Tales Of A Dead-End Street_An Extreme Horror Novella

by Sam West

  Jen glanced over at Anouchka, whose expression was pure shellshock. Now that they were in bright light, she was a lot older than she had first figured; her dark hair, slim figure, conventionally pretty face and abject terror when they were outside had made her seem nearer her own age.

  “I’m scared,” Danny said.

  You and me both, kid, she thought. “It’s okay. We’re safe now.”

  The older woman stopped outside the closed living-room door. The layout was the same as the Pearsons’ place, with the kitchen door at the end of the hallway.

  “Go on through. I’ll make up that formula.”

  Why was the damn woman being so calm? Jen wondered.

  In a daze, she pushed open the door. The sight which greeted her defied comprehension. All she could do was gape at the scene, open-mouthed. The baby continued to wail in her arms, and behind her, either Anouchka or Danny screamed. Maybe it was both of them that had screamed, but she was in such a state that she couldn’t tell.

  Candlelight flickered and shadows licked the walls in the large living-room. The furniture was pushed back against the walls and in the middle of the room was a simple, long wooden table. On it, with leather straps running across his chest, hips and shins, was a naked man. Jen blinked, unsure at first quite what she was seeing, for his slim body wasn’t at all the right colour. No one had red skin.

  When she realised that it was blood with which he was painted, the room lurched, her hearing and vision momentarily dimming.

  Surrounding the table, and equally sheened with blood, were three more naked figures, two of whom were men and one woman. One of the men appeared to be elderly, the other man and the woman were middle-aged.

  The younger two were also incredibly familiar. And then it hit her.

  Mr and Mrs Pearson, she thought incredulously.

  In her arms, Angie continued to cry.

  “Give me my baby,” Mrs Pearson said, taking a step towards her, arms outstretched.

  She was emotionless, her eyes flat, yet still Jen detected a glimmer of maternal love. Or at least, she thought she did. The situation was so fucked up, the circumstances so bizarre, so beyond her field of comprehension, that she no longer trusted her own judgement.

  Jen clutched the baby all the tighter to her chest, edging backwards towards the door with Danny pressed against her side. The Pearsons were here? Her overheated brain was having trouble with the most simple of concepts, yet alone this one.

  The fucking Pearsons, for fuck’s sake…

  Next to her, Anouchka let out an ear-splitting shriek. “Brian!” she screeched, rushing over to the young lad strapped to the table. She shook him, but he didn’t respond. “Brian! What have you done to my baby?” she wailed.

  “Run,” Jen said to Danny, shoving him towards the door.

  After Anouchka’s outburst, everything happened at once. As Jen lurched towards the door, out of the corner of her eye she was aware of Anouchka being bodily lifted up by Mr Pearson, who was surprisingly broad-shouldered and in peak physical condition out of his clothes. The woman writhed and peddled the air in his arms, but Jen didn’t stop to stare.

  In a heartbeat, she and Danny were legging it down the hallway. When they reached the door, her fingers scrambled shakily at the deadbolt, finally managing to slide it across, but when she went to yank open the door, it wouldn’t budge.

  She banged her fist against the solid wood. Oh God, this couldn’t be happening.

  “You can’t open the door without these, I’m afraid.”

  Jen spun round, tears blurring her vision. Terror squeezed at her heart, forcing it to pump hard when she saw the old woman at the end of the hallway, arm outstretched, a set of keys dangling from her forefinger. The black robe had been discarded and she stood there naked, her long, sausage-like breasts hanging down to her waist. Like the others, from the knees up she was smeared with blood.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Jen whispered, close to losing it.

  “No, dear, there’s no Jesus in this house. That is not the man we answer to. Please do come back into the front-room.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Next to her, Danny whined and pressed his trembling body tight against hers.

  “That’s not a very nice way to address your hosts. Your manners are a disgrace, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  As she spoke, the two naked men emerged from the living-room. Mr Pearson was holding a crowbar, smacking the end of it in his hand. The older man held a large breadknife with a serrated edge.

  Jen pushed her back against the door in terror, wishing with all her might that the damn thing would just absorb her and put an end to her misery.

  “Hello, Jen,” Mrs Pearson said, when she emerged from the living-room to join the others. “Please give me my child.”

  Jen took in the sight of her naked body. Like her husband, she was in exceptional shape. Her high, large breasts were blood-splattered, as was her flat stomach.

  The four naked fingers began to walk down the hallway and Danny whimpered in terror. Soon they were surrounded, and Mrs Pearson reached for Angie.

  “Pass her over, dear,” the old woman said. “I don’t think I need to tell you that you have no choice.”

  She locked eyes with Mrs Pearson, and that same look from before clouded her eyes. Behind the careful mask of indifference, something blazed. She wasn’t sure what that look was, but for a second, she sensed weakness.

  Jen glanced at the men, at Mr Pearson in particular, who was still smacking the crowbar in the palm of his hand. With a heavy heart, she handed over the child, and she did so, so she handed over a little piece of herself. For as long as she may live, she knew that she would never forgive herself for giving up the baby so easily.

  At its mother’s breasts, the child instantly quieted. Mrs Pearson smiled down at the infant. Her blood-soaked hand stroked the child’s downy blonde hair, leaving streaks of red in its wake. Jen closed her eyes in repulsion, willing herself to wake up from this nightmare from hell.

  She didn’t even get the chance to open her eyes. Brilliant pain exploded in her head, followed by a flash of bright light, and then there was nothing.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jen came to with the mother of all headaches. She lay there groaning, her eyes closed and her mind one big fat blank.

  Despite this, unease roiled in her guts and a great sadness pressed down on her chest. Understanding danced on the peripheries of her mind, but she made no huge effort to grasp at it. Life was ugly, life was bleak, that was all she knew and the sheer defeat of knowing this was overwhelming.

  “She’s coming round,” a familiar, female voice said.

  Mrs Pearson.

  She opened her eyes and light pierced her retinas, making her suck in a sharp intake of breath. Above her, an unfamiliar ceiling undulated slightly before her eyes, and she blinked to clear her vision. Slowly, she became aware of voices around her.

  And then it hit her. Every. Last. Fucking. Thing.

  She opened her mouth and she screamed. She screamed until her lungs ached, until it felt like her brain might just implode. And she was okay with that.

  No more. I can’t take anymore…

  But it wasn’t long before her screams degenerated into scratchy cries that hurt her throat.

  “Cry all you like, dear. Cry as loud as you can. It calls to his dark heart. Cry harder.”

  She didn’t have to open her eyes to see who was speaking – the old naked hag who had enticed them into the house in the first place.

  Insanity swirled in her mind, all-consuming and terrifying. She went to sit up but found her arms and legs wouldn’t obey that simple command. Her head thrashed from left to right, seeing all, yet taking none of it in.

  No.

  “There’s no good fighting it, you are with us now.”

  A male voice this time – one she didn’t recognise. The old hag’s husband.

  With great effort, she lifted her head, trembling with the effort.
Her hands were nestled between her breasts, and she couldn’t move them. She realised that she couldn’t move them because they were bound with black electrical tape.

  And she could see her own breasts.

  Shit I’m naked. Oh dear God, I’m naked…

  Her head swam with the magnitude of her situation.

  Fragmented memories slammed into her head. Mrs Pearson snatching back her baby. Mr Pearson wrapping the crowbar around her head. Waking up to this.

  She forced herself to focus. Slowly, she became aware of someone else’s flesh pressed against her left-hand side. Anouchka was lying unmoving next to her, her eyes closed. When she looked to her right, she understood that she was elevated above the ground. The four, naked, blood-stained figures circled the table, staring down at them.

  Angie, she suddenly thought, trying to sit up. And where was Danny? Her muscles trembled with the effort of trying to haul herself into a sitting position, but it was to no avail anyway as hands pushed down on her shoulders, keeping her in place.

  But while she had been halfway to sitting upright, she had seen Danny – still in his vampire costume – asleep or out cold on the long leather sofa that was pushed up against the wall. Next to him was Angie, also asleep.

  Oh, dear God, please let her have been asleep.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice surprisingly strong.

  “Because we worship a different lord – a lord that will reward us with worldly goods and who will protect us if we serve Him.”

  It was Mr Pearson who had spoken, her view of him partly obscured by Anouchka lying between them.

  “We are Satanists, my dear,” the old woman said, who was standing directly next to her. “And you are to be the sacrifices to Our Lord.”

  Jen still didn’t understand, it was all just too much. “You can’t just kill us,” she said incredulously. “You’ll go to prison.”

  “No, no, no,” the old man said, who was standing behind her so that she couldn’t see him. “Our Lord will protect us, and reward us for this sacrifice.”

  The full magnitude of the dire situation hit her – they were fucking crazy and were capable of anything.

  Keep them talking, was the only thing that she could come up with.

  “Satanists? Two lots of Satanists that happen to live on the same street? What are the chances of that happening?”

  “We are part of an ancient religion, a secret club that helps out its fellow Satanists. We like to live near each other, it’s safer to flock together.”

  Her head reeled with the old man’s reply. This was absolutely crazy and the mere idea of what he was saying made her brain ache.

  “What did you do with that other man?”

  “Brian is dead. He was to be our one and only sacrifice tonight, until you all arrived, that is. How fortunate, because Our Lord needs more, the boy’s blood was not enough to satiate Him. He whispered in our minds for more blood to be spilled.”

  The woman lying next to her groaned, and Jen could feel her shifting around next to her.

  “A mother’s love for her child is strong,” the old woman said. “Just speaking her son’s name has brought her round. It was fortuitous that we intercepted Brian today on a visit home to surprise his parents. We had intended to pick up a hitchhiker, or a homeless person, but Brian just fell into our lap.”

  Of course, she thought. Brian is Anouchka’s son. All too vividly, she remembered the woman’s violent, heart-wrenching reaction on seeing her son bound to the table.

  “Where’s Brian?” Anouchka slurred next to her.

  “In the back of the car, divided up between five binbags. When we dispose of his body, He will protect us.”

  Anouchka struggled next to her. “No,” she cried.

  She let out the most awful scream when someone – Jen saw not whom – plucked her head up off the table and slammed it back down again. The sickening crack of the back of her skull smacking into the table made Jen cry out in misery. Anouchka groaned and shuddered, mumbling something incomprehensible.

  “What about Angie, Mrs Pearson? What about your daughter?”

  From the other side of Anouchka, Mrs Pearson’s replied: “It was not our intention to bring her into our ritual tonight. Angie will not be sacrificed.”

  Mr Pearson’s response chilled her to the bone. “Now, dear, if it is His desire to take her, then we must honour that. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  “No. We will not sacrifice our daughter. We have these two. And let’s not forget about the boy.”

  “It is time,” said the eldest of the two men who stood at her feet. “Time for their blood to wet Our Lord’s appetite.”

  She lifted her head to look at him, her neck trembling with the effort of holding up her head. In his hand he held a knife.

  “Where are the others?” she gasped, her head flopping back down against the table, hard enough to make her teeth clack together.

  “Others? What others?” Mr Pearson asked.

  “The trick or treaters. The zombie girls from the party, the clown-man.”

  The older woman reached out to brush her long blonde hair off her forehead. “The power of Our Lord is strong tonight, and the more blood we shed, the stronger he becomes. We understand that he saw fit to take Anouchka’s husband.”

  “And the rest,” Jen blurted. “All the people at the party, Danny’s mum, my friend…”

  For some reason, just thinking about Neil made the panic well up to a dangerous level.

  “Others have died?” Mrs Pearson said. “Shouldn’t we go out and look?”

  “No,” her husband said. “We will continue to do His bidding, and He will show himself to us in good time.”

  Their casual indifference to all the madness that had happened tonight was mind-numbing. The hand that had been gently stroking her hair suddenly fisted great wads of it and tugged hard, snapping back her head so that she was forced to peer up into the old woman’s eyes.

  “You are going to die a slow, painful death, and it will call Him to us,” the old woman said, leering down at her.

  She gasped in pain as the old bitch pulled on her hair even harder. Jen twisted and writhed on the table-top, kicking her legs wildly. Strong hands grabbed her ankles, the pressure lifted from her hair and she found herself being tugged down the table until her bare rump was balanced on the edge.

  Mr Pearson was between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, the table at the perfect height for his hard cock to nudge between her legs.

  “Get off me,” she gasped.

  She bucked and writhed and thrashed, but the old woman was holding her head again, viciously twisting her hair to keep her in place. Brilliant pain prickled her scalp, enflaming her anger more than her fear.

  Mrs Pearson came round to her side and squeezed her left breast. “What a beauty you are,” she said.

  Next to her, Jen became aware of Anouchka sliding back and forth across the table-top. The woman moaned and babbled like she didn’t have a clue what was going on. Jen hoped for her sake that really was the case, for the old man had climbed onto the table between her legs and was fucking her.

  “Debasement before death satisfies Our Lord, and we will make use of your flesh in every conceivable way,” Mrs Pearson said, her voice thick with arousal as she plucked viciously at her nipple.

  Jen cried and writhed uselessly as Mr Pearson’s cock pressed more insistently at her vagina. He spat on his hand and stabbed at her with it, guiding it lower so that it pushed against the entrance to her arsehole.

  Her mind lurched in terror. “Please, I’m a virgin.”

  No sooner than it had left her mouth, she regretted it. She was so stupid. Saying that would only make these sadist fuckers want to hurt her all the more.

  “You don’t say,” Mr Pearson said, sounding delighted. “That’s fantastic. In that case I should be thrilled to take the front-entrance, after all.”

  He guided his cock back to her vagina and uncerem
oniously shoved himself into her tight, dry cunt. She howled up at the ceiling, the pain in her scalp all but forgotten. Fierce cramps seized her lower gut, and it felt like he was fucking her with a baseball bat wrapped in sandpaper.

  “You like that, little virgin?” Mr Pearson said, slamming into her hard.

  She couldn’t answer, couldn’t even scream anymore because the breath was knocked out of her with each hard jolt.

  “Oh, the little slag loves it,” Mrs Pearson said.

  She quit pinching her sore nipple and climbed onto the table, planting her knees either side of Jen’s contorted, red face. She found herself gazing up into Mrs Pearson’s cunt.

  “Oh my, I really need to go,” she said, then proceeded to void her bladder.

  Hot urine splashed on her face, stinging her eyes and blinding her, going up her nose and in her mouth. She coughed and spluttered, the disgusting, acrid taste of it making her stomach clench in protest.

  “Shit in her mouth,” she heard Mr Pearson say.

  Mrs Pearson giggled. “I don’t think I need to go.”

  “Oh baby, please try,” her husband grunted as her body slid violently back and forth across the table.

  “Oh, okay, I guess I can give it a shot.”

  Jen scrunched up her face, rapidly blinking to try and clear her vision. The pain in her guts and vagina was abominable. It consumed her flesh like fire, blazing and relentless.

  In the second that Mrs Pearson knee-shuffled down the table slightly to get herself into position to lower her arse onto Jen’s face, she glimpsed what was happening to Anouchka.

  As the old guy continued to fuck her, the old lady was leaning over the woman’s head, her long tits hanging down, knife raised high.

  Then Mrs Pearson’s cunt and arse smothered her face, obscuring her vision. Her cries of protest were muffled by slimy, sexually-aroused flesh and she panicked. Instinctively, her bound hands flew up to try and push the woman away but unseen hands stopped her.