Todd had never bothered to obtain a drivers’ license, but that didn’t prevent him from driving the rusty, old Ford truck that he inherited from his pa. He drove straight home, loaded up his father’s chainsaw in the back, and then stopped by to knock on his neighbor’s door…
Bud Pickens first peeked from a porch window to see who it was. He instantly recognized the freaky-looking Todd, although they had never engaged in a conversation before. Bud opened the front door half-way and asked, “What’s goin’ on, Todd?”
“It’s my f-f-friend, K-K-Kyle. He wants to b-buy some d-d-drugs.”
“I dunno what the heck yer sayin’ – I sure as hell ain’t no dope dealer,” said Bud in an angry tone.
“K-Kyle g-got m-money. He l-likes to p-party at the m-m-morgue. Ya c-can p-party t-too.”
Suddenly, a cranky voice called out from inside the house. It was his father calling out, “Bud, I’m sick an’ tired of you an’ yer bosom-buddies getting’ high ‘round the house. I ain’t puttin’ up with that shit no more. Jus’ git rid of whoever the heck yer talkin’ to out there.”
Bud stuck his head out and whispered so his father couldn’t hear him, “OK, Todd – ya got yerself a deal. Lemme grab my stash, and I’ll meet down ya by yer truck. I wanna sneak outta here real bad. Yer gonna hafta drive, since my pa sounds like he’s done beside hisself.”
Minutes later, Bud hopped into Todd’s truck and they barreled down the road towards the funeral home. Meanwhile, Bud’s dad was so busy watching a televised Dallas Cowboys football game that he didn’t even notice that his son was gone…
Darkness had already set in on a warm, summer night. The crickets chirped loudly as Todd led Bud up the path to the morgue entrance. The door was locked, so Todd knocked three times…
The door made a creaky sound when it swung open. Bud and Kyle had never been formally introduced, although they had seen each other in town on numerous occasions.
“Howdy, pardner – my name’s Kyle. I been jonesing fer some shit ever since my ole source ran dry. Did ya bring any goodies with ya?”
Bud tried to peek over Kyle’s shoulder to make sure there were no additional people. Kyle noticed Bud’s concern, so he said, “Ya ain’t got nuttin’ to worry ‘bout – all these here bodies are deader than a doornail. The only livin’ folks here are you, me, an’ Todd.”
Bud walked in and opened up his bag of dope, and then arranged the individually packaged items on a table. He said, “Todd didn’t tell me what’s yer favrit poison, so I brought some of everything I got. Of course, I got some killer weed, half an ounce of blow, and I even got a couple grams of H. I’m sorry, but I’m plumb out of any pharmaceuticals and meth, but I can git some by tomorrow. Just, never ask me fer no fronts – it’s all gotta be cash ‘n carry. That’s jus’ how I roll.”
“That’s cool, Bud,” replied Kyle. “I can go for some coke mixed with some heroin.”
“So, Kyle – yer a speedballer!” commented a laughing Bud. “I can tell that we’re gonna git along just fine.”
“How fucked up can we all git on this lil’ wad o’ cash?” asked Kyle excitedly as he brought out a fistful of money and ‘accidentally’ dropped it on the floor just as Bud was about to grab it. Instinctively, Bud reached down to grab it, while Kyle secretly nodded at Todd.
This was Todd’s cue to knockout Bud with an overhead, club-like blow to the back of his head.
Kyle let out a shrill, sickening laugh as he yelled, “Timber!! Well, gentlemen – let the games begin.”
Todd carried Bud’s unconscious body and positioned him on a sturdy, wooden chair. Kyle securely tied Bud’s ankles to the chair legs, and then he tied his wrists to the chair’s armrests. They intentionally left Bud’s hands free from constraints, although he was clearly unable to untie himself.
“OK, Todd – it’s jus’ ‘bout time fer the show ta begin. Let’s wake up our sleepin’ boy by givin’ him a whiff of his own coke.”
Bud quickly perked up from the effects of some blow inserted into his nostril on a small coke spoon. He shook his head to regain his senses, and then he shouted, “What the fuck’s goin’ on? Lemme go!”
“Hey, sweetheart – time fer ya to rise an’ shine,” said Kyle. “We’re so glad to have ya join our party. Say, Bud – we took the liberty of askin’ Miss Daisy Harper to come an’ join in the festivities. She told me that ya had the audacity ta force her ta give ya blowjobs jus’ to git her high. I actually find that kinda funny – tradin’ blow for blow – but that was downright rude of ya to huck her carcass into the bushes. I had to clean out all sorts of crud an’ lil’ critters from her inner cavities.”
Bud was repulsed when he saw Daisy’s lifeless, pale, naked body sitting on a nearby chair. He knew he was in deep trouble so he decided to take the nice approach by saying, “Ya guys can take all my dope – and ya can have all my money too. I won’t cause ya no trouble. Jus’ lemme go.”
“Bud, darlin’, ya jus’ don’t seem to understand – me an’ Todd don’t give a rats ass about yer dope. We acted like we wanna git high jus’ to trick ya to come on over. We mostly wanted to hear ya apologizin’ to Miss Daisy here for treatin’ her like yesterday’s garbage.”
A very nervous Bud wanted to yell obscenities at his captors, but decided to try to play along… “Yer right, Daisy – I’m real sorry fer treatin’ yer body with complete disrespect. Please fergive me… OK, I fuckin’ said what ya wanted me ta say, so lemme go!”
“Well, Bud – honestly, I felt yer ‘pology seemed to lack sincerity, but I’m willin’ to cut ya some slack. You’ll be free to go if ya can beat Todd here in a lil’ game o’ ‘Simon Sez’.”
Beads of sweat began to form on Bud’s forehead as Kyle asked Todd to fetch his chainsaw.
When Todd returned with the gas-powered tool he asked, “C-can I f-f-fire it up?”
“We’ll save that fer the grand finale. I wanna start with something a little less ‘timidating. Let’s jus’ start with this pair o’ pliers… Now, Bud, I want you to try yer very best – if ya beat Todd, yer free to go.”
Bud’s breathing quickened as he could only imagine what was in store for him.
“Todd, why don’tcha be a gentleman, and let our guest go first – then he can see how this game is played.”
Todd placed the pliers in the grasp of Bud’s right hand.
“OK, Bud – Simon Sez: use the pliers to yank off Todd’s left thumbnail.”
Bud just sat there motionless, frozen from fear.
“Ya heard me right, Bud – Simon Sez: yank off Todd’s left thumbnail.”
Todd eagerly held out his left hand, and positioned the tip of his thumb up against the pliers. Bud shut his eyes tightly as he squeezed down on the pliers. He was unable to pull backwards as Kyle had ordered, since he was securely tied to the chair, but to maintain the spirit of the game, Todd yanked back his left arm to successfully pull off his left thumbnail. Todd groaned out loud as blood dripped off the tip of his thumb.
“Stop groaning!” yelled Kyle, but Todd continued to moan… “Good job, Todd – ya didn’t stop moaning ‘cause I didn’t say ‘Simon Sez’ – OK, then – Todd, Simon Sez: stop groaning and look happy.”
Instantly, Todd completely stopped groaning and flashed a big, happy smile.
“OK, Bud – that’s how to play the game. As ya can see, Todd’s purdy dang good at it.
Bud was so stricken with fear that he couldn’t avoid peeing all over himself.
“Goddamn it, Bud,” said Kyle. “Simon Sez: stop peeing all over yerself,” but the frightened Bud couldn’t stop.
Kyle slapped his face real hard and said, “Next time, ya had better do ‘xactly what Simon tells ya ta do – ya hear? OK, now it’s time to reverse the rolls. Todd, take the pair o’ pliers from Bud’s hand.”
A bleeding Todd just stood there motionless and quiet…
“OK, Todd – Simon Sez: grab the pliers and yank off Bud’s thumbnail.”
Todd eagerly grasped th
e tip of Bud’s thumbnail with the pair of pliers and pulled the thumbnail clean off of his quivering finger. Bud let out an agonizing scream as Kyle shouted, “Simon Sez: Bud – stop screaming,” but the howling and cussing just continued.
“Oh, Bud – ya gave it a decent effort, but I’m afraid that Todd is the clear-cut winner tonight,” said Kyle as he symbolically raised an exuberant Todd’s hand in victory.
“Todd, I’m sorry the game was so dang short, but Bud simply was no competition fer ya. Say, Bud, I know Todd would like ya ta stick aroun’ fer another round of ‘Simon Sez’, but I can tell that ya’d rather jus’ call it a night. So, would ya like Todd to jus’ cut ya loose from the chair?”
A whimpering Bud sniffled as he replied, “Yeah – I’d surely ‘preciate bein’ cut loose.”
“OK, Todd – Simon Sez: you may use yer chainsaw to cut our guest loose from the chair.”
Bud stared at Todd in horror as he watched him give the chainsaw’s ripcord a powerful tug. Todd’s boisterous laughter was nearly drowned out by the loud sound of the revving chainsaw. Exhaust fumes permeated the air as Todd brought down the cutting chain on top of Bud’s wrist. Blood sprayed everywhere as Todd chopped off Bud’s left hand. A completely panicking Bud let out a bloodcurdling, primal scream, but Todd and Kyle continued to laugh as the dismembering continued… Next, Todd cut off Bud’s other hand, and then he cut off his right foot at the ankle.
Bud continued to scream out loud at the top of his lungs as Todd cut off his left foot too. However, this time the chainsaw accidentally cut through one of the chair legs as well, and both Bud and the chair toppled over.
Todd switched off the chainsaw and let Kyle speak, “Say, Bud – a deal’s a deal – we agreed to cut ya loose, so yer quite free ta go.”
Out of shear instinct, the horribly bleeding Bud valiantly tried to crawl forward, but his progress was very slow, and blood continued to gush out from the stumps where he used to have hands and feet.
“Well, Todd – I guess that’s all she wrote. We got quite a big mess ta clean up ‘fore the mortician arrives. Ya can start by tossin’ his hands and feet into the incinerator. I’m gonna stay here fer a bit ta see if Bud here can find ‘nuff balls to crawl outta here alive…”
Todd carried the body parts to the crematory, and opened up the hatch to the incineration chamber. First, he tossed in Bud’s dismembered feet, and then he threw in his left hand. However, Todd hesitated just as he was about to toss in the right hand. He turned around to make sure that Kyle was nowhere in sight.
A sentimental Todd thought to himself, “This has been a special night. Kyle and Bud were so nice to play ‘Simon Sez’ with me. I won’t tell Kyle, but I want to save this severed hand as a keepsake. If we can do this again, I want to have a collection of cut-off hands. With each hand I get to keep, it feels like winning a trophy.”
Bud was still alive and half-conscious when Todd returned from the cremation chamber.
“Todd, I’m ‘fraid that Bud’s a goner – jus’ carry him to the crematory and incinerate his ass.”
Bud’s eyes were still open wide as he stared into the fiery pit just as Todd heaved him into the flames and securely closed the hatch. Todd could still hear Bud’s muffled screams through the chamber walls as the blazing flames engulfed his body.
However, Todd inexplicably was overcome with an ominous feeling of guilt. Tears began to flow down his face, and he yanked out several clumps of hair from his head. He spotted a large pair of scissors sitting on a shelf full of office supplies. The guilt-ridden Todd grabbed the scissors, and punctured his cheek with a thrust of the sharp tip, but that wasn’t enough to squelch his guilt. Next, he decided to pull out his eyelid away from his eyeball with his left thumb and index finger. In a fit of rage, he cut off his left eyelid, although his eyeball was undamaged. Blood squirted everywhere while he quietly sat down, and waited for the blood to coagulate.
A few minutes later Kyle found him and asked, “What the fuck happened to yer eye, Todd? Ya know we’re done playin’ Simon Sez fer tonight. Dang, yer eye sure as heck looks like shit, but there’s no use in cryin’ over spilt blood. Don’t feel bad ‘bout what happened to Bud. That goddamn dope dealer had it comin’ to him. Look how he treated Miss Daisy. Say, after I finish mopping up the place, I’ll drive ya home. Ya can take tomorrow off from work ta let yer eye heal up. ‘Member, if the cops stop by to ask ya ‘bout the next-door neighbor boy, ya ain’t seen hide nor hair o’ him – and I’ll be happy to give ya an alibi that ya was workin’ here with me overtime.”
CHAPTER 6
The following morning around 8:00 AM his boss, Elmer Higgins, and the mortician, Bo Cochrane, entered the funeral parlor. Kyle had just finished a thorough clean-up of the premises which included incinerating the wooden chair with a leg cut short. He had meticulously wiped away every blood splatter, and he returned Daisy Harper’s body to the work table. As was customary, he covered her from head to toe with a clean, white sheet.
Elmer asked him, “Gee, Kyle – I don’t recall ever seein’ ya ‘round here so bright an’ early. I hope ya didn’t work here all night. I sure as snot can’t ‘ford to pay ya no overtime, ya know.”
“No boss – I clocked out last night. I jus’ got tired, an’ I dosed off fer a bit. When I woke up, I was full o’ pep an’ energy, so I gave the place a nice scrub-down – free o’ charge.”
Elmer was impressed to hear that Kyle had worked several hours cleaning up for free. He complimented him by saying, “Kyle, ya done a fine clean up job. Ever thang looks spic-an’-span in here.”
The mortician, Bo Cochrane, was a short, pudgy man in his late fifties. He inspected Daisy’s corpse and commented, “Well, Kyle – I sure ‘preciate the fine prep job ya did on Miss Daisy Harper. Specially when a body’s been found out in the bushes, I can usually still find some bug infestations deep up inside the genital cavities, but her privates are literally squeaky clean. I commend ya, Kyle, on yer thorough prep job. It jus’ makes my embalming process that much easier.”
Kyle was relieved to see that no one suspected him of necrophilia, so he just politely answered, ”Thank ya, kindly.”
Meanwhile, Todd had gotten over the guilt pangs he experienced last night, but he was rather shocked when he studied his face in the mirror. The puncture mark in his cheek was big enough for him to poke the tip of his tongue out through the hole, and the scabbed up eyelid looked positively garish. He was relieved to see that he still possessed vision in his left eye. He thought to himself, “I’m glad I didn’t cut out my eyeball last night. I know I gave it some serious consideration.”
At first, Todd was shocked by the severity of his self-inflicted wounds, but soon thereafter Todd began to feel a sense of pride over his newly acquired, battle scars.
“These scars prove that I’m way tougher than yer average Joe,” became Todd’s new attitude, and thus he never made any attempts to conceal his wounds, even when he went out in public.
As time went on, his feelings of friendship with Kyle continued to grow.
“Kyle is nice to play games with me – nobody else does that unless they’re forced into it.”
Within a year, Kyle and Todd claimed over two dozen victims. Todd’s private collection of severed hands nearly filled a good-sized tote bag. He had relocated his collection of chopped off hands to his house, so he could play with them in private, and relive the harrowing games they had played with their captives.
Besides accumulating a growing collection of severed hands in various stages of decay, Todd was steadily converting himself into a veritable monster. Eventually, all of his fingernails and toenails had been yanked off. Several of his fingers had been shortened down by a knuckle, and he had gained a maze of deep, facial scars. Many of these self-inflicted scars came by way of chainsaw, which was always used to dismember the victims prior to incinerating them in the crematory.
Todd rarely spoke much due to his speech impediment, but he constantly was deeply in thought�
�
“While I really like it when Kyle plays games with me, I really respect him since he never, ever hurts nice people. The only people he ever chooses to hurt are bad people, like animal abusers, wife beaters, child abusers, dope dealers, and whores. All these bad people deserve to have something bad happen to them.”
One hot, sunny afternoon on the outskirts of town, Kyle and Todd went to their usual filling station to gas up the Ford truck. Kyle was on good terms with the elderly owner, Hank Schillings, who had known him since he was a young boy.
Just as they pulled into the gas station, they saw a tough-looking biker peeling out of the parking lot. He was wearing a ‘Mongols’ gang member jacket.
Todd went to fill up the gas tank as Kyle went inside to say ‘hi’ to old Hank. He was shocked to find him hunched over, with blood running out of his freshly broken nose.
“Are ya OK, Hank?” asked a concerned Kyle. “What in tarnation happened ta yer nose?”
Old Hank was a sturdy sort. He wiped away some of the blood from his face and said, “That dang biker punched me in the nose and stole all the money from the till – and then he ran off like the Dickens. I’ll be alright, but I oughta tell ya that I jus’ called the cops. I got a hankerin’ that you an’ Todd don’t wanna be here when the cops show up, since I know he ain’t got no valid driver’s license, so ya best be on yer way now. Never mind ‘bout payin’ fer the gas – I’ll jus’ include that with the dough that the goddamn, Mongol biker stole from me.”
“I feel terrible ‘bout yer nose, but we gotta run now. I already hear sirens comin’ down the road.”
Kyle ran outside and told Todd to jump in the truck. He said, “Hurry up, Todd – the cops are coming, so ya better push the pedal to the metal.”
Todd successfully managed to drive away in the nick of time before the police arrived. Meanwhile, Kyle explained what had just happened to old Hank.
Texas Chainsaw Masochist Page 3
