by Park, J. R.
After a few more attempts his throat gave up obeying his commands altogether, its sandpaper soreness preventing even the most basic of noises to pass his lips.
Parched and mute, he hung against the wall as the blood continued to drip slowly from his horrific injuries.
It was useless to do anything but try and black out.
He prayed he would lose consciousness again.
Lose himself to the void and there find a perfect state of peace.
But that peace would not come.
The door flew open and before him, bathed in light from the hallway, stood Cassie. She wore an apron and rubber gloves, both smeared with the scarlet stains of fresh blood.
In her powerful grip she held a mangled, bloody mess of ravaged muscle and torn clothes. Pieces of flesh dripped through her fingers and fell to the floor.
As if it were nothing more than a wet rag, Cassie threw the corpse into the foulness of the room. It landed amongst the pile of gore and as it tumbled into the mutilated torso of another hapless victim Chris saw its foot swing from a broken bone. It had snapped at the shin and jutted out at an unnatural right angle.
Cassie looked at Chris, her eyes narrowed as unspeakable thoughts flickered through her mind. A sound of thudding came from down the hallway, diverting her attention.
‘Let me out,’ a muffled cry followed.
Cassie threw her apron and gloves into a blood soaked heap on the floor and closed the door, leaving Chris alone with the dead in the darkness.
He listened to her ponderous footsteps rumble down the hallway as she dragged her oversized feet across the fragranced carpet. A key rattled as it felt its way inside a lock and turned. A door creaked on its hinges as he heard it slowly open.
Dehydrated and rapidly losing blood Chris felt himself grow even weaker. Consciousness was rapidly evading his grasp. Peace would soon be his.
As his eyes rolled in their sockets and his vision began to blur he could just make out the faint murmurings of conversation seep through the walls.
‘You’re awake, my name’s Cassie.’
‘Where am I?’
‘You’re safe, Benjamin.’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘I emptied your pockets when I put you to bed. I looked through your wallet. I thought I might find a contact number in there. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, that’s fine.’
‘Oh dear, I thought we got rid of all the mice. I hope they didn’t wake you.’
Her hands were pulled high above her head as the chains wrapped round her wrists dug into her skin. The other end of the chains were wrapped round a rail overhead, holding her suspended with only the tips of her toes scraping the bottom of the wardrobe as she woke.
Kathryn struggled against her bondage in the darkness but was unable to slip free. She had tried many times before and each time failed, but just one time perhaps she might get lucky.
She had woken up in this darkness so often now that it had become the norm.
That bitch Cassandra had been more devious than she thought. Certainly more clever than her thick, local accent had let on.
Had she drugged the orange juice she’d offered to her the afternoon Kathryn called by? Perhaps laced it with some kind of slow acting drug? She hadn’t drunk much of it, so maybe it took longer than Cassie had expected to kick in. That would have meant she’d had to have followed her back to the hotel. It seemed the only explanation.
The last thing Kathryn could remember about that day was that she was racing out the hotel room with her gun in her hand. Then she blacked out. She must have lost consciousness before she even had chance to leave the room. The next thing she knew she woke up, stripped of her clothes and tied to a rail, surrounded in darkness.
Kathryn listened to the creaking sounds of the floorboards as Cassie’s bulk moved around the house. She could hear the polite and excited manner with which she spoke to her next victim. Lulling the poor boy into a false sense of security. It wouldn’t be long before she had them at her mercy, forcing them to participate in the most debase acts of sexual perversion and sadism, all the while making Kathryn bare witness whilst screaming at her with another name.
She wasn’t called Fi?
Her name was Kathryn.
Why did Cassie insist on calling her Fi?
The poor boy wouldn’t stand a chance, and would be dead by the end of the day. That’s of course after the long, torturous death. The lucky ones would die quickly. She had yet to witness a lucky one.
Kathryn’s stomach turned at the thought of those unfortunate souls whose foul ends she had already been forced to endure.
Cassie’s laugh was as highly pitched as it was insincere. Its shrill cackle cutting through Kathryn’s thoughts.
‘Oh Stuart,’ Cassie’s voice followed her laugh and penetrated the walls of Kathryn’s makeshift prison, ‘you are so funny. Don’t forget to drink your juice. You need to get your strength back.’
Poor bastard, Kathryn thought as a tear rolled down her cheek.
She couldn’t stand it any longer. She couldn’t face seeing those poor, young men tortured and slaughtered. Enduring such sights of cruelty had pushed her to the very limit of her sanity. Desperate to stop it, but powerless to react she felt her nerves shred every time Cassie’s footsteps echoed closer. Just that sound was enough to bring about tides of dread that rotted away at her soul whilst sharp, explosions of panic sent a twitching current of fear up her spine, silently screaming inside her head.
But she had to endure it. She had to!
She alone knew the truth.
She alone had to find a way to escape and alert the authorities, bringing down Cassie’s concealed reign of terror.
Only she could do it.
I can’t take it any more. I can’t go on. But I must.
I must be strong, she thought, like my sister.
My sister was tough and could handle anything.
I won’t be Cassie’s plaything. I won’t be Fi.
I must be strong.
I must be like my sister.
I must be like Charlotte.
Must be Charlotte.
I am Charlotte.
I am Charlotte.
Not Fi.
Not Kathryn.
Charlotte.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. R. Park resides on the outskirts of Bristol, England and writes horror fiction whilst watching a 24 hour McDonalds from his bedroom window.
He believes this may be his main source of inspiration.
Street tough Detective Norton is a broken man.
Still grieving the murder of his girlfriend he is called to investigate the daylight slaughter of an entire office amid rumours of a mysterious and lethal computer program.
As the conspiracy unfolds the technological killer has a new target.
Fighting for survival Norton must also battle his inner demons, the wrath of MI5 and a beautiful but deadly mercenary only known as Orchid.
Unseen, undetectable and unstoppable.
In the age of technology the most deadly weapon is a few lines of code.
“Truly a horror tale for the modern digital age.”
Duncan P Bradshaw, author of Class Three
“Fast paced, action-packed, intricately plotted and filled with technological paranoia.”
Duncan Ralston, author of Gristle & Bone
“He manages to combine gore, sex, humour and suspense with a gripping story line.”
Love Horror Books
“J. R. Park’s new novella Terror Byte could be the story to bring horror back to technology based adventures.” UK Horror Scene
“Jesus. What the fuck is this?”
Vincent Hunt, creator of The Red Mask From Mars
It’s carnival night in the seaside town of Stanswick Sands and tonight blood will stain the beach red.
Punch and Judy man, Martin Powell, returns after ten years with a dark secret. As his past is revealed Martin must face
the anger of the hostile townsfolk, pushing him to the very edge of sanity.
Humiliated and stripped of everything he holds dear, Martin embarks on a campaign of murderous revenge, seeking to settle scores both old and new.
The police force of this once sleepy town can’t react quick enough as they watch the body count grow at the hands of a costumed killer.
Can they do enough to halt the malicious mayhem of the twisted Punch?
J. R. Park
“It’s a heartbreaking tale. I’d strongly urge anyone, looking for a straight forward raw read to buy this as soon as possible.”
DK Ryan, author of Egor The Rat & creator of HorrorWorlds.com
“Graphical nightmares effectively place the reader in an uneasy position.”
Horror Palace
“A rousing combo of parental angst and seething evil. A great spin on the post-modern serial killer.”
Daniel Marc Chant, author of Burning House
“A hard hitting story of the darker side of life in a sleepy little seaside town.”
Paul Pritchard, Amazon reviewer
For up to date information on the work of J. R. Park visit:
JRPark.co.uk
Facebook.com/JRParkAuthor
Twitter @Mr_JRPark
For further information on the Sinister Horror Company visit:
SinisterHorrorCompany.com
Facebook.com/sinisterhorrorcompany
Twitter @SinisterHC