by Jacob Rayne
Alfred saw the breaking news about the breakout at the mental hospital. Four dead, according to the report. No skin off my nose, he thought with a smile. Four less nutters to waste taxes on.
The news report said that two of the bodies had been battered beyond recognition. Nice work, he thought. We all have a little bloodlust in us, when it comes down to it.
One of the dead was identified as Luke Miller. The name was familiar to him, but he didn’t immediately know why.
When a photo of Luke as a child popped up on screen, he remembered. The kid he’d almost killed, then orphaned, had been committed. The little fucker had died in the asylum which he’d been sent to as a result of Alfred’s own crimes.
He felt a sense of pride at this, although he was a little pissed he hadn’t gotten to finish the kid himself. Still, if he was out of the picture, there were no living witnesses to his crimes.
He was finally free of the worry of having someone identify him. Now the fun could begin in earnest.
Alfred felt a surge of blood to his groin upon imagining the acts he’d carried out on the family of Luke Miller and decided to vent his frustrations on the pretty little thing in the basement.
He whistled a happy tune as he descended the stairs. The tune was still on his lips when the girl lunged at him, swinging a piece of wood.
The sheer shock of seeing her out of her shackles caught him off guard and the blow hit him hard in the face. Surprise doubled the impact of the blow.
His head went sideways, hitting the doorframe. Transparent sparks flew across his vision. Cursing, he threw an instinctive punch that burst the girl’s nose.
It didn’t deter her. The wood hit his head again, sending more sparks flying across his vision.
Bryony saw the clown’s arms grabbing for her, but was too slow to avoid it. His arms pulled her in, crushing into her ribs.
His breath was foul, even worse than it had been the last time he had been upon her. He smelt of blood and death. His arms squeezed harder, forcing the air from her lungs.
He’s going to crush me to death, she thought.
Acting on instinct, she pulled her head back and whiplashed it forwards, smashing her forehead into the clown’s chin.
The impact hurt.
But it hurt him too.
His grip slackened and he grunted in pain.
While she had him hurt, she slammed her knee into his groin. An old playground move that dropped him like a sack of shit.
She ran but one of his hands grabbed her ankle. She let out a cry of frustration and stomped out at him with her free leg.
Her first stomp caught him in the face. The noise it made was horrible, like a hammer hitting a side of beef. She kicked out again, catching his forearm. His fingers kept hold of her leg, squeezing so hard her foot started to go numb.
She twisted and pulled, wrenching her leg from his grip and giving her calf the mother of all Chinese burns, but she was free. His hand came towards her again.
She stomped out at his face a second time, making him groan. His fingers pulled away a little, but he was still too close. She stomped his head again. This time there was a sickening crunch.
The hand dropped to the damp floor.
Without looking back, she ran for the stairs.
Chapter 72
The house was a dark maze, seemingly designed to bemuse and disorient her until the clown could catch her.
Her feet pounded the bare floorboards, sending each step through her like a shotgun blast. His footsteps were mere seconds behind her.
She did her best to stay hidden, stay safe, but she knew he would find her eventually. She had to get out, fuck staying silent.
Her aching legs propelled her towards what she hoped was safety. The back door was locked (things were never that easy).
Again the debate between staying quiet and getting away raged. Once more safety reigned supreme.
She found a metal lawn chair tucked in the corner and swung it at the window.
Cracks shivered down the glass, but it stayed in the frame, mocking her.
The clown’s loathsome breathing filled the darkness behind her.
She thrust the chair at the window again, making a fist-sized hole in the glass. Ignoring the pain and damage it would cause her, she shoved her hands into the hole and started trying to enlarge the gap.
Blood ran down her forearms as she struggled to break the glass.
The clown appeared out of the shadows like a foul, bloated nightmare. She pulled a shard of glass from the frame and slashed it at his face.
He ducked back, as the glass carved a bloody trail across his brow. He cried out and lunged at her, knocking her off her feet.
Her head connected hard with the door, and the scene distorted like it was made out of melted wax. The clown was on her, his fists plunging into her face and gut, winding and stunning her.
A part of her knew it was useless, but still she fought. Her thumb caught the clown’s eye, making him cry out in pain, but it seemed to only incense him further. He smashed the back of her head against the floor and this time she blacked out.
Chapter 73
A few hours in, Bryony was torn and bleeding.
Numb with terror and humiliation, she stared at the ceiling, wondering how much more of this she could take.
Her mind seesawed between wishing he would just kill her and holding on for an opportunity to escape.
Finally, the clown left her alone with her pain.
She’d refrained from crying in front of her captor, not wanting him to know he’d broken her. Now that she was alone she let her tears fall.
Chapter 74
The images from Luke’s childhood nightmares returned with a vengeance, making him beat his fists against his head in an attempt to dislodge the macabre images. But it was no good; they remained no matter what he did.
He knew he was supposed to go to Peth Vale, the huge, abandoned house on the hill, and confront his fear that Bryony was in the place which terrified him most.
When darkness started to fall, he decided to chance it and set out for the house from his nightmares.
The dying light cast the town in a strange glow. It was like the underbelly was emerging now that the sun had sunk behind the horizon.
Luke checked around himself as he moved out of town towards the house. Many people were beaten just for setting foot in this part of town, so he knew he had to have his wits about him.
He saw no one that bothered him, just a couple of ten year olds sharing a stolen cigarette. Ignoring them, he moved further out of town. He had not set foot out here since the clown had kidnapped him all those years ago.
The place awoke terrifying feelings in him. He cursed his decision to explore the place in darkness, but he knew that in daylight he stood more risk of being spotted sneaking into the grounds of the house.
At least no one dared to hang around the house at night, in respect of its reputation.
No one sane, anyway.
Chapter 75
The house was very secluded; built on top of the hill, with no houses for a quarter of a mile in any direction. The large detached house stood on its own land, surrounded by ten foot high mesh fences.
It was rarely visited by the people of Marshton, due to its bad reputation, which made it ideal for sneaking into.
In the darkness, Luke found it easy not to draw attention to himself as he walked around the perimeter of Peth Vale.
He managed to find a small hole in the bottom of the fence at the side of the house.
After making sure no-one was looking, he squeezed through the hole and carefully manoeuvred himself through the thick hedge on the other side of the fence.
Treading carefully on the gravel drive, he moved around to the front of the house and peered in through the filthy window.
A dim light penetrated the murk, allowing him to see a fat man squashed into an armchair. There was no mistaking the face of the clown who had murdered his family.
Upon seeing him, Luke felt suddenly exposed, as though he was a helpless child all over again.
His legs felt like he’d sunk a litre of vodka, his head like he’d done twelve rounds with Tyson.
He gripped the wall to keep from falling and gulped in as much air as he could, eventually steadying his body and his nerves.
Now that he knew the clown was back, he could keep an eye on him. He smiled, despite the unease that the sight of the man from his nightmares had stirred up in him.
He was going to regret ever laying eyes upon Luke.
Chapter 76
With the knowledge that his last surviving victim was laid on a slab in the morgue, Alfred felt a celebration was in order. He’d refrained from killing in Marshton, just taking out his impulses on girls from the neighbouring towns, and, recently, the pretty little thing in the basement.
He wanted to kill something and didn’t want to sacrifice his plaything, so he decided to go out and find a fresh victim.
Shrugging on a coat, he doused himself in cheap aftershave then left, not noticing the pale, scarred face that watched him from the bushes at the side of the house.
Luke watched the clown go, for a moment unsure of how to react. He wanted to rush him, but he had seen the blade inside the clown’s coat. As he hadn’t expected to find his enemy at home he hadn’t brought a weapon.
It wasn’t wise to take on such a dangerous foe unarmed so he decided to wait, despite the rage that formed a white hot ball in his stomach.
The clown left the grounds of the house through the gates and vanished from Luke’s line of sight.
Luke waited a few minutes then left the cover of the bushes. He listened, in case there was anyone around, or, worse, the clown returned.
The front door was solid and he knew he’d make a real mess busting it open. He needed to find another way inside.
Luke made his way across the darkened back garden, which looked expansive, even in the dim light provided by the streetlights around the house’s perimeter.
He moved through waist-high overgrown grasses towards the back of the house. Small animals made noisy movements in the bushes along the left-hand side of the house. Rats, Luke guessed.
He fought his way through the grass and up a small flight of wooden steps, which led to a long stretch of decking.
He crossed the decking with trepidation, noticing that a few of the panels were cracked and hanging down into the grass.
After what seemed like an age, he reached the old wooden back door, which had a large, boarded up window.
The door looked sturdy, although the handle looked like it was made entirely of rust.
Satisfied that he couldn’t be seen from outside Peth Vale’s grounds, he tried the handle and found the door was locked.
After patiently working on the board for a time, the top corners came loose, allowing him to bend the rotten wood until the gap was large enough to climb through.
A fetid smell greeted his nostrils as he climbed in and looked around.
The house would undoubtedly have been impressive once upon a time, with its varnished wood floors and ornate wall decorations, but had now fallen into disrepair.
The room in which he stood was dimly lit through the hole he had left in the boarded window. A dusty, discarded toolbox occupied one corner of the room.
He shone the torch into the room to his left. The dim light revealed a spade in the corner, next to a pile of rusted pots and pans. On a grimy workbench, Luke found a large box of cooking matches which he pocketed.
Dust seemed to cling to every surface in the house. Spider webs decorated most corners. Glassy, dead eyes stared out at him from the walls, the mounted animal heads watching his every move. He felt privileged to be the object of their attentions.
After running his hands over the pretty dead things for a time, Luke remembered the reason he was here and went into the master bedroom. The bare floorboards creaked as he walked in.
There was what looked like a trail of blood across the floor, leading to a broken double bed. The wall next to the bed was dented, looking as though something (a human head, Luke’s mind told him) had slammed into it.
He explored the house, avoiding the room where he’d been imprisoned as a child.
Finding nothing of any real interest, he went outside to the garage. In here, among piles of rusted car parts, he found a long line of jerry cans. Petrol fumes greeted his nostrils as he loosened one of the caps. The garage also contained a pair of garden shears, a full roll of silver duct tape and a few lengths of rope.
He went back into the house and found a key ring in one of the kitchen drawers. One key was clearly marked for the back door. He tried it, satisfied when he heard the lock click open.
Something about the wood panelling running along the staircase drew his eye. When he looked closer, he saw a faded, dust-covered handprint on the panel. The handprint abruptly cut off halfway up the fingers, leading Luke to believe that it was a door.
Even with the flashlight trained on the door, it was hard to see the line where it opened. Luke had to run his hand along the panel to find the keyhole. He tried a few keys from the key ring, finally getting one to snack the lock open.
Chapter 77
Gripping the key, he levered the door open. The cupboard beneath the stairs was dark and dusty and he could hear something scuttling in the gloom, beyond the reach of the flashlight’s beam.
There was only an old, dust-ruined chest of drawers in the cupboard. He played the flashlight over the wood, peering into the drawers.
Inside were torn, bloody pieces of clothing. Most were women’s – panties, bras, a shredded skirt – but there was also a man’s shirt, mud-smeared and tattered.
Wanting no part in whatever had happened to the owners of the clothes, Luke didn’t touch them. Whatever had happened, it couldn’t be good.
He slammed the drawers shut, knocking the flashlight out of his hand. It hit the floor and rolled against the leg of the chest of drawers. Luke expected the impact to smash the bulb, but it didn’t.
As he bent to pick up the torch, he noticed a line in the floor. Like the edge of the cupboard door, there was a partial handprint. This one was the strange rust-coloured shade produced by dried blood.
He ran his hand along the edge of the trapdoor. Ten inches of it were visible, then it disappeared beneath the chest of drawers.
That’s to weight it down, so it remains shut, Luke’s mind tormented him. To keep the beast in the basement.
He silenced these thoughts and concentrated on moving the chest of drawers. It was like trying to push a tree down.
Sweating and panting and itching from the dust, he finally managed to get the drawers off the trapdoor. Another line on the floor marked the edge of the hatch.
He crouched down, flinching at the popping sound his knees made, and ran his hands along the dusty hatch.
The key for the cupboard door also worked on the trapdoor. He hesitated for a moment then pulled the trapdoor up.
As the hatch creaked open, the smell of damp drifted up to him, along with a rotting smell.
Cursing his curiosity, he shone the torch into the hole. Damp, concrete stairs led down into the dank basement.
The smells intensified as he moved down the stairs. The flashlight helped his vision, but he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to see what was down here.
The faint glow provided by the torch gave the basement the feel of a nightmare or a cheap horror film.
The basement was stone walled, rather than the brick walls which made up the house. A drop of water landed on his head, making him jolt. He looked up to see drops of condensation hanging from the low ceiling.
He moved into the dark, wishing he’d found a more powerful torch. Or not come here at all. Yes, that’d be much better.
At the far end of the basement, he found the cause of the rotting smell.
Chapter 78
Alfred went into one of the many pubs in Marshton
’s town centre. The square was shoe-horned full of pubs and bars, testament to the fact that there wasn’t much to do in Marshton except drink.
He swaggered up to the bar and ordered a coke, not wanting to dull his senses with alcohol.
Scanning the crowd for a likely victim, he saw plenty of girls to choose from, but most of them were day-glow slappers with their tits and arses hanging out. Still, they’d do for a few hours of fun, he supposed.
One particularly loud girl was propping up the bar, already pissed. Her voice grated on him. See if she can still talk with my cock shoved down her throat, he thought with a grin.
‘The fuck you smiling at?’ she shouted, looking him up and down.
‘I was just thinking how good you’d look naked,’ Alfred confided with a wink.
‘Eugh, as if,’ she pouted.
Her friends all laughed. The sound was excruciating, but Alfred laughed along.
‘Reckon you should get out of here, pervert,’ the girl said.
‘Just leave him, Kelly, the bouncers’ll get him out,’ said a girl wearing even more fake tan than Kelly.
‘Oh, cheers, now he knows my name, you tit,’ Kelly said.
‘Seriously, Kelly, you and me,’ Alfred said. ‘I’ve got plenty of money. I could be the dream date for you.’
‘I really don’t think so, weirdo. Now get out of here before I set my boyfriend on ya.’
‘I’m doing nothing wrong, just having a quiet drink and enjoying the scenery.’
‘Right, that’s it,’ Kelly said, swanning off out of the front door.
Alfred admired her arse as she walked.
‘You’d best get out, yeah?’ one of the other girls said.
‘Yeah, her boyfriend works on the door,’ another girl said. ‘He’ll kick your fucking head in.’
The girls laughed at this.
Alfred shrugged. Stood his ground.
Kelly came back in with a brick shithouse of a bouncer. He had no neck and his arms were as thick as tree trunks.