Contents
Title page
The Hunted
The Razor
The Hunter
I Love Lucy
An Issue with Authority
The Argument
Destruction
Neighbours from Hell
The Haze
Children of Blood
RAZORBLADE
By Henry Gallows
Warning
This story contains extreme horror and violence. It is not for children or the squeamish. If easily offended, this is not the story for you.
Copyright © 2017 Henry Gallows
All rights reserved.
THE HUNTED
I stagger through the room, my blood-soaked clothes clinging to my slimy skin. The life seems to be dripping out of my veins and pooling on the ground. I look down. I yelp and my heart races. The shocking realisation consumes me. I notice I’m ankle deep in thick red blood. I shiver as I try to keep pressure on the gaping wound in my neck. I am overcome by the fear, consumed by my panic. My heart bangs in my chest like a drum. I can feel it pumping away inside me. With each pump, more blood leaves the wound, flowing around my fingers, leaving my body. My life force is fading. My thoughts are running wild. Terror surrounds me; it tries to swallow me alive. It’s desperate too.
I know that he’s still in here somewhere, that monster, the one who’s done this to me. He’s watching me, waiting for me. He awaits his moment to finish me. I can feel him. He’s lurking in the shadows, taunting me, laughing at me.
“HELP!” I cry out, though somehow, I know that no help will come.
I get to the bedroom door and I hold my breath. I poke my head around the door. My heart skips a beat as I expect something to jump out at me. I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s no sign of him. I tiptoe silently, carefully, out into the misty hallway.
My breath quickens, my eyes widen, as the horrific images fill them. All around my feet are pools of blood and severed body parts. They are splattered and slumped all over. I feel sick; I shudder to my bones. I take another step. My foot slips. I see a pulpy bloody mess of jelly of what used to be a person’s body. At least, I think it’s a person; it’s unrecognisable now.
I wail uncontrollably, sobbing, screaming, overcome with wild fear. I try to avoid stepping or slipping in the chunks of flesh and sinew scattered all around me but it’s impossible.
My hands shake like a leaf. I’m sucking in oxygen for all I’m worth, yet I just can’t get enough. I’m gasping. It’s out of control. I’m getting so light headed. The terror is living in my head. It’s living in my soul. It’s fighting to swallow me whole. This cruel vision circles around me like a blurry merry-go-round. I’m getting weaker by the moment.
I press my back against the wall to keep my balance and I shuffle down the hallway. I need to reach the front door.
‘Please, let me reach the front door.’
I’m so desperate. The front door is the only chance that I’ve got, my one chance to escape into the night. If there’s some way I can get outside, I can run for my life, away from this terror, away from him, away from this hell.
I make my way silently down the hallway. I’m edging ever closer. I listen out all the time for the monster that hunts me. I’m know I’m his prey, his plaything.
‘I need to get out of here.’
I can feel the warm blood oozing through my fingers. I try my best to stem the endless flow.
‘Where the hell is he?’
I’m getting so close to my escape. All the time, no matter how close I get, the thought never leaves my mind. ‘There’s no way this freak, this psychopath, would just let me get away so easily.’ Yet somehow, finally, I reach the door. I’m there.
My trembling hand reaches outstretched for the latch. I’m so desperate for the safety of the street. I’m so painfully close. The latch clicks. I turn the handle and open the door slowly.
I poke my head out and look around. I breathe a sigh of relief, as I see no sign of him.
I take a step outside and ready myself to run. I’ll need every bit of strength that I have left to make it.
‘Go!’
I jump as a shadow rushes towards me. It lets out a chilling scream. The moonlight flashes on the silver blade in its hand as it comes wildly slashing down upon my face.
THE RAZOR
I awake in a pool of cold sweat. The most vivid of nightmares is still rattling around inside my misty brain.
I’m so cold.
My hands are shaking uncontrollably.
I lie here, asking myself the question, ‘Was the nightmare real?’ It couldn’t possibly be real. I run my hands over my neck to feel for any signs of the wound. Thankfully, my neck is free from pain, free from blood. But I still can’t shake the crazy dream out of my head.
I lie on my back staring up at the ceiling in silent contemplation. Through the darkness, all I see is shadows. I puff out my cheeks and sit upright in my bed. My shoulders tense from the cold and the nightmare. I kick back the blankets and put my bare feet upon the floor.
The silence is thickly lingering in the air like a mist. The night is so dark. The moonlight beams through the crack in the curtains. It projects weird silhouettes in the blackness. The room’s so hazy, so strange. I feel uneasy.
‘This isn’t right.’
I struggle up onto my jelly-like legs and sway out into the hallway. I step out the door of my bedroom with an uneasy caution. My breath is like steam as I flashback to the horrifying dream. This was the hallway where the bloody and horrific scene had been. With another steamy sigh of relief, I notice that the hallway echoes empty, as usual.
It’s so cold in the house, even though it’s the peak of summer.
‘What’s going on here?’
I’m lost in a haze, deep within the eerie chill. All around me is deathly quiet. Even the street outside is silent. The world is so deathly still. There’s not even a breath of wind. I feel so uneasy, so on edge. I know it’s stupid but I can’t seem to help it.
‘It’s okay,’ I tell myself, as I feel my way shivering along the wall in the dark.
Finally, I find the bathroom door. I fumble for the handle and the door creaks open.
I step inside and pull the light cord. The light blinks on as my eyes struggle to adjust to the brightness. The whiteness blindingly reflects off the cold tiles. I rub my eyes and blink before I manage to focus.
I head towards the hand basin to wash the sweat from my face. I stand in front of the basin and look at myself in the mirror. I gaze endlessly upon my ghostly reflection.
I look so pale and drawn. My eyes are bloodshot, my eyelids heavy.
I turned on the cold tap with a squeak. I put my hands into the icy water. The coldness stings my fingers as I splash it on my face. I shudder as the coldness shocks me to the core. I wash the nightmare from my skin. I look up again into the mirror as the water drips off my nose and lips.
Without warning, something grabs a hold of my mind. I can feel it in my head like a fuzz. I feel it burning. I freeze solid and stare into the mirror. My reflection stares back as I look deeply into my own eyes. Suddenly I can feel it, a strange force inside me. It’s growing.
It’s like something is calling to me. Like a cold voice, it whispers inside my brain. It tries to get a grip on me. It’s trying to control me.
“Go to the cupboard,” the strange voice demands.
‘Am I going crazy?’
I want to ignore the voice, this voice that doesn’t come from anywhere. It has hold of me. I fight but I’m compelled to follow. It is as though I’m being drawn by a strange force, a force of purest evil. I can feel it inside me, probing me for weaknesses. I concentrate, I try my hardest to fight it, but it’s like I’m hypnotised. M
y will is being controlled by the voice.
Powerless, I step zombie-like towards the bathroom cupboard and open it up. Despite the half-empty drug bottles and the deodorants, the toothbrushes and the first aid kit, my eyes are drawn to only one thing. I don’t even notice the clutter around it. I only have eyes for the cut-throat razor.
It glints there on the shelf. Before my eyes, it sparkles magically. I stare at it. It calls to me.
The voice enters my mind again.
“Pick up the razor.”
It echoes over and over, around my brain. I can’t take my eyes off the blade. It’s so beautiful. I fight, desperate to keep my arms by my sides.
The voice calls out again.
‘What’s going on? Am I going mad? Am I still asleep?’
My hands shake out of control, as the battle rages inside my brain. My sanity’s teetering on the very brink.
I know I need to ignore the voice. I know I should look away but I can’t turn my head. I can’t see a thing but the razor.
“Pick it up!” it growls at me, like a demon or a monster.
‘Get out of my head!’ I silently tell it.
The voice remains silent but still it’s there. I feel it lingering. I feel it taunting me.
“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!… PLEASE GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” I scream at the voice.
It ignores me. It’s like a beast watching me through evil eyes, staring through a two-way mirror.
The silence lingers on for an age, while my eyes never leave the blade.
‘It’s driving me mad!’
“I know you’re there!” I yell, filled with panic. “Speak!” I challenge it.
It won’t put me out of my misery. It likes it. It wants to torture me.
I try counting out loud. “One…Two…Three.”
And it laughs. It laughs coldly. And then, it counts back.
“ONE...TWO...THREE.”
“Who are you?” I ask.
It doesn’t answer. It just puts pressure on my brain.
I clasp the sides of my head, trying to squeeze it out. But a buzz starts in my ears and then a pop, and then suddenly nothing at all.
And then I feel perfect, clear of mind. The world makes sense at last.
The force has hold of me. It’s won the battle. I’m nothing but a slave to its will.
I take one last look and then I stretch out my arm for the razor. I place it in my hand and hold on tightly. It’s so precious. I rub it lovingly on my cheek as if it was a puppy dog. I flick the blade out and look at it closely. I’m awestruck by its beauty. I’m completely captivated by its glorious glow. I love it. I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.
At this moment, it becomes so clear that my whole life has been building up to this moment. I’m so warm. I feel so complete.
I stare down at my distorted reflection in the blade. I look it up and down with eyes wide, lost deeply in child-like wonder.
‘It is so beautiful. It’s so very beautiful. It’s okay, my love. Now we are together.’
I stand staring at it as I see my eyes in its shimmering beauty. Somewhere inside, my humanity flashes back to me. But my humanity is not me, at least not anymore. It’s screaming at me from the outside. It’s scared, it’s pathetic. Its fear sickens me. It tries to scream the voice away. But still, it’s here.
Once again that voice, that cold voice invades my brain. My humanity tries its pathetic best to scream it away, but still the voice is here, torturing it, haunting it.
I hear the words and my humanity shivers again. “Cut them. Cut them all.”
I think for a moment. ‘Yes, yes, I’ll cut them.’
“No!” my humanity shouts.
‘Show it,’ I tell the voice.
The voice laughs.
I stare again at the blade. I smile as I start to raise my hand. It rises without my humanity’s control. It’s just a puppet. It’s a spectator as I bring my arm up.
It’s trying to fight me but it can’t win. I have the voice on my side.
The blade comes ever closer to my face, getting nearer. The flash of silver almost blinds me.
My humanity wants so much to move my head or stop my arm but it can do neither. All it can do now is take a deep breath.
The cold razorblade slowly makes its way into my eye.
Harder and harder I push it in, into the soft eyeball. The blood gushes freely from the wound. I twist the blade.
My humanity howls wildly, drenched in agony, as the wave of pain overtakes it.
‘Nice…Nice, feel it, you fuck!’ I taunt.
“Pull it out,” the voice demands.
I smile.
I pull the blade slowly out of my destroyed eye.
With the other eye, amongst the tears, I can see bloody chunks of eyeball that cling to the blade.
My humanity wails wildly in pain. The screams are driven by the deepest horror.
I feel fine, safe, warm.
I look slowly into the mirror again, awaiting the image that will greet me. My face is a mess. Blood is pouring out from around the veiny strands of flesh that have replaced my eyeball.
My hands shake wildly. My humanity’s still trying to control me. Telling me to drop the blade.
I won’t let it. I cling desperately to the razor, even tighter than before. My beautiful razor belongs with me now.
My humanity’s going wild. The voice laughs out loud, a cold, spine-chilling laugh. It rattles around inside me.
Never before has my humanity felt so weak or so violated. The cackling laughter bullies it into tears, salty tears that sting the wreck that used to be an eye.
Pain is the least of its worries. My body is going into shock. But the voice won’t just let it pass out or let it die. That is all my humanity wishes for at this moment, an end to the fear, an end to the pain, an end to this misery.
There is no end.
THE HUNTER
With the razor still clenched in my grip I have no choice. I turn and leave the bathroom. Somewhere in the background, my body throbs with waves of pain. The river of blood is sticky as it dries on my cold skin. It pools on my shoulder and flows endlessly down my arm. It drips thick from my fingertips, leaving a bloody trail in my wake.
I walked hypnotised, drawn like a puppet down the hall. My humanity tries to resist. It weeps as I approach the door. I smile. It is the door to an all-too familiar room. My humanity fights for all it’s worth but it is helpless, a slave to the voice.
I reach out a bloody hand and turn the door handle. I step through into the wall of warmth from body heat and breath.
‘Wakey wakey,’ I say in my head, as a cold grin falls across my face.
The snoring silhouettes of two figures are lying there.
My humanity tries to warn them. It’s desperate to speak or utter a sound. The voice makes it impossible. It tries to fight again. It can’t. All that comes out is a gargled screech.
It was enough. The two bodies stir. The bedside lamp clicks on as the darkness is broken by a stream of light that nearly blinds me.
“Thomas, what are you doing up at this time of night? You know you’ve got school in the morning.”
The voice in my head screams at me. Louder than ever. “Cut him open, cut his fucking face!”
My dad jumps out of bed and makes his way towards me.
“What the hell’s happened to your face?” He’s alarmed. He steps towards me.
I move my hand. He sees the glint of the blade.
Before he can blink or move, like a wild animal, I lunge forward and slice my blade into his thigh. His thin pyjamas split like a paper bag and the blade slices through his flesh like butter. He screams out loud. I glow with an uneasy pleasure.
Mum sits up with a jolt, wide eyed. She freezes as she tries to make sense of what’s unfolding.
My dad clutches his thigh with one hand and flings out his other. It strikes my face and I go sprawling to the floor. My humanity is out like a light but not me. It does
n’t even hurt.
I scurry forward on all fours. I grab his leg tightly as his blows rain down on me. I hack at his Achilles tendon with my blade. My blade slices right through it as he screams again. He comes crashing down. I jump up.
My mother rushes at me and grabs me.
‘Big mistake, bitch.’
I slash her face, slicing deeply into her flesh. She lets go. She screams out, her face etched with shock and pain. I smile when I see the huge flap torn out of her cheek hanging, dangling from the side of her face. I can see her teeth caked in blood through the hole. She falls back on the bed, clutching her face.
I’m filled with glorious energy as I leap at her and land with my knees on her chest. I feel the air leave her lungs. She thrashes wildly. She tries to free herself but she is weak and I am strong, burning with energy.
“Stop, Thomas, stop!” she cries. She’s desperate.
‘She does look funny down there.’
I raise my blade and I slash her. She thrashes harder. I cut again and again, over and over as blood flows free and splashes all about. I hack and slash at her ears and her lips, removing chunks of flesh with each swipe. And then, she thrashes no more. She blows bubbles of blood as I stare into her desperate eyes. I smile as I slowly press my beloved blade into her throat. The blood pools from the wound as I stare coldly into her eyes. She gurgles blood. Her tense body goes limp.
Dad finally and pathetically pulls himself up and hops towards me. He reaches out a strong hand and locks his angry grasp around my wrist.
“What have you done? What have you done?” he wails, looking down at the bloody mess that was once his wife.
His rage takes hold of him and he clenches his fist and, with a huge roar, he throws a punch. It lands on the side of my head. I fall backwards and hit my head on the chest of draws. For a split-second, everything around me goes black.
The voice won’t let me sleep. My humanity begs for it to be over. An argument rattles around my brain, but, compared to the voice, my humanity is weak.
I awaken in a flash with my dad bearing down on me. He wants to hurt me, he wants to kill me. I can feel his hatred. I can see it burning in his eyes.
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