Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection)

by McCray, Carolyn

  The mean man didn’t even look to the teenager, he locked Evie’s gaze.

  “It’s been one year, three months…”

  Evelyn tried to stay strong. She tried to not flinch under his glare, but her body betrayed her. Before she knew it, she’d risen and was backpedaling until she hit a wooden door. There was no escape in that direction.

  The man lashed out with his arm. Evie scrambled away, but unfortunately that drove her deeper into the cell block. She found a camera, its red light blinking brightly.

  “Help me! Someone, please help me!” she cried out to the camera.

  One of the men scoffed. “He’s the one that put you in here, darlin’.”

  Evelyn searched the cells for someone, anyone, who might be sympathetic to her plight. Since he was not at the cell door, Evie ran to the man who was lounging on his cot.

  “Please, help,” she begged.

  Without saying a word, the man’s brought his chin up. His eyes were devoid of compassion. They were devoid of caring. Evie felt more disturbed than she did with the rapist in the first cell.

  “And twenty days since I’ve had a bitch like you…”

  Evie ran back to the front of the room. There may be a door there, but at least there wasn’t a man trying to claim her. Evie pulled on the door handle, desperately trying to get it open.

  An intercom system beeped to life. A distorted female voice announced, “Random Cell Door Opening on the count of three.”

  * * *

  Andrew clapped his hands together. You just never knew what was going to happen in the dungeon. “Oh, I hope it’s me!”

  In the cell next to Back’s, Door shook his sandy blond head. “No way, I’m due.” He snorted toward Andrew. “You got that fat, deaf, Mexican last time and still couldn’t take him down.”

  It was Andrew’s turn to snort. He so rarely got those. “Yeah, right. Like you fared any better with the lumberjack.”

  “Wait a minute!” Door exclaimed. “That guy was strong.”

  At the back of the cellblock, Papa reached through the cell doors. “Ma’am, I know that you don’t know me from Adam and are disoriented and afraid.”

  Like the biggest understatement in the history of understatements.

  Papa continued, “But you must trust me.”

  Yeah right.

  Luckily, the woman didn’t seem to believe Papa any more than Andrew. She continued to tug on the door.

  “Pull all you want, bitch, that door’s double-locked from the outside.”

  Back may be a sadistic serial rapist/murderer douche, however, he wasn’t wrong on that one.

  “With a larger, metal door behind it,” Papa stated.

  Neither was Papa. Yet the woman still tugged.

  “But hey, go for it,” Andrew stated. She didn’t seem to be catching on that her stay here was not voluntary.

  “Three,” the chime voice stated.

  Oh goodie! No matter who got out, this was going to be like pull-up-a-chair-and-get-your-double-buttered-popcorn-ready-to-go kind of good.

  “Please let it be me,” Door said, his hands clutched in prayer, although Andrew wasn’t so sure how God would take to granting the other serial rapist-murderer his wish.

  Andrew was pretty sure it didn’t work that way. Although, clearly, Clyde felt otherwise, as he knelt down, his lips muttering a prayer.

  “Help!” the woman screamed, beating her bloody fists against the door.

  “No one can hear you, puta,” Back said. “You are ours.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Detective Jake Braut leaned back in his chair, feet on his desk, as he played his video game. The phone on his desk rang incessantly. Hello, didn’t people understand the concept of off-duty?

  “A little busy here,” he said, for the edification of the janitor who was swiping the dirty mop head across the floor behind Jake. Even though he couldn’t see the older African American man’s face, Jake could feel his eyes burrowing into the back of Jake’s shaved head.

  Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. Whether that was the jangle of the ringing or the janitor’s silent judgment, Jake picked up the phone.

  “Detective Braut,” he said, then nearly dropped his game. He tucked the phone under his chin so he could keep playing. “At your service.”

  “Hey, this is Marion down at Missing Persons.”

  Jake paid a little more attention. If this was the Marion from Missing Persons he was thinking of, she was a brunette with a nice “C” cup and could make some mean brownies.

  The woman continued. “I’ve got a Nancy Coultran on the line. Her friend has only been missing for a few hours, so there’s not much I can do for her, but she’s certain that ‘something awful’ has happened to her friend.”

  “Then send a uniform to the friend’s apartment.”

  “Do you think I’d be calling you if I had a uniform available?” Marion asked tartly on the other end of the line.

  “Fine,” Jake said. “Put her through.”

  “Thank you,” Marion said as she put him on hold.

  No, thank you. Jake hung up the phone. “C” cups just didn’t do as much as they used to for him, and she always put walnuts in her brownies, so there was that.

  The janitor cleared his throat behind him. Jake swung around in his chair enough to answer the unspoken questions.

  “What? I must have gotten disconnected.”

  * * *

  Evie used her fingernails to scrape at the door. About the only thing that was accomplishing, though, was peeling the thick old paint off.

  “Help!” she screamed again, even though it was starting to feel useless.

  “Two,” the chime announced.

  The man that everyone called Papa pleaded with her again. “Please Miss, you have to listen to me. You are trapped. We’re all trapped in here. There’s no way out.”

  Or at least none that he had found. Evie kept at it.

  Esau, the man who usually chanted scripture, took a break to inform her, “As God as my witness, child, I shall be gentle and merciful.”

  Somehow, coming out his gaunt face and thin lips, that didn’t make her feel any better.

  The rapist the men called Back leaned through the bars. “I won’t be, though,” he informed her. “As a matter of fact, I look forward to you struggling. Screaming. Scratching. I want my flesh under your fingernails.”

  Evie had to fight off the nausea to start trying to figure out the type of knob and lock the door used. There had to be a way out of here.

  “One,” the chime announced. Evie could really do without the bitch’s chipper tone.

  “If my cell opens,” Papa pleaded with her again, “you need to head straight here. Please believe me.” The man almost sounded pained, as if her own grandfather was speaking the words. He even looked a bit like her Papa—large belly barely contained by a sweater vest. “Your life is in danger.”

  No shit.

  “You got panties on?” the large lummox the men called Clyde asked. She didn’t feel inclined to answer him. “I hope you’ve got fancy panties on.”

  The chime voice came back on. “And the winner is…”

  Evelyn pressed herself against the door as she waited for the loud click as one of the cell doors was opened. It was Andrew’s. The teenager’s.

  * * *

  Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, was all that Andrew could think as his door swung open. But he was so excited he couldn’t even form the words. He couldn’t believe his luck. The first woman in eons, and he got to have her first?

  It was like getting the first print edition of Twilight. No, it was even better than that.

  “Jesus!” Back yelled, spoiling the moment. “Get out there! Rape! Pillage! At least give us a fucking show!”

  “Shh!” Andrew said to Back. To Back. He’d actually just stood up to Back. He must really be ready to take on the woman. However, he wasn’t Back or Door or Clyde or Esau or even Papa. Andrew could remember his manners,
even at such an exciting time as this.

  He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Andrew. And you are?”

  The woman did not reciprocate. Instead, her eyes shifted back and forth. Her voice was all cracked and wobbly. “Where am I?”

  Andrew spread his arms to include the entire dungeon. “Casa de Lun. Psycho Central. Club S.K. Take your pick.”

  The woman still seemed anxious. Nervous, and not very polite, if you asked Andrew. Perhaps she just needed to be led by example. “I’ve been here for a little over eighteen months.” He waved away his words, “But enough about me. What was your name, again?”

  “Evelyn, but most people call me Evie.”

  “Goddamn it!” Back yelled as Back was want to do. “There’s fresh meat within lunging distance, and you’re hosting a fucking tea party?”

  The chime sounded, ending Back’s unfortunate tirade. He really was uncouth, that one.

  “Gentlemen,” the voice cooed. “You have won the lottery. We are going to have a hootenanny. All cell doors will open on the count of three.”

  “Oh dear,” Andrew exclaimed.

  Andrew sighed as the other men went crazy, rattling their doors. Everyone except, of course, Darion, who still sat on his cot with his back to the wall. It was going to take more than a hootenanny to get Darion excited.

  But this did spell the end to Andrew and the woman’s alone time.

  He reached out to the woman.

  “No, please. Stay back,” she begged.

  Didn’t she understand that he was trying to help her?

  “I’m not the one you need to worry about,” Andrew explained, hoping she could understand how earnest he was.

  “Stay back!” the woman screamed, thrashing her hands in front of her like he was a common mugger.

  “They want to hurt you. Do indecent things to you. Make you bleed…bad.” He tried to explain, but she seemed beyond reason.

  “Three,” the chime voice stated pleasantly. He always appreciated how kind the voice sounded, even when all hell was going to break loose.

  The woman stopped backing up and looked into Andrew’s eyes.

  “And you? What do you want with me?”

  Finally, she was making some sense.

  “Oh, I want to kill you,” Andrew explained, with a smile on his face.

  “Right, like you’re going to do it while she can still walk,” Door criticized from his cell.

  Andrew could tell the woman was upset at his statement, so he tried to explain. “No, no, no. I didn’t mean I’d kill you right away. Murder all willy-nilly is so not my thing. I promise it will be totally fun, and then, in the end, super peaceful.”

  He took great pride in that. Both the fun part and the peaceful part.

  “Actually, my specialty is taking people in their sleep.”

  “Sicko!” the woman announced, and pushed him back.

  Well, that was just rude.

  * * *

  Back’s body was pressed against the bars. If ever there was a time when a human could walk through matter, now would be a great time. Now that Andrew and the chick were finally entertaining.

  The woman slapped Andrew hard across the face.

  “Ouch!” Andrew said. “That was completely uncalled for.”

  Andrew then slapped the bitch back, which then descended into a slapping fight. Leave it up to Andrew to be so girly. Next up should be hair pulling—by Andrew.

  “Jesus Christ,” Back yelled. “Backhand the bitch! Punch her in the fucking teeth!”

  Andrew just kept slapping, though. “She’s got deceptively strong upper body strength!”

  That was no excuse.

  “Two,” the chime announced. Soon, very soon, Back would show Andrew how a man acted.

  Evie slapped again, and this time a fingernail scratched Andrew’s neck.

  “No!” Back yelled. “That should be me!”

  Andrew dabbed the blood at his neck. “Jeez, you didn’t have to hurt me.”

  “Please, please, just leave me alone.”

  Oh, that was not going to happen. Adrenaline surged through Back’s body. He wanted to see her in pain. He hadn’t always been like this. As a matter of fact, he could point to the exact moment when he’d become like this.

  He’d just been an average teenage boy, whacking off in his room, when his foster mom found him. He’d been bumped from that home, and worse, he’d gotten a “SAY” designation. An acronym that had announced he was a Sexually Aggressive Youth. Which meant he got put into an SAY group home, where the older, bigger boys who were actually SAYs had their way with him.

  From there on out, for some funny reason, Back didn’t give a shit about anyone else’s feelings. He only cared what felt good to him. And him being the aggressor worked just fine for him.

  “One,” the chime announced. Oh, so close, he could taste what her sweat tasted like.

  Andrew, however, was still trying to reason with the bitch. “The last time we had a woman? It took Igor over a week to clean up.” He pointed to the dirt floor. “Intestines leak into the cracks and don’t come out very easily.”

  “Bingo!” the chime finally announced as the sound of locks springing open filled the room. The woman screamed as Back leaped from his cell.

  Andrew tried to block him. “Finders keepers!”

  He backhanded the teen. “Come here, bitch!”

  For a big hick, Clyde was pretty damned quick out of his cell. Door wasn’t half bad, either. But he got to Andrew first, jerking the woman from his grip.

  “No fair!” the teen squealed.

  “I get the top half!” Clyde yelled as he grabbed the woman’s other arm.

  Papa was wailing on both of them. “Leave her alone!”

  Esau was in the mix, biting Papa in the arm, but the old man was no slouch and elbowed Esau in the nose. Blood gushed. Back grabbed the woman around the waist and pulled her to him. He nuzzled his nose into her hair. She smelled like spring. Like the season it was when he was first abducted and locked away here. How many years had it been? Two? Three? You kind of lost track.

  “You’re going to get very, very, very familiar with the meaning of the word excruciating, whore.”

  The woman struggled in his arm, but Back was not about to let go of his prize. He dragged her deeper into the cells. Finally, the other men started to retreat.

  “See that?” Back demanded. “I rule. I am God here.”

  The woman lashed out and dug her fingernail into his cheek.

  “That’s more like it!” he yelled, just before he punched her. Her head snapped around. She slipped from his grip and stumbled forward. The other men didn’t even attempt to claim her. That’s right, Back was that powerful.

  Then he realized that the bitch had fallen into Darion’s cell. Even Back didn’t want to go into that cell.

  “Get out of there!” Papa screeched behind him.

  Was today the day he was going to challenge Darion? Finally take the prick down a peg or two?

  * * *

  Darion had watched the scenario play itself out. It was quite predictable. Even the slap fight. Back looked like he was trying to screw up the courage to finally do something about all that seething rage he had against him.

  The woman’s eyes had dilated to saucers.

  “Don’t worry,” Darion said, trying to reassure her. “I only kill men.”

  The woman stood up, eying first Darion, then Back, then the men lined up behind Back. Not many options there.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “You’re called the weaker sex for a reason.”

  “And he thinks rape is fucking beneath him,” Back added. Always so helpful.

  The woman shook her head though. “No, I meant why?” she indicated to the dungeon around her.

  “Puta, you haven’t figured it out yet?” Back sneered behind her, although the woman’s eyes never left Darion.

  Darion felt a slow smile turn his lips up. “Why? Because we’re all serial killers.�
�

  CHAPTER 4

  Jake continued playing his game. Okay, not so much playing as getting his ass kicked. The damn thing was rated for 13 and up, and he couldn’t get past the seventh level. What did that say about him?

  Finally, though, he had some nonjudgmental peace and quiet. The janitor was long gone, taking his mop and condemnation with him.

  Then the sound of the bullpen’s door opening crushed his plans for an all-nighter.

  “Detective Braut?” a woman’s voice asked. He glanced up to find an older redheaded woman who kept herself put together entering the bullpen and heading toward his desk.

  “Only if you can tell me how to get past the ugly-ass monster on level seven.”

  The woman cleared her throat as she approached. “I think something’s happened to my friend,” she squeaked out.

  “So far, fireballs have been ineffective, and shock arrows are downright useless.”

  The woman, however, was turning out to be less than useful.

  “Um, Missing Persons can’t take a formal report for forty-eight hours, but Marion said that I might try you.”

  Of course Marion did. That sneaky chick. Guess he wouldn’t be hanging up on her anytime in the future.

  “And hand-to-hand combat?” Jake continued. “Against an eight-legged scimitar wielding beast? Not very likely.”

  * * *

  Suddenly, Nancy worried that she was in the wrong place.

  “I’m sorry, but you are Detective Braut, correct?”

  The detective apparently lost whatever battle he was waging on his phone and finally looked up at her. It wasn’t until then that she realized he was bald. Attractive, with deep brown eyes and a playful tug at his lip, but bald. Not that she had anything against that. Patrick Stewart was always a turn-on.

  “That’s what the badge says,” the detective said as he rotated his thumb around. “You’ve got until my thumb cramp goes away to convince me that I should care about your friend and her possible predicament.”

  Nancy took a deep breath. She somehow thought this would be easier than it was.

  “Evie...” It was hard to speak her name. Nancy felt so guilty. What had she been thinking, going off with Phoebe and Cassidy? She should have walked her friend home. “Evie’s new to town and, well… shy. I think the idea of heading over to Dietrich’s—”