The Brutality Pack: An extreme horror collection

by Ian Woodhead

  It’s difficult to put into words exactly what happened next.

  I heard this thick, wet meaty thud and saw Gavin’s knees buckle. His body just toppled forward, my brother’s head smashing into the soft pile, inches from my feet. A fist sized, square hole in the top of his skull, told me everything I needed to know.

  I’m not ashamed to admit that I panicked, especially when a thick tuft of matted, blonde hair followed by a grinning face appeared through the entrance to the loft.

  I ran into the bathroom and locked the door when I saw the weapon she’d used on my brother, a lump hammer.

  My mind kept asking how such a little thing was able to wield such a heavy tool with such effectiveness, while my body ordered my mind to shut the fuck up. I stayed there, against the door, listening to nothing but my harsh breathing. She hadn’t come down, I was sure of that. I’d heard no sounds that indicated the little girl had dropped onto the carpet.

  Reluctantly, I pulled the bolt back and opened the door a crack. I couldn’t believe it, the girl was still in the same place, still grinning, still holding her lump hammer. My luck was holding. It was time to get out of here, to get back home as fast as I could and put all this down to one very bad, very unforgettable experience. It looked as thought our demented Gods were going to be kind to me after all, either that or they had a very weird sense of humour.

  I wasn’t hanging around to find out why. I left the bathroom, gave my dead brother one last look before racing down the stairs. Trying to wonder exactly what I’d done wrong to deserve such mistreatment. I reached the door leading into the living and took one deep breath, deciding to honour my brother’s memory by not going home straight away but to head into town and order two burgers from the café. It seemed like a fitting tribute.

  I opened the door and gaped at the sight of the one body, still tied to the chair while the other chair was now empty. Also, the piece of thigh I’d cut was missing and so was the knife.

  “I’m guessing you’ve met our little girl?”

  I tried not to scream when I felt the tip of that knife pressing into the side of my neck. “Gavin’s dead, Candice.”

  “Oh is he? That is a shame.”

  She pushed the blade harder against my flesh. The warm sensation streaming down my neck told me she’d broken through the skin. It was easily fixable. I had some plasters in the kitchen drawer. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Gavin’s dead. Your daughter’s killed him. You know that’s against the rules.”

  The woman pointed to the empty chair. “Sit down, you do look like you need a rest.”

  “Candice, you have to let me go.”

  The woman took out a roll of heavy duty tape and fastened my feet to the legs. I was in too much shock to even try to escape. She then rolled the tape around my chest three times, holding me tight against the back of the chair.

  Once the woman was satisfied that I wasn’t going anywhere, she limped over to the door. “Honey, can you come down here for a minute?”

  I craned my head, trying to see every part of my brother’s murderer. She sidled around the door, moving more like a weasel than a human. Even at such a young age, I could see this one was going to turn into a complete man killer, in more than the literal sense. She was absolutely stunning. The girl followed her mum over to where I was sitting, not giving her dad a single glance.

  “Honey, do you think you could fetch me the metal funnel from the kitchen? It’s in the top cupboard under the microwave. Just make sure you bring the metal one and not the plastic one.” She then turned to me. “I don’t want that one to melt.”

  The fear I felt upstairs then made an unwelcome return, which increased when I saw a neat row of flames under a saucepan on the hob. “Please let me go.”

  The girl returned with the metal funnel.

  “Good girl. Now I need you to push the narrow bit into his mouth, as far down as you can.”

  “This might come as a shock to a psycho like you, but I don’t appreciate you and your brother bursting in to our house, torturing us and then allowing my husband to die. Saying that, because I have a little psycho of my own to cope with I can understand your depraved urges.” She paused for a moment. “I guess you’ve already guessed this, but in case you are as stupid as you look, the pan contains a full bottle of oil and now it should be hot enough to fry a chip in.”

  I tried to scream, I tried to stop the little bitch from doing what her mum asked, then I pissed myself in utter terror when I watched the woman pick up the pan and limbed towards me.

  The End

  THE SHED

  By

  Ian Woodhead

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright Ian Woodhead, May 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  This short story is dedicated to Kyle M. Scott and his beloved cat.

  Acknowledgements

  A big thank you to the following people for taking time to beta read this little story. You all rock, seriously!

  Dean Setters

  Erin Kelly

  Rebecca Narron-Heath

  Lisa Reddon

  Lisa Swearengin

  Dane Hatchell

  The Shed

  Oh my word, whistle for the Man and find his cat! What is she doing standing in front of my gate, with that smug grin plastered over that ugly, screwed-up tissue paper face. I tried to smile, knowing Mrs Harper had already spotted me through my kitchen window, but the upturn just would not materialize. Everyone in Brutality knows that Mrs Harper hates my guts and I certainly reciprocate her abhorrence. Even the Man and his cat knows it.

  Her hand is now resting on the gate, her long scarlet nails, idly picking at my beautiful green gloss paintwork. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, probably along the lines of how she’s spent her life constantly chipping away at everything I hold dear. Oh heavens, this really has ruined my entire day, it’s even made the previous delicious aroma coming from my bubbling broth smell like old cheese.

  I nudge the heat down a couple of notches before popping the kettle on. She’s already started making her way up the garden path, her head swishing to the side like a horse shooing flies, while gazing at my blooms in that typical Mrs Harper glower.

  “Yes, my old friend,” I said, finally finding my smile. “They are better than the pitiful weeds you have in your garden.” I give the woman a little wave and open the cupboard door above the microwave to see if I can find a cup appropriate for this royal visit.

  Of course, my fingers gravitated towards that old cracked cup, right at the back. The one I dropped and glued back together. The one I once filled with menstrual blood and made a certain young boy drink for being so perfectly naughty. I couldn’t though, Mrs Harper deserved much worse. I had to show the woman that I was so much better than her. My fingers paused next to the Brutality two century commemorative mug and the reason for her surprise visit smacked me right in the face.

  She must have heard about my nomination, that for the first time in over ten years, that horrible witch might not win this year’s coveted Happy Day Scythe. I froze, in mid-stretch, listening to the woman rap on my door. I just knew that Mrs Harper had also discovered I was expecting a very special guest.

  Both the previously mentioned cups stayed right on the shelf and I selected some generic white ceramic plain mug to hold that woman’s hot fluid. She deserved nothing better. Besides, Mrs Gloria Price would get my best cup, the one that I’d reserved for the Man, in case he ever decided to visit this humble woman.

  “I wouldn’t even give this old thing to the Man’s cat.”

  I let her bang a couple more times be
fore taking my time in my trek from this room, into the hallway and to my door. I waited another couple of seconds, not to further annoy the diseased hag on the other side, but to fix my face. It just wasn’t becoming for me to greet her with a frown, in case anyone else was peeking. Also, I knew my frown would only make Mrs Harper insanely happy.

  “Whistle for the Man!” I exclaimed, opening the door wide. She too wore a painted grin. It was perfectly grotesque. Picture a red crescent scrawled on a greasy brown football by a retarded child and you’ll be close to what she looks like. “If I had known you were banging upon my door, bruising your delicate skin, I would have run to greet you.”

  “Melissa, you look simply exquisite today. Love the dress. You know, it reminds me of the garment we buried my grandma in, all those years ago. It does look good on you though, my dear.”

  The woman pushed past me and strolled straight into my kitchen. I took a deep breath, so trying not to choke on the foul woman’s perfume vapour trail and followed her through. I was so going to fix her wagon for that hurtful retort, that was so not deserved.

  “What are you cooking, my dear? It does smell good.”

  “I have a guest, later on, Mrs Harper, so I’m making my signature dish. In fact, I was about to prepare the meat. Would you like to help?”

  Her whole face lit up. “You’re cooking stew for her?”

  The woman’s restrained emotions slipped enough for me to recognise the bitter, twisted and nasty girl I remember all the way back from school. I also spotted another emotion in there too. I believe it was jealousy. The whole town knew the legend of my delicious stew, just as they were aware that I vowed never to make it again after my darling husband passed away, ten years ago.

  “Did I hear that right about you cooking stew?”

  “Yes you did, Diana Harper. I believe the time is right. The Man also gifted me with what can only be described as providence.”

  “In that case, my friend. I would be delighted and honoured to help you make your famous stew,” she said, eagerly rubbing her hands together.

  I'll confess to finding conflicted feelings running through my head over her reaction. The cynical part of me stood at the top of the hill shouting that she only wanted to steal my recipe, that she’d thrust one of my knives into my back as soon as we entered the shed. Yet, my rarely seen Zen mother was sitting down at the foot of this hill, as calm as you like, explaining that, nobody in town actually liked either of us. Diana knew that. She was the closest person I had to a friend, and she knew this too.

  A trifle deep and perhaps a little too convenient? Perhaps, it didn’t prevent me from releasing a little girly giggle though. “Come along, honey. Follow me then. I think you are going to enjoy this.” I led her through the kitchen and out into the back garden. I kept most of my stores in the shed at the bottom of the garden, away from prying eyes. Brutality might be a closed community but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t anyone who would love to steal some of my valuables.

  Mrs Harper and I have the privilege of supplying meat to Brutality’s hot food vans. It isn’t an exaggeration to announce that our little town does love its food. I’m proud to say we have more restaurants, fast-food shops, cafes and mobile eateries than any other town close by.

  I wasn’t kidding about competitors trying to steal supplies either. Only last week, word got out that one certain individual tried to break in to the food processing factory on the edge of town. Rumour has it that this dirty little thief ended up in the mincer. I don’t have one of those, but mark my words, if anyone did try to clamber into my garden, they’d regret it.

  “That is a rather splendid shed,” she remarked. “I have one just like it, only mine is a little larger and in better condition.”

  I nodded, not really listening to her predictable boasting. It’s a talent that I have developed over the years to stop myself from getting worked up over her inability to compliment anything I own or do. I think that’s why Mrs Harper’s previous statement surprised me. There was also the minor fact that I was now looking forward to making my dish, and, I’ll admit, the meat preparation was always my favourite procedure.

  She carried on making derogatory remarks about my beloved shed as I unlocked the door and pulled on the latch. Mrs Harper only shut her ever-loving gob when she clasped those piggy eyes upon the contents of my meat store.

  “Oh my word,” she uttered. “To the Man and his cat, where did you find such magnificent specimens?”

  I smiled then, a proper smile too, as there was nothing fake in the woman’s admiration in what I had just showed her. “Mrs Harper, I would like you to meet Stu.” I pointed to the naked boy, chained up to my husband’s old bike next to my work table. The boy’s baby-blue eyes darted from me to Mrs Harper. I saw nothing in that gaze but terror and surprise. I was so glad to have beaten out all the hate stored up in those nasty little peepers this morning.

  I’m not sure how I would show my face at the Ladies Circle if any of them ever found out that I couldn’t control my food. It would be so embarrassing.

  “And he is really called Stu?”

  “Yes indeed,” I replied, nodding. “His full name is Stuart Ramsey but it’s still a sign, it is still providence.”

  She let out a strange little murmur before turning towards the barred window. “And what about Stuart’s little playmates, do they have names?”

  Judging from the girl’s scowl, she wasn’t too impressed with Mrs Harper’s comment. I didn’t really blame her. After all, she would be sixteen next and obviously too old to be playing with little boys. “Well, Miss Grumpy Knickers over there is Susan Bennett. As you can see, poor Susan isn’t all that happy about her current situation. The blonde boy, lying in the corner pretending to be asleep is David Reynolds. Try not to get too close to that one, honey. He’s not fully broken in yet.

  “Quite a collection you have in here, Melissa. Although, I am a little confused as to why they’re still alive.”

  “I thought that’s why the vendors preferred my stock.” Oh dear, it was so difficult not to hug myself with pleasure. Although, I did suspect that even after all these years of supplying, she still hadn’t worked out the stock specifically had to be kept alive and aware. It was the only way to ensure the meat stayed flavoursome. Her confession made me a very happy woman.

  “You certainly are full of surprises,” she replied.

  So where was her moody face? Why wasn’t she close to bursting into tears after finding out that she really was second rate? Could Mrs Harper be planning to keep her stock alive from now on? Well, let her, I still had a few more secrets, ones that I certainly wasn’t going to share.

  She nodded down to the naked boy. “I will admit, his name does sound rather familiar.”

  I giggled. I couldn’t help myself. I saw in her posture that Mrs Harper had already compared my set up to the one she had at the bottom of her garden and she knew mine was far superior. Of course, she wouldn’t admit that to me. If anything, her derogatory comments would only increase. After all, I hadn’t seen her shed. So, there will always be that element of uncertainty. There would be no ambiguity in my next statement. “Oh, didn’t you know? Mr Cartwright gave me him as a present.”

  Mr Cartwright was the owner of the best grocery shop in Brutality, make no mistake there. His shop was so much better than the rubbish Shop and Save in the centre of town. Mrs Harper just loves the Shop and Save. Well, she would, that woman has no taste. Mr Cartwright is also the main man to see for supplies. He has a number of employees who are always on the lookout for strays, wastrels and any other unfortunate individual who wanders into our lovely town. I won't lie here. I do have a bit of a thing for the man. Then again, most of the women would so like to get that one into their beds.

  She nodded to herself. “Oh yes, I seem to remember him telling me that he’d be throwing out some scraggy old offcut.” She smiled at me. “I should have known that you would have ended up with it. Mr Cartwright always saves the prim
e steak for his best customers.”

  She was lying, or at least showing her encounter with him in a better light. Everyone knows that Mr Cartwright doesn't like Diana Harper.

  “That lovely man gave me his mum and dad you see.” Mrs Harper grinned. “Dad is currently in my own shed.” The woman smiled down at the boy. “Be thankful that you didn’t end up in there, instead of being cared for by my friend. You see, I have these big steel hooks fastened into my rafters, and a metal trough beneath it, running the length of my shed. Your mother is currently hanging, upside down, the hooks pushed into her ankles.”

  A small, muffled sob exploded from the boy.

  “Now don’t get in such a state, little boy. It’s not like she’s in any pain. I killed her this morning, you see. I dragged a razor across her throat.” She crouched in front of him. “Oh dear, did I make you cry? I expect you hate me now, that you want your daddy to rescue you and to murder this poor defenceless woman now, Mmm? That won’t be happening. Your daddy is dead as well. He called me lots of nasty names so I boiled his head. He was weeping and crying. I tell you, he didn't have a very dignified end. I even had to wipe the wet snot from under his nose before I dunked his head into my big pot.”

  “Yes well,” I snapped. “Shall we get on with it?” I marched over to Stu and picked him up, dragging the struggling boy past the woman and over to the worktop. How dare that she try to upstage me like that!

  My temper got the better of me and I slammed the boy’s head against the scarred wooden worktop. Mrs Harper jumped at the sudden noise. “Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to startle you. I always make sure they're a little woozy first.” I lifted his left arm and placed it in my husband's old vice that was bolted to the worktop.