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

by Garrett, Wade H.

  Wyatt noticed Seth was tall, around six feet two, and he appeared to be in shape for a man in his late forties. Seth walked out of the room and down the hallway. Wyatt looked at his watch, then moved the curtain back. Confusion overcame him as he looked outside. He released the curtain, then stepped away holding his mouth. He walked over and sat on the edge of his chair, then stood right back up. He had a worried look as he began pacing back and forth. Sweat was starting to drip from his face as he walked back to the window and looked out. He jumped, letting the curtain fall when Seth came back into the room. Seth walked over to his recliner and started picking up his belongings. Wyatt opened the curtain again while looking over at him. “I don’t understand.”

  Seth picked up a duffel bag that was sitting on the floor next to his chair. “Oh yeah. I had stopped the elevator when you were on your way up. I gassed you, then moved you while you were asleep.”

  Wyatt was shocked. “Why would you do that to me?”

  “Because Jim and his posse had you wired and they were tracking you. But you already knew that.”

  Wyatt looked as if he had been caught red-handed. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say nothing. I wouldn’t have expected otherwise. And I know Jim can be very persuasive.”

  Wyatt looked out the window. “Where are we? We’re next to an ocean.”

  Seth put on a ball cap, then walked to the door and turned around. “Miami.”

  Wyatt’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  “I kept you unconscious for a while.”

  He looked at his watch, then back at Seth.

  “For twenty-four hours to be exact. I reset the date on your watch.” Seth pointed to Wyatt’s things. “Get your stuff. We’re out of here.”

  Wyatt was speechless as he gathered his belongings. All sorts of things were running through his mind as he tried to process what had happened. He picked up his bag and walked to the door. “Where’re we going?”

  Seth walked into the hallway and turned around. “On a road trip.”

  “To where?”

  “Do you want a story?”

  “Of course, I do; that’s why I’m here.”

  “Then there is no better way to get it than to see things first hand.” Seth started to walk, but then turned and faced him. “It’ll be just like show and tell.”

  Wyatt was nervous as he followed Seth to the elevator. “My daughter is staying with a relative. I probably need to get back home.”

  “You can end this whenever you want.”

  He thought about how the story could change his life. “Maybe just a short trip.”

  Seth pressed the down button. “Whatever you want to do is fine by me.”

  Wyatt slung his bag’s carry strap over his shoulder. He looked around the hallway, noticing it was dilapidated. “Where’re we at? This place is run-down.”

  “It’s an old hotel, but it’s being renovated. The contractor just hasn’t made it to this floor yet.”

  When they stepped inside the elevator, Wyatt looked around. “This looks like the same elevator that was in the other building.”

  “I hope so—it took me weeks to find an abandoned building with eighteen floors and an elevator with the approximate layout as the other one. I just had to make a few cosmetic changes so you wouldn’t know the difference.” Seth laughed as he pressed the basement button. “Did you not notice that this one had a basement, unlike the other one?”

  Wyatt shook his head. “No, I didn’t”.

  When the door opened, Wyatt followed Seth into an underground parking garage. He looked around and noticed some construction equipment and building materials. “Where are the workers?”

  Seth walked up to a black Cadillac Escalade. “It’s Sunday morning. Remember, you lost twenty-four hours.” He tossed him the keys. “You drive.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  Seth put his bag in the rear seat, then opened the passenger door. He looked over at Wyatt as he was standing dumbfounded. “Let’s go.”

  Wyatt got in. “What if a cop stops us?”

  “Don’t break any traffic laws and they won’t.”

  He looked at Seth. “But…”

  Seth knew what he was thinking. “But what? It’s not like there’s a sign in the window that says, psychopath on board. And besides, the police have no idea what I look like.”

  “That’s true, I suppose.” Wyatt pulled out of the building, then stopped at the exit. “Where to?”

  “Titusville.” Seth put on a pair of sunglasses, then reclined back in his chair.

  “Which way is that?”

  “Make a right, turn left at the second stoplight, then head north on ninety-five.”

  Wyatt looked around the vehicle as he drove. “This thing must have cost a fortune.”

  “Joel paid for it.”

  He looked over at Seth. He was still bothered about being knocked unconscious and moved without his knowledge. “Why did you go to all this trouble to trick me? You could have simply asked me to come with you.”

  “We needed to get to know each other first. And I needed to see if I could trust you, and you me. This could only happen where you felt somewhat safe.”

  Wyatt thought for a moment. “That makes sense, but it still feels strange to have been moved like that.”

  “I’m sorry, but it will be worth it in the end.”

  “No harm, no foul I guess.” Wyatt’s face changed to a serious look. “Just as long as you didn’t play with my penis when I was unconscious.” He smiled.

  Seth laughed. “I’m glad you have a sense of humor. We’re going to get along great.”

  A few minutes later Wyatt pulled onto Highway 95. “How far is Titusville from here?”

  “About three hours.”

  “Can I ask questions while we drive?”

  “Sure. That’s the purpose of this trip.”

  “Who is Earl and how did he inspire you to use the epoxy?”

  Seth pulled down his cap over his sunglasses and closed his eyes. “I had rented a house boat and dock space from him on the Bayou in Louisiana. This was around seven years ago. He also owned a store next to the dock where he sold fishing bait, gas, tools, hardware and a small selection of groceries. He lived alone in the back of the store, basically spending his entire life there. I had been there just short of two weeks, but had met some good people; Frank and Dennis, in particular. They were retired and spent most of their time fishing. Most of the people I met there were good folks, but Earl was the asshole of the swamp. The fat bastard didn’t take care of himself and stunk bad. He always wore the same worn out filthy overalls, had long dingy hair and an unkempt beard. His attitude was just as bad as his hygiene; he was always bitching about something and was a smartass to everyone. One evening while I was sitting on the deck of my boat, Earl came storming down the planks as Frank and Dennis pulled up to the dock. I don’t know what set off the argument, but Earl started kicking their boat and yelling at them. I couldn’t tell what he was saying because he talked with a coon-ass accent and his anger only intensified it. One thing led to another and they got into a heated argument. During the name-calling, threatening and cursing, Frank popped off something about how Earl was a child molester. Finally, the men left, and as Earl was walking away, he noticed a man sitting on the edge of the dock was staring at him. The fat fucker walked over to him and kicked his tackle box into the water. The man didn’t say anything as Earl went back into his store. Out of curiosity, I went into my living quarters and pulled up his criminal record on my laptop. It showed he had been in prison for molesting an eight-year-old girl after he abducted her from a playground. That was all the info I needed. I used to research these scumbags in depth, but now I just need any reason to fuck them up.”

  Wyatt interrupted. “I thought you said you like to catch people in the act?”

  “I do, but it’s hard to catch a molester with his dick in someone.”

  “I’m sure it is. So, do you always
do a background check?”

  “When it’s necessary, such as in this case. It’s also a great tool because the judicial system has already done the footwork for me. I just pick up where it drops the ball.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If a person has been found guilty for committing a heinous crime, our system slaps them on the wrist, then puts them back in society so they can do it again. I simply do what should have been done in the first place.”

  “Do you think Earl was slapped on the wrist?”

  “He only served nine years, so yeah. A sex offender in my book has lost all their rights when they chose to stick their dick in an unwilling participant, especially a child.”

  “Are you worried about using the Internet? You know it can be traced?”

  Seth pulled his cap up and looked at Wyatt over the top of his sunglasses. “Seriously? They can trace that sort of stuff?”

  “Of course, they…” He noticed Seth was being a smart-ass. “Of course, you already know that.”

  Seth pulled his cap down. “I use untraceable phones and laptops. I always have.”

  “What did you do to Earl?”

  “That night I snuck up to his store and crawled through an open window. He had a black and white Border Collie; not because he cared for dogs, but for security reasons. The dog liked me more than him, so I was able to sneak right into his bedroom where he was asleep. I injected him in the bottom of his foot with a sedative so he wouldn’t wake up. At that point, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do to him, so I looked around his building for some ideas. I got my answer when I found a case of the epoxy. The directions stated it was designed to patch boat hulls and would maintain its strength in the harshest of environments; it got me curious how it would work on human skin.

  While I was in the store portion of the building, I went ahead and gathered up some supplies, then went outside and filled up two gas cans; a five-gallon and two-gallon. When I came back in, I secured Earl’s left hand to his headboard with a chain and padlock and hung the key next to it. He was still wearing his stinky overalls and boots and I didn’t want to undress him, so I took my knife and cut his clothing in half at his waist so I could have access to his genitals. I mixed up the two-part epoxy, then poured the mixture all over his dick and balls. I took his right hand and cupped it tightly around his parts, making sure his fingers were tucked all the way around his sack, then I poured more of the mixture all over the back of his hand and between his fingers, creating one big, gooey mess. Next, I slid a tall dresser away from his bedroom wall and positioned it in the center of his bedroom. I drove the spike through the center of a two-by-four board, then nailed it horizontally to the side of the dresser about twelve inches from the top where it would teeter-totter. The dresser had a lip around the top, so the board would hit when it was at a steep angle, preventing it from hanging vertical; this was important for what I had planned. The board was also positioned so he could see it from his bed when he awoke. I took a handsaw and cut a notch on top of the board on each end, then hung a five-gallon gas can on one end and a two-gallon on the other end. The heavier can caused the board to raise the lighter can, just like a beam balance scale. Since Earl would remain asleep for a while, I went back into the store to chill out.

  Two hours later I heard him stirring around, so I went to his room. His eyes were filled with rage and his anger intensified his Louisiana accent as he shouted at me. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  I set a propane camping stove under the two-gallon gas can. “Hush, I’m busy.”

  “What the fuck, man! Get out of my damn house!”

  I was trying to light the burners. “I said hush! You’re sidetracking me.”

  He jerked at his restraint. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Looks like a chain, dill weed.”

  “Screw you, smartass! You better release me!”

  I got the burners going, then grabbed his mouth and squeezed it. “I told you to shut the fuck up, asshole!” I pointed to the key hanging on his headboard. “If you want loose, here’s the key.”

  He looked at it, then jerked his hand that was glued to his dick and balls. “Ah, what the hell!” Confusion overcame him as he looked at his crotch. “What the fuck did you do?”

  “Glued your hand to yourself.”

  His eyes got big. “What?”

  “I don’t know how well that stuff works, but it’s the same shit that you use on the boat hulls.”

  He tried to pull his hand loose, then stared at me with a horrified expression.

  “Yeah, that stuff. And I can assume it works great from that expression.”

  “Oh my God! Why did you do this?”

  “Because you stuck your dick in a kid.”

  He became irate. “You don’t know shit, motherfucker! I’m going to…” He got quiet when I poked a small hole in the bottom of the five-gallon gas can with the tip of my pocket knife. He looked terrified as he watched the gas drip on the floor. “Uh!”

  “Uh, what? You gotta frog in your throat?”

  “What is that contraption?” He looked at the flame. “What are you going to do?”

  I tapped my watch. “I don’t have long to explain this—I wanna be fishing before the sun rises.” I pointed to the larger gas can. “When the hole in the bottom of this can allows a little more than three gallons of gas to drain out, this wooden beam will tilt in the other direction, causing the flame to melt the other gas can; it’s kind of like a teeter totter, but custom-made for molesters such as yourself. And you know what will happen then? The smaller gas can will burst into flames, igniting this whole rig and all the spilled gas.” I looked at the gas that was puddled on the floor. “Your bedroom is not level—the gas is running under your bed.”

  He looked at the contraption, then the flame. “Please don’t do this. I served my time.”

  I reached over and jabbed a hole in the top of the larger can, causing the gas to run out at a faster rate. I gave him a little bye-bye sign instead of the finger, then looked at my new dog Skip. “Let’s go, boy.” I could hear him shouting for help as I backed my boat out of the dock. Several minutes later the inside of his store lit up with a flash. I patted Skip’s head as we sat on the deck of my boat in the middle of the river. “Looks like the glue stuck.”

  Suddenly, Earl came stumbling out his front door. His upper overalls, beard and hair were on fire. The lower part of his overalls were still around his ankles, making it difficult for him to move quickly. They were on fire as well. His crotch and legs were drenched in blood and I could see that he was still grasping pieces of his dick and balls where he had torn them from his body. He stumbled about fifty feet from the building, then collapsed as fire and smoke bellowed from his body. I started the boat, then Skip and I disappeared into the night.

  Shit Faced; Literally

  Wyatt looked over at Seth. “That was kinda messed up.”

  “No worse than what he did to that kid.”

  “I guess you’re right. So, what happened to him? It wasn’t in the media.”

  “I have no idea, but if he lived, he definitely won’t be sticking his dick into anyone else.”

  Wyatt gripped his genitals. “It must have been very painful for him to rip himself apart like that.”

  “I’m sure it was. That’s why I started using the epoxy—the stuff is a pervert’s worst nightmare.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “It really is—messing up a pervert’s dick is the same as cutting off a quarterback’s throwing arm or a guitarist’s fingers.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Nice analogy.”

  “A pervert with no dick, go figure.”

  “So, I take it you found more of it?”

  “Sure did. Found it on the Internet. I also bought the stuff in burst pouches so I can keep a few of them in my pocket.” Seth handed Wyatt a pouch. “Squeeze the bag to burst the inside pouches, mix by massaging the bag, snip the tip, then apply. They�
�re quick and easy when I need to glue a pervert’s ass crack together or their hand to their dick.” Seth laughed. “In some cases, their tongue to their dick.”

  “That’s a disturbing thought.” He handed the pouch back. “Do you specifically target perverts?”

  “Not at all. I try to operate an equal opportunity scumbag program. Unfortunately, there are a lot of sex offenders that keep me busy, so it might seem that I target them.” Seth looked at Wyatt. “Haven’t you ever noticed the sex offender maps on the Internet have more fucking red dots than the map itself? It’s like a smorgasbord for vigilantes. I guess I could also look at it as job security.”

  Wyatt smiled at Seth’s dark humor. “I guess so, but I’m surprised you didn’t make sure Earl was dead—he could identify you.”

  “I was wearing a disguise, even in the hot-ass Bayou.”

  “Then I’m surprised you didn’t kill him just because he was a pedophile.”

  “Death isn’t that bad.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “If you kill someone they don’t know that they’re dead. If you fuck them up real good, they have to live with their deformities; that is worse than death in my book. And if I know I’m going to kill them I at least try to torture the shit out of them before they die.”

  “How do you decide if they’re going to be tortured or just messed up like Earl?”

  “It depends on what they’ve done. In some cases, I teach these fuckers a lesson that they’ll never forget without killing or messing them up.” Seth noticed Wyatt was driving ten miles below the speed limit. “Make sure you go the speed limit.”

  “I don’t want to draw attention to us.”

  “You already are.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Because drunks and criminals drive slow—they think if they’re being extra safe they’ll not get pulled over, but cops know that too.”

  Wyatt sped up. “How do you teach someone a lesson without doing what you normally do? You know, mess them up, as you put it.”

  “The story of Pat the slumlord comes to mind. I have a friend, Bobby, who lived in one of Pat’s low rent buildings. It was…”