Richard now had a cool looking grill. He looked like a badass as his gold and copper glistened in the light. I looked down at him as he stared back. “Sweet grill, pal.”
He moaned.
I secured the mask of horror to his helmet. “You definitely earned it. My ears are still ringing from all your screaming.”
One of the parole board members named Scott grabbed the bars of his cage and shouted. “Get away from him, you antagonistic son of a bitch! You’re going to pay for what you have done, you twisted bastard!”
I looked towards him. “What I have done is the least of your worries.”
Scott’s voice was annoying, and as he continued yelling at me, I entered his cell and beat him unconscious with a club, then dragged him out of his cell and chained him to the bars. One of the women in his cell reached through the bars and held her hand on his head to help stop the bleeding, and as I stood looking into the cells I noticed Brian, the gay dude from Oklahoma, was still lying on the floor unconscious and profusely bleeding from when I had beaten him with the spiked club earlier. I didn’t want him to die, especially in front of the others, so I dragged him out of the cell and into another area of the chamber.
A few hours later after I had finished patching up Brian, I noticed that Scott had awakened and was sitting down with his back against the bars. When I walked up to the cell, some of the board members asked about Brian. I told them he was dead.
Scott looked up from where he was cuffed. “You’re one sorry piece of shit.”
I pulled an ice pick from my pocket.
He threw his arms up to protect his head as he shivered under them. “Please don’t hurt me!”
I started cleaning the shaft of the pick with an alcohol pad. “I’m not. Richard is. He is going to stab you with this ice pick a whooooole bunch of times.”
Scott looked puzzled as he peeped between his arms. “You’re mistaken. Richard is a good friend. There is no way he would harm me.”
I released Richard from the table and tossed the ice pick onto his stomach. “Stab Scott until he passes out.”
Richard was in so much agony he just laid motionless in his own piss, shit and snot.
I repeated myself.
He remained still.
I pulled a remote-control device out of my pocket and pushed a button. A fraction of a second later, the control box connected to the braided hoses that ran to his helmet started humming, then shortly thereafter he grabbed his helmet and screamed out loudly. While the tank hummed, he violently threw his head and body around until he fell off the table, and after he rolled around on the floor and screamed at the top of his lungs for a little while, I clicked the remote again, which shut off the control system. The group of board members stared in horror as Richard laid squirming on the floor while saliva and blood ran out of his helmet, and as he laid twitching, a person yelled out, “What’s happing to Richard?”
I walked over to their cells and showed them the gadget I had in my hand. “This device remotely activates a custom designed system that circulates chilled and heated water through the braided lines that are running over to Richard’s helmet. Once the fluid reaches the headpiece, it runs throughout the copper tubing in his teeth. The system circulates below-freezing water for about ten seconds, then instantly changes to hot water for ten seconds, then back to freezing water. I would imagine the pain must be horrendous, because allowing a cold beverage to flow around a cavity is fairly painful. I can’t comprehend all of my teeth having large holes drilled in them, which would be like having a cavity in every tooth, then swishing around ice-cold water in my mouth.”
Surprisingly they remained quiet as they looked at each other.
I turned around and looked at Richard as he was sitting on the floor. “You have two choices. I can turn on the tooth chiller for several hours, or you can take the ice pick and stick your buddy Scott a whole bunch of times.”
Richard rolled over and grabbed the pick off the floor, then he started to get up, but he quickly changed his mind and sat back down. After he tossed the pick back on the floor, he glared at me through the bars of his close helmet. “I’m not doing it.”
Scott looked over at him. “It will be all right, Richard.” He turned and glared at me. “You sick bastard! Why don’t you leave him alone? He has suffered enough.”
I looked at Richard. “The pain will stop when the suffer monitor over there has about a hundred holes in him.”
He didn’t move, so I activated the tooth chiller. The unit hummed and the braided hoses vibrated as Richard rolled around on the floor and screamed while he frantically tried to remove his helmet. Some of his peers were freaking out and hitting their cell bars as they watched in horror while the weaker ones were hiding in the back crying. When Richard realized the helmet was not coming off, he then began reaching under and through the grill of the mask in a desperate attempt to grab the tubing. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and started pulling on the braided hoses that ran from his helmet to the metal tank, and when the hoses and fittings withstood the punishment, he then took off running while gripping the hoses, and when the hoses and fittings didn’t break, he found himself face up on the floor after he almost jerked his head off. By this time most of the board members were gripping the bars and screaming at me to stop. Scott starred in horror as Richard jumped to his feet while gripping the ice pick, and as he approached him screaming and stumbling around, Scott yelled out, “Please don’t! I beg you not to do it!”
Richard lunged forward and tried to stab him, but Scott grabbed his arm, then the two fought each other as they tried to gain control of the weapon. The excruciating pain that Richard was enduring caused his adrenaline to overpower Scott and he was able to pull the ice pick free. Scott screamed as Richard drove the pick into the side of his neck. Richard stood up, then started pounding away as Scott tried to protect his body with his hands and arms. A minute or so later, Scott’s arms fell to his side—he had sustained debilitating trauma to his muscles and ligaments. Most of the members were covering their faces and crying as Richard continued to violently jab the ice pick deep into Scott’s body, and with every stick, Scott would make a deep moaning sound. When I shut off the tooth chiller, Richard immediately fell to his knees and rolled onto his back from exhaustion, and as he lay next to Scott in a pool of blood, he opened his hand and let the blood-drenched ice pick roll onto the floor. Most of the members had cried as they watched the barbaric event unfold and they continued to cry as Scott lay on the floor with about three hundred blood-oozing holes. I needed to take care of something urgent, so I cuffed one of Richard’s wrists to the bars so he could hang out with his buddy, then left the chamber.
Killing a Killer
A couple of days later when I checked on the group, I found Richard sitting on the floor next to Scott, holding Scott’s head in his lap. Scott’s body was very swollen, but remarkably he was still breathing. While I stood over them, Richard raised his head and stared at me with hate as he looked through the holes of his close helmet, and after a few seconds he tossed the ice pick by my feet. The group of board members remained silent, and some of their shoulders dropped as if they were disappointed. I think Richard had planned on sticking me with the ice pick, but he must have changed his mind when I had walked into the chamber with an axe. When I started to walk away, a woman named Kathy spoke out, “Please let me go.”
One of the other board members yelled at her. “Be quiet before you cause trouble for the rest of us.”
She snapped back. “It’s inhumane what he’s doing to us.”
I turned around and grabbed the bars. “You must be one of those people who think murderers, rapists, and child molesters should have more rights than their victims, and anything less you would consider cruel and unusual punishment.”
She stood covering her private parts with her hands and arms. “I don’t want to discuss my concerns about human rights. I just want to go home to my family.”
I laughed. “I�
�m sure Chuck Woodall’s victims would like to go home to their families as well.”
She stared at me with disgust.
“This might be your lucky day. You will never leave this chamber, but I will not give you the same treatment as Richard or Scott if you punish Bob the rapist over there.”
She looked confused. “I can’t hurt anyone. Just forget I said anything.”
“You moved yourself to the top of the shit list when you opened your mouth, so I suggest you make a decision—punish Bob for sticking his dick into someone, or be the next in line for some creative shit I’ve been wanting to try out. You have less than a minute to decide, and if anything else comes out of your mouth other than your decision, I will drag your sorry ass out of the cell and make Richard and Scott’s suffering look like a massage.”
Without hesitating she quickly said, “I will do whatever you want.”
The others didn’t say anything as I opened the door and let her out. She walked very cautiously as I led her over to where Bob the rapist was hanging naked by his wrists. When she approached him, she noticed his arms were being bound upwards by a chain that hung down from the ceiling, and his feet were secured to the floor with shackles.
While she stood frightened next to him I said, “Ol’ Bob here is absolutely horrified of needles. In fact, he has the worst case of trypanophobia that I’ve ever seen, so your job is to stick this syringe into every portion of his body. I want the four-inch needle inserted and extracted slowly so he can feel every stick, and I want him to watch as you stick him. If Bob refuses to watch, I want you to stick the needle in and out of his left eye until he cooperates.”
Bob was staring at me with horror while she was staring at me with disgust.
I handed her the syringe. “Get to sticking.”
Bob immediately started begging her not to stick him as she stood in front of him holding the syringe, and when she started to poke him, Bob farted real loud, which caused her to stop. “I don’t think I can do it.”
Since she was going to be difficult to work with and I didn’t have time to hold her hand, I chained her right ankle to the floor next to Bob. “I’m leaving for a while, and when I come back he better have several hundred holes in him.”
As I left the chamber I could hear Kathy and Bob whispering to each other.
Several hours later, I found Kathy lying on the floor asleep next to Bob’s feet. I woke her by jamming the syringe into the side of her neck. She jumped to her feet and gagged as she pulled the long needle out.
“Why isn’t Bob full of holes?”
“I’m sorry… I can’t hurt another human being.”
While she continued to make excuses, I walked over to a wooden table and dragged it over next to Bob, and as I was gathering things from, it I asked her, “What blood type are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s all right. I did a blood type on all of you when you were first brought here. Good news, you’re the same as ol’ Bob here.”
Kathy begged and whined as I forced her to sit in a large steel chair, and as she pleaded for me not to hurt her, I chained her torso and legs to it. I slid the chair to where she was right in front of Bob, then anchored it to the floor so she couldn’t turn it over. She fought like a crazy woman as I tried to insert a butterfly needle into the side of her neck, and because she was making it difficult, I injected her with a sedative. Now that she was being cooperative, I inserted a butterfly needle into her external jugular vein. I connected a plastic tube to the needle, then ran it down her back and across the floor to a control box with a pump that was mounted to a ceiling support beam. I ran another plastic tube from the control box, across the floor and up Bob’s back to a butterfly needle I had inserted into his jugular vein. To prevent Kathy from jacking with the needle and tubing, I installed a medieval-looking neck brace that was covered with sharp spikes around her neck.
An hour later she came to, and as she fought at her restraints, I turned on the power to the control box. When a green pilot light turned on, a pump started sucking blood from her neck and pumping it into a small holding tank, and from there, another pump forced the blood into Bob’s neck. The control system would reverse the flow of the blood every thirty minutes for two seconds at a time to prevent blood clots in her needle. The system monitored the blood flow and ensured a constant ten cc flow every two minutes for five hours, then it would shut off the flow for eight hours. The system had a readout that showed the number of ccs that were transferred, and a remote reset button she could reach.
I handed her a ten-cc syringe. “If you don’t want to die from a loss of blood, you will take the syringe and suck out ten ccs of blood every two minutes from your buddy Bob, and then inject it into yourself. And make sure you reset the counter so you don’t lose track of the CCs.”
She became angry. “You’re a sick bastard! I refuse to play your game! I will let myself die before I give you any satisfaction!”
“I can really care less if you live or die. Your destiny, as well as Bob’s, depends on you.”
I spun around and started walking away when she yelled out, “I will not play your fucking game!”
Several hours later when I walked over to Richard, I noticed Scott’s body looked like a swollen animal carcass. “How’s your buddy doing?”
He held his head down and didn’t say a word, so I kicked the shit out of Scott. The same time Scott moaned, Richard shouted out, “He’s fucking had enough! Leave him alone!”
“Just checking to see if he was dead, and if you weren’t pouting like a little bitch and answered my question, I wouldn’t have had to kick the bastard.”
It was going to be a crappy TV night, so instead of watching reruns, I decided to discreetly leave the center cell’s door unlocked. When I finally left the chamber for the night, I went upstairs to my living room and sat on the couch with a bag of popcorn. All the TVs in my house are connected to the camera DVR, so I was able to watch the group on my big screen as I relaxed on the couch. At first nothing was really happing that was exciting. The more aggressive men were just pacing back and forth, the sissy men were sitting on the floor with their hands over their face or lying down in the fetal position, and the women were hiding in the corner. Eventually one of the men leaned against the door and almost fell on his ass, and without hesitating, he closed the door, then quickly walked over to the others. Two of the men who were sitting on the floor jumped to their feet and ran towards the door, but instead of opening it, they turned around and walked over to the group—it was obvious that someone had told them to stop. After a short conversation, one of the men walked over to the cell bars so he could keep an eye out while the others huddled in the corner, talking amongst themselves. I’m sure they were contemplating if I was setting them up, or if I had forgot to lock their door. The cells are divided by stone walls, so the board members in the other cell had no idea what was going on. A few minutes later, one of the men who had been involved in the discussion walked over to the right front corner of the cell and started talking around the stone wall to some of the others in the next cell, and after a few minutes, he walked to the other side and talked to the other group. After about twenty minutes of looking around and discussing what to do, they finally stormed the door. Three of the men quickly ran towards some tables in the chamber where I had some weapons. While the three men were handing out the weapons to the others who were still locked up, a man and a woman ran over to a wall and grabbed the key that went to the other cells. When all the doors were unlocked, the entire group ran to the center of the chamber with their weapons. They seemed well organized and aggressive, like they wanted to kill someone; the women even had the lust of revenge in their eyes.
I went down to the tunnel and released Brian from a small vault. I tossed him one of my old hooded trench coats. “Cover yourself.”
He tried to speak as he put it on, but his mouth was stitched up.
I pulled the hood over his head. “Go back to yo
ur cell.” I pointed down the tunnel. “Head down to the faint light, then turn left.”
When he disappeared into the dark, I took a hidden passage that led into a dark and cluttered area of the chamber. I could see the group was huddled as they were apparently discussing their next move. Suddenly someone in the group screamed, “There he is!” As quick as the scream stopped echoing, most of them were already stabbing and beating Brian; they were viciously and barbarically swinging their weapons like savages. After a few minutes, most of them had stopped. Each one was reacting in a different way. Some of them were gagging, some were vomiting, some were screaming and some were sitting on the floor with their heads down. A couple of the women were yelling incoherently as they walked around in circles. Four of the more aggressive men were still kicking Brian’s body as he laid dead, and they were screaming out profanity. Someone was yelling out that they told me so. Finally, a man who was sitting on the floor yelled out for the others to stop, but they ignored him as their exhausted bodies pounded away on the body. Eventually the four men calmed down, and as they came off their adrenaline rush, they paced back and forth like wild animals. While everyone else was freaking out, a couple of the headstrong had went and found a hacksaw and cut Richard and Scott loose, and after they helped the two injured men back over to the group, one of the men yelled, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore Page 43