The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore

by Garrett, Wade H.

  Suddenly I heard someone say, “Oh fuck! What have we done? It’s Brian!”

  Two of the men who were sitting on the floor ran over to the dead body. “It’s Brian. Oh shit, he’s still…”

  The lights went out in the chamber. I could barely hear their screams as I revved up a chainsaw with no muffler in the total darkness, and it was echoing throughout the chamber so much that no one could tell where I was. The chamber was pitch black as I walked around with night vision goggles and scared the shit out of the parole board members. I had them pissing on themselves as I would ravage parts of their bodies in non-vital areas with the chain, and as they frantically ran around in the dark, they were cutting themselves to pieces as they ran into sharp objects. They were slipping around on the floor and tripping on everything in the room. They were doing more damage to themselves than what I was doing with the chainsaw. After about ten minutes I locked the trigger on the saw wide open and laid it on the floor. The echo was so loud I couldn’t even tell where the sound was coming from as I walked around. When I came up on each person, I would knock them to the ground, then I would drive a meat hook under their armpit where the pointed part was buried deep under their shoulder bone. To their horror, I hoisted them up to the ceiling with ropes and pulleys that were mounted on the ceiling beams. Since Brian and Richard were too weak to run, I had left them lying on the floor in the center of the chamber. Eventually the saw ran out of gas and the ear-piercing sound of the engine echoing changed to the horrific sound of screaming and moaning.

  For two days, I left the board members hanging in complete darkness. When I finally entered the chamber and turned on the lights, I was surprised to find three of them had pulled themselves from their hooks, and they had found their way through the darkness to their cell where they were huddled in a corner. Richard also found the group and was lying on the floor next to their feet. I could tell five of them hanging were dead just from the coloration of their skin and from the large pools of blood below them. The others that were still hanging were going to live for now, but they looked like they were in excruciating pain. When I walked over to check on Scott, I noticed he had died as well. I went over to the cell where the group was huddled and dragged Richard out of the cell. After I reconnected the braided lines that his co-workers had cut, I told him to bring Scott’s body over to a wooden table and lay him on top of it. While I was setting up a propane camping stove that was next to Scott’s body, one of the board members who was hanging from the ceiling cried out, “Please have mercy! Please let me down.”

  Before I had a chance to reply, the other seven began to beg as well for me to help them. I looked up at them. “I can’t help you if you can’t help yourself. Get your own ass down.”

  An older guy named Blackburn yelled out, “I’ve not done anything to deserve this. What more do you want? You have robbed me of my dignity. I demand you stop playing games and either kill me or release me.”

  I walked off and came back with a propane weed burner. “You have done plenty. Outside of your total lack of respect and concern for the victims of the scumbags that you voted to release, you’re also a murderer. And as far as I see it, you have been getting off easy compared to all the others lowlifes in here.”

  “Murder? I’ve done no so such thing.”

  I lit the torch head. “So, that was some other guy with salt-and-pepper hair and a Wilford Brimley mustache beating the shit out of Brian with an axe handle?”

  Before he had a chance to say another word, I took the weed burner and started burning the bottom of his feet. He screamed as he kicked around like a drowning person. In less than a minute he started swinging his body like a kid on a swing to evade the flame. Suddenly his arm tore from his shoulder and he went flying across the chamber and splashed into the cesspool. In a matter of seconds, he disappeared under the thick sludge, so I walked back over to the propane camping stove, and after I lit the burner, I looked over at Richard. “Your job will be to feed everyone in the chamber.”

  Richard looked confused for a second, then looked at me in disbelief when he realized I was talking about using Scott as food.

  I handed him a knife. “Once you finish with Scott, then you can start on your dead co-workers who are hanging from the ceiling, and as the other ones die off you can cut them up as well.”

  Richard stood silently as I walked over and checked on the three members that were huddled up, and after I locked their cell door I left the chamber.

  The next morning I found Richard dead. He had committed suicide by cutting his throat. One of the hanging board members had also died in the night. Blackburn had somehow survived and he was holding onto Sandy’s corpse. I walked over to the three board members who were in the cell. “One of you is going to take over Richard’s job.”

  All three stuck together and stated they would rather die. Needless to say, all three of them and Blackburn were equipped with the tooth chiller and were forced to take turns in cutting up the others while being supervised. Two more of the last four members that were hanging died a few weeks later and were cut up as well.

  Eventually I installed the tooth chiller on the last of them, then forced all of them to torture others in the chamber. A few months later, the group banded together one night and took turns helping each other break the braided hoses from the chiller control tank by playing tug of war with their hoses. Two of them died in surgery when I removed their legs, and another one died shortly after from a severe infection. The four that lived were not happy when they had to cut up their amputated legs and feed them to the others in the chamber. Kathy died years later after she developed some type of disease, and Bob had been punctured so many times that his skin became leather-like.”

  Dicky looked at Seth with disbelief. “I see there is no limit to how far you will go for what you think is justice.”

  Seth grabbed the bars. “You will see the outer limits soon.”

  The Reaper

  Later that night, Dicky was awakened by some loud heavy metal music. He looked around, noticing Seth was across the room lifting weights. He remained still—he didn’t want to hear any more of the dreadful stories. As he laid motionless, he could see Seth was doing bench presses in a very barbaric way. The Olympic bar had a chubby person on each end instead of weights. They were hog tied and hanging like pigs over a fire. Each time that Seth lifted the bar, one of the men would count off the number of reps.

  Around an hour later, Seth walked over to Dicky while wearing a black muscle shirt and sweatpants. He was covered in sweat and his muscles were pumped. Dicky noticed Seth’s arms were completely tattooed with black and gray artwork, which he had never seen before because he had always worn long sleeve shirts. Seth had a tattoo of a large cross that was behind a stone wall on one side of his forearm and a large Grim Reaper on the other side that was behind gates that were wide open, and there were large angels on the other arm. He could see smaller images of lightning bolts, a moon, cemetery, fog, flames, skulls, swords, tribal and some writing. These images joined everything together to create artwork that went from his wrists to his shoulders on both arms. Seth noticed Dicky was staring. “Every one of these has a meaning to me. The side with the cross behind the stone wall represents that the path to God’s kingdom is narrow and the only way is through Christ. The Grim Reaper and the skull means that death is inevitable. The open gates represent that the path to hell is wide.”

  Seth looked at Dicky’s Kiss tattoo. “I do have a few that I regret on my back and legs—they were spur of the moment, kind of like yours.”

  Dicky frowned when he was reminded of what Seth had done to him, and before he thought he blurted out, “You’re a dick!”

  “You want a dick?”

  Seth walked over to the side of Dicky’s cell and pulled a chain that was hanging from the ceiling. He became frightened as a cloud of gas came blowing out of a pipe above him.

  Three hours later, Dicky awoke on the floor, and as his head throbbed, Seth was st
anding outside of his cell asking if he liked his new tattoo. Dicky noticed the skin around his mouth was tender, so he crawled over to where the water was pooling and looked at his reflection. He became instantly angry as he stared at a set of dick and balls that had been tattooed next to his mouth, and as he stood up he shouted, “You’re a sick and twisted asshole.”

  Seth pulled the chain again. Three hours later when Dicky awoke he had a tattooed image of a butt hole around his mouth, and the hair on his face had been shaved except for around his mouth, which gave it the appearance of a hairy asshole. Seth grabbed the bars and stared at him. “Now your mouth looks like a hairy asshole that is being pounded by a big dick. Doesn’t quite go with the Kiss tattoo; Gene would be outraged.”

  He started to say something while still hunched over his reflection above the water, but Seth interrupted. “I have a whole cabinet full of ink and absolutely nothing else to do, so be very careful with what comes out of your mouth.”

  He decided to hold his head down and remain silent.

  “Now that we’re done jacking around with the fun stuff, it’s almost time for your worst fear to come true.”

  He started pleading and begging.

  Seth shook his head. “If you had been listening an inkling to my stories, you would know that crying, begging, whining, and pleading will not keep justice in your new world from being served.”

  Dicky got up on his knees as he knew his fate, and as he had a pitiful look on his face he softy said, “Whatever I’ve done, whatever reason you have me here, I will accept.” He knew he had only one way out that would save him from the horrifying things that lay ahead. While he looked at Seth with tears running down his face he said, “Save me the suffering and I will not beg for my life. I only ask that you to let me take it myself and give you your justice.”

  Seth stood back and held his arms out. “Look around, you wishful man. Justice is not taking the easy road here. It’s screaming, agony and suffering. These are the things that bring justice in here.”

  Dicky fell to his side and cried as he was horrified and speechless.

  Seth walked over to the man who had a cloth sack over his head and was hanging on the wall by chains. It was the same man he had beat days before, and after he picked a severed arm up off of the table, he started aggressively hitting the man across his chest. The man only let out faint moans with every blow. When Seth became exhausted he looked over at Dicky. “I never told you about the Reaper, did I?”

  Seth started beating the man again with the arm. “This guy here, who I like to call the Reaper, was the first one I brought into the chamber.” After Seth tossed the arm back on the table he started burning the man across his chest with a lighter. The man just hung motionless and only moaned as his singed hair and burning flesh filled the air with an unpleasant smell. Seth tossed the lighter onto the table with the severed arm and other torture devices, then picked up a cardboard box and walked over to where Dicky was curled on the floor like a baby. After he sat down in a chair made of bones that was next to the bars, he dug through the box and pulled out a few rusted darts, which he laid on the floor, then dumped the rest of the darts onto his lap. Seth started cleaning the tips with alcohol. “The Reaper over there is a real piece of shit. He likes to make a sport out of being one. It’s a long story on how I ran across this guy, and because you’re out of time, I’ll jump over a few chapters and start with his first day in Unpleasantville.”

  Dicky just looked down as Seth started throwing darts at the man called the Reaper, and as he threw them he said, “It’s amazing how long someone will live if you sterilize your instruments of torture and pump them with a bunch of antibiotics and steroids.”

  He threw his last dart, striking the man in the face. The man let out a faint moan as bloodstained the cloth sack that was over his head. Seth looked at Dicky. “Do you want a turn?”

  He didn’t say a word as he held his head down.

  Seth continued to stare at him. “Come on, don’t be a party pooper.” Seth reached onto the floor, grabbed one of the rusted darts, and hit Richard in the ass. “Remember how much fun Dickhead had playing darts?”

  Dicky mumbled out as he continued to hold his head down. “Your games are not entertaining.”

  “Even though I’m surrounded by all these assholes, it still gets lonely in here. That’s why I do some weird shit—it’s my form of entertainment.”

  He just shook his head.

  Seth threw his feet up on the bars of the cell as he slouched in the chair. “It’s been a busy day and it’s getting late, so let’s get on with the story about the Reaper. It was years ago when I dragged his unconscious body into the chamber, and at the time I wasn’t too sure what to do with him, so I stuck him in the same cell that you’re in. I removed his restraints, gag and blindfold. For nourishment, I left a large bag of dog food and a bucket of water in his cell. At the time the chamber was a lot smaller, and it didn’t have as many of the awesome torture devices as it does now.”

  Dicky shook his head as he looked at Seth.

  “I know you don’t like the dog food, but it’s better than….”

  “That’s not it.”

  Seth made a hand gesture that stated, what.

  “You have become so irrational from your hate that you think torture devices are a good thing.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Of course, not. Why would I?”

  “Not only do I bet that you will change your mind later, but after I show you your surprise, you will be drooling and fantasizing about sticking me in one of these things.”

  He started to speak, but Seth interrupted. “You know, I figured with your occupation that you would have been intrigued with some of my stories.”

  He’s eyes got large. “How much do you know about me?”

  “Outside of having a sister who likes to dance and a wife you had committed, absolutely nothing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Now let’s get back to the Reaper. Since it was probably going to be a while before he awoke, I went upstairs to….

  He stood up angrily. “Hold up! You mean to tell me I’m in here for no reason at all?”

  Seth just looked at him.

  “Well?”

  Seth continued to stare.

  “Tell me, damn it!”

  Seth crossed his feet as they were resting on the bars. “How many stories have I told you?”

  Dicky sarcastically pretended to count on his fingers, then he looked up at Seth. “Too damn many!”

  “Okay, smart ass. Of those stories, how much did I know about the assholes I went after?”

  He quickly popped off. “Every fucking thing. You’re obsessed with this shit.”

  Seth made a hand gesture that stated, duh.

  He looked confused for a moment. “You, you lied.”

  Seth shook his head. “You just don’t fucking learn. Now sit your ass down.”

  He gritted his teeth as he went back to his dark corner and sat down.

  “As I was saying earlier, I had gone upstairs since the Reaper was still unconscious. Later that evening as I was watching TV, the doorbell rang. When I looked out the peephole I could only see the top of somebody’s head. After I stood quietly for a few seconds I heard, “Come on and open the door. I know you’re in there.”

  When I opened the door, I found a kid standing on my front porch wearing a black hood over his head, his face was painted white, and his eyes and mouth were outlined with black paint. As soon as he held up a bag, I remembered that it was Halloween. While I looked at the kid, I thought how he looked kind of scary, you know, for a kid.

  He had a cheerful smile. “Trick or Treat.”

  “Sorry kid. I don’t have any candy.”

  He looked down as he started to walk away. “Wait a second. I like your face paint. Where did you get it?”

  He turned, and as he looked up at me, he pulled some face paint out of his pocket. I traded him a twenty for it. The littl
e guy was happy as he walked down the sidewalk. As I looked at the paint I thought to myself, this would make the Reaper a little more terrified if I looked more like a psycho. I went down in the basement and sat at an old desk, and as I looked in the mirror, I tried to perfect my makeup. It took several attempts to get it to look somewhat decent. When I was done, I dug through some boxes of clothes and found my old black jacket with a hood. I threw it on and went over to a mirror. As I stared at my reflection, I thought to myself how much of an idiot that I looked like. The makeup looked all right for a Halloween party, but the outfit wasn’t working—it looked as if I was trying to be scary.

  The next morning as I was sitting at the kitchen table thinking I should blow off the whole idea, it dawned on me as I noticed a new car ad in the newspaper. I went out in the back yard and looked in some old junk vehicles that were against the back fence. After I tore the black leather off the seats of an old car, I went inside and sat down at a sewing machine; I worked the entire day making a long trench coat with a hood. When the task was completed, I threw on the coat and walked over to a mirror. I was amazed with my work as I looked at my reflection. The black coat was long and almost touched the floor. The leather was weathered and roughly worn with small tears from years of use. I had sewn it all together using thick, black thread, which made it look heavy and rugged. The hood was made of the same leather, and it hung down just below my eyebrows. I was so pleased that I worked into the night and made a pair of pants to match as well.

  The next morning I went upstairs to take a shower and get ready for work. At that time in my life I owned a furniture shop and worked long hours. As the days passed, the Reaper had been left in the chamber all alone. I left him in there so his anxiety would build up, wondering how he got there and where he was. The last thing he would have remembered before I shot him with a tranquilizer gun was he had been sitting on the hood of his car while drinking a beer.

  The day had come for him to meet his new keeper. He had been locked in his cell for almost a week. Before I went into the chamber, I put on the leather pants that I made, tucked in an old black tee shirt, put on heavy black boots, then went down to the basement and sat at the desk with a mirror. While I stared at my reflection, I painted my face a dull white, then painted my eyelids, around my eyes, and lips black. I used a brush and worked with the paint to add shadowing, which gave my face the appearance of being dead. I also inserted theater contacts that changed the color of my eyes to a yellow tint that was outlined with green. I put on the long leather coat and threw the hood over my head. I walked over to a mirror, and as I stared at what the Reaper was going to see, I knew it would be rattling for him not knowing who or what I was. Dust stirred up behind me as I walked through the secret passage of the old furnace, and as I walked down the stone tunnel I could feel my heart beating with excitement. When I walked into the light at the end of the tunnel, I stopped and stood under it as I looked towards his cell that was across the stone chamber, which at the time was almost empty. He noticed me instantly, and as I stood motionless and quiet, he mumbled for a moment, then paused—he was unsure about what he was going to say to the frightful looks of me. After I stood there for a few more seconds, I spun around and walked out of the light and back down the hall. I left him in there a few more days to ponder what he had seen, not knowing where he was or what was going to happen to him. I knew that leaving him alone in a bizarre room with gruesome torture devices would be horrifying, especially since they were empty and waiting for their victim.