by Matt Hickman
Michelle screamed at her. “I keep telling you, I don’t know anything about it.”
Melissa didn’t reply, she quickly placed both palms, gripping onto both sides of the eldest boy’s skull, and twisted his head around violently. His slim neck immediately snapped under the imposed burden. The sickening sound of cracking vertebra filled the thick, desert air. His young, thin carcass dropping to the heated ground with a thump, chest first, his face protruding at an unnatural angle.
The thump was followed by Michelle's tormented scream.
Then, a scream from the victim's younger brother.
Melissa mocked them both, producing a scream of her own that echoed into the afternoon heat. .
Michelle screamed hysterically. “You fucking sick bitch, how the fuck could you do that to a child … to your own nephew, your own flesh and blood?”
Ricky called out over his shoulder, his tone filled with concern and panic. “What. What the fuck has she done?”
Michelle sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “She killed him. She fucking killed Junior.”
Ricky bellowed, “You fucking bitch. I’ll get out of here and I’ll fucking murder you.”
Melissa didn’t respond, she placed both hands on the sides of the other boy’s skull and shrugged her shoulders, gesturing towards Michelle.
“No, please, don’t,” she pleaded. “Please, don’t hurt him.”
“Tell that dickhead of a husband to wind his neck in then, before I wind his up.”
Michelle screamed out to her husband. “Ricky, shut up!”
“But …”
“But nothing, for God’s sake. Just be quiet.”
Ricky immediately obeyed his wife’s instruction.
Grabbing the boy by a handful of his blond hair, Melissa dragged him off to the side away from his parents. They both looked around, giving them a clear view.
Melissa positioned the boy in place and instructed him not to move. Ambling over, she grabbed the filthy sack from where she had discarded it earlier. Dragging it through the sand, she returned to the boy, who dared a quick glance whilst swallowing the huge lump in his throat.
Reaching into the bag, she produced a large axe. She held it aloft, both hands gripping the wooden handle, the sunlight reflecting from the steel head and casting rays of light across the boy’s face.
Melissa looked at Michelle and Ricky. “So, let’s try this again, and see if we get any more sense out of you. Now bear in mind that I know that you’re involved in this. If I suspect that you’re lying, or you refuse to cooperate,” she held up the axe, “well, I’m sure you can guess where this is going.”
Michelle cried. “Please, Melissa, you’ve got to believe me. I don’t know what you think you know but…”
Melissa casually shoved the boy in the small of his back from behind, before swinging the axe in a massive arc overhead. The nauseating sound of steel slamming through flesh and colliding with the vertebrae of his spine spat a hollow echo through the air.
Both parents screamed.
The boy hit the deck and Melissa placed the sole of her foot on his shoulder, struggling to work the blade loose from his back. An eruption of blood decorated the surroundings as she worked the blade free. Without hesitation, she swung the axe again, embedding the blade into the back of the boy’s skull with a heavy clunk.
Both parents continued to scream and wail.
Letting go of the axe, Melissa stepped away. She grabbed the sack and began storming towards Ricky, dragging it behind her. She slumped it down in front of him with a clatter.
He looked at her through tears and blood shot eyes. He attempted to spit at her but in his dehydrated state, the miniscule strand of saliva only dribbled down his own chin.
“You sick slut,” he spat.
Melissa approached and laughed. “Slut? I’m a slut? Who was the one that tried to come on to this slut on the very same night that his wife was in hospital after giving birth to his first child?”
“You lying bitch.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” Michelle shouted over her shoulder.
“That’s right, sis, the night that you were in hospital, giving birth to your now dead son, lover boy here was attempting to get me into bed.” She turned to face Ricky. “And let’s face it. It hasn’t been the only time now, has it?”
Ricky drew his eyes narrow. “You sly cow. What exactly are you trying to pull here?”
Melissa’s right knee shot forwards, connecting with the man’s groin. He exhaled deeply and groaned as the wind immediately left his sails. If it hadn’t been for the sparse contents of his stomach, they would have reappeared.
Melissa leaned in towards his face. “Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt? Now, I’m not sure of your involvement in all of this, Ricky boy. I know for certain that your wife, and my so-called twin sister is, and for that, she has directly caused the death of your children. So, what’s it going to be, are you going to tell me what you know? I mean, what can I possibly have that you need, Ricky? I have no money; my family is all I have.”
Ricky took a second to compose himself; he looked over to the fallen body of his youngest son. His eyes connected with Melissa and a solitary tear ran down his cheek, the bitter salt stinging his lips.
“My family was all I had, too. You murdered them in cold blood, you sick bitch.”
Melissa examined him for a moment, her eyes turning into slits, cautious.
“I do believe you’re actually telling the truth. Well, how about that, Michelle? Crafty. Not even telling your own husband about your antics. I guess you knew he could be broken.”
Melissa reached down to the sack and produced a large hunting knife. Instinctively, Ricky started to thrash about, opening the wounds further on his wrists as Melissa held the blade up towards his face.
“So, Michelle. What’s it to be? Your husband here claims that he doesn’t know where my family is. I, for one, believe him. So the real test is whether you’re prepared to sacrifice his life for the sake of your insane scheme.”
Ricky screamed. “You’d better fucking kill me, because if I get out of here, you’re a dead woman.”
Melissa beckoned over his shoulder towards her sister, “So what’s it to be then, Michelle? You have three seconds.”
“Please, Melissa, I kno –”
“One.”
“Pleaaasse. I don’t know where –”
“Two.”
Michelle screamed as loudly as her lungs would allow. “I don’t know –”
“Three.”
The sound of Michelle’s screaming was immediately drowned out by Ricky’s pained shriek as Melissa drove the tip of the knife into his exposed sternum, right to the hilt of the blade. Warm blood spurted from the wound and coated the back of her hand and arm as she continued to cut upwards through flesh and viscera, a determined, maniacal look across her face.
Ricky continued to scream and buckle as Melissa sawed the steel, determined, backwards and forwards through flesh, a deep pool of claret now sluiced from the open cavity in his stomach and spilled down his legs, pooling on the floor at his feet.
Michelle continued to scream out. “Ricky? Ricky?”
Within a few seconds, his body went into shock and he fell still, hanging limp from his wrists like a spoiling carcass. Melissa wiped away the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. The perspiration mingling with Ricky’s fresh, spilled blood.
Melissa left him dangling, the body continuing to bleed out. She faced Michelle, her sister, her twin. “I never thought, you of all people would ever do anything like this to me.”
Michelle continued crying. “Melissa, I don’t know what you’re talking about, please.”
The shrill sound of a phone ringing shattered the tension, the noise emanating from the pocket of Melissa’s shorts.
She ignored it.
Melissa lifted the blade and ran the tip across the front of Michelle’s t-shirt menacingly. The woman flinched. “You see, you mad
e one simple, stupid fucking mistake when you sent me the video of my abducted husband and children.”
“Mistake?"
Melissa nodded.
"Video?"
Again, the woman nodded.
I … I don’t know what you mean.”
The phone in Melissa’s pocket rang again but she ignored it.
“Many people wouldn’t have noticed the finer details, but I freeze framed that fucking video a thousand times until I was sure it was you.”
“Until what was sure? Melissa, I don’t understand.” She pleaded, tears streaming down her burning cheeks.
Annoyed by her continuing lack of compliance, Melissa grabbed Michelle’s arm. Twisting the surface of the skin around towards her, her hand forced back the sleeve of Michelle’s t-shirt, the large tattoo on her upper left arm exposed. Taking a moment to check the design, she ran the edge of the knife along the surface of the detail, opening a deep laceration across the woman’s bicep. Michelle screamed as Melissa’s mobile rang again.
Infuriated, she ripped the phone from her pocket, checking the screen.
Unknown number calling.
She placed the phone to her ear. “Yes?”
Michelle observed, the pain in her arm nearly causing her to black out. A short silence ensued, the colour appearing to drain from Melissa’s face. She looked at Michelle before speaking into the handset.
“What did you say? Where are they?”
Melissa terminated the call and looked at her sister, the feeling of dread consuming her.
Michelle spoke. “What’s going on? Melissa … what the fuck?”
Melissa didn’t answer; she just turned and ran towards the house. Bursting into the kitchen, her feet slid on the wooden floor, hastily attempting to take her towards the front door.
A loud banging noise stopped her in her tracks, the door threatening to shake itself loose from the frame. Without hesitation, she opened the front door; she failed to react as the stranger raised the butt of the shotgun. The blow was effective and instantaneous, colliding with the side of Melissa’s jaw. She was out cold before she hit the deck.
*****
Melissa began to rouse, groggy. The pain was immediate and explosive inside her cranium. The sour taste of copper filled her mouth. Running her dry tongue against her gums, she felt the wobble of loose teeth.
Fully opening her eyes, she glanced around the room. She found herself bound to one of her kitchen chairs by her wrists and shoulders, the abrasive edge of the thick duct tape scraping her skin. Directly across the room, a few feet away, her twin sister sat in the same quandary. She appeared to be semi-conscious, babbling away incoherently, covered in sweat, blood and dirt.
A voice came from her right; an accent that she didn’t recognise.
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
“Who’s there?” she asked.
The silhouette of a large man, tall with broad shoulders, stepped from the shadows, a shotgun resting over his right shoulder. Melissa’s large knife protruded from his left hand, the blade still encrusted with dried blood.
She looked at the man. “Who the hell are you?”
“You don’t recognise me, Melissa? I’m a little disappointed.”
Melissa looked again, the slightest hint of recognition creeping into her eyes.
“Wait a minute are you … Matt?”
The man laughed and winked. “None other.”
“What the fuck is going on?” she spat. “You disappeared.”
“That’s correct. Ever since you and your Sister of Slaughter here beat me at the hands of the judges in that anthology.”
“Wait. What? VS? Is all of this about that fucking competition?”
Matt laughed. “A competition, yes. A competition that I lost. Ours was the deciding battle, after that, everyone else blamed me. I was fucking ruined.”
Melissa screamed. “You fucking crazy son-of-a-bitch. I’ll fucking … wait, wait a minute. I saw the video. The evidence was clear. I knew it was her, it had to be her.”
Matt laughed and rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt, displaying a tattoo, an image identical to the one that adorned the arm of her twin sister.
“You like it?” he asked. “I got it done especially. Even had to shave my arm.”
Michelle suddenly spoke, and continued with her bleary vocabulary.
“What … what the fuck is going on here?”
Matt turned to her. “I got here just in time,” he shouted in her general direction. "Your own sister went insane and slaughtered your whole family.”
The man leaned forwards, cutting at the tape that bound her to the chair; it fell to the ground, releasing her. He held out the knife, towards her. In her cowed, intoxicated state, she attempted to grab it by the blade.
“No, other way round, sweetheart. Do what you need to do, I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Michelle stood up straight, unsteady on her feet, confused. She looked at her sister.
“You killed my family, bitch.”
Michelle stepped forwards, the knife held aloft.
Melissa screamed.
Matt smiled.
The Punishment Room
Ian awoke with a start. The back of his throat felt raw and his head was pounding, as if he’d been hit over the head with a baseball bat. It threatened to explode and send the contents of his cranium spraying into the room like an erupting volcano. He carefully inspected the room around him, it was empty. The plain white walls appeared to be soft and silky in texture and bereft of any decoration. A solitary light bulb hung from an electrical fixture above him in the centre of the room. On the far wall stood a tall, rectangular doorway with a small, square observation window near the top of the frame. No handles or latches were on the inside.
He attempted to move but his wrists and ankles were strapped tightly to the arms of a steel wheelchair with leather bindings. Checking himself, he was dressed in nothing except for a loose fitting, plain white robe which barely covered his groin. The rough texture of the material irritated his skin as it scratched the surface. His legs and feet appeared to be totally exposed.
He threw himself from side to side, violently struggling against his bonds and threatening to overturn the wheelchair as it teetered up onto one wheel but couldn’t move. He called out.
“Hello. Is anybody there?”
No reply.
Ian began to panic as his eyes continued their frantic search around the room, it was empty apart from the light fixture that hung from the ceiling.
Think back, man, how the hell did you end up here? Wherever here is.
No matter how many times he tried, he kept drawing a blank. The last thing he could remember was the party, at John’s flat.
Was this his mate’s? Had they set him up?
He tried calling out again. “Hello. Somebody help me. Please”
Ian observed as a face suddenly looked through the small observation window of the door. It was definitely a face, but it appeared strange; it appeared to have no distinct features, just smooth white contours. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head, thinking they were playing tricks on him. He listened carefully as the door was unlatched, and a moment later, it opened. Two figures stood side by side in the gap. Both were dressed from head to foot, every part of their bodies concealed by tight, white latex outfits. Their figures cast tall shadows across the smooth white floor.
Judging by the buxom shape protruding from the chest, one of the suits appeared to be occupied by a female, the other male. Both entered the room, step by step, down a small incline. Neither of them paid any heed as the door slammed shut behind them.
Both figures tentatively approached his wheelchair, the female to his far left, the male to his far right. The pair weren’t quite hugging the walls, but there was a distinct distance between them. The woman halted her approach as she reached about three feet away. The man continued.
Ian flinched as the man held out his hand, concealed in a smooth whi
te glove. His index finger extended directly at his forehead.
The man made a noise. A high pitched, scratchy sound that seemed to emanate from the back of his throat, stifled by the mask that shielded his mouth.
“Ghrghraaggg.”
Ian frowned and shrugged his shoulders unable to comprehend what he was trying to communicate.
The latex man repeated his bizarre outburst.
“Ghrghraaggg.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say to me.” Ian repeated, slowly as if trying to emphasise his own statement.
The man observed him for a moment, his head slightly tilted to one side as if contemplating his next move. Ian returned his gaze, trying his best to establish eye contact through the man’s mask.
The man turned to face the woman.
“Ghhrrooohhhbbb,” he uttered.
She nodded and approached slowly as the man retreated backwards a few feet whilst continuing to stare. The woman held up the palm of her hand, a mere few inches away from Ian’s nose. The aroma of the material from her glove tickled his nostrils. Without warning, she balled up her fist, held it in place for a few moments and then extended her fingers outwards as if waving. She repeated the obscure action, and removed her hand, placed it inside her other behind her back, and leaned forwards, her face inches from his own.
She spoke, “Kllaaddfffrrrr.”
Ian frowned and shook his head. “I don’t understand what you’re saying to me. What the fuck is going on here? Where am I?”
“Kllaaddfffrrrr,” she repeated.
“I don’t understand. What are you trying to tell me?”
The woman turned back to the latex man. “Kllaaddjjjwwwww.”
The man nodded without saying a word.
Without warning, her hand thrust forwards and gripped him tightly round the throat. He could feel the life being choked from him as she tightened her extraordinarily tight grip around his windpipe. He struggled to take in oxygen as the woman leaned in closer towards him, peering at him from behind the non-existent eyes of the mask.
