by Shaun Hutson
Squat, low to the ground. Carrying all its weight on its front legs. Legs that were bowed but extremely powerful. Like an ape.
It seemed to have hair on most of the upper part of its body. Glistening black in the torchlight.
Then it moved. Moved like lightning.
Ward swung the beam back and forth. There were others. He counted three.
All, it seemed, anxious to escape the probing glare of the torch.
They scattered in all directions. And when they ran they made a sound that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. A sound that resembled a deep retching noise. As if they were vomiting something up from their seething bellies.
Ward hurried back inside and slammed the door, his breath coming in gasps. His head was spinning.
He crossed to the light switch and hit it hard. Security lights illuminated the garden. He scanned the area for any signs of movement. Nothing.
Ward stood there for what seemed like an eternity then he switched off the lights and ensured the back door was firmly locked and bolted. Once those tasks had been completed, he padded into the sitting room.
He poured himself a drink and sat down, breathing heavily.
It was barely five minutes before he heard a knock on the front door.
IN DARKNESS
For a moment Ward wondered if this was another product of his disintegrating mind.
Smells that didn't exist. Sights that could only be the product of a furtive, drink-fuelled and troubled imagination. Visions that could not be explained. His senses seemed to be conspiring against him. Could his hearing have joined the alliance?
He waited. The knock came again. Louder and more insistent.
He put down his glass and wandered out into the hall, peering through the spy-hole in the door. The motion-triggered security light in the porch illuminated a figure standing before him.
He swallowed hard then slid the chain back and unlocked the door.
'Hi, Chris,' said Jenny. Five-foot-two Jenny wearing the long black coat. Jenny with the streaked brown hair. Jenny the prostitute.
He stepped back and ushered her inside.
'I wasn't expecting an appointment so late,' she told him, slipping off her coat. She was wearing a pair of knee-length boots, denim shorts and a yellow T-shirt.
'Is it a problem?' he wanted to know.
'No. Some customers . . .' she coughed and corrected herself, 'I mean, clients, call at any time of the day or night.'
He stood looking at her.
'Do you want me to go upstairs?' she said, almost apologetically.
In that moment she reminded Ward of a naughty child waiting to be sent to her room.
He shook his head and nodded in the direction of the sitting room. 'Go through,' he told her.
She hesitated a moment then did as he instructed. 'It's a beautiful room,' she said, looking round.
'Drink?' he said, ignoring her observation. He handed her a brandy and coke.
'You remembered my favourite.'
'Listen, I need to ask you a few things.'
'You just want to talk this time?' She sat down next to him and put one hand on his thigh. 'If you just want me to talk then that's fine,' Jenny continued. 'Whatever you want, Chris.' She slid her hand higher, towards his groin.
'Listen to me, will you?' he snapped. He got to his feet and refilled his glass.
'You said I rang you the other day. A couple of days ago. I can't remember exactly when. Something to do with you and another girl. What the fuck was that all about?'
'Me and Claire. You rang and asked if I could bring another girl with me when I came.'
'Why?'
'Why do you think?' she chuckled.
'What did I say?' he snapped.
Her smile faded. 'You asked me if I could arrange to
bring another girl to your house. You wanted to watch us while we did each other. You said you might join in. You might just watch.'
'And that was all I said?'
She looked puzzled.
'How did I sound?'
'Chris, I don't understand what you mean.'
'Did I sound the same? The way I always sound. My voice.' He sucked in a deep breath.'This is fucking useless.'
'I don't know what you mean,' she protested. 'I'm trying to help but—'
'Could it have been someone pretending to be me? Someone imitating my voice?'
She shook her head. 'Why would they want to do that?'Jenny enquired.
'That's what I want to know.'
'You rang me. You said you wanted me to come here and you said you wanted me to arrange to bring another girl too. You said you'd pay whatever it cost. That's what you said.'
Ward poured himself another drink and began pacing the sitting room slowly.
'What about tonight?' said Jenny finally. Her voice was hesitant, as if she was reluctant to break the oppressive silence.
'What do you mean?'
'Do you want me tonight?'
He stopped pacing and looked at her with something approaching contempt.
'Well, you're here, aren't you?' he muttered.
She finished her drink then made her way upstairs.
Ward followed a moment later.
UNEXPECTED VISIONS
There was blood everywhere. Ward woke up in it. He smelt it in his nostrils. That acrid, coppery stench.
When he opened his eyes he saw it all over the walls. It had soaked into the duvet like ink into blotting paper. It was splashed on the carpet. There was even some on the ceiling.
He sat up on the bed and realised he was naked. His body was covered with the sticky, crimson fluid. Some had congealed. Some had the tacky texture of drying paint. His hair was matted with it. Barely an inch of his flesh was untouched by the red splatters.
Ward felt his stomach contract. He gritted his teeth to prevent himself from vomiting.
He ran his hands over his body, his eyes scanning the flesh. There were no cuts. This was not his blood.
He dragged himself off the bed, gazing at his reflection in the mirrored doors of the wardrobe. He ran a hand over his face and smeared more of the crimson fluid over his cheeks.
Ward turned towards the bathroom, blundered in and turned the shower on to full power. He didn't even wait for the jets to become warm but dived
straight beneath them, anxious to wash away this foul coating that covered him like a second skin. The cold water hit his skin like pinpricks and he looked down to see the blood swirling away down the plughole.
All the time he stood beneath the spray he forced himself to think what might have happened. He could remember nothing. Nothing from the previous night. Nothing that might have caused this carnage.
He washed the last of the blood from his body then reached for a towel and wrapped it around himself.
Again he tried to think. As he stepped back into the bedroom he saw something lying beside the bed. It was a piece of material. Like everything else in the room, it was soaked in blood.
Ward turned it between his shaking hands and realised that it was lace. Once it had been white. Now it bore the indelible colour of life fluid. But whose?
He rubbed the material between thumb and forefinger. The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer. He was holding a pair of knickers.
He touched the smooth gusset. Pulled gently on the elastic around the waist area. The clothing looked like a bandage that had been pressed to an arterial wound. A cloth plug attempting to staunch an unstoppable flow of blood.
He shook his head. 'Oh, God,' he murmured.
He sat on the floor beside the bed, still holding the knickers.
Beneath the stained counterpane he spotted something else. It was a knee-length boot.
Ward reached under the bed and pulled it out. The
leather was new. He smelt it. Held it close to him as a child might grip a comforter.
There was a sock inside it. That too was also covered in blood.
There was something familiar
about this boot. Something . . .
A vision drifted into his mind. Of a girl with streaked brown hair. A girl in knee-length leather boots, denim shorts and a yellow T-shirt.
Jenny.
The boot was hers. So were the knickers. By implication, so was the blood.
Ward swallowed hard. What the fuck had happened in here last night? Where was Jenny?
Questions raced through his mind. He knew he had no answer to any of them. He sat naked beside the bed, surrounded by the blood and he tried to think. He remembered answering the door to her. Remembered giving her a drink. Then, after that, nothing. Just empty blackness where his memory should be.
Ward got to his feet and hurried out of the room, heading for his bedroom. He snatched up the phone and dialled Jenny's number. It rang three times.
He knew she shared a flat with another girl. If she was there she might know where Jenny was.
The phone still rang.
'Come on,' Ward gasped.
Finally it was answered.
'Hello,' said Ward quickly.
'Hello,' said the voice at the other end.
'I want to speak to Jenny'
'Who is this?'
'Just let me speak to her, will you? I want to arrange an appointment to see her.'
'She's not here at the moment.'
'Where is she?'
'I don't know. She was out all last night and—'
'When will she be back?'
'Well, she said she'd be back this morning but—'
'What's her mobile number?'
'I can make the appointment for you if you like.'
'No, just give me the number.'
'Hang on a minute.'
He heard rustling, papers being shifted.
'I've got the number. Have you got a pen?'
'Just give it to me,' he snapped.
The girl had barely finished speaking when Ward slammed the phone down. He lifted the receiver again then dialled Jenny's mobile number. And waited. And . . .
There was a high-pitched ringing inside the room. Ward dropped the phone and ducked down on to the blood-spattered carpet. The ringing was coming from beneath the bed. He reached under and pulled out Jenny's mobile.
She had been here. No doubt. But where the hell was she now?
Ward dropped the phone and sat motionless on the floor.
SEARCH
It took him over five hours to clean the bedroom. Wearing just a pair of shorts, he slaved inside what had become a charnel house, washing and scraping away the crimson fluid. He carried the duvet downstairs and shoved it into the washing machine.
The initial clean-up was followed by more detailed ablutions and Ward removed the worst of the bloodstains from the carpet, curtains and furniture.
The scraps of clothing and the boot he saved.
It was approaching five in the afternoon when he finally collapsed, exhausted, on to his bed. His body was sheathed in sweat and he had a raging headache.
He needed to go downstairs and take a couple of Nurofen but he just lay staring at the ceiling, his mind spinning.
It was another hour before he finally hauled himself upright.
Thirty minutes more before he remembered the camcorder inside the office.
NO WORDS OF WISDOM
W
ard unlocked the office door and trudged
slowly up the stairs. Four pieces of paper had spewed from the printer. He approached them and picked each up in turn.
THE
DESERVED
CUNT
TO die
there was no other way
A REVELATION
Ward stared at the four pages for what seemed like an eternity then he laid them carefully with the rest of the manuscript on his desk.
He crossed to the camcorder and took it from its tripod.
The cassette had been used up. All ninety minutes of it. He had to see what the machine had caught on film. Before he left the office, he switched off both the monitor and the printer.
FILM SHOW
Ward poured himself another glass of Jack Daniel's while he waited for the tape to rewind. Once it was ready, he changed the necessary cables and leads that connected the camcorder to the television then pressed the play button. He sat back in his seat and exhaled deeply.
There was a second or two of blank leader, then a startling flash of black and white across the screen.
Ward swallowed what was left in his glass.
The picture on his television screen came into focus.
He sat forward in his seat.
What he saw before him wasn't his office. It was the spare bedroom of his house.
He swallowed hard and studied the images before him.
Jenny was tied to a wooden chair. She was naked. The bonds that held her securely in place were strips of sheet. One around each ankle and one around each wrist. She was wearing a blindfold. Also made of sheeting.
The camera panned slowly from her perfectly pedicured feet, up the smooth curve of her calves to her slim thighs. It paused at the neatly trimmed triangle of her
pubic hair then continued to rise until it came to her breasts. The nipples were already hard and prominent.
Further it moved. Up the hollow of her neck then to her face. She was smiling.
Ward moved closer to the screen, his hands shaking.
He could see her lips moving but he couldn't hear what she was saying. He reached for the TV remote and increased the sound. She had stopped speaking now.
He saw her clothes scattered around the bedroom. Some on the bed. Others on the floor.
'Are you ready?' The voice he heard on the tape was his own.
It came from off-camera.
The gaze of the camcorder was still riveted on Jenny.
His own image stepped into shot. Naked.
He knelt between her spread thighs and rubbed his hands over the smooth flesh before pushing two fingers into her vagina.
Jenny moaned expertly.
Then he withdrew the digits and concentrated on her breasts, massaging them, turning the nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
Again she moaned with practised accomplishment.
Ward watched himself stand up. Saw his throbbing erection as he paused before her. Then he stepped out of shot again.
'Don't tease,' Jenny said, still smiling.
When he stepped back into shot he was holding a knife. It was at least a foot long. Serrated and wickedly pointed.
Ward shook his head as he watched the video, transfixed by what he saw.
The image on the screen moved towards Jenny and again stood between her open legs.
'Take this blindfold off, Chris,' Jenny said. 'I like to see what you're doing.'
On screen he moved the blade to within inches of her throat.
'Chris,' she persisted, her voice soft and coaxing. 'Let me see you.'
Ward tried to swallow but his throat was chalk dry.
On screen, the knife was practically touching the flesh of her neck now.
'Open your mouth,' the on-screen Ward told her.
Jenny did as he instructed. She licked her lips exaggeratedly.
He touched the blade to her tongue.
Her smile faded. 'What's that?' she said.
They were the last two words she uttered.
SNUFF MOVIE
Ward watched as the images on the screen suddenly became more animated.
The knife was driven forward with incredible power. He saw it slice through Jenny's tongue. Saw most of that appendage severed. Saw the blood erupt into the air.
She tried to scream but the blood gushing back into her throat made the noise little more than a liquid gurgle.
The knife sped back and forth with incredible speed and ferocity.
Through her cheek. It was torn free, ripping the flesh.
Into her neck. More blood bursting from the wound.
Then into her chest. Once, twice. One breast was practically seve
red.
Four, five times. Every cut was deep.
Blood spurted madly into the air but the hacking and slashing continued.
The blade was driven into her belly and pulled upwards. A slippery, seething mass of intestines spilled from the eviscerated body. He saw the green of bile as the gall bladder was hacked in half by another frenzied cut.
A nipple was severed and fell to the floor.
The blade was drawn across the throat from side to
side. Ear to ear. The throat opened and yawned like a blood-filled mouth.
And still the stabbing went on.
Several deep wounds were inflicted on the thighs. One severed a femoral artery and blood sprayed several feet into the air.
Another buried the blade, handle deep, into Jenny's vagina like some lethal, metallic penis.
She made no sound after the first five or six cuts. The only noises audible on the tape were the liquid sounds of blood spurting or flesh being hacked and then the soft hiss as her sphincter muscle collapsed. Faeces and urine mingled with the blood that was already soaking into the carpet.
Ward watched with his eyes bulging.
Ten. Twenty. Thirty more devastating incisions. Unnecessary. Life had long since left her body along with most of the blood it had contained.
Finally he removed the blindfold and, almost carefully, plunged the knife into first one eye then the other.
Left it stuck in the right socket.
Glistening.
Christopher Ward turned away from the screen, his stomach contracting. For long moments he was sure he was going to vomit but the feeling gradually passed.
It was another five minutes before he could bring himself to look at the screen again.
AFTERMATH
Ward reached for the bottle of Jack Daniel's. He poured himself a full glass and drank it in two massive gulps.
He drank until he passed out.
OBLIVION
Ward didn't wake until after one that morning. He stared at the now-blank television screen, rolled on to his back and blacked out once again.
Life sometimes seems so pointless. What is the reason for it? What is the reason for our being? Scholars throughout the ages have laboured over the question and none have come to a satisfactory conclusion. I myself have often wondered what the true nature of life and being is but they are fleeting thoughts in a world too preoccupied with relevances more tangible than anything so ethereal. Why would any man want to devote his life to discovery of the object of being? Of being on this planet and in this life. How incredibly supercilious of man to imagine, for one moment, that he is the only inhabitant of this world. There are many worlds about which mankind has no understanding. The world inside a man's mind is the most uncharted territory ever. No one fully understands, nor will they ever, the workings of the human mind. What some desire others find abhorrent. What some find beauteous, others may barely countenance. So many contradictions within the mind of man and none will ever be truly and irrevocably solved.
