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

by Garrett, Wade H.

  Richard was moaning like a cow giving birth as his ass was being ravaged. After about two to three minutes of ramming his arm in and out, he grabbed part of an intestine and pulled it out. He continued to pull on it, turning Richard’s colon inside out. He didn’t stop there. He kept pulling out more and more intestines until there was a large pile on the floor.

  He flipped Richard over to his back, then sliced off his penis and balls with the knife. He shoved his penis into his mouth. “Swallow it, you fucking prick.”

  Richard was in shock. His eyes were glossy and he wasn’t responding. Elmer shoved the tip of the knife under his left eyeball. “I said swallow it or I’ll cut out your fucking eye.”

  “Peas op urting me.”

  “Swallow your fucking junk so I can move on.”

  “Uck ew.”

  Elmer pried his eye out, then ripped it from its socket. He stuck the knife under his other eye. “Do it. Now!”

  Richard started gagging as he tried to swallow it. Elmer had to sit him up so he wouldn’t choke to death. When he got it down, he stuck a testicle in his mouth. “Swallow it.”

  Richard had an easier time swallowing it since it was smooth and oblong. Elmer made him swallow the second one, then the skin of his ball sack. When he was done, he shoved him back to the floor and started skinning him with the knife.

  The guards were absolutely horrified. They had seen some sick shit in the pen, but they weren’t prepared for how barbaric this had turned out to be.

  Elmer saved Richard’s face for last. After he ripped it off, he stuck it over his face, then looked back at the guards. “Where’s the salt?”

  Two of the guards had walked away, nauseous, but the third one shrugged his shoulders. “What the fuck, man.”

  “Do you have any or not?”

  “No. But does it matter? You’ve already fucked him up. How much more do you want to do to him, you sick bastard?”

  “Seth wants me to salt his ass.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  Elmer started pissing on Richard. “What Seth wants, Seth gets.”

  Richard was moaning as the urine burned his raw muscles. When Elmer was done, he jabbed out his other eye, then stood looking at the guards. “Okay, I’m done. Now what?”

  They were horrified as they looked at the aftermath. Elmer was covered from head to toe in blood, feces and other indescribable body fluids. Remarkably, Richard was still alive. His skinned body was surrounded by his intestines, piles of hair covered flesh, blood and feces.

  Two of the guards left while the other one let Elmer clean himself up and destroy his clothes, then took him back to his cell. Richard was left lying on the floor as instructed. A few hours later he was found. He survived in the infirmary for three days before he died.

  Elmer was released shortly after. Seth had kept his word and sent the prosecution proof that he wasn’t responsible for what happened at the club or to the men. A few days later, Elmer called Seth’s cell phone.

  Seth answered. “Brown’s auto shop.”

  “Uh… I think I have the wrong number.”

  “Who you lookin’ for, pal?”

  “Seth.”

  “What are you trying to pull?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know this is Elmer. Why you calling me?”

  Elmer was surprised Seth had not only answered the phone, but had the same number. “Just seeing what you’re up to.”

  “Do you have the cops listening in or something?”

  “I wouldn’t rat on you… I mean, I wouldn’t do it again. I was just wondering what you’ve been up to.”

  “You know, same ‘ol same shit. So what’s the deal? You have your freedom now. Why you calling me?”

  “I’m bored. I wanna come hang out.”

  Seth didn’t respond.

  “You still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what do you think about me coming back?”

  “Coming back because you miss hanging out with the most awesome dude on the planet, or is it because you miss fucking up scumbags?”

  “Both.”

  Seth was skeptical. “All you did was bitch and moan the entire time. What’s the deal?”

  “I’ve learned a lot from you and want to continue to be a part of it. I think what you do is important. Society needs someone that’s willing to make these lowlifes pay for what they do.”

  “Sounds like you’re blowing smoke up my ass.”

  “I’m not fucking around and this isn’t a scam.”

  “You know what will happen if you try to fuck me over.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. And yes, I know what the consequences will be.”

  “If I agree to this you’re going to have to wear an explosive collar around your neck for peace of mind.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that. I’ll prove to you that you can trust me.”

  “Alright. I’ll give you a chance. And actually, your call couldn’t have come at a better time. I was just given an assignment that I could use your help on. I thought my project with the terrorist was going to be my finest work, but this one is going to be even more magnificent.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t go into detail over the phone, but this high-profile person wants to get some payback against a whole shit load of scumbags. In fact, his exact words were, I don’t want revenge, I want a fucking reckoning.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Sure, in the fuck is. I’ll contact you in a few days with the details.”

  Elmer was excited. “Fucking A! I can’t wait!”

  “Later, gator.” Seth hung up.

  Solitary of Horror

  Tim Murray woke up. He felt dazed. He was having a hard time thinking. It was dark. So dark he couldn’t see anything. He had never experienced such darkness. And it was very quiet. He had never experienced so much quietness. He went to move his arm, but something was wrong. He couldn’t feel his limbs. What the heck is wrong, he thought. Am I paralyzed or something? Did I have a stroke? Suddenly he remembered everything: Elmer, the saw, the tables, the duct system. The entire horrifying experience flashed before him. Terror overcame him when he remembered what Seth and Elmer were going to do to him. He screamed, or at least he thought he did. He couldn’t tell. Someone, or something, was touching his chest. It felt like a hand patting him. Or maybe more than one hand. Was it Seth? Elmer? Who was it? Was he in the hospital? It could be a doctor or nurse touching him. He tried to speak, but his throat felt strange. Oh my God, he thought, they cut out my vocal cords. He started to panic. How was he going to communicate with this person or persons?

  He became angry. They had no right to do this, he thought. He had to find a way to tell on them. Then he remembered why they had done it. He tried to block that out. He desperately fought to keep those thoughts out of his head, but they kept coming back. All kinds of flashbacks of what he had done were running through his mind. He didn’t want to see them, but they kept coming, one after another. He tried to convince himself that he hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t his fault—he was born that way. For some reason that excuse wasn’t working anymore. Would it help if he admitted to what he did? He didn’t want to think it, but the thought of him being a child molester ran through his mind. I did it, he screamed in his head, I molested my daughter. He felt ashamed. Almost deserving of his punishment.

  Between the silence, darkness and the horrible thoughts, he was in mental agony. He needed to stop thinking. It was going to drive him crazy. He needed to find a way to kill himself. But how? He had no hands. Banging his head against something crossed his mind. He tried to move, but it felt like he was bound by something. Was he tied? Was he in a bed with railings? He tried to hold his breath, but that didn’t work. He tried again and again with the same results. It was hopeless. He wasn’t going to be able to end it. He didn’t even have a tongue that he could bite in hopes he would bleed to death. How much time had already passe
d, he thought? Was it days, or just minutes? How was he going to live like this, with all these horrible thoughts and the guilt that came with them? Horror overcame him when he realized he could live for another fifty to sixty years.

  Book four – Human Cruelty

  The Sport Hunter

  Jim Wright felt exhilarated as he hung the head of a Siberian Tiger on the wall. It was his latest kill. He had to travel to Russia and pay big money to hunt the endangered animal. There were only around four-hundred Siberian Tigers left in the world, and he was the only one out of his hunting buddies that had one. He now had earned some bragging rights.

  He stepped off a ladder and stood admiring all the mounts in his trophy room. The room was large and every wall was covered with animal heads, skins and pheasants, and the floor was lined with larger animals that had been stuffed. Jim had almost every type of animal. It had taken many years of traveling the world to accomplish this. He even had endangered and protected species, just like the Siberian Tiger, that he had to pay big money to hunt illegally.

  Jim picked up a rifle and pointed it towards a mirror, aiming it at his reflection. He had a serious expression as he stared at himself. He liked the way he looked. People said he resembled the actor Jason Statham. He cocked the rifle, then pulled the trigger. “Gotcha,” he said as he smiled. He set the weapon down, then picked up a letter from his desk that he had received in the mail. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity; to hunt a man. The selected person to be hunted was the lowest form of society. He was a criminal and had lived a selfish life. The event would take place in a controlled environment to ensure secrecy.

  The letter stated he was being considered as a possible participant in the secret event. The qualifications were simple: have hunted and acquired the main big-game animals: a lion, elephant, buffalo, leopard, giraffe, tiger and rhinoceros. Pay a fee of two-hundred-thousand dollars, sign a waiver of liability and consent to a secrecy contract. If anyone broke this contract, the penalty would be death. He had acquired all the animals required and money wasn’t an issue since he was the CEO of a large finance company.

  Jim had always thought about killing a person, knowing it would be the ultimate kill, better than the protected animals he had hunted. The letter seemed to be legit, but he was still concerned it could be a setup or a scam. He was required to meet with the event organizer in a few days before he was chosen, or before he could accept the offer. He figured he didn’t have anything to lose, so he decided to at least attend the meeting. It was going to be held in Dallas, Texas. He was living in Maine, but that was just a short jet ride away for him.

  The Dog Fighters

  Joe Sanchez stopped on a bridge at eleven PM. The area was dark and secluded. He and his friend, Gary Foster, dragged a pit bull from the trunk of their car and onto the asphalt. The dog was covered in blood and very weak. Joe raised a hammer and shouted. “You sorry motherfucker!” He slammed it down on the dog’s head.

  Gary was standing off to the side smoking a cigarette. “Hit that piece of shit again! Fucker cost me five-hundred bucks.”

  The dog yelped with the next few blows until he was knocked unconscious. Joe motioned to Gary. “Grab his legs.”

  The two men threw the dog off the bridge and into the water below. When they got back in the car, Joe looked in the rear-view mirror. “Dammit! Fuckin’ mutt got blood on me!” Joe was Hispanic and in his late twenties. He was skinny, had a burr haircut and tattoos covered his neck and arms. He had a thin mustache and his face was covered in short whiskers. He was wearing khaki pants, a white tee-shirt and a black hoodie. He looked like a gangbanger. Gary looked just the opposite. He was Caucasian, short and fat, with long shaggy hair and a baby face with pimples. He was wearing red and black basketball shorts and a blue pullover shirt. His clothes were stained and torn and it looked as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks. He was thirty-four, but looked like he was eighteen.

  Joe wiped the blood off his face with a rag as he drove. “Fuckin’ Lola is gonna get it too if she doesn’t represent.”

  “She’s ready.”

  “Fuckin’ better be. This shit tonight ain’t gonna happen again.” Joe was pissed. Their reputation had been diminished when their pit bull lost a fight. He and Gary had been fighting dogs since high school and had a reputation to uphold.

  “I know. But I think we fought Titus too soon. He still wasn’t over all his injuries from the last fight.”

  “Well, the motherfucker ain’t gonna have to worry ‘bout that no more, is he?”

  Gary laughed. “Not unless he grew some gills.”

  Joe looked at Gary. “So, what do you think about that invitation?”

  “We should at least go see if it’s legit.”

  Joe and Gary had received a letter in the mail stating they were being considered for a high-stake dog fight called Blood Sport. There was no entry fee and the winning dog would make the headlines in every newspaper across the country. If they won, that would elevate them to rock star status in the dog fighting world. The only thing they were required to bring was all their dogs so each one could participate in the fight.

  Joe agreed. “I think so. The meeting is in a few days in Dallas, so we need to leave in the morning.”

  Psychotic Killer

  The next morning, Joe and Gary loaded up their dogs, Lola, Scar Face and Kobie, and took off in their car from Albuquerque, New Mexico. Eleven hours later they entered Dallas. Gary was looking at Google Maps on his cell phone. “Take exit 429B coming up.”

  Joe took the exit. “Now what?”

  “Stay on the access road. When we get to Commerce Street, take a right. The building is a short way down on the right. It’s four stories tall.”

  A few miles down, Joe pulled into a parking lot. He noticed the building was very old, run down and all the windows were boarded up. “You sure this is it?”

  “I guess.” Gary looked at the directions that came with the letter. “It says to park in the garage area, then take the elevator to the fourth floor.” He pointed. “Look, there’s an open garage door.”

  When Joe drove through the door he noticed there were other vehicles. He parked next to them. “This must be the place.”

  They got out, put their dogs on leashes, then headed for the elevator. There was another man waiting. Joe laughed. “Check out this redneck.”

  Gary noticed the man was in his mid-thirties. He had shaggy hair and a large beer belly. He was wearing a red flannel shirt and worn out blue jeans with the bottoms tucked into old boots. “Looks more like a hillbilly.”

  When they walked up, Joe nodded at him. “What’s up, dude? You here for the fight?”

  He shook his head. “Naw. Don’t know anything ‘bout that. I’m just here for a job.” He reached out to shake Joe’s hand. “I’m Paul.”

  Joe shrugged his shoulders. “So.”

  Paul lowered his hand, then looked at the dogs. “Are y’all fighting them or something?”

  Gary nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I’ve had a few pit bulls in my time.” He pointed to the smallest of the dogs. “That one is kind of a runt.”

  Joe was a little irritated. “What the fuck do you know?”

  Gary patted Lola’s head. “She might be smaller, but she’s one tough bitch.”

  “I’m sure she is.”

  When the door opened, the men stepped inside. Joe was staring at the man. “So, what kind of job are you here for? They need a janitor or something?”

  The man laughed. “Dude, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Your dog looks plenty tough.”

  Gary pressed the fourth-floor button. “Don’t let the fool get to you.”

  Joe laughed. “Yeah. The punk don’t know shit.”

  When the door opened, Joe and Gary looked up and down the hallway. The inside of the building was dimly-lit and just as old and outdated as the outside. Gary pointed towards a sign next to a door that read Conference Room. “I think that’s where we’re supposed to go.”

>   The room was filled with people. Joe noticed no one else had dogs. “What do you think. Should we go in?”

  Gary shrugged his shoulders. “Shit! I don’t know.”

  A tall man came walking down the hallway. He was wearing camo pants, a tan pull-over shirt that was tucked in and brown combat boots. His hair was short and he had a long, grey and black goatee. Both his arms were covered in tattoos and he looked as if he worked out. He opened a door and motioned to Joe and Gary. “Your dogs can stay in here. I’ve already set ‘em up with food and water.”

  Joe nodded. “Hey man, I’m Joe, and this is Gary. Where’re the other dogs? I want to see what we’re up against.”

  “No time for that, pal. Put your dogs up so we can get started.”

  As the men took them into the room, the tall man noticed Paul was standing dumbfounded in the hallway. He pointed at him, then motioned towards the conference room. “In there, dipshit!”

  “Hey, dude, you don’t have to be so rude.”

  “Shut the fuck up and get in there.”

  Paul shook his head as he sat in the back of the room. He noticed the room was a real shithole and had a musty smell. The walls were dirty and the old wallpaper was peeling off. The floor had numerous broken and missing floor tiles and the ceiling was covered in stained water spots. The room had rows of antique chairs with people sitting in them. There was an old desk in the front of the room and a large window in the back. The window was about ten-feet wide by four-feet tall. The room on the other side was dark and he couldn’t tell what was in there.

  When Joe and Gary came in, the tall man shut the door, then stood in front of everyone. “My name is Seth Coker, and my associate in the back is Kenneth Evans.”