Dead Broken - Psychological Thriller / Horror

by Gerard Gray

  “What in God’s name?” I gasped.

  “Don’t push me,” Steven expelled, laughing.

  I focused on his jovial face before shooting the visceral innards of the fridge another glance.

  “Do you get it? Don’t push me.” Steven was slurring his words through a thick, slimy laughter.

  I wanted to scream but my throat was stuck with glue. I could feel the fingers of fear reaching out from my chest down into my limbs, clawing at my grey flesh as they dragged themselves along. My heart was beating frantically, my body tingling all over.

  “Who does it remind you of?”

  I placed my hand over my mouth and gagged. “What have you done?”

  “Don’t push me.” This phrase in its self was beginning to make me feel sick, and I think I will forever associate it with that moment.

  Yet again I returned my gaze to the fridge. I held my breath as I stared into the eyes of a severed head. All I could think of was that slurring phrase of Steven’s. And then it dawned on me what he was getting at: “Rambo.”

  “Yes! Not so fucking tough now, is he; although, he wasn’t that tough earlier, when I cut off his testicles – that’s them in the jar.” Steven burst out laughing.

  On clocking the hideous contents my stomach exploded, hurling the lunch I had just eaten into my mouth. I heaved several times, the brunch splattering into a rather opportune bucket that just happened to be lying by my side.

  The fridge contained several things in all. The most obvious was the head. As well as this there were two jars. One of the jars contained what looked like fingers or something; the other jar… well, you know what that contained.

  Steven patted me on the back, making me flinch.

  I retched yet again into the bucket.

  “I knew I liked you. Rambo puked on the floor when I cut off his balls; you vomited in the bucket. That’s breeding for you. And it doesn’t make you any less of a man for being sick.” Steven said this last bit sympathetically. “Can’t say the same for getting your balls cut off, though.” He exploded into laughter.

  The walls were suddenly closing in on me, my head spinning. I found myself moving towards the exit, another wave of anxiety threatening my guts. I couldn’t believe what was happening. My subconscious started for the kitchen and ended up running for the back door. I had to get out of that larder; I had to get away from that fridge, away from him.

  Steven and his gun followed me out into the sunshine.

  “You can’t tell me he didn’t deserve it. Have you forgotten what he did to you?”

  I stood against a wall, bent double, gasping for air. “Deserve it?” I was repeating his words; I didn’t know what I was saying.

  “So you’re not going to thank me then?”

  I placed my hands on my thighs and leaned forward. The wave of nausea took a couple of seconds to pass me by. I breathed deeply to make sure that it didn’t come back. I clutched my stomach and looked over towards the madman and his gun. Tears were streaming down my face. I didn’t know what to say. “You’re a madman,” I spluttered.

  For the first time since opening the fridge the self-satisfied smile had disappeared from Steven’s lips. “I understand that this is a lot for you to take in all at once. We have a busy weekend ahead of us. Why don’t you go back to bed for a while and think things over. We can talk about this later.”

  I shot the farm a fleeting look, fear strangling me once more. “I’m not going back in that cellar.”

  My mind started to think. I was attempting to work out how I could escape. Who cares if I didn’t know where I was, I would worry about that later. I cast the moors a desperate glance; they were as bleak as they were beautiful; staring at them just made me feel like crying. No escape that way – he would shoot me down like a dog the minute I started to run. Surely there was some sort of road at the front of the house, though. There must be. There had to be. I could feel my Adam’s apple beginning to swell.

  “Come on, back to bed.”

  “No, please. I’m not going…”

  “I insist.” Steven raised his gun towards me.

  I lowered my head in despair, my throat a swollen ball of steel.

  *

  I staggered back into the cellar, the tears running down my face. I couldn’t think just now, but I would have plenty of time to think in the dark.

  The dark. I didn’t want to go back into the dark.

  Steven switched on a light to reveal the cellar. It wasn’t actually a cellar, or at least it wasn’t anymore. It probably had been at one time, but it looked like it had been renovated for the purposes of an office. A bed sat in the middle of the room, bolted to the floor. Books and documents lined shelves on each of the walls, giving the place a well-read feel.

  I sat listlessly down on the bed. I was suddenly very tired. I just wanted him to leave me alone. Steven started to attach the chain to my foot but I didn’t care.

  “I need to apologise.”

  I slowly looked up at him, my eyes heavy in my head.

  “I need to apologise about Rambo.”

  Our eyes locked.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to start without you. He was your present.”

  Fucking hell.

  I lowered my deflated gaze, lay back onto the bed and curled myself into a foetal position.

  “No point worrying over spilt milk now, eh?” Steven chuckled as he made to leave. “But don’t you worry. I’ve plenty more presents for you to open this weekend.”

  I swivelled my dejected eyes around to meet him. “What?”

  “No. It’s a surprise. You’re going to have to wait and...” Steven stopped in mid sentence, his jovial demeanour evaporating before my eyes. He quickly walked over to one of the bookshelves, kneeled down and started to examine the floor. I had to make an effort to twist my tired body around to see what had caught his attention.

  “Is this what I think it is?” he muttered. Steven got down on his hands and knees, sniffing and touching the floor. “Is this what I fucking think it is? It fucking is!”

  I sat myself up straight. Was he angry with me? I was scared. He looked furious.

  “Did you do this?”

  I shook my head in confusion. I didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Did you fucking well do this? Did you piss on the floor?”

  Oh dear God, I did. My heart was suddenly running scared. “What did you expect?” I said, stumbling over my words. “I’d been stuck in here for… two days… What did you expect?”

  Steven jumped to his feet, catapulting himself across the room towards me. He raised his arm high into the air on approach, and for a second I thought he was going to attack. “Ahhhhh,” he yelled.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I pleaded, shielding my head with my arms.

  “I expected better from you, Peter. Are you an animal? Are you one of them?”

  Just then I realised something unfortunate. I needed to go to the toilet again, and I wasn’t talking about a piss. Steven made to leave, a satanic rage burning the ground he walked upon. I had to talk to him quickly, though. If he had acted like this after me doing a piss on the floor, what would he do to me after I took a shit on it?

  “Please… can I go to the toilet?”

  “You’ve already been to the toilet, my friend – all over the fucking floor.”

  “I need… a poo.” I was scared to use the word “shit”; I didn’t want to make him any angrier than he already was. Poo was what we had trained Depp to call it.

  His look of anger intensified. “You’re going to have to wait. You can wait, can’t you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Of course you can – mind over matter. If I can wait, so can you. When was the last time you went?”

  “I don’t know… three, four days ago.”

  “That’s bugger all. I limit my bowel movements to once a month, at the very most. If I can hold it in for a month then you
can hold it in for a week. Mind over matter. You can shit when you leave here. Now get some sleep. And heaven help you if you pull a stunt like this again. You’re not a fucking animal.”

  My mind balked. Once a month?

  It was clear to me that Steven wasn’t going to give in here. I was going to have to wait. I knew only too well what might happen if I didn’t.

  Just before reaching the door he stopped. He looked like he was fighting with some inner voice. He turned his head reluctantly over his shoulder, one hand on the banister. “I’ll find you a bucket and you can do it out back… later.”

  “A bucket? Is there no toilet?”

  “Toilet’s are for number ones not number twos.”

  I stared at him in amazement.

  “Don’t want you stinking the place out. Didn’t your parents teach you anything? Just be thankful I’m going to let you do it at all. Get some sleep. We have a busy night ahead of us.” Steven about turned and left the room.

  A couple of seconds later the light went off.

  I lay there in the dark thinking about what he had just said. I still didn’t know whether he was joking or not. Did he actually limit his trips to the toilet to once a month? Was that possible? Toilets are for number ones not number twos. So where did he do his number twos? He had to do them somewhere?

  I dropped the thought from my head. I was gullible at the best of times. Of course he was joking. The man didn’t shit once a month. Let’s leave it at that.

  Chapter 17

  All Hallows’ Eve

  I awoke with a start. Had my mum been calling me again? I better go and check, just in case. I reached for the lamp but found no resistance. It only took me a couple of seconds to remember exactly where I was and why I was so cold. Oh God, I was locked in a madman’s cellar.

  I sat up quickly in the dark and proceeded to scramble for the shackle around my ankle. On finding it I followed the chain back to the foot of the bed. I tentatively raised myself up from where I was sitting, sat gingerly down on the floor, placed both hands around the bed’s leg and started to tug and manipulate it back and forth.

  Nothing.

  “Fuck.” I kicked my frustration far out into the darkness, but not far enough; it came scampering back at me like some insidious insect.

  I cast my dejected head for a couple of seconds before slowly making my way back to the bed. I sat myself down, pulling my unprotected feet up off the floor. The darkness was a dangerous place to leave your feet. It was a bit like dangling them in shark-infested waters. God only knew what was swimming down there in the murky depths.

  My stomach turned into quicksand on remembering the contents of the fridge. I curled my fingers tight into a ball and buried them in my clothes. How could he bring himself to do such a thing? Did the jars really contain what he said they did? And was it actually Rambo in the fridge? I had just taken his word for it. It could have been anyone.

  Did it matter? Whoever it was, he had cut off his head for fuck’s sake. And what about those jars?

  “No. No, I don’t want to go there.” I tried my best to blank my mind as I rocked back and forth, back and forth. “Think about something else. Think about something good. My children. Yes, think about my children.

  “Shit.” I suddenly sat upright, daggers of light stabbing me in the eyes. A bolt was drawn back and a door swung open. I caught a glimpse of a blur as it came hurtling across the room towards me. It was the priest’s brother and he looked furious. What had I done now? Was he still angry with me for pissing on the floor? I cowered on the bed, my hands raised high in defence.

  “Read this.”

  I stared up at him from behind my shielded position.

  “Put your arms down and read this.”

  I slowly lowered my defences. He handed me what looked like a smart phone. I looked at the screen, but my eyes were unable to focus in the bright light. “I can’t read it; my eyes… need to adjust to the light.”

  Steven released an exasperated moan and knelt himself down before me. With his head bent forward he proceeded to free my ankle from the chain.

  As he did this I had the craziest idea. It didn’t look like he had his gun with him. I looked around to make sure, but I couldn’t see it. Steven’s head was bent forward; I had the smart phone in my hand. It would be the easiest thing in the world to raise the phone high into the air and then bring it down hard onto the fucker’s head, again and again. I didn’t need to knock him out. I just needed to give myself enough time to get out the room. The door had a bolt on it. I could lock him in.

  Shit. I was just about to raise my hand when the bastard stood up. Holy fuck where did that come from? Hanging by his side was his gun. I could have sworn he didn’t have it. God, that was close – way too fucking close.

  “Come on, you’ve slept enough. I want your opinion.”

  *

  Steven guided my body roughly into a chair, obviously eager for me to read his article. He sat himself down at the other side of the kitchen table and waited for me to begin. On looking at the phone my stomach almost disappeared. The article was still on the subject of his brother, but it was the date that had floored me: October the 31st – Halloween.

  My head dropped forward. I was meant to take Depp trick or treating. He had bought a new Batman costume especially for the occasion. It was going to be our first proper Halloween together.

  “Oh, God.” I raised both my hands to my head. I had just realised something else: that’s what he was getting at. He had wanted me to dress up with him, to go out around the doors trick or treating. That’s why he wanted me to get the Darth Vader’s outfit. That’s why. I was on the cusp of tears.

  Steven nudged me with the nozzle of his gun.

  I glared back at him, hatred burning in my eyes. “I was meant to take my son trick or treating.”

  “That’s nice. The article.”

  Fucking bastard.

  I spent the next five minutes flicking my apprehensive eyes between Steven and his smart phone. I caught sight of the number of bars at the top of the screen: zero. No reception. Bang went that idea. Perhaps his phone would have a reception outside.

  I reluctantly dragged my angry eyes back to the article. It only appeared to touch on the subject of his brother. It was more about the broken society than anything else, something I usually had strong opinions on, but quite frankly I couldn’t have cared less about at that moment in time. I was confused why he was making me read it, though.

  “What do you think?”

  “Think?”

  Steven placed something down onto the table in front of me. It only took me a second to realise what it was, and that’s when it dawned on me what he might be getting at.

  It was his book.

  The main theme of the book was similar to that of the article I had just read. The story was set sometime in the not so distant future and dealt with the problem of a youth out of control. The problem youths were just a symptom, though; the real issues were the decisions that society had made in its self. The book spoke of a swingeing iron axe, an axe that had severed the state’s manufacturing industry many generations before. This had left a whole section of society without a job base. It was the grandchildren of this disenfranchised workforce that were now the issue. At the same time, it had been decreed that the biblical rod be outlawed, punishable by prison. It was an offence to even shout at a child never mind physically discipline them.

  Having experienced the wrath of the broken society first hand I wasn’t going to argue with his theory.

  “I want to know if you agree with the article. Do you think we’re living in a broken society?”

  What did he want from me? God, I was so tired. I lowered my head.

  “Look, I’ll put it to you another way. Do you think my brother was entitled to take the law into his own hands when the law refused to do anything to help him?”

  I stared at the book in a bid to focus my attention. I couldn’t think straight. I was exhausted
and couldn’t be bothered with any of this. I just wanted to go home. I cast the door another desperate glance. Should I risk making a run for it? I caught a glimpse of his gun from the corner of my eye.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head in answer to my own futile question.

  “What do you mean by “no”? No, we’re not living in a broken society, or no my brother didn’t have the right to take matters into his own hands?”

  I flinched. He was acting manic. He had a gun. I had to be careful with what I said here.

  “For God’s sake,” he said, gesticulating wildly, laughing. “Do you think we’re living in a broken society or not? You can answer me. I don’t bite… much.”

  “What do you want me to say? Even if we are, murdering ignorant kids isn’t the answer. It’s not their fault…”

  “So you agree with the article to some degree, that we’re living in a broken society?”

  “Maybe… But I don’t agree with your book.”

  “My book?”

  I had to physically stop myself from squirming in my seat. “Yes. You wrote it, didn’t you?”

  “No, what gave you that idea?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I had thought that he had written it.

  He smiled back at me. “When do you think this book was written?”

  I paused. I had no idea, but it must have been in recent years. “I don’t know. In the last five years?”

  Steven burst out laughing. “Not quite, not quite. This book was written a very long time ago.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This book is thousands of years old.”

  It was my turn to laugh out loud but I quickly checked myself. He was fucking with me big time. I remembered what he had said to me earlier: I limit my bowel movements to once a month. No way did this man shit once a month, and no way was this book any more than ten years old. He was trying to mess with my head. I thought about this for a second before saying anything. “That’s… ridiculous,” I said carefully, not wanting to exacerbate the situation. “You must be mistaken. The book is set in modern times. It talks about mobile phones and the Internet. It mentions SKY and the BBC. It even mentions famous people’s names?”