The Brutality Pack: An extreme horror collection

by Ian Woodhead

  The words for my closing speech died on my tongue when I found my eyes watching a scene of total depravity. Two naked figures were fighting on a pale green bed cover. A large teenage male pulled back his arm and slammed his fist into the nose of a much younger and smaller dark haired girl.

  She cried out, only for her breath to explode from her mouth when he followed the first punch by hitting the girl in the guts. All I could hear at this point was heavy breathing and well as a curious tapping sound. I took my gaze from the scene on the bed and saw a much older woman, her age approximate to mine, banging the side of a wooden armchair with long scarlet nails. She grinned a wolf’s smile before picking up a reporter’s notepad and a pencil and started to write.

  I confess, I was very scared at this moment, not knowing where I was or what was happening to me. By now, the boy had flipped the crying girl onto her front and kicked her legs apart.

  The howl which erupted from that poor girl’s mouth when his large penis penetrated her private area still makes me weep. The woman furiously scribbled away while the boy pounded his flesh against her quivering body. I wanted to get out of here, to return to my service but my eyes refused to close and all I could hear were three distinct noises – her pencil dancing over the paper, flesh slapping against flesh and a low moan emanating from that poor girl’s mouth. It was at the moment, the point where I felt insanity knocking upon my door, when I heard the voice of the Lord.

  I welcomed him with open arms and a glad heart, expecting him to whisk me away from this debauchery. Only he didn’t. The Lord told me to look to my left, to where I saw a length of steel pipe, shaped to a point at one end. The Lord then informed me that once Patrick Hartwell had finished fucking that hole, he would use the pipe to make more holes in her body to fuck. This, he would continue to do until the girl had finally given up on life.

  The Lord then took me back to my service. I was so thankful to him he did not make me stay until the end. I do not believe I would have been able to withstand witnessing such evil.

  With much restraint and a large amount of self-control, I was able to reach the end of my second service without anymore interruptions. As I watched Patrick Hartwell and his three other friends leave my church, giggling and hitting each other, I knew that he would be the first inhabitant of Brutality to feel the wrath of holy justice.

  ---

  I left the three boys to their carving, giving them one final wave before I continued on my journey and just then, I craved ice-cream, a large cone, topped with soft vanilla flavoured ice-cream and a flake to finish it off. Perhaps once the Lord and I have made my new town into a happy place to live, I might then be able to stroll through this park without having to worry about bloated dog corpses floating to the surface and infecting the surrounding atmosphere with its decomposing gases. I also might be able to buy a rather nice ice-cream.

  Walking along Blackberry Street takes me back into the centre of town, passing through Brutality’s unusual square which houses its five ethnic and the single English restaurant, three on each side. This area is where the sinners finish their night of whoring and drinking. It is also where the two men, my other dead sinners once worked.

  The Lord revealed their crimes to me at my third service, two days ago and believe me, those fiends certainly received what they deserved

  First though, allow me to backtrack to the boy, to Patrick Hartwell. I remember looking down at his naked body, lying on my stone slab in the middle of the chamber and I did wonder how such a feeble looking specimen had been able to inflict so much damage to that poor innocent little girl. This cowardly animal had stolen her innocence, her youth and her dreams and gave her the unwelcome gift of utter terror to take with her as she left this realm.

  It was only right that I should give the gift back to Patrick. As I mentioned, the Lord would torment the souls I gave him but only after I punished the flesh. The Lord which gave me solace and guided my actions had obviously disregarded the teaching in the New Testament and I had no problems with that.

  Only the boy’s eyes moved. They followed me around the chamber as I collected the tools I needed. Sweat poured down my forehead and my heart raced but the Lord was still there, issuing comforting words, telling me I was doing just fine and that the task would be easier once I had taken the first step. I nodded, knowing that he was correct. After all, he was the Lord and his wisdom knew no bounds.

  Patrick’s eyes gazed up at me, flickering briefly from the chisel and hammer I held in my hands. Thanks to the Lord’s teachings, my tools would cause the maximum amount of pain to the boy without him being able to do anything about it. Patrick wouldn’t even be able to scream.

  Several hours earlier, I walked into one of the several pharmacies in Brutality. I smiled then passed the pretty assistant an A6 sheet of white paper, with the ingredients I needed, written in green ink. The Lord assured me that I would have no problem in procuring all of the products on the list despite me knowing for a fact that several of the chemicals were banned in most western countries. The girl didn’t even blink an eye. She hurried into the backroom and promptly returned with all the products. As I left the shop, it did occur to me that I probably wasn’t going to be the only poison maker to smile at the assistant this week.

  Laying the chisel on his stomach, I moved his flaccid penis to the side, raised the hammer them brought it down hard on his left testicle. There was very little resistance. Looking at the thick blood filling up the deep cracks in the stone, I then knew that Patrick wasn’t the only sinner who would be meeting his end on this alter. I also discovered that the Lord was correct. The first blow was the toughest.

  I smashed his other testicle against the stone before repeating the action on the head of his penis. I had no qualms about carrying on. The boy’s eyes had now rolled up into his head. The shock hadn’t killed him though. I will admit, that was an event that did concern me. With me being new to this profession, I did not know just how much suffering the body could withstand before shutting down.

  His chest rose and fell. This was all the evidence that I needed. I picked up the chisel, opened his jaw as much as I could then rested the tip of the chisel against the base of the first two front teeth. I hit the handle but the blade slipped. The chisel tore through Patrick’s gums. I hadn’t expected that to happen. Still, as this was my first sinner, I allowed myself this one mistake. I took a moment to compose myself then tried a different tactic. I broke his teeth using only the hammer instead.

  The tool did not go to waste, however. I found it very effective at removing every one of Patrick’s fingers. I left the thumbs where they were. By now, the slab had become very messy. The puddles of thick blood gathering around the slab made it dangerous to get close to him, and yet he still lived.

  At this point, I was at a loss as to how I should proceed. I did consider snipping off his toes because the amount of blood wasn’t as bad around the area by Patrick’s feet.

  It was at this moment when he did die. His chest ceased to move and I was left with my first corpse. The Lord wasn’t too pleased. He thundered in anger, telling me that I could have made the torment last much longer if I had only turned his head to the side. The boy had choked on his own teeth. I apologised and promise to perform better on the next sinner. The Lord granted me a reprieve and calmed down a bit.

  ---

  I have never been too comfortable with eating food other people have cooked for me, so it is unlikely that I would ever visit any of these restaurants, at least from a customer perspective, that is. The staff in five of the restaurants do not follow my faith so I have had no dealings with them.

  Four of the staff members from The Cosy Diner, a restaurant that specialised in old fashioned home cooked style meals, attended my service. It was from the two of them that I gleaned a piece of invaluable information about this town.

  They had been told the legend that Brutality did not only contain the largest collection of deranged humans on the planet, this town a
lso housed another more unpleasant surprise. This town was built on another settlement, a far older town, dating back to before the last ice-age. As incredible as it sounded, the humans on the surface were not the sole intelligent creatures here. A smattering of the prior inhabitants still struggled to survive under the streets. Not only that, an earlier race, even older than the prior inhabitants lived in endless miles of ancient tunnels which riddled the ground below the settlement.

  Not every sinner believed this. Even so, enough of them took measures to ensure these so called first ones did not venture onto the surface and steal their young. It was inevitable that the psychotic locals believed that anything living below the surface was bound to be vicious hunters, feasting only on the warm flesh of anything they could catch. If they couldn’t catch it, then carrion would suffice.

  Was this some twisted fairy tale, tainted and made dirty to suit their depraved minds? Perhaps it was but this didn’t stop the owners of these restaurants from disposing of their unwanted food through large pipes which led from these buildings directly into the ground below his feet.

  It also might explain another mystery which has happened to me twice now.

  I thrust my hands into the deep pockets of my coat and wandered down the empty streets, trying not to allow my stomach to be tempted by any of the delicious aromas coming from their kitchens.

  ---

  The chamber where I have done the killing still remains exactly like I found it. The rest of my church now looks very similar to a small town church where I once lived. I find it peaceful and serene. It felt like home.

  It is only when I descend into the bowels of the church that I grow cold; when I find that I need the soothing company of the Lord more than ever.

  Deep, jagged markings are etched into the granite surfaces. They cover every square metre. The only stone that is free of these terrible looking marks is a circular area, about seven feet in diameter. This is where the raised stone slab sits, exactly in the middle.

  After when I had heard these tales, I did not believe them. How could any good Christian believe such rubbish that man was not the first sentient being to walk upon God’s green earth? Yet, walking into this pit, the strength of my belief begins to wan. I run my cold fingers along the stone and I see some prehistoric sub-human beast fashioning this chamber for their own vile purposes.

  Call it hysterical fantasy if you will, for where is the evidence of any of this? I would agree if it was not for one small matter.

  Patrick Hartwell’s body had vanished. I left it lying on that slab, cold as ice and as stiff as the stone around it. I planned to dismember the corpse and bury the pieces somewhere. I was going to buy a woodchipper but, sadly, I find nowhere in this town which sold them. Until I could find time to purchase my desired equipment from out of town. Burying the pieces would be my best option.

  I locked the chamber and I ensured the church doors were locked as well before I retired to the rectory. No one entered the building, at least not from any normal entrances. Yet, Patrick’s body was no longer on the slab when I returned the next morning. I’ll confess that I might have screamed, my mind seeing my imaginary monstrous ape-like creatures dislodging the thick stone slabs that I walked upon, climbing into the chamber, their sulphurous eyes glowing in the darkness, grunting in excitement while they effortlessly pulled the small body back below the ground to consume in their caves.

  While it does sound rather silly in the retelling, the fact remains, that his body did vanish.

  The corpses of the two other sinners that I killed met the same fate as well. So, perhaps it isn’t as silly as it sounds?

  ---

  I continue on my journey back into town, approaching the high street from the opposite direction. If I am not stopped by another member of my congregation, I will reach my eventual destination in the next few minutes. I take this route on most mornings, in order to purchase my daily provisions from Mr Cartwright. A pleasant chap, who owns one of Brutality’s other mini-market. Although the prices are more expensive than the Shop and Save, the quality of food there is certainly better and on a plus side, most of the food he stocks on his shelves come from outside town. So far, the Lord has revealed nothing to me regarding this imposing grey-haired individual so perhaps he might even be one of the very few people in Brutality who is not a sinner.

  We shall see.

  Before I tell the fates of the remaining men, I believe it is important to mention one more event. After the discovery of Patrick’s disappearance, I rushed from the chamber and ran, stumbling down the aisle and dropped to my knees in front of my own pulpit. With hands clasped and my eyes fixed upon the image of our saviour Jesus Christ, I begged for guidance and for answers to this frightening escalation. For the first time since the Lord revealed himself, his voice remained absent.

  Had he deserted me? It did feel like that. Tears ran down my cheeks and I furiously prayed for his return, my eyes not leaving the image of Jesus. This was when the second scare of the morning happened to this lowly priest.

  Jesus opened his eyes. Yes, the twelve foot stone statue of Jesus opened his eyes. I heard a low creaking noise as his head slowly rose and those dazzling blue eyes found mine. I may have wet myself at the moment.

  He told me that the Lord, his Father, was having a bit of a nap and my shouting like some whiny little brat was likely to get me smited. Jesus also told me to keep up the good work and not to worry about Patrick’s disappearance, for his Father knows what he’s fucking doing. Jesus smiled; the sight filled me with such bliss.

  He then finished off his sermon by explaining that at least I wouldn’t have to buy a woodchipper.

  With my faith restored, I was able to continue my revered duties, namely preparing myself and my domain for the congregations’ arrival, in three days hence and on the day of my second service, the Lord and I were once again reunited. I will confess that I was rather looking forward to witnessing another member of my congregation’s vile crime. Of course it wasn’t a joy, more of a grim fulfilment, knowing that finally, this unknown person’s poor victim would be able a have closure in the afterlife. I know this because the Lord told me it was so.

  My congregation was not as full as it was on the previous week. I also noticed that the atmosphere had darkened somewhat, it felt oppressive, even antagonistic. It was a most unusual sensation. The Lord was beside me though and he gave me the inspiration to start and once the words flowed, the unnerving sensation diminished.

  ---

  Just like the previous occasion, the Lord took me into a bad place. I was able to orientate myself in this experience though. I stood just inside the doors of the Cosy Diner. The restaurant was closed and there was nobody in sight.

  The locked door offered no escape so I had to venture further inside the establishment, past the set tables and chairs and towards the closest door to me. The only noise I heard came from the two ceiling fans. As I reached the door, I began to wonder exactly why the Lord had brought me here as I could not see anything out of place.

  It then struck me that the feeling of hate, coming from so many people had returned. I blinked and cried in utter shock when I found myself in the midst of a restaurant full of Brutality’s locals, and they were all glaring at me.

  Two waiters marched towards me, pushing themselves through the throng of seated people, the men’s faces set with determination. I knew them, or course, as I knew a great many people in here. Of course, I was scared, for these two waiters were not coming towards me, simply to help me find an empty seat. I had little clue as to their intention but I did know it would mean a lot of pain. After all, why else would the Lord show me this scene? I did beg for his council, hoping that he had not left me here to suffer whatever fate these approaching men had in store.

  He gave a mighty sigh then, in a very patronising tone, the Lord told me to move four paces to the left. I did as he commanded and saw the waiter’s direction did not alter. I spun around and sighed in relief at the sight
of three local men holding down another man. I did not recognise him.

  The Lord informed me that David Binns arrived in Brutality yesterday. He is a long distance hauler. He followed a diversion sign which led him away from his intended destination and instead to Brutality earlier today. While two of Brutality’s very attractive females made the big man feel welcome, the contents of David’s trailer were distributed throughout the food.

  One of the three men pushed a syringe into the trucker’s neck and the big man’s body went limp. I was right about one thing; the pharmacies certainly did well in supplying illegal substances to the bad, bad people in Brutality. I watched, fascinated as they dragged him over to a table covered in plastic sheeting. By now, everybody in the building had stood up, all watching this performance in silence.

  The Lord continued his commentary in my ear as they undressed him before heaving the body onto the plastic covered table.

  Malcolm Darcy lived in one of the poorest areas of the town. He was so grateful for the opportunity to get a job here. If the boss hadn’t set him on, he’d have had to work with his horrible dad in the food processing factory on the edge of town. Almost every fucker in Brutality worked at that shithole.

  This was the forth time that the boss had allowed him to participate in this ceremony. His gran would be so pleased with the meat he’d be able to take home tonight.

  Adam Boyle’s dad owned this restaurant and he so fucking hated having to do this bollocks once every week. As per usual, Malcolm the shitsplat had once again forgotten to wheel the trolley over to the table first so he gave the cunt his glare. It did please him a little to watch their new waiter swallow hard before scurrying over to the bar. One of these days, his dad would end up on this table and if he had his way, it would be sooner than later.

  When the Lord pulled me out of their filthy little minds, it took great effort not to release a string of curse words myself. Their coarse language put my teeth on edge. I found no good in either of these individuals. That did upset me a little. I thought that at least some part of my sermon the week before might have taken root. I did not totally despair, for deep down, I knew the task that the Lord had set me would not be easy. It would take a good many more speeches before the people of Brutality began to change their deviant ways.