by Jon Athan
Austin glanced back and whispered, “I'm fucking losing it...”
From afar, he could see he was only three doors away from the dining room – no more than 30 meters from the savage family. He shook his head and continued his brisk jog. His eyes widened as he spotted an opportunity. The door to his left was left slightly open. Austin slipped into the room, then he quietly shut the door behind him.
He planted his forehead on the door and whispered, “What do I do? How do I kill them? Anna, please, tell me what to do. Give me a sign. Show me the way...”
Austin's self-talk was interrupted by a ghastly gasp emerging from behind him. He loudly swallowed as he stepped away from the door. With narrowed eyes, he glanced back. There was a queen-sized bed with silk crimson sheets to the left towards the center of the room. A young woman, not much younger than Anna, laid atop the bed. The woman took his breath away. Sheer beauty could not accomplish such a feat. Even Anna failed to vacuum his lungs at first sight. The woman's physical condition rendered him momentarily speechless.
Austin rubbed his eyes as he walked towards the bed. He whispered, “What did they do to you?”
The brunette woman's legs were removed at the knees and her arms were dismembered at the elbows – a quadruple amputee. Her eyelids were crudely stitched shut. With each gasp of air, Austin could see her teeth were violently removed. Her tongue was also partially severed, cut in half with one foul snip. Her stomach was round and firm. The young woman was pregnant. She was brutalized and held hostage, used to continue the bloodline and create food.
Austin leaned over the bed and said, “I need you to...” He stepped back and shook his head, baffled. He said, “I don't know what I need you to do, really. I'm sorry. I don't... I don't know what to do. I've never been in this situation before. I want to take you with me. You understand? Tell me how to get out of here. Please, tell me something.”
The woman did not respond. She gasped and trembled on the bed, then she settled on the mattress. Left and right, she slowly moved her head. Her moan of agony was faint and slow. She seemed to have the ability to talk, at least a bit more than Clyde, but she did not respond to Austin's pleas. Austin leaned closer as he stared at the woman's ear.
Through the darkness, he could see her ear was blocked with a foreign body. He bit his bottom lip as he gently poked the object. She shuddered upon feeling the finger, but she did not respond. She was unaware of Austin's presence and intent. For all she knew, Charles was playfully prodding her – tormenting the woman.
In a dubious tone, Austin whispered, “Cement? They... They clogged your ears with cement?”
Austin was shocked – appalled and bewildered by the discovery. He was awed by the level of savagery the group reached. They continued to ascend beyond his wildest imagination. Aside from her olfactory perception and taste, the woman's senses were wiped. She could not see and she could not hear. Walking was also out of the question. Her nightmare was never-ending – a fate worse than death.
Infuriated, Austin said, “I'm going to avenge you, Helen, Anna, and... and everyone else. I'm going to kill all of these sick bastards. I promise.”
Austin gently caressed the woman's forehead. The woman winced from the soft touch, but she quickly found some comfort in Austin's presence. Although she could not hear or see, she could still feel the aura of a person. She could feel Austin's kindness. For the first time since her kidnapping, she felt safe.
***
Despondent, Austin glanced at the door with narrowed eyes. He walked towards the neighboring wall, then he planted his ear on the barrier. He could hear the ruckus in the hallway. The old man and his remaining son were bickering and bantering. Considering Clyde's lack of speech, Charles was surely dominating the conversation.
Austin whispered, “What are you planning? Huh? What are you thinking, you sick bastards?”
Austin hopped away from the wall as the sound of a rattling chainsaw emerged. The roaring tool echoed through the large house, reverberating through the corridors and growling through the rooms. The noise was normal for everyday use, like a logger cutting down trees and slicing through branches for wood. The day was not like yesterday, though, and Clyde was not a logger. He sought to cut through flesh and slice through bone.
Austin sighed in relief as the chainsaw dwindled with a barrage of rumbling steps. It must be Clyde, he thought, and he must be leaving. The crepitating sound lowered to a faint buzz. The distraught man had moved far away from the bedroom. The photographer seized the opportunity, glancing around the room for a weapon. He huffed, then he nervously chuckled.
While making his disturbing discovery, he didn't notice parts of the bed frame were made of human bones. The bedposts caught his eye. The bedposts were crafted with humerus bones. He clenched his jaw and tugged on the bone. The hostage was not bothered by the bed's shaking. As the bone snapped, Austin stumbled back. The splintered bone was dusty and sharp – honed like a scalpel.
Austin whispered, “All of you will die from the bones of your victims...”
The sound of slow and heavy footsteps disrupted his contemplation. As the footsteps approached, he glanced around the room for a sturdy object. Across from the foot of the bed, beside a dormant fireplace, there was a chair comprised of human bones. Although he hated the thought of desecrating the remains, he knew his options were limited. He lifted the chair from the floor, then he heaved the furniture through the window. The glass shattered into a dozen sharp shards, twinkling with the moonlight.
Austin swiftly crawled under the bed. The hinges grated as the door violently swung open. Each step was slow and calculated – the butcher was vigilant. As the man approached, Austin peeked towards the window. To his utter relief, Charles protruded his head through the broken opening. Austin wanted to weaken the herd before attacking the mammoth monster known as 'Clyde.'
Charles glanced every which way, examining every nook and cranny on the adjacent hill. He peered towards the desolate motel, but to no avail. The captive was nowhere in sight. He could see Clyde running down the hill near the foyer of the house with the chainsaw over his head – chasing shadows, presumably.
Charles shouted, “He's out there somewhere, boy! You find him and you kill him! You slaughter that son of a bitch like you slaughtered his whore!” Clyde looked every which way, like if he were confused – where is daddy's voice coming from? Charles muttered, “Damn, moron... It should have been you, you... you stupid motherfucker.”
Charles glanced around the room, searching the darkest corners for the slightest clue. To his utter dismay, he found nothing. He could only assume the young photographer escaped his clutches through the broken window. He smirked upon spotting the brutalized woman. Fortunately for him, Austin did not touch her.
As he stared at the woman, Charles said, “You would have liked if he touched you, wouldn't you? That's what you wanted, right? Another man?” He turned towards the window and stared at the moon. He muttered, “You damn whore... I'll teach you a lesson.”
Austin crawled out from under the bed, slithering like a snake in the grass. He stared at Charles' left ankle – his target. Beads of sweat dribbled down his brow, his breathing became restricted. He had a golden opportunity, one chance to immobilize the head of the household. He gritted his teeth, then he struck.
As Austin grabbed his leg, Charles glanced down and said, “What the hell are–”
Before he could finish, Austin sliced into Charles' Achilles tendon with the honed bone. The bone cut through his flesh like if he were slicing through paper. Blood gushed from the laceration as Austin sawed into Charles' heel. Even with blood splattering on his face, Austin couldn't stop himself. The bloodshed did not perturb him.
Charles shouted and stumbled forward. With such a careless action, he accidentally planted his palms on the broken window – stabbing himself with the sharp glass. The butcher spun in place, teetering every which way. Agony echoed from his sliced palms and mutilated ankle, crippling his entire b
ody with a wave of pain.
As he reached the bottom of the hill, Clyde skidded to a stop and grunted. He turned towards the house as his father's bloodcurdling screech struck him. He moaned and glanced around the hill, baffled. He was ordered to find and kill a man, but his father was screaming for help. Although he only followed his father's direct commands, Clyde reluctantly hobbled towards the house. He already lost his sibling, who also happened to be his mother, and he refused to lose his father.
Charles staggered to his knees, grimacing and bellowing from the insufferable pain. Austin breathed heavily as he stepped behind the butcher. He grabbed a fistful of Charles' thin hair, then he pulled the man's head back. Charles cried, babbling indistinctly. He did not know the definition of mercy, but he had seen his victims beg. He simply replicated the moments before their unfortunate deaths, trying to convince the photographer to spare him.
Austin said, “You deserve to have a taste of your own medicine...”
Austin used the sharp bone to slice into Charles' scalp. Helen's image flashed in his mind, fueling his lust for vengeance. The sound of shredding skin was loud and unnerving. His hands were drenched in the spurting blood, like if he had just finished finger painting with red paint. Nothing could stop his rage, his conscience was killed with his girlfriend.
As he ripped Charles' scalp from his dome, Austin shouted, “You deserve to taste your own flesh!”
As the butcher bellowed, Austin shoved the bloodied scalp into Charles' mouth. He pushed and pulled on Charles' jaw, forcing him to chew the hair and flesh. Blood streamed down his chin and plopped on the floor as the man sobbed and coughed. Austin watched as Charles choked on his own scalp, gagging like a cat with a hairball.
Austin shouted, “Eat it! Eat it, you sick motherfucker!”
Clyde ran down the hall with his handy chainsaw, lurching towards Charles' cries. He stopped at the doorway to the bedroom and stared at his dying father with wide eyes – astonished. His father was supposed to be untouchable, his father was a god among men. He stomped and cried, weeping louder than the roaring chainsaw.
As Clyde ran into the room, Austin lifted Charles to his feet. He used the ravaged man as a human shield. In a fit of rage, Clyde blindly swung the chainsaw with all of his might. The chainsaw cut through Charles' shoulder, eating into his chest with each inch. Charles' eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body convulsed. He was dead within seconds. The chainsaw jammed, choking on the flesh.
Realizing he slaughtered his father, Clyde yammered, “N–N–N–N–N–N...”
Clyde could not finish the word. He couldn't utter the only word in his vocabulary. The mixture of emotional pain and disability kept him from speaking. He could only stare into his father's bloodshot eyes as he tried to apologize for his mistake.
For a second, Austin felt bad for the young man. The pity, however, was short-lived. Austin grabbed the honed bone, then he lunged forward. He stabbed Clyde in the stomach. He pulled the bone out, then he stabbed him again – penetrating deeper than the first thrust. With one final thrust, the photographer stabbed the bone into Clyde's abdomen.
Austin slowly twisted the bone, maximizing the pain until the bone snapped. Clyde groaned as he wrestled with Austin, tightly holding the young photographer's wrists with his humongous hands. He cocked his head back like a walking pigeon, then he headbutted him. The force of the strike was enough to give both men a severe case of whiplash.
Austin staggered to his knees, dazed by the blow. Clyde glanced down at his stomach. He picked at the lingering pieces of bone trapped in his flesh. The fragments aggravated the wound, like shrapnel from a bomb. As Clyde struggled to tend to his grisly lacerations, Austin crawled out of the bedroom, escaping the carnage.
***
Austin walked down the hall, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. The headbutt knocked him out of one nightmare and tossed him into another. His head must be made of stone, he thought. He bounced from wall-to-wall, struggling to regain his balance. He did not have the time to search for another advantage or explore the house. He could only work with the knowledge at hand.
Austin whispered, “The dining room... The dining room... The kitchen...”
Austin stumbled into the dining room, slamming the door behind him. He planted his back on the door and glanced around the room. He never wanted to return to the sinister area, but he had no other options. He walked alongside the long dining table, catching his breath and examining the shocking mayhem.
Helen swung from the ceiling, dead and scalped. He thought about cutting her down, but the action seemed useless. The woman, like the other victims, was already brutalized. Destroying the restraints would do nothing for a ravaged corpse. He closed his eyes and nodded at the woman – a motion of regret.
Austin clenched his jaw as he approached the other end of the table. Anna was slumped forward in her seat and Dante laid in a puddle of blood nearby. The pair were clearly dead, any attempts at resuscitation were futile. Dante's violent death did not matter – it was warranted after such a horrifying day. The mere sight of Anna, however, brought Austin to tears. He said his goodbyes, but he couldn't let her go.
As he walked past Anna, Austin whispered, “I'm sorry, sweetheart...”
Austin sniffled as he entered the kitchen through the door behind Anna. The kitchen was fairly simple – white tile flooring, white walls, and an island towards the center. There was a door on the parallel wall and another door to the left.
Austin staggered towards the island. He stood on his tiptoes and peered towards the door to the left. From the grimy brick walls and creaky staircase, he could see the door led to the basement. He glanced at the counters behind him. There was a large stainless steel stockpot on a stove. The flame was still hissing beneath the pot.
Austin whispered, “A weapon... I need a weapon.”
The photographer nodded as he opened the door on the other side. Through the darkness, he could see a sofa, a coffee table, and a tube television. Except for the television, all of the furniture was made of human remains. A living room, he thought. He glanced back at the kitchen, peering towards the stove – an idea materialized.
Clyde grunted and moaned as he opened the dining room door with a mighty kick. He drew a machete with a long blade from a leather sheath at the back of his waistband. The machete had a 22-inch blade and the sheath was made of tanned human skin. The savage family did not waste any of their human resources.
The wicked man hobbled towards the kitchen door. He did not care for Helen or Anna – they were furniture and food, respectively. Upon spotting Dante's corpse, though, Clyde couldn't help but cry. He was flustered by the gory sight and angered by his failure. He shoved the kitchen door open and stopped at the doorway.
Clyde sniffled as he took one step forward. The kitchen was surprisingly empty. As far as he was concerned, everything seemed to be in order. He walked towards the basement door with the machete over his head. He was prepared to strike anyone or anything in his path. To his utter disappointment, the basement seemed normal. He lowered the machete and whimpered.
With his shoulders and heels high, Austin quietly tiptoed into the kitchen from the living room. He could see Clyde rubbing his face and crying near the basement door, standing with his back to the captive. His sorrow was genuine, but it didn't matter. Austin bit his bottom lip and nodded as the opportunity presented itself.
Despondently staring down the staircase, Clyde muttered, “N–N–N–No...”
Austin shouted, “Yes, bastard, yes!”
Clyde turned back and moaned. Before he could lift the machete and swing, Austin poured the scorching stew from the stockpot on Clyde's body. Clyde screeched as the hot liquid burned his flesh. He staggered in reverse, then he took a tumble down the stairs. Each step cracked and howled from the man's weight.
Clyde continued to moan and weep, sprawled across the bottom of the stairs. Austin grabbed a chef knife from the counter. He had to finished the job, he ha
d to wipe out the bloodline. He carefully descended into the basement, lunging over the shattered steps. He stopped at the final stair and stared down at Clyde.
Austin said, “Look at yourself.” He furrowed his brow, confounded. With a pinch of reluctance in his voice, he repeated, “Look at yourself...”
Clyde shriveled into the fetal position. With his hands wrapped around his head, he mewled like a newborn baby. The melancholic cries echoed through the dreary dungeon. The agony was sincere. The childish man did not understand deceit – he could not wear multiple faces like his brother. Austin examined Clyde with narrowed eyes. He had seen him before and he despised him for good reason.
Yet, his conscience finally awoke from a temporary slumber. He felt bad for the man. He could see Clyde was severely ill – abused, physically and mentally. He had emotional scars on his psyche. Forgiveness was not easy, though. The old man's final demands echoed through Austin's head: you slaughter that son of a bitch like you slaughtered his whore!
Austin sternly said, “I'll slaughter you like you slaughtered her.”
Clyde cried as Austin tugged on his shoulder, forcing the butcher on his back. Austin pulled his arm back, then he stabbed down at Clyde's stomach. The honed knife penetrated deep into his gut with the powerful thrust. Austin clenched his jaw as he dragged the knife across the tender flesh, slicing a horizontal line across his abdomen – a reflection of Anna's fatal wound. Clyde wheezed and trembled on the ground, shocked by the attack.
Austin's arm trembled as he held his fingers over Clyde's wound. He wanted to stretch the wound and torture the vicious killer, but he was conflicted. As much as his mind called for vengeance, his heart could not respond with such savagery. Tears trickled from his eyes and plopped on Clyde's stomach.
As he tossed the knife aside, Austin said, “You... You deserve to die... Whatever they did to you, I'm sorry. It wasn't my fault, but you killed Anna. You did that. You killed the love of my life.”
Austin wiped the tears from his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat, then he walked up the stairs. Surrounded by his victims, Clyde was left for dead in the grim dungeon.