The BIG Horror Pack 1

by Iain Rob Wright

  Andrew shook his head, but still couldn’t keep a lid on his anger. “Go right ahead. What difference is it going to make?”

  Frankie grinned as if he knew something that no one else did. Without warning, he turned and punched Pen in her ribs. She cried out in shock and pain before crumpling to the floor and gasping. Frankie held his fist up to Andrew and winked at him. “You piss me off, I’ll take it out on her.”

  Andrew didn’t speak. He was in Hell; a hell where he could do nothing but watch the people he loved suffer.

  Maybe that’s what Hell was? Not being punished yourself, but having to watch others suffer for your sins.

  “Do we fuckin’ understand one another?” Frankie snarled.

  Andrew nodded.

  Frankie clapped his hands together. “Good. Now get up and fight me.”

  Andrew blinked. “What?”

  Frankie raised both fists in a boxer’s pose. “I want to see what you got, old man.”

  Andrew was confused. “I’m tied up.”

  “I know that, you fuckin’ mug. Dom will let you loose, innit.”

  Dom heard his name and looked up from the television, fuzzy-eyed and half asleep.

  Andrew thought about things for a second and decided this could be his chance. The only opportunity he might have of getting away and reaching help. He had to take it, even though he was frightened enough to piss himself.

  “Okay, Frankie. I’ll fight you.”

  Frankie started throwing punches into the air, fighting an opponent only he could see. “Cool. Dom, get him loose. Use the scissors – but keep a hold of em.”

  Lest I drive them into your skull, thought Andrew. Adrenaline had already begun coursing through his veins in anticipation. Fighting was a skill far beyond him and he had no doubt that Frankie would beat him in short order, but standing toe-to-toe with the barbaric thug was not a plan he intended to follow. He had other ideas.

  Dom hacked away at the duct tape roped around Andrew’s body. With each passing second, Andrew felt the bonds loosen and the circulation return to his arms. Several minutes later and Andrew was finally free. He stood up and winced as the pressure in his kneecaps caused them to click painfully.

  Frankie stood in front of him and clenched both hands into fists, holding them aloft his chin like a boxer. “What shall we say? Three-minute rounds? Or shall we just fight till a knock-out?”

  Andrew took the opportunity to, one last time, try and reason with his attacker. “You don’t have to do this, Frankie. You can just leave right now. No one blames you for any of this. Your mother has obviously failed you.”

  The comment seemed to strike a chord with Frankie and his clenched fists lowered slightly. He spat onto the carpet. “Bitch has nothing to do with me.”

  Andrew nodded. “I know, and that’s a shame. No one deserves to be raised like that.”

  “You don’t know shit! Not a thing, so don’t play the caring soul with me. People like you couldn’t give two shits about people like us.”

  “Yeah,” said Michelle. “Just put his lights out, Frankie, and be done with it.”

  Frankie nodded over to his girlfriend and raised his fists again. Then he rang an imaginary bell. “Ding! Ding!”

  With Frankie approaching, ready to strike like a viper, Andrew made his own move. He dashed for the living room door.

  “The fuckers trying to do one,” said Jordan from the floor.

  Andrew shoved through the door and barrelled into the hallway. He turned to his right and sprinted for the porch. His plan was to rush into the street and cry out for help. His neighbours might not come, but at least one of them would surely call the police.

  But when he reached the porch, the front door was locked.

  “Looking for these?” asked Frankie, jangling a set of keys in his hand and standing in the living room doorway.

  Andrew was cornered. He looked about himself and snatched at the first thing he could find, which happened to be a golfing brolly. He hopped forwards, holding the folded umbrella in front of him like a spear.

  Frankie sniggered. “The fuck you going to do with that? Catch the blood that’s going to be raining down when I catch you?”

  Andrew considered the viability of his weapon and realised it was nowhere near enough to win a fight with the youths. He had to run – but to where?

  He eyed the stairs.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Frankie warned.

  With panic threatening to explode his heart, Andrew made a break for it. Frankie snatched out at him with both arms, but Andrew managed to fend him off by poking the umbrella into his face. The sharp point found its mark and caused Frankie to flinch back against the wall, clutching his eye.

  “Fuckin’ dead man. I’m going to mess you up.”

  Andrew ignored the hateful comments and raced up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Frankie shouted commands, rallying his drug-addled troops into battle. There was the sound of them funnelling into the downstairs hallway.

  Andrew sped across the landing and headed for the only room he knew that had a lock: the bathroom. Once inside, he slammed the door shut and turned the catch. Then he quickly dragged the linen basket across the tiled floor and placed it in front of the door to form a barricade. He collapsed on top of it, huffing and puffing like he’d just run a marathon. It was all going to be for nothing, though. The door was too thin to hold out for long and, upon realising that, Andrew understood his big mistake.

  He had trapped himself.

  In any other room of the house he might have escaped through one of the windows, or at least cried out for help, but the bathroom had only a slim, horizontal pane of frosted glass set high into the wall. Even if he broke the glass it was too small to get through.

  It wasn’t long before Frankie arrived and started to kick the door in.

  ***

  “You’re a dead man!” Frankie thrust another kick at the door.

  The flimsy wood at Andrew’s back had already begun to crack, and weakened further with every blow. He pushed back against the door, trying to it brace it, but it was no good. Frankie was going to get through eventually.

  Andrew checked out his surroundings in a bathroom that suddenly seemed very alien to him. It had once been a room where he would relax, de-stress, and release the worries of his day – but no more. Now it was a cage and he was the rat trapped inside of it.

  Another kick and the door rattled inside the fragile woodwork of the frame. He fell away from the door and begun rifling through the wall cabinets. He found nothing with which to defend himself. The recently-renovated room was a jewel of modernist design – which meant it was empty. He put his hands on the only thing that seemed even slightly dangerous and pulled at it. The chrome towel rail came away from the wall easily, the thin cavity wall offering no resistance. The quality of newer built homes did not compare to the industrious design of Victorian housing, but Andrew was thankful for that right now. However, it was also the reason that a large, cracking dent was widening in the middle of the bathroom’s flimsy door.

  Andrew prepared himself.

  “You’re finished, mate,” Frankie shouted through the door, rage filling his voice like boiling liquid into a beaker. “I’m going to kill your wife then hold you down and drown you in her blood”

  “Yeah,” said a female voice that could only have been Michelle. “But I’m going to stamp on your head first, you fuckin’ perv!”

  Andrew could hear Dom and Jordan out on the landing as well, could hear their sniggering. A desperate anger started to fill him – a sudden spark of insanity that affected him to the point of wild madness. He clutched the towel rail above his head and told himself it was a mighty broadsword. He pictured his attackers as pillaging Vikings coming to take his land and women.

  Frankie continued kicking at the door.

  The wood splintered.

  Cracked.

  Caved.

  Frankie gave one last, hefty kick that splintered the
frame and broke the lock. The door swung open slowly, then linen basket sliding out of the way easily.

  Frankie poked his head through the gap and grinned maniacally. “Hey man, what you up to? Guy spends too long in the bathroom it starts to look a little…unsavoury.”

  Andrew huffed defiantly, still clutching the towel rail above his head. “Nice word. You learn that today? Here’s another one for you – Pussy!”

  Frankie broke into the bathroom.

  Andrew swung the towel rail.

  The blow connected and Frankie stumbled backwards, lost his balance as the backs of his legs hit the lip of the room’s bathtub and sent him tumbling into it. There was a loud crack as the back of the boy’s skull hit the enamel.

  Andrew took advantage of the situation. As Frankie struggled to get out of the tub, he made a run for it. But Jordan and Dom blocked his way. Before they had chance to grab him, Andrew swung the towel rail again. The blow missed both targets and hit the battered frame of the doorway, but it was enough to make the two boys flinch and step back. Andrew suddenly found himself facing an open doorway.

  He was just about to race out into the hallway when something bit into his calf, producing a white-hot jolt that seemed to travel up his entire leg.

  Andrew fell down onto his knees.

  Frankie appeared, standing over Andrew and grinning. He ran his tongue along the edge of a knife he was holding in his hand, licking away a sheen of blood.

  “What are we going to do with you, Andrew?”

  Andrew didn’t get chance to answer. Frankie lifted up his foot and stamped on his head.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Davie sat in the living room listening to the ruckus upstairs. The women sat beside him and shuddered with every sound.

  “It will be okay,” Davie told them. “They’ll all be gone soon. My brother’s just having a laugh.”

  Rebecca looked at him like he was an idiot. “A laugh? Are you insane? Someone is going to end up dead and you’ll be just as much to blame as your psycho brother.”

  Davie shook his head. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Wake up, you idiot. Your brother’s dragged you into this. You’re the one keeping an eye on us – that makes you one of the kidnappers. You’ll rot in jail unless you let us go right now.”

  Davie wanted to make her see sense, but managed only to choke on a mouthful of words that never managed to form into sentences.

  “You’re in a mess and you know it,” Rebecca stated. “You don’t want any of this, do you? You don’t want to end up a worthless thug like your brother.”

  “Shut up,” Davie told her. “I won’t hear you talk like that about Frankie.”

  She shook her head at him in a way he did not like. “Stop defending him, Davie. You’re not like him, I can tell. You’re a good person.”

  Davie ran both hands through his hair and let out a long breath. His head still ached and now he felt dizzy as well. The banging and shouting from upstairs didn’t help the situation. How did things get so crazy? Did it start when he was hit by Andrew’s car, or was this whole turn of events inevitable even before that? He had a feeling that Andrew and Frankie were destined to reach this point regardless. He just hoped his involvement hadn’t made things worse.

  “Let us go,” Rebecca said calmly. “This is the point where you decide whether you want to be part of this or not. If you let us go now, then it’ll be clear that you just got caught up in something accidentally. Keep us here, though, and you’re proving that you’re as happy to go along with this as the others.”

  Davie stared down at the carpet, down at a chunk of browning fish meat that jutted out from beneath the sofa. He thought about things long and hard before he eventually looked Rebecca in the eye. “He’ll kill me if I help you. You’ll have him arrested and when he gets out he will literally kill me. Frankie is all I have so why would I want to make him hate me?”

  Rebecca stared back at him with her deep, dark eyes. “Because you know that this is wrong, Davie.”

  Davie nodded. He didn’t want to see this girl get hurt – in fact he couldn’t bear it. “Okay,” he said, regretting already what he was about to do, yet powerless to stop himself from doing it. “Get out of here, quick.”

  Rebecca put her arms around Davie and squeezed him tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear, then stood up and grabbed her mother’s limp hand. “Come on, mum. We can go and get help now. It’s all over.”

  Davie knew the decision he’d just made was the right one – could tell by the love and concern Rebecca had for her mother – but it didn’t make him feel any less apprehensive. Frankie was definitely going to kill him.

  Rebecca managed to get her mother standing, despite the woman’s hands and feet being bound, and was now looking down at Davie with an expression he wasn’t used to. It looked like compassion. “I’ll make sure the police know that you had nothing to do with this. You should get out of here, too, before Frankie comes back dow-“

  Andrew crashed through the living room door and sprawled onto the carpet beside the sofa. His hands were covered in blood, as were his jeans and shirt. Frankie came through the door after him, followed by the other. He kicked Andrew in the stomach before he had chance to get up. Andrew was silent as the blow crushed his ribs and sent him reeling onto his back. Covered by blood and swollen in the face, he looked more dead than alive.

  Frankie looked around and noticed that the women were now standing. Davie swallowed a lump in his throat as he waited for his brother’s reaction.

  “Sit down, bitches,” Frankie ordered.

  Rebecca did not sit down as instructed and instead lunged right at Frankie with her fingernails pointed out like claws. There was a deep-red lump already growing on his forehead and Rebecca added to it by gouging two long furrows into the flesh of his cheek. The scratches began to bleed instantly, but Frankie reacted quickly. He punched Rebecca hard in her stomach and doubled her over in agony, then he pushed her by the head down to the ground. He made it look as effortless as discarding trash.

  “Tie this slag up,” he ordered the twins before looking at Davie and scowling. “What the fuck, man? You were meant to be keeping these two under control.”

  Davie nodded. “I’m sorry. I was distracted when you all burst in. Sorry.”

  Frankie let his expression soften and walked over to his brother. Wrapping his hand around Davie’s head, he pulled him close, forehead touching forehead. “Don’t sweat it, little bro. No harm done. You just keep watching my back like you always do and nothing will ever hurt me. You’re my good-luck charm.”

  Davie hoped that wasn’t true, but was glad that his brother was not angry with him. He decided it best to try and help get things back under control again. Any chance that the women had of escaping was now gone and there was now point working against his brother now. It was over.

  Penelope was still standing aimlessly so Davie eased her back down onto the sofa, then knelt down beside Rebecca on the floor. She was lying on her side, breathing in and out rapidly and wincing in pain. Davie waited a few moments until she managed to catch her breath. Then he stroked her back and said, “Let’s get back on the sofa. If you’re quiet, Frankie might leave you alone.”

  Rebecca said nothing, but she rolled herself up onto her knees and climbed back on the sofa. Her breathing was still awkward.

  Dom and Jordan came over with the duct tape. “Get her to her feet, Davie.”

  “She’ll be okay, lads. I’ll make sure she behaves.”

  Dom shook his head. “Get her on her fucking feet, Davie. You heard your brother. He said, tie the slag up.”

  Davie glanced at Rebecca who was looking back at him sadly. He couldn’t tell for sure, but something about the way she looked at him told him that she at least now understood that he had no choice in the matter. He had tried, at least.

  He reached forward and pulled Rebecca’s feet onto his lap. They were small, dainty, with perfect little toes pai
nted a deep purple. He had to force himself not to gaze further up her naked legs and beneath her nightgown. He knew little about women, but he knew not to stare.

  Dom got to work, wrapping the silver duct tape around Rebecca’s ankles so tight that it made her wince. She did not complain, though. After he was done with her legs, Dom had Davie grab her wrists while he trussed them up as well.

  “Do the bitch’s mouth,” said Frankie from the other side of the room. He was busy getting an unconscious Andrew back into the armchair and Michelle was helping him.

  “No worries,” said Dom, happily tearing off another thick wad of tape and stamping it over Rebecca’s mouth. Jordan came forward to join his brother and squeezed one of her breasts. She tried to cry out in pain but could only mumble from behind the tape.

  “Don’t worry,” Jordan said. “We’ll take the tape off later when we have a use for your mouth.”

  Davie wanted to slap Jordan for saying such a horrid thing to a frightened girl, but he knew that he would just take a clobbering. He couldn’t take Dom or Jordan on his best day and their worst – and especially not with a concussion and a stomach that kept threatening to empty itself.

  “Okay,” said Frankie, clapping his hands together. “Everybody nice and settled again?”

  No one said anything, but all turned in his direction.

  “Then I think this would be a good time to explain to everyone what happens when people don’t follow my rules.” He turned to Andrew and slapped his cheeks hard. “Stay with us, hero. I was about to tell your bitches what a fine display you put on up there.”

  “What happened?” Davie asked, knowing that the answer wouldn’t be anything good.

  “What happened, little bro, is that this gangster right here took a pole to my skull. Fair play, I say, but it never did him no good in the end. My knife was mightier than his pole.”

  Rebecca moaned beneath the tape on her mouth and Davie matched her reaction by stretching his eyes wide. “You stabbed him?”

  Frankie shrugged. “Had no choice. Guy was out of control and needed putting down.”