Jackpot

by David Bernstein

  “Tonya,” Arnie said, gripping Rufus’s collar tighter as he slowly walked deeper inside. “Tonya, where’n the fuck are you? Me-maw said for you to get yer ass outside.”

  Silence engulfed him. Arnie started getting nervous, like his sister might try to jump out and scare him, make fun of him for being a pussy boy. Always called him pussy boy. She loved doing shit like that, and it pissed Arnie off every time. But he couldn’t ever do anything about it. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Tonya could kick his ass good, always could. She may be a girl, but she could throw down a beating like a man, and Arnie kept clear of her most of the time to avoid the embarrassment.

  Arnie was hoping Tonya wouldn’t give him too much shit about going outside, letting him have a turn on this guy. He got to rubbing his wiener through his pants just thinking about it, had always dreamed about getting some time alone with one of Me-maw’s victims. Not just any, though. Had to be a man. Arnie didn’t know why, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he fancied the men more than the women. If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t figure why Benny liked tits and pussy so much. Arnie tried to yank on himself looking at tits and pussy, only because he knew that’s what a man’s supposed to like, but it was like trying to pull a dead snake out of the dirt. Just limp, loose meat.

  There was just something about a hard cock with fat veins that got Arnie’s heart pumping faster. And if he got the chance, he’d wrestle around with this fella a bit before roughing him up and taking him out to Me-maw. Up until now, he’d only had the magazine picture books under his mattress, and he was starting to get bored with them. He wanted to feel a man’s sweat dripping on him, smell his musk, taste his skin.

  Rufus got to whining and tugging against Arnie so hard, Arnie finally just let him go. “Go find her, boy. Find her and tell her it’s our turn.”

  Rufus swung his head from side to side, sniffing deep as he rushed across the room, his unclipped nails scraping across the wood flooring. His tail wagged so hard it was slapping his hips on each side, and every few seconds he would let out a growl or a whine.

  Arnie stayed by the door as Rufus traveled deeper into the living room toward what looked like the kitchen. Not only because he was scared of Tonya jumping out and surprising him, but because of that goddamn quiet. The calm that vibrated in the air like a swarm of mute gnats. Put Arnie on edge, made him feel like he wasn’t in control.

  Quit being a pussy boy, Arnie. This is your chance to show Me-maw that you’re the man of the house, that you deserve her respect.

  Arnie didn’t feel much better, but had conjured just enough courage to take one step forward. The floor creaked under the weight of his foot, and in that very same instant, Rufus disappeared. Got swallowed up by the floor and was gone just like that.

  “Rufus!” Arnie found his legs then, darted across the room and slid on his knees to where his dog had been last standing.

  Arnie heard Rufus before he saw him. Growls at first. Mean, deep growls, the kind he made when playing tug o’ war with a piece of rope, or when he was yanking a hunk of meat off a leg bone.

  What appeared to be a trap door had opened up from under the big Bull Mastiff, and he fell down into some kind of plastic prison. Four smooth, see-through walls, not quite wide enough for Rufus’s length.

  Filled with the biggest goddamn rats Arnie had ever seen.

  “Rufus!” he yelled again, not sure how to help. It was too deep for him to reach down and grab the dog, and even if he could, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to handle it if one of those rats bit or clawed him, or even touched him.

  Rufus stomped his paws down on their gray, furry bodies as he bit down on one of them and shook his head, splashing blood across the plastic walls. But there were too many of them. The rats climbed him, screeching and squeaking, digging their long, yellow teeth into his skin. Rufus whined, slammed his body from wall to wall trying to turn around and free himself from the teeth and claws, but for every rat he crushed in his jaws, five more would climb his body and attack.

  Rufus’s whines became screams as the rats swarmed over him, tearing into him, eating him alive. The plastic cage rattled and shook, and before long, the only thing Arnie could see of his dog was four paws sticking straight up, the rest of him buried in the frenzied rats, their fur now wet with blood.

  What the fuck is going on here?

  Arnie wanted to be sad for Rufus, but in that moment, he realized he was in trouble. He realized that Me-maw was wrong about the peckerwood fella, wrong about Tonya. Arnie’s older sister was probably dead already, hidden somewhere in this goddamn fucking house, and if Arnie didn’t hurry, get the fuck on his feet and sprint toward that front door, he would join her.

  He jumped back to a standing position, his eyes still on the massacre beneath him. And he caught movement. He didn’t realize it until just then, but beyond the plastic box, he could see a room, underneath the living room where he now stood. And standing in that room below, staring up at him, was a man. Smiling. Waving.

  “Oh fuck me!”Arnie turned toward the front door, just as the hooks were swinging down from the ceiling.

  Arnie had enough time to lift his arms to shield his face before the barbed, metal prongs stabbed into him. One hit him in the right shoulder, the other in his left bicep, and after penetrating him, their momentum lifted him into the air where he hung and kicked his legs, screaming and grimacing. Blood flowed from his wounds, soaked his shirt in seconds, its warmth spilling over his belly and groin and legs.

  “Me-maw! H-help me!”

  Another shriek tore from his throat as his own weight pulled his wounds wider. His feet were a good foot and a half from the floor, and he held them as still as he could to keep himself from rocking.

  I’ll be okay. Me-maw and Benny will come get me. They won’t leave me like this.

  The front door was shut, and Arnie cursed himself for closing it behind him. He screamed for them again, hoping his voice could be heard through the wood. And that’s when he felt the fingers dragging across his left thigh.

  Arnie gasped, then kicked out, but it only made his body sway, only tore open his flesh wider. Blood splashed across the floor, then went back to its steady dripping rhythm.

  The man stepped out from behind Arnie, naked and covered in blood. His skin glistened like raw beef, and it took Arnie a moment to realize the man was wearing a mask.

  Jesus…that’s not no mask. That’s a goddamn face.

  The skin looked fresh, beaded with moisture and bloody. It was a light brown color, though Arnie could see the pink meat that padded it at the edges. Female. The skin looked smooth, well taken care of, as if its former owner had habitually exfoliated it. The eyelids were a deep purple, the cheeks slightly pink, the lips a dark crimson just a few shades darker than the blood splashed across them.

  Not Tonya’s face. Someone else’s.

  The man’s eyes were wide and unblinking beneath the skin mask as he stared up at Arnie. His teeth were visible from beneath the mask’s mouth, but Arnie couldn’t tell if the man was smiling or grimacing.

  The man held something black in his left hand, running his thumb over its surface almost lovingly. With his right hand, he grabbed hold of Arnie’s blue jeans. Clutched a fistful of the loose fabric at Arnie’s knee, and yanked down hard. Arnie had been gaining a bit of weight the last couple of years, and the jeans hugged him tighter than they used to, and no matter how hard the man tugged on them, they wouldn’t get past Arnie’s waist, and with each tug the metal hooks ripped him open wider and wider.

  “Stop…stop! Please!” Arnie tried to kick at the man, having no other defense, but he only managed to injure himself further. He wondered how much longer it would be before the metal pulled straight through him, ripping him open and sending him crashing to the floor.

  The blood pouring down his body must have lubed up his waist, because when the man tugged again, the jeans pulled free down to Arnie’s calves. Another yank and they w
ere off completely, tossed over an old couch with a floral design.

  The underwear came next. Arnie stared past his blood-soaked dick, as red as a smoked beef sausage, and into the eyes of the man. The black object the man held in his left hand was brought up and into Arnie’s view. Some kind of remote control.

  When the man pushed one of the buttons, the floor opened up, the wood paneling sliding away. Arnie dangled just over the opening, and as he struggled harder than ever, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and bicep, something from underneath him whirred and cranked, like a rollercoaster cart climbing a steep hill.

  Two long, metal poles grew from the floor first, their tips sharp and barbed, one on either side of Arnie. Once they were at about ankle height to Arnie, the man grabbed Arnie’s left calf, turned his leg, and pushed the metal spike through the Achilles heel. The metal shoved through with ease, and Arnie screamed until his throat felt ripped open as the man did the same to the other heel. The metal poles bent slightly outward, more and more as they continued to grow from the ground, spreading Arnie’s legs inch by inch.

  “Y-you don’t have to do th-this…please! Ah shit, fuckin’ please let me go!”

  The man reached out his hand, let Arnie’s blood drip over his fingers until covering them, then rubbed it over his chest and belly like lotion.

  Arnie’s hips popped as the metal poles spread his legs into a split, pushing his body up into the metal hooks already penetrating him. There was a sound like steam escaping, and the poles stopped. Arnie gasped for air, his mind barely able to comprehend the agony of his wounds.

  The man pushed another button on his remote, then as if he were getting bored, just walked away. As he passed Arnie, he slapped him on the ass.

  “No! Come back…let me down from h-here!”

  Arnie tried to turn his head, but couldn’t get it around far enough to see the man.

  Another whirring sound caught his attention.

  The light shimmered off something metal slowly climbing out of the floor.

  “Oh, Jesus. Oh Jesus Christ…” Arnie fought his metal piercings as hard as he could. No longer worried about the pain.

  The steel pyramid climbed higher and higher and higher.

  ***

  “You hear that?” Winona pushed herself off the car and stepped closer to the house. She could have sworn she just heard screaming, maybe some arguing.

  If those two idiots are in there fussing at each other, I swear I’ll kill ’em both.

  “I didn’t hear—”

  It came again, louder this time, and there was no question this was a scream. Full of suffering. Winona had heard the sound enough times to know, and as it roared from the inside of the house, she could tell it was Arnie doing all the screaming.

  “That was Arnie, Me-maw,” Benny said, and without waiting another second, the boy dashed off toward the house.

  “Now just hold it a minute,” Winona shouted up to him, but he was ignoring her now. As much as those two boys fought, they loved each other, in their own way.

  “Arnie, I’m comin’!” Benny flung the door wide and darted into the house.

  Or he started to.

  A loud bang exploded from the doorway, and the moonlight glimmered off a metal surface. Winona had to squint as she slowly made her way closer to the house.

  It wasn’t until the metal, like a massive guillotine blade, retracted back up into the door frame that the back half of Benny’s body collapsed backward. The metal had hit him in the back of the neck, chopped him longways down to his feet. The half of his body that lay bleeding on the front porch had no head or arms. Benny must have been running at an angle, his head out in front of him. His chest and the front of his belly were gone, the bone cut clean through, and his innards oozed from his torso into a red and purple pile beside him. One of his legs must have been out in front of him because from the knee down was just a sliver of bleeding meat with a callused heel at the end of it.

  “B-Benny! Benny!” Winona collapsed beside the boy’s body, ran her quivering hand over the exposed meat and bone.

  The guillotine blade locked back in place, and Winona caught site of Benny’s other half. It must have spun in mid-air as it fell because it lay on its back. The arms were spread wide, his face turned to the side, already as white as bread. The piece of his leg and the front of his foot lay just beyond the threshold.

  “Me-maw!”

  For a second,Winona thought it was Benny calling for her. Her heart jumped and her stomach dropped, but when she looked up, it was Arnie’s face staring back at her.

  “Help me!”

  Arnie was suspended in the air by hooks, his legs spread wide by spikes jabbed into his ankles. Blood rained down off him, washing the metal in red, a pyramid- shaped object rising from the floor. The tip was maybe an inch from Arnie’s asshole, and he wailed and screamed as he thrashed and bled.

  Even if Winona wanted to, she didn’t see a way to help the boy. And as the tip of the pyramid entered him and he tilted his head back and bellowed, she turned her attention back to her Benny, let her tears drip down into his open body.

  “Oh, Benny. Oh, my Benny boy.” She stepped over the threshold, not caring if the guillotine blade cut her in two. It stayed locked in place, and she stepped inside without harm, fell back to her knees, and pulled Benny’s head into her lap. Blood soaked into her pants as she rocked back and forth, ran her fingers through his hair.

  Arnie never stopped screaming, never stopped calling for her to help him, though after a while, his words weren’t recognizable and his screams became gurgling, wet choking sounds.

  Winona didn’t know how long she sat there on the floor with Benny’s head clutched to her belly, but after a while she realized how quiet it was. She wasn’t sure when Arnie had stopped his moaning, but the boy was silent now. The pyramid had split him damn near in half, the tip sticking out of his mouth just past his teeth.

  Winona rose to her feet, stepped back outside toward the car. Benny and Arnie had insisted on bringing their shotgun, which now lay in the trunk. She never liked guns much, but the boys sure loved them, so she agreed to let them bring one along.

  She didn’t have the keys, figured they must have been in Arnie’s pocket, so she popped the trunk from under the driver’s seat.

  By the time she got back around to it, the man Tonya had tied up back there was halfway out. Winona had forgotten all about him, and didn’t have time to fuck with him. With both hands, she grabbed the lip of the trunk door and slammed it down. It hit the man in the back just under his shoulder blades, and he cried out, tried to reach out and grab Winona, but she slammed it back down. Then again. The third time squeezed all the fight out of the man, and he gasped for air as he grimaced and reached for his spine with both hands.

  Winona swiped the shotgun from the trunk, then swung the barrel and clocked the man in the left temple. As he grunted and rolled backward, Winona slammed the trunk door shut, then trudged back into the house.

  “Booker!” she shouted, her voice resembling more of a growl than anything. “I want my fuckin’ money!”

  ***

  Eric gasped for air as the pain in his back pulsed, each throb as painful as the trunk door slamming down on top of him. To move at all was pure torture, and when he finally caught his breath, he used it to whimper. The side of his face rested on something wet and cold, and he knew it was exposed human meat, but he didn’t care. The shotgun barrel had smacked him good, might have loosened a tooth or two, and that cool meat pressed up against his face felt good for the moment. He just lay there, eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched, and concentrated on the pain in his spinal cord.

  Am I fucking crippled now?

  Not that it mattered. He didn’t figure he was getting out of this alive. The only thing he wanted was to take at least one of these motherfuckers down with him. With a busted back, he wasn’t sure he could even do that.

  But as he lay there thinking on it, the pain dulled some. It still throbb
ed, but it calmed down to a steady, slow beat. He had been scared to move, worried he might injure himself worse, but after a few more minutes of his face pressed against his gore pillow, he forced himself to at least scoot to the side. The pain was there, but he was able to move pretty good.

  It’s not broken. Thank fucking Christ for that.

  That old bitch slammed that trunk down good and hard, felt like a giant metal monster chewing him up. But she must not have been strong enough to do any permanent damage.

  Eric held back the bile at the back of his throat as he glared at the tattered, mauled corpse that he had been sharing the trunk with. The man’s head was half burned to a black crisp, and he had chunks of flesh missing across his entire body, what looked like bite marks, like a fucking Great White had been eating on him. Organs and ropes of intestine were scattered across the trunk floor, swimming in blood.

  Wait a goddamn minute. Why can I see this fucker all of a sudden?

  The trunk hadn’t shut properly, and though it was closed over, the lock hadn’t caught. That old bitch was in such a hurry to get back to whatever she was doing, she didn’t realize it.

  Suddenly, getting back at these sick bastards wasn’t at the top of his priority list. Survival was. Getting the fuck out of there while he still had the chance.

  I’ll get you fuckers later. I swear to God you’ll fry for this. All of you.

  And just as he was about to shove the trunk door up and climb out, a set of headlights blinded him.

  Eric ducked down and waited.

  ***

  When Frank finally pulled up to Booker’s house, he wasn’t sure what to make of the cars parked against the curb just in front of it. The van he guessed was Booker’s after the kid went on and on about it, how it was being custom built for him.

  One look into that van, and Frank knew his suspicions had been right. Chains dangling from the ceiling, blood splashed across the floor. This kid Booker wasn’t right in the head. A fucking psychopath. Now a fucking millionaire psychopath.