Meet Your Favorite Serial Killer Page 8

  "I see you, Giggles," Gacy said with a hint of annoyance. "Why don't you step into better light? No need to creep around when we all know you're there."

  "You painting people again? That's something a molester would do. But wait, I'm confused. This is a grown man. You like boys, don't you? Not young girls, not women, you want young boys."

  "Say what you want, Giggles. This is my victim. I'll do as I wish with him. Try and interfere, and I'll take you down."

  Giggles didn't hear him. The clown's voice sounded drunk. And this clown wasn't a happy drunk.

  "The thing about you raping boys--"

  "You raped people too, Giggles."

  "Not people. I raped women. Grown ass women. Women with tits and the proper plumbing. I get off on what's right. I could take a shit in a woman's snatch, and it'd be better accepted by the public over what you did, Gay Gacy."

  "Don't call me that!"

  Gacy threw aside his paints and pushed the painting-in-progress off of the tripod. David saw the portrait. He did a double take. He had no skin on his face. He had a skull for a face, and that skull was covered in vibrant colors of clown make-up.

  "Gay Gacy. That's you. Why can't I call you by your name?"

  "You know why. When I'm having fun, you always show up, Giggles."

  "You're not having fun until the little boys show up. You probably get hard every time a school bus of kids drive by. Gay Gacy only gets it up for the children who can't ride on the big kid rides. You should've become a priest, not a clown. Just imagine all of the kiddie ass you'd be pulling."

  "Shut the fuck up. Come here."

  "But my asshole's too big. Don't you like 'em small, Gay Gacy?"

  Gacy unleashed a savage growl. "I'm going to kill you right here, right now. Enough talk. Fucking fight me!"

  Giggles snarled. "Then come on and kill me!"

  The two clowns were standing opposite each other with arms out ready to grapple, pummel, and punch.

  They had no idea David was there. He rushed for the pistol, snatched it up, and fled into the darkness for his life.

  The clowns were still battling it out with each other. David didn't realize he was on top of a platform. He raced down a set of stairs. He clutched the .28 pistol with confidence. Now he had a fighting chance.

  When he reached the bottom of the steps, he was surrounded by tight cavern walls. Blues, reds, greens, and yellows filtered from scattered stage lights. Despite the rainbow colors, the way remained mostly in darkness.

  "Hey, wanna cop a feel?"

  The question was as alarming as the person asking. The man was dressed as a bum with a stocking cap, grizzled beard, gaunt, half-starved body, and clothes that were dirtied by many nights sleeping in dumpsters, back alleys, and underneath overpasses.

  What was on his head caused David to reel and reel again.

  The object was strapped onto the top of his head by two leather straps. Streams of blood covered his face and dripped off of his chin. A clotted, yellowy pudding substance had crusted onto the sides of his head.

  The substance was human fat.

  The object strapped to his head was a plump female breast.

  The stranger asked the same question.

  "Wanna cop a feel?" This time, the question was followed by a titter. "Yeah, re-al nice fun bag here. Take a try. Pinch it with two fingers. Then use your whole hand. It's nice and plump. Real juicy. This bitch wasn't flat. It's firm in the middle. You can give it a good squeeze, and the lady won't cry. The nipple is nice and cookie sized. The pinkest of pink. I can chew on it like a piece of gum.

  "Go ahead, buddy. I know you want to. Give it a pinch. Grab it and squeeze it hard. They're called fun bags for a reason. I'll bend down on my knees so you can taste it. How about it? And don't worry. This one's fresh. I change them out when they go bad.

  "I always enjoyed the feel of a woman's tit on my head. It reminds me of my mother. That story goes back a ways. No need to tell you my life story. Who wants to hear stories when you can touch a fucking tit?"

  A hacksaw dangled from one of his hands. The notches were glazed in red and chunks of flesh. His other hand was empty and dripping with gore. On the floor behind the killer was the corpse of a woman. Her neck hung crooked at the shoulders. Probably snapped. Her top was torn down the middle. One breast was untouched, and the other was sheared off. A smooth red circle was all that was left of the stolen breast.

  David didn't hesitate.

  He lifted the gun. He fired without aiming at a specific spot on the man's body. The bullet tore the breast from his head. It went up into three big pieces. The cherished piece was now bloody slop against the cavern's walls.

  The man was thrown back. He slid down the wall as if the bullet had torn through his own body. He lay there staring unblinking.

  Was the crazy bastard pretending to be dead?

  He didn't wait around to see the man's next move.

  He retreated from the man with strange tastes in the female anatomy.

  When David turned a corner, the man blinked his eyes and realized he wasn't dead. He touched his head. When he felt at empty air, he reclaimed the hacksaw he had dropped and went to work sawing off the dead woman's other breast.

  He ran right into Halloween Man. The collision seemed to squeeze out the request from the dangerous stalker.

  "Treat-r-treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat."

  Three bullets banged out of the chamber in response. Halloween Man was thrown right back into the shadows that produced him.

  "Fuck your candy," David growled.

  He heard Maggot Girl beckon to him.

  "I only want your body. Come back to me. I want to wear you. I want you all over me."

  He sensed her coming around the corner. He had to sneak away, and fast. His fear got the best of him. He tripped, struck the ground, got right back up, and after making several turns along the narrow cavern walls, he noticed he had dropped his gun.

  No time to backtrack.

  The floor made a sharp decline. He was almost pitched forward off of his feet. He was stepping on a mix of loose dirt, big shards of broken concrete, and pieces of the human body. It looked like the sky had rained mutilated pieces.

  The cavern walls opened up and created a big recess. Then he saw it. The yellow box that resembled a deprivation tank. There was a digital face on the front of it said: UNOCCUPIED. In bright spray painted letters beneath the digital face, it read: SAFE BOX.

  "No-god-noooooooooo!"

  A six foot tall man with a bald head, scraggly peppered beard, and a body chiseled in rock hard muscles raised a sledgehammer and was about to slam it down on a woman's cranium. She had twisted her ankle and was sprawled helplessly on the ground. The woman had numerous bruises and cuts along her body, and a gleaming knife wound across her rib cage. She was in a bad state. There was no way for her to fight back against her vicious opponent.

  Before the giant could swing down his weapon, David snatched it out of his hands and drove the steel head that had to be a hundred pounds, so impossibly heavy, into the villain's back. The crack of steel against bone rang out. The enemy was thrown off of his feet by the impact. He did a forced sideways spinning summersault and crashed into the jungle gym. He lay against the bars bent forward and locked in pain.

  Acting fast, David tried to help the woman off of her feet. He touched her hand and came away with it when the axe slashed down and severed it from her arm. David couldn't let go of the hand for seconds. He was too much in shock.

  Two twin old biddies dressed in bloody afghans each drove a power drill into the woman's eyes and forced them out the back of her head. A geeky scientist guy in a bloody lab coat and thick goggles jammed a device that looked like a mechanical fireplace poker into her screaming mouth and removed the woman's jaw in three motions.

  One of the killer biddies said, "She's still talking. Listen to those teeth clack together!"

  Black leather gloved hands laced with scalpel blades t
ore through the woman's shirt, cupped her breasts, and removed them in two healthy feels.

  There was nothing left of the woman now but spurting pieces.

  David used the sledgehammer to ward them back.

  He had a formidable weapon. He slashed at the air, taking serious swings. He had no reservations about killing any of these psychos.

  "Enjoy some acid!"

  David ducked, avoiding the mug of acid hurled in his direction. The man behind him, another player, had half his face eaten off in two seconds. Half his head was popping like hot fryer grease.

  He swung the sledgehammer at Mickey Acid. The killer laughed and broke out into a fast retreat. He was already hurrying across the arena throwing more acid at another would-be victims.

  David remembered the yellow box.

  It was the only option.

  Right now, the plan was swinging his death instrument. He dodged numerous killers that way. They came and went in blurs of chaos. Blood rained down from the giant jungle gym. People were being stalked and killed between the bars. Hooded killers. Murderers in bizarre masks. Sickos wearing pig and horse heads. Satanic chants were being played from the speakers about the arena. It echoed off the rock walls with a sickening pitch.

  The man David smashed earlier on the back was standing up again. He made eye contract. His snarl carved up his face into something to fear. His eyes said 'Come on. Go ahead.'

  David raised the sledge hammer. The man didn't say anything. After thirty seconds, he simply walked away from the jungle gym trap and disappeared into the shadows.

  That gave David the chance to run like hell towards the yellow box that was only seconds away from his position.

  A man lay on the ground clutching the side of his head. "Bitch sucked out my eye. Crazy bitch."

  David threw aside the sledgehammer, helped the distressed man back onto his feet, and together, they trudged towards the yellow safe box. Now that he was closer to the box again, he imagined one of those underground bunkers the crackpot doomsday preppers buried underground.

  A computer voice asked for handprint identification. He pressed his hand on the reader. The door to the safe box opened automatically. He helped the stranger into the box. Right before the door closed, David could see the lone woman standing six yards from the box.

  The woman had fashioned pink intestines into a bra and a g-string and was wearing them.

  She opened her mouth and flashed the eyeball sitting in her mouth before she chewed it up and swallowed it whole.

  Luke Bloom kept checking his watch.

  He knew what 9:30 meant.

  He unlocked a door and entered it quickly so nobody would see him. Behind the door was a set of stairs that went up. He hurried up those stairs eagerly. When he reached the top of the stairs after going up three stories, he arrived in a small room. This was a standing room to watch the show from a special angle. There wasn't anything fancy here. The walls were blank. There wasn't furniture, booze, or food. This wasn't about high end enjoyment. This was about the view. He had a high vantage of the jungle gym. He just watched David Smith steal Vlad the Impaler's weapon and use it against him.

  His hopes in Mr. Smith were validated.

  He had a solid chance of winning the competition. He could very well be the last man standing.

  Luke watched the man help the injured man into the safe box. He pumped his fist in excitement.

  Dad should be seeing this.

  Where is he?

  He's missing everything.

  He had waited for Marlow Bloom for fifteen minutes now. This was a father/son tradition. They would stand up here, talk about life, enjoy the view of the killing ground, and catch up on things.

  Luke called his father on his cell phone.

  Marow didn't reply.

  He texted Bliss. Maybe his wife knew where his father was at. She didn't answer him either. Luke imagined the both of them caught up in a conversation with their clients. Even if that was the case, both of them would've replied to his texts by now.

  Luke watched the aerial view of the jungle gym for ten more minutes.

  He didn't have much time before he had to interact with their clients again. He was the host. The MC. At this point in the game, his player would've been dead by now. He should be ecstatic David Smith was alive and kicking.

  Why did that bad feeling keep hovering over him?

  His father was ignoring him.

  Bliss was ignoring him.

  This night was about tradition. Following and celebrating Satan, and tonight, something was seriously off.

  Luke had to find out what was wrong.

  He left his post and returned to the viewing areas.

  The safe box had the items they needed to tend to wounds. The box itself was simple: a metal bench, a cot with a pillow, and a table topped with medical supplies. There was also food and water in a mini fridge and a row of shelves that resembled P.O. box mail slots. There was no way to access them, be it a keyhole or a latch.

  David ignored the slots and helped the man bleeding from his empty eye.

  "The bitch. She, she sucked it right from my head. That bitch is crazy."

  "Try to relax," David said. "Sit on the bench."

  He found syringes filled with various pain killers, including morphine. He picked one up. "You want some morphine?"

  "Yeah, of course I do. Even if I wasn't injured I'd love a dose, but I don't trust those fuckers. Who knows what's really in that syringe? Forget it. I'll take the pain."

  He talked the man into letting him wrap his eye with a bandage. Then he searched the mini fridge. He sorted through the food and water and found a sealed bottle of bourbon.

  "Gimme that," the man demanded. "Anybody in this situation should be allowed a drink."

  He drank fervently from the bottle.

  "That's a little better. Thanks for helping me out back there. I'm Reggie."

  "I'm David."

  They shook hands.

  A digital clock was counting down from twenty minutes.

  David drank water, splashed his face in the corner sink, and tried to wrap his mind around what he'd been thrust into. The attempt was fruitless. There was no sense to this. Only insanity.

  "They threatened to kill my wife and kids if I didn't play," Reggie said. "It's all bullshit. I mean, who dreams this shit up? I've seen killers who died decades ago stalk and kill. Whatever. It doesn't fucking matter. It's complete bullshit."

  "What is?"

  "Them letting us go if we survive the night. They won't let us leave. How can they? We're like witnesses. They can't let us go."

  "You're right. These Satanists won't stop at nothing until we're dead. This is all fun and games for them. That's why we have to kill them. It's the only way. Surviving the night isn't enough. These people have to be stopped."

  "Yeah, Dave, you got a point. Here's an idea. I suggest we try to find a weakness in the structural integrity of this place. This is no better than a dug up cave. I noticed concrete hallways scattered about the perimeter. There's a lot to this area I have yet to see. I barely made it up that incline when they first opened the flood gates and unleashed us into this nightmare. I almost landed on that spinning buzz saw a handful of times."

  "Me too, man, me too. I caused one of those killers to land on it. I heard him get tore to pieces."

  "Right on!"

  They high-fived each other.

  "I think we'd make a good team," Reggie said. "Now that I don't have one of my eyes, I could use some help. My depth of perception is off. I'm with you, man. We're taking out every killer and sick fuck watching this shit go down. It's the only way."

  David remembered what he saw earlier when he was in that room with Maggot Girl. "Have you noticed the Plexiglas windows? People are watching us from the other side. I saw one of the windows earlier. Rich fuckers were dressed to the nines. I'd like to turn the tables on them big time. And I have a friend out there named Kayla. I lost track of her earlier when things g
ot crazy."

  "Forget her, buddy. I made a fast friend in here too. They're dead. You have to let go. She's as good as dead. We could be one of the last people alive."

  "You don't know that."

  "I do. She's dead. Or about to be."

  Reggie suffered a sudden pain in his eye. He bent down and clutched his head in both hands.

  The digital clock read five minutes remaining.

  "Shit, we're already almost out of time."

  David realized there was so little time to plan. And what would a plan, even a good plan, do in this situation? They were served every disadvantage. This game was designed to kill, main, and slaughter, not survive.

  He didn't care.

  He would see Charlie again and make things right in their relationship. She could have eight kids for all it mattered. That womb would be exploding with children.

  He would see the outside of this arena alive.

  He would spill Luke Bloom's blood and save any future victims from this insanity.

  David didn't know how, but he would somehow cancel The Event.

  Permanently.

  Reggie's bandage was soaked in red.

  "Goddamn, it hurts so bad. I can't stand it anymore. I have to try the syringes. I drank the booze. You tried the water. They want us to die out there, not in here. They wouldn't poison us. It's not entertaining enough."

  "You can't trust them. Wait. Think a second, man. Don't do it."

  "Shut up. You didn't get your eye sucked out! I still feel that bitch's lips. She stuck her tongue in the socket after ripping it out. It's like she was trying to make out with my brains. If I'm dying, I'm dying feeling good."

  "Please, Reggie. Hold on."

  Before David could stop him, Reggie injected himself with morphine. They waited for thirty seconds.

  Reggie smiled. "That's better. Much better. Morphine. Just morphine. Thank God."

  The man was relaxed.

  Too relaxed.

  An audio recording came on, startling them both.