SickER Bastards: A Novel of Extreme Horror, Sex and Gore

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SickER Bastards: A Novel of Extreme Horror, Sex and Gore Page 11

by Matt Shaw


  Could it be Lady Luck was looking down upon me once again?

  I reached for the booth’s silver handle and twisted it. The door opened. I went into the room and took all of the sets of keys that were hanging there. Some of them were clearly for cabins, or other buildings but some of them… Some of them were definitely for vehicles. Please be for one of the cars out there. Please…

  * * * * *

  BEFORE

  An Accident

  I was sitting in the house nervously waiting for dad’s arrival home from the office. It was already ten o’clock at night so clearly he was having a bad day and - he wasn’t to know it yet - it was only going to get worse when he was to finally come in, knackered and no doubt grumpy.

  I had passed my theory test over a couple of months ago. First time. The practical test though - the one meaning I could drive on the roads without anyone sitting next to me - that had taken a few times to get through. Four to be precise but today was the day. Today was the day I became a fully qualified driver. It was also the first time I’d ever been in a car accident.

  I had got home full of self-confidence and a need to hit the open road. A little bit of begging and mum finally let me take her car out on the road. Her last words to me before I left were telling me to be careful. And I was careful. The car behind me wasn’t so careful. As I went to pull out of a junction, I stalled the car and then - wham - they drove right up my arse. There wasn’t a lot of damage but there was enough to make it obvious and necessary to fix.

  Mum wasn’t angry. She knew accidents happen. But we both knew dad wouldn’t be as calm about it. He’d be angry at me for having the crash - even though it wasn’t my fault - and he would be angry with mum for letting me go out alone, despite having a licence.

  Just wished he’d hurry up and get home so we could get this over and done with. There’d be a moment of calm before the storm and then he’d start shouting. The shouting would last a few days - sometimes weeks - and then he would gradually start to calm down. That’s the way it works around here. I knew it, mum knew it.

  My heart skipped a beat when I heard the sound of dad’s car reversing into the driveway. Funny how I could always recognise his car from the noise the engine made. A gentle ticking noise as he edged his way back, next to mum’s car. A few seconds later and his engine stopped. Another few seconds went by and his car door opened and then slammed shut again.

  Shit, here we go.

  “It’ll be fine,” mum gave me (what she thought to be) a reassuring smile.

  We both knew it wasn’t going to be fine. We both knew he was going to be mad.

  I mentally prepared myself for the telling off when I heard the front door open and then close again. This is it.

  “What the hell happened to your car?” dad shouted from the hallway as he took his suit jacket off and hung it over the bannister.

  “I had an accident,” mum said before I had the chance to say anything, “someone ran into me in town…”

  I shot mum a look. I couldn’t believe she was taking the blame for it. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell the truth. I didn’t though. I just smiled back at mum who - in turn - flashed me a wink.

  * * * * *

  NOW

  Highway From the Danger Zone

  I slid the key into the ignition with the same amount of both fear and hope that I had the last time I managed to find myself a vehicle. Will it work? Will it have petrol? Will I make it half way down the road before a bullet shatters the back window and (more worryingly) my head? I gave it a twist and the engine fired up first time. One question answered. I turned my attention to the fuel gauge. It bounced on empty for a split second before moving up to near full. Second question answered. I put the car into first gear and slammed my foot on the accelerator hoping Lady Luck would skip the third question I’d previously worried about.

  The car’s back wheels spun in the mud as the car momentarily struggled for traction before getting a grip and launching the car down the muddy road which (I presumed) lead the way back to town. At the first opportunity I turned down a side road. I had no idea whether it was the right way or not, hard to tell when you don’t know where you are to start off with, but - whatever - it would make it harder for them to see me and shoot at me.

  Another turn and the muddied road turned to one of a more concrete base.

  Good.

  Must be on the right path.

  I kept checking in the rear-view mirror as I sped away from Hell to see if I was being followed. No headlights coming after me. No bullets flying past (or into) the car. I think I got away with it; my daring escape. I think I’m in the clear. I smiled. Guess my distraction did the job. Way to go me. Now I only had one thing on my mind… Where the hell do I live?

  * * * * *

  BEFORE

  Confused

  Not my bed. Not my house. Not a house? Room full of other beds - all of them filled with people I don’t recognise. I don’t know them. I don’t think I’ve ever known them, it’s not that I have just forgotten who they are. They are strangers. Definitely. Strangers in a strange place. White walls, white floors, white sheets on the beds (all of them).

  “Hello?” I called out. “Mum?”

  Always when I’m worried, always when I am concerned about something… Why do I first call for my mum? He’s an asshole but surely dad would be better in a situation where you need help? He’s stronger!

  “Mum!” I called out again.

  Well - speaking part of my brain disagrees then…

  A set of double-doors opened at the far end of the room and a middle-aged woman walked in dressed in a nurses’ uniform. She walked right by the other beds, all the way to the one where I was lying. She was smiling at me. This strange woman smiling at me - a smile that seemed to say ‘don’t worry, everything is going to be okay’. I relaxed a little.

  “Do you know where you are?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “You’re in hospital. You’ve had an accident. You hit your head.”

  An accident? I don’t remember.

  “My head hurts.”

  The woman put her hand on my wrist and checked my pulse.

  “Do you know your name?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “John.”

  “My name is Natalie,” she said. “Is there anyone you would like for us to call?”

  “My mum?”

  “Do you remember the phone number?” Natalie asked.

  I tried to think but my head pounded. I shook my head and - again - complained about my headache.

  “That’s okay,” she said.

  “What’s your surname?” she asked. “Do you remember that?”

  I thought for a moment and nodded, “Burley.”

  “And your address? What about that?” she asked.

  “Why can’t I remember?”

  “You hit your head. It’s quite common for a little confusion,” she reassured me. “Do you know your address? Help us track down a phone number for your parents…”

  * * * * *

  NOW

  The Path is Revealed

  I couldn’t remember the reason why I’d been in hospital but I didn’t care. I remembered the conversation with the nurse. I remembered her name even - Natalie. I remembered the smell of her sweet perfume and her pretty, reassuring smile. But more than that I remembered the address I gave her.

  I pressed my foot down harder on the accelerator until it was touching the floor. All I needed was a road sign, or something. Something to tell me where I was. Something to give me some bearings which would help me get home. Something other than the damned woods which currently line the sides of the road. Wherever I am, wherever we were, they wanted us kept far and away from civilisation.

  It doesn’t matter though. Have a nearly full tank of petrol. No one is following; all too pre-occupied at the camp area. I’m in the clear and nothing will stop me from getting home.

  I’m coming, mum. I’
m coming.

  Soon be time to put all of this behind me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NOW

  My Home

  The sun had come up. A nice day. I’d put the car window down earlier - whilst I was driving - in an effort to keep me awake with the cold air coming in from the outside. Now I could feel the warmth of the sun beaming down upon my skin and could hear the birds singing in the distance.

  I was parked up outside mum and dad’s house. I recognised the cars in the driveway. They were both home. Not for much longer though. Within the next thirty minutes, dad would be leaving for work. An hour after that and mum would be leaving for her day in the office too. Mum’s car - the one I had had the accident in was parked up on the left - and dad’s Mercedes SL 500 was parked up on the right. It was always that way round; mum on the left and dad always on the right. Only just dawned on me the subtext of the parking arrangements echoed their relationship; ‘dad was always right’. I wonder if he realised what he was doing when he ‘claimed’ that space on the driveway.

  I had turned the car engine off so as not to attract any unwanted attention from other people leaving their houses and that was as far as I had got. I had been driving for hours and was tired and - worse than that - the memories continued to flood back to me. Like the partial memory of being laid up in that hospital bed. When the memory first popped back to mind, during the long night, I couldn’t remember what had landed me there - other than the nurse saying it had been an accident. Now - though - I remember the whole story. It hadn’t been an accident. He meant to shove me. He meant to throw his weight around.

  My dear dad.

  I saw him with someone that wasn’t mum. I questioned him about it and we got into a fight. Son of a bitch shoved me so hard that I fell backwards and banged my head on the wall behind me. Knocked me out cold. This asshole - this piece of shit - that I used to be fearful of. The man always pretended to be something special, he always pretended to be the boss; lording it up over us (and everyone else) but all this time he was nothing but a lowlife piece of shit. He used to talk of respect, when we were growing up, but he didn’t give respect to anyone else. He just expected it to be given to him.

  No.

  Fuck that.

  Natalie - the nurse - came through for me. She managed to get hold of my mum who came and picked me up. I never told her what happened. The memory has only just popped back to me now, about what landed me in hospital, and I couldn’t say for definite whether it was there after I had woken up in the bed or whether I am only just remembering it again for the first time now. Hard to tell. My memories are so confused; all over the place with them. For all I know - I woke up in hospital and didn’t recall the reasons for being there until now. Unlikely but possible.

  Dad didn’t come to see me. He didn’t even phone. He avoided me. At least now I know why. Knowing I couldn’t remember how I got there, he probably didn’t want to show up on the off-chance it jogged my memory. He didn’t even let me stay at their house for a while. I was told I shouldn’t be alone for twenty-four hours and mum said she’d look after me. She had to come round my tiny flat to do so. Well he doesn’t have a choice but to let me in now. I need to stay with them. I need some sanctuary whilst I try and get over what I’ve been through… Forget the taste of flesh I’ve grown accustomed to.

  Can’t put it off any longer. Need to get out of the open. Need to lock myself away.

  I opened the car door and stormed towards mum and dad’s house. The door opened just as I got there; dad was on his way to work. He jumped at the sight of me. Do I look that frightful?

  “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

  So much hostility. I’m trying to think back, trying to remember, whether I knew he was fucking about behind mum’s back before our confrontation which landed me in the hospital. More to the point, did dad know he’d been spotted? It would explain why he hated me so much and was determined to get me away from the house. Or am I just putting things into place myself, finding excuses and reasons as to why he’s such an asshole to me? Need to stop trying to figure out the past and concentrate on the future. It’s doing me nothing but giving me a stinking headache; unless that’s down to withdrawal symptoms from the lack of drugs in the water I’d been drinking?

  “I need to talk to you,” I said.

  He stepped out of the house and closed the door before mum heard me.

  “We had an agreement,” he said.

  He started to walk towards his car, keys in hand. I called out to him and told him to turn around. He did and immediately spotted the gun in my hand.

  “We need to go in the house now,” I told him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

  The front door opened - making me jump - and mum appeared, “You forgot…” she stopped dead when she saw me standing there. I’m not sure whether she was surprised to see me or whether she was surprised to see the gun. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I need to talk to you both. Please.”

  Dad looked at mum. She backed away from the door, holding it open for me. I didn’t wait for a verbal invitation and stepped into the house, closely followed by dad. He closed the door behind him. Mum led me through to the living room.

  “What’s happened?” she asked. “Why have you got a gun? You look terrible… What has been going on? I’ve been trying to call you for days now, even went by the flat! Where have you been?”

  “Just sit down!” I shouted. A shout which made mum jump, and even took me by surprise.

  “Put the fucking gun down!” dad hissed. “You’re scaring your mother!”

  “Honey - what’s happened to you? Where have you been?”

  Mum sat down on the sofa. I turned to dad and stared at him until he too joined her on the sofa. I didn’t sit. I stood by the fireplace unsure of where to start. Wherever I chose the starting point to be, I knew it would sound far -fetched.

  “Please talk to us,” mum said.

  “Okay. Okay.” I turned to dad. “My memory isn’t what is used to be,” I told him. He didn’t respond. “I was wondering whether you could help me out a bit,” I continued.

  Mum looked at dad as though trying to urge him to respond.

  “I remember seeing you with that woman,” I went on, “I remember seeing you kissing her but I can’t remember whether you were always an asshole to me or whether you became such when you found out I knew about your affair…”

  Mum continued looking at dad. The devastation clear on her face.

  “What’s this?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” dad said, his face red.

  “You do though.” I turned to mum, “Do you remember when you came to get me at the hospital? I had an accident but no one really knew what happened… Well, dad knew. Dad caused it.”

  He turned to mum, “I don’t know what he is talking about.”

  “You do though. We were talking, I confronted you about it, you shoved me, I hit my head on the wall and was knocked out. I’m guessing you phoned the ambulance before disappearing? Is that right? I mean you clearly didn’t come with me. Had you come… We wouldn’t have had to phone mum. I wouldn’t have woken up in the hospital bed alone…”

  “Is this true?” mum no longer looked devastated. She looked disgusted.

  “So my original question - to help clear up my memories - was there ever a time when you loved me or have you always hated me? And was there a time when you loved mum or have you always cheated on her? I just think - if I am to get over what has been happening to me these past few days - I need to get things straight in my head.”

  “I don’t know what you have been doing these past few days, I don’t know where you have been - or what you have been smoking - but… Whatever you think you know… You’re clearly mixed up. Perhaps you should lay off watching movies and television shows?” dad said. His voice was low, almost threatening. I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t even slightly conce
rned. I had been to places he couldn’t even comprehend and - despite wanting to move on with my life - I was more than happy to give him a first glance taste of what I’d been through.

  “I’ll tell you where I have been,” I said before explaining all that I had been through since waking up in that godforsaken shit-hole of a compound. The confusion, the fake family, the end of the world, the hunger… They looked shocked and that was even before I told them about the man I’d killed. The man I’d eaten… And the other people we’d eaten. By the time I got to the end of the story - the truth about it being an experiment that I had inadvertently signed up for - I was sure they’d given up listening completely; too stunned by my murderous admissions. “Well?” I said. “Say something…”

  No one said anything. They just sat there, staring at me - a look of utter disbelief on their faces. A hint of disgust and shame mixed in.

  “Are you on drugs? Is that where you’ve been these past couple of days? Some dirty drug den? Been sitting there with some new friends, getting off your face and making up stories?” said dad. “Is that where you plucked the alleged affair from? And the violent attack I supposedly subjected you to?”

  “Fuck you,” I spat back at him.

  Mum didn’t say anything. It was clear she’d had a massive overload of information to deal with and was struggling to process it all. I don’t blame her. Had the shoe been on the other foot, I would have struggled too.

 

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