by Steven King
Tit For Tat
By Steven King
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The edge of darkness now imposed itself upon the dwindling daylight, tempting a scheduled full moon out of hiding and mean spirited mosquitoes to dance under freshly illuminated street lamps.
Chris summoned the courage to come out of hiding also, his tall but hunched over six foot frame limping onto hard, unforgiving concrete.
His feet literally screamed with each step, alive with insatiable pain, after weeks of being punctured with nails and whacked tirelessly with harsh leather straps against their vulnerable soles.
Take a load off your feet son!!! His mother’s voice again, echoing in his ravaged mind. But her voice could not stop him from walking now, just as it had not stopped his tormentors from…from…
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock. “It’s time again Chris. Time to play with your feet again.”
Ahhh yes, Henry’s job, to play with my feet. Nail, nail, play away, but no referee to save the day. What happened to the referee!!?? No one to call time, when…when…
The whir of an approaching car engine silenced his thoughts. Henry perhaps?
After careful reflection, it sounded too expensive to be Henry’s car. And indeed, it was not Henry, but rather Mr. Wilcox, his neighbor, a short, fat, balding man with a red, bulbous nose, straight out of some Dicken’s novel. He wore uncoordinated colors that only proved to the world he had no wife to guide him.
Chris sighed at the thought. For he too had no wife to guide him either.
Find yourself a nice girl and settle down so you can give me grandkids. His mother’s voice again, swirling in the cool autumn breeze. There was no sense listening to his mother now or ever, not without a penis there wasn’t.
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock. “It’s time again Chris. Time to play with your dick again.”
Henry’s second job, to play with my giant eight inch cock. Stab, jab, cut that flab, put the proceeds in a bag. He uses not an airplane barf bag, or even a vaccum cleaner bag, but rather the same bag he uses when he walks his dog. Dear mom, don’t be sad, he puts grandkids in a doggie bag. What happened to the bags!!?? The same thing that happened to my homework no doubt. The dog ate it!!!
A second car approached and this time Chris focused sharper and longer, judging the nearing engine sounds to come from a van or SUV. It was not Henry’s car. Where was Henry’s car!!??
A third car finally approached, and with only three single car garage houses at the end of the street, Henry’s hopes were high. The car was loud, rattling and sporting a rusty body. Just like you Henry, you cheapskate!!! Driving old rusty cars, using old rusty nails and driving with old rusty hammers. That’s the same gauze and band aid you stopped the bleeding with before you cheap bastard!!!
It was Henry alright, purposeful and rigid in his routine as usual, studiously noting any brown patches on his lawn in the glowing moonlight as an excuse to be nervously looking over his shoulder.
Looking for me are you Henry?! Unsure since my escape, of whether I’m on the run from you or hanging around to punish you?! Which is it Henry?! You let me get away just five short days ago, you idiot. After three and a half weeks of playing with my feet and my cock, you let me get away just five short days ago?! Still unsure of where I might be after five days?! Still unsure of why I did not go to the cops?! Or did I?! Did I go to the cops Henry?! Fuck the cops!!! I’ll get my own revenge. Do you hear me Henry, you sadistic chiseling weasel?! I’ll get my own revenge.
Ahhhh, you’re putting the key in the door now, and turning the doorknob now and…and…wait for it…wait for it…yes, there it is again, that little flick of your head, over your shoulder, to see if I’m lurking in the shadows, lurking in the neighbors hedge. You shouldn’t be afraid of me Henry, not when I’m afraid of my own reflection in the puddle on the street. Ahhh, how gastly I look, my face just a twisted mess of cut up, burnt up gouged out flesh.
Hold still while I lick this Kleenex and wipe a speck of dirt off your cheek. His mother’s voice again, echoing in a mind no longer sane. If only you could see me now, mom. No more specks of dirt to worry about, not when what’s left of my face has bigger problems. But my face was not your concern, was it Henry? Nawww, you were strictly a feet and penis man. Andre was the face man. Well, I’ll be sure to remember that when I visit you in a few minutes. Do you know you left your basement window unlocked Henry?! Guess not. Well I know. And don’t worry about Andre, I’ll visit him in a few days too and then Peter, and then…and then…finally Jeffery. The whole fuckin’ four of you but I’ll save Jeffery for last. Let him sweat!!!
A flash of lightning suddenly lit up the night sky, momentarily illuminating a crouched Chris behind the hedges.
Chris stepped back and the tops of the hedges moved. Henry noted the movement, his head still perched anxiously over his shoulder. Something in the bushes? Maybe, maybe not. Too far to see in the darkness without moving closer. Care to move a little closer Henry? You loved to move closer when you were working on my wanker. Making me scream. Do you remember playing with my wanker Henry, your eyes dancing and wild, your brow coated in excited sweat, your face gleaming with wanton savagery. But you let me get away Henry!!! Not on purpose mind you. But you fell asleep and left me in nothing but thumb cuffs chained to the chair. I didn’t mind losing a couple of thumbs, Henry, not when I had lost so much already. The trick Henry, was to shove rags in my mouth so you wouldn’t hear me holler when the thumbs came off. So many tools to choose fromjust like the tools I have hidden in my coat. But I’ll show them to you in a minute, Henry, just as soon as you stop peering so nervously at these bushes. Just as soon…just as soon…
A stitch in time saves nine. His mother’s voice again, reminding him how she used to sew his torn clothes when he’d fallen from being out on a tree limb. Not my fault this time mom. This time it was Henry’s fault, having just finished working on my giant eight inch wanker with his tiny, precision tools.
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock. “All done Chris. Time now to sew it back up again until the next time.”
Sew that dick but do it right, make those stitches nice and tight.
You ALMOST know I’m here, don’t you Henry, lurking in the shadows. But you’re not quite sure. Only ninety-nine percent. What’s the use of being ninety-nine per cent certain when that final one per cent is just wondering around, raising doubts or giving false hopes.
Henry’s eyes remained focused on the bushes, their well trimmed tops only now ceasing to shake. Ya wanna know what shook ‘em, don’t ya Henry?! Then come out and take a look, you lazy bastard. Come out and stare into my one good eye and tell me if you recognize Andre’s handiwork. Andre took pride in his work Henry.
Henry decided it was probably a squirrel and turned the key to the front door.
Once Henry slipped inside Chris licked what was left of his lips at the prospect of revenge. He was no longer speechless. “You’re home, tool man. You’re finally home.”
Home, home on the range, where the deer and
the antelope play. Where seldom isheard a discouraging word. Mother’s voice again, just as he remembered it, singing with her country folk friends after one too many at a camp fire sing along.
Stoke that fire, burn those balls, make him cry like Niagara Falls.
Do you remember burning my balls Henry?! No? Well not to worry. In just a little while we shall stir up your powers of recollection.
Ahhh, betcha you’re resettin’ the alarm right about now. Too bad it’s no longer connected to the basement window. Did I mention you left your basement window open Henry?
Ahhh, a light on in the living room and a shifted drape. Peeping through the drapes at the bushes Henry?! I’ll betchew are, you chiseling weasel. Another light on now in the bedroom, and yet another shifted drape. Still peeping at the once shaking bush, are we Henry?! Hoping to see more from on high?! Whatcha ‘fraid of Henry?!
Boil boil, toil and trouble… His mother’s voice again, reciting the witches song playfully at a Halloween party while boiling corn for some equally sloshed guests. Henry didn’t boil corn, mom. Not when my balls were available.
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fucking clock. “I’m afraid I’ll have to turn
the element up real high this time Chris. The louder you scream is the more the viewers pay.”
Put ‘em on a hot plate watch ‘em sizzle. Know their done when they turn grizzle.
“I’ll do the cooking tonight Henry,” whispered Chris, staying low as he crept slow around the neighbors hedge, careful not to disturb the bush tops a second time.
He was sure Henry had no doubt nervously retrieved his binoculars from the dresser drawer, to peep periodically out of his bedroom window at the once moving
hedges. Chris knew what he was thinking. What if it hadn’t been a squirrel?!
The basement window was only a few feet further now, and Chris slid on his belly until he reached it, spilling as quietly as a mouse onto the basement floor.
Twas the night before xmas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. His mother’s voice again, retrieved from memory banks some twenty years earlier when he would sit on his mother’s knee and listen to her rhymes. Sorry to contradict you mom, but there is a mouse in this house, a rather large mouse in fact, howbeit a mouse with severely bruised feet.
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock. “Sorry Chris, but the internet feed went down while we were doing the session for the feet fetish pricks. They won’t pay until they get to see us do it over.”
Raise them feet and bind them quick, again comes a man with the hickory stick.
Chapter Two
Peter Jenkins crossed the oncoming, honking traffic nervously and Chris laughed at his apprehension. You’re just soooooo unsure aren’t you limb man, just so unsure of whether or not it’s me in one of those cars, tryna floor it to run you over??!!
Sticks and stones will break your bones but names will never hurt you. His mother’s voice again, telling him at age five, something he now learned afresh some twenty years later. “No need to remind me mom,” he whispered. “I learned the hard way.”
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock. “Not sure how long this is going to take,” Peter would always say as he went methodically about his business of first strapping Chris into the rack and then later onto the bone crushing wheel.
“It’s only business,” Peter would say as he turned the crank that would stretch his limbs on the homemade rack, eliciting howling screams that signaled unimaginable pain was savagely rampant in a mind already long gone insane. “It’s nothing personal Chris,” Peter would later add as he lifted the hammer that would slam down on his biceps, forearms and thighs. “You got to give the viewers what they want. They’re the ones paying the piper.”
Wrong again Peter, you sadistic bastard. I’m the one that paid the piper, and I continue to pay the piper with…with…
Swing that hammer right on cue, till all his flesh is black and blue. When that job is finally done, pierce his flesh with a stapling gun.
I’m STILL here Peter. I’m STILL only six foot one, even though your rack tried to stretch me to six foot two, or three, or four, or…or-
Whatsa matter Peter? No more jokes about how I should be thankful for the stretching sessions? No more sly remarks about how I should be thankful I’m gonna be tall enough to play on any basketball team? Or tall enough to reach that top shelf without actually standing on my tippy toes??!! Not that I have any tippy toes left, mind you, you sadistic bastard.
What?! No more jokes?! Whatsa matter Peter, cat got yer tongue? No, but a rusty old nail kept on gettin’ mine. Andre saw to that. You do remember Andre don’t you? The one that used to soften me up for you? And what about Henry, his laughing sidekick? You do remember Henry at least? The one that has been missing for twenty-four hours. You do know Henry’s missing, don’t ya Peter? Ahh but not to worry Peter. Henry’s safe and sound, neatly tucked away at a secret place of my choosing. And I shall visit him again soon enough. Do you know that Henry’s feet aren’t used to nails and straps the way mine are Peter? What, you didn’t know that? Honestly, as shocking as it sounds it’s true. You see I tried it on Henry over and over again last night. First the nails and then the straps. Or was it first the straps and then the nails. You know something Peter? I worked with straps and nails and nails and straps on poor Henry for so very long, I just can’t remember which came first, the straps or the nails?!
What came first, the chicken or the egg? His mother’s voice again, from when he used to sit on her lap and read children’s stories, even until way past his bedtime.
Henry’s not used to spending time past his bedtime engulfed in wave after wave of bone crunching pain. It’s almost like time stands still for him. He doesn’t know how to manage his time, but I shall teach him.
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock. “Not sure how long this is going to take,” I said to Henry, only last night as the snot flew out of his nose and the welts began forming over the soles of his feet. “Now only if your feet were made outof leather,” he used to say to me, “and not so easy to puncture, like vinyl,” which I said back to him last night.
You do know I talked to Henry last night about you don’t your Peter? Whats that? You’re not sure? You only know he’s missing? Well, not to worry, you’ll meet up with him soon enough!
Betcha wanna meet up with Henry reeeeeel bad, don’t ya Peter? And give that sonofabitch a piece of your mind for letting me escape! Ya wanna give Henry a piece of your mind, Peter? Not to worry, you’ll get a chance. And a nice piece of mind it’ll be, I’ll see to that, even if I have to strain my one good eye to cut out the right piece.
I outta give that teacher of yours a piece of my mind for letting you come home inthe cold without your jacket on. His mothers voice again.
Don’t worry mom, I’ve got my jacket on, and it’s complete with tools for Peter.
A light drizzle began to play in what was left of a scalp that had been subjected already to water that boiled and water that washed away the blood.
“Keep the work area clean, I always say,” taunted Andre, his voice still amazing fresh inside a mind torn asunder in a hundred different ways.
Cleanliness is next to Godliness. His mother’s voice again. Don’t worry mom, I’ll wash away the blood, just like Andre did, just like…just like…
That’s good son, that’s good. You remembered the lessons from the bible, the ones I used to read to you, when you had two good eyes and two good hands and one good….and one good…
An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. His mothers voice again. Don’t worry mom. I got it covered. Henry can vouch for me, just as dear old Peter here soon will. I remember your bible lessons like they were…so fresh in my…
“Fresh flesh, Chris, that’s what viewers want nowadays. Ain’t no sense I keep the cigarettes making burn circles on the same leg. After all, isn’t that what God gave
you two legs for? By the way, I’ll have to open up a new pack o’ smokes now Chris. Hope you don’t mind but your right leg used up the first pack. And you know what that means, don’t ya Chris? Time for a new pack and time for a new leg. A time honored military tradition Chris. You know what they used to say while marching in the army? Left right, left right, left right, left…”
Do unto others you would have them do unto you. His mothers voice again. Don’t
worry mom, I got it covered. I gotta a whole carton of smokes stashed in my jacket.
Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord. His mother’s voice again. Don’t worry mom, God will get his chance. I just need about a month to soften them up for him, that’s all.
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock. “The trick with workin’ on cocks,” Henry used to say, “is to patiently take ones time to tap in tiny carpet tacks along the outside skin on both sides, then slit open the centre with a carpet knife, exposing the delicate center so you can work on it unobstructed. You do remember what a carpet knife looks like from the last time we chatted, don’t you Chris?” Yes dear Henry I do remember, and as of last night, I am sure you will remember it too. Your screams told me you’ll never forget the sight of it ever again. Etched in your mind forever is it? Don’t lose your mind, Henry, not like me. You’ll have twenty-nine more days to not lose your fuckin’ mind like me!!! Then I’ll turn you over to God, Henry, but not until then. Not until…
The drizzle suddenly gave way to a downpour and Peter scurried up the steps to the front door of his three story town home.
Rain again??!! What’s with all this rain?! Forget the clock, will somebody shoot the weatherman. He predicted “lots of sunshine with only a slight chance of light afternoon showers.” You lied to me twice weatherman. There was a very big chance of rain and the showers are anything but light. Maybe it is you that should be put to
the test for lying. Just like how Peter is being put to the test for his lying.
Did you know weatherman, that Peter lied to me too? He said, and I quote, “why don’t you come with us four to a party when we leave the bar. There will be lot’s of chicks there and lots more beer there…and…”
