In Sickness: Stories From a Very Dark Place

by L. L. Soares

  "It's okay," Willard told her. "You're just sensitive, that's all. I suppose he seems sad to you, like this. But I assure you he's very happy here."

  "I guess it's the cage that bothers me."

  "You will understand its importance in time," he told her.

  He removed the chloroformed rag from his pocket and pressed it against her face, locking his other arm around her to keep her still.

  She fell limp in his arms, and he let her drop to the floor.

  * * *

  When Kristen awoke, she found herself in a dark, metal room. She could feel that she was dressed only in her underwear.

  She did not cry out at first. She stood perfectly still, frozen with fear.

  Then, she could not stay silent anymore. "Help! Dr. Raymond? Please, let me out of here!"

  One of the metal panels opened to a brightly lit room.

  She knew that something very bad happened in this place.

  "Please, Dr. Raymond!" she shouted. "Let me go home!"

  "I'm sorry, Kristen," Willard said over the microphone. "But it's too late."

  Billy began howling and throwing himself against the bars. He was very aware of her presence.

  Willard buzzed the door to Billy's cage, setting him free.

  Billy chased her across the room. Kristen ran to the mirror and started pounding on it, shouting Willard's name. Billy grabbed her and pulled her to the middle of the room. He wrestled her to the floor, then tore off her underwear. Willard had to admit he always liked that part best. Now Billy was on top of her.

  Billy strangled her as he raped her, and as her thrashing about got weaker, Willard considered pressing the button to release the sleeping gas early, to save her, but he resisted. Even if Billy impregnated her, what was the point now? They were taking Billy away soon, and he had to move on. He had no desire to take her with him. He didn't need the extra burden. And he could not let her go.

  Willard realized then that he never really wanted to see any of them live through this. He had convinced himself it was all an experiment to see if he could mate Billy with a woman in captivity. But he never once tried to save any of them. Even now, he was unsure why the thought crossed his mind to save Kristen. There was no point.

  Billy was tearing her body open, ripping out her organs and shouting at the top of his lungs.

  Willard pressed the button then, and the room filled with gas.

  * * *

  Willard realized he couldn't bear to give Billy up to the Board. He had spent too long working with him. He was too wrapped up in Billy's life.

  So when all his things were packed, when all the evidence was in boxes, stacked in the back of his truck and waiting to be taken away, Willard set fire to a pile of rags in the middle of Billy's room.

  By the time the blaze was out of control, getting rid of Billy and poor Kristen, and all the others who were hidden throughout the house, he would be long gone, on his way to the Mexican border where he would sort through all his research and write his final papers.

  He stood in the doorway, looking one final time at Billy sleeping peacefully on the floor beside Kristen's mutilated form.

  If only Billy could have spared even one of them, he thought. Perhaps I could have finally humanized him. But he was nothing more than a monster.

  He locked the door behind him and went out to his truck.

  He had a long drive ahead of him.

  Head Games

  Any escape that had been afforded him in sleep came to an abrupt end when small hands slapped him repeatedly across the face.

  Alfred was still in the hut, on the straw bed. He was still bound from head to toe. Their prisoner.

  The monkeys.

  They ran around the room hurriedly, chattering to each other, climbing onto his makeshift bed to shake him or hit him. He had slept long enough. Now they wanted him to be aware.

  He almost spoke, but he knew that was useless. Even if they understood his words, and he suspected they would, they weren't human. There was no reasoning with them.

  He wondered where Christian was, if he was even still alive.

  There was a glint of light and one of the monkeys approached him, holding something close to its face.

  A camera.

  Christian's digital video camera, to be precise. Small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. And now the monkeys were using it. To film him. To record his reactions.

  He closed his eyes, and a small hand slapped them open, smacking him on the side of the head. He stared at the malevolent creature, and it gestured.

  Toward the camera.

  It gestured more, as if to tell him he should perform for this primate, who brought the camera right up to his face, so close he could touch it with his tongue if he wanted to. And then, bored, it moved away and filmed other parts of the room, until it focused on two monkeys humping in the corner.

  Monkey porn.

  Alfred would have laughed if his bonds weren't so tight. If his situation weren't so dire.

  How could he and his colleagues have guessed they would end up this way when they first came to this place? They had simply come to witness a new species of monkeys who had an amazing propensity with tools. It seemed like a good story at the time. The primates had made their own implements; some of them rather advanced, and had shown themselves to be very adept at using them. Some scientists had come to study them and introduce them to human tools, which they adapted to with surprising ease. Not only were they able to use human tools, they instinctively knew how to use them correctly. Even when they had never actually seen a human being use them beforehand. No fumbling around, guessing at their purpose. The monkeys instantly knew.

  So he and Christian and Annabelle had come to this god-forsaken place to get the story, to make a documentary about these amazing simians and the scientists who were studying them.

  Only, when they'd arrived in this makeshift village, the scientists weren't anywhere to be found. In their place were empty huts. The clearing in the jungle looked peaceful enough, but the lack of human life, where it clearly should have been, was disturbing.

  They'd taken up residence in the main hut. It was nightfall by the time they'd arrived and it was a long journey back. Besides, maybe the fine doctors had gone out into the jungle to observe their subjects and would be back at any time.

  Alfred remembered falling asleep somehow, despite the cries of jungle animals, that first night.

  * * *

  From the Journal of Dr. Philip J. Estern:

  "We were surprised to find a village near where they were last observed. We hadn't been told of any human communities in this vicinity. The huts were very well constructed. Surely whoever had built them intended to stay. But there was no sign of natives. No sign of human life at all."

  Alfred had found the journal the next morning. They'd started searching the huts, one by one. Most were empty, but there was one with clothes and equipment.

  The journal was proof the scientists had been there. They were in the right place.

  Alfred found a photograph tucked into the middle of the journal. It featured a dour-looking guy in the middle, who had to be Dr. Estern, and two younger people, a man and a woman, who were probably his research assistants. The woman was plain and serious-looking. The younger guy had a slight smirk on his lips and wore a Jets cap.

  The last entry had been three days before. After that, blank pages.

  He was reading it when the monkeys arrived, chattering outside. Christian grabbed his camera and went out to see, with Annabelle right behind him. Alfred closed the journal and tucked it away in the backpack where he'd found it, and then followed the others outside.

  It was an especially hot day. The huts formed a circle, and in the center of that circle, the monkeys were waiting.

  Christian started filming.

  Annabelle turned to Alfred and asked, "What should we do now?"

  "I don't know," he told her. "Just film them, I guess. Wait and see what they do."r />
  The monkeys stared back at them, watching Christian's camera with special interest. They did not move for almost an hour.

  "Why don't they do something?" Christian said. "Most of this footage is going to be useless."

  It was then that they decided to attack.

  * * *

  From the Journal of Dr. Philip J. Estern:

  "They seem to study us as much as we study them. They will leave the village now and then, obviously to get food. But they always return to resume their vigil.

  "On the second day, we brought them tools. Hammers, saws, small electric gadgets. They used the tools almost immediately. And they knew exactly what each item was for. There was no hesitation. Like this was something they'd done before."

  Some had clubs, which they'd made themselves: thick sticks with rocks bound to them. Others held human tools, like hammers. They had originally seemed so introspective, and then, without warning, they were aggressive, angry. They brandished their weapons and advanced toward the humans, who ran to the nearest hut.

  "What should we do?" Annabelle asked as they held the door of the hut closed. But it was only mud and vegetation, not much of a shelter at all. The monkeys climbed onto the roof and shook the walls.

  "I've got a gun," Christian said. "We'll have to shoot some of them. Maybe the rest will get scared and run away."

  Alfred had brought a gun as well, a rifle. You had to have some kind of protection in the jungle. Only Alfred's rifle was in another hut, the one where they'd found the journal.

  Christian aimed his pistol at the hut's only window. Small hands were forcing the canvas covering aside. He fired.

  The hands disappeared. There was a high-pitched scream.

  And then, the rattling and pounding and sounds of feet dancing on the roof all stopped.

  Alfred knew that this place was flimsy protection. The monkeys could get in at any time, and the noises were merely to torment and scare them.

  "They've stopped," Christian said. "Maybe they've gone back into the jungle."

  A thousand hands forced their way through the walls, through the ceiling. Hands opening and closing. One hand grabbed Christian's hand. Another tore his gun away.

  One of them grabbed Annabelle's hair and she let out a scream.

  Then the hut was torn away and the monkeys fell upon them.

  * * *

  Somewhere, they'd found rope and duct tape. Alfred woke to find himself on the floor of one of the other huts. Christian and Annabelle were bound as well. Annabelle wasn't moving, and there was blood on her head. Christian was gagged and blindfolded, squirming on the ground.

  For some reason, they'd left Alfred's eyes uncovered. He wasn't gagged, either.

  "Calm down," he said to Christian. "We're going to be okay. We're going to get out of here."

  The sound of his voice reassured Christian a bit. The cameraman stopped struggling so much against his bonds.

  "We're all here," Alfred said. "And we're all alive."

  Even as he said it, he was unsure. Annabelle wasn't moving. She was gagged but not blindfolded. Her eyes were closed.

  She's just unconscious, Alfred thought.

  There were maybe a dozen monkeys in the room, but most of them stood where they were without a sound. Watching with intent eyes. Their patience was eerie.

  Then one of the monkeys screeched at the top of its lungs. The other primates gathered around Annabelle and began to rock her back and forth. Her eyes opened. They were terrified eyes.

  The monkeys lifted her and took her out of the hut. She struggled above them as they raised her over their heads and brought her outside.

  Christian was struggling in the dirt again.

  "Bring her back!" Alfred shouted. "Don't hurt her! Bring her back!"

  * * *

  For a long time, there was no sound. Alfred and Christian were alone in the hut, unable to move their limbs. They were tied tightly. Alfred could hear monkeys standing guard just outside.

  Annabelle screamed. Once. Twice.

  Christian had exhausted himself a while ago, but was squirming again.

  Alfred realized the futility of it and stared up at the ceiling, trying to imagine he wasn't in this place, that it was all some kind of dream.

  Annabelle didn't scream a third time. Alfred was sure it meant she was dead.

  Christian moaned beneath his gag, trying to speak.

  Alfred had no words to comfort him.

  * * *

  The monkeys looked like chimpanzees, except smaller, but they were full-grown. Alfred rarely saw any babies. Their heads were large and round, and their faces were strange. Closer to human than chimp. But not really.

  Weird faces.

  They were either a new species or an ancient one clever enough to avoid detection by man. The scientists had been unable to determine which.

  When Alfred and Christian nodded off, the monkeys came into the hut and slapped them awake. Then they would stare at them.

  They brought food. When they removed Christian's gag, he shouted at them and tried to bite them. One of the monkeys hit him with the butt of his own gun. When it pressed the muzzle to Christian's head, he stopped struggling.

  The next time they entered with food, one of the monkeys had brought a strange tool and used it to pluck out most of Christian's teeth while the others held him down. Christian screamed, and the monkeys imitated him. When they were done, he could not bite them anymore.

  Alfred did not struggle when they fed him, or shout at them or try to bite them.

  And they did not punish him.

  * * *

  On the third day, they took Christian away. He squirmed and kicked his legs, but the bonds were too strong.

  Alfred watched without a sound.

  Perhaps they would spare him because of his good behavior. Maybe they would have mercy on him and let him go, so he could warn other humans to stay away.

  They continued to feed him. Some of it was even cooked.

  He never heard Christian scream but was unsure that he was alive.

  The village was loud with silence.

  * * *

  On the fourth day, they came for him. He thought it was the fourth day. He tried to keep track of the sun, the nights. But he slept fitfully, and, when he dozed off, hands would eventually slap him awake. He could never tell how long he had been asleep.

  He felt feverish and his limbs were numb from the rope and tape.

  The monkeys were different this time. They raced around the room. They fucked each other. They screeched and swung from the walls like some kind of strange celebration.

  One of them was standing in the doorway with the gun. It seemed to be standing watch and observed Alfred with a cold stare. Alfred remembered reading somewhere that a group of monkeys is called a troop. That seemed fitting somehow.

  Then he saw the video camera. They were filming him. But he did his best not to react, to be an uninteresting subject.

  He almost spoke but stopped himself in mid-word.

  It wouldn't do him any good to speak.

  One of the monkeys had a hammer. It pushed the others aside and came close to Alfred.

  Then it hit him on the head. Hard.

  * * *

  When Alfred woke, they were in a larger hut. A hut he had never been in before. This one stunk of blood and death. The smell was the first thing he noticed upon waking.

  He had no idea how far they had taken him.

  The way he was stretched out, it was hard to see the entire room, but he saw human shapes. He craned his neck for a better view.

  Bodies. Unmoving forms. He recognized Annabelle's clothes, mostly torn away. Her body was covered in bite marks. Large sections of her flesh had been eaten.

  He could see the lower torso of another body. It had to be Christian's. He recognized the pants, but he couldn't be sure if the upper torso was simply out of eyeshot, or if it was missing completely.

  There were other bodies which he did not recogni
ze. He was sure one of them was Dr. Estern.

  There was a strange contraption at one end of the room, but he could not see it clearly.

  The monkeys were screeching again, running around the room, pushing and prodding the bodies. When they saw he was awake, they gathered around him again. They lifted him and brought him toward the contraption. It was a large table. Underneath was a space big enough for him with straps. They forced him into the space and secured him.

  Above his head, there was a hole. They forced the top of his skull up. He felt more small hands pushing him into place.

  Alfred remembered a video he had seen once. It was a very strange delicacy. A monkey's head was forced up through a hole in a table, and the diners would remove the top of its skull and eat its brain with spoons while it still writhed beneath them. Alfred found the video repulsive, the practice barbaric. But in some parts of the world, this was an acceptable meal.

  He now knew what this contraption was. Why his head had been forced up through the hole above him.

  He shouted, "Stop! Please, stop doing this and let me go!"

  They stopped for a moment to stare at him, and then there was the sound of an electric saw somewhere outside his field of vision. With all the straps and harnesses, he could not turn his head to see.

  But he could see some of the bodies more clearly now. They were strewn across the dirt floor. Some, like Annabelle, were half-eaten. Some were completely skeletal. Others were mostly intact. But they all had one thing in common. The tops of their skulls had been removed.

  Next to one of the scalps on the floor was a discarded Jets hat. Proof that Dr. Estern's group had suffered the same fate Alfred was about to face.

  The sound of the buzz saw was above him now. Alfred could hear monkeys' feet on the table above. He felt the bite of something digging into his temple.

  And then the room was full of monkeys, holding spoons and forks and even things that looked like straws, staring above him, their faces bearing an expression almost like human delight.