Depravity

by Woodhead, Ian

  “They were true artists, you know. This was a golden age in our symbiotic relationship, Kevin. The souls that the pair of them delivered were the sweetest we had ever had the pleasure of consuming. Each one damaged, scarred and mutilated. Each one unique and divine.” The apparition turned to Kevin. “The killing is just the end result. Do you not see that?”

  Kevin blinked, he had to look away from the couple below him when they began to copulate. He felt a little nauseous watching his father's fat tongue slobber all over his mother's nipples. As well as totally jealous. As far as he was concerned, those deep red buds belonged to him.

  “That woman in the cellar needs this, Kevin. We brought her here because she fitted the profile, just like you did. She needs stimulation. Physical, visual and mental. Kevin, you need this too. You can't carry on living like you are.”

  His mother now knelt in front of the teen, her left hand wrapped around his flaccid penis, while the large man mounted her. She'd sunk her teeth into his inner thigh. With each thrust, she let out a muffled scream, closely followed by snapping her jaw shut. It dawned on Kevin that she was actually eating him.

  “I won't lie to you, Kevin. We all dined very well on the boy's soul. Definitely one to remember.”

  “What happened to the body?”

  The apparition grinned.

  “Oh right.” Kevin went back to the performance, realising that he must have ended up in the rose beds along with all the others. His mother really was an attractive woman back then. Certainly nothing like the huge thing that took her place. It was almost watching a different couple. He thought back to his earliest memories of his father, trying to associate this rampant bull to the hate-filled, brain-dead cunt who took great pleasure in tormenting him when he was tiny. Oh, it was the same person, that much he was sure about.

  The boy gripped his mother's flesh and cried out, pressing his hips tight against hers as he climaxed. With a tenderness he'd never seen before, he gently lifted the woman off her knees and planted a tended kiss upon her lips.

  Some spark of what the man would become then suddenly materialised. He lunged at the teen, grabbing his ankles before smashing them against the wall. The cracking of bone echoed around the room.

  Kevin didn't understand what must have happened to have changed this exciting pair into the depraved weirdos who almost ruined his future, nor did he care. The apparition was totally right. He did have to change. He also had to get his sister out of that cellar. Kevin giggled, imagining the boy who he'd given her to play with in these chains, while he did that sex act on the girl. Why not? If his mum and dad could, then there's no reason why he couldn't emulate the situation.

  “That was utterly fantastic!” he exclaimed, grinning at his new best friend. “You really have opened my eyes.” He tugged his arm, frowning at the sight of the flesh trapped in the clamps tearing. “So, when do we start?”

  The apparition dropped the cigar, he stood on the arm of the chair and rested his face against Kevin's nose. “You've had a taste of the good life. This was the carrot. Now you're gonna get the stick, you lucky, lucky bastard.”

  6

  Kevin howled out in utter agony, his one remaining eye, bulging at the sight of his mother slowly pulling the modified potato peeler down the underside of his arm. The razor edge peeling away glistening curls of both skin and flesh.

  “Please, please no more!” he begged. Finding the energy to breathe when the woman paused to unclog the shredded meat from her implement. The words were wasted. She didn't stop yesterday, nor would she stop today. Her actions were locked. Predetermined, deviation from the fixed course was impossible.

  His mother carefully un-threaded the stripped flesh from between the blades, gave the peeler a quick shake, she then flashed Kevin a sly smile before gripping the dangling coil of flesh and giving it a vicious tug.

  As every other horror that she'd inflicted upon him today, Kevin had the foreknowledge and had prepared himself, as best he could, for the onrush of agony. Yet as the skin ripped away from under his armpit, he inadvertently bit through the tip of his tongue when he slammed his jaw shut.

  Kevin squealed out, still jumping at the touch of her warm fingers tracing patterns through the hairs in his chest. He choked out a blood-bubbled sob, knowing that his session was about to get much worse.

  Through tear blurred vision, he watched the woman make her way to the door, and just like the last time, she whistled the chorus to an obscure 60's pop song. Just like the last time, he found his perverted mind trying to find the title and singer to that tune. His mother opened the door, turned around, blew him a kiss, before slamming the door shut.

  He had about five minutes to compose himself and prepare for the next ordeal. It would be the man’s turn to have a bit of fun and frolics with Kevin’s already tenderised flesh. He wasn’t sure how he’d react when that fucker strode through that door, with a manic grin plastered across his face whilst proudly holding a blowtorch in his left hand.

  Kevin tried to convince himself that the torment wouldn’t be as bad as he imagined this time around. Yesterday’s session didn’t cause him that much pain. When the man made that flame dance across Kevin’s fingertips, it felt no more severe than thrusting his hand into a patch of nettles. If anything, it was the stench of his cooking meat that brought upon the floods of salty tears.

  No, this time around, Kevin would be feeling those nerve endings shrivel up. It was how this fucking game worked.

  Alistair had already gone into great detail of what to expect, of just how much suffering that Kevin would undergo before all of this was all over. He closed his remaining eye and pressed the back of his head against the wall, wondering, for the countless time, if there was any way to escape this misery.

  Once the parents had left the room, the room around them dissolved into oily yellow smoke. Kevin opened his eyes and found he was back in his study. He had a lit cigar in his left hand, a glass of red wine in the other and an astonished expression on his face.

  Alistair sat opposite him. Apart from the apparition looking rather stupid buried inside a smoking jacket three sizes too big, the situation was rather pleasant. He kinda wished that Alistair would have provided these comforts in the last illusion.

  The boy leaned forward, he placed his own cigar on the table then he suddenly slapped the palms of his hands on Kevin’s knees, letting out a quiet chuckle. He then preceded to explain to Kevin that to torture an individual, you had to know exactly how far to take it, to emphasise with their victim, to feel their pain.

  If the truth was to be told, Kevin had only been listening with half an ear. His mind was back in that room. only this time, he was the one slamming his hips hard against the young woman, gripping her back tight while his length pushed deep inside her wet sleeve. The only alteration to the plan was he was fucking his pretend mother, not the girl in the cellar. Why he’d chosen her didn’t matter. Kevin was having a whale of a time, far better than listening to the kid bang on about the intimate connection between victim and subjugater.

  His internal radar only kicked in when the surroundings around him melted away and he found himself back in that room. Alistair appeared in front of him still wearing that smoking jacket. The little shit then dropped the bombshell. Kevin was about to experience first-hand what it would feel like for the shoe to be on the other foot.

  God damn his naivety. Even at the start of this madness, the consequences didn’t sink in. Alistair explained that he was to undergo a single ordeal. In reality, he’d only be at the mercy of his torturers for twenty minutes at the most. It might become a little uncomfortable at the end but right at the start of the fun and games, you won't feel a thing.

  It didn't even bother Kevin when the woman slammed the plastic Biro shell into his left eye. His mother had accused him of averting his gaze as she practised her art. Kevin had done nothing of the sort. In fact he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her slender fingers, watching fascinated while his mother fixe
d several strips of duct tape horizontally across his chest and stomach. At first, Kevin assumed she was going to use the tape to rip out the hairs on his front, like giving him a crude wax.

  He soon realised that it wasn't only the hairs she'd by ripping away when she used a scalpel to section the tape into a further four strips each. After the woman's unexpected outburst that resulted in Kevin losing fifty percent of his vision, she went back to cutting through the tape and the flesh beneath the silver adhesive material.

  The fucking little ghost boy shithead had purposely mislead him. He really had thought the pain would increase throughout the entire torture session. He certainly hadn't expected to wake up and go through it one more time. On the second run through, Kevin actually felt the sensation as she ripped the narrow pieces of tape off his front. He looked down in utter horror at the sight of the pile of red and silver lengths growing below his feet.

  Thinking back, those sessions really were baby taps compared to what that bitch had just put him through. He would have long left now before that door would open again. Any minute now, that hateful bastard would push open that door and for the fourth time he'd be using that blowtorch to mutilate his extremities.

  Tears streamed down the cheek of his right eye, wishing, hoping that this would be the last ordeal. After the man turned his fingers black then applied the flame across the souls of his feet, that would be the end of it. He'd wake up back in his nice warm bed, totally healthy and eager to start the hurting. “Instead of being hurt myself!” he wailed.

  Kevin's bowls emptied their contents when the door slowly swung inwards, flooding the dark room with sick yellow light. Kevin blinked rapidly, sensing that there'd been a change in the schedule. He frowned as the open door showed him a limited view of the next room. Where was the man?

  “How are you holding up, Kevin? I hope you've been taking notes.”

  He spun his head to the side and gaped at the boy. Kevin didn't think he'd seen more beautiful sight in his life. He'd done it, he'd made it to the end. Obviously Alistair was here to release him now.

  “You're almost halfway through, my friend. You're doing great.”

  “What, you're not here to release me?”

  “Of course not. You've got to see this through to the end. I'm afraid. It's how this works.” Alistair lightly ruffled the man's hair. “Chin up. It'll be all over before you know it!” The apparition nodded towards the open door.

  Kevin moaned and gibbered at the sight of the man framed in the light, his hands clasping that blowtorch.

  “Looks like that's my cue to depart,” he said. “I'll see you on the other side, Kevin.”

  “Please don't leave me!” he shrieked.

  Chapter Six

  More meat for the pot

  1

  Michael popped the food menu back into its wooden holder. He ensured that the double sided laminated sheet containing a wondrous assortment of delicious looking treats totally obscured the drinks menu. The last thing he needed right now was another drink. His head felt a though a brass band had taken up residence, and it appeared that the little bastards were immune to the painkillers that he'd dry shallowed on their way into town. Perhaps he should grab a beer to go with his food, hair of the dog and all that.

  He mentally slapped his hand away. No, right now, his stomach needed that yummy looking bacon roll that Trevor was struggling to bring over on that tray. It took effort not to chuckle at the sight of the man attempting to cross the distance from the counter to their table, whilst balancing a tray containing two sandwiches, a pot of coffee and a glass of milk.

  “You'll never make a waitress, Trevor,” he said, lifting one of the rolls from the tray. The smell from that bacon was killing him. He knew right there and then that Trevor would have the opportunity to charm the socks off that pretty teen who served him.

  “I still think we should have gone to McDonalds, Mickey.”

  “Are you serious?” Michael asked. He emptied two sugar sachets into his coffee and gave it a brisk stir. “I promised you a tour of this fantastic little town, showing you her hidden wonders, giving you a taste of proper country living.” He dropped the plastic spoon and pointed to his friend's roll. “Speaking of taste, put that into your mouth before it gets cold. Believe me, Trevor. This place is one of this town's hidden wonders.”

  “If you say so.”

  What had gotten into him? Christ, it was Trevor's idea to come here in the first place. Michael mentally shook his head, not wanting to do it for real, just in case that brass band took that as a cue to play even louder. He wetted his mouth with the coffee before ripping off a sizeable chunk of food. If Trevor didn't want his roll, it wouldn't go to waste, that much he did know. God, this was nice. Michael paused in mid chew, watching his friend survey the other customers. Trevor hadn't touched his food and drink. His complexion looked almost as pale as the contents of Trevor's glass. He hastily shallowed his food. “You okay, pal? You look a bit off.”

  Trevor turned back to him, picked up the glass and drunk the milk in one go. “I didn't feel too bad until I came in here. Now I have the headache from hell and...” He sighed heavily. “Doesn't matter.”

  He put the remains of the sandwich back on the plate, wiped the tips of his fingers with a paper napkin before leaning closer to his mate. “What's that supposed to mean?” Michael enquired. “You see, when you say it doesn't matter, I think you mean that it does?”

  “Bloody hell. Okay, look. I just happened to mention that hotel to the girl. You see her? She's rearranging the cakes in the glass display.”

  Michael nodded. A pretty little thing. He guessed she was early to mid twenties, short cropped brown hair, and large brown eyes. Oh those eyes were really quite lovely, so big, like a human Manga girl.

  “If you've finished drooling? For crying out loud, man.”

  “Sorry,” he grinned. “Okay, so what about her?”

  “Well, when I asked about the hotel, she went all cold on me, starting to act real strange, and then I got this banging headache.”

  Michael ripped his gaze away from the girl and stared at her friend. “What are you saying to me here? That you want to go to the drive-thru because some girl cold-shouldered you and then magically gave you a headache?”

  “Jesus. I said it didn't matter.” Trevor picked up his bacon roll and bit into it. “Not bad,” he mumbled.

  His headache had just about gone. Michael put that down to that most excellent sandwich that he'd rammed down his neck. He looked past Trevor and watched the girl, going about her tasks. “Won't be a moment,” he said, scraping his chair back.

  Michael wandered over to the counter. “Hi. Is there any chance of another one of those bacon rolls?”

  The girl flashed him a quick smile. “Sure. It won't be a moment.” She hurried into the back, giving Michael the opportunity to cast an appreciative glance over her shapely legs. He loved black stockings. He turned his head away, feeling a little guilty. What was wrong with him, did they spike his coffee with Viagra or something?

  They almost had the place to themselves now. Apart from him and Trevor, there were only another three customers in the care. An old fella, wearing a dark green overcoat, sitting in the corner, by the window, and a middle-aged couple, sitting on the other side. Considering it was close to lunch time, Michael thought the place would have been a lot busier, unless there was another cafe hidden in town somewhere. He doubted that the folk around here would venture past the town limits to sample the 'delights' of mass produced fast food. It didn't feel like that kind of town.

  Come to think of it, apart from the single fish and chip shop on the edge of town, this place didn't even have a takeaway. No Chinese, no Indian, not even a pizza house. Michael looked again at the few customers, wondering if the locals actually had stomachs.

  “Here you go, Mr Sandhurst,” said the waitress.

  “You know me?”

  She nodded, then stuck her hand over the counter. “Yep. I'm Katie O
verton, by the way. Maddie's best friend? I just wanted to thank you for what you did last night. You probably saved her life.”

  He shook her hand, feeling a little uncomfortable, sensing six pairs of eyes were now drilling holes in the back of his neck. “As long as she's okay. That's what counts.” Katie held his hand for a moment longer before releasing him. Her skin was so soft. Weird, considering she worked in a cafe. Michael decided that she must use a hell of a lot of hand cream.

  She disappeared into the back, then reappeared, holding another white plate. Here you go, Mr Sandhurst.” She waved her hand when he dipped into his pocket. Oh no, it's okay. I'll pay for this one. It's the least I can do.” Katie looked over Michael's shoulder. “Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at your buddy.” She sighed. “Thing is, I used to work up at that creepy old place, and your mate just happened to ask about the hotel right at the time I was thinking about it. The man who runs it is...”

  She risked a look behind her, staring at the coloured bead curtain separating the serving area to what Michael guessed must be the kitchen.

  “Just stay away from there, Mr Sandhurst. It's not a healthy place.”

  Before he could ask her what she meant by that, the girl spun around and disappeared into the back. Michael took his plate over to the table and placed it on the surface, more confused now than he was before he stood up.

  “I hope for Jodie's sake that you're weren't making a move on that girl.”

  He slowly shook his head, aware that the old man in the corner was openly staring at him. “Don't be daft,” he replied. “She's Maddie's mate. Oh, she also wanted to apologise for snapping at you. Apparently she had a bad experience at that hotel, or something.”

  “I should think so too.”

  “I'm going to pay a visit.” Michael walked towards the old man, watching him hurriedly turn away and stare into his cup. “Nosey old bastard,” he murmured. He took a sharp left, passed between two tables and pushed open a lime-green door, labelled with a peeling Gents sticker.