We waited for the young mother in the photo booth to get her dollar's worth, and when she and her baby came out we deposited our quarters and scrambled inside to make our funny-face poses together. Two minutes later we exited to see our strip of pictures waiting for us in the slot. I grabbed for them and took a look. In the first picture, with our eyes crossed and tongues sticking out, we looked like a pair of fools bonded in friendship. The next two weren't silly at all, and the last of the four was downright naughty. I leered for a second or two, then handed the pictures to Sandy.

The paper separated into two sheets, the bottom strip fluttering to the floor. Stooping to pick it up I saw that the young mother who had exited just before us had forgotten to take her pictures. Her face wasn't visible, but the baby she held to the camera was. What a sweetie.

I glanced up, hoping to see the woman and return her pictures. No luck. She'd vanished. Well, we'd stick around for a few minutes and hope to spot her. I looked at the pictures again.

The second photo in the strip of four showed a woman's hand holding what appeared to be an ice-pick. The third showed both of the woman's hands, one holding the ice-pick and the other wrapped around the infant's throat. The fourth...

I inhaled sharply as the blood drained from my face.

It was cold. Dark, damp basement, cold. But the chills were from fear not the temperature. Rhonda was looking at her assailant. His vacuous look was what brought the streams of sweat all over her body. He was missing his feelings. He went about his work like drone.

He was painstakingly detailed
in his slow,
methodical,
well rehearsed rituals.

Rhonda knew that all too well. He had taken over two hours to tie her up.
Perfectly and painfully.

She watched him as he cleaned his tools.
Pliers,
picks,
and probes…
all meticulously clean…
except for the black marks where they had been heated to white hot temperatures.

He was slow,
thorough,
and completely
thoughtless.

She couldn’t move. She was bound rigid and exposed completely. He never put a gag in her mouth. He preferred to hear her scream and beg. As she begged for mercy, he would only draw closer so he could feel her hot breath on his face.

She knew that it had not yet begun yet…the worst part.

He stared at her unblinking.
Vacant eyes looking intently at her…
all over…
knowing that the pain would soon begin.

He turned on the propane torch and watched the flame narrow to a pin-point. He continued to adjust it until it was perfect…flaming blue. He reached over and picked up his first tool in a subsequent line of thirty-six others and held it in the flame.

It turned red…
then white…
he turned…
and for the first time…he smiled.

Bugs. Beetles, to be specific. Brownish amber, scrabbling, million-legged beetles. Thousands of them.

The box said Honey Nut Cheerios, and Cheryl had just opened a new box. She remembered buying them last Thursday at Safeway, and even remembered the small dent in the cardboard near the top of the box. Yes, these were just Cheerios. Her mind was playing tricks on her, just like Dr. Whalen said it would, a result of the microscopic surgery he had performed on her temple yesterday afternoon.

Cheryl was glad it had been Dr. Whalen. He was gentle, kind, a father figure, her family doctor since her childhood. “Cheryl, I’m certain this is simply harmless tissue, a small white lump of dry sebum”, he had said after bandaging the tiny incision. “It’s just a little more firm than I would have expected. I’ll send it to the lab, just to be sure.”

That’s Dr. Whelan, all right. Always careful, always reassuring. And yes, these were just Honey Nut Cheerios, Cheryl told herself. The idea that she could have poured herself a bowl of beetles was absurd. She had bought the Cheerios herself, and she had just opened the new box this morning. Cheryl poured a few ounces of milk in the bowl, and filled her spoon with Cheerios. Still, she looked closely at the Cheerios in the spoon before putting them in her mouth. Yes, her mind was playing tricks on her. She smiled as she put the spoon to her lips …

He woke up and wasn't sure if his eyes were open or closed.

Dark. Wet.

He tried to gasp for air, but he might as well have tried to breathe water. There wasn't enough air to fill a tablespoon, much less his lungs.
He tried to bring his hands up to his face and they struck something soft but unyielding. What had happened?

He tried to remember, got a brief flash of red and blue lights and an eerie wailing sound before his mind backed away from the memory.

He had to breathe. His ears were buzzing, mind disappearing in a haze of panic. My name is Joshua Stevenson. He told himself. Something happened but I can’t remember what. But I’ll be okay. My name is Joshua Stevenson. I’m alive and that’s all that matters.

It didn’t matter. He had to breathe. He had to move. The panic was taking hold, blotting out his thoughts and memories with a primal scream. He decided he liked that better. He brought up his hands again, hard, and felt his fists break through. Soil poured into the holes he had made.

And then he didn’t have to breathe. He didn’t have to think. He didn’t know who he was and didn’t know that he didn’t know. He dug his way through the earth to the fresh air above.

All he knew was a terrible hunger.

“B-B-B“ he choked. “BRAINS . . .”

And he staggered off into the night to feed.

He awoke. He was vertical, but not standing. The skeletons around him would have startled a more aware man, but Cashton was not yet fully conscious. The skeletons were vertical like Cashton, but not standing. They were fixed in space, just like Cashton. There were ten, twenty, maybe more. Cashton’s head would not turn. It was held, not by any human, but by something inanimate, something that kept him from surveying the room. How did he get here?

As the door opened from outside, the mirrored inside surface gave Cashton a quick, sweeping panorama of the skeletons, the room … and himself. The momentary glimpse of his startling, naked image told Cashton that he was held vertically by a post on a heavy metal stand, just like the skeletons. But he felt nothing. He glanced at the skeleton next to him, just within his field of vision. It was suspended from a metal bracket that extended horizontally from the top of the post, and was fixed solidly to the top of the skull. Another horizontal bar held the skeleton’s pelvis firmly in place. Its feet dangled uselessly, inches from the floor. Cashton tried to twist his body. Nothing moved. His head was motionless, his hips were cemented in place, his arms and legs dangled uselessly. Yet he was alive, unmistakeably alive, and aware, and afraid. The door was open fully now, but Cashton could see no one. The wind blew through the open door, causing Cashton to blink.

It had gone bad. Really bad. Cal thought he could cut a little from the delivery and get away with it. He knew not to take any of the money, they always counted that. Just a little off the top, they’d never notice.
They did, and now Cal was in trouble.

Over the past hour Cal had been in pain like he had never imagined possible. At first they took turns hitting him with a baseball bat.

“Batter, batter, batter!” and then whack another crack to the body.

Cal was a weasel and didn’t last very long under this ordeal. He tried faking dead. They just kept hitting him and making him yelp.

Then they started slowly breaking minor bones like fingers and ankles. At this point, Cal broke down and begged for mercy.

“Please don’t kill me!”

Ramos looked at him, “You don’t want ME to kill you?
OK. Deal.”

Ramos took one last kick and Cal shuddered in shimmering pain. Words were spoken. Cal was thrown into the trunk of someone’s car. This time he really did pass out.

When he awoke he was being thrown on the ground.
Someone grabbed him from behind and held him tight.
He felt something rammed in his mouth. It was a garden hose quickly taped tight with duct-tape. The next thing he knew, he was at the bottom of a makeshift grave. Cal’s eyes widened with reality when the first shovels of dirt hit him.

Ramos looked at him, “Breathe deep.”

Revenge is a dish best served cold. Knowledge is one thing, but to understand a burning hatred and bitterness took years. Each thought was carefully honed to its brutal conclusion. Each wrong incurred was magnified out of proportion until it revealed a depth of inhumanity that could only be resolved with a slow, tortuous death. Edward had learned perverted depravity. It had been given to him as a joke. Soon, he would be laughing.

They thought it was funny when he took the rap. They left him hanging with some little glimpse of hope. Then the skinny little kid ended up in prison. No one visited. No one called. They just played away.

The skinny white boy was the favorite on the cell block. Smooth skin, soft flesh. He entered prison a virgin. He was everyone’s b***h. There was one difference. Ten years later, he left fifty pounds heavier, hardened and focused. They would learn what it was like to be a b***h.

The inquisitive nerd learned everything he could from the dregs of society. Rapists, serial killers, child molesters, the list went on. Of course, Edward learned the hard way. The lessons were brutal and often there was homework. But school was out now and he was a star student of degeneracy. During his last few years he went from being student to teacher.

The first name on the list of eight was Randy. Randy didn’t know it, but Edward was waiting for him in the kitchen that morning.

Prologue

Edith checked the temperature of the water running for her bath. She adjusted the spigots so it ran hotter. Lavishly, she poured in bath salts.

Moving the wicker stool closer to the tub, she laid out her cleansing gel, loofa sponge and razor. She then lit her aromatherapy candles.

Dropping her robe, she eased into the bath water. It was hot, but not too.

After carefully washing, she picked up the razor and unscrewed the top. She removed the double-edged blade.

Speaking in a loud, firm voice, she called out, “You’ll never have me!” She then drew the blade up from the inside of her wrist to nearly her elbow. She repeated this act to her other arm.

As the bath water turned crimson and her vision faded, she heard the sound of laughter echoing throughout the house.

Chapter I

It was dark. I had a splitting headache, and was chained to the ground. It was cold and damp. I was lying in a puddle of water. The dripping of water hit my temple. Every three seconds- a drip, a drop.

I woke up, it was still dark, but my headache was gone. My eyes began to adjust. Faintly, I saw a doorway. I stretched my neck and opened my mouth. The water dripped, it was refreshing.

The door opened, shattering my fruitless thoughts of escape. The light was blinding. My breathing increased, and I convulsed, shivering in the cold. A man’s boots stopped by my head. I received a kick in the face, and screamed. He kicked again. I blacked out.

It was a metal door without a knob…
His boots were leather, with steel toes…
The breeze and the water smelt and tasted of salt…
I was wearing my new designer bikini-
The one with the red stars…
I was on the beach…

I woke up. He was on top of me. His boots were by my face, but he wasn’t wearing them. My chains had been removed. He was on top of me. I almost screamed, I almost moaned, but my instincts took over.

I grabbed for a boot and hit him hard across the face. He fell away, surprised. The clatter of steel reverberated on stone.

I grabbed the knife and stuck him in the chest, then ran.

The door was locked.

He had the key…

Chad stepped out of his car at the end of the long mountainous road and stared at the old cabin deep into the forest. It had taken him longer to get here than he had hoped. The fall sky was quickly giving way to the coming darkness. A breeze rustled the dried yellow and red leaves that had recently fallen giving life to the dead.
Chad wasn’t keen on being here alone but he wanted to write about the unspeakable deaths that occurred here and needed to see the place and feel its atmosphere.
The breeze began to pick up and seemed to carry distant whispers as Chad took his tape recorder and a flashlight from his bag and walked up to the cabin door. He stepped inside, switched on his light and began speaking into the recorder.
A fear quickly crept into his soul while he searched about the room. The darkness appeared to be a solid, breathing entity of its own. As the fear grew in his heart the light he was holding dimmed.
“These are new batteries!” he moaned shaking the light.
The darkness quickly swallowed the little light emitted. The voices were getting closer and a rustling was all around him. A voice eerily laughed into his ear. He spun around to see his tormenter but the light was useless. He wanted to run but his escape was blocked by the darkness. The voices were getting louder. The room was getting cold. The darkness was alive.