by Amy Cross
“You sit in a back-room and work the glory holes,” he says. “Do you know what a glory hole is?”
I nod slowly. “I think so”.
“It's a hole guys stick their dicks in. They don't see you, you don't see them. You just jerk them off, or suck them off, and that's it. It pays ten quid an hour and you're on duty from 8pm to 5am. It's long work and you might get ten customers an hour during busy periods. You up for it?”
“Yeah,” I say.
He takes me through to one of the back-room areas, where I'm told to sit in a small cubicle. There's a small round hole in the wall, and Rossiter tells me that whenever a cock appears through that hole, I have to attend to it. He tells me I'll be paid at the end of the night, in cash, provided there are no complaints and no problems.
“There are just three rules,” he says before he leaves the room. “Don't bite, don't talk, and don't leave the room until 5am. Okay?”
Once he's gone, I wait by the hole. Wow, if my family could see me now... Sure enough, every few minutes a different penis appears and I use either my hands or my mouth to get the guy off. I never see their faces, I just hear them grunting, and they're all pretty quick. Within the first hour, I've probably done five or six. The thing is, it's completely un-erotic, it just reduces sex to a mechanical process. In fact, it's kind of funny, though as midnight rolls around I'm pretty bored. Still, I just have to think of the money...
At about 1am I hear another client enter the room on the other side of the hole. I get ready for him to poke his cock through, but nothing happens and after a minute or two I start to wonder what he's up to. I can hear him breathing, but so far he hasn't presented himself. I stare at the little hole in the wall, wondering what the guy is doing on the other side. I guess there are some weird types around, but he can't do anything to me, at least not with a wall between us.
“Hello?” I call out eventually, and I instantly realize I should have kept quiet.
I listen, and I hear a strange sound, like... well, it's like someone's sniffing on the other side of the hole. I lean forward to take a look, but there's nothing to see. I angle myself differently, trying to see what's on the other side of the wall, but no matter what angle I look from, I can't see anyone.
I can still hear him, though. He's definitely there.
“Do you want something?” I ask, my voice quivering a little. “There's a live show down the hallway, maybe you'd like that better?”
The sniffing stops while I'm speaking. All I hear now is silence. Eventually I hear the other door creak a little, and it seems my mystery man has finally decided he's had enough. I relax a little, glad that the unusual situation is over. All I want is a nice, clean evening with no real challenges and no opportunities to get anything wrong.
I hear something.
Slowly, I turn to the door – the only door, in and out of this little cubicle in which I'm sitting – and I realize that the sniffing has started out in the corridor now. There's a faint shadow under the door, moving quickly.
I go over to the door, make sure the bolt is across and then I double-lock the chain that runs from the door to the wall. Although the door itself is physically locked, I don't want to take any chances. I back away from the door, keenly aware that there's no other way out of here.
“Go away,” I say, trying to sound firm. “If you don't leave, I'll call security and have you thrown out”. I look around the room, hoping to see a phone or a radio or a panic button or something. Fuck it, there's nothing. But I'm pretty certain someone will come to check on me soon. I just have to stay in here and wait.
Suddenly someone bangs on the door.
“You in there?” Rossiter calls.
Feeling a flood of relief wash over me, I run to the door and unbolt it, pulling it open and – yes, I know this sounds ridiculous – hugging Rossiter. He pulls away from me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks.
“Did you see a guy out here?” I ask, looking along the corridor. “There was a really creepy guy on the other side of the hole, but he didn't do anything, he was just sniffing about. Literally, just sniffing about”.
Rossiter looks at me like I'm crazy.
“You'd better call it a night,” he says slowly, clearly not sure that I'm suited to this job.
“I'm really sorry,” I say. “Let me stay. I just got freaked out, but it won't happen again, I promise”.
“Come back tomorrow,” he says. “We'll find you something else to do. Maybe you're not cut out for this”. He reaches behind me and pulls the door shut.
“I am,” I say. “Please, I need the money”.
“We'll find something for you,” he says, looking me up and down. He smiles. “You ever worked behind a bar before?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe we can train you up. You can be a topless barmaid or something. We'll worry about that tomorrow. Go home”. He laughs. “Sorry, bad choice of language, eh? Just fuck off”.
He turns to walk away.
“What about my money?” I ask.
He stops and glances back at me. “Don't push it,” he says. “You were on a trial shift tonight and you flunked it, you don't get paid for that. We'll see if you do better tomorrow, alright?”
I open my mouth to argue with him, but I feel I'm already treading on thin ice. I'd better just shut up, keep him happy and hope that when I come back tomorrow night he'll give me another shot. Dejected, I turn and head up the stairs and out of the club, emerging into the dark of a Soho street corner. Although it's well past 1am, there are plenty of people milling about, most of them pretty drunk. I cross the road and start walking. Hell, at least when I'm walking I don't look homeless, people just think I'm like them, going somewhere. I walk fast, to try to look more busy, more important.
After I've been walking for a while, I realize I'm close to where I helped Frank capture the wolf. I go and look at the spot, and the old man's dead body is still there. Fuck it, does nobody care about these things? It's like... There's a dead old man here, and he's just being left on the ground. I look at the bins nearby, and I realize that since I was last here someone has been and taken the garbage. Great! They take the trash but they don't do anything about this poor old guy's corpse.
I walk over the road and head to the lock-up door where I saw Frank drive his van. I know he told me not to bother him again, but the truth is, I have nowhere else to go and I figure he might at least not mind if I sleep on the floor. The garage door is locked, but there's a side-door that has been left open so I slip into the building. It's dark, but I fumble my way along until I find Frank's van parked in the dark. So far, there's no sign of Frank, and the whole place seems deserted. Deciding not to push my luck, I try the door to the van and find it's unlocked. I climb in, settle in the passenger seat and soon I'm falling asleep.
Duncan
I dream of the old days, when I still lived on the estate and thought that there was nothing in the wider world that could possibly appeal to me.
I was the youngest member of the pack. I would spend my days out hunting with my brothers, although for the most part they were doing the hunting and I merely watched. They would chase deer, rabbits and any other animal that was foolish enough to enter our territory. Once they had captured their prey, they would play with it as they ripped it apart. Sometimes they would let me perform the kill. This is how all werewolf packs work. We have to learn from our brothers.
Eventually, I began to question our life on the estate. We had many hundreds of hectares in which to roam, but we were strictly forbidden from leaving the territory. I found it odd that although we seemed to be such strong, proud animals, we accepted a life in which we were forced to restrain our movements. I began to ask about the rest of the world, and I was always told the same thing: Stop asking questions.
My curiosity got the better of me. I started to examine the fences that marked out our territory. I learned quickly, and painfully, that the fence was electrified, that it
was too tall to jump, and that it ran too deep for me to dig under it. There seemed to be no way for me to escape, but while the rest of the pack had seemingly accepted this fate, there was a burning desire inside me to explore the world.
I remember watching my father one night. He was talking to my brothers, telling them stories about the old days. And it struck me that there was a terrible sadness in his face. Eventually I came to understand this sadness: my father was a strong, big animal with great strength and intelligence, yet he had submitted to a life of imprisonment. I couldn't help but wonder why my pack had agreed to this, and what they were getting in return?
One day, while speaking to one of my brothers, I learned of The Great Summit. My brothers knew little of this event, but they claimed it had been the defining moment in our history. For whatever reason, werewolves and humans had attended this meeting and it had been decided that our pack would for evermore be confined to the royal estate in Scotland. There was to be no further negotiation, no room for disagreement; future generations would be bound to an agreement struck by our ancestors. Transgressors – werewolves who ventured beyond the estate – would be fair game to be hunted.
I learned of one werewolf, an ancestor of mine named Forge, who broke down the fence and escaped. It is said that he forced his way through the electrified field, resisting its strength and eventually making off across the moors. The humans tell us that he was hunted down and killed, but most of my pack believes that Forge was able to get away and still lives somewhere in the world. As I listened to the story of Forge being discussed by my brethren in hushed tones, I felt such sympathy for the pathetic way in which the pack revered such a figure. We should all be like Forge; we should all be free and strong.
As I became increasingly disillusioned with our life on the estate, my father became aware of my torment. I could tell that he was concerned about me, so I made an effort to placate him. I acted the part of the dutiful son, and I assured my siblings that I would never try to escape. At first they were doubtful, but eventually they came to believe me and finally they forgot their worries. This is what I wanted them to believe. It was finally ready to escape, to...
Something stirs beyond my dreams. I open my eyes to find Frank staring at me. He has returned from his rest, ready to torture me some more. If I had stayed on the estate, if I had been a good son and had never dared to challenge the boundaries imposed upon me, I would never have had to go through all of this agony. But I would have had to go through a different kind of agony, born of being confined and restricted. There is agony in all lives. Those of us who are lucky, are able to choose the agony that they will face.
This is mine.
It is the price of my brief freedom. But I guarantee one thing: I will not scream.
Jess
It's the scream that wakes me. I sit bolt upright in the front of the van. When I went to sleep, the whole place was silent. Now, though, there's a definite noise off in the distance, the sound of chains and some kind of impact, and I'm sure I heard a scream, but maybe that was part of my dream. It's still dark, and I've no idea how long I've been sleeping. But I turn and see that there's a light in the distance, somewhere else in the building. And that scream seemed familiar. Somehow, I can't shake the feeling it was Frank.
Wait, what was I dreaming about again? I try to remember, but it all seems so distant, so far away.
I get out of the van and my first thought is to run. It would be so easy to just bolt to the door and never come back. But I stay where I am, rooted to the spot, because I know I can't just take the easy way out. I did that once before, back at home, and it ended up destroying everything. There's no room in this world for cowards. What if the scream was Frank, being attacked by the werewolf? I can't just walk away.
I walk quietly around the van. There's a small, open door at the back of the garage, and the next room is better lit. Spotting some lead pipe on the floor, I pick it up; probably not enough to fend off an attacking werewolf, but maybe enough to distract him so I can rescue Frank. As I reach the door, I hear the clanking of chains, and the sound of something thudding against something else. Then there's a voice, or at least a grunt, then more chains and finally another scream.
I look around the corner and I'm instantly horrified by what I see. In a large concrete room, lit with red lights all over the walls, the wolf from earlier is hanging by his neck. Frank Marshall is standing before the wolf, a long chain in his hand. Frank is clutching his chest, and he looks old and tired. But as I watch, he raises the chain and slams it into the wolf's body. For a moment, the wolf seems to change shape into human form, before going back to being a wolf.
And it's Frank who screams. Not the wolf, Duncan, who is bloody and broken from being beaten. No, it's Frank who screams, in frustration. He's torturing the wolf but for whatever reason it's driving him crazy. As I watch, he throws the chain at the wolf's head. The wolf flinches and blood pours from its head, but it makes no sound.
Frank screams again. He has the wolf's blood on him, and he looks crazed. Out of the two of them, to be honest it's Frank who looks the least human. An old man with blood-stained clothes, leaning against the wall as if he's exhausted, he nevertheless looks dangerous and angry, as if he's willing to let himself die so that he can exact his full revenge on the wolf.
“Come on!” he shouts up at Duncan. “Let it out! Make some noise! Let me hear your fucking voice you miserable piece of shit!”
The wolf, looking half-dead, just hangs there, staring at Frank. With his chest mashed up and blood flowing freely from a wound on his head, the wolf looks as if he's about to die, and there's nothing he can do about it. In the time since I last saw Frank, has he just spent his days and nights torturing the wolf? Is this all he wanted to do? This certainly isn't what I expected when I helped him capture the wolf. I assumed he'd take the wolf home, kill it quickly and professionally, show it some basic respect and dignity. Not... this. I thought Frank was an exterminator, not a torturer.
“Break!” Frank screams, smashing a chain into the wolf's legs again. The wolf's rear left leg looks to be a very odd shape, as if it's almost certainly broken.
The wolf hangs there, barely looking at Frank. Despite its injuries, despite the blood that drips from its battered body onto the concrete floor, it remains a noble beast. Frank might have broken Duncan's body, but he can't break his spirit, and it's this that is causing Frank to lose his mind. It's as if they're both losing this battle.
And then, slowly, the wolf glances up at me and we make eye contact, and I see a great intelligence staring back at me, a great intelligence that undoubtedly recognizes me as the one who helped Frank lure him into this trap in the first place.
Frank turns, having seen the wolf looking at me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks breathlessly.
“N-n-nothing,” I stammer, not sure what to do. “I just came to... find somewhere to sleep for the night, I thought you might...” My voice trails off. I can't stop looking at Duncan, who looks to be just minutes from death. “What are you doing? Are you going to kill him?” I ask.
Frank snorts with derision. “Get out of here. I don't need an audience for what I'm about to do”.
“You can't do this,” I say. “He's alive. You can't just torture and execute him without a reason”.
“You think I don't have a reason?” Frank asks. “That's fucking presumptuous of you”. He walks over to me. I step back a little, unnerved by Frank's menacing frame. “I'll tell you what, you little fucking bitch,” he sneers right into my face, “I have plenty of good reasons to make sure this fucking animal is destroyed. So don't go telling me I haven't. Now get out of here before I hang you up next to him. You think it's only wolves I'm willing to kill?”
I look up at the wolf, and he looks down at me, and in that moment I realize that he's staring at me with some kind of compassion and intelligence. Too proud to beg, too noble to scream out in pain, he's looking at me as if he's hoping b
eyond hope that I might choose to save him, to stop Frank. But this wolf is a beast, a killer. I don't want to save him, I just want to stop Frank from torturing him like this.
“You have to kill him properly,” I say. “Whatever he did, it's not right the way you're torturing him. You have to -”
“Have you forgotten what he did?” Frank shouts at me, interrupting. “He killed your friend! She went outside to look for some guy and this beast cut her down in her tracks and ate her flesh. Doesn't that matter to you?”
I stare at Duncan as he hangs from the ceiling. The fact that he killed my friend Sam means that I should hate him with a passion, but that doesn't mean I want to see him being tortured like this. Even killers deserve a little dignity. Still, something doesn't quite feel right, and suddenly I realize what has been happening. I turn to Frank.
“What did you say?” I ask him.
“This beast killed your friend,” he says, still angry and out of breath. “You should be begging me to let you join in, not asking me to stop”.
“No,” I say, “about Sam. You said she went outside to find a guy and that's when the wolf attacked her”?
“What does that matter?” Frank asks.
I stare at him, finally understanding. “You're a liar,” I say slowly.
“What?” he asks.
“How did you know Sam went outside to look for a guy unless you were there all along? You said you arrived after she was dead, but... you killed her. Didn't you?”
“I've never -” Frank starts to say, but suddenly he swings the chain at me, hitting my shoulder and sending me crashing to the ground. I drop the lead pipe and it rolls away.
I get to my feet, the pain in my shoulder growing by the second.
“You have no fucking idea!” Frank shouts, lashing the chain at me again. I duck and move over to the other side of the room.
“You killed her and then you framed him!” I shout at Frank. “And now you don't even have the decency to kill the poor bastard straight out, you're torturing him first! Is that what you did to Sam? Did you torture her a little bit before you killed her?”