Depravity

by Woodhead, Ian

  “Here's the deal. We have a while before my main meal arrives, so I'm going to give your colleagues a chance to hone their skills on you. If you can get to the gardens at the back of the hotel, I'll let you leave.” He tapped Katie on her shoulder. “I'm so happy you didn't decide to make a run for it, honey. That would have been most unfortunate. You can go now though. Go on, your two friends are hiding in the hedges to your left.”

  Greg found himself free to move. He took a step back, hoping to spin around and run back to the minibus but suddenly found his way blocked by Jack.

  “As for you, Greg. You'll find your journey starts when you pass me.” He looked at Joyce. “See if you can shoot him in the head. If you do, I'll give you the museum.”

  Greg didn't stick around to listen to the current museum owner splutter his protest. He pushed past the boy-form and raced up the stairs. He wasn't a total fucking idiot. There would be no way out through the recreation room. If he had gone that way, he'd probably be dead by now.

  He flinched at the gun thunder. The bitch was actually firing at him. He couldn't believe it, that fucking cow really was trying to kill him! Greg scrambled up the rest of the steps, expecting one of those bullets to find him at any second. She wasn't going to get away with that, not a fucking chance. He would have his payback on Joyce if it was the last thing he did.

  Greg dived onto the landing and rolled away from the edge, before he crawled over to the first open door. He choked back a cry when he saw two men already in there. One of them, lying on his back, looked as though he'd just been dug up. The other man had no head.

  He got to his feet and raced to the end of the corridor, knowing that they wouldn't stay by that open door forever. No doubt the boy-form was giving his a few seconds head start, probably thought the game would be more fun that way. Fuck, why hadn't he just driven away when he had the chance? Why had his instinct for self-preservation not kicked in? Greg moaned quietly, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been in so much pain. His tongue now felt as though it filled his mouth.

  Footsteps banging across the floor below him shifted the pity. Greg could feel sorry for himself once he was safe. He pushed through the doors at the end of the corridor and sat directly behind them to consider his options. He believed the others would have to search every room before reaching these doors. That made sense, it's what he would do, it gave him a few more seconds head start.

  There must be another way out of here. This was a hotel, for crying out loud. It had to have some fire-exits. If there were any, the fuckers weren't in sight. Greg didn't know what to do.

  There must be another way out of here. There had to be, this was a fucking hotel. Where were the bastard fire-exits? He swung his head from left to right. All he saw were two more doors and no green running man stickers above them. This was so unfair. What the hell was he going to do?

  His decision was made for him when he felt someone trying to get through the door. He got onto his knees and saw Joyce on the other side. This wasn't how it's supposed to work, they're supposed to check the other rooms first! She was shouting for the others. Her face turned red when the woman turned back around.

  He growled and wrenched open the door, his misery turning for a brief moment to glee when she fell through the gap. Greg raised his foot and stamped down on her hand. The glee staying put at the sound of her bones shattering. The others were racing towards him. Greg booted the woman once in the face before running over to the first door and slamming himself through it.

  Greg blinked when he saw the key in the lock. Was his luck finally changing? He turned the key then jumped back, watching the handle move rapidly up and down. He didn't know how long that would hold them. He spun around and ran through the room, heading over to the window. The view opened out onto the gardens at the back of the hotel, the exact place where he was supposed to go to escape his death. Somehow though, Greg doubted that the monster would keep his side of the bargain. It wanted Greg dead, it craved to feed on his soul.

  The door banged numerous times. Why couldn't the others see that they were in as much danger as he was? They were just doing their master's bidding. Greg opened his mouth and carefully stroked his swollen tongue, aware of how dumb that thought was. They'd been doing their masters bidding all their lives, why would they change now?

  He needed to get out of this room! There were another three doors in here. Greg ran to the first one, and opened it, only to see a bedroom that looked like it hadn't seen used in decades. He persuaded himself that hiding under the bed would be the worst idea he'd ever had and moved onto the next door.

  A flight of bare wooden stairs, leading down greeted Greg when the door swung open. This had to be a fire exit, a way out of this horrible place. He pulled the door shut, not even caring when he was plunged into darkness. Greg kept his hands flat against the brick walls and hurried down the steps, knowing that time was still against him. They'd know exactly where he'd gone as soon as they opened this door.

  Perhaps he should have hidden under the bed after all? When they had run past him, all he'd have to do then was double back and escape through the front door. No, that wouldn't have work. That boy-form wasn't with the others, he'd be waiting for Greg.

  He reached the bottom of the steps, thankful that now at least, there was a little light. A single light bulb in the ceiling cast a sickly yellow haze across the area at the bottom, showing Greg another two doors. He tried the first one and found it locked. If the other one was locked too, Greg knew he was fucked.

  He grabbed the metal door handle and pushed it down, feeling the weight of the world fall off him when the door creaked open. Greg was almost home and dry, he had to be. He refused to believe otherwise.

  “What a glorious event,” whispered a voice in the blackness. “Our first patient arrives. Nurse Angela?”

  Greg squinted when bright white light exploded in his face. He felt somebody grab his arms again. He was slammed against a wall, the back of his head hitting the hard surface. “Ohhhh!” he uttered. Greg heard the sound of metal meeting metal and found he could no longer move his arms. A blonde woman in front of him giggled. He stared at the wild haired, banshee, wearing a dressing gown. The front flapped open exposing her dirty body to him. His mind reeled at the sight of this.

  “Oh dear, this one has already been in the wars.” The owner of the voice stepped out of the darkness. “Nurse, he's in a lot of pain. See if you can help him.”

  She giggled again and stepped over to a table. Her body stopped Greg from seeing what she'd just picked up. He stared at the man. He knew him, this was the new hotel keeper. Greg coughed, wanting to plea for his life, to ask the man to let him go. Oh God, this poor deluded fool was as bad as the others, why could none of them see that before the night was out, they all would be in Greg's dire position!

  The woman was back, her grinning face revealing nothing. He only saw insanity in her eyes. Greg moaned again, knowing that his situation had just become a thousand times worse. He now realised where he was. This chamber is where the hotel guests ended their lives. The woman held whatever she had picked up behind her back. She pulled out one hand, showed him the empty palm then waved. He started to cry again. She tenderly wiped away his tears, those fingers running down Greg's face until they stopped on his chin. Her grin widened then she pushed his jaw bone down and her other hand whipped out from behind her back. Greg's eyes bulged when he saw she held a large syringe. His pain levels maxed out when the woman pushed the needle straight into the front of his tongue.

  “Did that little boy do that to you? I bet he did. That one is so unpredictable.” The man stood in front of Greg. “Don't worry. The pain will be gone in a few seconds. Well,” the man smiled. “It might go. I mean, I'm fairly sure that we gave you an aesthetic. I can't be too sure though. I found this bag, a few days ago. I can only guess that it must have belonged to one of our guests. Judging from the contents, he was probably a doctor.”

  “Can I pull his pants down no
w?”

  “Wait a minute Angela. I mean nurse Angela. Let me finish.” The man wrinkled his nose. “You'll have to forgive her. She's new at all this.” He leaned forward. “How's the tongue, is it numbing up yet?”

  Greg nodded. In fact, he couldn't feel anything in his mouth.

  “Oh good. Nurse, you can continue.”

  He looked down and saw the woman had now removed her gown and had placed it by his feet. She got on her knees and gazed up at Greg, that idiot grin still spread over her face. One of her hands caressed his balls while the other one expertly undid his trousers buttons. What the fuck was going on here?

  The woman pulled down his trousers and pushed a metal ring down his length before blowing cold air over the tip of his hardening cock. She then ran her tongue over his bulbous end. Greg cried out in pleasure when her mouth engulfed his thick shaft.

  “That's enough, nurse. I don't think it will get any harder.”

  The woman slowly stood up, turned around and picked up the syringe again.

  Greg pressed his hips hard against the wall, trying to avoid that needle going anywhere near his body again. His efforts were useless. He whimpered again when she pushed the needle into the top of his thigh.

  “I guess you're wondering what we're doing? Well, what we are doing, my friend, is being inventive. Alistair told us to maximise the agony. He wants it all in one jolt, you see. So, that's what we're going to do. I figure, the drugs will last about half an hour before wearing out.”

  Greg sensed the naked woman moving about. He looked down to find her fingers wrapped around the rigid shaft. This time there was no sensation. He opened his mouth and screamed when he saw what the man now had in his hands.

  Kevin Morris pressed the metal tip against the end Greg's solid penis and squeezed the cordless drill's button.

  3

  The table in front of Michael looked so familiar, yet no matter how hard he tried to put his muggy thoughts into order, the memory stayed out of reach. He cast the thought aside for the moment, deciding not to allow detail to bog him down.

  Sounds of shouting, of terror, of anguish seeped through the wall to his left. The weapon he found in his hands gave him some comfort. The man, similarly armed, standing beside him, gave him some more relief.

  The door looked thick enough to withstand any assault and so far, only a couple of incidental knocks had reached his ears. He didn’t believe the noise from beyond that door had anything to do with his sudden appearance in this place.

  “Where are we?” he asked. This man resonated with the same mental frequency as everything around him. Michael knew him and yet, that origin refused to unfold. He walked a little closer to the door when the man’s appeared to ignore his question. Muted evening sunlight filtered through the dust covered window. How he knew it was evening was yet one more puzzle without an answer, just like he knew the man now behind him wouldn’t harm Michael.

  “You know where we are, Michael. At least, your imaginary body knows that. It’s going to take a while before your conscious catches up. Don’t let it concern you though. It’s perfectly normal. Shifting from one realm to another is going to be a traumatic experience for you. More material to convert, I suspect,”

  “What’s outside, can you answer me that then?”

  “Best you go and look, Michael. What you see will be different to me. Don’t worry though; the experience is strictly one way. It’ll be like watching something on TV, sorta like that.”

  He paused, Michael wanted to go and look, believing that what he saw might help to pull out the knot of recollections now twisted up and stuck in his guts, from what he had heard so far though, he wasn’t sure if he wished enlightenment. Right now, he felt at peace, he enjoyed the feeling, he didn’t understand how he knew this but this feeling of Zen calm was something that his mind didn’t often experience.

  The other man laughed. “I see reluctance there. Interesting, I didn’t wonder if the transition would affect you as well. It hit me as well but it only lasted a couple of seconds, just enough time for me to realise that I really had been killed.”

  “I’m fucking dead?” A trail of cold images curled off the inside of Michael’s mind. Each one floated down, giving him brief glimpses of a man, shackled to the wall. He saw a woman injecting him with a pale blue fluid then a large man hacking out a chunk of the shackled man’s arm. Another image showed him several fish hooks, attached to twine pushed into the screaming man’s stomach, while the woman, now giggling gathered up the several threads and yanked out the hooks.

  Michael slammed his hands over his ears and dropped to the floor, moaning as the images opened up the floodgates, allowing him to remember everything. “Oh Christ,” he muttered, looked up at the ghost. He wiped the drool from the side of his mouth. “I don’t want to do that again, man.”

  “Wow, ain’t you the cool cucumber. I kinda expected you to be rolling about on the ground about now.” The man shuffled a little closer. He placed the rifle on the table and scraped a chair back. “Dude, you still need to look out of the window. It’s part of the rules. We can’t leave until you do.”

  Michael got to his feet, and shook away the last strands of the memories. The ones that belonged to him slotted into place, leaving the man torturing that guy still tormenting his mind. “Wait, I’ve seen that guy before. He was in the café in town.”

  His name is Greg James. One of the slimy bastards who uses the stuff ripped out of our cold dead fingers.”

  “You saw that?”

  “Don’t fret, Michael. I saw all of that because it leaked through. It happened in real time. It’s still happening. That poor bastard is being tortured.” He shrugged. Not that I particularly give a shit about him, although I do wish the man doing the torturing was in those manacles. He’s the cunt who brutalised my wife and murdered me.” He rapped his fist on the table. “Dude, come on, look through the window. Let’s get this over with. The quicker you do that, the faster we move. Remember where your wife is, man. Believe me, she will end up in that room, with those two fucked up fruit-loops torturing her if you don’t stop this”

  The shouts from beyond that door had not diminished; in fact, they now appeared to have intensified. Michael looked over at the window, not understanding his reluctance to go over and look out. After everything he’d seen, why should such a simple task scare him so much? This was fucking unreal. The other guy was right, it wasn’t just his life at stake here. Michael placed his gun next to the other one, held out his arms and walked towards the wall, hearing himself emit a tiny squeak when his fingers touched the cracked plaster. “It isn’t even real,” he said, repeating the words over and over in his mind as his fingers walked closer to the edge of the window frame. Michael took a deep breath, letting the musty air full his lungs before he bit the bullet and jumped to the side.

  His jaw opened, it stretched, the bone and muscle stretching like hot toffee. Michael shrieked, his mind assaulted with a million pictures of utter depravity, filling his head to bursting point. He felt like his brain was expanding, the mass not limited to the confines of his skull. It pushed through every orifice, pushing out his eyeballs. Michael felt insanity begin to claim him. He even felt his wet orbs bouncing on his cheeks.

  The endless torrent of vile pictures continued to stream in from beyond the safety of this house. His wife was in those shackles, that hateful bitch hammering a metal funnel into her thigh while the man held a clear plastic bottle that contained acid. There was nothing Michael could do to stop this. They’d shackled him to the opposite wall, promising to do the same to him once his wife had given up on life.

  The torturers changed, his beautiful, broken wife stayed manacled to that wall. Michael now saw Jodie’s father and her brother taking in turns to smash a rubber mallet against her breasts.

  He felt rough hands grip his shoulders, Michael attempted to fight back, knowing it must be his turn to undergo the trauma. He heard a rough grunt and screamed out in triumph, knowing he’
d hurt one of them. Michael wasn’t going to go quietly; if he was to die then he intended to take out as many as he could.

  “For fuck’s sake, dude, will you snap out of it!”

  He snapped open his eyes then curled himself into a tight ball. “What the fuck was that? I feel. Oh God, I feel as though I've been pulled inside out.” Michael lifted his head, careful to avoid the window. Please, tell me that won't happen again?”

  The ghost held out his hand and Michael gratefully grabbed it. After what he'd just experienced, he wanted to hug this friendly face tight and not let go. “I don't think I want to know where that window took you, dude.” He pulled Michael to his feet then passed him the weapon. “Okay, let's get this done.”

  “Whoa, wait, no. God. I feel like my nerves have just been scraped raw. What the fuck was that? I mean did I just see the future of something?” A violent shiver rippled through him. “Christ, please don't tell it I did see my own life end?”

  The ghost reached down and pulled Michael up. “I didn't expect that to happen.” He placed his hands on the man's shoulders. “You look fucking awful, Michael. Did you,” he licked his lips, “shit, you were there?”

  Michael couldn't stop shaking. “This isn't going to work is it? Once I go through that door, every dead thing out there is going to try and chew me to fucking pieces. Let's go back. Come on, you said they're not going to do anything until I get there. So there's going to be a few more people wanting to fuck me over. So what? They're only civilians.”

  “We don't have a choice, man.”

  “What?”

  “Can see you any other way out? This is a one-way route.” The man let go of him and picked up both the guns. He passed one to Michael. “Listen to me. What you saw, whatever it was, isn't a prediction. The place. Well, it isn't just a place. It's alive, it's sentient. And I think more than anything it was trying to help you.”

  “Are you fucking joking?” he cried. “Seriously, I feel like I've just been put through a hand wringer.”