Horror Stories Part 24

"Who hurt you? Your father? Your pimp? You can tell me."

"I...don't..."

"I won't judge you. It's okay."

"No..."

"Who was it?"

"Don't..."

"Who was the monster that made you this way?"

"My...uncle."

"Your uncle?"

"He'd babysit me. Make me do things."

"I'm sorry."

"I...didn't mean to call you a freak."

"I know. It's okay."

"Jesus, I thought my life was s.h.i.+t. But all you went through..."

"It's okay. From now on, we're both okay. Come on, I want to show you something."

"I...I don't wanna go down there."

"Trust me. I would never hurt you."

"What's that smell?"

"I told you. Smells like ham."

"That was all true?"

"Most of it. Except they're all still alive. Meet Mr. John McSweeny."

"Oh my G.o.d..."

"Looks tasty, doesn't he? I use that wire brush on his burns. Still can coax a few screams out of him. Watch your step, there's the pit."

"Oh Jesus..."

"I see the rats finished off most of your face, Gordon. And congratulations! Looks like they also had a litter of hungry babies! You're a papa!"

"What...what is that?"

"That's Maurice. Can't even tell he's a black guy anymore, can you? That belt sander is quite a tool. Want me to pour some vinegar on him, wake him up?"

"This is all...I can't believe..."

"I know. It's a lot to take in. But here's who I really wanted you to meet. Say h.e.l.lo to my father. The person who turned me into the man I am today. Go on, say h.e.l.lo."

"Um...h.e.l.lo."

"He can't talk, because of the gag. But if you want him to answer, just give the pole a little shake. Like this. Hear that? I think he likes you."

"He's...crying."

"Of course he is. He's got two feet of hat rack up his a.s.s. Probably punctured all sorts of vital stuff. You want to give the pole a little shake?"

"No..."

"Go ahead. Not too much, though. Just a little tap like this. See? You can hear him screaming in his throat.

"I don't want to."

"Yes you do. You're a victim, just like me. The only way to stop being a victim is to fight back. Go on."

"I really don't..."

"Stop playing the victim."

"But..."

"Fight back. It's the only way you'll be able to live with yourself. Put your hand on the pole."

"This isn't right."

"Raping children isn't right. Pretend it's your uncle hanging there. Remember all the things he did to you."

"My uncle. That f.u.c.king son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"Whoa! Hold on! You're going to kill him, shaking it that hard. Ease back."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Yes you did. Felt good didn't it?"

"I...I thought of killing him so many times."

"Death is too good for men like that. He doesn't need killing. He needs to be shown the error of his ways. Oh...don't cry. It's okay. No one is ever going to hurt you, ever again. I promise. There there."

"Can we...can we..."

"Can we find your uncle and bring him here?"

"Yeah."

"Of course we can, dear. Of course we can."

Written for an anthology that was supposed to have stories based on Warren Zevon songs. The antho never sold, but the British zine The Horror Express bought this. It's about the things we do for love...

Rust from the crowbar flaked off, coating my palm with orange dust. I tapped the iron against my pants leg, then checked my watch again.

11:42.

Three more minutes.

I wanted to put an ear to the door, but that would only p.i.s.s me off. I'd lose control, hearing another man grunting inside Leena. Then I might use the crowbar for real, rather than as a prop. The goal was to rob the guy, not kill him.

At least Leena had her limits.

I knew Leena was crazy the first time I saw her, playing pool in a yuppie bar on Rush & Division. She wore a halter top, no bra, her great a.s.s wrapped in a tight leather mini that barely covered her white panties. The guy she was with had his hands all over her, and she seemed to be enjoying it. The slap and tickle went on so long I would have put down money that he was going to nail her right there on the pool table, but it didn't go that way. Instead of getting laid, the guy got a beer mug shattered on his dome when he whispered something to Leena that she obviously didn't appreciate. He hit the floor, covered in blood and Heineken, and Leena kicked him in the stones two or three times until his buddies pulled her off.

After spitting on him, Leena walked up to the bar. Everyone gave her s.p.a.ce.

Everyone except for me. I moved in.

"You've been watching me for the last hour," were her first words to me.

"You're something to watch."

She must have liked my response, because she leaned in closer.

"You know what that jacka.s.s said to me?"

"He insult your mother?"

"Worse. He asked me how much for the night. Take a look at me."

Leena stepped back, twirled. Her thighs were firm and her hair was blonde and she could have had any man in that bar and she knew it.

"Do I look like a wh.o.r.e?"

"Never saw a wh.o.r.e with a body that nice."

"d.a.m.n right. I don't sell it." Then she grinned at me and licked her lips, all red lipstick and pink tongue. "I give it away."

I bought her a few beers, and we soon got into the hot and heavy the same way she had with bleeding boy, except I didn't say anything stupid and managed to seal the deal back at my place a few hours later.

Leena wasn't just hot. She was fire.

I do okay in the chick department. I'm average looking, but have a lot of muscles. Working construction nine months out of the year gives me a deep tan. I go out four nights a week, and I go home with someone about half the time.

But I'd never met a woman like Leena before. It wasn't simply s.e.x. It was s.e.x. When she was finished with me, I felt melted, like a plastic bottle that had been nuked in the microwave. She did things to meaamazing things, things that blew my mind. And when morning came, and she gathered up her s.h.i.+t to do the walk of shame back home, I knew that I couldn't just let her leave my life forever. I had to see her again.

"You still got some left?" she'd asked.

I nodded.

"Call me."

I called her. We saw each other the next night.

And let me tell you, the s.e.x was aitch-oh-tee HOT.

I felt like one of those hermits who go up on a mountain and find G.o.d, except my G.o.d wasn't peace and love and being one with the universe; it was hot, sweaty f.u.c.king that was so intense I had to pull the sheets out of my a.s.s when we finished.

I wasn't looking for emotional attachment. Neither was Leena. She wasn't the type. I knew she was using me, and that when she got bored she'd more on.

But before I understood what was happening, I was whipped. I would have done anything for her. So when she told me she needed some help, I fell all over myself volunteering.

Leena, I found out, didn't have a regular job. She got her money from men. Not like a prost.i.tute; Leena never directly took money for s.e.x. But there were certain men she dated, 'whales' she called them, who took her nice places and bought her nice things in exchange for being with her a few nights a month.

Tonight, one of these fat-cats was calling their relations.h.i.+p quits. He was wracked with guilt over his wife, or some c.r.a.p like that. Since this particular whale was also paying for Leena's apartment, she was understandably miffed.

"No one leaves me. You have to help me, John."

"Help you do what?"

The plan was, after she boffed the whale goodbye, I was supposed to burst into the room pretending to be Leena's husband. I'd swing the crowbar around, threatening the guy, acting crazy. Leena a.s.sured me he'd be reaching for his checkbook to smooth things over.

"We'll get twenty grand at least," Leena said.

11:44.

One more minute.

A groanaa male groanacame from behind the door. Then a thumping sound.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wiped the sweat off the back of my neck. I'd never had a jealous minute in my whole life, but right then, right there, I wanted to bash this guy's head into the mattress. I wouldn't have to fake being angry, no sir. When I got done with him, he'd be offering a lot more than twenty large.

A giggle. High and feminine.

I ground my teeth.

11:45.

I burst in, crowbar raised.

The puke cleared my teeth before I even got the door closed behind me.

The whale was tied to bed. There was a big b.l.o.o.d.y hole where his stomach should have been, loops of s.h.i.+ny intestines pulled out and draped across all four bedposts like Christmas lights. All kinds of slimy glop soaked the sheets and pooled on the floor. The smell of blood and s.h.i.+t was so strong, I hurled again.