Suffer Hard: An Extreme Horror Novella (8 page)

Craig thought Margaret looked terrifying. Her dyed blonde hair, the colour of a canary was loose around her shoulders, somehow grotesque against the heavily lined face with the look of rhino hide. She wore a long, loose flowery dress, as if to disguise the fact she had just given birth.

It didn’
t.

“Hello Craig,” she said, going up to him and ruffling his hair.

Her touch made him want to cry and he shrunk away from it. She glared at him, like she was hurt by his rejection.

“Where’s my son then?”
Old Jake asked.

“The kids are looking after him.”

“Oh. He’s like them I suppose?”

A dark cloud passed briefly across her face.
“Completely. I wouldn’t let them look after him if he weren’t. They never hurt their own, do they?”

“They’re up early. Don’t they normally eat breakfast now?”

“Yeah. But it’s a special breakfast today, isn’t it? They don’t mind waiting, they’re just relaxing downstairs with their baby brother before they eat.”

“So do you like them?”
Old Jake asked in lighter tone, nodding his head in the direction of Craig.

“Like them? I
love
them.”

“Good. But I must say
, your choice surprises me. I’d have thought you would’ve gone for the dark haired one. He’s better looking, he’s bigger, stronger and looks healthier.”

“Maybe.
But I’ve always had a thing for cute little blondes.”

“Fair enough,”
Old Jake laughed. “God, I’m starving, I can’t
wait
for dinner. Those brothers of ours are sure cooking up something tasty in the kitchen. They don’t need my help though, so I thought I’d pop out here are help you entertain out guests.”

He sat down on the spot on the bench
Bish had not long vacated and Margaret sat opposite.

Craig
listened to their exchange in disbelief. He still wasn’t getting what the bitch meant about preferring ‘cute little blondes.’

“Why don’t you just let us go?”
he said, his head turning one way then the other to plead with both of them. “We won’t tell, I promise.”

W
hen he glanced across at Tim, he was out cold again. Craig envied him.

“
Ahhh, he won’t tell,” Margaret said in a bizarre baby voice, her bottom lip protruding in a jokey manner. She leaned over and pinched his cheeks like he was an infant. “Ickle wickle Craigy-waigy won’t tell anybody because he’s such a
good
boy.”

Her fingers dug into his cheeks
and his mouth puckered into a wriggly O.

“Please,” he whimpered, hating himself for shedding yet more tears but unable to stop.

“Shush now, Momma’s gonna make you feel real good baby boy.”

She giggled and
got to her feet, leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead. He had an uninterrupted view down the front of her dress as she bent over. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her long tits swung forwards, putting him in mind of socks filled with porridge. The wet lips on his forehead lingered.

Her tongue darted out, hot
and slimy on his forehead. Craig groaned in disgust when she licked down the side of his face.

Her breath was sour and he gagged, the stinking trail of spit staining his cheek.

Things got a whole lot worse when she straddled his lap and rubbed those monstrous tits in his face. Her breast milk seeped through the front of her dress, wetting the thin material and brushing damply against his skin.

He recoiled in disgust. She was just fucking
nasty
, she felt horrific against his bare skin. Losing an arm was child’s play compared to this.

When she reached down into his lap
and wrapped her fingers around his flaccid cock, he couldn’t take anymore.

“Get off me, you disgusting
whore.
”

On reflection, it probably wasn’t the wisest thing he’d ever come out with.

A range or emotions flashed across her face. Hurt. Disbelief. And finally anger.

“You need to learn some
respect,
young man.”

She let go of his cock and slapped him hard across the face.
Once. Twice. Three times. He tasted copper in his mouth; his upper lip had been pierced on a tooth.

Then she grabbed his arm, digging her fingertips into the seared flesh of his stump.

Stars flashed before his eyes and a high pitched yelp was wrenched up from deep inside him. It was so loud he woke up Tim.

“What’s happening,”
he asked groggily.

Craig couldn’t answer. He sat there panting, bathed in a cold sweat.

He twisted his head round when Bish entered the room, carrying a small pile of dinner plates with cutlery balanced on the top.

Margaret dismounted him.

“Dinner won’t be long,” Bish said, setting the table for five places. “Are you going to impregnate yourself before or after dinner?” he asked Margaret.

“
I haven’t decided,” she said, sitting back down on the bench.

“I interrupted Michael earlier, the poor bastard.”

“Never mind. I’m sure he’ll make up for it. Is she going to eat dinner with us or should we leave her in bed?”

“She should eat dinner, don’t you think? She is family now, after
all,” Bish said.

“Yes. I ‘
spose she is.”

Craig’s head reeled. Margaret was going to
what? Impregnate
herself? Surely she didn’t mean
with him?

“How long will dinner be?” Jake asked
Bish.

“Half an hour, the meat needs to tenderise a little more.”

“I might pay the little lady a visit upstairs,” Old Jake said, getting to his feet and rubbing the crotch of his trousers. “You don’t mind do you?”

“No,”
Bish and Margaret replied.

“You leave Beth alone,” Craig said.

“You need to forget about her,” Margaret said. “You’ve got me now.”

“Just let her go,” he repeated pathetically.

“Won’t be long,” Old Jake said, shuffling towards the door.

“Oh, and Jake?”
Bish called after him.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do too much damage, she has to be with child for nine months, remember?”

“Yes, yes, I’
ll control myself.”

“I mean it. Brother or no brother, I’ll ram your head up your arse if you go too far, do you understand? This is really importa
nt for our family.”

“
Yes, I get it.”

Craig watched Old Jake’s retreating back, leaving him alone with
Margaret and Bish.

Margaret smiled at him and inside his soul shrivelled. It was the smile of a wom
an on a promise.

CHAPTER SIX.

Beth didn’t how long she’d
been hiding behind the door. It felt like forever although it had to be less than half an hour. She thought about turning off the light to give her the edge. But that would draw attention to the room when Michael had most assuredly kept the light on.

If Michael was the first to enter the room, then she was fucked. But if it was one of the other two then maybe, just maybe, she stood a chance.

She pulled the length of rope taut that was wrapped around each wrist and flexed it.

This is the only way,
she told herself, summoning up bravery she didn’t even know she possessed.

The window was boarded up and the door was locked. What other choice did she have?

She strained her ear against the door. She could voices. The distant clatter of pots and pans and kitchen sounds.

The smell of cooking wafted up to the room. A slow cook
stew, or something. Despite her fear, her mouth watered. She was hungry and thirsty, and whatever it was cooking sure did smell good, masking the rotten odour of the place.

Then she remembered glimpsing the corpse in the pub kitchen and her stomach lurched.

Surely they’re not cooking…

She couldn’t even finish the thought. It was just too horrible.

Another horrible thought entered her head.

What if it is Michael that comes back first? He’s massive, there’s no way I’ll be able to reach that fucker’s neck, yet alone strangle him…

“This ain’t gonna work,” she muttered, making her way back over to the bed.

She would just have to lie down again and
pretend
she was tied to the bed. That way she would be better able to catch off guard whoever entered the room.

It went against her every
innate instinct to lie back down on the bed. Her natural impulse was to stand and fight.

Nevertheless
she did, settling her hands against the headboard in a manner that made it look as if she were still tied to the headboard.

After an agonising wait of
little more than a few more minutes, the door opened.

Like Craig had done before her, it took her a moment to recognise the familiar looking old man.

“You,” she said, when she finally twigged it was Old Jake.

“Yes, me,” he said happily, his eyes moist and friendly behind the glasses. “So tell me young lady, did you enjoy your pub lunch in our little village? Did you enjoy your sandwiches?
Your human flesh sandwiches?”

“Fuck you,” she spat.

She had forgotten about those sandwiches with the strange meat filling. She fought down the wave of nausea.

“Yes, the pub was only opened up for your benefit. I hope you appreciate it.
Ain’t been a pub for over fifty years. Hell, there ain’t even been a village here for as many years. We only hang the sign out when we know we’re getting visitors.”

His words sickened her. This was all a big, stinking trap. How could they have been so stupid?

“Just let me go. We’ll pretend it never happened, I promise I won’t tell.”

“Your damn right you won’t, ‘
cause you ain’t going anywhere. I’m sure Margaret’s filled you in.”

Beth just glared at him, thinking that it was too soon to lunge for him and strangle the fucker. He had to get closer before she made her move.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, not having to fake the pitiful tremor to her voice.

She wanted him to think her as pathetic and helpless and possible. That was the easy part.

“I can’t
properly
hurt you, alas. But we can still have some fun.”

The old fucker rubbed his crotch.

She shrunk away from him as he advanced. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a pen knife and flicked out the shining blade, a wistful smile on his face.

“Just a little bit of blood,” he said in a cajoling tone. “Just a little bit to make you all shiny and wet.”

He sat down on the bed by her hip and ever so gently stroked the tip of the blade around her fear puckered nipple. The knife trailed lower, down the flat plane of her stomach to dip into her bellow button.

“So beautiful,” he murmured.

She let her thighs fall apart, revealing every inch of her neatly trimmed pussy.

His eyes bulged and his face turned pink.
The hand that held the knife trembled.

“You like that, baby?”

His eyebrows shot up in his wrinkled forehead. “Yeah.”

“I bet you
do,
motherfucker.
”

She lunged for him, easily twisting the knife out of his slack grip.

The element of surprise was fully on her side. As soon as she was in possession of the penknife, she thrust it into the nearest part of him. The knife blade disappeared up to the hilt and she made sure to twist it on removal.

“You bitch!” he screamed, curling up into a ball,
his hand pressed to the wound with blood spilling out around his fingers.

She had stabbed him in the side, just above the waistband of his trousers.

He moaned and groaned and writhed on the bed. He was making too much noise. He had to shut up.

Without thinking, she slit his throat.

Just like that, the life drained out of him in a pool of red on the mattress.

B
eth had killed someone and all she felt was an adrenalin rush. It coursed through her veins, leaving her sobbing in relief.

The door was ajar, inviting her escape. She had a knife now. She thought about using it to prise the planks of wood off the window.

But then what? She would have to smash glass, and the drop to the ground would be too much, she’d likely break her neck. No, her only chance of escape was the door.

She would make it. She knew she would. She just had to get out this bloody house and run like fuck.

Absently, she wiped the blade of the knife on the edge of the mattress and peered through the crack in the door. She couldn’t see anyone, although the sound of voices and someone cooking was noisier now the door was open. She scanned the small upstairs landing. The three other doors were closed. All was clear.

Someone was bound to come along soon and see why the old man was taking so long. It was now or never. She had to take her chance.

Silently she made her way to the top of the stairs. She could see the bottom part of the front door at the end of the narrow hallway, beckoning her. Taunting her.

She thanked the Gods that the stairs were carpeted, however threadbare as it helped muffle her footsteps. Her legs trembled and her heart beat wildly as she moved swiftly and silently down the stairs.

I can do this, I can do this…

Oh God, she was so close now. She s
tood quivering at the foot of the stairs, staring desperately at the door, her naked chest rapidly rising and falling. Just three more doors to navigate. The door to her right stood ajar, the other two were closed.

It was through the opened door that she could hear voices. Her h
eart lurched painfully when she heard her boyfriend;

“Get off me, you disgusting bitch!”

He sounded terrified and the high pitched quality to his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. And was that Tim she could hear softly sobbing, almost drowned out by Craig’s screams of protest?

It didn’t even occur to her to help.
Going in that room would be tantamount to signing her own death certificate.

She would get help once she was free of this nightmare…

All she had to do was get past that door unseen. The handle of the penknife felt slippery in her sweaty hand as she steeled herself for what she was about to do.

She sped past the door, Craig’s cries of disgust ringing in her ears.

I’ve made it!

She turned the handle of the door and the twinkling night sky soothed her soul like a balm. She hurtled herself out into the night air, sobbing in relief.

Her foot didn’t even so much as cross the threshold. She screamed when massive arms circled her middle, lifting her clean off the ground and pulling her back into the house.