Trapped Within

by Bradshaw, Duncan P.

  The search had been massive, with thousands of volunteers searching day and night for the child, finding nothing. Finally it had come to an end when four teenagers, having gone in search of a place to get high, had stumbled first across a human hand, and then a thigh, in the old and abandoned graveyard of the crumbled church of St John.

  The police and forensic teams scoured the churchyard, and recovered Jessie in twenty different pieces. Bagging up the grim discoveries, they soon had accounted for everything, apart from the poor child’s head. That was nowhere to be found. A search of records showed where any previously convicted or charged child-molesters lived had thrown up a large amount of such offenders in the area, and the police began the disgusting task of visiting them all and asking questions.

  As the pair of officers that had been sent to the house of Jedidiah Judge entered the property, a feeling of unease had taken hold of them. Police officers often developed almost a sixth sense, and PC Jennifer Harlow was no exception to this. While her colleague asked some routine questions of the convicted child-rapist, she cast her specially trained eye around his house.

  Disturbing images were framed on the walls; not paintings, or arty photos, or even the ridiculous canvas prints that were all the rage right now. No, adorning the walls here were posters of the kind that come at the centrefolds of magazines for children. Peppa Pig, Teletubbies, Tweenies, Rosie and Jim, In The Night Garden were all there. On the shelves there were no ordinary ornaments. Instead there were items generally found in homes with small children.

  The items he had on display sent shivers down PC Harlow’s spine. Baby bottles containing what looked to be blood. A plastic potty with real faecal matter, floating in what appeared to be real urine. An assortment of dummies, all with either razor blades or huge nails inserted into the rubber teats. Threaded onto a string, and fastened on each end to allow it to hang from the shelf front, were countless human teeth, all small enough to be from a child. And just when she thought she could not get anymore disgusted, she spotted some strange, leathery brown objects upon one of the shelves. Stepping closer, she couldn’t quite contain her small scream as she realised what she was looking at.

  Hearing his colleague make her muffled scream, PC Justin Tilly rushed in, finding his normally hard as nails partner with her hand clapped across her mouth, and tears in her eyes. He followed her gaze to the shelf. He too took a sharp intake of breath as he realised what he was seeing. Dried and almost mummified, spaced neatly on the shelf, were ten sets of human—but clearly juvenile—penises and testicles.

  Realising they had stumbled across a really bad case, they quickly turned their attention back to the nonce in the other room. He had not moved; he still sat in his stinking armchair, and as they arrested him on suspicion of murder, he showed exactly what he thought of being arrested by both defecating and urinating in his trousers as the marched him outside to their car. The stench on the way to the cells had been unbearable.

  The interview process had consisted solely of the defendant answering every question with ‘no fucking comment’. The case had been brought solely on forensic and testimonial evidence, and what they found in his house and out-buildings.

  Having secured the correct warrants to search the property, the forensic teams had begun to make grim discoveries. In an out-building, which had shelves lining its interior walls, they found the first five children. All aged between five and ten years old, laid on the shelves with their hands and arms across their chests, were the completely skeletal but headless remains. Protruding from each skeleton were tools, mostly wedged in amongst the rib cages, a bizarre and macabre tool organiser.

  Further down the large and wild garden, among the bluebells that swayed so prettily in the breeze, sat a small, child’s-size picnic table. Hidden from any prying eyes, but still exposed to the elements, around the table sat another three headless yet skeletal corpses. Upon the once gaudy coloured, but now sun-faded table, lay a child’s tea service. Insects crawled over the tiny plates and cups, and the same insects then crawled over the headless remains of the children.

  Making their way through this voyage of macabre discovery, the forensic teams stopped often. They shook their heads and each had pain in his or her eyes, for these poor little angels must have suffered so very much. There was just no let up from the gruesome finds. More bodies were turning up with alarming recurrence. Down the very bottom of the garden, amongst what looked like a compost heap, they found a further two skeletons. Both headless, one of a child around six years old, but the other clearly a baby.

  The entire force working on the investigation were stunned by the sheer number of child corpses they were finding. How could this amount of children have been murdered on their patch over the years and them not have any idea. Sure children went missing often, but more often than not it was a result of parental snatching. The area had a high concentration of folk of other ethnic descent living in it, and the police often found cases of parents splitting up, and then the children being stolen off, usually by the father, and secreted in their home countries.

  Carbon dating would of course tell them just how old the bones were, but with a body count of nine and rising, questions would indeed arise. However, the biggest question was: where were the heads? Not a single skull had been recovered.

  The team inside the house were sifting through the detritus. They found many items of children’s clothing, some for children as young as six months. The vile owner of the house had more of his gruesome ‘ornaments’ on shelves all throughout the house, and when the officers went upstairs, they were stunned to find all three bedrooms decorated just as children would have them.

  One bedroom was all in pink, frills abounded in the small room. Laying under the covers of the princess bed was yet another pair of bodies. One completely skeletal, one in the latter stages of decomposition. The smell in the room was a cloying odour of decaying flesh, mixed with the countless pink tree-shaped car air fresheners that hung all around the room. The two pitiful bodies laid upon the bed had their hands intertwined as they lay nestled in a putrid mess of viscera. The suffering of the two could only be guessed at. And, of course, no heads were present.

  The team inside started to bring out the grim finds. First came the bodies, and the team did what they could to protect against the now huge gathering of media that had descended upon the property. In the blue bedroom they had not found any corpses, but they had found both a video camera and many recordable VHS tapes, lined lovingly on primary-coloured shelves, which so many parents would lovingly attach to walls of children’s bedrooms throughout the land. They carefully tagged, bagged and loaded each one with heavy hearts, as they realised that viewing those tapes would probably be awful.

  The third bedroom made the hair on the necks of the investigators stand up. Walls adorned with childish murals, there stood in the centre of the room an oversized cot. Laid upon the unusual sized bed was a sleeping bag with a picture of Elsa and Olaf from Disney’s Frozen, and at the bottom of this sleeping bag was where they found the final corpse the horror house had to offer.

  The almost mummified remains of a prepubescent child was scrunched up in there, its skin leathery and a hole where the genitals had been. Tears streamed down even the most hardened face as they realised just what abuse this child’s body had taken, the only comfort being that it was likely to have been posthumous, and the child had probably only suffered the once.

  One evidence find from the hook in the kitchen had caused some excitement: a wrought iron key hung there amongst a large number of other keys. One of the forensic technical team kept looking back at the key. Jason Kellaway thought he had seen it before, but his mind wouldn’t quite give up the piece of information he needed straight away. Once a morgue assistant, and also a gravedigger for the local authority, Jason was one of the most respected team members. He had worked the two depressing jobs to support his wife and son, whilst taking his forensic degree at night school to ultimately do the job he was
doing today. Accurate and fastidious, he had worked his way into a mid-seniority position with the forensic team and was happy at his level.

  As the team wrapped up the gruesome stripping of the house of untold horrors, the key was placed in an evidence bag and taken off to the station. Jason was still bugged by the thing. Just where had he seen it?

  The team delegated the horrendous duties of this investigation that needed to be done. Of course the most important evidence was likely to be the plain-sheathed VHS tapes found in the bedroom of the house, but none wanted to see them. All knew they were going to be depraved and disgusting, but the viewing had to be done.

  The first tape actually threw up no information at all. It was footage from a CCTV camera that was attached over the front door of the monster’s house. The grainy footage was many hours of simply what was happening in the road, but several evenings on the tape showed many young children playing happily outside, blissfully unaware they were being watched.

  Several tapes like this were viewed, and the team began to wonder if they had misjudged the possible content. On the fifth tape viewed however, a different setting came into view. The camera was shaky and the subject much darker than the CCTV footage. It was evident that the filmmaker was walking, and swimming into view came part of what looked to be a large pair of gates. Huge metal gates, and the team saw a hand enter the frame holding a key. As one the team became more alert, for the key in the hand was the key they had discovered hanging from the hook in the kitchen. The key turned and the filmmaker walked through the gates, shutting them quietly behind.

  As the man walked up a darkened driveway, Jason Kellaway suddenly jumped up and paused it. Looking at his colleagues, he said, “I knew I recognised that key. I’ve used it myself many times. Sonofabitch. Asshole. Cocksucker!” As he spewed this uncharacteristically vehement angry statement, he made the entire room jump as he punched the wall next to where the footage was being played. “That is the key to St Joanna’s churchyard, home to the crematorium! Also home to the morgue! I used it myself back when I was studying. I was the morgue assistant and I also dug graves. There is a shed. Only the gravediggers use it. We need to go to it.”

  The DCI agreed with him and dispatched Jason and a team to St Joanna’s straight away. The unlucky ones got to remain and view more of the vile tapes. Soon the tapes took a turn for the worse, and what they began to see on the screen violated the eyes of even the most seasoned police officer.

  The team recognised the view of the bottom of the garden, and sitting around the plastic table were the corpses. But, in this shot, the corpses were not skeletal. The skin was greying, and slippage of the skin was occurring. Rigor and liver mortis appeared to both be long past; a sheen of light mould adorned the skin and maggots crawled in the neck wounds where the heads had been removed. The camera was placed upon the table, but the view did not let up its disturbing vistarama. The lap of the man came into view, as did his hand, opening the fly of his trousers, fumbling around inside and drawing out a tiny but erect penis.

  If they hadn’t known this was a grown man they looked upon, the team would have taken the organ for that of a child, so small and immature was it. Out of frame, a hand must have taken a hold of the China teapot, for it floated into view, and the tip of the exposed penis was inserted into it. After thirty seconds or so, liquid spilled from the spout of the teapot as the vile man urinated into the plaything. Still not putting his penis away, the man’s hands disappeared above the table, and began to serve his decapitated ‘guests’ his tea of urine. For two hours the process was repeated over and over. The only sounds to be heard were birds singing and occasional grunts from the man. Eventually the bizarre film was over, the strangely malformed organ zipped back into stained trousers, and the picture faded to black.

  Many more disturbing tapes were viewed, taken all around the macabre and childish house, progressing in severity of disgust, but not a single act of actual violence appeared. The films always showed the children as corpses; not a single frame showed them alive. Frustrated, the team knew they were missing something important. But what? It wasn’t long before the tapes gave up the worst of all the secrets they held.

  The shaky camera focused once more upon the crotch of the man’s trousers, shook a little as he again removed his underdeveloped member from his stupid underwear. The officers in the room watching suddenly took a renewed interest as the camera panned out and showed a room they had not seen before. This room was strangely silver in colour, and they realised this was because the walls were covered with kitchen foil. The surface of the walls was uneven, and looked as if some sort of DIY soundproofing had been performed upon them.

  The camera swung once more and the room gasped as several large jars came into view. Each jar contained a semi clear liquid and, within, a roundish object. The hands of the filmmaker grabbed one of the jars. Opening it, he pulled out the soaking wet but fully preserved head of a child. A young girl of around six or seven years old, by the looks of it. As he shook the wet substance from the decapitated child, the monster on screen forced open the dead jaws of the head, and lowered it slowly to his waiting lap.

  The sound of a chair scraping furiously caused all present to turn just in time to see one of their most seasoned colleagues lose his lunch onto the floor. His vomiting may have been the first, but it certainly wasn’t the last. Even the veterans of the team couldn’t bear to watch this violation of a dead angelic sweetheart. All present in that room wanted to vow vengeance upon this monstrous perpetrator; nothing could be too bad to happen to this vile creature.

  The team, pretty much resigned to what they were going to find in the gravedigger’s shed, traipsed there slowly, forensic guys first, dusting for fingerprints as they went, collecting any tiny strand of hair, fiber, or even out of place plant matter that they came across. Kellaway had been correct. The large ornate key slipped into every lock they had found barring their way throughout the crematorium and morgue, and it did indeed open this shed.

  The team were still disgusted by what they found there in neat rows on the shelves of the foil-covered shed. Jar after jar of children’s heads stared at them, and they began the grotesque process of collecting, tagging and bagging the macabre finds to take back to be matched with the remains found at the house of horrors. The monster in custody at the station was still refusing to answer a single question, and even with the glut of grim finds, no hard evidence that he was responsible for the murders had been found.

  The DNA testing and matching had been a long one, and while the heads indeed matched the corpses found, two remained unmatched to bodies. Both female, both with perfectly preserved features, both with mouths containing semen, but no bodies. They knew one was likely to be the missing head of Jessie, the poor angel found in twenty pieces, but the other remained a mystery throughout the investigation and still was to this day.

  The efforts of the police team and Crown prosecution team to put this monster away forever had been seriously hampered by surprise findings that nobody expected. The DNA of the mummified penises did not match any of the heads, or bodies, or even any missing person reports. Receipts of shipping had been found that seemed to show these strange ornaments had been purchased, and not taken from victims.

  Upon a strip search of the suspect, it had been discovered that he could not have been the owner of the genitalia on the films, for there was no malformation there. Worse still, the semen found inside the mouths of the heads had been destroyed by the formaldehyde to the point it was non-identifiable. The horrific case was tumbling down, and the police could not charge for the many murders that had been committed.

  The case in fact rested only upon a small amount of blood found on the vile man's shoe that matched the scattered remains of Jessie. On this they had charged him, and on that charge this case now hinged. The jurors did not get to see the many hours of taped evidence, but Judy saw it. Judy saw it all.

  Time surged on, and Judy declared it time to adjourn for the da
y. The prosecution had laid out their sketchy case, and defence had begun. The courtroom was sombre as the jury and congregated public filed out. The guards told the defendant to get up to be taken once more to the holding cells below, and Judy herself wearily went to her chambers, where she collapsed into her chair, disgusted once more with humanity and its deprivations.

  As she sat and contemplated these horrors that were placed in front of her time and time again, she reached into her bottom drawer where she kept a bottle of black label vodka. Once upon a time she would have mixed it with large amounts of coke, but nowadays she drank it neat. After three large triple shots, her head began to run over the events of the day, and suddenly something came to the fore of her mind. Jumping up, she grabbed the evidence envelopes and, firing up the VCR, she found the tape of the police entering the shed at the crematorium.

  Once more the careful processes of the forensic officers swam into view, but Judy fast-forwarded; this wasn’t what she wanted to see. As she saw the shelves containing the jars come onto the screen, she allowed the tape to run once more. The quality wasn’t great, and the almost cloudy liquid of the formaldehyde obscured the view into the jars properly, but she soon found what she was looking for. Third from the end, although the jar was grimy, the viewer could see a ribbon pushed up against the top of the glass. Feeling her heart leap, Judy downed another triple shot and snagged her glasses from the desk.

  She managed finally to get the scene to pause so that the line of VCR atmospherics did not obscure that which she aimed to see. Putting on her glasses she peered closely at the screen, then gasping to herself fell back into her chair, tears threatening to tumble from her already tired eyes. The ribbon which she saw in the jar, she knew she had seen it before. In fact, she had made it.