Horror Stories from Denmark Box set

by Rose, Willow

  If God loved him as much as the priest claimed, then why did he let all those things happen? No, Brian figured all this out a long time ago. God didn't love him. He liked to see him suffer. God had deliberately given him a shitty life so he could sit up there and laugh at him as he struggled through it.

  But Brian wasn't mad at God anymore, neither was he sad that he ended up in this place. For the first time in many years he had a feeling of satisfaction. He received his revenge, not with God's help, but by his own hand. He still enjoyed thinking about the day when he tracked down his stepdad and attacked him with the knife. He remembered the sound of the knife going through the flesh. Every now and then he could still feel the warm blood on his hands as it ran across it. He remembered the look in his stepdad's eyes when he pulled out the knife and stabbed him again, in the heart this time. Sometimes he even imagined it in slow-motion, just to get all the details right. The tip of the knife disappearing into his abdomen, slicing through clothes, flesh, right into the liver. Then stab number two in the chest, ripping up veins, cutting through organs. Brian stabbed him ten times before he finally stopped. He even recalled the screams from people in the street, and the distant sirens when the police arrived and took him away. He spat at the dead body right before they pulled him to the car. Brian’s hands were covered in blood, his nostrils filled with the sweet, red smell of revenge.

  "Amen," the priest said and ended his sermon.

  Brian looked up at the big cross behind him. The priest told them that he would be in the confessional if anyone wished to talk. Then he left. Brian sat still for a few seconds and watched as everybody got up and started walking towards the exit. Brian didn't move. He stared at the cross. It wasn't a Catholic church but the priest put up a confessional anyway just for them to be able to talk anonymously with someone, in case they needed to confess anything or just talk. A lot of the inmates did it just to lighten their hearts and get stuff off their chests.

  Brian never considered the offer before, but now he did.

  6

  "Eenie, meenie, miny, moe ..." The man was counting again. His finger ended on door number thirteen. As always the man peeked in through the small window in the heavy door to make sure the boy was fast asleep. Then he pulled out the key and put it in the door.

  The boy sat up in bed immediately as the man entered and he had to hurry to shut it behind him and close it safely. Then he turned and grinned, but the boy couldn't see that since his face was covered by the ski mask.

  "What are you doing here?" the boy said and jumped out of bed. He lifted his hands to show he was prepared to fight. The man chuckled and shook his head. They were all so alike.

  This boy was also a rapist. A lot of them were. According to his papers he was seventeen-years-old, and he raped three women, all single mothers, by breaking in to their apartments while they were sleeping and put a hand over their mouths, threatening to kill their children if they screamed or resisted. This boy was really bad, he thought to himself as he watched him. He really needed to be stopped. Doing time didn't seem to help anything. This was his second time in prison yet he had still done it again. If someone didn't intervene, this boy would end up raping and maybe even killing more women as soon as he was released. In two months he was up for probation. It was time for action.

  The boy was dancing like a boxer throwing punches at the man, but the man moved too fast and none of them hit. He decided to play along on his little game. Soon the man saw an opening and threw in a punch that knocked the boy backwards and into the wall. The air was knocked out of him immediately and the man was able to grab him, put his hand over his mouth and throw him on the bed. He saw the anxiety in the boy's eyes and smelled his fear, breathed it in. The boy knew he was in trouble. Nothing before this moment had ever frightened him before, the man knew that much. They all shared the same story. The Danish prison system simply wasn't punishment enough for these young boys. Yes they were detainees, but the life on the inside was often even better than on the outside. They got to work out all day, play pool in the living room or hang out with the other criminals doing drugs that the guards were paid off not to notice. The government had changed the prisons the last few years to make them "more like the life on the outside" which the man found difficult to comprehend. Why the inmates should have a life much like on the outside when they were in fact not on the outside, when they were being punished for doing wrong on the outside? He didn't understand, but the prison had to obey and they had put up small shops where the inmates could buy their own food if they wanted and a kitchen where they could prepare their own meals, or they could buy some in the cafeteria with the money the state provided them with while they were inside, which most of them preferred. Once they had done a quarter of their time they were even allowed to go out on the weekends. Now they all wondered why this country had so much crime, why so many young men chose a life of crime. The man had been on vacations that were more of a punishment. He shook his head as he stared into the eyes of the boy. Then he leaned down.

  He felt the boy struggle underneath him but the man was bigger than him and much stronger. He held him like this for a while. He wanted to let him feel the way his victims had felt. He had read about the Muslim countries and how they punished their criminals and found that to be very fair. If you stole something, they cut off your hand. It made sense, the man thought while holding the boy down with one hand and pulling off his underwear with the other.

  "I want you to remember this for the rest of your life," the man whispered as he turned him around and entered him from behind, giving him the lesson he should have had many years ago.

  The boy soon gave up resisting and lay on the pillow with his head pressed down, crying, while the man had his way with him.

  When he was done he turned him around once again, and then punched his fist in his face, knocking him out. Then he opened his briefcase and took out a syringe, found a vein and injected the contents. The boy regained consciousness just as the liquid entered his body and then stared at the man, shivering in fear. The man stroked his cheek, and then looked into his eyes again.

  "Take a good look at my face and my eyes. They will be the last thing you ever see. This way you'll never lust after another woman again."

  The boy struggled again, but soon the anesthesia kicked in and his body went numb. Only his eyes were open, when the man poured in the acid.

  7

  Ali had come back. Brian had seen him Sunday afternoon being helped back into his cell. Brian hadn't gone into the confessional after all, but the following night he wished he had done it. He wished he had talked to the priest about what was happening in the prison, about his anxiety, but he was also afraid the priest would laugh at him, the way his fellow inmates would if they knew that the nightly attacks scared him. They asked Ali who attacked him, but rumors said that he didn't know. That told Brian that he knew exactly who it was, but he was afraid of being hurt again and therefore chose to keep quiet.

  Now it happened again. Brian heard the screams early in the morning when the sun had almost risen. This time it was across the hall. A guy named Jon who Brian talked to on several occasions and even shared a joint with in the courtyard when no one saw them. His screams went right through Brian's bones and he stormed to the small window and peeked out. Guards were walking to Jon's cell and opened the door. Brian felt a shiver go through his body as he saw one of the guards, the first one to go in, come out of the cell and throw up on the floor in the hallway. Others were covering their faces with their hands.

  Brian felt his heart pounding in his chest as he heard the sound of the ambulance and watched the paramedics arrive. He kept watching till they brought out the stretcher, then he turned his head away.

  At breakfast he looked at Gunnar and Torben. "What's the word?" he said.

  Gunnar growled with his mouth full. Johnny sat next to Brian in silence, listening in as well.

  "His eyes," Gunnar said and pointed at his own. "Acid. Roasted them
."

  Brian let out a gasp that he regretted.

  Johnny growled next to him. "This has happened before?"

  Brian nodded. "Five times since I came here, but it seems to be getting worse."

  "They have no idea who's behind," Gunnar said. "They all say they don't know who attacked them."

  "Bullshit," Johnny said.

  "You think they're just afraid?" Brian said looking at his cornflakes that he had no appetite for.

  "Wouldn't you be?" Johnny said.

  Brian nodded while biting his lip. He knew he would. He would be very afraid. No one knows what they would come up with next.

  "Could it be those guys?" Johnny asked and nodded in the direction of a group from the East Wing. Four Middle Eastern looking guys with lots of tattoos and big necklaces. Brian knew they controlled all the drugs in the prison; they controlled the East Wing while Brian and his gang ran the West Wing. He earned his status by being the toughest and strongest among the inmates on the wing. He had beaten everyone who tried to take his position.

  "It could very well be," Brian said.

  "The guy from yesterday, the guy who lost his eyes, did he know them?" Johnny asked.

  Brian shrugged. "He might have. He does sell drugs now and then. Mostly joints."

  "And that other guy?" He said and nodded in direction of Ali who was sitting not far from them looking like the entire world had fallen down on him. Brian imagined for a second what it would be like to live his life without a dick. He made a grimace in disgust.

  "One of them is his cousin. He might have pissed them off somehow. You never know with the Muslims," Torben said.

  "Ali isn't a Muslim," Brian corrected him. "His family had to flee from Iran because they were Christian."

  "Whatever," Torben said.

  "You think they might be moving in on your turf?" Johnny asked.

  Brian shrugged. "I have had trouble with them before. Gave the big one a new nose, if you know what I mean."

  Gunnar nodded satisfied. "Brian don't look like much, but he's a good boxer. He once won the national championship. He's a fucking Danish Champion in his weight class, man."

  Johnny gave Brian an impressed look. "Wouldn't have guessed."

  "Well a lot of years with shit in your life will get you angry enough to knock down anyone, if you know what I mean."

  Johnny nodded. "I do. I know."

  They ate in silence. Gunnar was chewing with his mouth open. Torben was mostly grunting.

  "We need to find out who’s behind this," Brian said and looked over at Ali who was eating alone looking like every bite he swallowed was extremely painful. No one dared to sit next to him for fear of being the next victim.

  Johnny nodded. "Pretty boy here is right. We need to stop them or we'll be next."

  8

  Johnny was satisfied with his new group. He was certain he had chosen right. These guys, especially the pretty boy, seemed smart, a lot smarter than the guys Johnny usually hung out with on the inside.

  As the weeks passed he kind of grew into the group and they accepted him as their equal. Johnny was certain he could take out Brian even if he was a great boxer as he claimed, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to lead the group; he wanted to be the man holding the puppet. He wanted to be the one controlling them without having to actually get himself in trouble. He had been in the game long enough to know that a guy in Brian's position was exposed and constantly at risk of being beaten or even killed. But Brian knew that as well, Johnny had noticed and detected an uncomfortable worry in Brian. If the guys from the East Wing were the ones behind the attacks, then it was only a matter of time before they did something to Brian as well.

  Johnny didn't want to see that happen and soon he felt as protective of Brian as he had been of his younger brother for all of their lives. Johnny found himself constantly watching Brian's back in the cafeteria or in the bathroom, well everywhere really. If anyone would stare at him in a wrong way, Johnny would grab their balls and squeeze them till they knew their place. No one spoke to Brian without going through Johnny first. The only time Johnny couldn't protect Brian was at night, and that was when all the attacks had taken place. It killed him every night when they locked the doors and he was often awake most of the night listening to hear any screams. But for weeks there were no more and the group began to relax a little, thinking that maybe it was over, maybe the last two had it coming to them and that was all there was to it. But not Johnny. He kept his eyes open for anything unusual, anyone acting out of place. He knew when everyone's guards were down that they would attack, to get the most surprising effect out of it.

  So when one of the big Middle Eastern guys from the East Wing one day cut in line at the cafeteria right in front of Brian, Johnny naturally knocked him down to let him know this wasn't tolerated.

  Johnny ended up being dragged away by two guards and put in isolation for two days before he was taken to the warden. It was like being eight again and in the principal's office, he thought to himself as he was looking at the warden behind the desk in front of him. The warden was a big man, looking somewhat like a bulldog. His nose had been broken several times and his face was scarred and rough. On the top shelf behind him was a row of boxing trophies.

  "So I hear you're causing trouble," he said and looked at his papers. "Johnny."

  Johnny knew it was wisest not to speak so he kept quiet.

  "You think I feel sorry for you, do you?" the warden continued.

  Johnny still kept quiet.

  "Well I don't. I don't feel sorry for any of you in here. This is not high school, this is not kindergarten. No one cares if you had a crappy childhood; no one cares why you did what you did. This is about punishment and if you don't play by the rules you'll get more punishment. You've been in isolation two days. How did you like it so far?"

  Johnny stared at the warden with disdain. Being put in isolation was the worst part of prison Johnny knew. Being alone with his own thoughts, without anything distractions was pure torture to him. All he could think of was his brother.

  "Well you better get used to it, cause I'm giving you two more days for what you did. You broke the guy's neck, for crying out loud. For what? Cutting in line?" The warden leaned over his desk. He seemed even bigger up close. He was grinning. There was something creepy about his eyes. They scared Johnny. It was like he enjoyed punishing Johnny, he liked to see him in pain.

  "Here's the deal. If you don't learn how things work in here, we have ways of making you understand, of forcing you to never do anything wrong again. Do you know how they punish criminals in the Muslim countries?"

  Johnny swallowed hard. He knew very well what the warden was saying.

  The warden leaned back in his leather chair. "Very well then. I think we understand each other."

  9

  Torben wasn't a very smart guy. He had known it ever since his dad told him at the age of four.

  "You're just plain stupid, boy," he said and Torben had known that was just the way it was. This was his destiny and from now on it was all about making the best of it. With stupidity also often comes a simplicity, which he found very comforting. Torben didn't want much out of life, he never had ambitions or dreams he wanted to fulfill and he was pretty much always satisfied with where he was and what he had. In Torben's mind that made life manageable and he found it was always very easy for him to settle in a new environment and make new friends. He simply just did what they expected from him and since he was never dissatisfied he never complained either.

  In that way life in prison suited him well. To be honest he enjoyed it more than life on the outside where people constantly wanted something from him or expected him to act in a certain way, calling him stupid when he didn't live up to it. In here, behind the walls and bars on the windows, Torben felt safe. No one expected him to do anything, or to be smart in any way. He could just be himself and that made him feel good. Sometimes he dreaded the day when he was going to be let out of this place
. Torben regarded the world outside as a dangerous place and it had gotten him into a lot of trouble, simply because nobody had taken the time to explain to Torben what was right and what was wrong. His parents never bothered, since they were too busy arguing, fighting, or drinking and his teachers soon gave up on him as well and let him do his own thing during class as long as he didn't disturb any of the other children. Torben never was good at anything, except for one thing. Torben was very, very good at adapting. He could be anything his friends wanted him to (except a very smart person like a rocket scientist or something). As long as they told him what they wanted from him and they could be sure he would do it. Torben was a loyal guy too. Always had been. Especially when his childhood friend (and best friend in the whole wide world) Troels told him to do something. Torben would do anything for Troels, since he loved it when Troels was pleased with him. So back when they both were no more than nine years old, Troels asked him to take an old lady's purse out of her hand and run, he did it. It didn't matter to Torben that Troels had taken all the money and put it in his pocket. He wasn't in it to gain money. What mattered to Torben was the look on Troels' face when he gave him the purse. What mattered was that he had patted him on the head and told him he was proud of him. That made it worth everything. There was nothing more important than that. So Torben continued to do as Troels instructed and soon it had become a daily thing to steal purses and wallets from women on the street or in the bus. Troels took all the money, but soon he started giving Torben a little bill now and then to make sure he stayed faithful to him. Sometimes Torben gave him the bill back, just to show him that he wasn't interested in the money. It didn't matter to him at all.