“Lots of change round these here parts,” began Patrick. He still had that look like he was trying to figure out of the flavour of something but his eyes were smiling.
“That’s right,” replied John without much enthusiasm, “it seems almost peaceful.” He ordered some coffee and looked out the window at the quiet streets.
“Do you think it’s the end for Jarlo?”
John made a face. “Don’t know about that. If they knocked him off his perch it could make the city more volatile, more unpredictable. The police know stuff like that.”
“You mean to say there was some kind of ordered chaos about this place?”
“I guess so.”
Patrick didn’t look convinced. “Then how the hell do you explain all the death?” A finger was pointed, “And I’ve been reading the Adviser. What the hell’s the deal with those tattoos? I’m guessing you’ve been making more thorough enquiries since I last saw you?”
John couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve seen a few bodies. Whoever was doing the tattoos is gone I’m pretty sure.”
“Gone?”
“Yeah – escaped or died – one of the two. He was probably working for Jarlo and poisoning people with something that will come out in the next couple of weeks.”
Patrick accepted that as a possibility. “Yeah well, I’ve haven’t seen anything since it all kicked off, been stuck in my flat unbelievably bored. Oh yeah, but I did manage to get a new mattress. Someone left opposite me, left the door open an all. I was straight in. This one is almost comfy.”
“Ah-ha!”
“What?”
“My room is definitely shitter than yours now! Couple that with the wonky table I didn’t tell you about.” A dismissive look came over Patrick’s face. “No way. The amount of stuff that I haven’t told you.” Just as he began to tell John about how dangerous his sockets were, Café Black got another customer. A drink was ordered and the person walked further down. The corner of John’s eye got a glimpse of worn clothes as he passed. His pulse quickened as he watched on, hoping this was a tramp. As the stranger turned into another booth he directly faced John. It was that person, that thing, and when a drink was brought over all it did was stare. Patrick hushed for a moment while John asked a crazy question. He cleared his throat before doing so. Is there any way of saying this without it sounding ridiculous?
“Patrick, do you believe in hell spawn?” Of course he laughed but when he saw John not joining in he actually gave it a bit of thought. “Hmm, let me see…nope!” He then looked at John with a squint, “but there’s definitely a bit of the devil in you.”
As it continued to stare with that detachable face John racked his brains. Obviously it had let him off the hook before. Had it changed its mind? Without alarming Patrick he did a quick scan around the café to see if there was anything he could use if worse came to worst. Panic set in when the best he had was launching the salt n’ pepper at it. Dying a week ago would have been better. Now his mate might be coming with him.
“Are you okay?” asked Patrick. John had started to twitch. “Well…I…” That thing began to move. John could see the fresh scars where those blades came out. Its figure looked increasingly rigid, like an animal visualising an attack. John froze. Ten horrible seconds passed when all the tension went from its body. Was that a wink? It raised its hot beverage to the ex-cop and gulped it in one. John watched it leave just as quickly. In the grand scheme of things it was hard to know what this meant. Right now it was a relief.
“Well?” asked Patrick. John had started to laugh.
“Yeah…I’m good…was just thinking I should probably steal a mattress too.”
Cell 374
Ah! You showed up! It’s been so hot in here with the lack of ventilation. At night it’s much cooler but I can’t turn my mind off. Do you know what I mean? Sort of? Ah well, it’s not important. You didn’t visit to hear me complain. Right! I’m sure we’d both prefer it if you sat down. Look over there. I can see a stool. Why don’t you go fetch it…?
Better? I suppose you want to know why I’m here. That question pecks away at me like a vulture. It’s probably best to start from the beginning. You look a bit lost. At church they call this a confession but that’s such a dirty word. I like to think of it as giving you a personal tour.
Okay, so the whole bad childhood thing – I’m proud to say I’m not a part of that cliché. My upbringing was fine. We lived in a remote, heavily-forested area that was the greatest playground a child could ask for. Making dens, climbing trees, skimming stones on the pond, there was a lot to keep me occupied. My father was a trucker, not your typical one but a softly-spoken guy who loved his ship models and baseball. Whenever he used to come home he always had a packet of sweets for me. Sour ones were my favourite. My mother was a fulltime housewife and completely fine with her (some might say) outdated lifestyle. I spent almost all of my time outside so mum would have to shout that “Dinner is ready!”
At school I was a bit of an outcast. I did have a couple of friends but could not understand the fun everyone had during recess. The schoolyard had nothing on my forest playground. There came the time when I felt the need to boast. One of my friends was curious and so followed the first time I had a friend round. He was impressed, of course he was! There wasn’t enough time to show him everything so we mainly climbed trees. I was much better at it but anything I climbed he at least wanted to equal. One of my favourite went as high as twenty feet. I got up there in record time. He followed, slowly.
Why did I do what I did? You know what…it just felt right, very natural like swatting a fly away from your face. As he reached up to my branch I could see that his knees were shaking, obviously not use to this height. It had been a drag waiting for him. Finally he got to the same level and nodded to me with a nervous smile, at which point I kicked out one of his legs. Ribs hitting the branch winded him badly. There was no prolonged scream as he dropped. His body spun 180 degrees so the first thing that came into contact with the floor was his head, on one of the jagged roots to be specific, and it cracked his dome good style. I looked down at him with no initial feeling. The world was no different. A few seconds later I felt good. I had made a discovery. I preferred playing alone.
Because my playground felt like another world I had failed to weigh up the consequences as I walked home. Yikes! Can you imagine? Well, I remained in good spirits. It was an accident of course! All I had to do with was replace the word kick with slip and case closed. Obviously it hit the parents hard but all I had to do was pretend it was my fault and my parents could not help but console me, like I was the victim! More so than the killing itself it was this this most devious end result that thrilled me. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This was juvenile stuff.
Normality tried to resume after the accident. My father gave it the big push to get me interested in baseball but I didn’t care. Seeing him crestfallen wasn’t nice so I watched it more with him. Grade school blew by and before I knew it I was a man. You may find it unlikely but all this time I did not do anything what you may label cruel. I got myself a job, a girlfriend and started saving for a house. I know right, how tame was I, but all throughout my adolescence I’d never forgotten how I’d taken it upon myself to cancel that boy’s life. In due course my relationship started to rot. I was repulsed by my girl’s appetite to argue. That’s the problem with most of you - always flapping your feathers, rarely getting out your claws. She was very close to being the next one – if I was in my playground she probably would have been – but I had begun my true adolescence, my journey inwards. I closed my eyes and she disappeared. Heartbreak? You’d never seen a guy so carefree.
Shortly after both of my parents died within two months of each other from cancer – the greatest tragedy which has befallen any soul. They were the only people I’d ever loved, my version of love which can’t be too dissimilar to yours. It was only a small gathering at the funeral. I was by far the most upset and stayed by the headstones
long after. When rain began to fall on the soil I accepted nature and moved on. I’d had my eye on a house for a few years now and was ready with the deposit once I’d saved enough.
Yes, you guessed it. My chosen house was deep in woodland, in an even more remote location. The pad was incredibly similar except it had a large basement, accessible by a trap door outside. For another year I was in what I like to think of as my pupae stage. While always keeping what I’d done in the back of my mind, how it made me feel, I looked at some of the greats and did a lot of soul-searching. I guess you could say it was a bit like writing a story, you start with some ideas, some direction, but ultimately it is in the process that you uncork what the true aim of the finished product is. Upon completing my first chamber I knew what it is that I must do. Ten years as a welder had paid off, alas, after 18 pain-staking months of refurbishing the basement it was time for a change of profession.
Would you believe it, I became a trucker myself! I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t simply following in my dad’s tyre tracks. As a kid I recall sitting around the dinner table. Most of the conversation was dominated by my father telling my mother things he had seen while driving. He would try to include me by emphasizing silly instances but I was listening more than he knew. Wanderers, abandoned vehicles…not seeing cops for miles…breaking the odd road law. Honestly, I think the worst my father did was probably litter, but I saw great potential. His remarks stayed with me like top secret files, destined to be re-opened.
Oh! The day of my first attempt! How proud I was (too proud actually as the first one was just the first piece of the jigsaw). I had done a bit of driving with the chamber fitted to make sure it did not rattle at high speed. That was it. Down a long road I- Yes? What do I mean by chamber? Patience – I’m getting to that. So I was going down a long road when I spotted a broken down vehicle, just like father said, but instead of driving past it I parked up. The guy looked out of sorts. Turns out he was in a hurry to get to the nearest town. The car was a real piece of trash that he said he was sick of repairing. Boy was he happy that I had stopped. He climbed up to the passenger seat in double time. I could not believe my luck. This seemed like a gimmie. Then came the moment. He told me he might need to take a piss soon. Overeager I told him there was a toilet right behind him – to everyone else that’s what the chamber was.
He didn’t look like the smartest chap but the way I said it, something about my delivery was off. He had caught a scent he didn’t trust. He looked back at that toilet door between the seats with a frown. After some umming and erring he said he was happy to wait. I was not stupid enough to try and force him in there, besides there’s no skill in that. I had blown it. Twenty minutes later he was free. You can imagine the frustration but I only had myself to blame. Not to worry. If at first you don’t succeed…
The second attempt presented itself when I spotted a young hitchhiker. I didn’t need to do anything except pull up and open the door. He was talkative which I didn’t mind because that meant he was more open, more trusting. If he were talking to me on the streets I would have been bored numb, but in my truck I nodded along like he was a veteran story teller. It was a hot day. That’s right - he had a bottle of water. Crucially I slowed down, so there was more chance of nature calling. A mile to go and he started tapping his feet. It was pretty obvious so I saw no harm in telling him about my toilet. I said it in an offhand manner, vaguely pointed at it with my thumb. The tone was just right. He looked at it with eyes that acknowledged the strange arrangement, but this one found it more novel than strange. He kind of laughed while doing a U-turn towards it. Of course there was a toilet in it. As would any self-respecting person about to go in front of a stranger he closed the door. I pushed the button.
Located near my radio was a switch that sealed the chamber – just one of many clever touches by yours truly. When I pressed it I felt so smart, so powerful. Thumping and yelling began. I casually turned around and began to drive home. Guys tend to stop the hysterics sooner. He went quiet for most of the journey, occasionally asking what was going on and trying to underline the fact I had not dropped him off. From my end silence is the best policy. It keeps them wonderfully unaware, turns their thoughts into enemies. The ride gets bumpy as you close in on my house and at this point the victim’s mind must have been doing loops. I continued to the side of my pad where the trap door is, slowly moving until the chamber was side-by-side with it.
This trap door I speak of was one of those that open part of the ground and the house, plenty of space. I fetched my truck with the mini crane and connected it to the top of the chamber. I lifted it into the air and could only imagine (which I did with glee) what the hitchhiker was thinking at this point! Some real dexterity was needed here to feed the small wheels found at top and bottom of this chamber into the metal rails which ran at the top and bottom of the opening. You betcha I welded them! They dipped into the basement and once everything was good I gave the chamber a push. Bingo! Captive number one slid into his new home. I made it official by going down there and removing a metal sheet which allowed him to look around. Of course he saw me first and yelled what the hell is going on. I nodded to him like I did when we first met.
I appreciate it’s hot but try to listen…these chambers…once they were in place I connected a waste pipe. The toilets were then good to use. One of the side walls had a depression so you could lean into it giving you a better chance at sleep. A compartment at the back is where food came in. I think that covers the basics. The second one was a girl who had just had an argument with her man, so this was an impromptu hitchhike. He warned her one last time to take her arm down which she didn’t. When I slowed down to ask where she was headed she said anywhere. Anywhere it was then!
She got into this chamber without a problem but, my word, once I locked her in there she would not quit, noisy by any female standard. This reached a peak when the chamber dangled in the air as I fed the wheels into the rails. She slid into the basement and whatever his name was had some company.
If you don’t know this case then I’ll let you know we’re headed towards disaster. The dreaded third one. I’d covered every base – you couldn’t get a signal in the chamber, you could barely be heard from outside. It wasn’t complacency that got me. As the banging started I could see some gathering up ahead – the police. The urge to go off-road was near irresistible. Maybe in a car I could have got away with it but in this big thing…no chance. The only option was to drive up and cooperate without the slightest resistance. Psychology 101 – being open makes people less observant. Turns out a group of men who had committed armed robbery & murder were using trucks to go from state to state. He checked out the back of mine to find nothing. He nodded at me like everything was okay when he enquired about the chamber. I said it was a toilet. He asked if it was road worthy and that’s where I faltered. I replied yes in a thinned out voice, with little conviction.
Would you believe it he was suddenly urged to check it out. I climbed up first to release the lock on the chamber. He opened the door to find a very worried passenger and so ensued a sequence of bizarre exchanges – the passenger claiming he’d been locked in there, my claiming I had a problem with the door seizing up and the cop talking about how hitchhiking was wrong. My performance was going rather well, explaining with a bit of laughter how other passengers had thought the same thing about the door locking. I attempted to shift the narrative, showing guilt about hitchhiking when the passenger suddenly blurted out that the door locked without him touching anything. Bang, just like that the cop was onto me. He fiddled about the dashboard and found the button surprisingly quick. We stared at one another while he pushed it a few times, extending and retracting the bolt, and I couldn’t tell you why (your guess is as good as mine having told you my upbringing) but I began to smile back.
So it was by pure chance that I was caught! Somebody else’s sloppy work had sabotaged my great plan. I can see part of you understands. You know when you work hard for somethi
ng and then something unfairly prevents it? I’m sure lots of people can relate. Ah well, a funny thing is life…
Just imprisoning them? Oh no…much better than that…
So four was going to be the magic number. Once the rails dipped into the basement they split to make two separate tracks. The idea was to put two either side, a few metres apart, facing each other. I was to play the role of a dummy who intended to kill them, on a date I had not clarified. The great metal chambers and rails were somebody else’s. I just liked them. In the middle of the room was to go a big dining table that I would join them on and continue to act dumb, be loose with information; even show it was possible to manipulate me. To be scattered across the table were the blueprints for the chambers, and this is where it gets devious!
Right under their noses was written and drawn information about how they were re-opened, if need be. Again I had arranged the pages in such a way as to be visible but not obvious. Each captive could only see one part of the jigsaw and so communication was essential. That would stop any protests like fasting! Inside of the chambers were a number of screws and switches that correlated with the information before them. Certain equipment was needed to begin the reopening and so every week I would enter the basement with one of the dismantling tools. I’d leave them on the table. Pretend to be drunk and ‘accidently’ feed one through the food compartment. Shit! Wer’d I put that wrench? Ah, never mind…see! I can act too!
There was just one more area I haven’t told you about, directly above them where another table was to go. That is where I was to sit and listen as they feverishly communicated. What was that? Why would I even chance them escaping? Ah well, you see, I wouldn’t! The information which promised to lead to their escape was a fallacy! About 90% of the switches and screws would either flip or fall out but there was one vital one I left out that kept everything together! My job was to prevent them catching on that their efforts were futile; always keep that last detail just beyond their reach. So there I was to sit, out of sight, listening to my scheming prisoners. To make your victims feel scared isn’t a challenge, but to trick them that they’re getting the better of you? That takes great skill! Ah yes, there I was to sit, continually drinking in false hope!
Dare to Read: 13 Tales of Terror Page 21