Monster: The Story Of A Maniac

by Peter Cry

  Opening the folders one by one, Alfred tried to see in the faces of underaged captured by the camera those whom the FBI had been looking for during the last two years. The videos were monotonous and frighteningly calm. Most of the children, boys and girls, who had sex with older men and sometimes women, did not resist. Where there were protests, they were limited to quiet whimpers.

  Alfred watched with horror as the rapists in the video started to play with the children. Sometimes they used children's toys or played hide and seek. The children initially seemed to be enjoying themselves and did what they were supposed to do. They fooled around and laughed. After some time, the games involved physical contact. A fat man, either an uncle, father, friend of the family, or teacher, enjoying giving a horseback ride, or mock wrestling with boys of six to eight years old. With the girls, it initially involved playing with dolls, which almost always ended with a doctor conducting a detailed physical examination. The age of the girls was from eight to ten. There were a lot less videos with girls – they were in only about 20% of the files.

  After having quickly skimmed through dozens of files, Alfred noted several patterns for himself. The group of young victims was always the same, and the perpetrators, the male rapists and the two women accompanying them, were also always the same. The interiors, including white-gray-beige faceless walls, double beds or mattresses lying on the floor, as well as the light from the lamps on the ceiling, were such that no forensic specialist could detect clues as to the location of filming. Not all the videos were made in the USA. In two or three, a few words were spoken in other languages. Probably Russian and an Asian one. In most of the videos, the children were on their own and naked. Perhaps these clips were meant to be teasers.

  Alfred spent many hours watching dozens of short and long videos. Disgusting adults and children who stupidly smiled, misunderstanding the monstrosity of what was happening. It made him sick. After some time, his head began to spin either from hunger, or from anger. He felt terrible but forced himself to continue. Several times it seemed to him that the children he was seeing were familiar. Hardly surprising, because during the past couple of weeks he had looked through hundreds of photographs of missing children.

  Sliding across the table, Alfred's phone vibrated. The working day was coming to an end, and the sky outside the window was gradually turning dark. He checked the latest message.

  “I went home. I’ll pick up my stuff and come right over. Miss you already. P. S. Don’t stay in the office late.”

  Even these sweet words from Rita were not able to bring Alfred back to normal. Turning away from the monitor for a moment and looking around, he noticed that he was completely alone in the large room. Gritting his teeth, he became angry that he had spent his entire day on such an abomination and at the same time had not made any headway.

  “Fuck! Come on!” he scolded himself out loud, opening the next folder with numbers in the name.

  It did not differ much from the rest. The same huge fat hog who had already appeared in many other videos and who, judging by the number of children abused by him, could be considered a champion among pedophiles, rubbed his dick against the back of a six-year-old boy lying on his right side. Moaning, he satisfied himself, ejaculating on the smooth back of the child.

  “Enough!” Alfred shouted. “When will you bastard finally have had your fill!”

  Turning off the video, Alfred moved away from the screen to catch his breath and calm his breathing. After a while, feeling increasing discomfort from a pain that had been growing in his lower abdomen, he decided to try something else. Pulling himself together and focusing, he typed the name “Jason” in the search.

  In an instant, the operating system found among 374 folders, one with that name. Alfred was shaking. Having wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, he reached for the touchpad with his almost numb hand and, pressing the key, opened it. The icons, under which several dozen videos files and more than five hundred photos were hidden, did not have thumbnails, so it was not apparent at first what they contained. Impatiently, Alfred clicked on one of the videos.

  A young man with a beautiful smooth body, whose face was hidden, walked through a dark room. The floor and walls were covered with thick black cellophane. Tripods with cameras were placed in opposite corners, and there several bright professional movie lights, which made the quality of the picture virtually excellent. The video was edited and included footage from four camera angles. Some pleasant music played in the background, the sort that often played during television breaks.

  Another man entered the cramped room. He was dressed in jeans and a blue-green plaid shirt. He also had shoe covers on his feet. The man was a little overweight and not tall. He held a rolled-up gray-beige mattress under his left hand, and one more camera in his right. Throwing the mattress on the floor, he said something to the naked man, and he answered. Their dialogue was not audible.

  The man with a camera in his hands left briefly and thirty seconds later brought a naked bald girl of 11-12 years old into the room.

  “Oh my God!”, Alfred exclaimed, horrified. And the burning sensation below his waist was becoming unbearable.

  The beautiful girl with huge blue eyes looked calm. After the naked man laid out the mattress on the floor, he approached the girl with an erect penis. Grabbing her under the armpits, he calmly threw the child on the mattress. His associate fussed around the girl with his camera, trying to choose the best angle for the picture. The naked man, having thrown the girl’s legs onto his shoulders, climbed on her and began to rape her with strong and deep thrusts.

  Alfred slipped into a semi-delusional state. Dizzy and nauseous, he was becoming disoriented and worried. Looking at the stunning face of the girl, who behaved very calmly, sometimes even asking the rapist not to stop, Alfred felt he knew her from somewhere. But he could just not recall in which cases, reports, or television news he had seen her face.

  The pedophile plunged harder and deeper into the girl, treating her like a lifeless doll. His associate moved around the mattress, focusing the camera on the face of the suffering child and on her vulva. The rapist said something to him, and he left. The camera angle changed. It became wider, showing everything that was happening in the cramped room.

  Alfred stopped the creepy video. He rewound it for a few seconds and, finding the right place, stopped it. To the left on the wall, just off the floor, a piece of the omni-present black cellophane had come off the wall. Alfred recognized the pattern of the wallpaper, probably in his childhood he had had the same, or maybe someone he knew in the past had it.

  Another spasm of pain below his waist hit him. Groaning, he looked down. “What the fuck!” he whispered helplessly, looking at his painfully swollen erect penis, squeezed under his pants. It had, apparently, been in that state for some time and had become painful.

  Perturbed, Alfred for some reason looked around again to make sure no one was there. Grabbing the laptop, he closed it, and placed it into the lower drawer of the table. He took out a bunch of keys from his pocket and locked the drawer.

  Chapter 25

  Swaying around the potholes, Nathan Zimmerman drove through the green trees to the house located by the endless corn field.

  Stopping a dozen feet from the porch, he noticed that Howard was already standing at the open door wearing a striped bathrobe and slippers. Nathan stepped out of his Japanese SUV and closed the door.

  “Hi,” he said, walking up the stairs.

  Howard was not pleased. Without shaking the guest’s hand, he went inside.

  “You know, it would be better for everyone if you weren’t seen around here. Better somewhere closer to your place.”

  “Hey,” Nathan spread out his hands, “Jason is gone, you can’t leave your cattle... as you call them. Where else can we meet, if not here?”

  “Would you like some beer?” Howard asked, heading into the kitchen.

  “Sure”.

  Nathan walked into the living room and
sat on a soft old sofa, covered with transparent film.

  “Do not touch anything there!” the new owner of the house shouted from somewhere. “Come here.”

  Jumping up with a smile, the guest hurried to a small table covered with a cloth, which was standing in front of the working TV in the kitchen. Sitting at the place where Jason liked to sit, the guest grabbed a bottle of cold beer and took a few sips. Howard pushed an envelope toward him. Nathan glanced inside it. Seeing the contents, his face twisted with displeasure.

  “Honestly, I’m fed up with you, Howard. I want my money!”

  “I don’t have access to Jason’s accounts, and all the cash goes for the house and the cattle. So, take what I give you and don’t fuck with me.”

  “You’ve had the children for two years!” Nathan waved his finger at Howard. “Who cares what you have access to? Do something. I repeat, I want my money. When I worked with Jason, everything was clean and clear. But you’ve suddenly decided you can do without him, and everything’s gone down the drain.”

  Howard was enraged. He jumped up looking at the visitor with hatred.

  “Watch your mouth, Nathan, I have taken a lot of lives in this house, and yours could be the next.”

  Nathan sought to reassure the angry bull, noticing how he furtively glanced at a knife lying on the tabletop by the washstand.

  “Easy, buddy! I just want to help you, myself, all of us. Calm down, please, and sit down.”

  Howard sat down.

  “I don't like the fact that Jason is missing. I have almost no money left. I don’t know what I will eat in a week, not to mention the cattle.”

  “And what if I tell you, I can help?” Nathan asked.

  “How?”

  “You can finally take everything into your own hands, create and sell content by yourself, without any help.”

  “Quit the bullshit,” Howard grumbled discontentedly. “Tell me straight.”

  “After Jason disappeared, the children became a burden for you. They need to be fed and treated, and you don’t have enough money for that. I could help you get back into the business again by getting enough money for both of us, which would permit you to feel assured for many years.”

  “How?”

  Nathan smiled.

  “I have contacts of most of Jason’s clients, and having talked to some of them, I can tell you that they are still interested in the delivery of the product even after two years.”

  “Why do they need them?” Howard asked in disbelief. “After two years, they’ve grown up... They are no longer interesting for the old purposes.”

  “Well, let me explain,” the guest continued. “Their value in the organ trade is only growing as they get older. Let's just say that there are people willing to pay us good money if you do it right and send them the parts of the children in ice boxes.”

  “I don't know,” Howard thought.

  “Oh, come on, buddy. Just don’t say that you are attached to them.”

  “My relationship with them is by no means platonic.”

  Nathan spread his hands.

  “If they die of hunger or illness, you’ll hardly be able use them for personal pleasure,” the guest smiled cruelly. “Though with you, who knows.”

  “When can I get the money?” Howard asked, drinking his beer.

  Nathan thought for a moment.

  “On Saturday, I'll be back in Chicago. You can get your money next Friday if you ship everything on Thursday.”

  “Are those people reliable?”

  “They are solid as stone.”

  “Look at me,” Howard said menacingly. “If you fuck with me, it will be you I’ll send in parts to your customers.”

  “Deal!” Nathan raised his bottle.

  Taking the envelope with his money and putting it in the pocket of his short leather jacket, he got up from the table.

  “No calls, as usual. I'll send you all the details and coordinates tomorrow. You have ice and refrigerators. My man will be here on Thursday afternoon, he will deliver the goods.”

  Howard nodded and followed his unpleasant guest to the door.

  “Tell him to bring as many foam containers as he can because I don’t have any more.”

  “He will bring them,” Nathan said, glad to be leaving.

  After watching the SUV drive off, Howard headed for his favorite place.

  The emaciated children lay on the mattresses. They heard the familiar sound of the unlocking door. The sinister creak of the wooden staircase told them that Howard was approaching. He took his time. The children, whose skin had by now turned a gray-white pale color, did not have the strength to hide in the corner and scream in horror as before. They just got up and crouched on the old stained mattresses covered with ticks. Each of them silently prayed that the bearded uncle in his terry robe, constantly tugging at the screwdriver in his pocket, would not come for their souls.

  Howard walked over to the chained children. He did not look into their eyes, examining the walls in the basement near them.

  “Well, in short, your time here is about to end,” he said wearily and somewhat sadly. “On Thursday evening, your family and friends will pick you up.”

  The children timidly looked at each other.

  “Are you lying again?” Emmy whispered softly with a little hope.

  “No,” Howard took his hands out of his fluffy pockets and crouched. “This time everything is serious. Your parents will come and pick you up, one by one. So, on Wednesday morning, be sure to wash yourselves well, put yourself in order and be nice.”

  “Are you going to kill us?” Michael asked.

  Howard smiled. “How many times during the last two years have you been asking me that question? We had fun and pleasure together and been through so much, and you’re still here. So, believe me, no one is going to kill you now.”

  “And what about the girl behind the metal door, will her mother come for her too?” Emmy worried.

  “Hm... Indeed.” Howard turned his head and stared at the door. “I don’t even know.” He thought a little and continued. “Yes, I’m sure she will come for her. Both her mom and her dad will come for her, as for you.”

  “Really?” Andrew asked.

  “Of course.” Howard stood up, not taking his loving eyes from the child, and played with the screwdriver in his pocket. “They will take you first and drive you home, and then, after the break, they will take the rest.”

  “Thank you very much for deciding to let us go,” the exhausted boy cried.

  Following him, Emmy began to whimper.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t,” Howard reassured them. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

  “Can we have some food? Even just bread?” the usually quiet Elijah came to life.

  “I'll bring you something to eat, but not much. It’s important though that you are completely clean when you meet your parents – both inside and outside. And at home you’ll get sweets and everything you want.”

  Howard looked affectionately at the children, sighed, and moved to another of his beloved spots in the house.

  In the small room, under the black cellophane, there was a door in the floor leading to a second basement, or rather to a small room prepared for very specific purposes.

  Howard tore off the dusty cellophane. Dumping it in a corner, he hooked a wooden hatch with his screwdriver and raised it. He looked at the concrete steps leading somewhere into the darkness. Slowly he descended and in darkness groped for a switch. Pressing it, he turned on the light.

  “Fuck!” Howard covered his eyes with his hand.

  Painfully, he looked around a place he had not been in for so long but which he loved so much. In the center of the room, surrounded by gray blank walls, stood an oblong metal table with thin legs. It had small indentations and notches designed to drain blood into a reservoir below it. By the wall, to the left of the table, there was another desk on which lay dusty, long abandoned medical instruments, scalpels, clamps, saws... N
ext to that desk was a tall white refrigerator, which, despite the time that had passed, was still working.

  Howard went up to the fridge and opened the door. A small bulb lit up the shelves of the refrigerator with an orange-gold light, exposing their contents.

  “Propofol,” Howard read on one of many ampoules.

  Taking another one, he shook it and held it to the light.

  “Sibazon,” he said to himself.

  After closing the fridge, he went around the metal table and approached the bookcase located at the opposite wall. Its shelves were filled with thick heavy books.

  “So... anatomy, and transplantology” he chuckled, pulling out one of the books.

  He sat on the operating table and began leafing through it. He had been waiting for this moment for two years. At first, he had been afraid of Jason, then of blackmail by people involved in the kidnapping and the murder of the bus driver. All that time he had lazily wandered around the creaking house and spent hours in the field among tall stalks of corn. Sex had not been a prerogative. It had amounted to routine, mechanical, masturbation. The wounds of the children had scarred, and, when he penetrated them, the physical contact was reduced to a set of monotonous movements. After two years of persistent prayers to his sick God, his long-awaited day had arrived when he could again combine business with pleasure.

  Flicking through the pages of the textbook, Howard smiled happily. He was restoring to his memory what he needed to know for Thursday.

  Chapter 26

  Gathering all his strength, Alfred was relying on his key skill of keeping the emotions which tormented him hidden inside. He continued to hold out and did not show Rita and his colleagues that he was on the edge of madness and darkness.

  Even being close to a person whom he adored, he could not evade the thoughts that were tearing him apart. Within his sick head, they were like hungry wild hounds, devouring his hypersensitive, nervous, soul, without explaining why and where they came from. What made it worse was that these hounds seemed to know where he was vulnerable and most susceptible to pain.