3 TERRIFYING THRILLERS

by Jude Hardin

  “So how long have you and Martha lived out here?” I said.

  “Shut up.”

  “It’s definitely off the beaten path. Pretty obvious you like your privacy. Tell you the truth, I’m the same way. Neighbors are a pain in the ass. Always wanting to—”

  “Say one more word and I’m going to shoot you in the back,” Lloyd said.

  I was getting on his nerves. Good. That’s what I was trying to do. When people become agitated, they don’t think clearly. When they don’t think clearly, they make mistakes. But it’s a delicate balance. If I could piss Lloyd off enough to make him screw up—without going so far as to make him shoot me—I might stand a chance.

  “Just trying to make conversation,” I said.

  A gunshot exploded from behind me. I fell to the ground.

  Apparently I’d misjudged the old man, and he’d made good on his promise to shoot me in the back if I said one more word.

  That’s what I thought, until a few seconds later, when I noticed I was still alive and there was no fresh pain. He must have fired a shot in the air.

  Four bullets gone, two remaining. I was keeping count.

  “Did I stutter?” he said. “One more word out of you and I’ll—”

  I rolled toward him and caught him just below the knees with my shoulder and rib cage. The gun went off again. A bullet thudded into the dirt, inches from my head. Before Lloyd could fire another round—his last—I straddled him and grabbed his wrist and slammed the gun loose and started pummeling his face with my fists. He didn’t have any teeth to knock out, but I broke his nose and split his lip and blackened both his eyes. By the time I finished beating him, he was out cold.

  I rolled away and grabbed the gun, and a bolt of psychedelic lightning exploded in the back of my skull and shot searing rivers of electric pain all the way to the tips of my toes. Before I lost consciousness, I saw a very fat and blurry Martha standing there holding a rolling pin, the kind people flattened dough with every morning back in the day, before they invented canned biscuits and Hardee’s.

  When I woke up, I thought I’d died and gone to a very bad place. I was strapped to a chair at the edge of a pit, a hole about six feet in diameter and about three feet deep. The bottom of the pit was covered with rattlesnakes. There must have been a hundred of them. They slithered over top of one another, making the area resemble a giant bowl of living lo mein. Fire flickered from propane torches mounted to the walls, adding to the nightmarish effect.

  Above the viper pit was a woman dangling from a hook. Her wrists had been tied together and attached to a motorized pulley mechanism, what looked to be a modified garage door opener. She wore black panties and a black bra and a dog collar and a blindfold. Otherwise, she was naked. I guessed her to be in her mid thirties, but she might have been younger. Her face had probably aged at an accelerated rate over the past few hours. The stress of knowing you’re going to die soon will do that to you.

  I coughed, turned my head to the side and spat out a blood clot.

  “Hello?” the woman said. “Hello? Help me. Please.”

  Her voice was weak and raspy.

  “How long have you been up there?” I said.

  “I don’t know. An hour. It feels like my shoulders are about to come out of their sockets.” She paused, gasping for air. “They made me watch my boyfriend die. I was tied to a chair, and they made me watch. They strung him up here and cut his feet and let the blood drip down into the pit.”

  She continued with the story, but her speech was slurred and difficult to understand. Something about the snakes going into a frenzy, and a fat woman named Martha breaking into song.

  I tested my restraints. It felt like they had used duct tape, and plenty of it. I wasn’t going anywhere, except onto that hook over the snake pit when it was my turn.

  “I would love to help you,” I said. “Unfortunately, I’m the one tied to the chair now.”

  She started sobbing. “Oh, God. I don’t want to die.”

  She didn’t want to, but she was going to. And Lloyd and Martha were going to make me watch. Unless I could somehow put a stop to it all.

  Something I’d thought about earlier gave me an idea.

  “What’s your name?” I said.

  “Linda.”

  “Listen, Linda. I have a plan. It’s a long shot, but I think it might be our only hope.”

  “Oh, it hurts. I’m dying. Please. Anything. Just get me down from here.”

  I was about to explain what I had in mind when Lloyd appeared from behind the curtain, followed by the lovely and talented Martha.

  “Well, hello boys and girls,” Lloyd said. “Glad to see that you’re awake, mister. I was getting worried there for a while. Thought maybe Martha here had clobbered you a little too hard. How’s your head feel?”

  “Great,” I said. “How about yours?”

  Lloyd’s face was swollen and bruised from the beating I’d given him. He looked rough, like a decaying old shack that had been boarded up and slated for demolition.

  “Oh, I’ll live,” he said. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

  Martha giggled. She stood there anxiously clicking the blade of a box cutter in and out. I had a feeling she was the designated foot slicer for the evening.

  “You still have my gun?” I said.

  “Yeah, but I doubt if you’ll be needing it back. I think I’ll just hang onto it, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I just thought you might like to liven things up a little. Maybe you’re getting tired of the same-old, same-old. You know, you can only watch so many people dangle helplessly and suffer excruciating pain before it starts getting a little boring.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said.

  “There’s one bullet left in the gun, right?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So why not let me and Linda here play a game of Russian roulette? The loser’s brains will be splattered all over the wall, and the winner—not the right word, but you know what I mean—will get to face the snakes. It’ll add to the excitement.”

  Martha closed the blade, dropped the utility knife into her housecoat pocket. She started wringing her hands and drooling a little.

  “I think that sounds delicious!” she said.

  “Now hold on just a minute,” Lloyd said. “This is some kind of trick, Martha. Why would this guy care about livening things up a little? No, sir. He’s going to try to get away again. I guarantee it.”

  “But think of the suspense,” she said. “Russian roulette. We have to try it. We just have to. And if we like it, maybe we can even make it a regular thing.”

  Lloyd shook his head. “I don’t like it. No point taking any chances. We’ll just go ahead and do things like we always do. I should have thrown that gun in the pond. That’s what I should have done. Damn things are nothing but trouble.”

  Martha made a pouty face. “Please, schnook-ums? For me? Just this once?”

  Lloyd was about to cave. I could feel it. He just needed a little nudge.

  “I really don’t care about how entertained you are,” I said. “That’s not what this is about. I just don’t want to watch this beautiful young woman die slowly and painfully. Let us play the game. You can leave me tied to the chair except for one arm. What could I possibly do?”

  Lloyd scratched his chin. He was thinking about it. Martha stood there smiling and nodding enthusiastically.

  “All right,” Lloyd said. “Just this once. And just for you, babydoll.”

  He leaned over and kissed Martha on the lips. I almost lost my lunch.

  Martha flipped a switch, and the pulley brought Linda back toward the door. Lloyd wrapped his arms around Linda’s hips and lifted while Martha freed her wrists from the hook. They seemed to be well rehearsed on the routine. I wondered how many people Lloyd and Martha had killed this way, how many unfortunate souls were buried on this property because they’d picked up the wrong hitchhiker.

  L
inda curled up in a fetal position, moaning and writhing on the dirt floor. I hoped she had the strength to do what we were going to do. I certainly couldn’t play Russian roulette by myself.

  “Take her in the house and clean her up a little bit,” Lloyd said. “But don’t untie her hands. She might try to get away, and I ain’t in the mood to go traipsing around in the dark after another one. While you’re inside doing that, I’ll get everything set up out here.”

  “OK schnook-ums. See you soon.”

  The fat lady forced Linda to stand. She took her blindfold off, and then she attached a leash to her dog collar and led her through the curtain.

  Schnook-ums followed. He came back a couple of minutes later carrying a wooden chair and a folding card table. There was a large nylon sack slung over his shoulder, originally the cover for a folding stadium chair maybe. The .38 was in his right front pants pocket. I could see the impression of it. He walked to the other side of the snake pit and set the chair and the nylon sack down and unfolded the table.

  “I want you to know I’m just doing this for my wife,” he said. “If it was up to me, I’d drill this last bullet into your skull and be done with it. As much trouble as you’ve put me through, you’re lucky to have lived this long.”

  “Yeah. I feel real lucky,” I said.

  He walked back over to me, knelt down and cut the duct tape wrapped around my ankles with a pocketknife. He pulled the gun out and pointed it at me.

  “Get up and walk on over to that table and sit down in that chair,” he said. “If you try anything, I’m going to shoot you in the leg. Then I’m going to roll you into that pit.”

  “I won’t try anything,” I said.

  And I didn’t. I stood and walked over to the table and sat in the chair. I had a better view of the rattlers from that angle. Some of them looked to be over six feet long.

  Lloyd came around and took a roll of duct tape out of the nylon sack and rewrapped my ankles. He cut my right hand loose, and then secured my left hand to the side of the chair. He used plenty of tape, so there was no chance of me breaking loose.

  “This is how the game’s going to work,” he said. “There’s one bullet. I’m going to spin the cylinder and then hand you the gun. You’re going to put the gun to your head and pull the trigger. You have a one-in-six chance of the bullet lining up with the firing pin and blowing your brains out.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s generally how Russian roulette works.”

  “Don’t be a smartass. If you make it through the first round, I’ll spin the cylinder again and give the girl a turn. And so on and so forth until someone gets it.” He reached into the sack. “I’ll be standing right behind you with this Louisville Slugger. If you even think about pointing that gun at anything except yourself, I’ll split your head open like a cantaloupe. You understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “Martha’s going to be standing behind the girl, ready to bash her brains in with the old rolling pin if she needs to.”

  “You seem to have all the bases covered,” I said. “That’s exactly how I would have set it up.”

  The curtain parted. Linda walked into the room, with Martha following closely behind. Linda was still tethered to the leash, and Martha was carrying the rolling pin in her free hand. It was a formidable weapon. I had a pounding headache to prove it.

  “Bring her over here,” Lloyd said.

  The women walked around the snake pit to where the table was set up. Linda sat across from me. Martha unhooked the leash from her collar, and then she secured her legs and her left hand to the chair with duct tape in the same fashion Lloyd had done mine.

  “This is so exciting,” Martha said. “I can hardly wait.”

  You could see the anticipation on her fat face. She was looking forward to watching us sweat. She’d applied some face powder and some red lipstick and blue eye shadow, and she’d replaced the dowdy housecoat and fuzzy slippers with a sequined gown and a pair of jeweled flats. She looked like she was ready for a night at the opera in hell.

  “Might as well get the show on the road,” Lloyd said.

  “Thanks for doing this for me, schnook-ums,” Martha said.

  “Anything for you, babydoll. You’re looking mighty fine, don’t you know.”

  She giggled. “You’ll be rewarded later. In the bedroom. If you know what I mean.”

  Another wave of nausea washed over me.

  Linda looked better than she had before. Her hair was wet and her face had been scrubbed, and I could smell the heavily-perfumed body wash Martha had used to clean her up. Her eyes were bright and blue and fearful.

  Lloyd pulled the gun out and stepped to the side of the table facing the snake pit, where Linda and I could both see him. He opened the cylinder, pulled the bullet out and showed it to us. It was fat and ugly and grotesquely menacing. Kind of like Martha. Lloyd slid it into one of the chambers, spun the cylinder and slammed it shut. He set the revolver on the table in front of Linda, grabbed the baseball bat and took his place behind me.

  Martha raised the rolling pin, ready to crack Linda’s skull if she needed to.

  “Let me go first,” I said.

  “Why?” Lloyd said. “What difference does it make?”

  “It’s just the gentlemanly thing to do. This was my idea, so I should be the one taking the initial risk.”

  I could hear Lloyd breathing behind me, the whiskey and tobacco and greasy sweat radiating off of him like a rotting bucket of catfish guts.

  “Nope,” he said. “The girl goes first.”

  “Can you give me one good reason why?”

  “Because I said so. That’s why. And because it’s not what you want.” He paused for a second, and then said to Linda, “Come on, chickadee. Get on with it.”

  Linda lowered her shaking hand to the gun. Tears rolled down her squeaky-clean cheeks as she lifted it and pressed the barrel to her head.

  I looked her directly in the eyes. “You can do this,” I said. “It’s the only way. Go ahead and pull that trigger, and then it will be my turn. Everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”

  It was a silly promise, because there was a one in six chance that everything was not going to be all right. If that bullet lined up with the firing pin when Linda squeezed the trigger, we were both doomed.

  She set the gun back down on the table, covered her eyes with her hand and started bawling.

  “I can’t do this,” she said. “I just can’t.”

  She turned to the side and retched, dry-heaving uncontrollably. Martha gave her a light conk on the back of the head with the rolling pin.

  “You better straighten up and fly right, missy,” Martha said. “You want me to pick that gun up and pull the trigger for you?”

  “Look at me,” I said to Linda.

  She looked at me. Her lips were trembling.

  “I can’t do this,” she said.

  “You can, Linda. You can. Pick up that gun. Pick it up and put the barrel to your head and pull the trigger. Do it, and then I’ll take my turn. This is all going to be over soon.”

  Without another word, she grabbed the gun and pressed the barrel to her temple and pulled the trigger.

  CLICK.

  The revolver fell from her hand and landed on the faux leather tabletop with a thud. She started laughing and crying at the same time.

  “I did it,” she said. “I really did it.”

  Like a preschooler who’d just learned to tie her shoes.

  The intensity of the moment finally got to me. Tears welled in my own eyes. “You sure did, sweetheart,” I said. “You did it, and now I’m going to do it.”

  “That was good!” Martha said. “This is just the best night ever, isn’t it schnook-ums? The best night ever.”

  Lloyd picked the gun up and spun the cylinder and set it on the table in front of me, as casually as a waiter delivering a bowl of soup. He resumed his stance behind my chair with the Louisville Slugger. He had the bat ra
ised and ready. I could see his reflection in Linda’s dilated pupils.

  I grabbed the .38 and jammed the cold steel barrel against my right cheekbone. My jaw muscles tensed. This was it. Now or never. It was our only chance, and it was up to me to get the job done.

  Most modern revolvers are self-cocking. When you squeeze the trigger, an internal mechanism pulls the hammer back and rotates the cylinder at the same time. In other words, you can fire bullets as fast as you can pull the trigger. With practice, you can fire all six rounds in under two seconds. I know, because I’ve done it. A friend of mine used to time me at the firing range with a stopwatch. He would time me, and then I would time him. We would make a little competition out of it, and the loser had to buy the beer.

  I never lost.

  I aimed the gun over my shoulder and started pulling the trigger as fast as I could. I only had to squeeze it three times before the bullet lined up. It took less than a second. The report blasted through my eardrum like an amplified rocket launch.

  Lloyd hadn’t had time to react. I knew he hadn’t had time to react, because my skull was still in one piece. I heard a sharp wheezing sound, and then I heard Lloyd crumple to the floor.

  Martha and Linda wore identical stunned expressions for a second, but Martha’s quickly turned to rage.

  “You shot my schnook-ums,” she said.

  She waddled toward me with the rolling pin raised high. She outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds, and both my legs and my left arm were restrained. She came down fast and hard. I ducked to the right, and the unforgiving hardwood implement caught me squarely on the left collarbone. I thought I felt something snap, but I was too amped on adrenaline to notice much pain. While Martha’s obese and garish form was off balance from delivering what she surely thought would be a fatal blow, I grabbed her by the hair and slammed her forehead into the hard steel corner of the card table. She rose and staggered back a step, bright red blood gushing from the wound over her left eye. She dropped the rolling pin and her face turned white and she rocked on her heels and swayed back and forth for a couple of seconds and finally stiffened and fell straight back like a massive tree that had been chopped down at the roots.