Sinister Scribblings - Volume 1 Read online

  Suddenly, a wet stain started to appear from the front of his grey boxer shorts, and started to drip down his leg.

  “Jonathan, you dirty pig. At least your friends had the dignity to hold themselves, well at least until I started working on them.” I smiled, and gave him a quick wink.

  Again, he pulled at the restraints and tried to move. I continued to explain that he wasn’t going anywhere, and that he was going to be spending the last moments of his life in absolute agony. The aroma of fear emanated from him, and began to fill the room.

  As with his two predecessors, I started with his legs, there’s less chance of them getting away if they cannot walk; it's a solid safety precaution.

  Max, my first victim, didn’t get away. He got a leg free and managed to frantically kick out at me, causing mild annoyance until I managed to smash his kneecap in with a lump hammer. For old Jonathan here, I tried something a little more inventive. I picked up the large G clamp from the table beside me, the type with the adjustable thread, which allows devices to be clamped between the jaws. I calmly hooked it over his kneecap and tightened until I heard a slight cracking noise, then looked him in the eye. “This may sting a little.”

  I grabbed the handle of the clamp and violently twisted it as far as it would go, in a single twisting motion. It gave off a satisfying crack.

  After one quick movement, the kneecap popped off and hung beneath the skin. He threw his head back, and his first scream was muffled from beneath the duct tape. It was ignored. One knee down, one to go. As I attached the clamp onto his second knee, he started to hyperventilate and closed his eyes in preparation.

  I gave him a minute, which must have hurt a little, judging by his attempts to struggle free and the tears running down his cheeks. I selected my hammer from the table of items, this was always one of the funnier parts. I walked over to him and knelt down on one knee, hammer in hand.

  I danced my fingers through the air. Eenie meenie miney … and on moe, I smashed the hammer down to his foot and two of his toes exploded, offering no more resistance to the hammer than if they were eggshells. Blood and flesh squirted out, and a little landed on my knee, along with a nail. Most of the time, you can get two in one shot, followed with a single shot for each big toe. Another six blows with the hammer and Jonathan had no toes left. Again, with the screaming, he was sweating all over and his eyes rolled back into his head. “Don’t you go passing out on me yet,” I warned.

  My next preference is the fingernails, at first I struggled as they kept snapping off, leaving parts behind. The trick is to have a good solid grip on the pliers and give them a sharp tug outwards, as well as upwards. I grabbed his hand and extended his index finger forcefully between my fingers and thumb, the filthy nail aiming towards me. "Do you never wash your hands, boy?” I gripped with the pliers and pulled. A slight spray of goo, and it was off in one clear motion. I repeated the action another four times, after which, he looked like he was getting weaker.

  I took a look at him. Pathetic, the big bully. I ripped the duct tape from his mouth. “Anything you want to say before you die, you little bastard?”

  “Please … please,” he began groaning. I couldn’t believe it; did he really think that I was going to let him go?

  “K ... K … Kill … me,” he finished. I smiled. Oh, don’t worry, you can bank on that.

  I swaggered back over to my table of tools with a smirk on my face. After a few seconds, torn between my remaining choices, I selected the corkscrew.

  With my first victim, Max, I had used a Stanley blade to cut across his torso and chest with large, ugly, ragged cuts, but unfortunately, it caused him to bleed out too quickly. The corkscrew, to the same effect, leaves a nasty wound, but less blood. I wanted these bastards to suffer as long as possible. I raised the corkscrew and Jonathan’s eyes went wide before I brought it down and struck it into his chest, just below his shoulder. He let out a deafening scream, loud enough to make his throat bleed. I yanked it back out, a satisfying popping sound as the coil retracted, dragging little clumps of flesh and skin with it. The ugly opening that was left gaped, spewing a thick, steady trickle of blood. I flicked the end of the corkscrew to clear the fleshy debris before smashing it into his stomach; each time the same result, his screams echoed around the room. By the time he was hit with the fifth blow, his screams had died down to a mere sobbing sound.

  I checked the time, I had ten minutes. "Is there anything that you would like to say at this point, Jonathan?" I looked down at him but he didn’t reply, he barely had any strength left in him, but there was still a shred of life. I selected the large butcher’s knife from the table, and with no word of warning I thrust it down, way into his thigh, embedding into the seat below. A howl of pain ensued. Blood squirted across my body and smiling face.

  I asked him, “Do you know, Jonathan, they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul? Have you ever heard that saying?” I held up the corkscrew so that the very tip caught the light and gave off a little reflection in the glare. He gave no response, his eyes looked straight at me, defeated, dying. With all the strength I could muster, I thrust the corkscrew point straight into his eye, as far as it would go, his head buckled back, and tried to jerk forward a few times. He coughed up a mouthful of blood and his head dropped back, hanging over the top of the chair. He was dead.

  At that moment, to my surprise, I felt the strangest thing. It was a feeling of guilt. I looked down at the boy and the spoilt mess of his young body. I held up the back of my hands, looking at his blood and gore slowly running down my forearms. The moment lasted only a few seconds. I turned my hands over to see the pink ragged scars running across both of my wrists, the everlasting reminder of the cruelty subjected by the actions of these boys.

  The feeling of guilt quickly turned to feelings of satisfaction.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I turned my back, he was going nowhere.

  I opened the door from the summer house, and walked down the corridor toward the kitchen. I stuck my head through the gap in the door, looking for signs of movement. Satisfied, I proceeded, nobody in sight until a few seconds later, when Mum walked in with an empty coffee cup and started to move toward the sink.

  She froze on the spot, a surprised look in her eye. “Hi, Mum.” I said.

  She stood rooted on the spot, offering no reply. As I started to run towards her, my arms thrown wide open ready for an embrace, she stumbled backwards three steps, doubling back, almost falling over her own feet. “Don't come near me!”

  I halted my approach. Surely, she knew that I meant her no harm? I stamped my heels down on the kitchen tiles attempting to halt, and skidded on the trail of blood that had been dripping from my arms and legs, then fell flat on my arse on the floor. I started to giggle.

  I gazed down at myself, covered in blood, gore, and parts of Jonathan. Mum shook her head and then started to laugh. “I just changed my dress,” she said, "looks like I will have to mop again, and it looks like you've had had twice as much fun with him than with the last two. Get your arse upstairs, girl, the bath is running. I’ll put the taxi back. You’ve got ten minutes."

  As I ran upstairs to the bathroom, I heard my Mum’s parting remark.

  “Kids."

  Apartment 6A

  Resident: Lisa Harper

  The apartment was silent, apart from the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen area, and the whirling sound emanating from the repetitive ceiling fans overhead. The display on the digital clock sitting on the bedside table turned to 7:04 a.m.

  Lisa slowly opened her eyes.

  The pain in her skull was intense and immediate, it quickly spread through the rest of her body as if being struck with a blunt object in several places at once – her first thought was that she had been hit by a car. As she lay on her bed, she hazily inspected the interior of the bedroom in her apartment – everything seemed to be in place.

  She noticed that she was still wearing the same set of clothes from the
previous morning. The memories of the office, a tiring day and several long hours weighed on her tired shoulders. Her simple white, button-down blouse was now adorned with a slight tear in one arm and an ominous looking red stain on her right breast. Her plain black skirt remained intact but as she looked down to inspect her shoes, the small heel to her right foot had been snapped off and her left foot seemed to be covered in dried vomit. She placed her hand on her throat and confirmed that her expensive gold chain was still in place.

  Lisa groaned. Not again, she thought to herself.

  For the past two and a half months, her excessive use of cocaine and alcohol had resulted in the exact situation that she found herself in now. So far, she considered that she had been fairly lucky not to have ended up in hospital having her stomach pumped ... or worse.

  Up until two and a half months ago, life had been good. Lisa was beautiful, but not in the contemporary sense of the word. She had the 'girl next door' appeal, according to her friends. Beauty that remained hidden until the intimate moments like a genuine smile or curling a stray lock behind her ear. Her long brown hair complimented her slim face and matched her brown eyes. She had high cheek bones and full pouting lips. To top it off, she had a figure that most women would kill for; a small, petite frame, with adequate breasts and long slim legs. Lisa was a successful career woman, a non-executive director for a company that offered bespoke software solutions to the medical industry. Her healthy income allowed her to purchase the luxury apartment where she lived, on the sixth floor of the much sought after Watch Tower complex, a little over two years ago.

  The complex boasted a whole range of modern facilities; a resident gym complete with swimming pool, podium gardens, a state of the art intercom facility for each apartment, filtered drinking water supply, a jogging track, and a nice little garden that was tended to by one of the other residents. The apartments varied in size from one bedrooms up to three, and there was even a luxurious penthouse.

  The residents that lived within the complex were quiet and private people. The price tags attached to the apartments within the complex usually attracted the single or young professional couples without families.

  Edward, the faithful old doorman, sat in his reception area and kept a permanent vigil. She suspected that he lived somewhere within the apartment complex, but had never asked. Most mornings, he would wave a pleasant greeting as she shuffled out of the main doors. She suspected that on more than one occasion in the recent months, Edward had aided her to her door, perhaps even to her bed. To all intents and purposes, it was the perfect place for a young successful woman like Lisa to live. She had been discussing this with her partner, Daniel. She remembered the discussion about him selling his own apartment on the other side of town and moving in with her.

  That was up until two and a half months ago.

  In Lisa’s eyes, Daniel was the perfect catch. He was a successful business man – handsome, athletic, and genuinely funny – with a full head of blond hair, a strong chiselled chin and deep blue eyes. His body was taut and strapping and well in proportion in the right places.

  Although she didn’t live for material possessions, his flash Mercedes and bulging wallet did him no harm. He was always generous with her and didn’t use his money to control the relationship. For her last birthday, her thirty-something, he had surprised her by having them collected in a stretch limousine to take them to the airport, where he had chartered a private plane to fly them out for a romantic break in Rome. The hotel that he chose was an absolute luxury. He joked that with such a lavish, romantic gesture he should at least be entitled to a blow-job. It was something that Lisa initially chuckled at, but happily obliged.

  They had an adequate and healthy sex life, Daniel was a kind and considerate lover. He wasn’t into any funny business, which is why it came as such a surprise when Lisa had sneaked into his apartment that afternoon – two and a half months ago – with food that she had purchased to cook him a birthday meal.

  Upon entering his flat, she slowly walked down the entrance corridor towards the kitchen area. As she passed the main bedroom to her left she heard a strange sound from inside – It sounded like a muffled grunting. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, as thoughts of what could have been happening in the bedroom raced through her mind. Slowly, she opened the door inwards – the sight that met her eyes made her freeze. She dropped the shopping to the floor and her stomach immediately ejected the sushi that she had eaten for lunch.

  In front of her on the bed was a scene of pure horror. Daniel lay face down on the bed, his arms and legs tucked into his body, his rear end facing upwards. A man was knelt behind him on the bed, violently thrusting a large black dildo into his anus whilst frantically masturbating. A small video camera stood on the bed side table with the red recording light illuminated. Upon both their faces, both men wore masks. Daniel was wearing Zippy, the stranger wearing George – both masks from the children's TV show, Rainbow.

  Daniel’s head turned towards Lisa and she took a look into those large blue welcoming eyes, the zip upon the mouth was open and the red tongue protruded from within giving the impression of a strange, macabre smile. Poking out from the bottom and sides of the mask was his ruffled blond hair. She glanced at the stranger, gazed at the pink George Hippo mask with its large soulless eyes and pink nostrils. For a split second, everything was frozen, nobody moved, nobody spoke.

  Then, Lisa flipped out.

  She quickly turned and ran out of the flat, not looking back once. She reached her car, fumbled to press the door release on the key fob, quickly starting the engine, and sped away.

  For the next few days, Lisa had stopped at her friend Cathy’s house. She couldn’t stand the thought of being on her own in her own apartment. She had told Cathy that she just needed some time away and her friend didn’t intrude. The thoughts of that surreal, sordid scene kept repeating over and over in her mind. The massive sex toy, those freaky masks, the video camera. Daniel had never shown any signs towards being that way inclined. In Lisa’s eyes, the whole shameful experience was too much for her to forgive.

  In her eyes he was a filthy, deranged pervert.

  Lisa had switched off her mobile phone so that she couldn’t be contacted. When she switched it back on a few days later, unsurprisingly, there were several messages from Daniel begging for her to get in touch and text messages saying it was a massive mistake, and that he desperately needed to talk to her. She deleted all of the messages without listening to, or reading them. Lisa’s mind had been made up; it was over. She contacted the phone company to have his number blocked.

  A few days later, after moving back into her apartment, Daniel had tried twice to gain entrance to see her, but Edward wouldn’t let him past the lobby. Lisa had given him clear instructions that should he show up, she would not see him under any circumstances and if necessary, to threaten him with police involvement.

  It was at this point where Lisa’s life really went off the rails.

  Most evenings, she would head to one of the trendy wine bars in town directly from her office after work. One glass of wine would turn into two or three bottles and her previous recreational cocaine use had returned with a vengeance. Most days, she found herself easily consuming one, perhaps two grams.

  Although she managed to drag herself into work most mornings, late and looking like hell, things were beginning to spiral out of control. She could barely think straight. Her substance abuse was clouding her judgement and ability to perform, and eventually it became apparent. Her managing director had called her into his office yesterday for a chat. He'd voiced his concerns about her performance and her health and suggested that she take some time off to get herself straightened out.

  Lisa had agreed to take two weeks of annual leave that was owed to her, she thanked her boss for his patience and understanding and left the office – heading straight into town. The chat had been insightful, a real eye opener for her, and it made her realise that it was time for things t
o change.

  Right after one last blow out.

  As she lay on her bed, she struggled to remember a single detail from the previous evening. Once again, the whole experience was a total blur. She assumed by the state of her clothes that it had been a messy one.

  A massive feeling of nausea suddenly washed over her body, rising up from the pit of her stomach. Lisa clambered to her feet, dizzy. She ran from the bedroom, nearly stumbling over her broken shoe. Staggering into the open plan living quarters in her apartment, she barely made it to the kitchen sink as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the bowl. Her eyes streaming, her throat burning and her hair matted in sick, she pulled down the stainless-steel lever that started the tap. Swilling away the bright yellow vomit and stomach lining, she remained hunched over in case of a second round. Taking a glass from the drainer, she filled it with cold water and took a generous gulp, the cold water soothing her throat. Suddenly, a noise from behind her made her jump in alarm – the sound of the shower running came from the bathroom.

  Lisa turned slowly from the sink, concentrating on the sound coming from the bathroom; the shower was definitely running, no mistake. Quickly turning, she scanned the area looking for something she could use as a weapon. Her mind filled with questions of dread. Who was in her apartment? Who the hell was in her shower?

  Locating the large marble knife block on the kitchen surface, she removed a knife that she usually used for cutting meat or bread, one with a large serrated blade and a solid moulded handle. Without being able to remember the details from last night, she feared the worst. Did she bump into a friend in town and ask them back to stay over? Had she met a man and invited him back to her apartment? The nauseous feeling returned to her stomach. If it was a man, had they slept together? Even in the state of mind that she must have been in last night, she was fairly sure that she would have remembered having sex – besides, she was still fully clothed when she woke up.