by Ian Woodhead
SNATCHED
An extreme horror tale
By Ian Woodhead
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright revised edition, January 2017 by Ian Woodhead
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
CHAPTER ONE
Such a wonderful sunset. Simply awe inspiring. The only thing that could have eclipsed the moment would be to witness a large flock of geese passing the slowly dying sun. Or perhaps the silhouette of Santa, with his poor beasts pulling his fat carcass past my window.
If I was in charge of the world, I would have killed the fat fuck and his band of venison legs years ago. Children don't deserve to have such a jolly elderly man bringing them presents every year. Don't get me wrong here, I know that a tiny minority of ankle biting bastards do reciprocate the enormous amount of wealth and emotional strain their parents lavish upon their small frames.
Most of them didn't deserve to exist.
I closed my eyes for a moment and massaged the top of my nose. It's been too much of a good day to allow such negative notions to pollute my relatively sanguine thoughts.
The sound of a floorboard creaking brought me back to the present. I smiled, was there anything which could eclipse such a wonderful sunset? The dying sun might signal the end of the day but it didn't signify the end of my waking session. I had another couple of hours to kill before I retired.
I turned from the bay window and walked across the polished wooden floor, making my way towards the large armchair which dominated the room. The floorboard creaked again. Despite the temptation, I kept my eyes fixed upon the wood. I usually examine the quality of the polishing to ensure Franco hasn't been slacking. Not that he ever did, the boy wasn't so stupid. Even so, appearances needed keeping, hence the time it took to reach my chair.
The floorboard creaked again. Now I know that the boy was only shifting his weight. After all, I had put Franco into that position two hours ago with orders not to move. It takes fifty minutes before the position creates intolerable agony in the leg muscles so he has done well to last this long.
It still annoyed the hell out of me though. In fact, the very thought of Franco creaking the floorboard on purpose began to eat at my mellowness. It could even be possible that the anticipation of Franco setting out to annoy me was the initial cause of my anger.
I reached my chair, plumped up my three purple cushions and sat down. It felt good to take the weight off my feet and I sighed in relief to signal this. Breaking the silence also signalled to my little helper that his current enduring uncomfortable situation was at an end.
Franco got to work on my late evening drink, a chilled single malt, while I considered how best to use what remained of today.
He padded over and stood in his allocated position, holding my drink in his left hand while he cupped his genitals with the other. No matter how many lessons I gave Franco, that particular habit refused to leave him. I honestly didn't think he knew he was doing it.
After ten months, I had given up trying.
I took the drink and took a small sip. I studied the shivering boy. The temperature in my library didn't often rise up three degrees, due to the placement of the single window, so it shouldn't surprise me to discover that the ten year old boy was cold. After all these months, he should have got used to the temperature by now.
All the others had.
It was yet another nagging barb which illuminated the painful fact that, yet again, I had failed to break another little boy. Still, I am the eternal optimist.
“Franco, place the glass back on the table then I want you to go into the pantry and fetch me the leather strap, a spoon and the tongs.”
To my utter surprise, Franco didn't even flinch, despite knowing full well what this command entailed. He just took my drink, placed where I had instructed and scooted away, heading over to the pantry.
Three weeks ago, after I had demonstrated their use on a rabbit, I used them on the boy. To this day, I still feel my loins tingling when I remember how his horrific screaming bounced off all four walls. With the rabbit, I gripped its ear with the tongs, then placed the spoon handle against the metal before loosely wrapping the strap around both tongs and handle.
Franco watched in fascination which turned to horror as I started to twist the handle. It didn't take much for the handle to take up the slack; even less time for the tongs to crush the rabbit's ear.
The boy actually started to cry when I removed my makeshift clamp and ordered Franco to hold out his left hand.
In the intervening times, Franco has lost his remaining little finger and one of his toes. I've also faked the procedure twice, just to keep him on the ball.
It is an essential part of the procedure to keep them guessing. It's impossible to break their spirit if they know what's coming. If you give them the luxury of knowing, it allows the time to prepare themselves for the agony, and we certainly can't have that.
I watched him return. That vacant look still hadn't left his face and yet, there was evidence that the boy's expression had changed whilst he'd been retrieving the items, a smile perhaps?
How can I possibly know if the boy had been smiling without me witnessing the gesture? Call it a hidden talent, one of many that I possess.
Franco obviously went through some kind of internal reassurance that that session would be another fake one.
It is a fair assessment, considering we both knew that if I did damage any more of his extremities, the boy would be unable to perform his duties.
This was yet one more evidence that my efforts to break the little bastard wasn't working, and just to cement the fear, my little ball of tightly bound anxieties wormed its way into my guts.
I did not need this. Not now. I honestly believed that I was making good progress with this current Franco. I was even beginning to grow fond of the boy.
Admittedly, it would disappoint me if this current Franco joined his eight predecessors, currently rotting in pits at the bottom of my back garden.
I had to give the boy one last chance to prove me wrong.
Generosity and good will were an intrinsic component of my personality. Many people within my social circle and at work have commented upon this so it must be true. Nevertheless, I dare not show weakness otherwise the boy would take advantage. It's what they did.
I left my chair, grabbed a magazine which I had hidden under my chair cushion. I rolled it up and held it behind my back before approaching the boy.
“You have done well today, Franco. You've performed your tasks without any mental resistance. I really do think you've made progress. So,” I smiled at him. “I'm going to allow you one reward.”
I did catch the indecision on his face but I let that pass. It wasn't a major crime as I did have a tendency to pepper the rewards with minor punishments.
“Franco. I will allow you to remove a photograph from your remembrance wall.” I followed the boy over to his safe space. This was a rectangular area of polished wooden floor in the corner of the room.
I had furnished him with a cat litter tray, a rough woollen blanket and a teddy bear. On the two walls above his space, were five colour photographs. The two tacked to the wall facing me were of his parents, Brenda and Tony Simpson. Pictures of his elder brother and sister as well as his best friend were on the adjoining wall.
While Franco took time in choosing which picture to remove, I stood behind the boy, silently admiri
ng my handiwork. I must admit, that over the years, I've become rather inventive in displaying the final poses.
Tony Simpson, the thirty-four year old banker had, naively, followed me into the city park at five in the morning, when I asked him for directions to the local branch of the Eastern National bank. Of course, he knew where it was, as he worked there! I (obviously) knew this. I take time in researching my subjects. I went through the typical routine of exclaiming surprise before I slammed the syringe, hidden behind my back, into his left arm and pumped with enough ketamine to knock out a giraffe.
Dragging his unconscious form into my nearby car was the most dangerous part of the plan. I wasn't bothered about the street cameras, as I knew the location of every device, including the dummy boxes. Passing pedestrians were my only concern. Even at that stupid time, there was always the slight danger of being seen. On this occasion, like all the other times, nobody saw me.
The instinct to judge when it's safe to snatch my subjects is another one of my hidden talents.
Tony was such a tiny man, hardly an outstanding example of the alpha male.
Franco was taking his time in choosing a picture. This began to annoy me. surely it wasn't such a difficult decision.
The pictures of his parents were side by side. I leant forward and whispered “Choose wisely” into his ear.
Tony died with his genitals stuffed into his mouth.
I do recall asking him, as I fastened his arms together with cable ties, how such a weedy little man was able to attract such a beautiful wife. His words were muffled behind the sock I'd stuffed into his mouth but from the tone, I knew they weren't complimentary. His reaction hurt me. None of them grasped the importance of my work. Just like all the others, I had already explained that I was going to transform his unruly boy into the perfect human being. To accomplish this momentous task, I was going to kill him first before defiling his body before moving onto the rest of his family. I deemed it important that they knew why I did this before I got to work on their flesh with my toolbox.
It was for their peace of mind as well as mine.
The mystery to how Tony had caught the doll soon became clear when I stripped him. The man's penis was simply enormous! It still didn't answer the question of if his wife knew of his special gift before he started fucking her. This was a question that I intended to ask the women once I had finished with Tony.
Each photograph showed a different pose. I like to show off my creativity. I removed Tony's head and placed the bloodied stump on his chest before I took the picture. Franco's loving mummy was missing her feet and hands. I had considered slicing off her large breasts but I had done this before on another and the end result really hadn't merited the effort. I left her to bleed out before tying all her severed limbs together, leaning her body against the wall with her stumps reaching for the sky before I took that snap.
Oh, I did ask her how she and Tony met before I took my junior hacksaw to her wrist. The story she told was so moving, it almost brought a tear to my eye. It's so nice to hear that romance isn't dead.
I raped his brother's corpse.
Jefferson, unlike daddy, wasn't a weed. The youth worked out so, I took no chances. Jefferson died in bed, drowning in his hot blood. I think he was the hardest one. Trying to move a body which weighs well over two hundred pounds through a dark house without waking his sister is as difficult as it sounds. In circumstances like this one, cutting the body into smaller parts was the logical outcome, but that would ruin the shot that I had in mind, so I had to struggle.
My mother always stated that hard work paid off.
In the case of Jefferson, the effort it took to get his body to the house really was worth the effort. Taking the shot wasn't too difficult. An extra strong condom, some lube, a tripod and a delay timer helped to create a photograph which caused Franco to lose his lunch at first sight.
Franco's hand reached for a photograph, which completely threw me off my thoughts. To make matters worse, the little bastard went and proved that my guts hadn't failed me. Franco reached for the picture of his mother. He carefully took it off the wall, turned it upside down then held out his hand.
It took a great deal of effort not to murder the boy where he stood. He even bowed his head, like I instructed. Right at that moment, I couldn't tell if the conditioning was having an effect or if the cunt was simply taking the piss.
Killing everyone he loved and taking the pictures is the essential first stage in their conditioning. It is why I spend the time and energy to make sure each picture emits the resonance designed to sever that emotional attachment.
If Franco had chosen his brother or daddy, then future events might have not had been so clear cut. I knew from extensive research that this one was a little mummy's boy. He totally doted on her. With him choosing that picture, Franco hadn't lost that bond, which, if you ask me, was a little selfish, considering the amount of time that I'd put into this subject.
Some people just don't care about the feelings of others.
I snatched the picture from his shaking fingers. “Fetch the tongs, the strap, and the spoon,” I growled. I actually expected the bastard to run, which only added to my confusion. Instead, he meekly did as I commanded.
“Lie on the floor and put the objects next to you.”
Again, he complied.
I offered him the best smile I could manage before taking out the rolled up magazine and gently placing it on his chest. “Like I said, Franco, you have done very well.” I took the picture and tore it in half. Defacing such a beautiful image broke my heart but, a promise is a promise. “There you go, Franco,” I said throwing the two pieces behind my back. “Now, as a further reward, I have given you some reading material. You may now look at it.”
I watched him unroll the magazine. His eyes bulged in their sockets when he realised that I'd just given a pornographic magazine. It wasn't the only thing on his body to bulge when he saw all that naked flesh. He might only be a child but like daddy, Franco was big in the downstairs department.
“I can't believe that you've turned out like all the others, you horrible, lying, little fucker!” I stood over him then dropped my full weight on his face. I snatched up the tongs, the spoon and the strap and did to his cock what I had done to his digits.
Looking back, I think my actions were superfluous as the boy passed out from lack of air even before the first turn. It made me feel better though.
It took me the rest of the night to calm down and to gather my thoughts. Just before I retired, I took one last look at his cooling corpse and swore that the next boy would be the one.
It's not like there wasn't plenty of suitable applicants at the school where I worked.
CHAPTER TWO
Before my mother died, the woman left three irrefutable truths which she considered gospel. I've spent my adult life in pursuit of destroying her three commandments. She stated that all children are born evil, that Santa really did exist and that behind every good deed lies a hidden motive.
Despite the numerous setbacks, I'm still confident that I'll disprove her first truth.
Disproving her second truth has so far eluded me but just like the first one, one day, I will prove her wrong. The ultimate answer could hit me at any time. I receive inspiration and brainstorms all the time, I'm lucky like that. They hit me like bolts of lightning. Which is ironic, considering that is exactly what I want to happen to the guy standing next to me.
Apart from teaching history at the local academy, proving to my dead mother that not all children are vomited out of Satan's arse, I also help out in one of the city's many soup kitchens. I do this because I believe it's important that every citizen should do their utmost to help those in dire situations. I know that it's basic human nature to only want to look after those closest to you but I really do believe that this need should extend beyond the immediate family. Of course, this idea does fight against the human tribal instinct which is built into our very DNA.
It pa
ins me to say this, but as each day passes, the more convinced I am that I'm the first species in the next human evolution. This is no idle boast, as I'm sure that any lesser man would have pushed the cook's knife I'm holding into the side of Bennie's Archer's neck by now.
This pathetic excuse for a human was explaining, in his patronising way, that the city's homeless would not be such a problem if the authorities would allow their charity to take over the many derelict buildings that have been sitting empty for the past few years.
He seemed to be totally oblivious to how uncomfortable he was making the third person in the room. Just like Bennie had forgotten that the idea he was spouting was something that I had raised with the committee last March. Unlike this idiot, I had an excellent memory.
Bethany nodded and expressed concern in all the right places but it was all a charade. I almost expected the young woman to roll her eyes at any moment. I am excellent at reading other people's gestures and body language and right now, the woman desperately wanted this man to leave her alone, possibly to go and play on a busy road.
Watching Bennie hitting on a woman who was by far in a different class to him didn't send me into a homicidal rage. What triggered the urge to turn the fucker's head into a mass of crimson jelly was that he had turned into the living embodiment of my mother's third rule.
Everybody knew that the only reason the man was here in the first place was he fancied Bethany. There were occasions when I did wonder if one day I might slip up and accidentally bludgeon the man with a table leg. Still, it did give me some pleasure to know that I could have taken Bethany at any time.
Unlike Bennie, I am not socially awkward, I bathe every day and I do not dress like one of the many homeless who we serve on a daily basis. I have never been able to understand his apparent inability to dress well it's not as if the man was short of money. Bennie had a senior position in an investment company. The man probably earned more money than Bethany and me put together I also knew he dressed well for work so I couldn't understand the desire to dress like some dirty fucking hobo in his time off.