Monster: The Story Of A Maniac

by Peter Cry

  There was crying from behind the semi-open door.

  “What happened?”

  Jason drew closer to Howard.

  “I snapped.”

  “You overdid it?”

  “Not really. But we’ll have to wait until her wounds are healed... She's all covered in bruises and grazes.”

  “Don't worry,” the benevolent Howard reassured him. “It’s not the first time.”

  Jason was angry. “The money has already been transferred, so we have only a couple of days to film Emmy… We’ve built up our reputation over several years. If we break our promises just once... An asshole from Ukraine or Russia could easily steal our customers. They have beautiful children out there.”

  “What should we do now?”

  “Have you changed the tires?”

  Fearing the wrath of the master, Howard averted his eyes.

  “Not all of them.”

  Jason became even angrier.

  “You moron,” he said through gritted teeth. “Fuck it, you’ll burn them later. I’m going to town to buy something for her wounds. You, take her to the others for now.”

  Jason walked past Howard, bumping his shoulder roughly. Howard had to put his hand on the wall trying not to fall.

  “Don’t touch anyone,” Jason warned him, as he left. “This time they’re all for sale, whole or in pieces.”

  “Okay,” Howard assured him. “Don’t worry.”

  He glanced at the door of the bedroom. The child could be still heard whimpering, and Howard’s heart began to beat faster.

  Chapter 2

  Jason’s two-story house did not seem very big from the outside. Perhaps because of its drabness or simple provincial design. You could only grasp how deceptive this impression was after getting inside the inconspicuous gray-white structure.

  Two long corridors on the first and second floors ran through the house. On the small summer porch, there were mosquito nets instead of windows. The nets had never been cleaned and were clogged with dust. A spacious kitchen was connected to the living room. At the top, there was an attic with some clogged closets. There were also several rooms that were either completely empty or used for specific purposes. And of course, there was the owners' delight – the basement.

  Jason rarely had guests. But those who were invited, perhaps because of their innocent age, or perhaps because of overwhelming fear and bloody wounds, easily got lost between the pale walls, trying to scramble out. Those poor fellows who managed to get out of the trap remembered the house of the “kind uncle” with cold eyes as a terrifying, confusing maze where the walls were impregnated with panic and pain. And partly, they were right. Throughout the house, there were spaces between the walls that only Jason and Howard knew about. A child thrashing from one floor to another, confident that he or she was able to escape, tried to find at least one unlocked door and did not know that they were being watched by those enjoying that game and having fun.

  A thin white neck, a red bloody circle left by a collar from which a child managed to escape, bloodied fingers with broken nails, like translucent candies. However, the main thing was hope, infinite and so pure, emanating from the eyes of a child. Each time one of them looked at a door or a window praying someone would turn up to save them. That a savior would reach out them and take them to a safer place. If only they knew how much Jason loved that look!

  Over time, as the physical pleasure became a mere routine and lost its importance, it was that look that drove him – that something concealed in the eyes of a child.

  The rustle behind the wall would eventually stop and having abandoned hope, a crying child would emerge from the darkness. It didn’t matter whether Jason killed that child or first raped and then killed it. What was most important for him at that moment was to look into the eyes of the child, savoring its every breath. Jason loved the emotions he experienced. For the sake of such a thrill, he was ready to do anything, even not to clamp a collar around a victim’s neck properly, or pretend he’s forgotten to lock the basement door.

  ***

  Jason, who as a phony bus driver had initially won such trust, headed for the basement. The wooden steps creaked and warned of his approach.

  The spacious room was gloomy and dark, and, most importantly, very quiet. A small amount of light came in through a tiny dirty window.

  “How quiet...” Jason thought. “When Howard comes to you, you yell like as if he’s torturing you, and when I come, you always stay quiet...”

  He switched on the light.

  Away from the stairs, in the corner behind the boxes and shelves with farm junk, fertilizers, and old rusted tools, there were five kids. Each of them wore a strong synthetic fiber collar. It was clamped around their necks so tight that the faces of the children were pale due to a constant lack of air. Threaded through a titanium lock, the collar was connected to a metal wire which was about sixty inches long. The wire protruded out of the wall and was tightly fixed to something at the other end.

  There was also a toilet next to the abducted children into which water flowed. It was situated so smartly that each of the five kidnapped children could reach it. They could use it as intended, or drink water from it.

  Taking a deep breath, Jason stopped being a beast and pretended to be a friend. He smiled and squatted. The four kids had positioned themselves to protect Emmy behind them. Terrorized, she was trying to hide.

  “Err... I can see you have already heard about me.”

  He looked at the trembling little girl. She buried her face in her hands covered in fresh bruises.

  He got up, grabbed the girl, and pulled her to him.

  “No... Please, no!” she screamed in a husky voice.

  He lifted her up.

  “Quiet, calm down... You misunderstood everything. I will not hurt you…”

  Emmy felt her heart was about to stop beating. She could not bear this torture – she would die. Nevertheless, she resisted. Trying to tear herself out of Jason’s arms, she twisted, cried, and sobbed. But she was afraid to look at the beast holding her.

  “Stop... Calm down,” he repeated. “You have nothing to fear...”

  “Please, can’t you see, she doesn’t want to go with you?” Andrew pleaded through his tears.

  “Fine,” Jason was angry, but released the disobedient girl.

  She crawled back behind the boys.

  “I just wanted to talk to her and explain everything… She misunderstood me.”

  Each victim, even in the most hopeless situation, expects their tormentor might take pity upon them. It was the very weapon that this jailer used in communication with his special guests.

  Jason got up and looked at the abducted children who did not know what to expect.

  “It seems we got off to a bad start. It's important you understand what happened to Emmy was only because she didn't do what was required of her.” Jason wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Namely, to be a good obedient girl.”

  The cellar door opened again, and Howard descended.

  “We are not your enemies. We may be very strange but, all the same, we are your friends.”

  Howard walked over and stood next to Jason. He held two plates with sandwiches. Their smell intoxicated the starving children. After a dose of chloroform during abduction, and much vomiting after waking up, more than a day had passed, and they had not eaten all that time.

  The eyes of the children sparkled. Even Emmy, despite all the horror she had experienced, bruises on her face, a swollen lip, and a broken tooth, wanted to please Jason so she could get at least a small piece.

  Jason smiled with glee as he saw the painful gleam in their eyes, like the look of the withered children of Buchenwald in a black-and-white documentary, or the swollen, immobilized, children of Africa.

  “How easy it is to make a human happy,” he thought. Yet there was so much good he still had to offer.

  “You see... We’re friends.”

  Howard emulated his master and smil
ed too. He knelt and carefully set the plates with sandwiches in front of the children.

  They jumped off their seats and crawled to Jason's feet. Grabbing the food, they gobbled it down with incredible speed, almost without chewing.

  Seeing such extraordinary joy, Howard reached out with a trembling hand to the head of a cute blond boy, who was stuffing himself. He wanted to pat him on the head, or perhaps poke his eyes out with a screwdriver he had in his left pocket. In fact, Uncle Howard had already decided what he wanted, but was not sure yet about the order in which he would satisfy his desires.

  “Hands!” Jason snorted.

  Howard jumped up and faced his master with a guilty look.

  “Everything is ready for Lily,” he assured him, trying to regain approval.

  Unsure if he had succeeded, he positioned himself a few steps behind Jason.

  “Will you kill us?” Andrew asked timidly while eating.

  Jason had heard that question at least a dozen times. He wanted so much to tell the truth at least once! He wanted to say: “Yes, we will kill you, but not immediately. We will rape you many times in incredibly painful and perverted ways, sometimes killing some of you in the process. First, I, then Howard. Some of you will be buried in the endless cornfield that adjoins our wonderful children's monastery. The rest will be sold and turned into very profitable whores for rich perverted gentlemen, as in a non-waste production in a slaughterhouse. And when you get older, they will cut out your organs, and your young heart will certainly beat in the chest of some degenerate. You will live for about ten years at most, and every second of this short life will be an endless hell where you will be beaten, mutilated and raped. All in all, they will constantly poke something into you, and then take it out. And those of you, who were meant to get through these magical moments, will be jealous of those whom we will torture and kill during the next few days. Because their suffering will end so soon..."

  “Of course, we won’t!” Jason lied. “Where did you get that idea! Neither of us has planned anything like that…”

  “Then what do you want from us? Why did you kidnap us?”

  “No one kidnapped you. Your parents know where you are, and they don’t mind it. If you are obedient, in just a few days our good friend, Uncle Howard, will take you to them.”

  Jason turned around and looked callously at his housemate. “You’ll do that, won’t you, Uncle Howard?”

  Looking alternately at the children, then at his master, he smiled obligingly.

  “Yes, I'll take you to your parents. I promise.”

  Hearing this, the four boys looked at each other with a cowardly smile. Jason noticed that and squatted again.

  “Your stay here is like a special summer camp, or a trip to the forest, with tents and a campfire.”

  He reached out and began to pat Howard's favorite prisoner on the head. And he, observing that gentle action, full of mercy and love, was jealous for some reason and longed to hand his master his screwdriver.

  “Aren’t you punished when you do something wrong, when you don’t do what adults asked you to do?”

  Andrew felt the hand that was stroking his head. An incredible cold emanated from it, like from damp earth. The touch of the hand did not soothe him. It caused a menacing tension. However, the little boy’s heart jumped at the prospect that in a few days he would see his mom and dad again. So, despite himself, he nodded his head unwillingly.

  “Well,” Jason explained further, “it’s the same here. If you do not act as I ask, we will punish you. If you do everything as you should, then everything will be fine. I promise. The main thing is to obey.”

  The last few words reverberated forcefully in Howard's heart. He instantly made his decision – the screwdriver and the eyes would be first, and tenderness later.

  “Emmy did not obey, so she was punished,” Jason continued explaining to the children what was expected of them. “I'm sure everything will be different with you tomorrow. Then – he looked at Emily – “with you too, right?”

  The little girl, confused about what was happening, understood that the question was addressed to her, but she was in no hurry to reply.

  Andrew nudged her, realizing that it was better not to anger their jailer. Emmy came to life. Staring at the floor, she quietly nodded her head.

  “Perfect. I’m glad we’ve talked and agreed. And, for being so intelligent and smart, Uncle Howard will bring you some sweets and juice.”

  Jason did not even have to say anything else.

  He heard the dry wooden steps squeak as Howard hurried to carry out the assignment, fearing to upset his already emotionally exhausted master.

  “And grab the mattresses. They’re not going to sleep on the cold concrete,” Jason shouted.

  Incredible, how many gifts, and all in one day! Delicious sandwiches, sweets, and juice, and if you obeyed, no one would beat you. Most importantly, you could sleep more comfortably than before. The collar would not be as tight, and even the sickness from the chloroform had become bearable. When your life is an endless torment of pain, hunger and fear, the simplest things that you never noticed before become your joy.

  Many of the children who had ended up in Jason's house fell into that trap of obedience. It was why they were always so calm on the videos. For they believed that their nightmare was about to end, and they would be taken home to their parents soon. The smartest children even played along and pretended that they felt good. Such videos brought the most money, apart from special orders in the snuff genre. One copy, one customer, one take, a lot of money, a lot of pleasure, a lot of blood and screams. It was so nice that this time there were two such orders at once.

  “Here you are,” Howard announced on returning. He was smiling.

  Throwing a few twisted thin mattresses on the floor, he unfurled one of them. Small beverage cartons with juice and chocolate bars were inside.

  Jason understood that everything necessary had been done, and tomorrow the plan would go smoothly. The day after tomorrow could be a bit more complicated, though pleasant. Then one more difficult day, but he was sure it would work out. And after that, Howard's day, the day of the sale, and then finally the longed-for freedom.

  He got up and breathed more easily. He turned around and headed back to the stairs.

  “Lily,” he said calmly.

  Howard stared at the sturdy metal door, located behind the shelves under the stairs.

  ***

  Sitting in his bedroom, Jason wore headphones and surfed the Internet. He checked his emails and replied to messages on Facebook. Being popular among pretty girls on the web, he felt that attention and reciprocated, amply giving likes, and commenting on candid photos of his online friends.

  The windows, that were facing west, made the most important room in the house very bright and comfortable in the afternoon. Every day, at the same time, despite the abundance of light, Jason's bedroom became a fraction brighter.

  Lily entered the room and froze for a moment looking at Jason. Noticing that he was listening to music and surfing the Internet, she silently approached the dark brown cupboard in the corner and opened it. It was hers even though it was in the master's bedroom. The girl herself lived in the basement – in a tiny room with soft walls behind a soundproof metal door.

  Looking in a round mirror, Lily closed her eyes for a moment. She sighed nervously and closed the cupboard. While sitting on the bed, she stared at the back of her nightmare, which had continued for a year and a half. The girl had been only eleven then, and she could never have imagined that someday she could feel so much pleasure from the mere thought of plunging a sharp kitchen knife into man’s back. Here and now. On a warm and quiet September day, she could simply stab him in the back or, perhaps, slit his throat gritting her teeth, listening to the blood gurgling out, and watching as he jerked trying to understand what’s happening to him. She could get up right now, go to the kitchen, take a chef's knife, or find scissors somewhere in the house and make her dr
eam come true.

  She could, but she wouldn’t. Not because Lily didn’t want to, but because there was no strength left in her little arms. Because her body constantly hurt from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Her joints hurt, new bruises were painful, as were the old ones, as well as the cuts and scars that covered her back. Most importantly, her soul was in agony for it had been passed through a meat grinder, shredded into small pieces, and left with no reason to believe or hope. Jason told her he had killed her mother, and Lily believed him because she’d seen how easily he took lives with a sick smile on his face.

  She had to shave her head again soon, and then, while taking a shower, was going to slit her wrists, and end this nightmare. Lily prayed to God, whom she had never known and had never seen. She begged him to give her enough strength to do this.

  Pulling the earpiece out of his ear, Jason did not turn around and asked: “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes.”

  “Give me a second, I’ll reply, and I’ll be with you.” He continued to type a few lines and clicked the mouse.

  Lily smiled.

  On the edge of the bed, dressed in a short plaid shirt with a blue-green pattern and old black jeans, sat an incredibly beautiful, short, bald girl, who was about thirteen years old. She did not look her age, though something was not right with her face and eyes. Either micro-wrinkles, or something else, and she looked like sixteen or seventeen, not younger.

  In just a year and a half, little Lily had turned into an adult girl, or rather a person who had been rehabbed by reality. Children of war, street rats, urchins, and children who are constantly sick and tormented by severe pain grow up early. Their faces lose the elusive magic in which faith in fairy tales is hidden. They do not have the imprint of love given by their parents anymore. Instead, Lily's thin face was decorated with heaviness, huge brown eyes with endless bruises beneath them, hollow cheeks, and pale skin due to lack of sunlight. She could only guess from her black eyebrows that she was a brunette.