Meet Your Favorite Serial Killer

by Spencer,Alan

  He searched the area for any weapon. A gun. A knife. A chain. A hook. A pair of brass knuckles. A cleaver. Anything.

  He found two things.

  Two severed arms.

  I'll beat the son of a bitch to death.

  I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ANYMORE!

  He grabbed the arms and swung them as bludgeons. The fingers smashed into Bloom's face like flaccid fists. Again, and again, and again, he battered Bloom with the appendages.

  He didn't expect what happened next.

  The most unholy sight burned his eyes.

  Rivulets of skin and blood from the severed arm stumps had flicked off onto Bloom's mechanical fists. The motorized components began kicking up smoke.

  "What's this? Oh no! Stop. No. Stop. How can I stop it? Oh my gaaaaaaaaaaaawd!"

  David couldn't believe his eyes.

  Bloom's arms were broken at the wrists. The steel hands were spinning, grabbing, ripping, pulling, and digging into Luke's body. David watched as his enemy peeled, punctured, bashed, and ripped his body inside out with those incredible steel hands.

  "Satan! Satan! I am yours! I am a dedicated disciple. I have great ideas. The Event will only get better with me in charge. Why are you doing this? No. Satan! SATAN SAVE ME!"

  The hands seized hold of Luke's mouth and jerked down to remove his mandible. The hands dug deeper into his dripping, spitting, gaping mouth until the hands wrenched out every ounce of gray matter from his skull and hurled it out into the open air.

  David couldn't look anymore.

  The sight was too sickening.

  He rushed across the killing ground to Kayla. Blood covered her face. Her nose was a gushing faucet.

  "Kayla? Wake up. Are you alive? Please be alive."

  He checked for a pulse.

  Dead.

  One punch was all it took, and she was gone.

  "After everything, you almost made it. I wouldn't be alive right now without you. God bless you."

  The mention of God set something off.

  The walls of the ring began to fizzle and deteriorate as if being eaten by acid. David charged out of the ring of death and devastation. When he exited the ring, he wasn't anywhere he had ever been before. Red fog surrounded him. He could hear killers laugh, chide, and deride him.

  "See you soon, Mr. Smith."

  "I can't wait to wrap my guts around you in hell."

  "Your meat will be mighty tasty in my succulent stew."

  "My maggots will reap your skin."

  "Mark me, you shall never use my sledgehammer against me ever again!"

  "Can you hear me lick my lips? I'm salivating for you, Mr. Smith."

  He gripped his head, shouted in horror, and collapsed to his knees. He was consumed by the red fog. The one voice, THE VOICE, inflicted earthquake tremor's into the ground with his words. The statements rocked his body so hard he went unconscious, but not before hearing the great Satan speak: "CONGRATULATIONS, MR. SMITH. YOU ARE THE LAST MAN STANDING. NOW BE GONE!"

  David's body was caked in dirt. The inside of his mouth was gritty and dry and full of sand. He spit it out in anger. He was sticking half-way up out of the ground. Desert sand covered the miles from the left and right of him. There were no buildings or roads. Nobody was here. He couldn't think about how he arrived here in this position.

  Impossible.

  All of it was so damn impossible.

  He kept trying to wriggle free from the hole. He used both hands to force himself up. There was no use. He was stuck.

  "You want some help?"

  Maggot Girl was standing above him. She was naked, and from hidden folds and secret orifices of her body, came the wretched colony that immediately swarmed his body.

  "Let us help you up," she laughed. "We're not finished with you yet."

  A hand grabbed him by under his armpits and lifted him from the hole.

  Vlad.

  "I'm going to break you in two! Nobody steals my sledgehammer! Nobody!"

  He didn't stand a chance against the titan of strength.

  Death was upon him instantly.

  Vlad was gone.

  Maggot Girl had vanished.

  This time David wasn't sticking out of a hole in the ground. He lay sprawled on a concrete walkway. The walkway led into an underground area under the desert sand. This had to be where The Event was held.

  He worked back up to his feet and hobbled as far away from that damnable place as possible. There was a paved parking lot just outside the underground entrance. The sun was up in the sky burning bright. He searched the area for any signs of where he could be. There was no buildings or roads.

  The only thing that occupied the area was the large gathering of black stretch limousines. Drivers were waiting for The Event to be over. Men and women drivers smoked cigarettes, read newspapers, or were camped out on the hoods of their vehicles soaking in the desert sun.

  He stood there unsure of what to think. It wasn't long before the drivers noticed the battle ravaged, blood caked stranger standing several yards from them. One of the drivers, a younger punk, pointed his finger at David in accusation.

  "You done in there? Where's our clients? Huh? Can you? Speak up, guy."

  He ignored the driver's questions.

  David had inquiries of his own.

  "Didn't you hear the noises? Guns were going off. People were screaming and dying down there. Why didn't you call for help?"

  "Why would we do that?" A butch woman said, reaching into her dress coat pocket for a .28 pistol. "It's none of your business what they do down there. We're not to see it, hear it, or know about it. We do our job, and we mind our own business. That is we we're paid for."

  "Who you's supposed to be?" An irate man with an Italian accent came up fast on David. "You appear out of nowhere and start asking questions and making accusations. I don't like it. Now answer my question, fuck face. Who you's supposed to be?"

  It dawned on him what these people were doing here. They had delivered the crowd to a secret place so they could enjoy their game.

  He had walked out of one bad situation and stumbled right into another one.

  "Where are our clients?"

  "Who are you?"

  "Don't stand there with that dumb scared look? Start speaking."

  "Snap out of it, asshole. Say something."

  "I think we're going to have to beat on him a little."

  "Wouldn't be the first time."

  "He's not going into my vehicle. You know how hard it is to get blood out of carpet? It ruins that new car smell in a hurry."

  "Not to mention if he takes a shit or pisses himself. You might as well consider your vehicle junked."

  David wanted to run. He should've. Their guns were drawn on him before he could take a single step or make that quick decision.

  Something in him broke.

  He started to laugh uncontrollably. Tears steamed out of his eyes. He could barely breathe, he was so busted up. He lowered to his knees and tried to get a hold of himself.

  "Hey, what's so fucking funny?"

  "You crazy?"

  "This guy has lost his mind."

  "Just what the hell do they do down there?"

  "I don't know."

  "Nobody knows."

  "Talk, before I shoot you dead."

  "Quit laughing. What's so Goddamn funny?"

  David managed to recover himself. "What's so funny, you ask me? You're asking me what's so funny? I'll tell you. I've survived a hundred maniacs trying to kill me, and it's going to be the likes you who actually does me in."

  "Where's everybody at, huh?"

  "Did you see our bosses in there?"

  "Do you know if they're coming out anytime soon?"

  "We've been out here almost twenty-four hours."

  "It should be soon, right?"

  "What's going on in there? I bet it's good."

  "Come on, guy. Tell us what they do down there. Why not? I've always been curious."

  "You look lik
e you've been run through hell. Tell us what's going on down there."

  David smiled. "Go on inside and find out if you're so curious."

  "The bosses said we couldn't."

  He had a sudden idea, and there was only one way he was going to pull it off.

  He thought fast and gave his spur-of-the-moment plan a shot.

  "Go ahead and take a peek. They're about done in there. Sorry everybody. I had a bit too much fun. I drank the bar, you could say. When you wake up feeling like somebody's dropped an anvil on your head, it's hard to come out of it. The bosses said there's food and booze left over from the big party. You guys are welcome to it. They wanted to thank you for working so hard. I bet it's sure hot out here. A good drink in air conditioning would cool you right off."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Man, I'm starving. I didn't bring food with me."

  "They said this might take twelve hours, max."

  "It's been double the time. They didn't tell us to bring food or anything."

  "Yeah, let's check it out."

  "Forget the food. I'm hankering for a drink myself."

  "They said we could come in? Really?"

  "Yeah," David assured them. "Just watch out for the blood. They've been hunting animals in there left and right. I got all bloody. That's what happens when you hunt wild boar with grenades."

  "Grenades? I have to see that shit."

  He couldn't believe the group was buying it. David stood back and watched as everybody enter the underground entrance. One by one, the drivers disappeared into the dark shadows.

  The darkness at the entrance changed from black to ultraviolet red. One moment, the drivers were in silhouette, and the next, killers like Gacy, Jack the Ripper, Bathory, Chomps, Tit Head, and Lizzy Borden appeared standing next to them. The drivers released shrills of shock and horror. Then the killers and drivers both were gone in a flash of red light.

  Darkness only remained.

  This time David really was alone.

  The plan was simple. Search the limos and pray a set of keys were available. He lucked out. The first limo he entered, the keys were in the ignition. There was a dog-eared Nicholas Sparks paperback and a rotten apple core in the cup holder. He backed out of the parking lot and discovered an outlet road made of sand covered gravel.

  David slammed the gas pedal and created as much distance from The Event as possible. He had no real sense of direction. Everything was a guess. He imagined somebody would appear to stop and kill him at any moment.

  He wondered if he would ever be safe again.

  They're all dead, he kept thinking. The Blooms. The audience. The drivers. And the killers were supposedly sucked back into hell, right back into the pentagram from where they spurted forth through that infernal smoke and fog.

  Just drive.

  Don't stop.

  He eventually ended up on a barren highway after driving for thirty minutes. He decided to turn right. Ten minutes later, he would learn it wouldn't matter which direction he turned.

  A helicopter flew overhead. A bullhorn's call told him to pull over to the side of the road. Several sets of vehicles with flashing lights on top of their roofs surrounded him. They weren't police. He couldn't tell who these people were, and he wasn't going to stop. He was surrounded by four vehicles now.

  The car matching his speed on the driver's side rolled down its window. An older man showed identification and shouted, "FBI! Pull over. Mr. Smith, we can help you. We know what's happened. We only want to help you."

  David wasn't buying it.

  They were like the Blooms.

  Satanists.

  "We're going to shoot out your tires if you don't pull over. Please, Mr. Smith, your girlfriend is waiting for you at the station. If you could pull over, we can put away these people. Give us a chance, Mr. Smith. We understand you're scared."

  He knew he was surrounded. He didn't stand a chance. If the vehicles didn't stop him, the chopper overhead would.

  What if they are FBI?

  You're out of options.

  You're not getting away.

  He was weak and exhausted. He couldn't keep up this game of run and run some more any longer. Still, this was life, and to give up now, would be to acquiesce to death.

  David drove for ten more minutes struggling to decide. He wouldn't decide, because the decision was made for him. His back two tires were shot out. The limo's rims scraped the highway. He was forced to slow down, or else risk overturning the vehicle.

  When the vehicle stopped, he was surrounded.

  David sat in the driver's seat and waited for them to make their move.

  One man approached the vehicle. It was the older gentleman shouting at him during the chase. Closer up, the man wasn't as old as he first appeared. He imagined him to be in his late forties. His voice was a direct contradiction to his bored, sick of it all features. This man cared deeply about his work, and that meant he cared deeply about the state of David Smith's sanity.

  The man flashed his identification again. "I'm Agent Ron Kelsey. Can you understand the words I'm saying to you?"

  He didn't care to answer any questions. He hadn't committed any crimes, besides self-defense to the millionth degree. Arrest him. Throw him in the gas chamber, but first give him a bar of soap, a hot shower, and a visit with his girlfriend before they threw the switch to end his life.

  Agent Kelsey seemed to read his thoughts.

  "You're not in trouble, Mr. Smith. Clearly, you're not. This isn't a tactic to get you to turn yourself over to us. Allow me to reassure you everything you've experienced is very real. I'm afraid it's true. Hell opened up for approximately twelve to thirty-two hours. The figure changes as we gather more intelligence."

  This is a trap. This guy's fucking with you. Nice toy store badge. You'll want me to get in the back of some strange vehicle, and then you'll drive me to the next jacked up game.

  No.

  I'm sitting here, and I'm not moving an inch.

  Fuck you.

  Agent Kelsey waved back the other agents. "Put down your guns everybody. Mr. Smith is upset. He's been through hell. Lucky for me, I haven't had the displeasure of playing in one of their events. Nobody survives. That much I know. Until now.

  "I'm sorry we got here too late. We managed to track down a source that claimed Marlow and Luke Bloom were the main people behind The Event. We just finished searching their mansion. We found a lot of incriminating evidence. It's how we discovered the location of this underground spot. We're in Ray City, Arizona. It's where they brought you, Mr. Smith, after kidnapping you from your job interview. Your girlfriend is worried sick. She's at the station. Charlie can't wait to see you. That woman loves you very much.

  "We must debrief you. I stress that you're going to be safe. You will get your life back. Nobody's out to harm you. The FBI considers this sensitive information. We only want to ask you questions, gather new information, and let you move on with your life.

  "What do you say, Mr. Smith? Will you come with us? Nobody here will make you do anything against your will. You've had enough of that for one lifetime. Help us stop this from happening ever again to other innocent people. That's what this is really about."

  David remembered Kayla and the others he briefly met who died for someone else's entertainment. He also recalled the promise he made to himself. These people had to die. Satanists. Fetishists. Thrill seekers. Psychotics. They all had to be terminated. There was no reasoning with the kind of people who could open up hell. He couldn't do any of that sitting in this car caked in blood and sweating under the hot Arizona sun.

  He got out of the limo and turned himself over to Agent Kelsey.

  The FBI delivered him to a local Arizona police station. Before going there, he was allowed to visit a truck stop shower. Agent Kelsey apologized for the simple accommodations, that being a bar of soap and a travel sized bottle of shampoo. He didn't care. He was grateful to have every trace of The Event washed from his body.

 
When he finished, the shower drain was clogged with pieces of flesh and flecks of God knows what. The agent left him a pile of clothing, and he changed. He checked himself over in the mirror and quickly looked away. His body was clean, and his clothes were fresh, but his eyes told the real story.

  Agent Kelsey made one other pit stop before dropping in on the police station. He stopped at a burger joint's drive thru and offered him lunch.

  "Some food will do you good. I know it's the last thing you're worried about right now, but you need to eat. You need to get your energy up."

  He was surprised at his level of appetite. He ate the burger, fries, and malt hungrily. The agent was pleased to see him eat.

  A short ride later, they were inside of an Arizona police station. The agent brought him into a private conference room.

  "It'll be me conducting this interview. I want you to be comfortable and relaxed. Tell me from start to finish what happened, Mr. Smith."

  The agent hit the button on the recorder.

  David spilled it all. His kidnapping, the Bloom family, the murder of his daughter, the sick games, the underground facility, the serial killers, and his escape.

  An hour had passed during the telling, and he suddenly felt exhausted.

  "I know you're tired, Mr. Smith. Thank you for telling me what you know. Everything you say checks out. We've had forensics and our crime scene techs scour that cavern. They came up with hundreds and hundreds of bodies. The Bloom family was among the slain.

  "We're onto their next moves. We have the names of people who might be interested in keeping The Event alive. That's going to be on our end of things. It's nothing you need to worry yourself over.

  "This is what I need from you. You're going to sign a form saying what you've told me is the truth, and that you'll agree to a gag order.

  "The world can't handle things like this, Mr. Smith. If anybody found out you could open hell for any period of time, we'd have people losing their minds, and worse yet, other crazier people trying to make it happen themselves. Obviously, we can't have that happen.