by Ian Woodhead
Still, he was here now, armed with a powerful torch. He might as well check it out, just for a sake of completion. Heck, he might be lucky and find an old bottle of wine, just not a chest full of gold coins.
Mitchell shone the beam across the walls, immediately seeing no sign of damp. He aimed the light down into the Stygian darkness, the white light cutting through the black, showing him much of what he expected, more wall and a glimpse of an empty floor. He took his first step, keeping the beam steady. His spirit did crawl a couple of inches out of its self-imposed pit when the remaining steps showed a thick layer of dust. Mitchell placed his foot on the next step down then lifted it up. His boot imprint remained. Nobody had been down here for decades.
“You’re all mine, bottle of wine and treasure chest,” Mitchell said, clomping down the last of the steps. The narrow beam of light displayed over a dozen large items, their true shape hidden under sheets of grey fabric. The size signified furniture, probably wardrobes and cupboards. He stopped next to the first one and lifted the sheeting, coughing at the explosion of dust generated from his movements. His suspicions were correct. Under the sheet lay a beautiful piece of Victorian furniture, its immaculate condition, coupled with the exquisite whorled designs covering the sides, suggested that this one piece could be worth as much as his new car parked outside.
The irony of the situation caused Mitchell to laugh out loud. Oh yeah, he’d found a treasure trove all right, but he could hardly sneak this out on his back. As well as being worth as much as his car, the bloody thing probably weighed as much too.
“I hate you, God,” he growled, “I really do”.
Why the heck was he always so eager to scrape up the worst outcome from his every situation? “Will you just get a grip? This is only the first piece.” Mitchell leaned to the left, estimating that the cellar ran the length of the whole building. From mentally going through his ground floor plans, the two upper floors would have no more than three bedrooms per floor, and this cellar certainly contained more than six wardrobes. Mitchell opened the doors, breathing in the musty odour. He smiled to himself as he ran his fingers along the inside. This was in remarkable condition considering how long it had been down here, no sign of the decay that inflicted the rest of the house.
He dropped the sheet and moved to the piece next to the wardrobe. Judging from the size, this certainly wasn’t another wardrobe. “Please be my treasure chest.”
Mitchell grabbed the corner of the sheet, his heart pounding. For a split-second those cellar steps called to him, pleading with Mitchell to run, to get back into his car, drive as far away from this evil place and strike the whole incident from his thoughts. He shook his head like a dog trying to dislodge a flea. What the heck was wrong with his mind? He blinked several times, each burst of darkness tearing through his unexplained apprehension until all that remained was a shadow of uncertainty which vanished when he dragged the grey sheet towards him, exposing, inch by inch, a pale circular sculpture, yellowed with age. Mitchell frowned and released the sheet before he could unveil the full object. “What the fuck is this?” He crouched and placed the tips of his fingers on the surface. It looked like a table but one constructed from bones. “Jesus, this is macabre.” His fingers traced the smooth bone contours, all the way to a collection of what appeared to be thin strips of white leather used to bind the pieces together. He leaned forward and took a tentative sniff, recoiling as the faint odour of old dead flesh filled his nostrils. Mitchell fell back, the movement pulling off the rest of the sheet.
“This isn’t a fake!” He sat up, staring at his new find with a mixture of excitement and fear. Mitchell got back on his feet, trying to figure out if he knew of anybody weird enough who’d want to buy this. Were they human or animal bones? It could be worth quite a lot of… His thoughts dried up when he saw exactly what the left piece of sheeting had concealed.
In the middle of this table lay a plain blue harlequin mask. His fingers strayed towards this new object whilst Mitchell’s eyes stayed glued to the thick, black painted lips. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Whatever else he found in here, Mitchell had found the one piece that belonged next to his flesh forever. He folded his hand around the edge and gently lifted it off the table, a feeling of calm, of tranquillity coursed through him. Mitchell turned the mask around, placing the front in the palms of his hands, bringing it closer to his face. The eye holes expanded beyond the boundaries of porcelain, showing Mitchell not the dust laden artefacts within this dull cellar, but the magnificent splendour from decades past, when all of these protected pieces were back in their rightful place. Hot tears slid down his cheeks as the images died. Forty years of decay raced through a brief moment until he saw what Mitchell discovered when he first pushed open the front door.
Connect us together, my darling. Push the mask against your face. Embrace your new life.
The soft words flowed through his mind, the hypnotic allure was impossible to resist. Mitchell dropped to his knees, still holding the mask out in his hands. His legs lost their strength.
Your sister despises you, my pretty. She thinks you’re weak. Your colleagues believe you a lesser man, a worthless wastrel, a spineless joke.
He watched mesmerised as the twin holes showed the cellar devoid of furniture. He blinked and looked away, seeing the pieces still there. Mitchell looked back, the image hadn’t altered, he brought the mask another inch closer to his face, feeling a gentle sigh filling his body.
You can do anything you want to her. Do you want those men out of your life? Move the mask closer, my darling, and witness your sister’s humiliation.
Mitchell couldn’t refuse that honeyed voice. He brought the mask closer and saw Marion tied to a thick wooden pole, her naked body covered in human bite marks. Her eyes flickered open and looked with pleading eyes at his silent form. Mitchell felt the guilt, the fear, and the need to help pushed aside as his dormant darker aspect took over the body’s reins. Her large breasts hung like flabby sacks of pink padding, sliding from side to side, greased with sweat as she weakly attempted to free herself. He saw the bite marks around her nipples and found himself drooling, wanting to pull his tongue across those large mounds.
Press the mask against your face and she will be all yours to do with as you please. Marion will be your first one to feel your knife, Mitchell.
Mitchell couldn’t stand it any longer. He slammed the mask against his flesh, howling out in utter agony as thousands of needle-thin filaments pushed out of the surface, each one burrowing into his tender flesh. He desperately tried to dig his fingernails into the edge of the mask, to rip it off, but as the ends of Mitchell’s fingers sought for purchase around the edge, the mask sank into the man’s face like a stone dropped on soft mud.
***
He jerked up, his shriek drying on his bloodied lips. Between his shaking body and Laney’s putrefying corpse lay the porcelain mask. A full moon cast its silvery glow across the stained floor, highlighting a pool of piss spreading out from his trousers. He scrambled away from both the mask and the foul smelling corpse, aware that days had passed since he thrust his cock and the knife into the runaway, not minutes.
Time for his face to heal when his silent partner had left him for good. Empty of all but the basic feelings, he turned the held up the filthy blade and scraped away enough human detritus to allow Mitchell to look at his reflection one last time. Those black eyes were as lifeless as his last twelve victims. Mitchell wasn’t surprised to find the mask had gone, leaving just him and the corpse alone. He sighed heavily, his only regret was that his silent partner left him before he could finish his work, before he could de-bone the girl to complete his last beautiful piece.
His thick fingers stank of rotting meat, the scent still pleased him. It reminded him of the many hours spent in the company of his numerous corpses, sliding, squeezing, and caressing the flesh as he lovingly extracted each bone.
He had no idea as to why his silent partner desert
ed him before he could finish his work. Mitchell hoped that the next person to discover the mask would be able to finish what he started. Mitchell Brady held the knife handle tight with both hands, then thrust the blade deep into the side of his neck.
***
Act Two
The Present Day
Joshua Browning’s green eyes flushed with hot tears when his trainer snapped through the top of a rotten pallet. He clamped his teeth tight, forcing the scream back down his throat. The annoying voices of his two friends currently boring him to death with their shared obsession of horror movies blurred into white noise as the pain from three spikes of agony punctured the back of his ankle. Were they nails? Joshua told Mr. Obvious to bugger off, keeping his jaw glued shut while he pulled his leg forward.
Thick blood gushing from the three wounds as the three nails in the plank slid out of his flesh suggested that their group’s midnight trek could be over before it even started. Swirling lines of mental rope laced with nausea spun around his head. Through the flickering of bright spots and wild bushes, two pairs of hands reached out and lowered him to the floor.
“Are you okay, Josh?”
“Don’t just stand there gawping, Tommy, go and fetch the first aid kit from the glovebox.” Barbra Webb pulled up the jeans leg, exposing the wounds. “Oh Christ, make sure you bring the tissues as well.”
Tommy Radcliffe bolted through the undergrowth. It struck Joshua as rather amusing to witness Bryan following his brother along the leaf-covered footpath. Boasting that no amount of blood and gore could shock the seventeen year old obviously didn’t include the real stuff. Hell, he hadn’t even lost enough to fill an eggcup.
“Give it to me straight, nurse. Will I be able to keep the leg?”
Barbra treated him to a soft smile, and just for that moment, her rare show of genuine warmth made him wonder if Joshua’s heart was in the hands of the wrong woman. The pain chose in that instant to flare up, causing a judder to shoot through the length of his body. When his eyes refocused, Tommy’s girlfriend was now busy helping Clarice Tenant to clean the skin surrounding the wounds with a hanky and water.
It didn’t shock him to discover Clarice was the cause of the discomfort. The girl had the touch of an elephant pissed on cider. He took the bottle of water off her and poured half of it directly on the back of his legs. It didn’t look too bad now.
“You’re going to need a jab or something,” Clarice said. “If it does become infected you really could lose your leg.” She stared at Barbra, keeping her gaze steady. “I’m not joking either.”
He shook his head. “It’ll be fine, lass. There’s a bottle of alcohol in the first aid box. I’ll pour that on my leg.”
“That’s if Tommy hasn’t drunk it.” Clarice helped him onto his feet, purposely standing in front of Barbra. “Can you walk?”
Joshua kissed the girl lightly, placed his hands on her shoulders and held her at arms length. “Stop fussing over me, Clarice. I’ll be fine, I promise. It’s only a little scratch.”
He took a moment to run his appraising eyes over her. Clarice stood an inch lower than his six foot frame, with soft brown straight hair running just past her shoulders. Yet comparing her to Barbra was like putting a Porsche and a Lamborghini side by side. Right now, Joshua wished he could drive both of them, one after the other.
Barbra chuckled quietly. “So sweet. Just watching the pair of you lovebirds makes me wonder if I chose the wrong man.”
If glares were capable of killing, the blonde would now be lying at Joshua’s feet, bleeding in a thousand places. They’d need more than a crappy first aid kit to fix her back up.
“I think you should take the weight off your feet, Josh,” said Clarice, pulling him back down to the floor. “Barbra, can you see the boys? I think the bleeding’s started up again. She rested her fingers on Joshua’s ankle. “I saw you smirk just then,” she whispered into his ear, her tongue flicked out, leaving a trail of moisture across the whorls. “Pain or pleasure, it’s your choice.”
Her fingers drifted down to one of the punctures and she applied just enough pressure to make him clench up. Through tear filled eyes he saw a flash of a blue top through the green dapple.
“Don’t pick apples in another orchard, Josh,”
He wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed, watching Barbra run over to Tommy and take the first aid kit out of his hands. His brother stood behind him casually munching on a Mars Bar. So much for his theory that the sight of his blood made the guy’s guts dance the fandango. “Hurry up, guys, I’m dying over here.” He applied his own pressure on Clarice’s hand. “A guy is free to look,” he muttered. “Lose that jealous streak and learn a little trust. I’m not the betraying type.”
“Look, is this really such a great idea, Josh?” Tommy followed Barbra over to where Joshua sat. “I mean, we’re not even at the house and you’ve already turned yourself into a cripple.”
“I’ve got Nightmare Dawn part three all ready to go in the video player,” ventured Bryan. “Do you remember warmth, a sofa, nachos, and beer, Joshua?”
He took the clear plastic bottle out of Barbra’s hands. “Bryan, if you want to go, then go.” He unscrewed the cap and sniffed the contents, making sure that it was what was supposed to be and not water. Joshua counted to three then poured the full bottle over the three wounds, hissing in discomfort. Christ that stung.
“So you’re expecting me to walk home are you?”
It took a great effort not to laugh.
It took also took a great effort to not feel so fucking despondent at the actions of his so called close circle of friends. Although Tommy hadn’t opened his mouth, Joshua could read his childhood friend like a book. He could just imagine the two brothers sharing their reluctance in following through with Joshua’s plan as they trekked through the undergrowth back to the car. Tommy wouldn’t say anything, he’d probably see it as a betrayal of their friendship of something. Josh sneaked a sideways glance at Clarice, sat there, pulling leaves apart whilst quietly fuming. Hell, the only one who still seemed to be showing any enthusiasm for this adventure was Barbra.
“So that’s it then is it, guys? You all want to chicken out of this?”
Tommy shrugged. “What would have happened if the girls had fallen through that pallet, Josh?”
Oh, a guilt trip. Joshua wondered how long it would be before one of those would appear. It looked as though he’d have to drop the bombshell. Shit, he was hoping to spill his guts when they were already in the house. He shook his head from side to side and sighed heavily whilst drying the back of his leg. As he applied the bandage, both Tommy and Bryan were discussing which supermarket to visit to grab supplies before they all crashed at Tommy’s house. They had all obviously decided that Joshua’s plan to spend a night in the house of death was off the table; they’d also conveniently forgotten that he had the car keys in his pocket.
“Hey, Bryan, remind me again, how many people were murdered in this house?”
Tommy’s brother let loose a sigh, magnificent enough to equal his. Already, the lad had adopted his ‘know better’ stance.
“Well, actually, the two deaths were accidental. That Estate agent and his girlfriend had both fallen down those cellar steps.” He pointed at Joshua’s ankle. “We haven’t even got there and you’ve already had one accident. Tommy’s right, we should just go now before one of us ends up like those two poor people.”
Joshua mentally gave the lad a round of applause. He’d played his part perfectly. “An accident, you say?” He grinned. “Clarice, perhaps you could remind the young goon what my dad does?”
“You call me a goon again, Josh, and your damaged leg will have a sympathetic friend.”
“Leave it out, Bryan!” his brother snapped. “Josh, we all know that your dad’s a detective. Why don’t you cut the theatrics and spill what you know?”
Joshua turned to his girlfriend. “What about you, Clarice? Do you want to crash at Tommy’s gaff and watc
h some crappy horror movie?” He leaned forward, seeing just a glimmer of moisture under her eyes. Oh hell, the girl must still be thinking that he was going to run off into the sunset with the big titted blonde.
She snuck a glance at Bryan then shook her head. “I don’t care what we do,” she stroked the back of his hand. “As long as we’re together,” she murmured.
Joshua reached into his back pocket and pulled out several folded up sheets of paper, then limped over to the thick set lad, eating another Mars Bar. He had no doubt that Bryan was capable of carrying out his threat. Both brothers worked out, but unlike Tommy, the younger brother took advantage of his heavy frame. He wasn’t usually nasty with it, beneath those layers of hard packed muscles, beat a good heart. Thing is, if anyone was stupid enough to piss him off, his temper locked that decent part of Bryan in a cupboard.
“An accident, you say?” Joshua rested one hand on the tree trunk, beside Bryan’s head. “That poor estate agent tortured, killed, then ate at least nine young girls.” He smiled at Barbra. “Apparently, he had a taste for blondes.”
“Bullshit. Something like that would have made global news, man. Hell, this shitty little town would be famous.”
Joshua nodded. “You’re absolutely right there, Bryan.” He unfolded the A4 sheets, and passed the top one to Tommy’s brother while he gazed down at the remaining sheet of paper. Right at the top was an eight digit number, and underneath the numbers was a brief paragraph of illegible handwriting. It was only when his eyes were drawn to the naked woman’s body tied to a thick wooden pole when his stomach flipped over. Even in black and white, the image did strange things to his mind. He’d seen much worse images, thanks to viewing the huge collection of gross horror movies that Tommy and his brother had collected over the year but this was real, it had really happened. He closed his eyes then snapped them open after the original colour photo flashed in front of his mind.