Flesh Factory: An Extreme Horror Novel

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Flesh Factory: An Extreme Horror Novel Page 8

by Sam West


  “For my brother! If I fuck this up, he dies.”

  “And now we’re all going to die. Congratulations,” he said bitterly.

  “No, Rohan, it’s you that’s going to die.”

  “Come on, Hope, please. At least try and untie me.”

  He struggled against the handcuffs, his body writhing and his teeth clenched. Hope impassively watched him until finally he was still.

  “Fuck you,” she said quietly.

  He lay there panting on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

  “I meant what I said in the dungeon. You’re the only woman I’ve ever cared about. That night you stepped into my car, I was in love with you, pure and simple.”

  Suddenly Hope was angry; she was angrier than she had ever been in her life. Maybe not at Rohan, maybe not even at Mick, she was just crazy angry. All her life she had tried her best, always tried to do the right thing. And where had that got her? Exactly fucking nowhere, was where.

  “Mick wants me to kill you,” Hope said calmly when all she wanted to do was shout and rave at him. “You heard the man, I’m not coming out this room until I do.”

  “Then let’s stay in this room. Let’s wait it out.”

  “Wait it out? Wait it OUT? What the fuck good would that do? You have to die, Rohan. You have to fucking die. If I don’t kill you, I’m going to end up like Frank. Or fucking Sara. Jesus Christ, I just want this shit to end.”

  “Hope? Are you on something? Your pupils are like, massive.”

  As quickly as it had arrived, the anger disappeared, leaving great sorrow in its wake. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision.

  “I don’t want to see the shadows, Rohan. If they come in here, they’re going to hurt us, you’re going to wish I’d killed you…”

  Her words abruptly died when a loud, whining noise filled the room. It was ear-drum splitting and instinctively her hands flew up to her ears. Rohan thrashed his head and howled in pain. Mick’s voice followed over the speaker:

  “You have to kill him, Hope. Do it quickly, for your own sake. The quicker you kill him, the better I will treat you. If you take too long do it, I’ll put you in the basket room.”

  Then all was quiet again.

  “What’s the basket room?” Rohan asked.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

  “Fuck it. Kill me. You’re right, there’s no way out. I’ve had enough. I was thinking about doing it myself, anyway. That’s why I had the gun in the first place.”

  Hope eyed the knife she had dropped on the floor. It would be so easy just to draw the sharp edge across his jugular…

  “Shut up,” she said, hugging her knees tight to her breasts.

  “I mean it, Hope. I’m so sick of my life, I’m so sick of being me. Meeting you and loving you has been the only good thing that’s ever happened to me. You made me feel again. I didn’t think I was capable of it, but then along came you.”

  “I feel awful,” she said, not wanting to talk about killing him anymore.

  Besides, the truth was she did feel awful, the room was swimming and if she saw those shadows again she didn’t know what she would do.

  “Come and give me a cuddle.”

  She looked at him blankly. “What?”

  “Come and lie on my shoulder. Please? I need to feel you. I’m not thinking about sex, or hurting you, or any of that stuff. I just want to be close to you.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. It couldn’t be a trick, his hands were cuffed, there was nothing he could do to hurt her.

  Without further thought, she went to him and lay down beside him with her head in the crook of his arm. His heart was noisy and beat rapidly against her ear, but she welcomed the comfort of his body against hers.

  “What drugs did he make you take, Hope?”

  “LSD,” she murmured against his smooth chest.

  “Don’t start panicking, you’ll bring on a bad trip. And whatever you think you see, these shadows you’re talking about, just remember they’re not real. Say it after me, they’re not real.”

  Hope ignored him. Now she was lying down, the room was spinning even more. The light-headedness was getting stronger and she fought to keep her thoughts grounded.

  “Why has Mick chosen me? And what’s going on here? Do you know?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a fair idea. Mick is into some pretty crazy shit, you know, devil worship and stuff.”

  Yes, the shadows on the walls…

  Yes it all made perfect sense to her now, that was why the demons were here looking for a way in to this world, because Mick had summoned them.

  “Devil worship,” she repeated hazily. God, her limbs felt like lead, her thoughts so sluggish.

  “But it’s not real, Hope. You’re tripping, fuck, I should never put shit like that in your head while you’re tripping. Mick’s crazy. The Factory is his business, but this is his passion. He’s a Satanist, he takes the spoils from The Factory and he brings them here.”

  “That’s why the demons are here.”

  “You have to stop with this devil shit, Hope, you hear me? There’s no such thing as demons.”

  “I saw them. They’re coming for us.”

  “Stop it.”

  Abruptly, she sat up. “This is all so fucked up. I can’t do it. You hear me?” she shouted up at the camera. “I can’t do it.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, the swirling black shadows were back, dancing in the corner of her eye. She jumped to her feet, the adrenalin pumping.

  “Hope, what are you doing?”

  “They’re here.”

  “Who’s here?”

  “The demons. Can’t you see them?”

  “There’s no one here, Hope, please, sit back down…”

  You have to kill him, Hope, a velvety voice whispered in her mind. Take the knife and stab him. If you don’t we’ll come and we’ll eat you both…

  “Nooo,” she cried, clutching her face in her hands.

  Kill him, or we will do it for you, and then we’ll do you.

  The shadows lurched fully into her line of vision, dancing on the opposite wall.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “You’re tripping, Hope, you have to snap out of it.”

  Except it wasn’t Rohan speaking anymore because Rohan had turned into a six foot worm. In her mind, the shadows laughed. He looked so repulsive writhing on the bed, his body just one, long, bulging, fleshy tube. Only his face remained at the head of the monstrous thing, his neck and shoulders swallowed up by the worm body.

  The handcuffs dangled empty off the headboard and she eyed them in a panic.

  Oh God, he’s going to roll off the bed and slither towards me. He’s going to eat me...

  She bent down and picked up the knife and in a second she was on him.

  “God forgive me,” she said, bringing the knife down to roughly where she thought his heart might be as he no longer had a neck for her to slit.

  As soon as the knife slid home, the grotesque worm-form disappeared and Rohan was himself once more with his wrists handcuffed to the headboard.

  He gasped in shock, his head thrown back and his back arching.

  “Oh shit, oh shit, I’m so sorry,” she gabbled. “But I had to, I’m sorry, I had to…”

  “It’s okay,” Rohan whispered, “I told you, I was gonna do it anyway… fuck.”

  He let out another gasp of pain and Hope reached up for his hand dangling from the cuff.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I love you, Hope. I’ll always be with you…”

  His eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back. Hope’s tears splashed his face as he drew his final breath.

  When she looked up, the shadows had gone.

  The door swung inwards and Hope cradled her head in her hands, praying for forgiveness.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hope opened her eyes to sunlight and she squinted at the sharp pain that stabbed her retinas. For a blissful moment she had n
o memory of any of it – and then it all came slamming home.

  “Shit,” she groaned, struggling into a sitting position.

  Her head span with this new turn of events. Why was she now in a bed; a proper double-bed with fresh sheets and luxurious, feather pillows? Like the bed, the room was pure luxury. Satiny walls and a huge bay window with opened curtains displayed a perfectly blue, winter sky.

  Where am I?

  On shaky legs, she went over to the window and leaned out. The icy air bit into her bare skin – a sharp contrast to the heat coming off the radiator – and she glanced around for something to throw on. There was a fluffy dressing-gown on the back of the door, which she retrieved and wrapped around her shivering body. The door was locked, of course, no surprises there.

  The view was spectacular, although the first thing she noticed was how high up she was – there was no way she would survive if she jumped. A neatly kept lawn the size of a football pitch was surrounded by woodlands that stretched all the way to the horizon with not another house in sight. The outside of the house in which she was trapped looked incredibly grand; the little she could see of it was all grey stone with gothic flourishes.

  Where is this?

  She knew she had to be in the same place. She was in Mick’s home, wherever the hell that was.

  In a mansion in the middle of nowhere, is where I am.

  Remembering what she had done yesterday, she cried out in mental anguish.

  I killed Rohan, oh dear God, I killed him.

  Now that she was no longer in the moment, she realised that the ‘black shadows’ were no more than a figment of her imagination, a product of the bad trip she was on. She felt foolish. And scared.

  It seemed so real…

  But it hadn’t been, she knew that now. Rohan was no more a giant worm than those shadows had been demons. The unwanted memory of stabbing Rohan slammed into her mind. After that though, her memories were hazy. She remembered the door opening and the doctor coming into the room and sliding a needle into her arm – the same doctor that she had met earlier in the ‘wicker-basket’ room.

  After that, nothing, just waking up in this room.

  Why would Mick go to the trouble of putting me up in such a beautiful room?

  She gazed around herself once more in disbelief. It was like the poshest hotel room she had ever been in. From the intricately carved stone roses on the high ceiling to the ornate, Victorian wardrobe and chest of drawers.

  Fuck, it even has an ensuite, she thought, noticing the second door that stood ajar next to the wardrobe for the first time.

  She peered inside at the gorgeous bathroom, decked out in glistening white marble complete with a free standing, golden-footed bath-tub.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t smell and was clean. Her hair smelt like shampoo and was neatly combed. The thought that someone had actually washed her while she was unconscious was deeply unsettling.

  Yeah, well, not as unsettling as me killing someone…

  Her stomach let out an almighty rumble, reminding her that she was absolutely starving and as thirsty as hell. Casting her gaze around, she spotted a tray next to the bed that was laden with food. She fell on it, picking up the glass of cold orange juice and pressing it to her lips.

  She hesitated before drinking.

  What if it’s drugged, I can’t be drugged again, oh God, I can’t…

  As much as she wanted to neck the orange-juice, she made her way over to the bathroom instead where she stuck her head under the tap and gulped down great mouthfuls of cold water, after which she sat on the toilet and relieved herself. On her way out, she caught her reflection in the mirror over the sink. For someone that had been through hell and back, she looked surprisingly well. Apart from the tenderness and slight bruising of her wind-pipe, she looked normal. Her luscious red hair shone with health and her skin was as white and rosy as ever. In a stupid way, she felt like her reflection was betraying her, that she was looking at someone else. Only the wild look in her eyes hinted that something was different.

  Feeling distinctly unreal, she went back over to the tray of food.

  She was in the process of stuffing down a buttered croissant when a voice suddenly spoke out:

  “Slow down, you’ll give yourself indigestion.”

  Hope screamed, which gave way to a violent coughing fit. When she had sufficiently recovered, she saw who it was who had spoken and her heart beat so hard and fast she feared she might drop dead of a heart-attack there and then.

  “But I killed you,” she gasped.

  “Didn’t do a very good job if it, did you? Hey, relax, I’m just kidding, I’m a ghost.”

  “No, no, no, this can’t be happening,” she said, rocking on the bed with her knees drawn up under her chin. “I’m seeing things, you’re like a flashback to the LSD trip, or something.”

  “Sorry darling, I’m real. Dead, but real. I said I’d always be with you, didn’t I? Well, I meant it. I’m here to guide you, to look after you.”

  She stared at him, sick with dread. It was most definitely Rohan, complete with a gungy-looking stab wound above his right nipple. He was still naked, save his boxers, and was much paler than he had been when alive.

  When alive? He’s dead, you idiot. This is just a throwback trip…

  “This isn’t real, you’re not real,” she repeated to herself, over and over.

  “Hope, please, stop. I am real, you are not tripping again. You aren’t experiencing depression or some LSD induced psychosis. I am a ghost.”

  Rohan, real or otherwise, didn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress indented with his weight. God, it really was like he was actually there…

  “What do you want from me?” she asked helplessly.

  “To help you. To warn you.”

  “Warn me? Warn me of what? I don’t think my situation could get any worse, do you? I’m going to die, and that’s all there is to it.”

  She spoke with more bravado than she felt. Rohan was obviously a figment of her imagination, of her subconscious. She figured she was being pretty stupid putting on a brave face for her subconscious.

  “Maybe, maybe not. The good thing about being a ghost is that I’m invisible, apart from to you of course. I can drop in on any conversation I please. I’ve heard stuff that could well save your life.”

  Hope wasn’t frightened any more, and regarded him with interest. This was a different kind of trip, not like those horrible black shadows, or like Rohan turning into a disgusting worm before her very eyes. He meant her no harm and he wanted to help, she could just tell. There was no malice in him whatsoever.

  No malice in me, I mean. Because he is just a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil…

  “Go on, then,” she said to appease him. Or herself, whichever way she chose to look at it.

  “Mick isn’t here with you right now because he’s busy putting together the final arrangements for the party. I suggest you use this time to rest and recuperate, you know, get your strength up.”

  “A party? What do you mean, a party?”

  “Mick has lost the plot, I mean he is seriously cuckoo.” He twiddled his forefinger around next to his forehead to demonstrate his point. “He thinks that if he kills enough people on a large enough scale, then Satan will appear before him and escort him to Hell so that they can rule the underworld together. But of course, that’s impossible. Lesser demons can cross the realm into our world, but not the Devil, that’s just silly.”

  “Yeah, silly,” she repeated. “And you didn’t tell me what kind of party you’re talking about.”

  “I’m serious, Hope, Mick is majorly fucked up. This party is going to be monstrous, all of London’s perverted elite are invited. You know, all the sickos that buy the girls and gals from The Factory, all the perverts with some serious money. Mick’s painted it as a fetish party to end all fetish parties, the type of bash were every perversio
n under the sun is catered to, like bestiality, scat, necrophilia, and extreme S and M. And worse,” he added darkly. “But what the guests don’t realise is that they too are on the menu.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mick thinks that if he sacrifices some of the sickest, most perverted, corrupt individuals on the planet along with the innocent, lost and the vulnerable, then his reward in Hell will be greater. Like I say, fucking crazy. All it will achieve is a few low-level demons haunting the house, and perhaps attaching themselves to a living person. If any survive, that is. But as for the Devil making an appearance, there’s no way. It’s like writing a fan-letter to some A-lister, expecting them to come round your house for dinner.”

  He fell silent and Hope pondered what he had just said.

  I probably overheard Mick say all of this when I was out of it. Perhaps when they were washing me, or putting me to bed, or anywhere really.

  “Rohan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry I killed you, and everything.”

  “Yeah, I know you are.”

  Of course he knows. Because he’s me.

  They regarded each other in silence for a moment. Rohan was the one to break it:

  “I have to go now, Hope. Just remember what I said. Rest, get strong. Mick will be busy at the party, there’s no way he’ll be able to watch you all the time. I’ll find a way to help you, I promise.”

  In the second that she rubbed her eyes, he was gone. Rest. Good advice, I guess. Picking up the half-eaten croissant, she chewed it slowly and methodically. When she was done eating everything on her tray, from the fresh fruit to the cold meats and cheese, she lay down and closed her eyes.

  Rest and be strong was her final thought before she drifted into an uneasy sleep filled with dreams of torture and demons.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Wakey, wakey, rise and shine, it’s party time. I trust you slept well?”

  The bedroom was suddenly plunged into light, hurting her eyes. When they had adjusted to the bright light from the chandelier above, she focussed groggily on Mick leaning over her. How long have I been out? was her first thought.

 

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