Creeptober Horror Spree: Volume One

Kevin - Part 1

"You know," The words left Alex with a hard grunt as he flung his boot into George's stomach. "I'm the biggest piece of shit I know," He drove his fist into the soft, flabby tissue of George's cheek. "And, you; you disgust me." He rocked back on his heels, panting.

George rolled on his back, weakly struggling against his restraints. He coughed, heaving blood, and cried out.

"What did I doooo?" George wailed. "I don't even know you."

Alex scoffed, still needing a moment to catch his breath. It had been an age since he put real fear into someone, and he was definitely out of shape. He stayed silent for a while, letting George writhe in anxiety, enjoying how pitiful he sounded as he whimpered quietly into the concrete. Alex met his eyes with a smirk. "You know why you're here. And you know why I know why you know why you're here..." He trailed off. "Did I say that right?"

George sniffed.

"Eh, fuck it. Point is, we both know why you're here, ya dig?"

The fat man's expression turned from pointed confusion to discomfort. There was a folding table set up a few feet away. None of the objects strewn across it gave him comfort. Vision still fuzzy, he couldn't make out half of them, and he let out a stressed sigh. "Do I know you?"

"Yeaaaaah. There you go. Getting warmer." Alex grabbed a heavy pair of shackles from the table, nudged George's ankles apart, and fastened them tight.

The sedative wearing off rapidly, George got his bearings. The rope around his wrists dug into his skin. The shackles were too tight. He was sure that this man didn't care. As far as George could tell, they were inside a warehouse, but the ceiling was much lower, and there were no windows. Above him, something hung from a chain, obscured by the humming neon lights.

"What can I do?" George sputtered.

"For what?" Alex replied sardonically. "To kill you faster? You can keep talkin'."

He grabbed the hanging thing in one hand and George's wrists in the other. A cold hook pressed against his skin, tugging on his bonds. So that's what it was. Alex hoisted George off the floor like a slab of meat, and he found himself hanging just inches above the concrete.

"For you to let me go," George corrected, wincing as his weight pulled against his wrists.

Alex snorted. "Nothing, Georgie boy. Sorry. But, not really sorry." He shrugged, winking at him. George looked like a combination of scared and angry. Alex casually took out his cell phone and snapped a picture of him. "Whenever I'm feeling down and need a laugh, I'll come back to this face," He teased.

"I didn't do anything," George hissed.

"Oh?" Alex feigned surprise. "Are you the wrong guy?" He flipped through his phone, glancing from the screen to George as he read. "Are you not George Gaines, from Nevada? Are you not the guy that works as a manager at Happy's Playland? That'd be a weird coincidence since you're totally wearing the uniform and name tag right now." The amusement in Alex's voice grew the more he talked. "And you're definitely not the guy that pays too much attention to the kids, right?" He lowered his voice, menacing closer.

George swallowed, sweating profusely. "I n-never touched any of the-"

His body heaved backward with the force of the gut punch. George vomited, swinging wildly around. He gasped, coughing and sputtering, vomit seeping into his shirt and plastering it to his body. Through the tears in his eyes, he could see how Alex was looking at him. The man's eyes had taken on an animal quality, regarding him with the fierce rage of a predator slighted by its prey.

"I'm gonna tell you who I am, George." Alex shook his hand out, flexing his fingers. "Alex Taylor. You said it was funny that I had two first names."

Something dislodged from the decades of old memories rattling around in George's head, and he burst into tears. Alex met his response with another gut punch that sent him swinging once more. One of his shoulders popped in its socket, sending pangs of agony down his spine. "Please-" He couldn't choke any more words out. His stomach ached, his sides were on fire, and he was confident that he had two broken ribs at least. It hurt to breathe.

"You gave me the special VIP pass because I was such a good boy," Alex continued.

"I was acquitted!" George sputtered.

"That doesn't mean you're not guilty," Alex screamed, hurling his fist. It connected with George's kidney. He soiled himself.

The chain creaked as he swung back and forth, weeping and gasping for air. "N...none of you...were s'posed to...get out..." George offered weakly.

"You know I spent my life in and out of psych wards? Therapy? All kinds of things to fix me. My parents thought I had conjured up something to bury my trauma, or whatever. But I finally have proof. I have proof of what you did."