| The full moon illuminated the clearing and the
oddly shaped, rectangular house. The moon was bright and low on
the horizon. The cloudy sky caused the long shadows that appeared
to move and quiver, while the sighing wind made the cool evening bite
even more. The dark figure watching, seemed to be unaware of it's
surroundings. A medium brimmed hat, pulled low over the eyes and
a black ankle length oil skin obscured identity and gender.
Unobscured was the sense of menace. Cars drove up the winding lane, lights off, and parked around back, out of sight. The occupants of the vehicles did not appear to enter the house. There must be another entrance. One less obvious to prying eyes. Time passed. The moon was almost at its zenith when the figure finally moved. The acme of the orb is when the "serious" celebration would start. Tonight, the nature of the ceremonies would be different. Tonight, debts would be honored and debts would be paid. The dark figure glided toward the front door. A few steps up and the heavy wooden door was obvious. Though scuffed and battered in some spots, it appeared impenetrable. A long blade flashed and the combination of speed and leverage caused the frame to split, opening the door a few inches. The long blade, whose tempered steel exceed case hardened, made short work of securing chains. With the tip of the blade, the door was silently pushed open, and the figure strode into the house. The flickering glow and music indicated that a television was playing. The heavy door was gently closed. The noise of the TV had masked the sounds of the forced entry. Thee men were watching a porn movie on a large screen television. Their backs were the door and they were engrossed in the action on the screen. A heavy woman, with pendulous breasts was secured by her wrists and was being beaten. The three men seemed to think this was the funniest thing they'd ever seen and they were almost hysterical with laughter as she twisted and plead for mercy. The tallest of the three stood and threw an empty beer can in the direction of a tall trash can. It almost went in. He turned and walked towards the kitchen area. Half way there he turned and asked the other two if either of them needed a refill. Both did. Returning from the kitchen, carrying three beers, he came to an abrupt halt as he came face to face with the darkly clad form. He mouthed a semi-silent expletive, dropped the beer and drew a large automatic pistol. A casual underhand flick of the blade cleanly separated the gun hand from the gunman's body, at the wrist. He stared dumbly at the arterial blood spurting from the stump, totally fascinated by the sight of his life squirting into space. He never even saw the stroke that removed his head from his body. The body remained erect for a few moments, the blood washing the seven foot ceiling. It slowly crumpled, twitching an jerking like a broken windup toy. The other two men were engrossed in the porn movie, totally unaware of the life ending drama being played out behind them. A sword thrust through the back of the couch penetrated the heart of the second man. Before the third realized that his partner was dead, a crown stroke split his head in half. Cleaved open like a ripe cantaloupe, his brains spilled like some obscene fruit onto the couch. The three guards were dead. No alarm had been raised. The murderous figure walked to the door and gently pulled it open. A fetid odor washed upwards and a cacophony of sounds could be heard, a mixture of chanting, raised command voices, moans and screams. Dante's inferno must have smelled and sounded like this. Walking into the dim, reddish light of the cellar, the figure paused, allowing the eyes to adjust to the difference in lighting. The cellar area was larger than would have been expected from the outside. It was rectangular and divided into various "stations" containing devices out of a de Sade nightmare. There was a drowning tank, a heat table, two forms of "torture" chairs, a rack, a device designed to mechanically penetrate a victim in multiple ways, and of course, a place where a victim could be hung by the wrists and beaten, with the feet off of the floor. There were hooded, robed figures moving around, some were operating machines that seemed like contrivances from hell, the victims the machines contained, often in such pain their screams were soundless. Various sex acts were being performed by bound victims, which the hooded figures where watching with evident pleasure and sometimes participating in. Closer examination would reveal that the victims were children, none were older than 12. A young girl was dragged, weakly struggling, to a large table and her nude body secured, spread eagle. She whimpered and thrashed, trying to escape the caresses, pinches, and smacks that were rained upon her. Finally, too weak or too discouraged to resist, she went limp and failed to respond to anything they did. The hooded ones stepped back and waited. Another figure, possibly the leader of this gathering, stripped to the waist, but wearing a hood appeared. He held aloft a white hot glowing metal rod. His painted body glistened with sweat, and his position clearly indicated what he intended to do. All eyes were fixed on the naked child, spread out before them. They stared at the dark triangle between her legs, waiting with trembling anticipation for what they knew was going to happen.. Her eyes were wide and staring, her budding breasts heaving, trying to gather the strength to break the steel bonds that held her. The muscles in her painfully thin arms corded and blood began to ooze from her wrists as the metal shackles tore her flesh from the force she was applying. As she felt the heat of the white poker approaching her body, she finally gave into terror and screamed as if she was about to be split into, which she was, but not so simply. They'd made her watch them do it to others. She knew what was going to happen and she knew how many hours she would scream and beg for death before it finally claimed her. She thrashed and screamed is sheer terror and despair. Another scream echoed her scream, deeper and more immediate. The white hot poker clattered to the floor, and the half naked man who was holding it, threw his head back and screamed again. The crowd stepped back and milled around in confusion. He screamed again and clawed at his throat and tried to reach behind himself, but the dark figure behind him prevented that from happening. There was total confusion and then the realization came that this figure was not wearing the sacred ceremonial robes and was not wearing a hood. It was wearing a brimmed hat and an oilskin coat. It shook the half naked man, eliciting more screams and then withdrew a long bloody sword from his anus. Stepping back, the horribly wounded leader was kicked, cringing and mewling, to the cement floor. The blade began to spin in a figure eight pattern and the figure stepped towards the robed figures. The ones in front could not step back quickly enough because of the people behind them. It was as if they'd walked into a blender. Body parts and blood splattered in all directions. The screams and fear of the celebrants now exceed that of the victims they'd been tormenting. Too late, the ones in the rear realized that the figure was between them and the underground exit. They made a break for the stair way. They could get out that way. The figure seemed unconcerned. The figure sheathed the sword and picked up the still glowing poker. The leader, the one who had been bearing the poker was still alive, still conscious. Kneeling the figure rolled him onto his stomach, exposing the gaping wound left by the entry of the sword blade into his anus. Carefully, he inserted the red hot poker into that wound and pushed until the smoking end protruded through the exit wound in the hollow of his throat. The man twisted, rolled and futilely plucked at the offending object of pain. There was nothing he could do except try to roll this way and that way to escape the searing burning within his intestines. He began to beg for death. He plead for death. The figure kneeled, pushed the hat back, and staring into his eyes, spat into the face of the whimpering leader. Readjusting the hat, walking to the stairs took only moments, where pounding on the firmly secured exit door could be heard. Sword first, the figure slowly ascended the steps. There were slapping sounds of tempered steel striking flesh, grunts and then silence. Only the victims of this night, and the oilskin clad figure, remained alive in the cellar. Except for the initial screams, death had been silent. "Is it done," a feminine voice asked? An older woman came down the steps and looked at the bound children. "Oh, god!" she gasped. Turning to the figure she said, "You get out of here. I'll do what needs to be done." The figure nodded and vanished up the steps and into the night. |