The Worst Kind of Monsters

by Elias Witherow

  We entered the warehouse, Daniel leading the way through the darkness, his giant flashlight cutting back the shadows. We kicked past the old metal piping that had fallen out of the wall, avoided the jutting steel teeth protruding from corners, and trotted down the wide stairs into the basement.

  I heard muffled whimpering as a sea of darkness greeted us. Daniel shined his light toward the center of the room and walked toward it. Through the shadows, I watched as he primed the generator and fired up the overhead fluorescents, bathing the room in artificial light.

  There was poor Edward. He sat bound to a metal chair in the center of the room, a burlap bag over his head. As soon as he heard us, he started to cry out, shaking back and forth. It sounded like Daniel had gagged him, the man’s words coming out in muted cries.

  Behind him was Daniel’s workbench, littered with all kinds of tools and items he used on his victims. Also, there was a mini fridge, which I had contributed, stocked with beer and food. Sometimes I got hungry while I waited my turn.

  Lining the wall in front of Edward was a battered couch, which I plopped myself down on, settling in for the night. Daniel went to the fridge and grabbed a beer, tossing it to me. I caught it and popped it open, guzzling the contents. It was a little warm, the cold from the fridge doing its best during the intervals between generator use.

  This was my theater seat to Daniel’s torture. I didn’t much care for what he did, but I was always curious to see the ways he would cause suffering. I kicked my feet out in front of me and snuggled down into the worn fabric.

  “Hungry, buddy?” Daniel asked, dragging a metal chair away from the wall and placing it in front of the college student.

  He sat down, facing Edward, and pulled the sack up to the man’s nose, exposing his gagged mouth.

  “Yuck, let me get that out of your throat,” Daniel said, pulling the old rag out.

  Gasping, Edward sucked in breath, immediately babbling, “Please, my dad has a lot of money, he’ll pay you, he’ll do anything, just let me go!”

  Daniel turned toward me, grinning, and bounced his eyebrows before turning back and facing the quivering young man. “I’m sure he does, buddy. We can talk about that later. For now, let’s get some food in you, yeah? You hungry?”

  “T-thirsty,” Edward sputtered.

  Daniel fished in his bag and pulled out two cans of soda. “Let’s see, we got Mountain Dew and we got Coke…I bet you’re a Mountain Dew man, aren’t you?”

  Edward bobbed his head, “Yes, please, I’m so thirsty…”

  Daniel cracked the top and gently tipped it to Edward’s dry lips. “There you go my man, drink up.”

  I watched all this from my spot with Daniel’s back to me. I always found it twisted when he went through this process. He got off on giving his victims the slightest bit of hope before exposing the monster he was. As we had gotten better and better at this, I had watched my friend wade deeper and deeper into the pools of sadism. It was getting to the point where I had to leave the room, usually toward the second half of his playtime. It didn’t bother me; I just didn’t need to see it.

  “Thank you,” Edward exclaimed as Daniel pulled the empty soda can away.

  “Better?” Daniel asked.

  Edward nodded, the sack slipping down his face. “Yes. Now please, call my father, he’ll make you rich. Just…” his words started to bubble. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  Daniel pulled the sack up to the bridge of his nose again and I saw Edward’s trembling lips covered with leaking snot. Gross.

  Daniel placed a reassuring hand on Edward’s leg. “You think we’re going to hurt you?”

  “Please, please don’t,” he sputtered through tears.

  Daniel tut-tutted and reached back into the plastic bag. “How about a candy bar? You hungry, champ?” Daniel began unwrapping a piece of chocolate and held it to Edward’s mouth. “Here you go, get some of your energy back. Open up!”

  Edward took a bite, the chocolate mixing with his snot as he chewed, wincing and still crying. “Just let me go, please, please, please,” he sobbed, swallowing.

  “One more bite, then I’ll let you go,” Daniel said, waving the chocolate under Edward’s nose so he could smell it. Edward nodded pathetically and opened his mouth.

  Daniel pulled a hammer out of the plastic bag and smashed it against Edward’s teeth. Screams and blood erupted in a storm of pain as Edward’s head flew back, chair rocking from the blow. I watched his two front teeth hit the ground in a splatter of blood. I took another swig from my beer and realized I was going to need another.

  “Oops!” Daniel laughed. “That’s not chocolate, is it?!”

  Edward continued howling, his mouth hanging open in numb pain as drool and blood poured from his lips.

  Daniel inspected the hammer’s head as he waited for the screaming to subside. After a few minutes, Edward fell into a series of agonizing whimpers.

  “Sorry, chap,” Daniel said, humor in his voice, “sometimes I get a little confused, ya know? Here, let me clean you up a bit.” He stood up and went to the workbench, picking up a red two-liter bottle. He came at Edward from behind, tilting his head back with one hand. He pulled the sack back down to cover his mouth and then held his head steady with a strong arm as he tilted the bottle.

  “Don’t want you getting an infection from that,” he said, slowly dumping the bottle of rubbing alcohol over Edward’s covered face.

  Immediately, Edward shrieked, which only made it worse. The simulated drowning mixed with the stinging pain of the alcohol on his raw, bloody gums. Ouch. I lit a cig and drained the last of my beer, watching the whole thing.

  Daniel looked up at me, his muscles bulging as he held his prey still. “Not very smart this one, huh? He should really keep his mouth closed, don’t you think?”

  I chuckled, blowing smoke. “He probably didn’t take that class yet.” Daniel threw his head back and laughed, all while continuing to slowly pour out the bottle over Edward’s face.

  Finally, the bottle was empty and Daniel shoved Edward’s head forward. “All right, all done, that definitely killed any infection.” He tossed the bottle off to the side and slapped Edward’s head, “You doing OK?”

  Edward gagged in his sack, crying and gasping. He dry-heaved once, then twice.

  “I think he’s going to puke,” I said, pointing.

  “Don’t you dare!” Daniel yelled, grabbing the base of the sack and pulling it tight against Edward’s face.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  From where I sat, I could see the outline of the kid’s face, the sack squeezing his features to form eyes and a mouth. I watched as he sucked the sack into his mouth, then violently vomited. Some of it leaked out the fabric, but most was forced back down his throat which made him vomit again, harder this time.

  He couldn’t get the puke out of his throat fast enough and I could hear him begin to drown in it. Daniel held the sack tight, a big smile on his face as Edward rocked back and forth, gurgling desperately.

  “Swallow it! Swallow it, buddy!” he yelled, bucking with Edward as he fought for breath. “You’re going to suffocate!”

  “Hey, don’t let him die!” I said, sitting up suddenly. “Let him breathe, for chrisssake!”

  Reluctantly, Daniel released his grip and a torrent of yellow and brown sludge poured down the front of Edward’s chest. He was weeping and gasping for breath, his body cramping from the evacuation.

  “You better watch it so I get my turn,” I said, irritated.

  Daniel rolled his eyes. “He was fine.” He went back to his workbench and picked up a pair of bolt cutters. He walked around Edward’s shivering body, dragging the sharp metal pincers across his puke-stained chest.

  He squatted down in front of him and whispered, “Let’s stop screwing around, yeah?” And then he went to work.

  I finished my cig, listening to the screams, my head rolled back on the couch. I wondered what my sister was doing. What would she think of t
his? I smiled inwardly. God, she’d hate me. I stood up eventually, casually watching Daniel fire up a blowtorch, and went to dig out another beer from the fridge. I went to the bottom of the stairs and drank deeply, sitting down and pulling out my phone. I scanned my social media and the sport scores. Ah, man. The Sabres lost. I idly flicked through my phone, ignoring the howls.

  The night grew late and I eventually went back upstairs. Daniel had started hinting that he was going to cut off the kid’s dick and I took that as my cue to leave for a bit. I wandered around the empty building and then went outside, cocking my head to look at the moon. It stared at me, a giant white glow of indifference. The screams echoing up from the basement told me the kid had probably just lost his manhood. I shook my head. Too far, man. Gross.

  Next I heard Daniel’s furious screams followed by thud after thud. I knew he had reached the part where bloodlust and rage had taken over his senses. He would get venomously angry at the victim and the true brutality began. I sighed and waited, passing the time by counting the stars.

  Finally, I heard movement behind me and Daniel emerged from the shadows. He was panting hard, covered in sweat and blood. He pulled out his pack of smokes and lit one up, exhaling heavily.

  “All yours,” he said. He sounded tired.

  “All done?” I asked, turning toward him.

  He nodded around a mouthful of smoke, “Yeah. Fucking asshole has some fight in him. I wish I could put him back together so I could do it all over again.” He growled, his eyes absorbing the moonlight. A black haze surrounded his persona, a wet blanket of blood and fury. He was gritting his teeth and staring into the woods, his face twisted in hatred.

  He glanced at me and saw me watching him. “What?”

  I shrugged. “I dunno man, you just seem to get so worked-up these past few times. This is supposed to be fun. I don’t know why you get so angry.”

  He spat. “’Cause fuck them, that’s why. I fucking hate all of them so much. I wish I could make them suffer even more. I wish I could make it last for days.”

  I began to feel uncomfortable. I had never heard him talk like this. Usually he was bursting with energy and joy after working over a victim. But tonight he just seemed tired and dangerous. I eyed him again, then patted his shoulder.

  “All right, my turn. You good?”

  He nodded silently, not looking at me.

  I slowly walked back into the warehouse, letting the anticipation cradle me. It was my turn. This is what I had been waiting for. My footsteps echoed all the way down the stairs, my excitement building the closer I got to the bottom.

  There was poor Edward. He was missing a leg, cut off at the knee, and I saw two of his own fingers had been brutally shoved up his nose. The top of the sack was burned away, revealing a shining charcoaled head, bald and cracked. Blood coated him, dripping down the chair and resting in puddles on the floor. He was slowly swaying back and forth, a low guttural sound escaping his mouth.

  “Looks like Daniel really did a number on you,” I said, making my way to the workbench. Edward said nothing, just continued to moan, barely conscious.

  I picked up my knife from the pile of tools. I’d killed quite a few people with this blade. It was ten inches long with a polished wooden handle. The steel gleamed in the light and I grinned. I walked back to Edward and pulled the strip of fabric off his face. He looked up at me, blinking slowly.

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Yes. This was it.

  “P…P-please,” Edward croaked, the sound hardly recognizable.

  I opened my eyes and plunged the knife deep into his chest. His eyes bugged open, a sharp gasp escaping his lips. He looked up at me and I stared back, feeling his blood drip over my hand.

  I held his gaze in silence until he died.

  “God I love that,” I muttered to myself.

  * * *

  It was a week later and I had just gotten home from work. I was tired but didn’t want to stay in. Work was so boring that I usually felt the need to go out afterward. My small apartment was depressing and lonely. Plus it didn’t really hold a conversation very well.

  I changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, hoping either Kate or Daniel were free tonight. I tried Kate first. She answered and after we chatted for a bit she told me she was meeting up with one of her girlfriends tonight. Disappointed, I told her it was fine, that I was just bored. She invited me to hang out with them, but I declined. I told her I had plans with Daniel anyway; I just wanted to see if she was free first. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

  Daniel answered on the fourth ring. I asked him the same question and he told me to come over. He seemed out of it, like something was on his mind, but I paid no attention. I was just glad I was going somewhere.

  It was a short drive to his apartment, just a couple miles down the street. I parked my car and he buzzed me in.

  I collapsed on his couch, taking the beer he offered me and throwing half of it back in one long pull. I wiped my mouth and scanned his apartment. It was small like mine, and he lived alone. I had been here many times over the past couple years, but never had I seen it so filthy. Trash was everywhere, half-eaten food scattered every surface, and the air was thick with a sickly sweet smell.

  “Forgot to call the maid?” I asked, dangling my foot over the arm of the couch.

  He took a seat across from me in an overstuffed armchair. “What’s the point? It only gets dirty again.” He opened a beer for himself and drank deeply.

  “This place reeks, man,” I said, still taking in all the garbage.

  He gestured to the window. “So crack a breeze if it bothers you. Geez, you come over here just to complain about my place?”

  I pretended I was puking. “It’s just…so…filthy…”

  He picked up the TV remote from the arm of the chair and hurled it at my face, “Hey, fuck you man!” he yelled, suddenly pissed.

  I ducked under the remote and threw my hands up. “Whoa dude, chill out! What’s toasting your titties? Bad day?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I don’t know…I’ve just been so pissed lately.”

  I spread my hands. “Again, I ask why? We just had a kill; that usually carries your mood for at least a couple weeks.”

  He stared out the windows. “It wasn’t a good one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It just wasn’t. He didn’t scream the way I wanted him to. He bucked back and forth too much. He had a stupid face. I don’t know, man; it just wasn’t good!”

  I traced a finger around the lip of my beer. “What would you do different?” This was strange, I had never seen Daniel pout like this about a killing. His mood seemed distracted, irritated, like something was buzzing in his ear but he couldn’t figure out what or why.

  Daniel gritted his teeth, one hand gripping the arm of the chair, “I’d do it slower. I’d make them think about every cut. I’d make them beg, plead with me right before I hurt them. And then I’d destroy them slowly. I’d dig into their minds and find out what they feared most…and then I’d do that, over and over again until they couldn’t scream anymore.” His voice had turned to a growl and a hardness lined his eyes.

  I sat in silence, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t. He just stared out the window looking angry.

  After a few moments, I pressed him. “Is this fun for you anymore?”

  He looked up at me. “Of course it is.” He paused, looking down. “But there’s more to it than that.”

  I sat upright. “Look, man, the whole point of this is to have fun. We both like what we do. But I gotta tell you, the past couple kills, I’ve seen you get furious halfway through. You didn’t used to do that. I remember when we’d stay up until sunrise, burning the bodies out back and burying the bones, recounting all the things we did to them. We’d laugh and drink, toasting each other to another success. But lately, man…” I paused. He was looking at me again. “Lately man, there doesn’t seem to be any joy
in what you’re doing. To me, you just seem miserable by the end. Screaming and pounding on them like they did something to you. And then when we’re done, you just drag the body away and burn them while I dig a hole. I miss the fun we had doing this. I miss the excitement we shared afterward.” I stopped talking and saw that he was nodding.

  “I know, man,” he said. “I know you miss it. We’re different, though. Our tastes are different. I wouldn’t ever expect you to understand. It’s just,” he trailed off waving a hand in the air, “it’s just I can’t help but get mad at them. I don’t know why…I just see their stupid screaming bodies thrashing around and…goddamn, it just pisses me off. The more I hurt them, the more they scream, the angrier it makes me. I can’t explain it. I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, but I just feel this furnace in my chest, this fire in my gut. It makes me want to rip them apart. They just look so pathetic. So helpless. I control everything they feel, how much they feel, when they feel it. And that makes me want to…fuck, it makes me want to take them to the limits of agony.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I knew he enjoyed torture, that it was his thing, but what he was describing was something else.

  “Are…you starting to get bored of this?” I asked cautiously. “Is it not enough anymore?”

  He shrugged, “I don’t know. I’m not bored of it, that’s for sure. But…I don’t know. Fuck.” He shifted in his chair, “I feel like there are ways to hurt them that they’re not telling me.”

  “The people we kill?”

  “Yeah. I feel like each person has a method of torture that when used on them, it causes so much fear and pain that they lose their mind and become insane. I want to find that. I want to be able to pluck that from a person, flash it in their face, and then do it to them.”

  I took a sip of my now-warm beer. “And you haven’t been able to do that? That’s why you get so pissed?”