The Bad Place

The Bad
Place                        
       

The house stood at
the end of Elm Drive. It was a huge place with white-washed walls and a
great sloping black roof. Several windows were broken and the door was
hanging on its rusting hinges. Out back the lawn was a mass of tangled
weeds and the ground was littered with the dead boughs of trees and a
thick layer of wet leaves. A crumbling wall ran round the drive and the
gravel was littered with years of debris. It was a horribly old place.
But it was soon to be the scene of a gruesome crime.
                   

Chris Wayne stood at the end of the drive and turned
to his group of friends. It was dark and the moon glowed on the ground.
The house loomed upwards and in the night it seemed gaunt and lonely.
His friends stood on the sidewalk and laughed. A few held cigarettes in
their hands and the ends glowed in the night. They shuffled their feet
and tunred to Chris expectantly. I'm not going in. No way am I
going in there. They all looked at him with sorrow. He had to go in. If
he wanted to join their gang he was going to have to go in. Oh jeez
man. I can't go in there. He looked around at the circle of dark faces.
They were all nodding.
                         

In a moment Chris decided to go in. It was an empty house.
What could happen? In normal horror novels something would be waiting.
Something would be watching. But this was just a house. No ghosts and
no spirits and no monsters. Just a house. He tried to smile but he had
to admit it - he was scared. He was only thirteen but he knew that
shadows lurked in the darkness. Come on come on come on. They
encouraged him. He turned and they all grinned. Bring back something.
Bring something out. Make sure you bring a trophy. And Chris turned
towards the
drive.                     

In the pit of his stomach Chris could feel the
twisting knot of nausea. He felt the bile rising in his throat and he
thought he might be sick. He stole quietly forward and observed his
surroundings as he made his way to the front door, gaping wide like
some giganic mouth. The cold night air cut through his flesh like a
thousand knives and the clouds above obscured all the stars. He
shivered beneath his clothes. He was scared. But he was allowed to be
scared. He was only a child. He crept further and the bile rose
further. It tasted sour and hot at the back of his throat. But he got
to the door. And he reached out a hand and
pushed.                           

It was almost as cold inside as it was out. The
house stood dark. Around the walls hung small lamps but there seemed to
be no switch to turn them on. He stood at the door and frowned as he
observed the musty interior. A great staircase made the way upstairs,
and at either side stood great pillars of white stone. Set into the
walls were fading wooden doors, and the handles were dull. The
floorboards were covered in a thick layer of dust, and when Chris moved
his feet he saw the original colour beneath. A huge crystal chandelier
hung from the ceiling. Chris moved forwards and noted the small
indentation on the wall. He walked over and pressed the dimple with his
thumb. Light shimmered through the house. The chandelier gleamed a
thousand colours. And the house was clearer. The light showed what was
obvious. But it could never show what was hidden behind the house's
seemingly innocent
facade.                             

Chris opened the first door and pressed his finger
to another switch. Light bounced off the walls. It seemed the room a
study of some sort. A wooden desk stood at the far wall. The other
space was filled with shelves and wardrobes and bookcases. And paper.
Lots of paper. Paper littered the floors and the surface of the desk.
Some was white. And some was yellow and brown. The walls were dark
brown and from the ceiling hung a smaller chandelier. It was silent.
Chris closed the door and walked to the next room.
                            

After Chris had checked every room he began to move
slowly upstairs. The carpets were thick and gray with the dust. He
walked slowly, a step at a time. There was silence. Nothing. Chris took
at least five minutes to manoeuvre his way. Suddenly he found himself
standing at the top. There were three doors across the hall. Two were
half open. The far door was closed tight. Chris walked to the first
door and pushed it
open.                            

It was a bedroom. Old and dusty. Thick curtains hung
over the windows and the bed was covered in a huge duvet. A bookshelf
stood at one end. A music player on one shelf. But again there was
silence. It was almost as if the house was dead. Chris turned to leave,
but before he could the door to the room slammed
shut.                             

Chris stared at the door for a few seconds before
walking towards it and turning the handle. The door swung open. Chris
glanced from side to side. There was nothing there. He moved away from
the room, fully intending to go back downstairs and get out the house.
But what he saw next made his choose a rather gory
fate.                           

The one door that was closed when he came up the
stairs was now flung hospitably wide. The darkness inside consumed
everything. Without thinking he started to move forwards. His sneakers
made marks on the carpet. He crept foward. Forward. Forward. Until he
was standing at the door. A little light from downstairs managed to
filter in. And Chris moved
inside.                      

He was sure there would be something in there to
take back to his friends. He crept in and stood in the centre of the
room looking around. It was basically an empty room with some blankets
strewn across the floor and old food cartons and other rubbish lay
abandoned in corners of the room. The smell was unbelievably stale and
it assailed Chris's senses as soon as he entered. It invaded his nose
and mouth and made it hard to breath. Chris turned to leave but before
he could he saw something move far across the room. He held his breath.
His eyebrows twitched slightly. He was scared. He turned again, not
daring to venture any further. But as he moved towards the door and the
light he felt the breath upon his neck and the slight touch of a hand
as it grabbed at his
arm.                    
The man stood there with long lank black hair and two eyes stuck in his
face like pin pricks. His nose was a huge boil in the centre of his
face and he grinned. His teeth showed and were coloured dark brown, a
few at the back turned black. His breath was horrid. Chris screamed and
tried to struggle from the man's grip. But the man was strong and the
more Chris struggled the tighter the man's grip got. Chris screamed
again and the man clamped a hand across Chris's mouth. Chris bit down
and the man mumbled angrily. But he never took his hand away. The man
whispered in Chris's ear. I'll make you pay. You should have stayed
with your friends. You shouldn't have come in. Then he turned and flung
Chris further into the darkness of the room.
                        

Pain soared through Chris's elbow as he hit the floor and for
a moment he thought it might be broken. But as the man moved forwards
and straddled Chris's body he knew it probably wasn't. But by this time
Chris was terrified. His eyes showed his fear, and his gaping mouth
expressed the horror. The man lay down and placed his hand over Chris's
mouth again. Tight. Cutting off the air. Chris tried to breathe through
his nose and the man pinched his nose. Chris fought for breath and his
face began to go red. Then purple. Then almost blue. And in a last
desperate attempt to save himself, Chris raised a leg with lightening
fast reaction. The man crumpled with pain and his hands went to his
crotch. Chris staggered to his feet and raced to the door. He grabbed
the handle and twisted it. Locked. He tried again. But no. The door was
locked. And when Chris looked down at the lock he realized something.
And the terror filled him instantly. The door was locked. From the
outside.                   

Chris spun round just in time to see the man lurch
forward with outstretched arms. He grabbed Chris and held him tight. He
reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small paper knife. The
blade gleamed. The man pressed Chris against the door and dragged the
knife down his chest. Chris expected pain but he felt only a slight
tickle against his flesh. He shivered. The man went to Chris's crotch,
then stopped and took the knife away. When he did Chris's shirt feel
away from his body. The man surveyed him. His stomach was taught muscle
and his arms bulged with adolescent brawn. The man grinned. I hate to
do this. But it was so easy. And now you have to suffer. You broke into
a house and tried to steal. You have to pay. Chris screamed again. But
he knew no one would help. He was alone in this huge huge with a mad
man. He screamed again. The man lifted Chris up, high and moved him,
screaming and kicking, across the room. Something gleamed on the
ceiling, from the light in the window. And as the man dragged Chris
closer the gleam took shape. It moved into a curve of something. Chris
thought it might be steel. And then the man heaved Chris slightly
higher and Chris felt the pain fly through his body as the metal hook
went straight through his back.
                   

The pain was so strong that after a few minutes it vanished,
and Chris was left hanging from the ceiling. He wondered why he wasn't
dead. And when the pain vanished he realised he probably wasn't going
to die. He could feel the blood dripping down his back. And the
light-headedness made him feel quite queasy. Chris looked down and
screamed. Because the terror had just
begun.                   

The man went to the door an knocked three times.
There was the rasp of a key moving in the lock and then the door swung
open. And Chris stopped screaming when he saw the four boys walk in.
They'de crept into the house after Chris and hidden in the one room
Chris hadn't checked. It was a shock when they walked in. They stood in
a semi-circle and the man went and closed the door. he locked it from
the inside. Then he came to the centre of the semi-circle and they all
looked up. Chris screamed again. Don't scream. There's no one here. No
one can hear you scream. They chanted up at Chris while he screamed and
screamed and
screamed.                       

Eventually Chris stopped and stared down in wide-eyed horror.
Why. But no answer came and Chris knew that he was about to die. His
throat was raw with screaming and his body felt weightless. He could
feel the torn muscle and sinew in his back, and the metal of the hook
was cold. The kids around him smiled as they watched him suspended in
pain. Then the most unbelievable thing
happened.                   

We have him in our power. What shall we do with him?
The one called Steven said. His green eyes sparkled in the darkness.
Can we play with him? The man nodded and took a step backwards. One of
the kids was still smoking a cigarette. He grinned as a thought struck
him. he took the glowing tube from his mouth and raised it high. I've
got an idea. We can burn him. Burn his flesh and make it cook. The
others grinned with him and he took a step forwards. The raised
cigarette slowly moved towards Chris's stomach. And then blinding pain
as his skin sizzled under the heat. Chris threw back his head and the
hook managed to manoeuvre its way deeper into his back. The cigarette
came again and again and again. And every time Chris screamed the kids
around him laughed. Chris wanted to ask why they were doing this. Why
they were hurting him. But the glint in their eyes and the wide grins
on their faces explained everything. And anyway, psychopaths don't need
reasons.
                    

The kid moved back into the circle and a second stepped
forward. He reached into his pocket, but his hand remained there while
he spoke. We've had our eye on you for quite a while. We never thought
we'd find you alone. Never thought we could get you here. He inclined
his head and scuffed his shoes. But it was easy. You're so gullible. We
knew you only needed some tale before you would prove your worth. So
here you are. In the presence of all your friends. Again he stopped. He
withdrew his hand from his pocket and something was there. He was
concealing something. It gleamed like the hook had gleamed. Metal. But
we really do have a gang. This is the gang. We're hoping to recruit
some new members. But there's a strict screening process. And this is
one of the tests. See how you cope under pressure. And I must say
you're coping very well. Chris struggled on the hook but he was stuck.
Helpless. The kid came closer. Now here's the thing. Before you can
become one of us you need to give us something. And with a quick
flourish he opened his hand and Chris saw the thing there for the first
time. The kid laughed and grasped the corkscrew as tightly as possible.
He looked sort of sad. Chris looked questioningly towards the object
and the kid laughed. You're heart.
                   

Chris was looking at Death itself. The kid moved closer again
and raised the corkscrew. But Chris was determined not to die. He
kicked his leg and caught the kid a blow on the jaw. It knocked him to
the floor. The others moved with alarm but Chris kept flailing his
legs. The kids moved away to avoid him. They watched as he tired
himself out. The kid on the floor stood up, dizzy. They all watched as
Chris heaved his body around. But Chris knew exactly what he was doing.
And with one final heave there was a sickening sound and Chris dropped
to the floor.
                        

The heaving had loosened the flesh and the skin had
ripped almost to his neck. The blood ran afresh from the huge gash. But
at least he was off the hook. At first he thought he might be
paralysed. But he moved his fingers and toes and realised he was fine.
But the minute he tried to sit up the kids were on him, kicking and
punching and biting. The blows rained down on Chris and he felt the
pain exploding inside him like a firework. He crawled across the floor
and the kids followed him. He made the way to the door. The blood had
left a trail behind him. It smeared on the floor. It stuck to his
clothing. He reached up and tried to unlock the door. But his energy
was gone and he collapsed to the floor. The kids savaged him. They bit
and tore chunks of flesh. Chris knocked them all off. He tried to crawl
the other way. And suddenly a plan formulated in his
mind.                      

The window was only two floors above the ground. And
if he timed the jump right he might even land on the grass. It would
probably kill him but that was a chance he was willing to take. With
the last of his strength he clawed his way to his feet. He staggered
across to the window. The kids slackened off to see what he would do.
And with a shattering crash Chris catapulted himself from the
window.                   

Luckily he did catch the grass. And as he fell he
rolled. It was that action which saved himself from dying. He lay for a
few seconds and then, full of passion for life and safety, he crawled
his way towards the nearest house. But halfway there he fell to the
ground and this time he fell
unconscious.