The following day Jim brought Wyatt in for questioning when he came back into town to pick up his daughter at his aunt’s house. After a short interrogation, he was cleared of any wrongdoing. The next day Wyatt was sad as he read in the paper that The Angel of Death had been killed by the police. Seth had become a friend and he would be eternally grateful for what he had done for him.
A few weeks later Wyatt’s doorbell rang. He opened the door and noticed a man standing on the front porch. “Can I help you?”
“I have a delivery for you.”
Wyatt noticed a truck pulling an enclosed cargo trailer was parked in the street. “Sorry, you have the wrong house.”
“Is this 8351 Shady Hill drive?”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you, bud. It has this address listed on the form.”
“I haven’t ordered anything.”
“Is your name Wyatt Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s your problem.” He handed Wyatt a clipboard. “Sign this. I’m going to get it unloaded.”
“What is it?”
“A car.”
“I didn’t order a car. Who’s it from?”
“It’s stated on the form.”
Wyatt noticed it was from a Daryl Redden. “I don’t know this person. Why is he sending me something?”
“Can’t answer that.” The man handed him a manila envelope. “I was told to hand that to you in person.” The man walked to the back of the trailer and lowered the rear door.
Wyatt opened the envelope and pulled out a title. He noticed it was in his name. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, I wish someone would mess up and send me something like this.” The driver went into the back of the trailer. A loud rumbling sound echoed out from the trailer. Wyatt started to walk towards it to see what it was when a black ‘69 Camaro with white racing stripes came driving out the back; it was Seth’s Camaro. He walked over to the driver as he got out of the car. “Who gave you this envelope?”
“Same dude that paid me to haul the car.”
“What did he look like?”
He scratched his head. “An odd fella, you could say.”
“Yeah, but what did he look like?”
“Kind of on the big side; the four-hundred-pound type. Talked with a coon-ass accent, but he did say he was from Mississippi.” The man got in the truck and left.
Wyatt ran his fingers down the side of the car as he admired it. Its paint job had a mirror finish and the engine’s chrome glimmered in the sunlight. He heard a screen door slam, then his daughter Laura came running up to him. “Daddy, who was that man?”
He knelt beside her. “A stranger. And what do we do around strangers.”
She had a serious look. “They could be bad, so don’t trust them.”
“That’s right. Don’t trust them, and never go with them.”
She pointed to the car. “Is that fast?”
“Not as fast as you, tadpole.” They took off running towards the house.
She raised her arms in the air as she stood on the porch. “I beat you again, daddy.”
“You sure did.”
Wyatt and Laura sat on the steps. As she played with a doll, he thought about all the things that had happened. He looked at the car, wondering why this person named Daryl Redden had possession of Seth’s car and why he sent it to him. He looked at the title again and noticed Mr. Redden was from Mississippi. When he went to stick the title back in the envelope he noticed a piece of paper. He opened it and saw it was a note. A tear ran down his cheek when he read the following; I’m taking that vacation with Missy that we talked about. Your friend always, SC.
Book 3 – Splatterpunk
The Damned
Tim Murray opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. It was 3 AM. He eased his head up to see if his wife was asleep. When he noticed she was snoring, he became aroused. He softly spoke in her ear. “You awake?” Excitement overcame him when she didn’t answer—he was hoping she was asleep. He eased his blanket off, then slowly got out of bed, being as careful as possible not to awaken her.
Something caught his eye as he stood next to the bed; the moonlight was shining through a window, illuminating his reflection in a mirror that was hanging on the wall. He wasn’t happy with the person he was looking at, and it seemed as if he was staring at a stranger. He was now in his early thirties, his red hair receding and his face showing signs of aging. It seemed like it was only yesterday when he was in his twenties and full of life; now he was getting old, and that sucked. He smiled as he admired his new mustache, thinking how he should have grown it a long time ago, then he frowned when he noticed his medium-sized beer belly.
His penis began to harden with anticipation, causing him to lose interest in his reflection. He looked at his wife and quietly asked, “You awake?” When she didn’t answer, he could feel his penis growing larger in his pajama bottoms from the lust that was building up inside of him. He asked again, “Are you awake?” Still no response. She seemed to be in a deep sleep, indicating that she had taken a sleeping pill. He was now fully aroused.
He tip toed to the bedroom door and eased it open, then closed it quietly behind him. He slipped through the darkness like a thief in the night. He could feel the butterflies building in his stomach as he stood at another bedroom door. He knew deep inside what he was planning was a crime against God and nature, but he had done it for so long that he was now numb to it—his desires had overtaken his humanity. The door squeaked as it closed behind him.
Fifteen minutes later he slipped back into bed. His heart was racing as he laid next to his wife, worrying that if she ever found out about his transgressions, his life would be over. Fuck it, he thought, it would be my word against theirs. And it’s who I am, so why am I feeling guilty? It’s not my fault I was born this way. Relief overcame him as he comforted himself. His eyes became heavy and within no time he fell asleep.
Tim awoke abruptly, feeling nauseous and lightheaded. The sun was up and it seemed exceptionally intense, causing him to squint. He must have overslept, he thought. Everything was blurry and he could only see shadows. A strange feeling overcame him. Something wasn’t right. He was cold and his legs felt numb. When he sat up, he noticed he was nude and his body felt stiff. He rubbed his eyes to clear up his vision. What the hell, he thought, I didn’t drink last night. Suddenly, the numbness in his legs changed to a burning sensation. He became confused when he found himself on a stainless-steel table. His lower body was covered with a blood-stained sheet. He jerked it away, revealing a horrifying sight; rows of fishhooks lined the insides and outsides of his legs. Each hook was connected to a steel wire, and the wires on the insides of his legs entered holes that were running down the center of the table. The wires on the outsides of his legs ran off the sides of the table. The wires were very tight, causing his skin to be stretched outwards in a gruesome manner.
He was still light headed, but his vision was quickly clearing up, allowing him to see further. Horror overcame him when he realized he wasn’t in his bedroom. He looked up and noticed the bright light wasn’t from the sun but from some lights above. When he looked to his right, he noticed there were six more stainless-steel tables with people on them. The tables were lined up side by side with about three feet of space between them. Four men were awake and sitting up. They had already removed their sheets, and their legs were bound in the same gruesome manner. A woman on the far end was starting to come around and she seemed as dazed as he was. One man was lying down, possibly still asleep, or maybe dead, he wasn’t sure. He reached out to the men who were sitting up and yelled out in a raspy voice, “I need some help!”
An older, heavy-set man that was next to him spoke. “Just stay calm. The effects will wear off shortly.”
Tim could barely hold his head steady. He felt like he had just gotten off a merry-go-round. “Effects of what? What are you talking about?”
“We were
given some type of drug.”
“Given what? Why? I don’t understand.”
“Just try to remain calm.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Henry. I woke up in here just like you did.”
“I feel strange… I can’t think straight.”
“You’re still lightheaded, but it will wear off in a little bit.”
He leaned over the side of the table and vomited. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, then looked at Henry. “Where am I?”
“Not sure. Like I said, I just awoke shortly before you did.”
He noticed Henry was nude and around sixty years old. He was also big, around three-hundred pounds. He was bald on top, but the rest of his hair was very long and unkempt. He had a long gray beard and his body was covered in gray hair. He looked like a sasquatch. Tim looked around for a moment, then back at Henry. “I don’t recognize this place. Where are we?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t know.”
“You must know something.”
“I’m sorry, son, I don’t. Like I said, I awoke myself just before you did. About an hour ago.”
Tim noticed the other three men were sitting up and talking to each other. They were on the other side of Henry and the man that was still lying down. He pointed towards them. “What about them? Do they know what’s going on?”
“No. None of us do.”
Tim started panicking. He needed answers. He started shouting, “I need help! Anyone here? Please come help me!”
One of the other men yelled out, “Hey! Calm down. It’s no use yelling for help.”
Tim was desperate. “Someone must know something. I need some help.”
Henry seemed aggravated. “I told you to keep calm. You’re upsetting the others.”
“I’m sorry, but how can everyone just sit and do nothing?”
“We haven’t just been sitting with our thumbs in our asses. We’ve all yelled for help. No one is here except for us.”
Tim leaned forward to grab his sheet so he could cover his privates, but something jerked him back. He noticed there were metal bands around his wrists. Chains ran from the bands to his neck. He grasped his neck, finding a leather collar; it felt thick and tall. He felt around it to see if he could remove it, but it was secured with a pad lock. He looked at Henry and noticed he had one too. The collar looked beefy and covered the majority of his neck. It reminded him of the bondage style collars he’d seen in pornos. He noticed a chain was secured to the back of his collar, and the other end was connected to the end of the table behind him. “Why are we chained?”
“I don’t know.” Henry grabbed his collar. “But the damn thing is too tight.”
Tim noticed the room seemed very large. In fact, he couldn’t see any walls or the ceiling due to the darkness. Only the area around the tables was lit with high bay lights. “We seem to be in a large building of some sort.” He looked at Henry. “Do you at least have a speculation as to what is going on?”
A fearful expression overcame him. “All I know is, I want to get the fuck out of here before something bad happens.”
Tim looked confused. “Bad?” He looked at his legs. “How much worse can it get?”
“Have you not looked around?” Henry pointed to a machine that was sitting on a track system. “I don’t want to stick around to see what that’s going to be used for.”
Tim noticed the machine had a large saw blade, around three feet in diameter. “We must be in an old saw mill or something.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve worked in one before. This equipment is different, and the way everything is laid out, I think it’s intended for us.”
“Why would someone want to do such a thing? There’s got to be another explanation.” Tim noticed some ducts. Each person had the open end of a two-inch pipe right above them. The seven pipes ran to a steel junction box that was mounted up high. From there, a single pipe ran to a large glass hopper that was on the other side of the tracks. He pointed to the piping. “Check out the pipes. It looks like a dust collection system.” He noticed numbered signs were hanging above each table. He was number one, Henry was number two and so on. “This equipment isn’t meant for us; it’s used for some type of production. There were probably some type of hoppers or containers under these pipes. Someone just happened to put these tables here. We just have to figure out why.”
Henry shook his head. “I’m glad you’re optimistic, son, but I’m afraid you’re wrong.”
“Stop calling me son. My name is Tim.”
“Listen, I’m not the bad guy here. No need to be snappy with me.”
“Sorry. I’m just scared. Something bad must have happened and I need to find out what.” Tim thought for a moment, then his eyes got big. “I know. Maybe there was some kind of disaster that has happened, like a terrorist attack or something, and the government had to use any buildings that weren’t damaged for makeshift hospitals.”
“That wouldn’t explain our legs.”
“Maybe we all have the same type of injuries and they grouped us together for treatment.”
“Those kind of thoughts have run through my mind as well, but there is no medical reason to do this to our legs. It’s barbaric. And the collars around our necks, being chained; that tells me we’re being held captive, possibly for some type of torture.”
Tim started getting upset. “That’s not true. You’re mistaken. We’re just here for treatment or something. No one would want to harm me.”
“You’re just in denial.”
“No I’m not. This is all explainable. This is just a makeshift hospital or something. Someone will come around eventually and explain what’s going on.”
“If this is a makeshift hospital, then why are we all on top of stainless steel tables? That alone points more to my theory of being held captive.”
“Maybe it’s all they had.”
“Do you think these tables already came equipped with these knives?”
“What?”
Henry pointed to the side of Tim’s table. “You have a knife hanging beside your table. We all do.”
Tim noticed there was a knife hanging by a cable. The other end of the cable was secured to the top of his table. He pulled it up, then stared at it. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s a skinning knife with a gut hook.”
“I know that. It’s just weird that it’s hanging off the side of my table.”
“Exactly. Now look what’s hanging off the other side.”
Tim pulled up a pair of pruning shears. They were the single-hand operated type. He closed and opened them a few times, then he noticed his name was engraved on the handle. “What the hell?” He looked at Henry with a confused look. “My name is written on these.”
“Maybe it’s a different Tim.” Henry was just being sarcastic.
“It’s my full fucking name. Timothy Ray Murray.”
“Still think we’re in a makeshift hospital?”
“I don’t know what to think, but there has to be a rational explanation for all of this.”
A stocky black man with a bald head on table four had been listening to Tim’s conversation with Henry. He spoke up as he held his hands over his genitals. “Listen, dude, we’ve all tried to come up with an explanation. Unfortunately, this place is bad. We need to find a way to get the fuck out of here before whoever did this returns, so you need to listen to the fat guy and stop thinking everything is peachy.”
Tim shook his head. “I can’t accept that someone is planning on harming me. There is a rational explanation for this.”
“You’re just in denial, like the fat man said. I went through it too when I first woke up. We all did. The fact is, we’re all in deep shit.”
Henry became a little aggravated. He glared at the black man. “Screw you, Charles.”
“Why you say that fo’?”
“Stop referring to me as the fat man. I’ve already told you my name is Henry.”
&
nbsp; Charles smiled. “Yo man, don’t get yo’ panties in a wad.”
Tim noticed Charles had a gold grill. It was glimmering from the bright lights above. He was muscled up and covered in tattoos. He looked like a gangbanger. “Hey, back to what you were saying. I think you are just trying to fuck with me.”
Charles laughed. “You just can’t grasp the fact that some crazy motherfucker, and probably a crazy white motherfucker at that, has yo’ ass bound on that table so he can fuck you up some mo. He’s probably gonna cut off yo’ dick with them snips, then he gonna do some real fucked up shit to ya.”
Henry shook his head. “There’s no need in scaring him any further. None of us are sure what’s going to happen or why we’re here.”
Tim had a worried look as he stared at Charles. “Why do you think someone wants to harm us?”
“First off, look at our fuckin’ legs. And don’t tell me it’s medically needed. No fuckin’ doctor would do such a thing. And no sane motherfucker would secure us with rusted chains and these creepy-ass collars. The fat man is right; this shit is barbaric. Some sick bastard has done this. And that equipment over there is fo’ us, so you better get yo’ head out of yo’ ass and start tryin’ to figure out a way to get the fuck out of here.”
“You don’t know if that machine is for us. You’re just jumping to conclusions.”
Charles pointed. “Then what’s all those bags of blood fo’?”
Tim noticed everyone had a rack behind them. The racks held numerous bags filled with a red substance. He looked over his shoulder and noticed there was a rack behind him as well. “Why is that a bad thing? We probably lost a little blood during our procedure or something.”
“Are you bleeding now?”
Tim looked at his legs. “No.”
“Do you see a lot of blood around your table?”
“Not really. Just some dry blood on my legs and some on the sheet I was covered with.”
The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore Page 110
