Trapped Within

by Bradshaw, Duncan P.

  Judy and her sister had spent a lot of time with their maternal grandmother as young girls, and crafting had been a popular activity for them all. Judy had excelled at embroidery, and had embroidered a length of ribbon for her little sister. The embroidery had been clumsy and childish, but she had put on all of Jamie’s favourite things, and also her name, sewn in bright green thread. It had been many years, but Judy saw and recognised that special ribbon. The vodka burned as it came back up, and Judy wretched as she realised this jar contained the missing severed head of her little sister.

  The burn of the vodka’s return did not stop Judy swigging more and more of the spirit, bypassing the glass now and glugging it down as she fought within her mind to deal with the horror of the realisation that she was looking at her dead sister in a jar on a film. Playing her mind over the proceedings so far in the case, and her legal brain told her that the case was frail. The case was frail and the defence lawyer was the best goddamn lawyer money could buy. That defendant was going to walk, she felt it in her blood. She was never ever wrong with these gut feelings. But this was different. This was personal.

  Taking one last and very long pull at the vodka bottle, Judy began to collect items from her chamber. The pencil sharpener, the letter opener that was a small facsimile of Excalibur, the poker from the fire place, some keys from a secure drawer in her desk, and her lighter. She placed them all into her hand bag, and set off shakily from her office to the stairs that would lead her down to the holding cells.

  The officer assigned to cell watch had fallen asleep at his post, but to ensure she would not be disturbed, Judy hit him across the back of the head with the iron poker. She cringed at the crunch and hoped she hadn’t hit the poor guy too hard. Reaching for his belt, she took the keys he held there, in case he should come to and interfere with her intended actions. The cells only contained the defendant from Judy’s case, and a Romanian accused of fraud. Smoothly opening the door to her defendant’s cell, Judy slid in and locked it behind her silently.

  The man didn’t stir as Judy secured his hands with the guard’s cuffs. He did begin to stir when she tied his feet together with her silk scarf, tightly tying the safety knot she remembered learning in Guides. He awoke properly when she pulled down his police issue prison trousers and pants, and when he saw the judge sat there with a very sharp letter opener held at the base of his penis, his eyes widened and he began to open his mouth to talk.

  “Don’t say a fucking word you piece of shit. I have some specific questions you will answer, understood?” The man looked shocked but nodded.

  “What did you do to my sister? Don’t tell me it wasn’t you. If not you, then you know and have enjoyed whatever happened to her. She is in the jar they could not match with one of your gruesome damn trophies. I loved her, I needed her, I’ve been so alone. What did you do, you piece of shit?”

  Taking hold of his pinkie finger, Judy inserted it into the desk pencil sharpener she had brought with her and began to turn the handle. Nail shavings plinked into the clear case on the sharpener, followed quickly by increasingly thickening gnarled and nicotine-yellowed skin. As the blood exploded into view, the cuffed man’s eyes widened in pain and he began to whimper. The resistance on the sharpener handle increased as Judy reached the thin layer of muscle, then white and shining bone appeared. Judy felt strangely invigorated at the sight, and moved to the opposite pinky, repeating the torturous process.

  “Dammit, you crazy-ass woman! What do you want?” he howled, eyes taking in the newly sharpened point of his little fingers. “T’wernt me what took the children, you know… not all of ‘em… not even most of ‘em. T’was my brother. Ya’ll ain’t found eee yet and ya won’t, not from me.”

  Judy attempted to insert his ring finger into the sharpening hole, but it was too wide. In disgust she threw down the sharpener. The case that had collected the gristly shavings fell off and a pool of blood spilled upon the cell floor. Grabbing her letter opener, she moved down to his feet. Inserting the tip of the blade under the nail of his big toe, she pushed down with all her strength, the sharp blade easily penetrating the softer nailbed. The man cried out once more, a pitiful wail, but Judy was not satiated.

  Repeating the process nine more times, and then taking the point of the fireplace poker and bludgeoning the man’s shrivelled scrotum, Judge Judy finally got the information she required. Her head span. She was transported back to those idyllic days of playing fort with the sister she adored. Many times over the years had she come up against the phrase ‘red mist descended’. Judy now experienced a red mist of her own. Blindly she went about that last bit of business that day. As she had done so many times before, she hung her judicial wig upon the hook on her door, closed the chamber, and stepped into the empty and echoing corridor.

  They found her the next morning. People arriving for work at the courthouse spotted an unusual black item hanging from the stone sword of the statue of lady justice. On closer inspection, they were shocked to find the dead body of Judge Judith. Hanging in full view of all entering the Old Bailey. Gruesome though this find was, it was nothing compared with the other discoveries they would make in the famous courthouse that day.

  Down in the holding cells, they found one very concussed guard, blood crusted upon his swelling and beaten head. In the cells themselves, they found what remained of the suspect. His body had been mutilated beyond recognition. His fingers and toes were a mass of blood and bone. His penis and testicles had been removed, and sat atop a fireside poker that was leaning against the holding cell cot. His body was a mass of bruised weals and, where his head should have been, there was just a blood-soaked pillow. The court guards did not see much viscera themselves, and one vomited, while the other fainted away.

  At approximately the same time as this was happening, the elderly court clerk arrived for the day. Entering the back way into the court house, he had missed all the action. He went as he always did to the judge’s chamber, to ensure everything was straight, and to remove any vodka bottles that might give away the trapped torment of his esteemed colleague. He knew she drank to hide from her torment. He understood. He knew.

  As he entered the room, his heart sank. Even he could not help this time. This time her torment was going to be clear for all to see, for sitting on top of the beautiful walnut desk was a large jar. The sides of the jar were filled with blood, but as the clerk stepped closer he saw a decapitated head. It was a head he had spent a lot of time staring at just yesterday. The head of the defendant, the aptly named Joseph Jedidiah Judge, sat in the jar, and protruding from one eye was a letter opener that looked rather like Excalibur, the letter opener belonging to his great friend, Judge Judy.

  The clerk sat in the worn leather chair, put his head in his arms and cried. He cried not from grief, but from the gladness that his friend had finally been able to release herself from the emotional prison she had built around her all these years.

  Yes, he was happy she was no longer tormented by being trapped within.

  Kitty Kane aka Becky Brown hails from the south of England where she lives surrounded by squirrels. She is also one half of writing duo Matthew Wolf Kane, and has been published both in collaborations and stand alone stories. Kitty is the author of stories that have appeared in Full Moon Slaughter and Down The Rabbit Hole Tales Of insanity from J Ellington Ashton Press, and has several more stories in forthcoming releases from JEA. She also was part of the first V's charity anthology battle challenge from Shadow Work Publications, in which she won her battle, and made some life long friends. She has also has her work in a Christmas anthology from BURDIZZO BOOKS which was called twelve days in which Kitty cheerfully roasted babies in front of the open fire.

  Kitty is currently editing her first solo anthology, The ABC of murder coming soon from Anthology House. She has lots of exciting projects lined up this year including her own novella, a MWK collaboration novella, many short stories and lots of general madness.

  Kitty says of her writi
ng style that it errs on the side of bizarro, but she enjoys writing classic horror also. A lifelong fan of all things horror, you will find her generally up to no good. Her eyes are brown, her hair is subject to change...one steadfast thing with her though, she can never be accused of being sane.

  Holding Hudson’s hand, Craig almost skipped across the road towards the invitingly lit village pub. If he had had the choice he wouldn’t have selected to have their first romantic meal away together in a pub sporting the name The Slaughtered Lamb. But, as Craig noticed on the drive down, pubs were scarce in this part of the West Country and this one was within walking distance of their rented holiday cottage. As far as Craig was concerned, the only name that mattered was Hudson. His beautiful girlfriend and—he hoped—soon-to-be fiancée, danced across the road beside him, giggling in that childlike way he found so endearing.

  The pub itself was small, no more than an old two-room cottage, converted to a one-room bar. Several tables occupied the middle of the room and an old couch faced the fireplace. The fire crackling in the hearth was a welcome sight to the two lovers as they shook off the dampness of the night before approaching the bar. The few locals supping pints fell silent, watching Craig and Hudson approach with detached interest, but offered no form of welcome.

  Craig smiled as the barman—an elderly, overweight man with a bushy, greying beard—stepped forward with a quizzical look. The other men gathered at the bar turned away but didn’t continue their conversation. The crackling hisses and pops from the fire was the only sound in the room.

  “Good evening.” Craig’s voice sounded loud in the hushed room.

  “Good evening, Sir. What can I get for you and the good lady?” The barman was well-spoken but with a thick country accent. His lips curled in what Craig took to be a smile, although his eyes preserved their questioning look. He looked Craig, then Hudson, up and down with a slow, deliberate gaze that lingered on Hudson’s chest a little too long for Craig’s liking.

  “I’ll have a pint, please, and…” Craig looked at Hudson questioningly.

  “Orange juice, please.” She spoke direct to the barkeep, saving Craig from repeating her order. As the man moved away to prepare their drinks she pulled a face at Craig which reflected her feelings on the weirdness of the silent pub, before wandering away to a nearby table.

  Craig waited for their drinks, only joining her at the table once he had paid the socially retentive barman. The men at the bar began talking quietly to one another as he moved away. He could feel their gaze on his back as he took his seat but, when he turned around, they just looked away, continuing their conversation, which was obviously about him and Hudson.

  “I know you wanted to do the whole romantic meal thing but I think I’d feel happier eating those supermarket pizzas we brought with us. I feel like an exhibit here,” Hudson whispered with a smile Craig hoped would never lose its sexiness. “Besides, I have plans too.” She winked at him over the rim of her glass.

  “Better drink up then,” Craig replied hastily, before downing half his pint.

  Hudson threw her head back and laughed aloud, attracting the attention of the locals, who stared over at the two lovers with open annoyance, bordering on hostility. “Alright, calm down, Romeo, we’ve got all weekend.”

  “Ssshhhh. We may have angered the locals.” Craig’s voice was no more than a whisper as he stole a quick glance over his shoulder at the men propping up the bar. “So much for the warm West Country welcome they mentioned in the brochure.”

  “I know. Did you see that guy stare at my tits? It gives me the fuckin’ creeps.” Hudson downed her drink, slamming the empty glass down on the table with obvious anger. “You ready, babe?”

  “Two seconds.” Craig drained the last of his beer, standing up as he did so. He returned his glass to the table and extended his hand towards Hudson, a broad, almost defiant smile on his face. “Shall we find a more private establishment to while away the evening?”

  Hudson took his hand and together they left The Slaughtered Lamb having spent barely five minutes in the hostelry. As they walked around the village green, heading for the lane leading to their rented cottage, Craig had an uneasy feeling, like someone was watching him. Glancing back, he noticed two of the men stood in the pub’s doorway. They were openly staring at him and Hudson.

  “This place is like something from a horror movie,” Craig said, increasing his pace slightly. “I’ll be glad when we’re snuggled up in front of the TV with a pizza.”

  “Who said anything about television?” giggled Hudson, seemingly unaware of the interest their visit still caused, but matching Craig’s increased pace.

  “I thought you said we had all weekend?”

  “I’ve got an insatiable appetite, what can I say?” Hudson’s upturned face caught the early evening moonlight, her eyes shining with excitement. “Race ya!”

  Hudson ran off into the dark shadows of the unlit lane with Craig following her at a steady jog, easily keeping her in his sights. The cottage, located at the end of a short gravel drive, was about half a mile down the lane and he waited until Hudson turned into the drive with a shriek of victorious laughter before increasing his pace. Craig closed the distance quickly, wrapping his arms around her as she tried to reach for the cottage’s wrought iron door handle.

  The soft scent of Hudson’s perfume filled his nostrils as his mouth closed in on her neck’s soft skin. Giggling, she fumbled with the lock before pushing the door open. A blast of warm, pine-scented air greeted them as they stepped inside, still wrapped in one another’s arms, Craig kicking the door shut with his heel. Together they stumbled towards the couch.

  “Pizza?” Hudson asked as she broke away from his clutches and headed for the cottage’s small kitchenette. She threw her coat over the back of a chair as Craig slumped onto the couch with a frustrated sigh. “Hey! A girl’s gotta eat. I’ve got to keep my strength up.”

  “Do you have to do it now?” Craig struggled out of his coat, letting it slide to the floor as he undid the laces of his boots.

  “I think it might be wise,” Hudson replied, more to herself than to Craig, as she stared past her reflection in the windowpane at the dark woods beyond. She thought she had seen something moving, illuminated briefly by the moonlight as the clouds parted for a moment, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “Okay, I must admit I’m hungry after the drive down, but don’t think your virtue will not be threatened this night, my lady.” Craig lapsed into a comic medieval accent he felt was more in keeping with the cottage’s dated décor.

  “And I trust you will not be too presumptious to assume it will be you who threatens my virtue?” Hudson replied, following his lead with the historical accent. She didn’t take her eyes off the darkened treeline as she spoke, fixing her gaze on the spot where she thought she had seen movement. The clouds had blown across the face of the moon, plunging everything beyond the rectangle of light shining out from the kitchen window into complete darkness.

  “Do you suggest I will have to fight for your affection, my lady? Because frankly, I don’t know if I can be arsed.” Craig reclined on the couch, laughing.

  “Who knows what the night will bring,” Hudson replied mysteriously, still stood in front of her reflection in the kitchen window. After a brief moment she turned her attention to preparing their supper, but she still couldn’t shake the thought something or someone was lurking in the woods.

  She put the thought out of her mind as she prepared a simple salad to complement the supermarket-bought pizza, then opened the cheap bottle of wine she found in the welcome basket left on the kitchen table. She called Craig to collect the wine and find some glasses while she transferred the pizza to a plate. Finding some forks, she gathered the pizza and the salad together and followed Craig back through to the cottage’s living room.

  They ate the food then made love in the warm, romantic glow of the open log fire before lying naked on the couch to finish the last of the wine. Hudson listened
to the wind blowing through the branches of the nearby trees and the fierce sound of a rainsquall lashing against the window while Craig dozed quietly beside her. She snuggled in close to her lover, the strange reactions of the villagers and the half-glimpsed shadow in the woods all but forgotten as she relaxed in his comforting arms.

  Gradually, the fire died in the hearth and Hudson reluctantly stirred from the safety of Craig’s sleepy embrace. Sliding from the couch, she removed a few logs from the small pile stacked neatly against the wall and placed them on the fire’s glowing embers. She used the poker to gently prod the fire’s smouldering remains; she had always had a healthy suspicion of fire and felt nervous being this close, especially in her naked state.

  “What’s the time, babe?” Craig yawned as he spoke.

  “Not sure. It’s late, though.” Hudson could smell the warm scent of pine from the log pile, the lingering aroma of Italian herbs and garlic from the pizza, and Craig’s musky scent and stale aftershave. She crawled back to the couch, a seductively wicked smile playing on her soft lips. “It’s way past your bedtime.”

  Craig tried to pull her onto the couch but Hudson stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. She tilted her head to one side, listening to the sounds of the woodlands outside the cottage. A new odour reached her nostrils, stale sweat, beer and the healthy stench of human fear. She pushed Craig back onto the couch with an uneasy smile.

  “Hold on a moment there, Loverboy. I need a drink.” She stood up and blew Craig a kiss before padding almost silently into the kitchen. She stood at the window, oblivious to her own nakedness. Several flaming torches burned in the darkness beyond the glass. The flickering lights lit up the figures standing in the treeline and cast strange, dancing shadows into the woodland’s leafy canopy. Hudson knew the figures would be able to see her. She bit her lower lip as a tingle of excitement passed down her spine, the tiny hairs on her arms bristling.