The Brutality Pack: An extreme horror collection

by Ian Woodhead

  “As for my taste in friends, Amber. Well, compared to anyone else of our age in this shitty town, Phil is the best there is. Sure, he nicks my money, uses my house as a rubbish tip, and don’t forget the few odd slaps, but at least I can go out and have a drink with him.” He stopped in the middle of the road and turned to stare into her beautiful eyes. “Does that make sense? Sorry, I've had a bit too much to drink. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have stayed indoors, hiding under my bed, and listening to the drunken night-life kicking the shit out of each other.” He pushed back her long brown hair. “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have met you.” Dave leaned forward to kiss her, fully expecting her to close her eyes and kiss him back.

  She placed two fingers on his lips and halted his progress. “Later, Dave. If you start all that, I’ll end up getting too excited.” Amber hurried across the road and then looked back. “I want to wake up next to you, Dave. If we don’t follow this through, we both know what’ll happen; I’ll be visiting you in hospital.”

  Dave caught up with her just as she passed a shuttered up discount store. She held out her hand. His fingers encircled hers. He’d been with a few of the local girls since he and Phil had started visiting the clubs, and every single one of them bar none were very similar to how Lisa behaved. Granted, maybe not as bitchy as Phil’s new floozie but still enjoyed the same selfish, nasty, and self-centred traits.

  He smiled at Amber and felt the butterflies in his stomach go crazy when she smiled back. Dave couldn’t lose this one. At last, he had found a normal girl in this town full of freaks and psychos.

  “Which one do you think they chose?”

  Dave knew exactly where he’d have taken Lisa. Grassmere Street had six Indian restaurants, three on each side. There wasn’t much difference in five of them in taste or price, and after a few pints, it never mattered anyway. The Saffron Inn on the other hand was in a class of its own. The food was exquisite, but the prices were unbelievable. The Saffron Inn was reserved for overtime weeks and special occasions. Dave pointed to the white faced building just a few shops away. “They’ll be in there. I’ll guarantee it.”

  “Come on then, Dave. Let’s go spend all of Lisa’s cash. I hope they have some decent beer.”

  Dave grinned. “Oh, yeah, it’s a lot better than the swill they serve in the clubs.” He envisaged Phil drinking bottle after bottle whilst eating his way through as many dishes as he could. He then had an amazing idea. “How much of Lisa’s money did you take?”

  “About £300, I think, why?”

  “Well, there’s a bed and breakfast just around the corner. Why don’t I just buy the bastard a couple of drinks, pay for the meal, and then I’ll drop a few hints about the bed and breakfast. He’ll go for the idea, I know he will.” Dave grinned. “I’ll use my own version of psychology on him; make it look as it was his idea. He’ll go for it; the place is closer than my house, less distance to walk.”

  She nodded. “He wanted a takeaway in the first place.”

  “I reckon that he will go for it. He only came in here to piss me off. Besides, I know what he’s like when he picks up a new piece of flesh. He can’t wait to tear off the packaging…” he looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m only quoting his words.” Dave was about to tell Amber that he wasn’t like Phil, when three people rushed past them, almost knocking the girl into the road. It was that bloody girl again, the scantily clad schoolgirl that Phil was eying up earlier. What were they up to?

  Dave recognised one of the men; he worked at the plant in one the offices upstairs. Anton his name was. He wouldn’t forget that name in hurry, Jesus, not after what happened in the staff canteen a few weeks ago. That bloke had been responsible for almost getting Phil the sack. He’d just happened to walk past their table at break and accidentally knocked Phil’s arm just as he’d lifted up his cup of coffee. The warm liquid had soaked through Phil’s white overall. Naturally, he’d reacted in his usual fashion of jumping out of his seat, smacking the apologetic man in the nose, and calling Anton a few choice words relating to his sexuality.

  Dave watched him stop beside the black door of the restaurant a few doors from them, open the door, and bellow into the building, he then ran to the next restaurant and repeated the procedure. The other two were doing the same on the other side of the street. He watched the stranger reach the Saffron Inn.

  “What the hell are they playing at?” Amber gasped. “This is way too weird, even for this town.”

  He couldn’t agree more. “Call it a gut feeling, Amber, but I reckon that we should make ourselves scarce.”

  Something was definitely wrong in the town tonight. Ever since that scream earlier on, he’d felt a change in the air.

  “Yeah, suddenly, I feel like a lamb in a town full of wolves.” She wrapped her arms around Dave’s back. “I’m really scared, Dave. Is it just me? It must be the booze. Lisa insisted on plying me with all these stupidly expensive cocktails. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  As they turned, all the restaurant doors crashed open and the once deserted street filled up with Brutality’s nightlife. The crowds of jostling people rushed along the pavement, all heading in their direction.

  Dave grabbed Amber’s hand, and he pressed himself against a steel shutter just as four teenage girls, all dressed in matching green miniskirts, pushed past him and Amber. He stared at their vacant faces. Christ, the girls all looked drugged up to their eyeballs. Looking around, the other people all wore similar expressions. He squeezed through the advancing masses, keeping close to the shop fronts. He daren’t let go of Amber’s hand. Dave ducked into an alcove and pulled the girl in. They stayed there in shocked silence, watching dozens of people spilling out of the restaurants and running to catch up with the main crowds.

  He then recognised a couple at the tail end leaving the Saffron Inn. Dave ran out of the alcove and jumped up, waving his arms. “Phil!” he shouted. “Phil, over here, what’s going on?”

  The lad turned around, gazed at Dave, and then turned back and continued heading towards the others.

  “He didn’t even recognise me,” he muttered, walking back to Amber. “He had no idea who I was, and he was smiling. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Phil smile.”

  Amber looked past him, and she pointed at a lone figure leaving the same restaurant. “Look at him, Dave. He looks as confused as we are.”

  “That’s Robert; he was in my class at school.” Dave turned to Amber. “He wasn’t born here either. Come on,” he said, pulling her out of the alcove. “Let’s see if he knows what’s going on.”

  The rest of the other people had now disappeared, all heading towards the town centre. Robert just stood outside the restaurant with his hands on his hips. He had a feeling that the lad knew about as much about this odd situation as Dave and Amber.

  “Robert!” He yelled.

  The lad looked over, saw them, and waved.

  “At least he still knows who I am,” he muttered. “Robert, where are they all going?”

  Robert walked towards them. He shrugged. “I haven’t a clue, guy. One minute, we were all sat around the table laughing and joking, when all of a sudden this freakazoid slams open the front door and says some bloke is on fire. Everyone starts to laugh, and then this smell follows Mr Freakazoid in, and everyone shuts up and rushes out like they were hypnotised or something.” He shakes his head. “Look, guy, it’s good to see you and all that.” Robert looks back towards where the others had gone. “I have to split; my girlfriend was in that crowd.”

  The lad ran off.

  “His family moved into Brutality almost a decade ago, but don't you find it weird how only the ones born in town have turned into sheep?”

  Amber shivered. “This really is all too much for me, Dave. Did he really say that someone's on fire?”

  Dave nodded.

  “I don’t believe that. I mean, I’ve heard all kinds of rumours of general shitiness whilst I’ve been here but not anything like t
hat. Somebody on fire? I mean, we’d have heard the sirens by now, surely?”

  Dave didn’t immediately reply. He’d lived here for most of his life. Some folk around here were capable of doing such a heinous act and more besides, but it was kept in the closet, nobody admitted to anything, therefore it didn’t happen. “We ought to follow them, Amber.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure we should. Let’s go somewhere else, somewhere safe.”

  “We need to know. Look, we’ll just see what all the fuss is about. It’ll only take a few seconds.”

  “A minute,” she replied, sighing. “Then we get the hell out of here.”

  They followed Robert back towards the centre. Amber kept tight hold of his hand. He daren’t look back. Amber was right; they shouldn’t be doing this. Despite living here for most of his life, the people born here had many times treated him as though he was just passing through the town.

  Dave stopped and picked up the stone that Phil threatened to throw at him.

  “Oh Jesus, Dave, look at that!”

  He followed her pointed arm and saw a huge column of thick smoke rising into the night sky. “They’re over there, outside the nightclub.” It looked as though the whole town was packed into the club’s carpark. He saw a little girl wearing a thin nightie sat on top of a middle aged man’s shoulders. As they got closer, Dave could hear a man’s deep voice booming out from the middle of that crowd. At this distance, he couldn’t make out the words, but he certainly saw the effect he was having on the people.

  The crowd sighed as one, then another burst out in cheers.

  “Time to go,” Amber said, tugging at his hand. “This is so wrong.”

  He shook her hand off and jumped onto a car’s bonnet. He then saw Phil pushing his way to the front of the crowd with Lisa close behind him. Phil’s arm then snaked out and grabbed Robert.

  “Let’s do another!” he shouted.

  The crowd burst into cheer once more. Dave jumped off the car, grabbed hold of Amber, and bolted in the opposite direction.

  Chapter Five

  Gavin McAllister swung his feet off his desk, taking note that both heels took nothing with them this time. He'd been doing this for most of the night, finding new and inventive ways to amuse himself. Christ, he was so frigging bored. Not one soul had passed through those police station front doors since he started his shift, and the phone hadn't rung once.

  On any other night Gavin would have embraced the boredom. Hell, he'd have taken it into the games room, shot some pool, and drunk coffee until the sun came up. This wasn't any other night though. This was Saturday in Brutality. The night when the workers let their hair down and painted the town red. Only in their case, it was generally in blood. He'd worked the Saturday night shift in other small towns before, and they all followed the same pattern. You had the preliminary call outs, the occasional beating, a few accidents, but nothing too major. The fun and games didn't usually start until last orders.

  He glanced up at the battered white metal clock bolted to the wall. Last order came and went over an hour ago. Like the other towns, Brutality followed the same pattern, only much worse. The locals didn't know the meaning of drinking in moderation. This is so wrong,” he muttered. “It’s almost Sunday. Where’s the drunken brawls and the stolen cars? Not even one broken window.”

  For six long months he'd been stuck in this horrible little town. He leaned back in his chair and mentally counted off how many Saturdays he'd suffered through. Gavin stopped at twenty-three, remembering the shotgun incident at the Saffron Inn last week. He looked back at the phone one more time, wondering if he might if misplaced a day earlier on in the week, and this was in fact Friday.

  No, this was Saturday all right; he still remembered the car crash earlier on. Standing by that blazing wreck, watching flakes of ash rise up, he honestly thought that this Saturday was going to be the one to top them all.

  That reminded him. Gavin leaned forward, opened his bottom drawer, and pulled out the leather roll-sack that he'd collected from the scene of that accident. He carefully picked up one of the knives from the leather satchel and held it out in front of him, watching the light reflect off the metal. He didn’t need to be a forensic scientist to tell him that this ordinary looking kitchen knife had been used for more purposes than just to cut cucumbers and tomatoes. He’d already spotted flakes of dried blood around the base of the blade. Looking closer, he now saw more dried blood on the handle. Knowing what he’d learned so far about Brutality, it would definitely be human blood.

  What worried him more than anything else was that this fun fact nugget failed to shock him, not after what he'd witnessed in the last few months. He placed the knife back, rolled up the leather, and dropped the lot back into the drawer. After his shift finished, Gavin intended to lock the knives in his car. It was the safest place. Gavin locked the drawer and dropped the key into his top pocket.

  He’d take a drive over to Eastmere station in the morning and let their lab boys take a look at them. He should have done this weeks ago, getting outside help was the only way Gavin would sort out this diseased town. There was no point in keeping it local; conducting an investigation in Brutality would be a complete waste of time. Nobody would admit or talk about anything.

  Gavin hated this hideous and depraved town. If he had known what this place was really like, he would have told his DSI to go fuck himself. He’d been brought in from Eastmere when the local DI had just disappeared. Nobody had seen sight or sound of the man. It was as if he’d just dropped off the edge of the earth. He stopped dead and blinked. Bloody hell, it really had been six months! He honestly thought he'd be back in his local station within a month. Had they forgotten about him?

  “It's just like I've dropped off the face of the Earth,” he whispered.

  He double-checked that he’d locked the desk drawer and stood up. He stretched his legs and tapped his shirt pocket. He’d learned recently that leaving evidence lying around was just asking for it to disappear. “Just like the DI,” he thought. That included anything left in his drawers. After all this time, Gavin still had no idea who was removing property. It could be any of the local officers, and knowing the sad excuses that passed for police in this weird town, it was probably every one of his so-called team.

  He always got the distinct impression that all the other officers were sharing some sort of private joke when he was around them. The only other person in the office tonight sighed and quietly coughed. Gloria was supposed to be the station’s administration personnel officer. This, as far as Gavin could make out, was just another name for a glorified secretary.

  According to what he had read from out of her file, Gloria was forty-six and had been an employee of Brutality’s small police force for twenty-five years. Going through all their records had been his only method of finding out just who he was working with. None of them would ever volunteer information. Even so, he wasn’t totally sure that even the records were truthful.

  He watched the woman scrape her chair back, stand up, and walk past him, yawning. As per usual, Gloria had blanked him. Gavin sighed. This was so annoying. Of all the people he worked with, he thought that he’d been making a little headway with the woman, and she was starting to treat him with a little bit of dignity. It looked as though he had been mistaken.

  The woman then shocked him stupid by gently placing a cup of coffee on his desk. She’d never done that before. He covered up his surprise and smiled. “Thank you, Gloria.” Even if it she had only brought it over from the free vending machine by the front door, it was the thought that counted. This time last week she would never have even done that.

  When he had first arrived to this hellhole, Gloria was just as bad as the rest of them, if not worse. Gavin watched her return to her desk and wondered if this was just another one of their strange games, the secretary version of good cop, bad cop routine. It might be just another one of their ways to get him to leave town. Gavin wasn’t too sure if he should drink
the coffee.

  He watched her sit back down and smiled at her, then picked up the cup. What the hell, if she had placed anything in there like glass or nails, he’d soon find out. Gavin took one sip and winced, the stuff from the machine was awful, and if Gloria had placed anything suspicious in the drink, at least it would improve the flavour. He had always assumed that the coffee from the machine at Eastmere couldn’t be beaten for grossness. “They don’t need threats,” he murmured. “I’d leave tomorrow if I could.”

  Gloria was married to Gavin’s new sergeant, a delightful individual called Andy Stewart. The thickset man made no secret of his dislike for Gavin. That was a mild way of putting it. The man hated him and didn't give a shit who knew. He glanced over at the man's wife. Even after all this time, Gavin still couldn't figure out how they could have ended up getting hitched. They said that opposites attract. Well, in this instance they did.

  It was safe to say that the woman wasn't exactly a catch. She did her best to cover up every inch of femininity. It was almost as if she wanted to erase every clue that pointed out that she was even female. Is that what the man wanted for a wife, a gender neutral slave whose only purpose in life was to clean up after Andy and provide him from food?

  There was no way anyone could accuse Andy of being gender neutral. Oh no, his sergeant was a real man. He loved a bar fight, drank, smoked, swore, and chased skirt. The fucker couldn't be any more stereotypical 70's cop if he tried. The local women adored him.

  Gavin had sent him to check on the victim’s shop. If he was a victim, that was. Somehow, he doubted that. Judging by the knives that he’d found in that leather satchel, Gavin guessed that he was a victim maker. It hadn’t taken Gavin that long to trace the owner of the Range Rover. Despite each and every one of them refusing to speak to him, Gavin still had the skills he’d carefully honed over twenty years of being a detective. For this particular case, though, he had only needed his eyes. He had passed the white Range Rover parked outside the hardware store every day on his way to work.