark was acting strange. “Not sure. The phone went dead right after you left.”

  I looked at the phone. “The battery is still good.” I looked back at the TV. “What happened to the feed?”

  “Don’t know.”

  I pulled out the remote and pointed it at the TV. “Let’s see what’s going on here.”

  Mark looked guilty. “What are you doing?”

  “Playing back what’s on the DVR.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The DVR stores the video footage. I’m going to go back and see what happened.”

  His voice was shaking. He seemed worried. “You don’t have to do that. I remember now. They had a wreck and the car caught fire.”

  He was looking away as I watched the playback. The fucker had told them everything that had happened to him and Jack, about the chamber and that I was a psychotic fuck. He informed them that the car was still booby-trapped and thought their idea of throwing the note out a broken window was a good idea. They didn’t have a pen, but numb nuts gave them the idea to use narrow strips of the duct tape to make letters on a sheet of paper. Tommy had ripped his hand from the spikes so he could tear out the pieces of tape while the one-handed, one-eyed Josh held the steering wheel. Right before they got into town, Josh had broken out his window, triggering a glass-breaking sensor, resulting in them being sprayed with acid. The excruciating pain of their flesh being eaten away caused Tommy to lose control of the car. They wound up in a ditch where Josh’s nut stick jarred loose. Mark had been right about the car bursting into flames. That happened when Josh panicked and opened his door.”

  Wyatt was sitting up in bed. “That wasn’t a bad story, except for the nut stick part—it was kind of gross. I still can’t believe Jack and Mark acted that way.” Wyatt had a look of curiosity. “So what did you do to Mark? I bet you were mad.”

  Seth stood up and stretched. “Not at all. I knew he was going to pull some shit like that.”

  “Weren’t you worried that Tommy and Josh could have told on you?”

  “How? Mark didn’t know my true identity or where the chamber was located.” Seth laid on his comforter. “And besides, they sure in the hell weren’t worried about some dumbass on the phone. They were only concerned about saving their own hide.”

  Wyatt looked through his news clippings. “Speaking of Jack, there’s nothing here about him or Mark.”

  “I’m sure there’s an article or two about their disappearance somewhere, but not one linked to me. I abducted them without anyone knowing.”

  “There’s nothing about Tommy and Josh either.”

  “Jim covered that one up.”

  “Really? How did he know you did it?”

  “Who else would spend that much time and money turning a car into a rolling torture wagon?”

  Wyatt laughed. “No shit.�
� He flipped through some more articles. “There’s also nothing in here about the wallets or exploding boxes.”

  “Those are petty compared to the other shit that I do, so investigators look at other nut jobs. Jim is only contacted if someone is fucked up in an unusual way or real gruesome fashion, or if there is high-tech gadgetry involved. That’s how he knew I was responsible for this big rig that killed a bunch of punks.”

  “What big rig? What did you do, run them over?”

  “Not quite. They probably wish they had been run over instead of being burned to death in a rolling drum of spikes.”

  Wyatt looked confused. “That doesn’t make sense. What does a big rig, spikes and burning to death have to do with each other?”

  “Everything. I turned the trailer into an automated street cleaner.”

  “What did you do? Drive down the street, sweeping up punks with a rolling drum of spikes?”

  “It didn’t sweep anyone up.”

  “Then what do you mean it cleaned the street?”

  “Cleaned the street of punks.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “It was a semi-truck trailer that automatically lured and killed thieving punks.”

  Wyatt was intrigued. “Tell me about it.”

  Seth yawned. “I’m getting tired. We probably need to get some sleep if we’re going fishing in the morning. I can tell you about it on the drive to the reservoir.”

  Wyatt agreed. “Yeah, I’m tired as well.”

  Seth turned out the lights. “Goodnight, John Boy.”

  “I know that one.”

  “Why am I not surprised.”

  Automatic Punk Exterminator

  The next morning Seth nudged Wyatt. “Time to get up.”

  Wyatt rubbed his eyes. He was grouchy. “What are you doing? It’s too early.”

  “We need to get rollin’ if we’re going to be on the water at sunrise.”

  Thirty minutes later they were pulling out of the parking lot. Wyatt opened his notebook. He had thought about the trailer all night and was anxious to know more about it. “I want to hear about the automated street cleaner that you mentioned last night.”

  “You’re not wasting any time getting story time started.”

  “You left me hanging last night. It sounds interesting.”

  Seth looked at Wyatt. “Okay. But when we’re on the boat no talking shop. I want to relax.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “I actually called it my automatic punk exterminator. It was my largest and most elaborate scheme to date. It lured, caught, tried, sentenced, executed and cremated the lowlifes in one automated system.”

  “You serious? That sounds freakin’ awesome. How many are set up right now?”

  “None. I only built the one.”

  Wyatt looked disappointed. “Why?”

  “Because the cops found it, and now they know what to look for. Plus, they’re freakin’ expensive and time consuming to build.”

  “I guess that makes sense. So, what gave you the idea to do something like that?”

  Seth laughed. “From your favorite show, Cops. They had parked a big rig on the side of a street. As thieves opened the rear doors and climbed into the trailer they were greeted by cops. The setup was a sting operation like they had done…”

  Wyatt interrupted. “Like with the car on last night’s show.”

  “That’s right. Since the rollin’ torture wagon experiment was a success, I wanted to do something bigger and more barbaric, something epic. This was still back when I was in the chamber, but towards the end. I bought a used semi-truck with a highboy trailer from a dude on Craigslist. I had already designed what I needed to do in CAD, so I went straight to work on it. First, I fabricated a steel drum made of expanded metal and lined the inside of it with spikes, then installed a door on the curved surface, similar to a raffle ticket tumbler. The completed unit was eight feet long, had a diameter of four feet, and was installed horizontally inside a steel cabinet. The drum rotated inside the cabinet like a front loading washing machine, but instead of the door being on the side, it was on the top. Sensors monitored the position of the drum so its door would align with a door in the top of the cabinet when the system wasn’t running. The inside of the cabinet had numerous propane torch heads designed to engulf the inside of the drum through the openings in the expanded metal.

  After I installed the rotating incendiary unit in the front of the trailer, I installed an exhaust fan in the cabinet and connected it to the rig’s exhaust system with a duct. That way the smoke being drawn from the unit exited the truck’s smoke stacks, camouflaging it.”

  Wyatt laughed. “That was sneaky.”

  “Yeah, it was. People seeing smoke puffing out of the exhaust flappers wouldn’t think anything was out of the ordinary, except for the smell. Next, I built a deck around the incendiary unit. The trailer’s floor to ceiling height was around nine feet. From the floor to the top of the deck was five feet, leaving four feet of clearance from the top of the deck to the ceiling. I installed a thick Plexiglas wall down the center of the trailer from the rear doors to the deck. On the right side of the Plexiglas wall I installed a steel door with an automatic door closer, sectioning off the front and rear of the trailer on that side. I painted the door yellow, then mounted two signs on it that read, NO TRESPASSING and PRIVATE PROPERTY. The section between this door and the deck was what I called the thug chute. The walls were covered with a fire-resistant material, the floor was lined with propane torch heads and the ceiling had motion sensors. I built a ladder to get from this area to the top of the deck, then sectioned off the top of the deck with plywood, making a three-foot wide crawl space that went over the trap door in the cabinet. On the left side of the Plexiglas wall was for the eye candy. I filled that area with small and large boxes. The boxes had pictures of home and automotive electronics.”

  Wyatt became impatient. “Okay, okay. That’s too much info. Just tell me how the damn thing worked when a punk entered it.”

  Seth shook his head. “You’re definitely not a morning person.”

  “You just got me all built up. I’m anxious to know what happened to the thieves.”

  “That would be easier for me, but if I don’t explain the details you will end up asking a thousand questions anyway.”

  “Yeah, yeah… Whatever.”

  “Alright, I’ll skip the rest of the details. It took about three weeks from start to finish to build this thing. When I was done, I drove it to Houston and parked it on the crappy side of town in a residential area.”

  “Why Houston?”

  “Their crime rate is high. I wanted to get more bang for my buck. And speaking of more bang, that’s why I decorated the outside of the trailer with enticing scenery for thieves.”

  “What kind of scenery?”

  “I thought you didn’t care about the details?”

  “Well, I’m curious about that part.”

  “I painted Jack’s Mobile Stereo World and Gold Emporium on each side of the trailer in huge letters, then stuck large pictures of big-ass flat screen TVs, stereo equipment, computers, KC off road lights, laptops, big rig air horns, Mr. T starter sets, gaming consoles, job site radios, cameras, gold teeth caps, cell phones and even some fucking gold grills.”

  “Gold grills. That’s mighty white of you.”

  “Don’t even start. If you noticed, the advertisements catered to every race.”

  “How you figure that?”

  “For starters, the KC lights and air horns. Only rednecks mount those on vehicles.”

  “I wondered why you had those on there.”

  “And the job site radios and gold teeth caps were for the wetbacks.”

  “Of course, they were.”

  “The Mr. T starter sets were for white trash wannabe gangsters.”

  “What the fuck is a Mr. T starter set?”

  “A few gold chains and a couple of medallions. Didn’t you ever see the A-Team?”

&nb
sp; “Of course.”

  “Then you should have known what that meant.”

  “I don’t have your twisted personality.”

  “That’s not twisted. Everyone was saying that back in the eighties.” Seth looked at Wyatt. “Oh, yeah, you’re from Bumfuck Egypt.”

  “What the fuck does that…” He thought for a moment. “You’re right—I’ve been locked in a closet most of my life.” He glared at Seth. “I’m going to stop you before you say what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything. Just glad you finally came out of it.”

  Wyatt got mad. “That’s what I was talking about. I’m not fucking gay.”

  “Who said anything about being gay? I was talking about your sheltered life.”

  “Just drop it.”

  “It was never picked up, Mr. Sensitive.”

  “Get back to the story, instigator.”

  “I will, you knob mortician.”

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “A mortician sucks the fluid out of your body.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “A knob is another name for a dick.”

  Wyatt thought for a moment, then gritted his teeth. “You’re an ass smear.”

  Seth pretended as if he was grossed out. “Ewww, that’s sick.” He laughed. “Better than a closeted sausage jockey.”

  Wyatt sarcastically responded. “Ha ha, that’s funny. Ya got any more?”

  “Cum connoisseur, cock knocker, colon plow, elastical cum string, polyp poker, cock wrangler, penile inflator, or deflator, or both, depending on when you started. I can go all day.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Rump ranger, cock slinger, penis glove, anal astronaut, urethra straw sucker, ass bandit. Want more?”

  “You’re probably running out of silly ass names anyway.”

  “Bone smuggler, fag stick, knob hawk, ass vandal, colon cowboy, ejaculatory duct drainer, cum bucket.”

  Wyatt motioned with his fingers. “Keep ‘em coming.”

  “Knob jockey, spermicidal maniac, queer bait, cock fiend, stick licker, urethra milker, cock scrub, sperm satchel, colon blast…”

  “Okay, okay, that’s freakin’ enough.”

  “How about in Spanish; Pene chupada, ano arar, arraigar masajista, culata caquero, mierda empaquetador, testiculos fastidiar, ano bandido…”