Suffer Hard: An Extreme Horror Novella

by Sam West

  Bish sat down on the bench next to him and regarded him thoughtfully while Michael silently finished the job at hand, then left the room.

  “The family’s coming round for dinner. There ain’t many of us left. Apart from the kids, of course. Michael’s making a stew of Jessie and yer arm. Us grownups will eat first, and then the kiddies get to feed afters.”

  Tim didn’t speak, he was trapped in his own nightmare and trapped in his own body. He made funny little mewling noises, sounding very much like a run over cat dying in a ditch.

  “Why can’t he move?” Craig whispered, refusing to avert his gaze from the old man’s watery blue eyes, despite how much the cold gaze filled him with terror.

  “He’s been paralysed. When I was seeing to you and your girlfriend in the shed, Michael came to pick him up. He’s been waiting here on the table ever since, ain’t you Tim?”

  Tim just groaned.

  “What do you mean, paralysed?”

  “I mean his spinal column’s been severed in various places, you dumb shit, what the hell else do you think I mean?”

  Craig’s head reeled. Tim was fucked. He was dead from the neck down. Craig might’ve lost an arm, but if they ever got out of this alive, then at least he would have some sort of quality of life.

  Tim was better off dead.

  You ain’t ever getting outa here alive, so there’s no point even thinking it.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I ain’t going over that again. I’m going to go help Michael in the kitchen. Don’t go anywhere now, dinner won’t be long.”

  To Craig’s total relief, Bish got up and left him and Tim alone.

  “Tim? Tim! Don’t pass out on me, man.”

  Tim groaned and opened his eyes.

  “I can’t even move my head. Fucking hell, why are they doing this?”

  Craig didn’t have the heart or stomach to tell him that Tim was on the menu.

  At least he’s paralysed. At least he won’t feel anything when they fucking eat him…

  “I don’t know,” Craig said.

  “Has he gone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Go and get help for fuck’s sake! Get out of here and run like fuck.”

  “I can’t. I’m tied to the chair. And I’ve lost a lot of blood, I’m in a lot of pain, it’s not like I’d get far anyway.”

  He didn’t tell him he’d had his arm chopped off. What was the point in sickening him even more?

  “What kind of defeatist attitude is that?”

  “It’s an attitude of someone defeated.”

  Tim laughed, but the sound was hollow and made his skin feel crawly and tight.

  “Craig? Did I hear right? I was kinda dozing back there, but did I hear that old fuck say he was making a fucking stew out of Jessie?”

  Craig couldn’t answer. The lump in his throat was too big.

  “I didn’t dream that up did I? Craig?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh God.”

  Both guys were silent for a moment, lost in their own misery.

  “I’m the one on the fucking block here. If they start, you know… If they do that, will you find a way?”

  “A way?” Craig asked, although he knew with a sick heart where this was going.

  “A way to kill me, man.”

  “I ain’t exactly in the best shape here myself.”

  “Please.”

  “I’ll try,” he said hoarsely.

  “Don’t try. Promise me.”

  “Don’t talk like that man, we’re not dead yet.”

  Tim made that funny little laughing sound again that made his flesh creep.

  “Not yet, mate. Not yet.”

  A movement in the corner of his eye made Craig spin his head round. A stooped figure stood in the doorway. He looked familiar, and Craig couldn’t place him straight away.

  Then it clicked.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Who’s there? I can’t turn my head.” Tim said. He sounded frantic.

  “Hello boys. Are you enjoying your visit to Hanow?”

  “Is that Jake from the B and B?” Tim asked, the confusion in his voice obvious.

  “Yeah,” Craig replied.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  Old Jake laughed. “Why, this is my family. This is my home. I open the B and B in the summer months to direct the occasional tourist meat thisaways.”

  “What the fuck?” Craig cursed, twisting uselessly against his binds.

  He glared at the old man, his anger in that moment overriding his fear. They had been well and truly duped. What a bunch of gullible fucking idiots they were.

  Jake just looked so harmless. He didn’t have the unsavoury look of Bish, and he didn’t look as old either. He had teeth, a thick head of grey hair and he looked clean. He wore glasses and looked like a kindly, doddering old man.

  Like a beloved granddad.

  A granddad with a taste for human flesh.

  “My, my,” Old Jake said, approaching Tim. “You sure do look tasty, I can’t wait to get stuck into you.”

  “Leave him alone,” Craig said, pulling hard against the rope.

  “Calm down son, save your energy. You’ll be needing it for Margaret.”

  Craig had no idea what he meant. But whatever it might be, he was sure it couldn’t be good.

  Right on cue, Margaret entered the room.

  “Did I hear my name?”

  “Hello sis. You’re looking radiant this evening.”

  Old Jake kissed Margaret square on the mouth. The kiss lingered for far too long than was decent between brother and sister.

  Craig thought Margaret looked terrifying. Her dyed blonde hair, the colour of a canary was loose around her shoulders, somehow grotesque against the heavily lined face with the look of rhino hide. She wore a long, loose flowery dress, as if to disguise the fact she had just given birth.

  It didn’t.

  “Hello Craig,” she said, going up to him and ruffling his hair.

  Her touch made him want to cry and he shrunk away from it. She glared at him, like she was hurt by his rejection.

  “Where’s my son then?” Old Jake asked.

  “The kids are looking after him.”

  “Oh. He’s like them I suppose?”

  A dark cloud passed briefly across her face. “Completely. I wouldn’t let them look after him if he weren’t. They never hurt their own, do they?”

  “They’re up early. Don’t they normally eat breakfast now?”

  “Yeah. But it’s a special breakfast today, isn’t it? They don’t mind waiting, they’re just relaxing downstairs with their baby brother before they eat.”

  “So do you like them?” Old Jake asked in lighter tone, nodding his head in the direction of Craig.

  “Like them? I love them.”

  “Good. But I must say, your choice surprises me. I’d have thought you would’ve gone for the dark haired one. He’s better looking, he’s bigger, stronger and looks healthier.”

  “Maybe. But I’ve always had a thing for cute little blondes.”

  “Fair enough,” Old Jake laughed. “God, I’m starving, I can’t wait for dinner. Those brothers of ours are sure cooking up something tasty in the kitchen. They don’t need my help though, so I thought I’d pop out here are help you entertain out guests.”

  He sat down on the spot on the bench Bish had not long vacated and Margaret sat opposite.

  Craig listened to their exchange in disbelief. He still wasn’t getting what the bitch meant about preferring ‘cute little blondes.’

  “Why don’t you just let us go?” he said, his head turning one way then the other to plead with both of them. “We won’t tell, I promise.”

  When he glanced across at Tim, he was out cold again. Craig envied him.

  “Ahhh, he won’t tell,” Margaret said in a bizarre baby voice, her bottom lip protruding in a jokey manner. She leaned over and pinched his cheeks like he w
as an infant. “Ickle wickle Craigy-waigy won’t tell anybody because he’s such a good boy.”

  Her fingers dug into his cheeks and his mouth puckered into a wriggly O.

  “Please,” he whimpered, hating himself for shedding yet more tears but unable to stop.

  “Shush now, Momma’s gonna make you feel real good baby boy.”

  She giggled and got to her feet, leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead. He had an uninterrupted view down the front of her dress as she bent over. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her long tits swung forwards, putting him in mind of socks filled with porridge. The wet lips on his forehead lingered.

  Her tongue darted out, hot and slimy on his forehead. Craig groaned in disgust when she licked down the side of his face.

  Her breath was sour and he gagged, the stinking trail of spit staining his cheek.

  Things got a whole lot worse when she straddled his lap and rubbed those monstrous tits in his face. Her breast milk seeped through the front of her dress, wetting the thin material and brushing damply against his skin.

  He recoiled in disgust. She was just fucking nasty, she felt horrific against his bare skin. Losing an arm was child’s play compared to this.

  When she reached down into his lap and wrapped her fingers around his flaccid cock, he couldn’t take anymore.

  “Get off me, you disgusting whore.”

  On reflection, it probably wasn’t the wisest thing he’d ever come out with.

  A range or emotions flashed across her face. Hurt. Disbelief. And finally anger.

  “You need to learn some respect, young man.”

  She let go of his cock and slapped him hard across the face. Once. Twice. Three times. He tasted copper in his mouth; his upper lip had been pierced on a tooth.

  Then she grabbed his arm, digging her fingertips into the seared flesh of his stump.

  Stars flashed before his eyes and a high pitched yelp was wrenched up from deep inside him. It was so loud he woke up Tim.

  “What’s happening,” he asked groggily.

  Craig couldn’t answer. He sat there panting, bathed in a cold sweat.

  He twisted his head round when Bish entered the room, carrying a small pile of dinner plates with cutlery balanced on the top.

  Margaret dismounted him.

  “Dinner won’t be long,” Bish said, setting the table for five places. “Are you going to impregnate yourself before or after dinner?” he asked Margaret.

  “I haven’t decided,” she said, sitting back down on the bench.

  “I interrupted Michael earlier, the poor bastard.”

  “Never mind. I’m sure he’ll make up for it. Is she going to eat dinner with us or should we leave her in bed?”

  “She should eat dinner, don’t you think? She is family now, after all,” Bish said.

  “Yes. I ‘spose she is.”

  Craig’s head reeled. Margaret was going to what? Impregnate herself? Surely she didn’t mean with him?

  “How long will dinner be?” Jake asked Bish.

  “Half an hour, the meat needs to tenderise a little more.”

  “I might pay the little lady a visit upstairs,” Old Jake said, getting to his feet and rubbing the crotch of his trousers. “You don’t mind do you?”

  “No,” Bish and Margaret replied.

  “You leave Beth alone,” Craig said.

  “You need to forget about her,” Margaret said. “You’ve got me now.”

  “Just let her go,” he repeated pathetically.

  “Won’t be long,” Old Jake said, shuffling towards the door.

  “Oh, and Jake?” Bish called after him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t do too much damage, she has to be with child for nine months, remember?”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll control myself.”

  “I mean it. Brother or no brother, I’ll ram your head up your arse if you go too far, do you understand? This is really important for our family.”

  “Yes, I get it.”

  Craig watched Old Jake’s retreating back, leaving him alone with Margaret and Bish.

  Margaret smiled at him and inside his soul shrivelled. It was the smile of a woman on a promise.

  CHAPTER SIX.

  Beth didn’t how long she’d been hiding behind the door. It felt like forever although it had to be less than half an hour. She thought about turning off the light to give her the edge. But that would draw attention to the room when Michael had most assuredly kept the light on.

  If Michael was the first to enter the room, then she was fucked. But if it was one of the other two then maybe, just maybe, she stood a chance.

  She pulled the length of rope taut that was wrapped around each wrist and flexed it.

  This is the only way, she told herself, summoning up bravery she didn’t even know she possessed.

  The window was boarded up and the door was locked. What other choice did she have?

  She strained her ear against the door. She could voices. The distant clatter of pots and pans and kitchen sounds.

  The smell of cooking wafted up to the room. A slow cook stew, or something. Despite her fear, her mouth watered. She was hungry and thirsty, and whatever it was cooking sure did smell good, masking the rotten odour of the place.

  Then she remembered glimpsing the corpse in the pub kitchen and her stomach lurched.

  Surely they’re not cooking…

  She couldn’t even finish the thought. It was just too horrible.

  Another horrible thought entered her head.

  What if it is Michael that comes back first? He’s massive, there’s no way I’ll be able to reach that fucker’s neck, yet alone strangle him…

  “This ain’t gonna work,” she muttered, making her way back over to the bed.

  She would just have to lie down again and pretend she was tied to the bed. That way she would be better able to catch off guard whoever entered the room.

  It went against her every innate instinct to lie back down on the bed. Her natural impulse was to stand and fight.

  Nevertheless she did, settling her hands against the headboard in a manner that made it look as if she were still tied to the headboard.

  After an agonising wait of little more than a few more minutes, the door opened.

  Like Craig had done before her, it took her a moment to recognise the familiar looking old man.

  “You,” she said, when she finally twigged it was Old Jake.

  “Yes, me,” he said happily, his eyes moist and friendly behind the glasses. “So tell me young lady, did you enjoy your pub lunch in our little village? Did you enjoy your sandwiches? Your human flesh sandwiches?”

  “Fuck you,” she spat.

  She had forgotten about those sandwiches with the strange meat filling. She fought down the wave of nausea.

  “Yes, the pub was only opened up for your benefit. I hope you appreciate it. Ain’t been a pub for over fifty years. Hell, there ain’t even been a village here for as many years. We only hang the sign out when we know we’re getting visitors.”

  His words sickened her. This was all a big, stinking trap. How could they have been so stupid?

  “Just let me go. We’ll pretend it never happened, I promise I won’t tell.”

  “Your damn right you won’t, ‘cause you ain’t going anywhere. I’m sure Margaret’s filled you in.”

  Beth just glared at him, thinking that it was too soon to lunge for him and strangle the fucker. He had to get closer before she made her move.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, not having to fake the pitiful tremor to her voice.

  She wanted him to think her as pathetic and helpless and possible. That was the easy part.

  “I can’t properly hurt you, alas. But we can still have some fun.”

  The old fucker rubbed his crotch.

  She shrunk away from him as he advanced. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a pen knife and flicked out the shining blade, a wistful smile on his
face.

  “Just a little bit of blood,” he said in a cajoling tone. “Just a little bit to make you all shiny and wet.”

  He sat down on the bed by her hip and ever so gently stroked the tip of the blade around her fear puckered nipple. The knife trailed lower, down the flat plane of her stomach to dip into her bellow button.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured.

  She let her thighs fall apart, revealing every inch of her neatly trimmed pussy.

  His eyes bulged and his face turned pink. The hand that held the knife trembled.

  “You like that, baby?”

  His eyebrows shot up in his wrinkled forehead. “Yeah.”

  “I bet you do, motherfucker.”

  She lunged for him, easily twisting the knife out of his slack grip.

  The element of surprise was fully on her side. As soon as she was in possession of the penknife, she thrust it into the nearest part of him. The knife blade disappeared up to the hilt and she made sure to twist it on removal.

  “You bitch!” he screamed, curling up into a ball, his hand pressed to the wound with blood spilling out around his fingers.

  She had stabbed him in the side, just above the waistband of his trousers.

  He moaned and groaned and writhed on the bed. He was making too much noise. He had to shut up.

  Without thinking, she slit his throat.

  Just like that, the life drained out of him in a pool of red on the mattress.

  Beth had killed someone and all she felt was an adrenalin rush. It coursed through her veins, leaving her sobbing in relief.

  The door was ajar, inviting her escape. She had a knife now. She thought about using it to prise the planks of wood off the window.

  But then what? She would have to smash glass, and the drop to the ground would be too much, she’d likely break her neck. No, her only chance of escape was the door.

  She would make it. She knew she would. She just had to get out this bloody house and run like fuck.

  Absently, she wiped the blade of the knife on the edge of the mattress and peered through the crack in the door. She couldn’t see anyone, although the sound of voices and someone cooking was noisier now the door was open. She scanned the small upstairs landing. The three other doors were closed. All was clear.

  Someone was bound to come along soon and see why the old man was taking so long. It was now or never. She had to take her chance.