by Jon Athan
Saliva dripping from his mouth and tears streaming down his cheeks, Austin shouted, “Oh, God! No! No!”
Austin wheezed as he looked away. The arm had deep bite marks and missing flesh. Clyde's lips and chin were drenched in blood. Linking the pieces together was not difficult – cannibalism. Clyde walked towards Austin, shaking the mutilated limb at the captive like if he were offering a bite. Austin's refusal was insulting.
Clyde groaned and moaned, muttering like a child with a deep raspy voice. His words were indecipherable, like a baby's vocabulary. Clyde threw the arm on the ground, frustrated and offended, then he marched back to his side of the room. He riffled through a desk, searching for a weapon – knives, screwdrivers, saws, hammers and the like filled the arsenal.
Austin stared at the breathing woman and shouted, “Wake up! Wake up, damn it! Wake up!” He glanced back at Clyde and gasped. He shouted, “Oh, shit! Shit!”
Clyde hurtled towards the captive with a hammer. He swung the hammer with all of his might, missing by an inch. Austin jerked away, weaving and bobbing his head like an audience member searching for a better view of the stage. He was quick and nimble, even with the restraints. Clyde grunted, then he swung again. The hammer vibrated as the tool clashed with the wall.
Austin said, “Wait, wait, wait. Please, listen to me. We weren't trying to hurt you. We're good people, Clyde.” Clyde tilted his head and lowered the hammer upon hearing his name. Austin sniffled and nodded, then he said, “Yeah, I know your name. I know you, Clyde. I just... I just want to help you. That's all. We don't want to hurt you or your family. We want to help you get better. Please, don't do this. Just let us go.”
Clyde stepped in reverse and gazed into Austin's eyes. He did not understand the words, other than his name, but he could read the man's aura. The photographer was harmless. Austin stared back at Clyde, trying his best to keep his poker face afloat. He was revolted by Clyde's appearance and the surrounding gore, but he kept his eyes sharp and sincere.
Clyde slowly shook his head and stammered, “N–N–N–N–No...”
Austin glanced up at the ceiling and yelled, “Help! Help! Damn it! Help us!”
Clyde rushed forward, then he swung the hammer. The hammer hit Austin's right shoulder. Austin grimaced from the pain as he tugged away. Clyde struck down again, slicing through the air with his mighty swing.
As the pair grappled in a one-sided fight, the young woman awoke. Teary-eyed, she stared at the duo in utter disbelief. Her tender dreams ended and she was tossed back into a restless nightmare. She felt sympathy for Austin. At the same time, she couldn't help but loathe him for waking her up.
The woman yelled, “Help! Help!”
Clyde turned towards the woman and muttered. He held his hands to his ears and shouted. Frustrated by the ruckus, he tugged on his hair and stomped on the ground. Like a spoiled child at a toy store, he threw tantrums quite often – it was part of his childish demeanor. He turned back towards Austin, then he swung the hammer again. Austin was set free as the hammer struck the dilapidated chain restraining his left arm.
With one wide eye, Clyde bellowed. He slapped the thick lumps on his forehead, punishing himself for his foolish mistake. The slaps did not physically harm him, but each hit prepared him for pain. He knew his father would beat him without mercy for his recklessness. He would be brutally punished for his actions.
Seizing the opportunity, Austin struck Clyde's groin with a powerful uppercut. Fortunately, the huge man's genitals were as sensitive as those on any other person. There may have been another lump or two down there, but the coarse and rugged skin could not stop the agony. Clyde staggered in reverse. He stumbled over the severed arm he was eating, then he plummeted to the ground. A loud thud reverberated through the room as the back of his head collided with the concrete. The ground trembled from the fall.
Austin leaned forward, peering at the menacing man. He expected him to sit up in one swift movement, like every serial killer in his favorite horror movies. The woman on the parallel wall followed his lead, staring at the man with hopeful eyes. With vengeance on her mind, she wanted her captor to suffer an agonizing death. To her dismay, Clyde was only knocked unconscious by the blow to his head.
***
Austin cried as he reached for the hammer to no avail. Every inch aggravated his injured shoulder. He could not endure the stinging pain. He leaned back on the wall and sobbed. His attempts were fruitless – all of them. He couldn't escape the butcher brothers, he couldn't fight off Clyde in the motel room, and he could not save his girlfriend. He was a coward in dull, worn-out armor.
From across the room, the woman said, “Don't stop now. Don't you dare stop now. They'll kill us if we don't escape. Keep trying. Break us free.”
With a grimace, Austin said, “I can't... I can't do it...”
“You have to. Please, don't let them win like this. Don't let them kill us. You have one free arm, you have the chance to save us. Come on, try something. You can do this.”
Austin stared down at the hammer and shook his head. A motivational speech could not shorten the distance between a man and a tool. If he were to survive, he would need both functioning arms. Amplifying the pain on his shoulder would do the pair no good in the long run. Instead, he glanced at the arsenal of tools to his right.
He could not reach the hammer, so surely he could not reach Clyde's arsenal. However, the makeshift tools spilling towards him like a wave at shore were useful – severed limbs, decapitated heads, and bones. A mountain of bones, the Mount Everest of death, provided the tools necessary for escape.
The woman glanced at the bones and said, “Yeah, yeah... Do it. You can break the chains, then break mine. Please, hurry.”
Austin shut his eyes and blindly grabbed a random bone. He opened his eyes to a squint to briefly examine his choice. He found himself with a sturdy humerus – an arm bone. It was not nearly as reliable as a hammer, but he would have to make-do. He didn't want to think about the situation, either. Using the bones of a slain person for his escape made him queasy.
As Austin struck the restraint on his right arm, the woman nervously smiled and said, “You can do it. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Overwhelmed with joy, she cried and moaned. As she recomposed herself, the woman said, “My... My name is Helen. Please, remember that in case anything happens to me. My name is Helen... Thank you.”
In the same fashion as Helen, Austin cried – the joy was contagious. He destroyed the restraints on his legs. He could not break the shackles from his ankles, so he broke the wall mounts instead. He would rather drag the chains with him than die in the disgusting dungeon. His legs wavered as he staggered to his feet.
Patting the blood and dust from his pants, Austin said, “It's nice to meet you, Helen. My name is Austin.”
Helen nodded and said, “Okay, okay. I think we should wait to talk. We don't have too much time for introductions. Please, break these damn chains so we can leave. Hurry.”
Austin nodded in agreement. Yet, he could not rush to Helen's aid. He tiptoed over Clyde's unconscious body, examining every nook and cranny on his disfigured face. He could not overcome his fears. He expected Clyde to spring upward like a Jack-in-the-box toy – the melody even rang through his head, teasing him.
The floorboards above moaned like the undead in a horror movie – slow, ghastly groans. A woman's soft whisper and a man's frustrated mutter could be heard from the basement. The conversation was indistinct, cluttered words and letters. Although he could not clearly identify the voices, he had a decent idea.
Austin whispered, “Anna...”
Helen sternly said, “Austin, help me. Please, stop wasting time. Break these damn shackles and let's get the hell out of here. Please.”
Austin picked up the hammer and said, “I'll help you break free, but I'm not leaving this place without my girlfriend. And, if they touched a single hair on her body, I'm not going to leave until I slaughter all of these bastards.”
&n
bsp; Helen gazed at her savior with inquisitive eyes, awed by the love he shared with his girlfriend. She said, “That's... That's fine. I'll get help. I'll bring the cops to this place. I swear, I'll help you as much as possible. I promise.”
Austin clenched his jaw and struck the chain. The chain clinked and clanked, but it would not break. One, two, or three strikes, it did not matter. The attacks barely scuffed the metal. His restraints were clearly weaker than Helen's chains – or, bone was stronger than metal and he did not realize it.
Wide-eyed, Austin turned towards the staircase to his left. He held his index finger to his lips, shushing Helen – a precautionary measure considering she wasn't speaking in the first place. The basement door slowly opened, the hinges squealing like a pig in mud.
From the top of the stairs, Dante said, “Clyde, how are you doing, buddy? You okay down there?” Clyde did not respond on account of his beating. Dante said, “Listen, pal, I know daddy can be harsh, but it's only because he loves us so much. He doesn't want us to mess everything up. Business was just getting good and we wrecked a room. We should have known better. You understand? Clyde?”
As the first stair groaned, Helen glared at Clyde and shouted, “Kill him! Kill that monster!”
Better to kill one now, Austin thought, and finish the rest off later. He rushed forward, then he clobbered Clyde's dome with the hammer. He grunted and wheezed with each strike. Clyde's legs trembled as he received the blows. Austin counted each and every hit, savoring the vengeance – one, two, three, four.
Dante pushed Austin away from his beaten brother. Austin staggered back towards a fragile pillar, confused. In his fit of rage, he did not hear Dante rushing down the stairs. He was temporarily deafened by his lust for vengeance. Before he could even get a glimpse of Dante, Austin faced a sturdy rolling pin.
The rolling pin crushed his nose and dazed him with a single strike. He fell to the floor, overwhelmed by the pain and Helen's shrill cries. He felt numb and baffled, lost in madness. He could barely hear and his vision began to fade. He feared death was approaching, coming for his tormented soul.
Austin narrowed his eyes as he stared at Dante. Dante seemed to be wearing a floral-pattern apron over his bloodied clothing – a peculiar choice for such a savage man. An ironic display of lunacy, Austin thought, or the clothing of a victim? Perhaps a mother killed while baking a pie for her child? A young child... a motherless child. He did not want to contemplate the sadistic possibilities any further.
Dante gently slapped Clyde's cheek and said, “Wake up, Clyde. Come on, I know you can hear me. I know your thick head is stronger than that. I've got to get ready for dinner. Wake up, boy, I've got to get dressed. I don't have time for this.”
Clyde coughed as he awoke. He loudly moaned as he squirmed on the floor, flailing his limbs and screaming. Dante attentively stared at him, soothing his brother's pain with a soft hum. The vicious hitchhiker had a maternal aura, but only when it came to his brother. He was apathetic to the world, slaughtering without mercy, but he cared deeply for his sibling. The love was mutual.
In a soft tone, Dante said, “There you go, buddy. Everything's going to be okay. It's just a little boo-boo. We'll patch you up before dinner, then you can have all you can eat. We have plenty of food to go around tonight, Clyde.”
Dante stood and retrieved a chef's knife from the back of his waistband. He walked towards Helen with a smug smile plastered on his face. Helen stared up at the ceiling and screamed. She hollered for help, but there was no response – the floorboards didn't even groan. Dante grabbed the nape of her neck and pulled her closer, leering at her like a pervert at a shopping mall.
He said, “Oh, girl, I wanted to make this easy for the both of us. You should have stayed asleep.”
Teary-eyed, Helen scowled and said, “Fuck you and your fucking brother. You can go fuck each other for all I care, you sick bastards.”
“Girl, girl, girl. I'm certainly not going to make it easy for you now.”
Dante grabbed a fistful of hair, then he yanked Helen's head back. He sliced into her scalp with the honed blade, cutting through her skin like if he were slicing through warm butter. Back-and-forth, he slowly scalped the woman. Helen shrieked as blood spilled out of the wound, cascading over her face like rainfall on a windshield. The sound of skin being torn, like paper being ripped in an empty auditorium, was as loud as Helen's shrill shriek.
Austin weakly reached for the pair and whispered, “Please, stop... Don't do this... Please...”
Helen gasped as Dante tore her scalp from her dome. Scalp in hand, Dante turned towards Austin. He chuckled at his futile attempt at rescuing the woman. The photographer could barely conjure the energy to speak, he surely couldn't overpower two vicious men. Dante kicked Austin's hand away. He grabbed his rolling pin, then he struck down at Austin's face. The hit instantly knocked him unconscious.
Chapter Thirteen
The Family Dinner
Austin erratically blinked as he awoke, his head slumped down to his chest. His nose was fractured and stained with blood. The dried blood was smeared across his cheeks, lips, and chin. He tried to lift his arms and kick his feet, but he found himself tied to a chair with durable rope.
Austin whispered, “What the... What is this? What the hell is this?” He stared at his body in disbelief. He shouted, “What the hell is this?! What did you do?! You sick pieces of shit, what the hell did you do?”
Austin was restrained to a makeshift chair – a homemade novelty. The sturdy piece of furniture was constructed with human remains – bones. The armrests were made of arm bones, the legs were crafted with the finest leg bones, and the seat was comprised of several scapula bones. Austin glanced over his shoulder, examining the rest of the demented seat. The back rails were made up of rib bones, prodding at his spine. He was sitting on a collection of human remains. Several victims were killed for his 'comfort.'
Austin sobbed and said, “Holy shit... You're crazy. You're all crazy.” He gritted his teeth and tried to lift his arms, but to no avail. He whispered, “This can't be happening. It can't be real.”
Upon hearing a squealing sound above, Austin glanced at the ceiling. He shuddered as he struggled to speak, rendered speechless by fear. Tied from her wrists and ankles, Helen dangled from the ceiling. Covered in lacerations and drenched in blood, she swung above the table like a human chandelier. Blood dripped from her bloody scalp, plopping on the tabletop. The act was inhuman.
As his bottom lip quivered, Austin whispered, “Helen... Helen...”
A door at the other end of the room opened. Charles strolled into the room, nonchalantly whistling. The environment did not bother him. He was the decorator, after all. He took a seat at the other end of the large rectangular dining table, sitting directly across from Austin. The pair were separated by twelve seats – six chairs made of bones at each side.
The young photographer was astonished by Charles' mere appearance inside of the nightmarish home. He furrowed his brow and tilted his head as he examined the old man's indifferent demeanor. Although he did not have all of the pieces, he could formulate a decent theory. A father figure, he thought, the hotel manager was in on it.
Austin glared at Charles and asked, “Where's Anna? Huh? Where's my girlfriend?” On the verge of tears, he nervously chuckled and grunted. He warned, “I swear, if you hurt her, if you even laid one finger on her, I'll rip you to pieces and eat you for dinner. I'll kill all of you! I'll wipe your pathetic family off the face of the earth! You hear me?!”
Disregarding the warning, Charles shouted, “Cheryl! Cheryl, you dumb dog, what time is the food going to be ready?! It's almost going to be morning and I have to sleep soon!” He shook his head and muttered, “Goddammit, I don't have all day... I'm the one that has to work in the morning, I'm the one making all the money around here.”
From over Austin's shoulder, Cheryl shouted, “I'll be finished in a minute, dear!”
“Well, hurry it up, woman!”
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Austin furrowed his brow and tilted his head. Cheryl's voice caught his attention. The voice belonged to a man, a man trying to speak like a woman. The voice was soft and feminine but clearly forced. Such a cliché tone could not be mistaken for a woman. Austin was not one to judge or assume, but he was certain there was a man hiding behind the curtain.
Charles said, “Hey, boy, you should be honored to have dinner with us tonight. We usually don't allow your kind to join us at the family table. No, no, that's like tainting the bloodline. Still, my woman seems to like you. There's something about you. Hell, even I'm falling for you.”
As Charles chuckled, snorting like a pig, Austin said, “I'm going to kill you. You understand me? I'm going to kill you and both of your sons. I'll slaughter them like the people you slaughtered for... for...” He glanced down at the chair and shuddered. He said, “Like the people you slaughtered for this.”
Austin winced as a door behind him opened. He was familiar with the following noise, he had heard it from Anna – high heels thudding on hardwood floorboards. Anna was not entering the room, though, and he was not prepared for Cheryl's grand entrance. Nothing could prepare the young photographer for the madness.
Austin gasped upon spotting Cheryl, then he whispered, “You... You just don't stop...”
Dante wore more than one face, he moved with more than one frame – literally. Draped over his figure like a common garment, the sinister hitchhiker wore a suit of tanned female skin up to his neck. His face was smeared with globs of makeup and he wore Helen's scalp on his dome. Over his loose-fitted human suit, he wore a blue sundress beneath a floral-pattern apron. He swung his hips as he strutted towards his father, glancing back at Austin with kittenish eyes. Dante was Cheryl and Cheryl was Dante.