Escapees and Fevered Minds

by David Owain Hughes

  Escapees

  &

  Fevered Minds

  DAVID OWAIN HUGHES

  ESCAPEES & FEVERED MINDS

  by

  David Owain Hughes

  Copyright © David Owain Hughes 2017

  Cover Copyright © Ravenswood Publishing 2017

  Published by Dark Serpent

  (An Imprint of Ravenswood Publishing)

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or author.

  Ravenswood Publishing

  1275 Baptist Chapel Rd.

  Autryville, NC 28318

  http://www.ravenswoodpublishing.com

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  ISBN-13: 978-1542457736

  ISBN-10: 1542457734

  I’d like to dedicate this one to Richard Laymon – a man who has not only helped inspire me, but many others like me!

  A true legend of the genre.

  INTRODUCTION

  Escapees and Fevered Minds continues the dark, twisted and wildly imaginative adventures of several larger-than-life characters introduced in White Walls and Straightjackets by David Owain Hughes.

  Not to worry if you haven’t read the first book; you will thoroughly enjoy this sequel as a stand-alone novel. However, I suspect that once you’ve finished Escapees and Fevered Minds, you’ll race to pick up the previous book.

  If you enjoy your horror on the more extreme side, then Hughes is your man. Not only because he fearlessly and unapologetically explores the more disturbing side of the genre, but also because he is clearly having a jolly good time telling this story. And in turn, we do too.

  Make no mistake, Hughes holds nothing back and revels in taking his readers into a splatter-filled heart of darkness, and he doesn’t shy away from gore, over-the-top violence, graphic sexual deviance and profanity.

  In the hands of lesser authors, extreme horror tales such as this often risk falling victim to their excesses. But Hughes is a talented author, and his ability to navigate the surplus of gore and violence with solid storytelling is deceptive in how easy he makes it look. He understands that pacing, the build-up of suspense and intriguing characters are just as essential as the disturbing elements of the plot.

  It is a testament to the lucidness of Hughes’ writing that, although the narrative slips back and forth between past and present, and an intriguing use of flashback within flashback and hallucinatory states, the reader never loses sight of where they are in the story.

  He has created a dark world indeed, and yet his delight in the subject matter comes through, often in healthy doses of tongue-in-cheek dialogue and an atmosphere of the blackest humor. Escapees is a wild and bloody rollercoaster of a novel.

  For those brave souls willing to take an excursion through the undeniably twisted imaginings of David Owain Hughes, you are in for a blood-drenched treat. Just make sure to bring your raincoat and galoshes--it’s going to get deliciously messy.

  - Taylor Grant, Bram Stoker Award Nominated Author

  PREVIOUSLY…

  “Ten years yesterday since you came into my life,” she said to him whilst looking in the mirror to apply her make-up. “And look at us now. Performing at the Pavilion in Porthcawl – hardly Las Vegas, is it? I’m beginning to think Khan was full of it when I went to him with my problems all those years ago. Fame, fortune and happiness he promised me. What a joke!

  “All I have to show for myself is you, a tatty career, the tattoo he gave me, and a blood trail that will have me doing porridge for the rest of my life if the police should ever catch up with us. It makes my degree and ambition look like a bloody gag. I wanted it all, Harry. The world. Not backstreet gigs in the armpit of nowhere.”

  Crystal put her eye shadow wand down and picked up her lipstick to rouge her pouty lips.

  I’m pushing my luck talking to him this straight, she thought. He’s clearly apprehensive about tonight’s performance, as he’s not talking, just watching me, happy with the view of my half-naked body, no doubt. Dirty sod. She giggled on the inside, managing to keep the smirk off her face.

  He looks so sweet in his bellboy outfit.

  Damn it. She couldn’t help talking straight. She felt aggrieved. Let down. It wasn’t Harry’s fault; she just needed to vent, even if she was venting on the wrong person.

  “I mean, I can’t really complain, Harry.” Finishing with the lipstick and picking up her hairbrush, she continued speaking. “You coming into my life was great. I couldn’t have wished to meet a more handsome, intelligent, adorable and loving man as yourself. You gave me confidence – taught me to love and respect myself. You brought out the superior creativeness that was hiding within me. The Crystal-ness.

  “Changing my name was the best thing I ever did! When you brought Crystal out of me Harry, the old me, the Christine Saunders, died. Along with all my inadequacies I had towards my performance work.”

  With her hair and make-up complete, she stood and eyed herself in the mirror. She wore light brown stockings, fastened by a suspender belt. Her panties were white, with matching bra.

  “Shall I put the dress on, Harry?” she teased, letting a schoolgirl giggle go as she bit her finger in a provocative way. “You haven’t taken your eyes off me since I sat in front of the mirror.” Smiling, she turned and plucked her red 1940s Paris dress off the hanger on the back of her changing room door. She started to slip into it.

  “I think we should blow Porthcawl after tonight, Harry. I think the more distance we put between the Rhondda and us would be for the better. We could head to London and make lots of money there. Hell, we may even end up on Broadway!

  “Harry, please say something? I know you’re nervous about tonight’s show, but it’s going to be different this time. We won’t have snooty judges passing comments on us or running us down in the papers. And if they do, then we’ll deal with it just like we did in the Rhondda.”

  She went to him, knelt before him and put her hands on his knees, resting her head in his lap. “Hold me, Harry.” She felt his hand on her back. “Ah, that’s nice. Tell me it will be okay, Harry. Please!” The gentle breeze in her ear from his whispers made her skin prickle.

  “It’s because of you, Harry. It’s because of you all this started. From the moment you came to me and helped me see my parents for what they were. They did nothing but hold me back.” Tears threatened to come. “They didn’t want me to do performing arts at uni. They thought it was a waste of time. They never loved me like they loved Sam. Removing them from my life was the right decision. Burning that church down with them inside was right.

  “God, I can still see it now – how the flames looked as they climbed the old stone walls. How the screaming from inside made me smile and giggle with nervous fright at what I had done. The smell of burning flesh had poisoned the air as the grey clouds of smoke filled the summer skies.

  “Blaming it all on Sam had been genius. She may have only been a child, but she deserved what she got. Being locked up in that asylum will teach her. My God, it felt good! I felt liberated. Exorcised. She shouldn’t have been such a fucking mammy and daddy’s girl. You made me see sense, Harry.

  “I was in two minds when I was holding that box of matches. But when I threw them and lit the fire, I knew I’d done the right thing.
That was the start to my—our—career and the life we now have together. You’re all I need, and ever will need.”

  She got up, looked down on Harry’s small wooden frame, picked him up and cradled him in her left arm. “My little bellboy,” she said, grabbing the empty suitcase by her side.

  Tonight they would start the show off with her as the hotel customer, disgruntled at the fact the bellboy has been rude to her in more ways than one.

  “Oh, Harry. You look so cute,” she said, walking out of her dressing room door with a big smile on her face. “Broadway will be our next stop. You’ll see, Harry.”

  “Well, I don’t know about you, Harry, but I thought tonight’s performance went down very well indeed,” Crystal said, setting Harry down on his chair in the corner of the dressing room.

  She flicked a switch on the wall by the door, which activated the twenty or so light bulbs around her large dressing room mirror. She then turned the main overhead light off, casting Harry and most of the room in shadow.

  “Here you go, my dear,” she said, bending over to hand Harry a fat cigar. She lit it for him when it was in his mouth. “Did you have fun tonight?”

  “I always have fun when you get your tits out, woman!” he said, his voice harsh. “Now poor me a fucking Scotch.”

  “Oh, Harry,” she said, moving over to the mirror and pulling her chair out. “We don’t have any Scotch, but I’ll do you one when we get back to The Sea Bank?” She stood facing Harry and slowly undid her dress. She slipped it down her curvaceous body inch by inch, gradually revealing her bra and then panties, and finally the tops of her stockings.

  Harry said nothing, just chuffed on his cigar in his black recess. The bright burning end of the Cuban was evidence he was still there, along with thin strands of smoke which floated to the ceiling.

  “You like, baby?” she said, putting on a dirty voice. Stepping out of her dress, which was now around her ankles, she stood before him and fondled her bra-covered breasts. She knew it was driving him wild; as she started to propel her hair, a grunt of approval came from his direction.

  Stopping, she turned her back and sat down. Looking in the glass, she smiled.

  “You fucking prick tease,” he hissed.

  “You can have me later, my dear. When we get back to our room.” Opening a drawer to her left, Crystal took out a small bottle of nail polish remover, along with a slender packet of facial wipes and a box of tissues.

  “I noticed a lot of the same faces out in the crowd tonight,” Harry stated. “We got a following here. Maybe we shouldn’t be in such a rush to leave.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” he barked. “We got it good here. With good money and a good room at that fancy hotel the organisers have us holed up in.” He took a fat drag on his cigar. “Let’s forget London for now. We’ve only done a few months here.”

  “What do you suggest?” Crystal asked.

  “That we build up some cash, enough to get us to London and keep us there. Word is spreading about our show.” Another drag, followed by a wheeze and a cough.

  “I wish you wouldn’t smoke those things, Harry. They’re no good for your chest.”

  “Yes, Mammy,” he mocked. “Those cigs you used to smoke before I came along certainly did nothing to harm your chest, girlie!”

  “Hmm,” she said, balling up a used facial wipe before binning it. She plucked another from the pack and wiped at her face once again, removing the last of her make-up. “Okay, okay. We’ll stash some cash then bail as soon as we have enough.”

  “Good, and stop fucking worrying about the police catching up with us. Those dumb fucks are none the wiser – they haven’t got a clue who they’re looking for!”

  “Okay, Harry,” she said, throwing the second wipe away.

  “Right, that’s me just about…”

  A newspaper clipping, which was pinned to the back of her dressing room door, caught her attention. “What the hell is that?” she said, fully turning to look at it. Not being able to see the headline on the clipping, she firstly tried to bend forward and squint before giving up and walking over to it. The click-click of her heels pierced the silence in the medium-sized room.

  Harry watched.

  When she was point-blank range with the clipping, she started to read it nice and loud, so Harry could hear her.

  June 27 2012 Page 1

  Three Flee In Asylum Meltdown Unofficial report by P.I. Ty Schwamberger

  NOT PRINTED

  Photo of Castell Hirwaun

  Few things can terrify residents more than mental patients escaping from an asylum. But that’s exactly what happened recently at Castell Hirwaun. The actual details of how the escape took place are sketchy at this time, but this reporter has learned, from a trusted source within the hospital’s sacred walls, the names and some background of the three individuals who are now on the run.

  Being the standup reporter that I am, I won’t name names of who gave me this information, but I have been fortunate to receive copies of all three individual patient assessment forms. Below is what we know about these sick persons.

  The first patient is simply known as “Santa Klaws”. From what I’ve learned, this isn’t because Castell Hirwaun likes to give cute nicknames to their patients. Oh, no. More, because no one knows his real name or background. In Mr. Santa Klaws’ patient assessment form, it states he recites the words to “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” incisively and likes to keep to himself. However, when provoked, he can instantly turn mean and injure and even kill the hospital staff who are only there to help him. Mr. Klaws was taken to Castell Hirwaun shortly after being apprehended at the scene of a grisly crime, which we have little to no details about.

  The second patient who escaped is Norm Nathanial Jenkins. There is more known about Mr. Jenkins than Mr. Klaws. In fact, years ago, I reported about the death of his wife, Angharad. By all accounts Mr. Jenkins was a productive member and well liked by the community prior to having a mental breakdown after witnessing his wife’s death while mountain climbing together. Since that time, he has taken on a second personality and fallen into a deep depression. This horrible loss led Mr. Jenkins to begin murdering people in an attempt to “rebuild” his wife’s damaged body. It is unclear why or in what capacity Mr. Klaws and Mr. Jenkins were working together prior to the escape.

  The third and final escapee is a Miss Samantha Saunders. From what I learned on her assessment form, Miss Saunders has suffered from mental disorders since a very young age, spending time in Rosemary’s Hospital. Miss Saunders has been at Castell Hirwaun for the past ten years. She began her time in the mental hospitals after killing her parents, along with several others, after she set fire to a chapel one afternoon. From all eyewitness accounts, it was in fact Samantha who committed the ghastly deed; however, she tried to make local authorities believe it was her older sister. She was committed to Rosemary’s Hospital the day of her parents’ funerals.

  You, I and we have lived and worked in this community for years. We try to do good by one another, never causing any harm. Unfortunately, we all know there are some out there who suffer from mental illness and/or are just plain psychos (to use a non-politically correct term) that don’t care about others’ well-being. We all try to live our lives without looking over our shoulder, not worrying if something is going to creep up behind us and stab us in the spine with a dirty knife, but, tragically, it does happen in today’s world.

  This brings me back to these three individuals who escaped from Castell Hirwaun. It really makes you wonder if something sinister is going on behind those old stone walls… Is the medical staff truly qualified to run the hospital and take proper care of its patients? Will the day come when the patients are running the asylum… Or are they already? Is this how the escape happened or was it simply a slip up?

  At this point your guess, my fine readers, is as good as mine.

  Let’s just hope authorities can find the three individuals before the
y cause harm to someone new.

  Until they are apprehended, I suggest you keep your windows and doors locked tight at all times of the day and night.

  Oh… and remember to keep a watchful eye over your shoulder.

  Good Luck!

  With shaking hands, Crystal unpinned the clipping and started reading the rest of the news story.

  “Speak up, woman. I can’t hear your mutterings!”

  “Sorry, Harry. It says here that Sam and two others have escaped from Castell Hirwaun. The reports on the escapees are ‘sketchy.’ Jesus, what if she heads here, Harry? Tries to track me down? She said she would…kill me. That…that…”

  “That’s not going to fucking happen, dummy. And if it does, we’ll fix her.”

  Crystal looked at Harry, and although she couldn’t see his face, she knew by the tone of his voice how serious he was.

  “I…I…” She felt something taped to the back of the thin sheet of paper. On turning it over, she found a slender white envelope with “READ ME” written on it in black. The lines were thick, suggesting a marker pen had been used.

  “Oh, God, Harry. There’s a letter here, too!”

  “Open it. Now!”

  Her fingers feverishly tore the envelope apart, and she snatched the letter from inside. Again, she read aloud.

  Dear Crystal,

  I’m throwing a dinner party tomorrow night at 20.00. The gathering will be held at 379 Eagle Moss Av, Porthcawl. I’d like you to come. Harry, too.

  As you know, your sister and a few others have escaped their prison. They too will be attending my revelry. I think it will be in your best interest to attend, as you’ll get to meet another very important guest and not just Sam.