Don't Read: A Novel of Extreme Horror, Sex and Gore

by Matt Shaw

  He’d parked up in a motorway service station. On one side of the carpark was a modestly priced hotel for the weary travellers and, on the other side, was a large building containing newsagents, some toilets, and several eateries for those who needed a quick pit stop before continuing whatever journey they were on.

  Chris looked towards the hotel and - for a minute - was tempted by the thought of a large bed. His rig had a bed set up in the back which wasn’t bad. It certainly wasn’t as uncomfortable as some he’d been forced to endure throughout his career as a long distance lorry driver. It didn’t mean it was better than a real bed, though. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come to light. He couldn’t leave the lorry parked up by itself. Not with the cargo he was carrying; that nagging worry still pounding in his head, warning him that - any day now - someone would discover what he was really doing. He opened the door to let in some fresh air, along with the unfortunate sounds of the motorway rushing by with people on their way to meetings, appointments, or wherever they needed to be. He hadn’t realised how loud it was out there. Sure the cab didn’t drown out all of the noise but it eliminated a lot of it. Doing his best to ignore it, he reached for his book. A habit of his; drive for a few hours, write for a bit, check the girls, write for a bit more, go to sleep. A routine that would sound mundane to some but was, in actual fact, a perfect day to him. At least, so long as he was able to avoid the dreaded rush hour; something which often put him in a bad mood for his companions in the back.

  The book fell open to the relevant page, detailing what had happened between himself and Hayley - his new plaything. Chris’s trusted biro slid down the centre fold of the book and dropped in his lap. He picked it up and flicked the lid off despite being unsure as to how best to carry his story on. Previous entries hadn’t really gone into too much detail of where he was, or even what he was doing at the time - before the horrors he’d committed. Most of the book segments simply jumped straight through to the action as he considered all else to be padding and - if anyone were to pick the book up to have a read - they’d think it was an unnecessary sketch show of extreme violence and horrors. Only the latter entries tried to establish a little about the characters he’d met, the situations he’d found himself in, and that was because one of his earlier readers had gotten confused as to what was going on. That and the fact he decided that, to get more from the book, he needed to put more details into it. For example - it was one thing to say he cut someone’s eyelids out but it was much better to describe how the man screamed as he did so and that it felt similar to the feeling of cutting the fat away from uncooked bacon. It was the little things, like this, that Chris didn’t wish to lose over time.

  After a slight hesitation, Chris started to write down more of his story as the world continued to pass him by on the outside of his cab. He picked it up from where he’d previously had to leave it: his initial meeting with Hayley. He was itching to get back to the chamber to see how she was doing. She must have been awake now, after all, and most likely had a lot of questions for him to answer. Some of which he’d dignify with a response and some of which he already knew he’d ignore, much to what would be his plaything’s frustration.

  A pang of excitement shot through him as he pictured what Hayley’s face could look like when she’d come to read the scene he was scribbling down; how the conversation with the friendly waitress played out. Despite doing the acts himself, and even feeling a rush of excitement as he did so, he knew they were horrifying. But that was the point of the book. They needed to be disgusting. They needed to be horrible. It was - after all - horror. The more grisly the segments, the better the book. As he continued to write, he ignored a lot of the conversation with the waitress (already annoyed he couldn’t recall that her name was Sara). He kept the bare bones of it but definitely skipped a fair chunk. Same with the chef. In the book he mentioned calling him out, but didn’t go into the whole ‘best omelette in the world’ routine because he thought it to be padding - something he hated in horror books he read. He knew deep down that it would make the character more fleshed out for others to read but, again, this wasn’t for other people to read. Not as a proper book at least. It was only to horrify him in the future, when he’d come to re-read it. Jumping from segment to segment, if he needed a story, he knew his imagination would fill in the missing detail as and when necessary. For him, it was definitely about the violence only. Still - it was thirty minutes, or just under, of mindless chit-chat that didn’t make the cut of the book and he was soon penning the horrors he’d committed. As soon as one paragraph was done, he was writing the second as the words flowed from him; including the description of cutting away the white fat from uncooked bacon sensation when discussing using the scissors on the manager’s eyelids. And then there were the sizzling sounds of the waitress’s face melting away as he dunked her into the fryer (much like sausages cooking in a shallow fry) and the bumping, ridged sensation vibrating through his hand as he penetrated her arse with the serrated blade of the knife. The sounds of the screams, from both the waitress and the pig of a manager, playing through his mind like classical music as he neared the end of the required chapter. Last word written (“Blood”), he slammed the book shut with a satisfied sigh. He tossed the pen to one side. It landed next to the lid on the passenger seat. There was no sense putting it away until he’d let Hayley read what he’d written. If she was suitable horrified, just as Emma-Jane had been when she read the segment referring to her friend, then he knew it was a job well done and he was finished for the night. If she didn’t look to be disgusted, he’d put a line through it and re-work the whole damned thing. He had done it before, at the start of his writing career, and he was prepared to do it again if need be.

  He jumped from the cab with the book tucked underneath his arm, pocketing the rig’s keys, and slammed the door shut before walking the length of the vehicle, back towards the rear doors. The place was heaving. People were milling about, going from car to shops or shops back to cars. He just hoped it was so busy, with so many distractions, he’d be able to sneak into the back unnoticed by anyone. It would look weird, seeing him jump into the back only to close the door up and not come out for however long his interaction with his new play-thing took. Experience had taught him it would, usually, take a long time. Subsequent visits to the chamber were always shorter but, yes, the first was always the one which took the time. They’d have questions, as previously mentioned, and he’d have some answers. They’d beg to be let out, to which he would refuse. They’d spend a little time ranting and raving at him and eventually they’d read what he had asked them to do when he first entered the room. A song and dance he’d played through on numerous occasions, despite not meaning to. He never took someone (a play-thing) with the intention of killing them immediately. He always took them in the hope they’d last the distance with him (and then he’d kill them). That was the idea. Just, so far, he hadn’t been having much luck. Sometimes by accident, sometimes by design.

  Chris seized the opportunity of a large lorry passing by him to sneak into the back of the lorry relatively unnoticed (hopefully). Slamming the door behind him, he fumbled his way down the narrow passageway to where he’d installed the secret door. A kick of the switch with the tip of his boot, and the doorway popped open. He stepped inside and closed the door.

  The room was dimly lit with two lights at either end for when it was getting dark and a couple of holes in the top of the trailer - allowing a little light from outside to shine in. A heavy Plexiglas over the holes blocking any noise made from the women within. He flicked the lights on, powered by a battery within the chamber. It was dimmer on this visit compared to the last as one of the bulbs had blown, not that it mattered. Chris had spares. A medium-sized chest, in the corner of the room, containing at least six of them - maybe a few more - along with some other pieces of equipment he needed. Next to the chest was a leather chair that he allowed the girls to sit upon when he gave them their timed releases from their
cells. Hooks on the wall behind the chair enabled him to chain them into position. He walked over to the box, surprised by the lack of sounds coming from the girls. Normally there was at least one mouthing off at him or, at the very least, one giving off some whimpering pathetic cries that did nothing but fuel his desire to create another horror scene like… The empty cage reminding him of what had happened. He dismissed the thought (is that regret?) as he set the book down on the chair and set about changing the bulb. It flickered into life and illuminated the other half of the chamber. Chris turned to look at the girls in their cages as he took a seat on the chair usually reserved for them.

  “How are you both doing?”

  Neither one of them answered. A wave of disappointment rushed through him although mainly because Hayley was quiet. He was grateful for Emma-Lane’s silence. The girl usually gave him an abusive mouthful when he walked into the chamber. He often looked at her, wondering whether she knew how close she was to death. The times he’d considered opening the cage door up and stamping her to death.

  “Hayley. That was your name, wasn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I shall presume so. If it’s not, you’ll have to correct me. How are you fitting in, Hayley?”

  “My back hurts,” she said.

  “To be expected. Would you like to come out for a while?” he asked, referring to letting her out of the claustrophobic cage. Hayley hesitated, unsure as to whether it was a trick or not. Was she to say yes only to have the idea of a moment’s freedom pulled away from her? Or was he being genuine? Was he really giving her the chance to step out for a minute? She considered what Emma-Lane had previously said about being let out. If it were to be a trick, surely the other girl would have warned her. “Well?” he pushed for an answer.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Yes, please. I like that. Manners. So many people these days forget their manners.” He reached down and started to find the correct combination on the padlock before stopping himself. “Of course,” he said slowly, “if I am letting you out…”

  Here it is, Emma thought. She knew what was coming next. She had gone through exactly the same thing when she’d first met the man who’d taken her from her family life. The book.

  Chris continued, “You need to do something for me.”

  “Anything,” Hayley said, desperate to get out from the small confines of the cell. Chris stifled a smile. They always said they’d do anything. He wondered whether they even believed what they’d said, when the lone word escaped their mouth. At this point, did any of them truly believe they would do anything? Is it only later, when presented with what needs to be done, that they change their minds?

  Chris smiled. At this stage, she’ll do what is asked. He knew that much. Her mind might be swayed on the second time she sees him but for now - all she had to do was, “I want you to read a part of my book.”

  Emma-Jane didn’t say anything despite a desire to scream at the woman not to read it yet she couldn’t say a word. Not without fear of punishment. He’d warned her before about shouting out, more than once. The first time, he told her in a calm tone that she needed to behave, the second time he shouted and the third… He only just stopped himself from hurting her; evident from the look in his frustrated eyes. The other girl hadn’t received as many warnings - something else which Emma couldn’t help but remember. She stayed there, trapped in her cell, and hoped that whatever Hayley was to made read wouldn’t distract her mind from thoughts of escape. It was a big ask though. Emma knew the words confined to the pages of that book were enough for the reader, in this situation, to forget all thoughts of escape. They only served as reminders that - actually - there was a strong chance they too would die in this chamber and that they would also end up on one of the many pages. Their own section, designed for that sick bastard’s entertainment.

  “What book?” Hayley asked, falling into the trap of agreeing to his demands.

  “It’s one I am writing,” he said. “It’s not for anyone but me but that doesn’t stop me from wanting it to be as good as it possibly can be. I do not proclaim to be the best of writers and it’s good to hear the feedback from someone else occasionally.” He paused a moment, “So was that a yes?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Yes, please again? I am impressed. Well wait there a moment,” he stood up and walked over to the far wall, opposite the chamber door. A peg protruded from the soundproofed interior with a collar and lead hanging from it. He took the lead back to where the girl was trapped and resumed unlocking the padlock. “Don’t move,” he ordered her as he removed the padlock and opened the cell door. He slid the padlock into his pocket before reaching into the cell with the collar in his left hand. With his right, he pulled the girl closer to him, giving him the necessary room to get the collar around her neck. It clicked into place with a smaller lock - also controlled by combination which was set into it. With the collar securely fastened to her neck, he took a hold of the leather lead attached to it and pulled her from the cage. She didn’t stand. She stayed in the uncomfortable crouched position she’d grown accustomed to. “You may stand up.” Slowly she stood up. Chis backed away to give her some room. “Feel free to stretch,” he told her. “I know it can’t be comfortable being cramped in there all day and I can but only apologise for putting you in that position. But - with the soundproofing and other bits in here - there’s not that much room for bigger cages. And, to be fair, they also stop you from banging around, making unnecessary noise or hurting yourself.” He watched as Hayley stretched out her bones. He couldn’t help but lick his lips as he gazed upon her form. From when he’d first seen her, he thought she looked pretty. “Better?” he asked. She nodded at him yet wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Please - take a seat over there,” he gestured towards the leather chair.

  “When can I go home?” Hayley asked.

  “You said you’d read my book,” he reminded her. “That’s why I let you out. You can’t say something and go back on it. That’s not how this works. You read my work and then you can ask a question. You got out of the cage, I get something, you read my book, you get something… That’s the way the game works, okay?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologise. You weren’t to know. Please take a seat,” he gestured again. Hayley walked over to the chair and sat down, picking the book up from the seat before doing so. She glanced down at the cover. Those two words staring right back up at her: “Don’t Read.” She looked at Chris. There was a nervous look of dread in her eyes.

  “What is it about?” she asked, despite being almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “It is a horror book,” Chris answered honestly. Considering she was about to see for herself, there was little point in pretending it was anything else. “I have grown to be frustrated by the words written by others, those who believe they are horror authors, and so I set about writing my own.” Chris walked to the wall, lead in hand, and attached it to one of the heavy duty clip points on the wall. He gave it several short, hard tugs to ensure it wasn’t coming off. Many a girl had tried to rip it from the wall point before now, all had been unsuccessful. It didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned about the possibility of it weakening though not that it mattered too much; it wasn’t as though he left them out of their cages without being in the room himself. He walked to the far side of the room and slumped back against the wall before sliding down it so that his arse was on the cool floor of the trailer. Hayley looked at him. “Go on,” he gestured with a nod for her to read the book. “And then - I have something for you to read, Emma. A new section which you might be familiar with.”

  Emma-Jane knew what he was referring to. It was her. That girl. He’d written about her just as - when the time came - he’d write about them. She felt her heart sink. She’d hoped, by having someone else in the trailer with her, she was done reading his words.

  “That way,” he continued, “you get to stretch too.”

  Hayley
looked at him having opened the book, “Where do I start?”

  “Towards the middle of the book is the section you need to read,” he told her. “Look for the heading that leads with your name.”

  Hayley swallowed nervously as she flicked through the book until she found what she was looking for, “I’ve found it.”

  “Good girl. And it helps me if you read it out loud.”

  She cleared her throat…

  6.

  Emma-Jane was sitting on the leather chair. A collar around her neck kept her attached to the wall and unable to escape as she had hoped. Despite talking the talk of making a run, along with Hayley, earlier in the day - the reality of the situation was that she was trapped and had no idea on how best to proceed. Chris was too careful, only letting one out at a time and securely attaching the collar to both them and the wall, ensuring that - even if they somehow managed to dispose of him, there was nowhere to go. On her lap was the book. As Emma was out, Hayley was back in the cage, weeping for both her work colleagues’ lost lives, the situation she found herself in, and - last but not least - being back, cramped up, in that too small cell. Chris had walked back to the other side of the chamber and was watching Emma with a burning intensity, waiting for her to start the chapter saved for her.

  “It’s before the one Hayley just read,” he informed her. She didn’t move to find the page. She just stared down at the words on the front cover wishing she were able to do as it instructed; wishing she were able to not read it. She cast a glance at Hayley who was still crying, her head cranked at an awkward angle making it impossible to see her eyes but she didn’t need to. She could hear her. Emma didn’t blame Hayley for crying. It was all very well saying she should be strong but when you read terrible words detailing the deaths of people you knew, whether you cared for them or not, it’s disturbing. She looked back down to the book and noticed how much her hands were shaking on either side of it. She mentally told herself to pull her act together. At least this time she knew what to expect. She knew what she was about to read. She’d witnessed it firsthand. Surely the words couldn’t have been as bad as having to actually hear the poor girl screaming out as he set about working on her. She shook her head as the sounds replayed themselves in her head once more. “Is there a problem?” Chris asked. He raised an eyebrow. Emma-Jane looked at him with a look of pure hatred in her eyes. She wanted to swear at him. She even wanted to shout at him. Maybe even spit in his direction (not that it could have reached him from this distance)? She swallowed the hostile thoughts down in the knowledge they’d be her last actions if she did act upon them. There’s only so many times he’d stop himself from doing to her what he had done to the other poor girl.