Terror Town (23 page)

While he studied his hands, the creature moved its leg towards him.

He didn’t look at the leg, not yet. He was too enthralled with his wounds. He wondered if his hands would be permanently damaged or just temporarily injured. Assuming his injuries were fleeting, how long until his body healed? As a child he always recovered quickly; his mother often commented on it. But he was older now, not much older, but older.

Three weeks,
he thought.
Maybe less?

From the corner of his eye he saw the limb sliding across the floor. Gunshots blasted and the leg zipped out of the hole, grazing the strapping. In spite of his pain, Pat smiled a big goofy smile. He knew what was happening: someone was firing a weapon, trying to save him. Best of all, it seemed to be working. The creature was leaving with a new objective, one that didn’t include him.

I’ll get through this yet,
he thought, turning away from the hole.
Oh yes I will.

More shots were fired.

He noticed a door that looked like all the rest. He walked towards it, put a hand upon the knob and opened the door.

19

Nicolas said, “Get out of the car, do it slowly and don’t make any sudden moves.”

William felt like crying. He needed something to happen, something good. Hopefully he hadn’t missed his chance to turn the situation around. It would be a shame it he had.

He said, “Should I leave the keys in the ignition?”

“No. Turn the car off and take the keychain with you. Once you’re outside you should approach the front door. Don’t bother running away, I’ll only shoot you down.”

Will removed the keys, opened the door and stepped out of the car. He slammed the door shut harder than he intended, glimpsed at the squirrel torso and made his way to the cabin, following a cobblestone path that was rather nice.

Nicolas tagged along at a safe distance. He said, “Check the door, will you? It might be open. Sometimes I forget to lock it.”

William checked. The door wouldn’t open. “Locked,” he said.

“That’s alright. We can get through this, no problem. By the way, you might want to remember that Big Beth is still in the trunk. So if you’re going to play hero––and fail––I’ll punish her for your actions. That’s the way I do business. I’ll chop her into a thousand pieces and fertilize my lawn with her. When I’m done I’ll blame you.”

He expected the place to look like a scene from
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
. He figured there’d be bones in the corners and chickens carcasses strung up on hooks. He expected blood splashed on every wall, an upside cross hanging above a pentagram, and a goat skull with flames shooting from its nostrils. He expected Satan to step through the gates of hell with a huge, red cape blowing wildly against his pitchfork, singing ‘Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be’ by AC/DC while blood poured from his eyes.

He was wrong.

The place was nice, clean. The furniture was old but well maintained. The walls may have benefited from a fresh coat of paint and new baseboards but the same could be said for his place. The fireplace looked like it could use a scrubbing but whose didn’t? Bottom line, the cabin looked normal.

“Sometimes I make messes,” Nicolas said, as if reading Will’s mind. “But mostly I clean messes. I like cleaning. A woman’s work is never done and all that gopher-shit. Got to admit though, downstairs is a different story. I’ve got rats and mice, flies and cockroaches. I’ve got seventy-five loads of laundry that needs to be washed and babies that need feeding. The house has a foundation problem I don’t know how to fix, and I’ve got leaky pipes that get so cold in the wintertime, icicles hang from them like little fingers. Step inside and I’ll show you around. Put the keys on the table. If you try anything funny I’ll blast your arms off, scoop out your eyes and bury you in the yard.”

A table sat below a mirror in the front hall. William placed the keys on it and kept walking. He needed to do something. He needed to fight back somehow, but every time he considered fighting the psychopath painted a picture of violence. He didn’t want his arms blown off and his eyes scooped out. He wanted to go home, eat ice cream and watch television. He wanted to find a wife and start a family. He wanted to be free of this nightmare and think happy thoughts.

He decided to open the lines of communication. He said, “Hey, do you think––”

Nicolas interrupted. “Shut up Dead Man. Next to the kitchen, there’s a staircase. See it? It leads to the basement. Go there. I’d like to show you the basement, if you don’t mind.”

Will stopped walking; his shoulders slumped. “What do you want from me?”

It was the wrong thing to say, of course. Nicolas knew it; William knew it too. But going into the basement wasn’t a good move and if William could stall awhile he might come up with a plan.

Nicolas said, “We were getting along so well, remember? You told me you’d do anything I wanted, right? Yes or no: did you say that?”

“I suppose I did.”

“You
suppose
? You
suppooooose
? What do you mean you suppose? You either did or you didn’t. And you did, you did. I heard you. Don’t start lying to me Dead Man. Don’t you dare. If that’s the relationship you wanna develop you can forget it. I’ll terminate our affiliation immediately.”

William turned around and Nicolas allowed it.

“You’re getting brave now, I see. Is that what
you
want, hmmm? Do you want me to conclude our coalition? Do you?”

“
What?”

“You heard me. Take off your clothing or I’ll shoot you dead. You can leave your underpants on if you want. I don’t want my babies seeing something they shouldn’t be seeing. They’re too young and innocent. Now go on… do it. Do it now. And throw your clothing in the pile.”

Reluctantly, William removed his clothing and threw them on the floor. He didn’t toss them far; he was hoping he’d need them before long.

William walked down the rickety staircase and into the cellar with nothing on but his underwear. He created a mental image of a baby in a crib needing a change of diapers. He knew better, of course. The psychopath couldn’t be doing an okay job taking care of a baby. It wasn’t possible. Knowing this, he braced himself for what he was about to see. He expected it to be bad. Not just bad, in fact, but horrific. He imagined underfed, unloved babies needing a doctor and a real home. He imagined a
dead
baby, a murdered baby. He even forced himself to imagine a baby that had been burned to a crisp and nailed to the wall, because he knew it would be bad. It had to be bad.
Of course
it would be bad.

He thought he was ready but he wasn’t. He never imagined adults. The shock of seeing two women locked inside separate cages twisted a screw inside his mind he never knew existed.

He looked at Cathy first, then Olive, then at the empty cage.

Cathy. Olive. Empty cage.

Empty cage.

His mouth slinked open and his eyes dawned like the morning sun. His shoulders raised and his knees began to shake.

Why was there an empty cage? Oh shit… why?

He turned around quickly, shocked and disgusted and scared half to death. He thought the empty cage had his name written all over it. He held out his hands as if to say,
this isn’t really happening, is it? Not to me––not to good old William McMaster! I’ve got a business to run and a house to maintain! I’ve got a new television and a handful of DVD’s that need watching! I’ve got some good years ahead of me and this isn’t the way I want to spend ‘em! And why would I? I don’t want to be locked inside a cage! I’d rather die!

The forecast for the days ahead came with such vivid force that Will almost coughed up his lunch and released his bladder at the same time––him living inside a cage for years and years, tortured on a daily basis. Was this his future?! Dear God, really? But it had to be! It just had to be! Why else would the psychopath lead him to an empty cage?

William saw it happening but he didn’t understand. Things couldn’t change gears so quickly, could they? What about the cage? Was that not his future? Was that not the place he’d spend the weeks and months ahead? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he’d learn to enjoy it. If not enjoy it, he could surely teach himself to endure life inside the cage, couldn’t he? Was it not possible for a man to live––

The shotgun blasted and William’s kneecaps exploded beneath him.

There are no words to describe what he felt at that moment, for physical pain is an experience with boundaries and limitations. Physical pain has a kill switch that transforms all levels of suffering into a whole new entity, one that clouds the things you see and hear, one that deletes your thoughts and fears while erasing your dreams and emotions. Pain on such a scale is not a white-hot poker in the pit of your stomach. It is not fire melting your pores together. It is more. It is your universe being crushed by a God that punishes you with hatred and vengeance.

William crumbled forward with his eyes round and fit to burst. His face became as white as a face could be. He hit the floor hard, knocking two front teeth from his mouth while breaking his nose. His arms twitched, his body convulsed and his nose bled. His mouth opened and closed like an upstream trout. Both legs were destroyed. Even if he had been rushed to the hospital that very minute, nothing would have saved them. The bone above the knee, the bone below the knee, and the knees themselves––all had been annihilated. Veins hung from garbled meat like wet crabgrass. The neighboring flesh was charcoal black.

Body convulsing, William flipped onto his back.

“I’ll be back in a minute guys,” Nicolas said to no one in particular. He pumped the chamber and moved close to William. “Don’t go anywhere, okay buddy? And keep an eye on the girls. See you real soon.”

He squeezed the trigger a second time, shooting William one more time in the legs. A limb became severed. The concrete floor blasted apart. Blood sprayed the walls, the floor, the cages and the ceiling. Bits of meat exploded into the air before raining down like hail.

Olive screamed with her mangled hands held in front of her open eyes. Cathy broke down in tears, looking directly at the floor. William twitched several times and passed out. And Nicolas Nehalem left the basement with his shotgun at his side, happy with the day’s events, whistling tunelessly and wondering if there was anything good to eat waiting for him inside the fridge.

20

Beth’s hands were at her face and her knees were pulled towards her stomach. With a tire-iron sticking in her ribcage and the trunk’s roof squishing her body, she found it hard to breathe and nearly impossible to move. Pauline’s foul-smelling corpse didn’t help the situation. It was pressed tight against her back; many flies and maggots were now crawling across her skin, finding a new home. The putrid odor was one of decay, rotting flesh and germinating mold. The foul stench wasn’t just inside Beth’s nose either. It had also found its way into her mouth and lungs, it reached into her stomach, it seemed to be consuming her. She was surprised she hadn’t been sick. But she was a tough woman, and being a tough woman she was able to hold it in. Just like she was able to suspend her screaming lunacy. Mostly.

But at first she nearly lost her mind.

Before they started driving Beth heard the shotgun blast and knew what happened: Nicolas killed William. Obvious.

She screamed after the blast and when she was done she screamed some more, feeling it was only a matter of time before she’d suffer the same fate as her friend. She may have blacked out; she did not know.

Then the car started rolling and her screaming ended.

She cried and shivered and prayed to the Lord above for the first time since she was a child. And when the car stopped moving and the engine turned off, her eyes were stinging and her throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper and coated with a thin layer of rot. All at once she decided to get it together, be brave, be strong. She decided never to scream again. Would she be able to do it? Time would tell. But the fact she was thinking this way caused her tears to dry up, and the little girl she regressed into seemed to dry up as well.

She would not allow Nicolas to steal her life from her. She would not deteriorate. She would not become her inner child and allow her emotions to run free. Not any more, not at a time like this. Beth would get through this tragedy; she just needed to stay strong.

A door slammed shut. She heard someone talking. She listened, but couldn’t make out the words. Another door closed. It wasn’t a full slam but that hardly mattered.

Two doors closed. Not one. Two.

What did it mean?

Perhaps William hadn’t been killed after all. Perhaps it only a warning shot. It was something to wish for, something to hold on to.

She would be strong regardless, an adult worthy of respect. Falling apart was not an option.