The Tormentors

by Jack Phoenix

  “What the fuck is this?” he shouted. “What the fuck is this, goddamnit!”

  He could see the snake in the corner of the room, still perched upon its post, its sharp eyes watching him. He then remembered the pain in his crotch. Arching his back, he attempted to get a glance of his delicate part.

  “Don’t worry,” said a slithery voice. “It’s still there.”

  A hideous face appeared before him that sent his whole body thrusting in abhorrence. He watched the three figures step around the bed, looking down upon him with flickering forked tongues. On what appeared to be the bodies of the dancers, wearing the same black panties, sat the heads of reptilian miscreation. Terror filled his blood as his eyes looked them over, his mind attempting to make sense of the insanity. He saw green scales travel from their breasts, up to their shoulders and all the way up their necks. On those scaly necks were fanged mouths that had been red lips, slits that were once noses, and pointed ears. Their eyes were piercing and glowing with green crescents rather than pupils, and instead of hair they each had a bushel of twisting red snakes that wriggled from their scalps

  “We wouldn’t want you to bleed to death. Not yet,” said the creature in the middle, as Roderick pulled desperately against his straps.

  She took the long curved nail of her forefinger and ran it down his back, drawing blood all the way down to his buttocks. “Please…no…take whatever you want, just don’t hurt me, please…” Roderick cried.

  His pleas were interrupted as the three creatures screamed. Not the scream of a woman. Not a human scream. It was an unnatural screeching, a keening, so piercing that his ear canals burned. It was the sound he had heard in his nightmares, the sound of a thousand voices screaming at once.

  “But as we said. We want you,” the shorter of the three hissed when the screaming had subsided.

  “Okay, I get it,” he said sniffling, feeling the blood running down his sides and onto the bed. “I’m scared, okay? You win…I’m fucking freaked out and…I deserve it…so please, just take my wallet and whatever else you want…Please don’t hurt me…”

  “Ah, you deserve it, you say?” the first creature asked.

  “Why, sinner? What have you done to warrant such punishment?” asked the second.

  He tried to say under his tears, “I don’t fucking know…I’m just a bad person…you know?”

  “Insufficient answer,” insisted the third. “You obviously think that these are just elaborate masks. That we’ve lured you here to frighten and rob you of some portion of your vaunted wealth.”

  “Our purpose here is far more significant,” said the first, “for we are dispensers of justice. You must pay.”

  “Pay? Pay for what!” he bleated.

  “For your crimes. It is our divine duty to punish sins like yours,” informed the second.

  “What the fuck are you talking about! What the fuck are you!”

  “What we are is inconsequential. We take many forms. What matters is our purpose,” said the tall one.

  “Enough!” interrupted the one in the middle. “Sisters, dawn approaches. It’s time to play.”

  Roderick continued to shout, demanding more details from them as two of them disappeared behind him. He exclaimed, “You fucking bitches! People know where I am! They’ll come looking for me! If anything happens to me, you’re dead, do you hear me! You’re fucking dead!”

  The creature in front of him got down to her knees and grabbed his cheeks, squeezing his mouth shut with her clawed fingers. She closed her reptilian eyes and the two slits that were nostrils began to flare as she sniffed him, taking pleasure as if he were a fresh rose. She named the various scents she detected. “Desperation. Dread. And a dash of rage. These suit you well.”

  She moved her mouth onto his, and he could feel her slimy lips. He cringed and closed his eyes, trying to move his head from her grip, and he could feel burning on his back which caused him to groan in pain, as the other two creatures stood on the bed, pouring hot liquid wax from two of the candles onto his wound. The creature kissing him then sent her forked tongue down his throat, choking him. He bit down on the tongue, and it broke between his teeth, as he tasted her warm blood. Crimson dripped from her fanged mouth as she calmly pulled her head back, apparently feeling no pain. He spit out the severed part of her tongue and began spewing out the revolting fluid.

  Her green eyes ablaze, she stated, “That’s the spirit.”

  She reached onto the floor, grabbed one of the melting candles, and grasped his throat with her other hand. She forced his head up, holding the candle just above his mouth. Digging her claws into his neck, he opened his mouth to gasp for air only to have burning wax dripped onto his tongue. His cries of pain blared through the room, and she released his throat only after the wax had cooled.

  It was too painful to try and move his tongue to get the wax off, but he quickly forgot about that pain when he felt the sharp sting and scraping that entered his rear. One of the creatures had dipped her fingers into a small red bottle of some kind of oil and had slid a clawed digit up inside of him as the other two watched.

  “Fuck!” Roderick ejaculated in pain and rage, his mouth blistering. “You’re fucking dead, you fucking cunts! Fuck you!”

  “No,” the middle creature hissed, removing her finger from his rectum and then stepping in front of him so he could see her lick the blood from her claw, “not quite.”

  Roderick began to cry again, snot dribbling from his nose, and the wax falling from his tongue. He watched one of the other creatures approach the corner of the room and reach out to the large golden snake, which slithered onto her arm. She then carried the snake behind him where he couldn’t see, her blazing eyes peering straight into his as she walked. He could hear the small bottle open again as the oil was poured over the snake’s head, the other two creatures gently spread oil over it, making sure its head was completely covered.

  His mind raced. They can’t be serious.

  “Please…” he implored, sobbing. “What are you doing? Please, no, no, no, no, no, please, don’t!”

  The creature holding the snake lowered it down so it was right between his legs and held her hands to guide it, while the other two spread his buttocks.

  “What’re you doing? No, no, no, no, Oh, God, please, NO!”

  He could feel the ripping. He could feel the snakes tongue inside as it squirmed, slowly forcing its way until its head was completely submerged within him. Clenching only increased the pain. All he could do was cry. He wasn’t sure if it was the oil or blood that he felt soaking the bed. The creatures screamed their scream again, their necks stretching. They stretched impossibly far, nearly reaching the ceiling, like cobras preparing to strike. Their scaly expressions were orgasmic, and their screams drowned out his crying. He could hear nothing but the screaming. It penetrated his brain, scrambling his thoughts. All he could feel was the overwhelming pain.

  The screaming ended and the last thing he heard was “Sisters, the dawn has come,” before everything went black again.

  * * * *

  Roderick awoke to see the sunlight against the wall in front of him, streaming in through the window blinds. There was a horrible pain in his backside. Every movement he made with his lower body made it hurt. He could tell he was bleeding. He could feel the blisters on his tongue. He could feel the scratch down his back.

  He had no way of knowing how long he’d been out, but there was no sign of the three creatures or the candles or their filthy snake. In fact, the entire room was different. The paint on the walls seemed to be peeling away, and there was dust everywhere. The straps that had held him secure had vanished, leaving only the redness where he had struggled against them.

  His clothes were still on the floor where they had been removed, complete with wallet and cell phone, which unfortunately needed charging. But then
he glanced down and felt around his neck. His cross necklace was gone.

  He hobbled, straddling, bow-legged, out to his car. He took a deep breath and sat down, whinnying with pain from his rear. He was heading back inside to grab one of the pillows from room 3F when he noticed that the motel was not the one at which he’d arrived. The neon lights were busted, the paint was old and chipping away, the roof was collapsed across half of the building and where he had seen bushes and flowers was now just dust and dirt. It was clear the motel had been abandoned for years.

  * * * *

  “His mind will be shattered.”

  Chapter Twelve

  There was something different about her husband. She couldn’t quite place it, but something was ‘off’, like his mind was sequestered somewhere deep inside. He was more inaccessible than usual. Just a week ago, she had stayed up late, cleaning up the mess that she and Wade had left as well as waiting for Roderick to come home, but he never showed. She was used to such inconsiderate behavior from him, but he usually had the courtesy to at least call with a lame excuse such as, “I slept at Bob’s.”

  Roderick had come home that morning, waking her, stumbling into the room. His face was red, like he’d been crying, and there was a peculiar wobble to his walk, as though he were in pain. She asked him where he’d been all night, and he told her not to worry about it. That’s when she noticed his voice; he was speaking with a lisp. She asked him about that too, and he explained that he burned his tongue. Elizabeth didn’t even bother to ask how such a thing could have happened; with him it could have been anything, she didn’t care about the details. Her head returned to the pillow, and she went back to sleep while her husband stayed in the bathroom.

  He gazed at himself in the mirror, barely recognizing the traumatized face staring back with circles under the eyes. He stuck out his tongue and could see the white blisters. He took off his shirt and turned around, examining the scratch down his back, which was already beginning to scab. He undid his pants, sliding slowly out of them. He took off his underwear; three little spots of red.

  Logically, he knew that he should go to the hospital. He also knew that what happened last night was impossible. He could go to the police, and tell them what? Snake women had assaulted him? That they’d stolen his necklace and violated him with a snake? The humiliation alone would be agonizing.

  He tried to comprehend what had happened. They were wearing masks. Yes, that was it. They were masks.

  But what had been done to him was deplorable. No, he had simply had too much to drink. Maybe he did too many drugs, and things had gotten carried away, and that was all. He tried to convince himself it didn’t happen.

  All Elizabeth knew was that something had happened, something to create a change in him. He never told her why he was walking so strangely or how he burned his tongue. She became rather annoyed when he called off work for the week, since he was claiming that he needed more time to grieve the loss of his father. He stayed on the couch, a worthless lump, watching daytime television. Having him around all day became invasive to her, since she was accustomed to having the house to herself. He had become a miserable tumor. Whenever she tried to sneak away to read some more of her book, he’d ask for another beer or more food.

  Elizabeth came to a decision. If he thought that he could shut down like this with no explanation whatsoever, then so be it, but she would not tolerate it. It was time to leave.

  * * * *

  It’s the same cliff side as before. He doesn’t know why he comes to this cliff, it’s not anywhere familiar, but it’s always here. In the distance, he can see the sun descending over the water, as the waves crash against the jagged rocks below. He knows what’s coming. His mother is going to fall and hit those rocks. This time he can stop her. This time she won’t leave him, and she can teach him to be a good boy.

  The sunlight disappears and darkness ensues, but his mother is nowhere to be seen. He calls for her, but still nothing. She’s not at her normal spot, waiting for him to come and attempt a rescue. He wanders to the highest point he can reach, looking all over, but, no, she’s not here. This isn’t fair. He can rescue her. This time he can stop her.

  He calls her name again, and a voice answers. It’s a voice he’s heard recently, like the hiss of an asp. “Sinner,” it calls, “she isn’t here.”

  “We’re here now,” a similar voice says, “and we are with you.”

  “Our business is far from finished,” says another. “You’ll see us again.”

  “And you will suffer,” the voices say in unison.

  Then he hears the screaming again; a splinter in his brain too deep and too fine for even the most delicate of tweezers to pluck. It’s a deep ethereal pain. The voices call to something buried, calling for it to claw its way out of him.

  * * * *

  He awoke, soaked and breathless. His wife decided to sleep in the guest bedroom again. He was grateful though, he didn’t want to hear any more of her bullshit about seeing a therapist. It was all just a dream, but in the back of his mind, Roderick wondered if he was losing his grasp on reality, like his sister and father had. What those things had done to him? He wanted to vomit. But no, it hadn’t happened. It was something else, but not what he remembered. It had not happened. Nothing so shameful or humiliating, nothing so emasculating, could ever happen to him. What if he was going crazy? Following in the family footsteps?

  No. No, that wasn’t possible, he was stronger than they were. He had too much at stake and too much to lose. He’d be fine. He’d be fine.

  * * * *

  “What’s wrong with Daddy?” asked Samantha.

  “He just has a lot on his mind, that’s all,” her mother said, putting down her book. “You’re worried about him, huh?”

  Samantha didn’t respond, instead returning to her assembly of a new doll while the rapid cartoon on the television screen flashed behind her.

  Elizabeth sat down on the living floor next to her daughter. “Sam, honey, please talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She gathered some of the red yarn that would soon be hair for the doll, looping it onto the plastic needle.

  “You know you can tell Mommy anything, right?”

  Samantha’s face was stone again. She was more like a porcelain doll than the bubbly little girl that had once sat in her mother’s lap at story time. Elizabeth put her hand to Samantha’s head. She jerked at first, but then finally let her mother stroke her long brown hair. She wasn’t sure where her husband had gone to, but she was determined to get everything out in the open, if not today, then maybe tomorrow.

  * * * *

  As he approached the bar, the bartender gave Roderick a suspicious look, perhaps because she recognized him or perhaps because of his waddling walk. She was the same bartender who had been working on that fateful night. It was late morning now, before the lunch crowd, and she appeared to be alone. She kept her eyes on him, cleaning glassware, unsmiling as he leaned at the end of the bar.

  “How can I help you?” she asked.

  “Bill is the general manager here, right?” he asked. He noticed her looking at him even more peculiarly due to his blistery speech impediment.

  “Yes, he is. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “No, no you can’t, I want to talk to Bill.”

  “Hold on a sec,” she said, stepping to the back of the bar and grabbing a cordless phone from off the wall. Holding the phone to her ear, she said, “Bill, someone’s here to see you…” and then her words turned to inaudible whispering, but Roderick was fairly certain he heard the words “that guy” before she said, “Okay,” and hung up. “He’s not available right now,” she said to him.

  “Bullshit, he’s hiding in his office.”

  “Sir, I’ll be happy to take a message or you can try calling him later…”

 
“No, you tell him to get his ass down here right now,” he was not allowing the pain in his tongue to prevent him from raising his voice.

  She didn’t have to call Bill again. Apparently being able to oversee the bar from his office, and able to hear Roderick getting heated, he appeared from a door leading to a set of stairs. A portly, white, balding man with a small moustache, he tucked in his shirt as he approached, his beer belly hanging over his belt, saying, “What’re you doing back?”

  “I have some questions for you.”

  “I already said all I have to say. Yer not welcome back here, so get out.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Boy, you musta been fucked up,” his voice went to a higher pitch. “Do you seriously not remember?”

  “Look, I don’t give a shit what you’re talking about,” Roderick pointed his finger at the owner, a mist of saliva spraying on his face. “I want to know who those strippers were. I want their full names, and I want to know where I can find them, and you’re going to give them to me.”

  Bill wiped the spittle away. “You get outta here right now, Mister, or I’m callin’ the cops.”

  “Tell me who they were!” Roderick demanded.

  “Look, buddy, I don’t know what yer on, or what yer problem is,” Bill began, crossing his arms, “but when you were here the other night, you got so trashed that you got on stage with Monika and wouldn’t get down. Security had to escort you out, and I told you to never come back.”

  “What?” Roderick’s features went limp.

  Bill’s crossed arms were shaking. It was obvious he wasn’t good with confrontations. “Yeah, so you better just get outta here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who those strippers were and where I can find them.”