When Two Worlds Collide

by Jerome Sitko

“Here you go, Mr. Stratt. Try not to poke your eyes out. I’m going to do that later,” Delphine mocks as she brushes his hand across his eyes denying him the satisfaction of acknowledging his authoritative statement or answering his question.

  Charlie feverishly blinks as the goop begins separating and he can finally see. He begins soaking in his environment, making a calculated assessment of his surroundings. It’s not good.

  He is in a wooden room lit by torches placed in sconces approximately every four feet apart or so. There’s a blood-stained torture rack with crimson-colored ropes stationed in front of him. It is currently empty. There’s a Judas cradle in the left corner of the room with an unconscious nude female victim with her hands and feet bound by ropes hovering above a sharp wooden pyramid. Later she will be slowly lowered in a modified sitting position onto the device, ripping as her bodyweight works against her. There is an iron chair in front of Charlie with a miserable occupant currently strapped to it. The man is sitting on hundreds of iron spikes of different lengths piercing his back, arms, legs, and feet. He either passed out from the pain or is already dead. He would have to be or he would surely be screaming. There is also a sawing area to Charlie’s right. He can see the ropes and leather straps secured to the ceiling meant to hold its victim upside down, legs spread. Leaning against the wall is a three-foot–two-man, rough-cut saw, and a bucket to catch the blood sitting next to it. There are two pillories against the other wall securing two very vocal male victims, pleading with Delphine to have mercy.

  She walks over to the wooden bucket and starts swirling her hand around, searching for the perfect body part. She pulls a rotting severed hand out of the liquid and folds the fingers down to make a fist as she slowly walks over to the closest screamer.

  “Open your goddamn mouth. I’m going to give you something to shut you up,” she says calmly, but her eyes flicker with excitement. She shoves the rotting hand into his mouth so hard he has a new exaggerated Joker smile slowly spreading across his cheeks. Delphine has to exert extra energy to get the extremity all the way down her victim’s throat. He can’t scream anymore. The victim can only moan and gurgle as he battles for air. The hand was severed about six-inches above the wrist and the poor soul has it all the way down his throat.

  It reminds Charlie of a bass he once saw as a child with another large fish sticking out of its mouth, nothing visible but the tail, both of them floating on the topwater. One dead from being eaten and the other from your eyes are bigger than your stomach syndrome.

  She wipes her own hands on her apron that’s tied snugly around her waist.

  “Not hearing much out of you now. But don’t worry, I heard you before,” she says to the other man, her pupils the size of buttons transitioning from excited to incensed, sweat breaking on her brow, pasting her black bangs to her forehead. She picks up her custom handmade tool. It resembles a macabre speculum. The duck bill spreaders have small rows of gaffs on the end to grab and hold the flesh inside the mouth. In between the spreaders is a circular appendage with gaffs on the inside to catch and hold the tongue. She calls this torture device her ‘quack, quack.’

  Staring the man down, she pushes on his chin like it’s a Pez dispenser and with a giggle whispers, “Open wide for your treat.”

  The man begins to violently thrash in his bondages, but it’s to no avail. His teeth shatter as she forcefully shoves the quack, quack into his mouth, capturing the tongue on the first try. She slowly begins turning the ornate iron handle on the end of the sadistic tool; her victim’s mouth is forced open until his jaw breaks and unhinges, his tongue grotesquely twisted and bleeding seemingly levitating within the wrecked orifice. The poor man can do nothing but grunt and moan, tears streaming down his face, his eyes bulging.

  Charlie is a sadistic murderer, but even this is too grisly for him.

  She slowly turns toward Charlie and says, “Mr. Stratt, consider yourself lucky. What I am going to do to you will hurt, but it will end.”

  Her smile turns into a frown to show her disappointment that Charlie will not spend eternity with her. “Erebus wants you to finish what you started, but you must be punished for your past failure. If you don’t, or can’t, this will be your future.”

  She sweeps her hand in front of her so Charlie can take in her torture room. “These poor souls are with me forever because they failed just like you. I play with them and they die, and I resurrect them and start over. It never ends.” She sighs. “The lesson today is DO NOT fail or this is your fate.”

  Charlie knows she is serious, and Erebus will not give him another chance. They must believe he is the only one capable of capturing Lance and Jeremy and using their blood to merge the two worlds. If not, he would join these tortured souls forever. He is now more determined than ever to leave Delphine’s house and finish his plan to use Ryan to bait the boys back to Sheol.

  Charlie stands on his weak, shaky legs, determined to leave. “What happened to my arm?”

  “Oh dear, Mr. Stratt, you can’t leave until we have dinner, but first let me give you a tour of my home,” Delphine says as she grabs Charlie’s other hand so she can lead him around, still holding his severed appendage.

  “This is obviously my naughty room. Anything else you want to see in here?”

  “No.”

  She leads him to the back of the room and through a double door. It’s dark and Charlie can smell feces, mold, and rot. The smell is overwhelming to Charlie and that says something. It doesn’t seem to faze Delphine at all.

  Instead of a room, it’s a long hallway of rusty, iron holding cells that remind him of an old prison set too close to the sea. The cells are vacant of everything except chained miserable bodies. No bed, blanket, chair, or even a bucket to go to the bathroom; they piss and shit in a narrow gutter that runs the length of the cell and empties somewhere outside. This is also where they have to get their water if they’re thirsty. They wait for the once a day flush and when all the piss and shit clears, they scoop their drinking water with their hands and drink. The prisoners are wearing heavy iron collars with spikes on the inside diameter that assure compliance with a hearty tug or two.

  As they walk past the cells, Charlie notices that almost all of the prisoners are missing limbs—arms, legs, or both—and he can’t help glancing at his own shoulder. He will learn all too soon that Delphine loves the taste of flesh.

  “This is where my permanent residents stay. I think it’s quite cozy, wouldn’t you agree?” she asks, nodding her head, Charlie nods, mimicking her without thinking about it.

  They reach the end of the hall and go down two majestic flights of stairs to the ground floor of the mansion. It’s opulent with a stupendous crystal chandelier and plush furnishings placed perfectly within the grand room. In contrast to the top floor, this floor is clean, bright, and beautiful.

  Next, they arrive in a very large kitchen that would rival any commercial kitchen and the elephant in the room is not an elephant at all. It’s a very plump woman wearing a long coarse black-and-white dress and simple black boots. An apron sloppily hangs around her waist and the same iron collar Charlie saw on the other prisoners hangs around her neck. Her chain is long enough to reach any part of the kitchen and its secured to a heavy metal ring on the floor.

  “Miss Rebecca, how long before the gumbo is ready?”

  “Simmerin’ now, Miss Del. It will be ready by the dinner bell.”

  Delphine tosses Charlie’s arm onto one of the prep tables and says, “I’m in the mood for shrimp cocktail too.”

  Rebecca has made this before and understands what Delphine wants. “Fifteen minutes ma’am and I’ll bring it to you.”

  “You are the best. Make sure the roux is nice and dark now.”

  “Of course ma’am, jus’ the way you likin it.”

  Delphine leads Charlie through the kitchen to the dining room. Before Charlie passes through the door t
hat the servants will be using later tonight, he turns to take one last look at the cook. He immediately wishes he did not. Rebecca, wielding a large butcher knife slams it down and severs Charlie’s fingers. He swears he felt the blade decapitate his fingers from the rest of his hand.

  When they arrive in the dining room, Charlie is surprised that they are not alone. Sitting at the far end of a decorated dining table is another man. He looks small in contrast to the table. The table is large enough to seat forty or fifty guests. As they walk closer, Charlie can see that the man is about double Charlie’s size; he’s a very large man. A large man also missing one of his arms.

  “Mr. Garrington, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Stratt,” Delphine says as she waves for Charlie to sit opposite of Mr. Garrington so they can stare at each other. Delphine takes the seat of honor at the head of the table.

  What the hell is going on in this sick bitch’s head? Charlie thinks.

  As soon as Delphine’s modest rear end touches the cushion, a server quickly snatches a silver tray from a table stationed next to her and rushes to Delphine.

  The room is so large that Charlie did not even notice all the servants, posted at the ready, when he entered.

  Delphine whispers something into the servant’s ear and the woman hurries off into the kitchen and reappears with a very large shrimp cocktail and places it in front of Miss Del.

  “Gentlemen, this is one of my favorite appetizers. Mr. Garrington, thank Mr. Stratt for his contribution.” She gestures.

  Charlie is in disbelief. He thought he saw, what he saw, in the kitchen, but didn’t want to believe it. Charlie’s mind is scrambled as he tries to make sense of what is happening.

  Is this bitch a cannibal? There’s no fucking way I’m going to eat human flesh, especially mine.

  “No, no, no fucking way! No fucking way!” Charlie yells as he begins to rise out of his chair.

  “Sit, Mr. Stratt. The only way you can leave this house is after you’ve finished your dinner…every bite, or, you can join Mr. Garrington and stay for good. In fact, I’ll even entertain making you two roommates.” She beams.

  “What do you want? You want me to eat my own fingers?” Charlie asks, staring at the glass full of thick red sauce and four fingers and one thumb clinging to the rim.

  “Yes, of course, but I always get the thumb, it has the most meat,” she says, plucking the thumb and licking the cocktail sauce off of it. “Don’t worry, Miss Rebecca removes the nails and bones.” And with that, she bites the thumb in two, chewing, smiling.

  Charlie cringes and Mr. Garrington stares emotionless. Mr. Garrington has obviously lost his mind years ago from the mental and physical torture under Delphine’s care.

  Charlie is frantically looking around the room for support, first to the man across from him sitting stoically silent, and then the servants. He will get none from any of them. They do not look like they are registering what is happening, their blank stares match their emotion: empty.

  “Dig in… Now.”

  Mr. Garrington quickly grabs Charlie’s ring finger and pops the whole thing in his mouth chewing like a cow, teeth grinding and pulverizing the finger into small manageable bites. Charlie’s head is about to explode. His mind is frantic and confused. He sits frozen. After an internal tug-of-war, he decides that if he does not play along, he will never get out. He makes a mental note that once he finishes his mission he will return and feed Delphine her own limbs while he, and all of her victims, watch.

  He grabs a finger, grimaces, swallows it whole, and gags.

  “Good. Now don’t ruin your appetite. We have a special gumbo. Mr. Stratt, thank Mr. Garrington for his contribution of this blessed meal we are about to receive.”

  Nothing.

  “Well,…He’s waiting.”

  Charlie looks into the man’s vacant eyes.

  “Thank you, Mr. Garrington.”

  “Excellent, bring out the gumbo.”

  All of the servants leap into action. Two of them scurry into the kitchen and another hurries to the table to ready the bowls.

  Rebecca appears at the doorway, smiling from ear-to-ear, holding a steaming pot of gumbo as she hands it off to a servant. The other servant follows with accoutrements and drinks. Delphine claps approval and greedily rubs her hands together.

  Looking at Mr. Garrington, she says, “I hope you taste as good as you look. Your meat should be soft and melt in our mouths. Thank you.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Rebecca does not leave the doorway until after Delphine takes her first bite and nods her approval. Satisfied she’s safe, she disappears back into the kitchen.

  Charlie’s first bite is another finger.

  At least it’s not mine, he thinks as he shovels spoon after spoon into his mouth trying not to taste.

  He finishes his bowl and is about to ask Delphine to release him when Rebecca appears at the door.

  “Miss Del, are you ready for the main dish?”

  “Yes, of course, please bring it out.”

  Both men look at each other quizzically and Charlie suddenly gets sick to his stomach. He was mentally able to will himself to swallow his own finger and eat the man across from him, but he doesn’t think he can take anymore.

  A servant carts out a large silver platter with a cloche disguising the surprise underneath. The servant stops at Delphine and with a curtsy, removes the lid. Delphine giggles with excitement looking from Charlie to the man for approval. She gets none.

  “Yes, yes, hurry, it looks delicious. Gentlemen, I get the tongue. You can each have an eyeball and then you must try some cheek,” she says, pounding her fists on the table.

  Staring up from the ornamental platter is a steaming, roasted female head complete with cloudy sunken eyeballs.

  Delphine grabs an ear and it falls off. She yells, “Miss Rebecca, you’ve outdone yourself this time. The meat is so tender it just falls off.”

  Rebecca re-appears at the doorway proudly shaking her head in affirmation and curtsying back into the kitchen.

  Delphine insists all three of them feast until there was nothing left but bone, teeth, and the green garnish surrounding the skull. Fat and happy, Delphine offers her guests dessert. They both politely decline. She gestures to the servants and they rush over to help Mr. Garrington out of his chair. As they pass her, she raises her hand and all three of them freeze. She yells for Rebecca who immediately appears in the doorway.

  “Miss Rebecca, tomorrow night I would like to have rump roast for dinner,” she says as she slaps Mr. Garrington’s ass.

  Rebecca replies, “Of cours’ Miss Del, but not overcooked, jus’ the way you like it.”

  Charlie steals a glance at Mr. Garrington’s face and even though he has showed no outward emotion before, this time Charlie does see a micro-expression of fear, and thinks, I knew it, I knew he could comprehend what the hell was going on, poor bastard. Waiting around to be slowly eaten alive.

  Delphine must now honor Erebus’s command and release Charlie. She’s mildly sad, she was having so much fun with him. She gestures toward the front door.

  “Does this mean I’m done, Delphine?”

  “Have you learned your lesson? Would you be willing to volunteer and stay a bit longer?”

  “Am I free? That’s all I want to know.” His eyes are burning into her.

  “Yes, Erebus has released you. You are free to go. I hope you enjoyed your brief stay and Mr. Stratt, you are welcome back anytime.” Delphine shoots a wicked southern smile at Charlie as he rises from his chair.

  “Show me the door, please.”

  “Of course.” She stands and leads Charlie back through the grand room to the front door. Charlie opens the heavy door and does not feel the invisible restraints that were so prominent just seconds before, and he knows he’s free. But just to be sure, he steps outsid
e of the threshold and onto the marble steps leading to the street.

  Turning back to face his hostess, he boldly says, “Oh, Delphine, trust me when I say this. When this is over, I’m going to return and you will be the main course.” Satisfied, he begins to walk away.

  “Mr. Stratt, I already know this, but like you, it will not be for eternity,” she quips.

  Bull-Fucking-Shit, it won’t, he screams in his head.

  Once this is over, or maybe sooner, Charlie is going to make sure she suffers and suffers forever. He is already playing out the conversation in his head between Erebus and him. He is going to insist that the reward he wants for merging Adamah and Sheol is her—Delphine. And he knows that if he can succeed, Erebus will be happy to give her to him.

  S

  Lance glances at the General Electric clock-radio renting space on a cardboard box next to his bed, and it reads 11:08 p.m. in red digits. He grabs his black Jansport backpack full of supplies and equipment that he thinks they may need for the journey and quietly slips out of his bedroom and finally the trailer. He doesn’t want to wake his mom and he knows Joey will do something dumb like knock on the front door, setting off their alarm system: Bear. Once outside, he takes a big breath and inhales the refreshing summer air. Lance loves the smell of Boise. It has a distinct, clean, mountain smell mixed with a little bit of city fumes. The trailer park is dimly lit by street lamps and all of the streets are quiet with the exception of a few passing cars. He knows that Joey is probably at the cabana watching the minute hand on his flamboyant Swatch watch waiting for it to strike the six, indicating 11:30 p.m., before he heads to Lance’s house.

  “Bear, damn it! How did you get out?” Lance asks, watching his dog rumble toward him, ears flopping, tongue hanging out, and a smile on his face.

  Bear catches up to Lance and keeps going. He knows that in this direction the next stop is at the boy’s fort.

  Oh well, I guess I’ll bring him. I hope he behaves and doesn’t get hurt, Lance thinks, glad, deep down, that Bear will be joining them. Wait, how did he get out? I know I closed the door.