The Collection

by West, Sam

  Grabbing the tape with her remaining hand, she lunged for her arm, but Jason grabbed her round the waist.

  “Let me go,” she squealed, squirming in his grip. “Aww, fuck it…”

  The scuffle had caused her leg to come unattached below the knee and she fell sideways. If it weren’t for Jason’s tight grip around her waist, she would’ve gone sprawling.

  Jason started to laugh. The sound of it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and she froze in his grip.

  “What the fuck else comes off then? Huh? Huh?”

  Quite a lot, as it happened.

  “Jason, please, don’t do this…”

  “You went off with another fucking man, you stupid fucking slag. You think I’m fucking stupid? I saw you weren’t wearing a bra when you walked through the door. I was just biding my time, seeing as you’re such a thick cunt, I knew you’d trip over your own lies eventually.”

  The personality change in him was jaw-dropping and she could only stare at him stupidly.

  “You believe there’s a curse on me, but you don’t believe that the man tricked me into following him back to his caravan?”

  “I saw the way you were looking at him, there was no trickery involved.”

  The tears flowed. Where had her Jason gone? This wasn’t the man she had fallen in love with.

  But you never really loved him, did you? Not properly…

  Her regrets were swept aside by overwhelming terror; there was hell in his eyes and a meanness to the curve of his thin lips.

  “Let me go. I swear, none of this is my fault.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ,” he said in a low voice. In a dangerous voice that she had never heard him use before; a voice that turned her blood to ice.

  “You’re hurting my arm,” she gasped.

  “What this one? Or the one on the other side of the room you fucking freak?”

  He dug his fingers painfully into her arm and yanked hard…

  And it came away in his hand.

  Jason laughed and laughed, until he was doubled over in fits of giggles. In horror, she saw that her hand still gripped the roll of tape. She could also still feel his fingers gripping her arm.

  Oh man, this is so fucked up.

  Now that Jason was no longer holding her upright, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her balance on one foot with both arms gone. She swayed on the spot for a moment then went down hard. The carpet rushed up to meet her, knocking her breath out.

  “Fuck,” she grunted.

  This wasn’t good at all. The fall had dislodged the tape round her neck, and her head, being so heavy, had toppled clean off her shoulders. It took her a moment to realise it was unattached, for she had a close-up view of her vagina.

  So that’s what it really looks like, she thought. And men actually like that?

  With her cheek pressed into the carpet, she began to laugh. She laughed until the tears blinded her and she could feel her shoulders shaking with the effort.

  But that’s impossible, she thought, and laughed some more.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Jason shouted. “You think this funny? I’ll show you something that’s really fucking funny.”

  A shadow loomed over her head and then she felt hands either side of her face. Suddenly, her head was lifted up off the ground and went flying through the air so fast she went light-headed and her stomach flipped.

  “I’ll tell you something for nothing, sweetheart. We ain’t going back to the funfair. You don’t deserve to be fixed-up. You brought this on yourself.”

  As he was talking, experimentally she flexed various body parts in turn. She found she could flex her fingers and toes, and twitch her hips.

  I can converge. I can pull myself together…

  Her mind lurched and she didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Blindly, she dug her fingertips into the carpet, and, like a crab, slowly she dragged her arm across the floor.

  Jason’s head whipped round. “You fucking bitch! How are you doing that?”

  He dropped her head on the bed where it bounced a few times before going still. Her stomach plummeted with the sudden drop and she sobbed into the duvet.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to do something about this,” he said, kicking her arm.

  She yelped in pain and watched him as he bent down to pick up her wiggling arm. Walking over to the dark-wood, old-fashioned wardrobe, he unlocked the door, threw in her arm, and locked the door again.

  “Back in a sec,” he said, scooping up a thrashing leg.

  “No! Wait! What are you doing?”

  Ignoring her, he carried it out of the room, and then there was searing pain in her thigh, like it had been thumped, hard. He came back into the room a further three times to pick up each limb and carry it out. Each time he exited the room it resulted in a sharp pain in each limb. And each time that she pleaded with him to stop, he paid her on heed.

  By the time he got back, her limbs were cold and throbbing in discomfort.

  “What have you done?” she sobbed.

  “Separated your arms and legs so you can’t pull yourself together like the freak that you are. Your arms are in the basement and your other leg is locked in the sideboard.” He crouched down and scooped up her torso. “Fuck, you’re heavy,” he moaned, hugging her torso to his chest.

  He threw her body down onto the bed where it landed next to her head. She found herself eye-level with a stump where her arm used to be, and a flat, red circle which used to be her left breast.

  It must’ve come off again when he picked me up, she thought sadly.

  “Watch this, bitch,” he said, kneeling between her legs and unzipping his fly.

  “No, Jason, don’t do this.”

  “No? Why not? You’re a dirty little whore, Charlotte, and now you’re gonna get it.”

  She screamed out when he penetrated her, and, while he was fucking her, he yanked a pillowcase off a pillow and balled up a corner of it before shoving it in her screaming mouth.

  “Well, won’t you look at that? The end of it is coming out your neck stump. You should be choking to fucking death.”

  Yeah, I should. But I’m not.

  She screamed into the gag as he humped her dry vagina. The fact was, she was still breathing normally through her nose, and she watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest as he pumped away on top of her. She could feel the pillow case in her throat – it was a little uncomfortable and ‘full’ in feeling – but it neither made her gag not suffocated her.

  As he raped her, in the basement her hands pulled themselves along the cold, concrete floor by their fingers, wriggling like snakes until they found each other and pressed their forearms together, their fingers entwining. It offered her some comfort.

  Jason came quickly, finishing up with all the finesse of a horny dog.

  “Oh, Charlotte, at last I own you,” he said as he pulled out. “You think I don’t know about the men you get off with when you’re out clubbing? You think I don’t know the password to your facebook? But none of that matters now because I own you.”

  Lovingly, he stroked her hair. “We’re going to be so happy together.”

  She could only grunt and sob in reply.

  How long can I stay alive in this way? For how long will this black magic sustain me?

  In the basement, she squeezed her hands together. What was it that Jeta had said? That her hidden strength would one day save her? That she would find it within herself to fight him?

  As she lay there in pieces scattered every which way, she fully understood Jeta’s words, and she understood that she was changing – she could feel it happening with every passing second. Changing into what, she didn’t yet know, but she would adapt. Her limbs would adapt, perhaps take on a life of their own.

  And when they did, she would kill him. Perhaps she would strangle him, or bludgeon him. Somehow, some way, she would do it.

  Isn’t that right, Helen?

  VI

 
Helen dropped the book in her lap as soon as she read that last line, and a clap of thunder made her cry out.

  What the hell? she thought, her heart hammering.

  With trembling fingers, she picked up the book once more.

  I did not just read that last line.

  Sure enough, when she opened the book again at the last page she had read, that line was gone. The last line on the page was: Somehow, some way, she would do it.

  She blinked, clearing her vision, shaking her head in disbelief at her own stupidity.

  I’m just tired, she reasoned. The thunderstorm, and him out on the piss without me is freaking me out.

  The line that she had dreamed up aside, it was a strange, surreal little story. Her heart was still thumping painfully against her ribcage and the imagery from the story clung to her, making her shiver. Imagine having bits drop of you like that, she thought. It would be bloody terrifying. The story really did have a nightmarish quality to it that had thoroughly creeped her out…

  It must have got to me to make me imagine the last line like that.

  She sighed heavily. Why was she reading this stupid book anyway? But there was no denying that she found the style of writing oddly engaging and she picked up the slim book once more, staring at the weird, skin-like cover. The author’s voice was very modern and simplistic, and in an inexplicable way, also incredibly familiar. She was positive that she hadn’t read that story before, but God, that writing. It was just so damn familiar.

  She frowned. Her thoughts were confused and made no sense to her. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed that not only was this an author that she had read before, but that this was an author that she personally knew.

  She brushed aside the strange feeling, knowing full well it was just the thunderstorm and being alone in the house while her boyfriend was out boozing that was giving her the jitters.

  Taking a deep breath, she flipped the page. Like before, there was no author name, just the title of the next story. This one was called, ‘NIGHT OF THE DJ’.

  With the rain coming down in angry sheets against the window, she snuggled down into the grey fleece and began to read…

  VII

  NIGHT OF THE DJ

  “So tell me, folks, do you believe in the afterlife? Do you believe in ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night? Do you have any stories to share? Because I’m in the mood for a good scare.” Esther Blake pulled the microphone down to her red-painted lips, her voice turning husky. Through the glass partition, Bill Logan rolled his eyes. “Call me, boys and girls. Tell me everything. We’re in this together, this dark and stormy night, weary travellers traipsing through this thing called life. Have any of you glimpsed beyond the veil of our existence, to the terrifying truths in the distance? To the secrets beyond?” Now Bill was groaning – not that she could hear him in her hermetically sealed box-studio. She dropped him a wink. “Call me, people. Let’s talk.”

  Esther pulled the chunky headphones off her ears so that they dangled round her neck and flicked a switch on the turnstile. Industrial metal filled the tiny space, and she kicked backwards against the desk with her knee-length, high-heeled boots, wheeling her chair away from all the blinking equipment and computer screens.

  Bill’s head with his floppy blonde hair popped round the door. Despite being in his late-thirties, he didn’t look a day over twenty-five with his big, blue eyes and killer cheekbones.

  Why are all the best ones gay?

  “I’ve got two calls waiting.”

  She reached forward and dragged the volume button down, silencing Marilyn.

  “Just two?”

  “Well, there were three, but I had to lose one of them. He had a mouth on him like a sewer.”

  “Really? Did you ask him out? Sounds just your type.”

  “Fuck off. Nice alliteration just now, by the way. Really fucking original.”

  Esther smiled sweetly at him as she stuck up her middle finger. “So who am I getting?”

  Line one is Linda. She’s batty, but harmless and not likely to drop the F-bomb. She has a poltergeist that likes to rootle through her dirty washing.”

  Esther raised an eyebrow. “A dead knicker-sniffer?”

  “Yeah. The guy on line two is a little more, how should I say, sinister.”

  “Sinister? How do you mean, sinister?”

  “I mean he’s a blatant nut-job. He says he has a pact with the devil, that he has sold his soul.”

  “Sold his soul? In return for what?”

  “He didn’t say. He said he’d only tell you about his deal.”

  Esther frowned. “That sounds… creepy. That sounds like a potential serial killer, or something.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Do you want him on air? It’s your call.”

  “Literally,” she muttered, her frown deepening. She shrugged. “Sure? Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “He could have you lined up as the next victim?”

  “Wow, thanks for that.”

  Bill smiled boyishly. “You’re welcome.” His smile instantly dropped and he looked at her with a brotherly concern. “If he is a psychopath, at least we’ll have a confession of sorts to hand over to the police. Maybe it’s our civic duty to speak to him.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “Just do that slutty thing you and convince him to call the fuzz,” Bill said, his customary dry humour firmly back in place.

  “That slutty thing I do? I presume by that you mean talk, you know, since that’s my fucking job.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Just use your slut powers and make the poor sap fall in love with you like every other stupid male does that listens to your show.”

  “Jealous, are you? What’s the matter, Billy-boy, is the queue of men outside your front-door sadly of the invisible variety?”

  Bill narrowed his eyes at her, looking very much as if he were about to come out with a bitchy retort, then he seemed to think better of it and his entire face softened. “You don’t have to take him, please don’t feel pressured. He’s weird, and intense. He’ll get under your skin. But he’s articulate, well-spoken, and it’ll make for good radio.”

  “Relax, will you? It’s only yet another nut-job calling up the show, fuck knows we get enough of them. I’m a big girl, I can handle him.”

  Bill nodded his approval. “If he gets too freaky, we’ll cut straight to Linda on line one, okay? His name is Greg.”

  “Okay, boss, let’s do this.”

  “Boss? I just field the calls and make sure you don’t press any wrong buttons.”

  But they both knew that was blatantly untrue. The ‘Esther Blake Night Show’ was Bill’s baby. Bill had waded through hundreds of applicants for a voice to fill his night-time slot, and he and Esther’s rapport had been instant. Given Esther’s ‘alternative’ taste in music and spunky attitude it had been a risk on Bill’s part, but a risk that had paid off.

  Bill left her alone in the room, taking his seat on the other side of the glass. He placed the headphones over his ears and spoke into the mouth-piece, fiddling with the knobs on his dashboard. He grinned and gave her the thumbs up with one hand– that meant he had taken control of the decks. She grinned back, putting her feet up on the desktop and lacing her hands behind her head which she knew he hated. She sat there waiting for his double thumbs-up and the ‘On Air’ sign to turn red over the spring-loaded door.

  The sign glowed red, and she sprang into action, scooting forward on the wheelie chair and pulling the mic down to her mouth.

  “Welcome back, boys and girls,” she said in her best, come-fuck-me voice. She had an amazing voice, and she knew it – just the right amount of depth without being too deep, a girlish lilt mixed in with the cynical, rich tones of a woman who had seen much and experienced more. Her voice was pure velvet, pure sex. “We have a caller, folks. His name is Greg and he has a story to tell. Hello Greg, how are you this wet and wild evening?”


  She pressed the button, and the voice filled the room. She preferred this to having a voice piped in through the headphones; it felt like the speaker was in the room with her and it made the conversation flow.

  “Hello Esther, I’m fine, now that I’m speaking to you.”

  She closed her eyes, trying to picture the man behind the voice. There was a boyish lilt to his voice and was neither high-pitched nor deep. Just the sound of it made her flesh tighten around her skeletal structure and her forearms break out in a rash of goose-bumps.

  Bill was right; creepy isn’t the fucking word.

  “That’s great, Greg,” she purred, “it’s a pleasure to have you on the show tonight. What is it that you want to share with us?”

  There was a pause, and for a second Esther thought that they had lost him. Inwardly, she sighed.

  No such bloody luck.

  “I’ve seen things, Esther, things you wouldn’t believe. Things that would split your mind in two.”

  She leaned in closer, practically leaving a smear of lipstick on the small black head of the mic.

  “And what, exactly, have you seen, Greg?”

  “I’ve seen what comes next. And I’ve seen what brings them.”

  Esther shivered and wrapped her arms around her body, but she kept her voice icy-cool when she replied:

  “Are you talking about the afterlife, Greg? Are you talking about rituals to commune with the dead?”

  “In a way. You know, I’ve always been a fan of yours. I used to see you DJing at The Gothic Square. You were so hot. You’re still hot.”

  The Gothic Square was one of the most notorious goth clubs in London. Esther had deejayed there throughout her twenties, where she had quickly gained a reputation as one of the most talented young DJs on the club scene.

  “Thank-you, Greg, that’s always nice to hear.”

  “I love your style, Esther. I love gothic chicks, but feminine gothic chicks. I can’t be doing with all that Emo rubbish. Give me a woman that looks like a cross between that chick from Underworld and that stripper Von Teese any day. God, I used to watch you for hours at that club, you were the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. You still are.”