The Fright Factory

by William R. Potter

  Robin’s wrist stung where the tie-straps bit into her flesh. Her ankles were tied but not tight to the chair legs. She moved around in the chair and pushed with her feet. Pain sliced in the small of her back, reminding her of her cracked vertebrae. She realized she could move herself on the polished hardwood flooring. Slowly she pulled herself toward Wesley. Every inch was excruciating and each foot a marathon. She looked up at the camera. Did it move? She crept along, inching closer to Wesley. Her ankles were burning with fatigue. Damn camera was moving. She’d moved at least six feet and it was still pointing straight at her.

  She glared at the lens. It moved in and then out. Jesse was focusing it on her by remote. She struggled toward her husband, around the coffee table and on for another yard or two.

  She was close enough to touch Wesley if her hands were free. She called to him again but he did not respond. She had been so upset with him over the financial problems with the restaurant, accusing him of being careless with the budget and overpaying staff.

  She wasn’t very understanding when he didn’t share her desire for traveling. Then she was negative when he endeavored to plan a trip that he could also enjoy. She had shown irritation and impatience when he had stumbled in the bedroom. And she had become upset with him when he said he wouldn’t go for counseling even though she too had no faith in a professional’s ability to help them. She had even talked to a lawyer about what separation and divorce might look like for them.

  Now Robin wanted nothing more than for Wesley to raise his head, look at her, smile, and say that everything would be okay. She stared at him, looking for any sign he was breathing. There was none….

  “Please, Wesley, please.” Then much louder. “Please say something. Move your head.” Nothing. “Oh god, no…”

  “Ro…bin,” came a faint whisper.

  Chapter 5

  Wesley attempted a weak smile for Robin’s benefit but the throbbing pain stabbing through his cranium would not allow much. His left eye was swollen where knuckles had connected with his flesh. There was a sharp ache in the back of his skull where the baseball bat had met bone. Jesse was well ahead in this game and Wesley knew that to survive he would need to be smarter than the insane filmmaker.

  He looked around the cabin, listening for Jesse or Brandi. All he could hear was Robin asking him questions about his injuries.

  “Shh,” he said softly. “Where are they?”

  Robin shook her head. “You okay?”

  “Think so.”

  Wesley saw motion from the corner of his eye. Jesse wandered into the room. “Howzit going?” He had a length of chain and a padlock. He looped the chain between the two chairs, pulled up the slack, and then clicked in a lock. With a second length of chain he secured Wesley and Robin to the cast iron fireplace. Where Robin had been able to slide along the floor earlier, they were now secured in place.

  Jesse showed them both a candle with a hole drilled through the middle near the base of the stick. He set the candle in a brass candle holder on the coffee table. He walked to the kitchen and returned in a few seconds with a long red stick, obviously dynamite. He used duct-tape to fasten two more sticks to the first and he set the three next to the candle. He then took a long string that looked like a fuse and threaded it through the hole in the candle.

  Wesley wasn’t sure what Jesse was doing but he knew it wasn’t good. Jesse took the camera off his shoulder strap and began to film Wesley and Robin. Brandi entered the room with a long butane fireplace lighter. She wiggled her ass for the camera and licked the end of the starter seductively and then headed for the candle.

  Oh shit, oh shit! Wesley began to understand what was about to happen. He tensed in his chair and glanced at Robin who appeared to know what was occurring as well.

  “Wes?” Robin said in a low whisper.

  Wesley watched as Brandi enacted a dramatic, slow motion lighting of the candle. The wick lit and then the flame increased. Jesse carefully moved the table a few feet closer to Wesley and Robin. Brandi stood back from the candle about the same distance as Wesley and blew a long, hard breath at it. The flame flickered and danced but remained lit.

  “You all can huff and puff but I’d say you have about 20-30 minutes before those three sticks blow the roof off this shithole and you along with it.”

  Both Jesse and Brandi turned and walked for the front door. Jesse stopped and then said, “Smile now. And please…please make this good! Huh?”

  “Have fun,” Brandi giggled.

  The flame continued its morbid dance as Jesse opened the door, Brandi followed, and both exited. Wesley watched the smoke of the flame and he could smell that the candle was scented with flowers.

  “Wes! What are we going to do?” Robin was pulling on her tie-straps and kicking her feet. The chain made a metallic jingle. “Do something. Don’t just sit there!”

  Wesley began to pull at the strapping with every ounce of strength. He pushed with his feet and tried to stand. Nothing. The candle continued to flicker as if mocking them. The scent was growing stronger as the flame grew taller.

  Robin was gulping in long breaths and then exhaling as hard as she could. The flame shrank and twisted and then shot higher in the increased oxygen. She did the same maneuver again and again. “For fuck sakes, Wes, blow!”

  Both were huffing, wheezing, and blowing and still the flame danced and flickered, and when they stopped the flame was taller.

  “Okay,” Wesley said, winded. “On three, fill your lungs, and when I signal let’s blow together. Okay?”

  Robin nodded.

  “One-two-three.” They filled their lungs, held their breath, and looked into each other’s eyes. He gave a small nod and they both blew out as hard as they could. The flame burned away from their view as they exhaled, appearing as though it had been extinguished. Wesley felt a moment of triumph, however, as soon as their lungs emptied, the flame darted for the ceiling once more.

  “Fuck!” Robin said between gasps. “All we’re doing is helping it to burn down faster.”

  “I agree.”

  For the next several minutes they struggled at their bonds. Faster, desperate movements. Robin was screaming and swearing and he could see tears streaming down her face. He looked at the candle and saw less than an inch of wax above the hole with the dynamite fuse. He began to feverishly kick his feet and tug his wrists hoping for a loosening or the break of a strap. Instead, the rear legs of the chair snapped, sending him over backwards, resulting in a loud crack when his skull met the wood floor.

  He shook his head slightly and glanced up at Robin next to him. She was straining to see him as he fought to meet her eyes. He could not see her face.

  “You—okay?”

  “Um—think so.”

  “Half an inch,” Robin said, in a small, childlike voice.

  “I know.” They were both quiet for a few seconds. Wesley was able to move enough on the floor to see the candle. He couldn’t see Robin’s face or stand or break free of the chair but he could see that damned candle.

  “I’m sorry,” Wesley said.

  “Huh, why?”

  “For bringing you here….”

  “You only did because I was pressuring you for us to get away.”

  “I love you, Robin. More than you know.”

  “I do know, Wesley. I love you too…I’ve loved you my entire life….”

  “I feel bad—for the kids. This will be hard for them….”

  “Uh huh.”

  Wesley twisted his neck way beyond normal movement, craning to make eye contact with the love of his life one last time. As he met her gaze there was a sizzle from the candle as the flame reached the fuse of the dynamite. He kept his gaze on Robin, his body trembling and his muscles shaking against the pain in his neck and spine. Perhaps they would meet on the other side. Perhaps this was it. He mouthed I-love-you.

  There was a loud pop. And then a series of pops. Pop-pop-pop like Fourth of July fireworks. He looked at the coffee t
able through a haze of blue-gray smoke. He smelled the gunpowder and saw the candle was still burning and the dynamite was untouched.

  “Wesley, what-what happened?” Robin was sobbing.

  “It was. It was um—fire crackers. It was a hoax to scare us.”

  Jesse and Brandi burst through the door laughing. “Holy fuckin’ shi-it! You guys were awesome—fuckin’ a one.”

  “You guys definitely have a future in the scared shitless business,” Brandi said through giggles. Wesley looked up at the pair and instantly smelled hard liquor.

  “Mmm, and all that ‘I love you’ crapola.” He grinned and shook his head. “Give me a fucking break. Both of you were screwing the piss outta my Brandi only a couple hours ago.” Jesse unlocked the chains, cut Wesley’s leg straps, and then swung Wesley up and carried him about two steps to another chair. He shoved Wesley down hard and re-strapped his ankles. “That was some great stuff, you two. Couldn’t have written it better than that. ‘Loved you my entire life.’ That’s just gold, Robin, gold.”

  Robin sighed and Wesley looked at her for a few seconds. She looked exhausted and her face was pale with fear. He looked out the window toward the lake. The sun was working its way through the predawn cloud cover. The rain had stopped and the lake was calm. The water was without the slightest ripple as though it had frozen into a perfect ice sheet. There was a slight mist just above the water. The scene could be thought of as picture perfect, even beautiful. A sharp contrast to the ugliness now lurking in the cabin.

  “While you two were making a wish and blowing out your candle, we had a visit from Mr. Hogan. Interesting chap, ol’ Ben, wasn’t he, Bran?”

  “Sure, baby. A real gem,” Brandi said.

  “It isn’t fully edited but take a look so far,” Jesse said as he set up his laptop in front of Wesley and Robin.

  The smile on his face gave Wesley a shiver. The man was completely crazy. The screen filled with an image of Jesse working a spray can of red paint on the side of a white van. Wesley immediately knew the vehicle was Ben Hogan’s work van.

  “Oy! Whatcha doing there, mate?” Ben’s Australian accent was heavier when he became excited. Jesse glanced into the camera. “I said whad-the-fuck ya doin’?” Hogan appeared out of the darkness and into the camera view.

  “Hey,” Jesse said. “Just doing a bit of art on this old piece of shit.”

  “Talkin’ bout? This is my van and it’s not even two years old.”

  “Oh?”

  “What—what’s the deal with the camera, mate? Is this some kind of TV show?” Ben stepped closer and smiled for the camera.

  “Sure—mate. That’s what it is.”

  “Ah, you ain’t stayin’ with Mr. and Mrs. Tate then?”

  “Well, sure we are. Why’d you ask?”

  “Well, Mr. Tate said that at least two couples were joining him and the missus. He said around noon or so but I guess you’d be early.”

  “Well, shit, you hear that, Brandi? Wesley invited others.” He shook his head.

  “And we thought we were the only two,” Brandi added off camera.

  Jesse shook the spray can for several seconds and began to spray again on the side of the van.

  “Fuckin’ stop that, mate! Shit, it’ll take me all morning to clean that off.”

  “Sorry, Ben. By the way—what the fuck you use this for?” Jesse reached down under the van and pulled out a long handled sickle. The blade shone in the dim moonlight.

  “It’s a sickle. Some call them a scythe. As ol’ Billy Bob said in that movie, you might call it a sling blade.”

  “I know what it is,” Jesse said as he gripped both handles of the tool. “I just wonder what you do with it.” There was a hint of irritation in his voice.

  “I use it to trim tall grass around the resort and then out on the lake I clear the Milfoil weed and lily pads from around the boat dock. Damn things choke up the outboard’s propellers. Pain in the arse, so I cut ‘em out.”

  Wesley knew what was about to happen. Robin moaned. Wesley wanted to call out for Ben to run.

  “Ben!” Jesse said.

  “Uh huh?”

  “You need to flee.”

  “What?” Ben stared at Jesse. Glancing at the camera, he seemed to begin to understand his predicament. He slowly stepped away from Jesse. He glanced at the writing splashed on his van and only hesitated for a second before he turned and started to jog away from the camera.

  “RUN! Little man. RUN!”

  Ben Hogan increased his speed; however, Wesley knew it wasn’t fast enough. Jesse grinned into the camera and then flung himself toward the caretaker.

  Jesse held the sickle out in front and in a few sprinted strides was only a couple feet behind Ben, who looked back in time to see Jesse swing the blade toward him. The point caught Ben just below the left buttocks, severing muscle and tendon. Ben collapsed face first to the ground. He clutched the wound, raised himself to his knees, and struggled to stand.

  Jesse swung the sickle out to the side and then pulled the tool through the air. There was a sickening ting as the blade met muscle and bone and a geyser of red sprayed skyward as Benjamin Howard was decapitated. The head bounced and rolled along the damp ground and then the camera focused on the face for a few seconds as Ben’s dead stare filled the screen. Then the camera panned to the side of the van where Jesse’s message was clear.

  The Fright Factory

  “Has a nice ring to it, doncha think?” Jesse’s proud voice broke the horrified silence.

  Chapter 6

  Robin looked away a fraction too late. She saw Hogan’s mouth twitch slightly and the shock in the eyes. She leaned as far as her bonds would allow and then she vomited a foul, acidic drool. Earlier she had convinced herself this was all a sadistic game. And that Jesse was all talk and not really a killer. The fake bomb gave her a false sense of security and a bit of hope that she and Wesley would survive. The murder of the caretaker washed all hope completely away.

  Jesse would film his movie with the climactic conclusion of the plot being a double murder. Her heart was galloping in her chest. Not only was the heartbeat too fast, it became erratic as though it planned to quit. Arrhythmia brought on by anxiety was a condition she had monitored for several years.

  She knew if she didn’t calm down, her heart rate would escalate until it got to the point where no blood was pumping through her body. Blood would pool and then clot. Those clots would then find their way to her lungs, making it difficult to breathe, then to her heart which would arrest, and then to her brain causing a massive, fatal stroke.

  She needed to calm her mind and heart rate. Calming down didn’t always work, however, with no access to her medication it had to work.

  “Rob, you okay?” Wesley asked in a soft voice.

  Robin nodded and continued to take her mind away from the cabin. She drew in long, slow breaths and took herself to an alpine meadow in full bloom. She saw bright red paintbrush plants, yellow broom, and a purple flower she could not recall the name of now, or ever. Thistles? Doesn’t matter.

  She imagined bees and mosquitoes pollinating flowers and birds eating their fill of flying insects and grasshoppers on the trail. The insects were busy and noisy as the bloom was only a few weeks long before the harsh mountain winter returned.

  Wesley took her hand on the trail and they walked in the hot sun of the July afternoon. When they came to a small lake they stopped for lunch. It was the perfect afternoon, one she had repeated several times over the years with her husband and many times with children in tow.

  She could smell the flowers and nearby pine trees. A creek babbled by the lunch spot and then tumbled into the sparkling turquoise lake. The ice-smooth surface was interrupted only by the occasional splash of a rainbow trout. She was smiling and her heart gradually found its normal beat.

  The surface of the lake rippled and then Jesse launched out of the water toward them on the shore. The flowers wilted as Jesse waved a baseball bat. Her heart
galloped and her chest became tight.

  Robin pushed Jesse from her daydream and imagined an outdoor wedding decked out in roses of white and pink. It was a bright sunny day and there was a feeling of happiness. Standing at the front of those gathered was a handsome young man in a tuxedo trimmed in the same pink and white.

  The music played and the bridesmaids began their march. Finally, Monica appeared dressed in a flowing, long gown with a mile-long train. She was more beautiful than Robin had ever seen her. Next to Monica was Wesley playing the part of proud but slightly sad father of the bride. At the end of the march, Monica kissed her father and Wesley took his seat next to Robin. Next to Robin were her son Michael and his girlfriend Katrina. The pastor smiled and then he said….

  “Fuck are you smiling about?” Jesse was inches from her face.

  Robin’s eyes shot open to Jesse’s wicked grin. His spittle rained her forehead.

  “Just leave her alone!” Wesley said.

  Robin saw Wesley glaring at the crazy film maker.

  “Leave who alone, Wes?” Jesse smiled and quickly slapped Robin across the cheek.

  Pain flared below her left eye and around her chin. Jesse slapped her again and again.

  “Please…just let her be!”

  “You’d rather I did the same to you?” Jesse’s smirk was pure evil. Robin knew he enjoyed every second of his intimidation tactics.

  Wesley nodded.

  “Well, that is no just fun at all, Wes,” Jesse said as he drew a backhand across Wesley’s face. “Hmm, let’s try that again.”

  Smack. Robin cringed as knuckles plastered Wesley’s face.

  “Nope, just no fun at all.”

  Jesse walked for the kitchen. “Oh, by the way,” he said as he turned back to face his captives. “I haven’t forgotten what ol’ Ben said about your friends coming up here.” He paused. “So I’m gonna have a go at the wife and then we’re gonna have us a chat about when we’re going to have company.”