by Park, J. R.
A door slammed and the sound of a car starting up faintly drifted through the air before dissolving back into silence.
Stuart lay still a while longer and strained to listen out for any sign of movement but could hear nothing over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding against his chest. Slowly, and with gentle precision, Stuart rose to his feet. His body coursed with pain as he climbed his hands up the wall and carefully stretched his legs out to support his weight. He grimaced as his muscles strained, but this time they held him.
Shuffling his feet along the floor Stuart cleared a path through the mutilated remains.
Pausing for a moment at the door to check for any more noise he slowly opened it to see a hallway illuminated by the street lamps beaming through the windows. More like a suggestion in the air than a true noise, his ears sensed the continued sobbing, this time so delicately faint. He followed the sliver of sound to a door along the landing. In its centre was a handcrafted flower, a rose carefully constructed from folds of fabric.
Stuart gently took hold of the door handle and turned it, finding the door to be locked.
‘Hello,’ he whispered nervously, ‘are you okay? We’ll get out of this. You’re going to be okay.’
He listened intently, holding his breath and turning his ear to the door.
The sobbing stopped but no answer followed.
‘It’s okay,’ he whispered again, this time daring to be a little louder, ‘I’ll come back, I promise.’
Walking across the landing he saw the guest bedroom where he had first woken in this house, confused but comfortable in that lovely soft bed. Cassie was a friendly face to him back then, a saviour from a seemingly botched mugging.
But that was before she drugged him. That was before she went crazy and sat on his face, forcing him to lick out her anus whilst she drove a knife into his thighs. She’d rocked back and forth, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper into her anal passage whilst she fingered his wounds with the aggressive attention of an alcohol numbed lover.
Stuart opened the door to find the room empty. The cuckoo clock ticked along contently in a room so well kept it was the cream of old fashioned, domestic excellence. It was hard to conceive that this was where the nightmare started.
At least she hasn’t got some other poor bastard, Stuart thought.
Closing the door behind him, he turned and hobbled down the stairs, his vision wide-eyed and searching every space for a sign of his attacker. Looking out of the sitting room he noticed the driveway was empty.
She must be out, he thought, sighing with relief.
Opposite the stairwell stood the front door, it had three separate lock mechanisms, each one turned in place and keeping him prisoner. He banged his fists against the frame in frustration before turning back to the sitting room.
The house was in darkness but the curtains had been left open allowing the moon and streetlights to flood the house with their own peculiar illumination. It allowed Stuart to see his way round, but stripped everything of detail.
He crept through the sitting room and made his way to the kitchen. Rummaging through the drawers he searched amongst rolls of tin foil, cutlery and cleaning products until he found a large kitchen knife. Grasping the handle firmly his thoughts turned to revenge. He wanted to make that bitch pay. He wanted to make her suffer.
He imagined the long, steel blade slicing through the mounds of fat and carving them from her repulsive body. He imagined her pock marked face, twisted in anguish and pain, fearing for her life, just the way he had been only hours before.
But now was not the time to extract revenge. Clarity of thought wiped his vengeful fantasies away. He was too injured to fight that monster of a woman. She had proved incredibly strong, and had easily overpowered him before. Tonight was about getting out. Getting the girl from upstairs and escaping.
With his new found weapon in hand a sense of confidence surged through his body, his legs felt stronger and his stride grew. He walked back through the dimly lit sitting room and picked up a chair that stood by a corner desk. Holding it by the legs he aimed it at the window and with as much power as he could muster Stuart threw it at the window.
The wooden legs crashed against the glass and bounced off; the window shook in its frame but was left without a mark.
He tried again, swinging the chair directly at the centre of the pane but again it ricocheted off without a scratch. The toughened glass seemed impossible to break.
Enraged by his failure Stuart tossed the chair behind him accidentally bashing it against the corner desk. Its impact shook the computer sat on top and woke it from its idle sleep mode. The screen turned on, filling the room with near blinding light.
Stuart turned round with a start. Seeing the active computer he turned the chair upright, back onto its legs, and sat himself down. The display showed the profile page from a dating website and a photo he recognised.
The picture was of a girl in her early twenties; she had long, jet-black hair that fell, perfectly straight, down the length of her back. Her smile twinkled with mischievous joy whilst her eyes glinted of fiery passion. It was those chocolate brown eyes and her exotic, Mediterranean features that had first attracted him to her whilst he’d been browsing the CupidsBar website a few weeks ago.
What the hell was going on?
This was Fi’s profile page all right; he’d viewed it countless times a day since they’d been messaging each other.
But this wasn’t just a view of her profile page that anyone could see; this was her private log on page. With the menu icons at the top of the screen detailing options for views, shortlists, messages and edit options, this could only be seen by someone logging in with the correct password!
He scrolled through her list of contacts, viewing a portrait of prospective suitors. Kelvin, Chris, Adam, Tom, Ben, Stuart. The list continued, and as he scrolled through it he felt sick to be nothing more than a name added to such an extensive catalogue of potential lovers.
The inbox icon started to flash at the top of the screen. Stuart clicked on it to reveal a new message.
Hey sexy, how are you doing? Still on for our date? xx
He scrolled back up the screen to reveal a conversation that had been going on for the last few weeks. His eyes scanned over the flirtatious messages that been sent back and forth, disgusted by the familiarity in what he read.
…hey handsome you look fine. Fancy a chat…
…I smile so much when I get a message from you…
…want to meet…
…I love the moonlight…
…do you know where the fountains are…
He flicked to another conversation with a different suitor.
…you make smile so much…
…I’ve been glowing all day reading your words…
…I love the moonlight…
…the fountains…
And another.
…your eyes…
…you are so handsome…
…smile…
…fountains…
…moonlight…
…Harbourside…
These conversations mirrored his. Fi was using the same lines again and again. He had planned to meet her at the fountains. She had mentioned how much she loved to watch them and he thought it quite the move to ask her to meet there. But she never showed. He waited and waited, watching others walk by. They glanced at him with looks of sympathy, as he stood alone. He must have looked pathetic waiting there, his face developing more signs of the disappointment and rejection he’d felt as each minute passed.
Suddenly the room filled with light. Stuart turned to see a car pulling up in the drive, its headlights beaming through the net curtains. He dived to the floor and crawled behind the sofa as he heard the three locks of the front door turn in succession, the sound of keys jangling against each other chimed through the woodwork.
He peered round the corner of the sofa to watch Cassie enter the house walking backwards. She had the body of
an unconscious young man gripped tightly by his wrists and dragged him into her home. Another prospective date he presumed.
‘Come on my dear,’ Cassie cooed to the unconscious boy as she pivoted round and bolted each lock in turn, ‘let’s get you to bed. You’ve had quite the evening.’
Her arms locked around his chest and step-by-step she pulled him up the staircase.
‘You’re heavier than I thought,’ she said, changing her grip and taking hold of his wrists again, ‘must have some good muscles under that t-shirt. We’ll see soon enough.’
She smiled to herself.
He watched her drag the young lad across the floor when a strange sense of déjà vu crept over him. It was as if he was watching himself from afar. This must have been how Cassie treated him. Driving him home whilst he lay in the back unconscious and helpless. Then smuggled into the house under the cover of darkness and dragged up the stairs like a rag doll. He grew angry as he felt this sense of recognition.
How long had she been doing this? How long had these murders been allowed to continue?
Someone has to stop her!
When Cassie and the young lad had finally reached the top step Stuart heard a bedroom door creak open. Cassie’s voice grew muffled as she entered the room, still soothing soft words to her incapacitated companion.
He crept to the bottom of the stairs and watched as Cassie stripped her victim of the clothes on his top half and tucked him up in bed. Pulling the sheets tight across she folded the loose ends under the mattress and smoothed the covers over his sleeping body. She looked at him longingly before closing the door, blocking Stuart’s view.
A few minutes passed then Cassie remerged from the room with a little mutter back to her sleeping guest, ‘That should stop the bleeding.’
With a flick of a switch she turned the hallway light on and walked towards the room with the rose on its door. Stuart was just able to keep sight of her as she took a key from around her neck and placed it in the lock.
As she turned the key he heard her call out, ‘How are you my angelic little whore? My perfumed piece of dogshit?’
A beeping noise came from the computer, behind him, and echoed round the house, alerting them both that a message had been sent to the CupidsBar profile. Stuart panicked, and looked around for a more suitable hiding place. Running into the kitchen he hid in the old fashioned larder. Its door was made of horizontal slats placed at an angle with a small gap in between each one. He peered through the gaps, and was just able to see through the kitchen doorway to the computer in the next room.
Cassie’s heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs, and as the light came on in the sitting room he saw her stocky body stomp through the room and sit at the desk. Her large frame filled the chair, with rolls of flesh hanging off either side. Stuart was unable to see past her and at the screen, but he didn’t need to. Cassie cackled as she read the message, her fingers stroked the keyboard with deft precision as she mouthed out her response in a mocking tone.
‘Oh you are so funny,’ she spoke in a singsong manner that betrayed her otherwise hidden familiarity and insincerity to the messages she typed. ‘You make me glow all day when I read your words. I’d love to meet up, but let’s not go somewhere so busy.’
Cassie stretched out her huge arms as she waited for a reply. Her white, blubbery flesh was patterned with large blue and purple veins, hair sprouted in thick clumps and scabs covered her elbows. She picked at one of these, scratching and pulling until she tore off a crusted, dark brown patch. She studied the dried piece of blood for a moment until the computer beeped again. Another message had been received.
Cassie whooped with evil delight. ‘Oh that’s a lovely idea,’ she recited, once again mocking her own words, ‘I love watching the way it dances…’
‘…on the water of the fountains,’ Stuart mouthed, remembering the exact same phrases he had read only a few days ago.
The recognition of his deception incited his anger and furthered his indignation. Stuart’s thoughts went back to his plans of revenge and the bloody fantasies he had dreamt of earlier. It was only then he realised that his hand was empty.
Where was his weapon?
Where was his knife?
His consciousness scanned his memory whilst his eyes traced his recent movements round the kitchen and sitting room. His gaze stopped back at the desk when he spotted the knife to the left of Cassie’s elbow.
Shit! He cursed himself.
It was too much of a risk to attempt to sneak out and take the knife from under her nose. He’d never get that far without being spotted. Could he find another knife in the kitchen? The drawers had been full of utensils, and any makeshift weapon would do right now.
Slowly Stuart pushed open the larder. The door was made from a lightweight wood and moved freely. Just opening it a small crack to begin with he took a huge gulp of air and steadied his nerves, readying himself to take the risk of creeping into the kitchen and look for another weapon.
A clunking sound from the sitting room made him hold his breath.
He froze as he saw the knife lying on the ground. Cassie had accidentally nudged it with her elbow, knocking it to the floor.
The large woman bent down with an air of discomfort and picked up the kitchen utensil, holding it at eye level, she inspected the misplaced object for a moment. Stuart tried to shrink, stepping backwards, further into the larder as he watched her rise from her chair and head towards the kitchen.
He reached backwards, searching for anything that might be of help. As his fingers probed in the darkness they brushed against something hard and round. The tin can he grasped hold of wasn’t sharp, but it was heavy enough and solid enough to be used as a weapon. He gripped it tightly and held it up, ready to strike.
The giant shadow of Cassie walked into the kitchen and straight past the larder. Stuart watched her intently, his eyes never leaving her vile image. The kitchen was bathed in the bluish silver of the moonlight creating a hulkish silhouette of the cruel sadist whose threatening presence stood so close he could smell the cheap perfume that wafted from her skin.
‘Stupid fool,’ Cassie muttered as she opened a drawer and placed the knife in it, ‘I meant to lock these.’
She took a chain from inside another drawer and wrapped it round the handles. Pulling the trailing length tight Cassie then wrapped it over the taps from the sink, just above, and secured it with a pad lock.
‘There,’ she said with a satisfied smile.
She went to leave the kitchen but suddenly stopped in front of the larder. Turning her head she looked at the door as it stood open, just a sliver.
Through the gaps in the panels Stuart could see a pair of cold, emotionless eyes staring through the woodwork. Had she seen him through the small crack he’d left open?
He slowly raised the tin can above his head, poised to attack.
Cassie held her hand out and took hold of the door handle. Noisily she swallowed a throatful of phlegm and began to gently open the larder.
Stuart gripped the can harder and gritted his teeth, waiting for the moment to strike. He only had one shot and it had to be good.
Get her straight in the face, he thought. If I can get the edge to connect and do as much damage as I can to an eye, or failing that the nose. Inflict as much pain as possible.
But would it be enough to floor her?
Slowly the door crept open, centimetre by centimetre.
Moonlight from the kitchen began to fill the larder as she pulled the door, narrowing his hiding place.
Stuart raised the can even higher and focused on his target.
And then suddenly Cassie stopped.
She shut the door and walked off to the side.
Stuart heard another door open then lock.
He waited for a moment, his hiding place half exposed, and listened for Cassie’s movements. After a short while he heard the sound of water hitting water. Thank God, he thought, as he realised what had happened. She hadn�
�t spotted him at all and had just gone to the toilet!
Taking his chance he opened the larder and tiptoed out. The knives had been locked away and there was no chance of escape without a key. His only option was to search the house, go upstairs and see if he could find something to take the brute down with.
He felt the pain in his wounds as he sped through the sitting room and up the stairs. The first room was where the other boy lay unconscious in bed, but the door was locked. He knew the next room and the mutilated horrors that lurked behind that door. The next one after that was marked by the hand crafted rose. It was here that Stuart had heard the sounds of crying. Glancing at the door he saw the key was in the lock. Cassie must have left it in there whilst she was distracted by the beeping computer!
Stuart hobbled to the door. He heard nothing from the outside but he knew someone, or something, was in there.
What had Cassie called them? A piece of perfumed dogshit?
Whoever it was they needed help, and two against one made the odds much better for survival. He turned the key and walked in.
Stuart opened the door slowly and cautiously to find a well-kept, tidy bedroom. The walls were decorated with floral pink wallpaper whilst the bedding was made of soft, lilac shades. A sickly sweet scent of perfume hung in the air and made his nostrils curl. By the window, at the end of the room, stood a polished but small dresser with an elaborate, ornate mirror. A figure sat on a pink, upholstered stool, their back was to Stuart as they looked out the window and combed a brush through their long, straight, jet-black hair.
He slowly closed the door and walked towards the figure.
‘Fi?’ he gently called out.
The figure froze for a moment then placed the brush neatly on the dresser. Stuart edged closer to the mysterious figure and noticed the withered, scarred skin of her hand. Her fingers curled into the shape of a malformed claw with each digit ending in a chipped and broken fingernail.