TORTURED: A Novel of Psychological Horror

by Matt Shaw

  “Thank you,” said Dee.

  “Here - this is for you,” said Ryan who’d gone from irritating his wife to a being a polite neighbour. He held out the bottle of wine they’d brought.

  “You shouldn’t have,” said Jackie as she gracefully accepted it. “We’ll open it with dinner!” She turned to the girls, Claire and Jen, “Dinner’s going to be about twenty minutes. The kids are in their bedrooms. Just pop on up there and say hello! I did call them down but clearly they’d rather be rude.”

  Claire went to say something, but was immediately shot down by a stern look from her mother. She rolled her eyes and led Jen towards the stairs. Jackie led her adult visitors through to the lounge.

  “So how’d the move go?” asked Mike, “Finished unpacking yet?”

  “Lots to do!” said Ryan. “Didn’t help that the removal men were late…Three hours in the end with no warning or anything. Didn’t even have the decency to answer their mobiles when I tried calling.”

  “Don’t you just hate that?” Mike agreed.

  “Oh please don’t encourage him,” Dee sighed.

  “Perhaps it was a mistake getting these two together,” Jackie laughed.

  “No. If someone says they’re going to do something, or be somewhere - if they’re suddenly not able to make it…It’s common decency to inform the people who are waiting for them,” Mike sided with Ryan.

  “Exactly!” Ryan agreed.

  “I’m going to check on the dinner,” said Jackie. She turned to Dee, “Want to come through to the kitchen with me? Leave them to their moaning?”

  “Definitely.” Dee gave Ryan a little wave as she walked through to the kitchen with Jackie. “You said the kids were upstairs. How many children do you have?”

  “Two. One girl and one boy. Kara is eleven years old - the youngest - and her brother Thomas is seventeen. Thomas, who is seventeen going on thirty. In fact, I’m surprised he’s still here. He told me he was moving out this morning.” In the kitchen Jackie put the wine onto the side, next to the cooker and glasses she’d already pulled from the cupboard.

  “Sounds like my daughter. Although she hasn’t said she’s moving out. Not recently anyway. I think the last time we got that line was when we said we were moving from the city,” Dee laughed. She laughed now but at the time she remembered it was a stressful argument - one which resulted in tears, tantrums and Claire’s bedroom door being slammed shut. “She’s probably up there now telling your son what bad parents we are.”

  * * * * *

  Jen and Kara were in Kara’s bedroom whilst Claire was in Thomas’ room, sitting on his computer desk thumbing through his music collection which sat on the shelf above his large monitor. Thomas, a tall lad with dark scruffy hair, was lying on his bed with a book in his hands.

  “So is there anything fun to do around here?” Claire asked.

  “Depends on your definition of fun.”

  “I don’t know. What do you do for fun?”

  Thomas held his book up. “Read? There’s a library. Not the biggest, but it has a good collection.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “I was thinking about clubs.” She held up a CD, “Somewhere to listen to music? Dance? Get drunk?” She put the CD back on the shelf, “Maybe not to that one though. Did you steal that from your dad?”

  Thomas climbed from the bed and walked over to Claire. He leaned across her and looked at the CD she’d just put back. “Pink Floyd?”

  “Dated much?”

  “Classic.” He paused a moment, “Let me guess - you’re more into boy bands. Cheesy little pop tunes?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I’m right, aren’t I? Who is it? Westlife? Boyzone? One Direction?” he laughed as he returned to where he had been previously lying on the bed.

  “You’re an idiot,” Claire turned back to the rest of the ‘dated’ music collection. “So basically the only thing you class as decent around here is the library?”

  “Yep.”

  Claire sighed heavily.

  “I’m guessing you’re not happy about moving here?” Thomas asked. He didn’t really care. Truth be told he’d sooner sit and read his book in silence but it was obvious Claire wasn’t about to go downstairs and leave him in peace. He figured he might as well make an effort. Besides - she was easy on the eye at least. And the first girl who’d spoken to him without it being part of a bet.

  “Yeah. I love being pulled from my school and taken away from my friends, forced to move miles away and then wedged into a tiny room. I’m actually having a blast. You couldn’t tell?”

  “You like sarcasm, don’t you?”

  “No. You think?”

  Thomas smiled at her, “At least you’ll have no trouble making new friends at school.” He picked his book up again and thumbed his way through to the page he was previously on. He wasn’t being sarcastic with his statement. He knew she’d get on fine at the school. All the girls had a sarcastic streak about them. A nasty one at that. She’d fit in all right.

  “Dinner’s ready! Get down here!” Mike called up the stairs. His voice started off strongly before fading as he walked through to the dining room where Jackie was dishing up the meals from the large pot of shepherd’s pie.

  Claire stood up and left the bedroom without waiting for Thomas, “Least it’s one step closer to going home…”

  Thomas put his book down and called out to Claire as she walked across the landing and towards the stairs, “But seriously - thank you for coming. Made my evening really pleasant. Thanks.” He rolled off the bed and followed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  One of my earlier pictures fell from my scrapbook and landed in my lap. Needs more glue. I looked at the photo before sliding it back between the pages. Definitely one of the earlier pieces. No skin. The first time I tortured someone I tried to take their skin off. I wanted to do it in one. I wanted to make a suit. I’d heard of other people - like me - who’ve made them in the past. Had I managed to make one, I wouldn’t have worn it. I wouldn’t have dressed up as my victim; a morbid fancy dress costume. I would have displayed it on my wall. A trophy. Just as a hunter may display the head of a recently killed animal, I’d do the same with the skin. Never managed it though. The cuts would start off as good, full pieces of flesh but would get thinner the further down the body I went before eventually tearing off in my hand. Most frustrating. Disappointing. On the fourth person I gave up trying - and that’s when I started to take the lips. I closed the scrapbook and turned in my chair to the lady behind me. A pretty (untouched) blonde girl, bound to a metal office chair, which had been stripped of any comfort. I smiled at her. Enough reminiscing. Now to get to work.

  * * * * *

  By the fourth day everything was more or less put in its rightful home. The cupboards were full of food and everything had its place. All that needed to be done was a quick run to the tip to get rid of the many cardboard boxes which had been used in the moving process which had now served their purpose (some left in better shapes than others which had clearly been over packed). The tip run would wait until the weekend though. Dee and Ryan only had one car between them having been forced to sell the second vehicle in an effort to cut back unnecessary expenses. It wasn’t that big an issue - Dee’s school was fairly close to the bank where Ryan worked so it just meant she’d drop him off on the way through and then collect him when he’d finished later in the day. She usually finished before him so it gave her a little time to pop to the shops if need be before having to collect him. That being said - today Ryan was driving himself to work. The schools were still shut for the holidays and so there was no need for Dee to go out and about. If she’d needed to venture out she would have done so - it just meant she would have to get up earlier than she might have planned in order to take Ryan to the bank but at least that meant she had the day free to do as she pleased. Today was all about nesting though. Move the final few bits and pieces, tidy the house up and sit back with a cup of tea in hand whilst she stared at the
walls wondering what colour she’d eventually like to paint them in an effort to put her own stamp on the building. Ryan had said the walls were fine as they were, but they weren’t and he knew this. He just didn't want to get involved with any of the decorating - a task he hated more than anything else.

  “Might start looking at colour charts,” said Dee over the breakfast table when Ryan asked what she was planning to do with her day. “Don’t worry - I won’t ask you to look at them,” she continued when she saw his face drop. Despite her words of reassurance Ryan knew, at some point, he’d be forced to look at them. “And before you say it I know we don’t have the money to do it yet - just like to look at them.”

  “I want to paint my bedroom black.” Claire piped up. Definitely the family teenager.

  “You’re not painting your bedroom black,” Dee turned to her.

  “And I want a pink room like Kara’s!” Jen shouted with a mouthful of toast.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  “I want a pink room,” Jen repeated having swallowed the toast.

  “No one is changing anything,” Ryan put his foot down. He took another sip from his cup of tea. “Everything is fine as it is. Let’s just settle in first, yeah? And - besides - as your mother pointed out, we don’t have the finances to do any decorating yet.”

  Claire huffed. “You said I could decorate my room this year!” It was true, Dee had told Claire she could decorate. But that was before the pay cut and before they had moved house. That was back when they weren’t struggling as much. A time when Ryan simply did his best to hide the financial strains the family were facing in the hope they’d turn round before they had an impact on the way he - and his family - lived.

  “I like Kara’s room. It’s pretty.”

  Ryan stood up and walked with his cup over to the sink. He took another mouthful and tipped the remainder down the plug-hole. “I have to go.” Dee got up and kissed him on the cheek. She knew he still had another ten minutes before he had to leave but could sense his rising tension. The stress of the move, the stress of money and the worry of what was happening at work was clearly getting to him. He did his best to hide it but she’d been married to him for a while now (and they’d been dating a lot longer before that) and she could tell when he was struggling with his moods. “You sure you don’t need the car today?”

  “No, it’s fine. Try and have a good day. Everything will be fine.” He smiled at her. Not because her words hit home with him but more so because he could tell she was trying to cheer him up. “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you.”

  “Gross.”

  They both turned to Claire. She was staring into her breakfast bowl. They ignored her and turned back to each other.

  “If you need anything just give me a ring,” said Ryan. He gave Dee a kiss and turned from the kitchen and walked down the hallway. Dee followed him to the front door where he put on his suit jacket.

  “Try and have a good day,” she repeated. He just smiled at her again. “Girls are you going to say goodbye to your father?” she called into the kitchen.

  “Bye!” both girls shouted.

  “I’m sure they’ll miss you,” Dee laughed. Ryan just raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘yeah, right’. He opened the front door and stepped into the brilliant sunshine. “Might get in the garden actually,” Dee teased, “do a spot of reading in a sun spot.”

  “Fuck you!” Ryan laughed. He hated having to go to work when she got to stay at home. Sure she had school work to complete during the long summer holidays but working from home was so much better than having to actually go into the school. It was the same every summer too. He’d book a week off to spend it with the family and the girls, (including his wife) would have six weeks off! Worse yet (for Ryan) was that Dee insisted they all did their work in the first week in order to get it out of the way so they could all enjoy their holidays before the next term started. Ryan climbed into his car and closed the door. The start of a hot day. No air conditioning in the car and no air conditioning in the bank. He sighed. “One day I’ll be rich and I’ll get to retire and do nothing,” he sighed again. “Yeah and pigs might fly.”

  “Bye!” Dee waved from the front door.

  Ryan waved back, slammed the car in reverse, and backed out of the driveway. Usually he felt good when he’d had any time off work. He felt as though his batteries had been nicely recharged. Not now, though. This time he just felt tired and he was kicking himself for not booking off two weeks to move. At least he could have put his feet up on the second week - enjoyed some quiet time before going back in. Too late to think about that now, he thought, as he set off to the bank hoping that it would, at least, be a quiet day.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It is estimated that currently there are between twenty-five and eighty-six active serial killers in the United States of America. I’m not sure who made the numbers up and I’m not sure whether it’s the same in the United Kingdom. Surely it has to be less because the population is smaller. I hope it’s less. I don’t like the idea of people like me being out there. Not because I live in fear of them but because I don’t like the idea of others trying to outdo what I do. I want to be one of a kind. I want to be the only one. I put the other possible killers from my mind and turn to my latest plaything. A pretty brunette girl I picked up late one night. She was on the way home from a club - walking alone. Staggering from the amount of alcohol she’d consumed. Easy pickings. I smiled at her and bent down to where she was sitting in order to address her. She squirmed against the restraints which kept her bound to the old chair - the same chair I’ve used for all of my victims. The only piece of furniture in my old cellar.

  “I’m going to remove the gag,” I told her in a hushed voice. There was no reason for the whisper. I’m not sure why I did it with her - or the other girls I’ve had down here (always girls). “Do not misunderstand me,” I continued, “I’m not inviting a conversation. I’m not going to let you go. You’re going to die down here. I just want to hear your screams.”

  * * * * *

  Ryan knew there was a problem at the bank as soon as he pulled into one of the staff spaces in the car park. The two police cars gave it away. He jumped from his car and walked to the front door of the building. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for someone to come and unlock it. It was his manager who let him in.

  “Morning. How’d the move go?” the manager asked - a smile on his face.

  Ryan spotted the two officers talking to some of the staff near the front desk. Two more people he didn’t recognise were walking into the manager’s office - a stack of tapes in their hands.

  “What’s going on?” Ryan asked.

  “Vanessa has been missing nearly a week now. What with everything that’s been happening in the press recently - I phoned the police.” Vanessa was one of the full-timers who worked on the front desk of the bank; helping customers with their various requests such as fund transfers, deposits, and withdrawals.

  “You called the police? Maybe she’s just had enough.” Ryan knew that was highly unlikely. Vanessa had worked in the bank for two years now and, in that time he could not recall her ever taking a day off sick. Even when she was full of cold, she would still come in with a smile on her face.

  “Fiona went round her house. Still has a spare key from when she house-sat for her. They were supposed to meet up but Vanessa never showed up so she let herself in when she failed to get hold of her on the phone…House was empty. No struggles, no mess, no Vanessa…On her file, I had her mum and dad’s number but we haven’t been able to get through to them. No answer.” He took a breath, “Police are going to want a word with you. Nothing to worry about. They just want to know if you noticed anything strange with Vanessa…”

  “I’ve been away…”

  “Before you went away. Just standard questions.”

  Ryan nodded towards the manager’s office where he had noted the two men going through the bank’s se
curity tapes. “And what about that?” he asked.

  “Just going through the footage to see if anything is unusual. Anyway - put your stuff upstairs and come on down. We’re going to open a little late today to give the police time to talk to everyone without having to worry about customers.”

  Ryan left the bank’s foyer and headed up the stairs, via the coded staff door. He couldn’t help but feel his manager’s reaction to Vanessa’s disappearance was a bit over the top. A young girl in her twenties who just didn’t show up for work? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had got bored with their job and walked out. At the same time though - deep down - a part of him worried for her safety. His boss was right; the news had been filled with the most horrific of stories recently. Stories usually restricted to eighteen certificate movies from the minds of sick writers. Numerous accounts of dead girls being found. More specifically ‘pieces of dead girls being discovered’. Hacked into little, insignificant pieces. Ryan felt a cold tingle run down his spine as though someone walked over his grave. Vanessa was a nice girl. A good solid worker. He hoped his initial thought was correct. He hoped she’d just got bored with her job and had walked out - perhaps taken herself on a nice little holiday to reassess her life. Hopefully it was just a coincidence that her disappearance coincided with the timings of what the press labeled ‘one of the most vicious serial killers of our time’.

  Ryan bumped into another of his colleagues as he entered the staff room - a small room with lockers in one corner and a small table in the centre where they could eat their lunches.

  “Do you think he’s got her?” his colleague asked - another young girl. “Do you think she’s dead?” Clearly, she was talking about Vanessa. Ryan shrugged. “You read about it in the papers but you never think it’s going to land on your doorstep,” she continued. Ryan couldn’t help but wonder whether the young woman was worried about her colleague or more concerned about the possibility of also being taken by the person responsible for the missing ladies.