Ruthless: An Extreme Shock Horror Collection

by Shane McKenzie

  The earth swallowed him as he went. The laughter stopped as Johnny's head went under, still tugging his ankles. Carl felt a burning heat as his feet and then his legs disappeared into the earth. His flesh seared and he felt his balls boil as he struggled to free himself.

  Carl stopped struggling only when he saw Missy Banks sitting, perched on the side of the hole. She wore the same black dress. Her red hair glowed aflame and her eyes burned through him. Carl’s clothes smoldered as he struggled and caught enough breath to shriek like a little girl.

  Missy grabbed Carl by the hair and jerked his face close to hers. In her other hand, she held a jagged sliver of bone to his eye. She smiled and her lips rolled back to reveal the rot that lay beneath. She jerked back on Carl’s hair, tilting his head back until it almost snapped.

  "What's wrong, lover? You don't want that kiss anymore?"

  Carl's mouth was wide, still screaming as she pressed her lips to his and spat rotting gall down his throat.

  "Happy Birthday," she said.

  Missy gouged at his eyes with the bone. Carl felt the corneas resist as she pressed the splinter until it broke through the surface of the first eye, then the other. The humor flowed down his cheeks as each eye popped like a squished grape. Carl’s hair pulled out by the roots and his screams died as the earth swallowed him.

  The Abortionists

  by Aaron J. French

  “Open your mouth,” she said, “you baby-killing bitch.”

  The young girl did as she was told, gagging as the doll’s head was shoved into her mouth, propping her jaw open.

  “Now you.” Karen moved to the Latina and fit the next doll head into position.

  “That just leaves you, darky,” she added, stepping to the black girl, who glared as she bit down on the plastic head. Karen leaned back to admire her work: three baby-killing sluts, hands and feet bound, kneeling, half-clothed in tattered undergarments. Artfully done, she complemented herself. Let them sit there until their legs ache and their knees bruise.

  Karen made a sweeping pass before the girls, heels clacking on the basement floor. She smoothed her blond hair absently, saying, “I know how much you value your comfort. Abortions, themselves, are a convenience—which is why you chose to kill your babies. You’re all smiles and giggles when it comes to spreading your legs, but when it comes to taking responsibility, well . . . that causes discomfort.

  “How unglamorous it is to swell up like a cow, to give up partying for the sake of your baby. No boy will have sex with you if you’re prego. And then there’s the excruciating delivery, and feeding the child, and changing diapers. Your breasts fatten, your ass dimples, stretch marks cover your tummy. What an uncomfortable ordeal. Better to kill the child and be done, hm?”

  She looked into their terrified faces stretched open by the doll heads. Their panting gasps and beseeching eyes. How pathetic. Bending toward the black girl, she twisted her partially exposed nipple. “Taking a child’s life is murder!” she yelled. “It is contrary to the wishes of God. But you—you lusting demon whore—you don’t even consider that, do you? Oh, yum, sex—boing, boing, boing—oh, a baby? Gee, I’m not ready for that. Let’s just kill it.”

  She let go, righted herself, and, just for fun, struck the Latina across the face. A stream of blood leaked from her nose. The girl worked her mouth and wriggled her tongue trying to dislodge the plastic head.

  “Perhaps you don’t believe in Heaven or Hell, is that it?” She stared at the blonde, whose eyes remained downcast in fear. “So I suppose it’s my job to show you they exist—which is why I collected you here: to show you a Hell in this very basement.”

  Satisfied with her words, Karen switched off the light and headed upstairs to start dinner, bolting the metal door behind her and leaving the three baby-killing bitches on their knees in the darkness.

  ***

  As the water boiled, Karen threw in the pasta and added a dash of salt, setting the timer for fifteen minutes, then she sat down at the kitchen table to read this week’s Victory Ministries newsletter.

  Suddenly, her boys came barreling through the front door, shouting and pummeling each another.

  “Knock it off, you two,” she said, lowering the newsletter as they came into the kitchen. She smiled. “How was practice?”

  Benny shoved his younger brother and opened the refrigerator to grab a can of Coke. “It was okay. I tackled Jim Gaffers so hard he went home early. Coach said it was a topnotch hit.”

  “That’s nice,” Karen said.

  “I caught a touchdown pass,” Bobby added.

  “I want you boys upstairs washing your hands now, please. Your father’ll be home soon, and I don’t want him waiting on supper.”

  “Yes, Mom,” they said, disappearing up the stairwell.

  The phone rang and Karen got up to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Karen. It’s Jane Gaffers.”

  Karen rolled her eyes. Jane, the constant source of contention at PTA meetings. An ex-hippie godless Democrat who always defended the books Karen was trying to have banned. She was untrustworthy: any woman who wanted her children reading Kate Chopin’s The Awakening had serious problems.

  “Hi, Jane. What can I do for you?”

  “First, I’d like to say that, as a mother, I respect how much interest you take in your boys. And despite our differences, I applaud you for always putting them ahead of yourself.”

  “Thanks, Jane, I feel the same way about you.”

  “Good, I’m glad we agree on something.” There was a pause, the sound of Jane’s breath coming across the line.

  “Why did you call, again?”

  A sigh. “Well . . . it’s about Benny.”

  “Yes?”

  “Jim’s been having some problems with him. Has Benny mentioned it?”

  Typical Democrat kid, Karen thought. Always running off to tattletale instead of taking a stand. “He hasn’t spoken to me about it. Wait—he did say something about Jim leaving practice early because of a hit Benny gave him. But really, Jane, isn’t that a part of football? If Jim can’t hack it, then maybe he should consider a different after-school sport. One which requires less . . . tenacity.”

  Jane’s voice intensified. “That isn’t why I’m calling, Karen—well, I mean, it is, but . . . something else has been going on.”

  “And that is?”

  Jane paused again before saying, “It’s been happening in the locker room after practice, and Jim says it’s gone on for some time. He says Benny’s been . . . exposing himself.”

  Silence. Karen stirred the pasta. “That’s a lie, Jane.”

  “I believe my son.”

  “I don’t give a damn what he says. It simply isn’t true. It can’t be. Benny’s a good Christian boy with good Christian values. He knows it’s a sin to lie. I wonder, does your son know?”

  “I’m not trying to start a debate with you, Karen. Jim was deathly serious when he told me about this. Frightened even. He says he’s been too scared to tell because Benny’d beat him up. I know when my son is lying, and he wasn’t lying about this. He told me Benny makes him stay till all the other kids have left the locker room, then takes him into the corner and forces him to . . . touch his penis.”

  The timer dinged and Karen poured the steaming hot noodles into the strainer. “You vile woman, can’t you hear what you’re saying? I want nothing to do with this. Seems like your son tried to make a homosexual pass at Benny and Benny naturally turned him down. Perhaps this is his way of retaliating.”

  “That’s ludicrous!”

  Karen leaned against the countertop, drying her hands on a towel. “What do you want me to say? I know my son. I know how I raised him. And I know for a fact he would never do this. So I suggest you have a talk with Jim and tell him where liars end up when they die.”

  Jane gave an exasperated sigh. “If it happens again, Karen, I’m contacting the police.”

  Karen laughed. “Go right ahead—if you want to embarrass
your son by exposing him as a queer.”

  “Damn it, I’m serious!” she said. Then the line went dead.

  Humming, Karen replaced the phone into its cradle and opened the oven to check the veal cutlets.

  ***

  “All right, you little bitches,” she said. “If I remove the doll heads, will you behave yourselves?”

  The girls nodded weakly.

  “Don’t bother screaming for help; as you can see, I’ve had the entire room soundproofed. I did it myself.” She knocked the head from the black girl’s mouth. It popped and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop by the padded wall. Next she did the Latina, then finally the blonde.

  “You’re gonna pay for this, you psycho,” the black girl said.

  Karen jabbed two fingers, knuckles bent, right into her eyes; the girl screamed, squeezing them shut, tears falling down her cheeks.

  “First rule,” Karen said, “is no one talks except me. Each time you blurt something out, I punish you for it. Understand?”

  They nodded again.

  “Good. Now, I know your little tummies probably hurt from the abortion. But that’s how it should be. That’s why I kidnapped you directly after the procedure—so the pain would be fresh. It’ll help remind you of your decision.”

  She began pacing in front of them. “I’ll have you know that I monitored three separate clinics waiting for just the right girls. Ones who were alone, who weren’t accompanied by parents or scummy boyfriends.” She chuckled. “Needless to say, I didn’t have to wait long.”

  The blonde suddenly bent forward, retched onto the floor, the smell of her vomit instantly filling the room.

  “You see, that’s her body reacting to the procedure. She had her abortion just this morning, whereas you two had yours yesterday. It’s not unusual for the patient to vomit. Other side effects include bleeding, dizziness, pissing fetal matter, damage to the womb. Who knows, it’s possible that none of you can have children now.”

  “That’s bullshit,” the Latina said. “Women have abortions all the time and go on to carry successfully. I researched it on the internet. I dunno where you’re getting your facts from, lady, but they’re all wrong.”

  Karen grabbed a fistful of the girl’s hair, yanking her up. The Latina barked, yelped, but refused to scream; it was obvious she didn’t want to give Karen the satisfaction.

  “Think you can trust the internet?” she said. “Did you know the letter W, when traced to its Hebrew roots, corresponds to the number six? That means whenever you punch in a website, you’re accessing the mark of the beast—666. But yes, go ahead, believe the satanic lies, see where that gets you.”

  Karen flung the girl away, laughing as her face hit the concrete floor. “And what did I tell you about speaking? Look, I’m not the bad guy here. I want you to remember that. I’m trying to save your souls, so you might learn to live in the light of Jesus Christ. Every act of sin warrants a consequence, and that’s what this is: your consequence.”

  There was a knock at the metal door. Karen made a pouty face, pulled in her bottom lip. “We’re gonna have to finish this later.”

  The girls began to shout and cry for help, but Karen patiently bound up their mouths with loose rags.

  Cracking the door, she peeked out and saw Bobby, her youngest, standing there. “Yes?” she said.

  “Daddy’s home. He said to come get you for dinner.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right up.”

  She made to close the door, but Bobby suddenly asked, “How are things going in there?”

  She looked at him. “Fine, honey. Mommy is still working on her writing, so she needs a few minutes to finish up, okay? Please go tell your father what I said.”

  “Okay.” He tromped back up the stairs, tight blond curls bouncing on his head. Karen closed the door.

  The baby killers were breathing a little heavily, but she decided to keep the gags on them. They were still too volatile. She couldn’t risk anyone hearing their cries. Hiking up her skirt, she squatted and pulled aside her panties. Then she urinated into the floor drain, which had originally been installed to prevent flooding, but which now functioned as a toilet for the kidnapped whores. When she was finished, she rearranged her clothing, flipped out the light, and headed upstairs.

  ***

  Ted was sitting at the kitchen table when she entered, wearing his suit and tie. “I’m starved,” he said. “What took you so long?”

  “Sorry.” She walked over to the oven and removed the pan of veal cutlets, then removed the pot of pasta and switched off the gas.

  “Still working on your romance novel?” he asked.

  “Yep. Wrote two thousand words today.”

  “Is that a lot? I do think it’s great you got something to keep yourself busy all day—other than your housework, of course. I know you loved that job at the lawyer’s firm, but I can tell this new hobby’s good for you.”

  “You have no idea.” She placed the pasta and the veal on the table then shouted, “Bobby! Benny! Supper’s ready!”

  The two boys came thundering down the stairwell, flying past Karen, falling into chairs at the table.

  “Take it easy,” she said.

  “It’s fine,” Ted said. “They’re just being boys. Tell me, how was football practice?”

  Bobby held up a finger. “I scored a touchdown.”

  His older brother swatted his hand. “That ain’t nothing. I tackled Jimmy Gaffer so hard that he had to go home. I put my whole weight on him—like this.” He got up from his chair and hooked Bobby around the neck, brought him down on the floor, and lay on top of him like a pancake.

  “See?” he said. “Ain’t nobody gettin’ outa this.”

  “Don’t use the word ain’t,” Karen scolded.

  “Lemme go!” Bobby cried.

  Laughing, Ted said, “That’s wonderful, Benny, but I think you’d better let your brother go before you squash him.”

  “Yeah, you’re squashing me!” Bobby said.

  Benny rolled off, got to his feet, and extended a hand to his brother.

  “Sit down so we can say grace,” Karen said, coming over to the table.

  They got into their chairs and the family linked hands, closing their eyes.

  “Our Father,” Karen began, “who art in Heaven, hallowed by Thy name. We thank You for Your blessings. We thank You for this meal, for this home, for our livelihood. We ask that You watch over us always, and keep us safe from harm. We’d like to say a prayer for Pastor Emerson down at Victory Ministries Church, and one for his mother, who has fallen ill. May she recover with grace.”

  She sighed, then quickly added, “And Lord, we ask that You bring down your wrath upon all evildoers and hold them in contempt in Your sight. In Jesus Christ’s name we pray, amen.”

  “Amen,” the family echoed.

  ***

  “Okay, girls, here’s what I want you to do.”

  Karen had removed the undergarments along with their gags, and now the girls lay naked on their stomachs, staring at the floor. She herself had changed into sweat pants and a t-shirt, had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She stood holding the rubber tube attachment to the Hoover vacuum, its round end gaping like a maw.

  “I want you to pretend you are your baby. Imagine yourselves nice and snug inside the womb, suspended lovingly in your mother’s fluids. Ah, how she sacrifices a portion of her every meal to you. How she keeps you hydrated and warm. She must really love you. You can’t wait to meet her. But what’s this you see? A Planned Parenthood sign? What could that mean?”

  Karen picked up the bucket of ice water and doused their naked bodies in it. The blonde girl shrieked, then started sniffling, begging to be let go. Her daddy had lots of money, she said, and would pay a hefty ransom.

  Karen laughed, switching on the vacuum.

  “Yo, why’d you splash us?” demanded the Latina.

  “Because,” Karen replied, “your mother’s procedure has begun, and her body temp
erature is dropping in response. You’re not so snug and warm now, are you? But what’s going on; you’re so confused. How could Mommy do this after she nurtured you for so long?”

  Kneeling before the black girl, Karen shoved the rubber tube in her face.

  “Ahh!” The girl said, her cheeks getting sucked in.

  “Oh my!” Karen dragged the rubber hose across her face, sucking in her nostrils, cheeks, eyelids, lips—sucking in then yanking so the flesh snapped back. “Mommy, what’s happening?”

  “Get off me!” the girl cried.

  Karen moved on to the Latina, tugging on her face and even the steel ring in her eyebrow. Then she did the blonde, who sobbed uncontrollably, her tears swallowed greedily by the hose.

  When she was satisfied, she rolled the girls over and vacuumed between their legs, sucking at the tender young flesh and twisting, snapping it back.

  Screams of pain filled the room.

  She switched off the vacuum and the screams were decreased to whimpers. Blood leaked across the girls’ thighs. Picking up a spool of black trash bags, she said, “All right now, girls, it’s time to wrap up your dead babies and throw ’em in the garbage. Who wants to be first?”

  ***

  She found Ted in the living room, dozing by the blue glow of a sports game, a longneck bottle in his hand. She kissed the side of his brow, carefully retracted his beer and set it in the sink; then she headed upstairs.

  The door to the boys’ room was ajar and a yellow light streamed into the hall; she paused before entering, head cocked, listening. She could hear muffled voices.

  “I hope you guys are ready for bed,” she said, opening the door. She stopped. “What are you doing up there, Benny?”