Home Intruder: An Extreme Horror Novella (5 page)

“Sit down and shut up.”

Linda glared at him, seemingly struggling with some great, internal debate. She sat down at the kitchen table, her eyes clouded with hurt and pain.

Stupid fucking bitch, this is all your fault
.

“Now, Ed, which is it to be? Flay Linda or let me fuck your wife?”

A steely resolve overtook him.

“Give me the fucking knife.”

“Ed! No!”

To his surprise, Ed found his voice was completely calm.

“Yes, baby. I’m not letting that animal touch you.”

“Now just wait one fucking second, don’t I get a say in this?”

Jason laughed. “No.”

“I’ve had enough of this shit,” Linda said, standing up and scraping her chair back. “I’m going home.”

“No, Linda, you’re not. Sit back down
right now
.”

She hesitated for a second, then sat down again. She gazed pleadingly up at Ed.

“Please, Ed. Don’t hurt me.”

His reply was calm, but inside he raged.

“You did this to yourself, Linda. You’re the one that twatted me over the head and put us in this fucking situation. I will protect my wife to the bitter end, do you understand?”

He wasn’t bluffing. Rage had empowered him.

“Don’t do it, Ed,” his wife sobbed. “It’s not the way.”

Ed ignored her.

“How much skin do I have to flay?”

“I’ll tell you when to stop. Start with the shoulder and work down to the waist. Don’t touch the spine though, we don’t want to do any lasting damage. Not yet anyway.”

Linda too, began to cry.

Fuck you, bitch. You did this to yourself
...

So then why was his hand trembling when he reached up to wipe away the sweat that was trickling into his eyes?

Jason pulled out a small, shiny red object from a back pocket of his jeans.

“I prefer a simple, Swiss army knife for flaying. Trust me, it’s so much easier for precise work like this.”

He placed the folded up knife on the table.

“And I know what you’re thinking. No funny business or your wife dies, are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good. Linda, take off your top and bra, stand up and lean over with your palms flat on the table.”

“What? No.”

Jason sighed theatrically. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I am not adverse to either, but for your sake you should do what you’re told.”

“What do you mean, the
hard way
? Ed is going to fucking
flay me
.”

“Do it,” Jason said, his voice steel.

“Wait,” Jaz said.

All eyes fell on her.

“I’m not going to let this happen.”

She lifted up the still-wet dress over her head, revealing her perfect, nude body.

“Jesus Christ Jaz, get dressed
right now
.”

Jaz ignored him.

“Come on then you bastard, do it. Fuck me.”

“No,” Ed said, lunging for Linda who hadn’t moved from the chair.

His hands circled her neck and squeezed, cutting her off mid-scream. She thrashed beneath his grip but he held grimly on, even when she tried to push herself up using the table top as leverage.

“Get off me,” she managed to gasp.

“I
will not
let my wife be raped. So what’s it to be? I will either beat you up and flay you, or I will just flay you.”

He let go of her neck with a final, vicious squeeze, and jerked her forwards. Her forehead connected with the table edge with a resounding
smack,
and for a moment she didn’t move, slouched there with her forehead resting on the table.

She groaned pitifully, but there was no pity to be found in Ed’s heart.

“Ed! What are you doing?”

“For the love of God, Jaz, will you please get fucking dressed.”

Ed went for the army knife. With one hand pinning her face to the table by the back of her neck, he flicked up the blade.

Now Linda was crying in earnest.

“I’m impressed, Edward,” Jason said. “Maybe you really do love your wife after all.”

“Fuck you,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the sobbing woman.

“Don’t hurt me, Ed,” she whimpered. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Oh God, I love you so much.”

Ed lifted up her head by her hair. Once she had been fully righted, he brought her forehead crashing down onto the table. Her entire body jolted like she had been electrocuted. Jaz started screaming and didn’t stop.

“Hush baby, it’s the only way. I haven’t killed her, she’s just out cold. It won’t hurt her now.”

He proceeded to fist the back of the baggy t-shirt she wore and positioned the knife at the collar, readying it to slice downwards through the material.

“No,” his wife screamed, flying at him.

He felt her soft breasts pressing into his back and her hands reaching round to claw at his.

“Stop,” he gasped.

“It’s. Not. Right,” she panted.

She was determined, that was for sure. He could have easily shaken her off but the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

“Enough of this bullshit!”

Jason Jacks had to shout to be heard over Jaz and Ed’s tussle.

Jaz went slack against him and buried her face into his back. He could feel the wetness of her face seeping through his t-shirt and the way her breasts jerked with her sobbing.

“Jazmine, if you want to save Ed from flaying the stupid bitch then get over here right now and bend over the table. And as for you Ed, you have to play by the rules, damn it. If Jazmine chooses to fuck me, then that’s just the way it has to be.”

“That wasn’t the deal! You said that it was
my
choice. I get to choose whether I flay Linda or you fuck my wife.”

The man shrugged. “If Jaz wants me to fuck her, then who am I to argue?”

“You complete cunt.”

The pressure lifted from his back, and with it any happiness Ed had ever experienced in his thirty-three years of life. There was only sadness now. Sadness and pain. He let go off the scruff of Linda’s neck and she slumped sideways, landing in an ungainly, unconscious heap on the floor.

“Oh, okay then, you win,” he said breezily. “Flay the bitch. But I want at least two long strips running parallel either side of her vertebrae. Come on then, get to work.”

Ed’s heart hammered violently when he crouched over the out-cold woman who was lying on her side. He put her into the recovery position and got to work sawing through her t-shirt. Undressing her would’ve felt too intimate. Beneath the t-shirt she was wore a sturdy looking, dirty white bra. He sawed through the back strap and was assaulted with vivid memories of fighting with this woman’s bra as a teenager. His fingers trembled so badly he dropped the knife.

The realisation smacked him full force in the face.

I can’t fucking do this.

You have to
.

Picking up the knife once more, he made a concerted effort to get his nerves under control. Gently, he eased the bra strap off her shoulder. The cup of the bra went slack, but was prevented from completely sliding off her body by her arm which rested atop her breast. He was glad of this, although he didn’t know why it should make a difference, seeing as he was about to
flay his fucking ex
.

He pushed down slightly on her shoulder so he had a clear run of her back. His hand shook like an arthritic old man’s when he pressed the blade against the soft flesh just to the right of the nape of her neck.

Here goes
…

Blood spilled over his white knuckles when he broke the surface of the skin. He swayed on his knees, lightheaded and nauseous.

“Oh God,” he groaned, unable to stop the tide of vomit that surged upwards from his clenching stomach.

Foul tasting vomit spewed forth, splattering his t-shirt and pooling next to him. He closed his eyes for a second, unable to stop the violent trembling that racked his body.

“You dirty bastard,” Jason laughed.

When he had sufficiently composed himself, he looked up.

“No,” he gasped, his overworked heart pounding even harder.

“I’m sorry, it’s for the best,” his wife said in a trembling voice.

Jaz had bent over the table across from him. Her large breasts swung forward, mocking him in their overtly sexual stance that seemed to scream; 
hey, I’m gonna get fucked and you’re not the one who’s doing the fucking
…

“No, I’m going to do it.”

But they both knew it was lie. He couldn’t flay Linda. For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Ed was powerless to stop the sudden rush of tears. They spilled out of him as easily as a wronged two year old’s.

With a breaking heart he watched his wife. The handle of the penknife felt slippery in his hand. In his mind he was plunging it into Jason’s heart, but in reality he stood motionless, watching the unfolding scene.

Less than a metre’s distance from him, Jason positioned himself behind his wife and unzipped the fly of his jeans.

Dear God, I can’t let this happen
…

But let it happen, he did. Jason’s big hand circled the back of her neck, the nuzzle of the gun pointing at him through the tangle of wet hair. Jaz’s eyes were as glazed as a fish on a chopping block. Wide, shiny and staring, it was like she was oblivious to what was happening.

From his position, Ed was spared the sight of the man’s cock, but it was obvious he was guiding it along his wife’s vagina with his hand.

“Please don’t,” Ed sobbed. “Please don’t, please don’t.”

The man stopped gyrating his hips.

“I’ll tell you what, fuck face. If you eat up your vomit I’ll nail your wife in the pussy instead of the arse.”

What fucking difference does that make,
he thought, but then felt guilty for thinking it.

Just because you don’t want to feast on your own sick
...

We’ve never done it that way before, it would be agony for her if I let that happen.

But she might get pregnant.

Deal with that if it happens. I can’t put her through the pain of anal…

And as for STDs, surely she could get them just as easily from anal intercourse as vaginal? Without further ado, and tired of overthinking, he crouched down on all fours like a dog and lapped up his sour vomit.

The taste was indescribable. He tried to bypass his taste-buds by gulping. It didn’t work. Even though it had cooled, it burned his mouth and throat. Hot, bitter and rancid, his stomach contracted and bile rose afresh at the unwelcome return of that which it had just expelled. Absently he noticed there were lumps in it, possibly the apple he had eaten earlier.

While he was lapping up his vomit, he heard Jason grunt and the table legs squeak rhythmically over the tiled floor.

He didn’t think life could get any darker. His nose streamed snot from his crying which he consumed along with the vomit.

Ed knew he shouldn’t look. But sometimes knowing and doing were two different things.

Ed looked.

The unspeakable image of his wife getting fucked splintered his brain, and something snapped in his mind, like an over-taut elastic band. Self-loathing and disgust that he was letting this happen consumed him; so much so he that he felt an overwhelming urge to just bash his head repeatedly against the ground until he smashed in his skull and died.

No. Jaz needs you.

Yeah. Fat lot of help you are, you useless cunt
.

He still gripped the knife in his sweaty palm. Yes, he had let his wife down, but that was going to change, as of this second. He was going to save her or he was going to die trying.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Boris Coleman strolled along the dark cliff path towards Dallam Avenue. He was in a good mood and whistled tunelessly to himself, thoughts of Jaz’s lush, young body clouding his mind.

“Tonight’s your lucky night, baby,” he said aloud, jangling the backdoor key of eight Dallam Avenue from his forefinger.

Oh yes, he had made sure to pocket the backdoor key when he had been inside the house earlier that day. No one made a fool of Boko, especially not some slimy little cunt whom his now ex had been so madly in love with all through secondary school. And still was apparently,
the stupid, lying slag
.

He was going to show her. He was going to show them all. Fucking, stuck up, know-it-all Londoners, fucking swanning into his home town like they owned the fucking place with money pouring out of their perfect, shit-free arses.

He’d show that cunt Ed who was top-dog round here. He’d rape his gorgeous wife while he watched and then he would give him a beating he would never forget. And then he would tell dear Linda all about it.

No one fucked with Boko. Fucking
no one
.

He paused on the cliff path for a second.

Who am I kidding? I can’t do this.

Boko was fist-happy and had never grown out of that testosterone-fuelled phase lots of young man in their early twenties fell prey to; the need to knock someone out if they so much as looked as them in the ‘wrong way.’

But rape? As thick as Boko was, and as much as he
wanted
to, he appreciated the difference between fantasy and reality.

He walked slowly onwards, wondering what he would do when he got there.

And there was the house now. He stood still on the cliff path, shielded by a big tree directly opposite the house. The living room light wasn’t on. He pictured them inside, sat round the kitchen table, listening to music maybe, getting all cosy and smug after a hard day sunning themselves on the beach. Drinking wine together. Toasting their perfect lives. Boko smiled, enjoying how the fantasy played out in his head and he patted the penknife in the seat pocket of his jeans.

This was gonna be
fun
.

Jaz clawed the edge of the table so hard she was getting splinters under her fingernails. Not that she noticed such a triviality. Jason Jacks pounded into her good old fashioned doggy-style, and her humiliation was complete.

There was little pain, just the abject mortification that this was happening in front of her husband. Her husband who was currently eating his own vomit, she duly noted in an abstract kind if way. Because for the sake of her sanity, Jaz had shut down. Her tears had long dried and Jaz had switched to survival mode. If she didn’t fully acknowledge what was happening, then she could get through this nightmare. Save it all up for a shrink at a later date. If she even lived that long.

Ed lifted his face from his evening meal and their eyes locked. She didn’t focus on them though, she didn’t want to acknowledge the depth of his torment. Instead she looked right through him as if his skull was transparent.

The rhythmic pounding intensified and she shut down further. Because of this, she barely comprehended what happened next.

One second she was getting fucked from behind, the next was a blur of movement and she was thrust to one side. She fell heavily onto her side and a muffled
thump
reverberated in the air. It took her a moment to work out that the gun had been fired and that it sounded funny because of the silencer.

He’s shot Ed,
came the gut wrenching, crystal clear thought.

She struggled to sit up, but flopped back down again. She hurt all over and her head felt swimmy and strange.

“Ed,” she managed to croak out.

“Ed’s dead, baby. Ed’s dead.”

“No,” she whispered.

Still she did not open her eyes. Not even when strong hands lifted her up by her shoulders into a sitting position.

“He brought it on himself. He didn’t play by the rules. Why would he lunge for me when I was pointing a
fucking gun
at him?”

Jaz was stunned.

A strange sound floated around her head and she realised it was coming from her. A pitiful mewling that made her own skin crawl. The horrible noise broke her paralysis.

He can’t be dead, he can’t be
...

Her eyes snapped open, and she crawled over to where he lay a few feet from her.

“Ed? Ed!”

His head was twisted at an unnatural looking angle to his body, propped up awkwardly against the cupboard below the sink. The entire front of his t-shirt was stained red, and on closer inspection, Jaz saw where the bullet had entered him to the left of his stomach.

Instinctively she pressed her palm to the wound and with her other hand she felt for a pulse at his neck. Life fluttered beneath her fingertips and she visibly slumped with relief.

“Amazing. He lives. So the game isn’t over yet.”

Jaz ignored the man towering over them with the gun trained down on her.

“Ed? Wake up, oh God, please wake up.”

She was rewarded with a groan.

“So the game continues. Jaz, it is your turn as Edward is incapacitated. Would you care to do the job your husband couldn’t do, that is to flay Linda? Or would you rather cut off your husband’s cock?”

“Fuck you,” she said, fear giving way to utter despair.

She scrambled to her feet, eyes frantically darting, gearing up for fight or flight.

Fuck it.

Without thinking too hard about it, she lunged for the kitchen door and threw herself into the dark hallway. What was he going to do? Shoot her in the back? She figured it was entirely a possibility, but she was banking on his desire to ‘play’ being stronger.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he called after her.

Linda hurtled clumsily against the front door and rattled the handle. Locked, of course. As if he would be stupid enough to leave it open. She pressed herself against the slim, frosted glass panel that ran adjacent to the door and banged her fists against it, screaming at the top of her lungs. The pane barely even shivered.

But maybe, just maybe, there would be someone outside walking their dog or something. And maybe this imaginary person would hear the screaming and see her silhouette behind the glass and have the foresight to call the police…

She rested her hot, sweaty cheek against the cool glass, clawing the glass despairingly with her fingernails. As fucking if.

Then it occurred to her to flick the light-switch on and off a few times like a distress beacon in the seconds before he grabbed her from behind.

“Hey! Stop that bitch. Enough of this fooling.”

He fisted her long blonde hair, pulled back her head, and brought her forehead crashing down on the glass.

Stars jumped before her eyes before everything dimmed and she sunk to her knees. Jason still had a hold of her hair, and he tugged hard on it, bringing her crashing down onto her back. She screamed in agony and flailed uselessly at her hair when he dragged her back into the kitchen like a sack of potatoes.

Boko leaned against the tree and regarded the house thoughtfully. Maybe they weren’t in the kitchen. Maybe they were upstairs going at it. He thought of Jaz’s body, sheened in sweat and stretched out on the bed. He imagined Ed lying between her legs, fucking her in the missionary position and him sneaking up behind and bashing him over the head…

“Boko? What you doing here, boy?”

The voice calling out to him almost made him drop dead of heart attack there and then.

“Jow?” he asked, peering along the gloomy cliff path at the approaching, slightly stooped figure. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked first, boy.”

Boko towered over the older man, a mix of guilt and anger at being interrupted making his heart hammer all the harder.

“I, er, just popped round to say hi. I’ve been fixing up the roof.”

Jow regard him through narrowed eyes. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot like a shifty kid caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. “Why you here anyway?”

Jow held up a bulging carrier bag.

“The day’s spoils. Thought those nice folk might like some pasties for their freezer.”

Boko didn’t know what to say. He had been well and truly busted.

I weren’t gonna do anything anyway. I was just gonna stand here and look.

What if the stupid old fart asked him to
go inside
with him? Boko shuddered at the sheer humiliation of it.

He was saved from answering when a shadow fell across the slim, frosted pane of glass that ran parallel to the door. Both men watched. It looked a bit
odd,
like someone inside the house was
battering
on the glass. Although it was faint, Boko was sure he heard the high pitched wail of a scream.

Probably just a seagull.

But there ain’t no shitehawks at night.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what? My hearing ain’t what it used to be.”

Then the shadow fell still and grew denser, like whoever was the other side was pressed tight against the glass.

The hallway light came on, then switched off again.

“Shit,” Boko said when it happened a few more times in quick succession, then turned off for good.

“Shit indeed,” Jow agreed. “That sure looks like a distress signal to me.”

Suddenly the shadow lifted, like it had been ripped away, followed by more of that same sound.

Screaming. Definitely screaming.

Boko shook his head. It had to be music, or the TV on too loud, or something….

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

“Are you
sure
you don’t hear that?”

Jow cocked his head to one side, obviously straining his ears. “Don’t know. Maybe. Something ain’t right, I know that much. We should call the police.”

Boko looked at him like he had lost his mind. “Police? Are you serious? Because we saw a god damn
shadow
and someone flicked a light-switch?”

“I tell ya boy, something ain’t right, I can feel it in my bones.”

Boko felt it too, and right then he wished with all his heart he had stayed on his mate’s sofa where he had been sleeping until he worked out what he wanted to do about Linda.

“Yeah, whatever. Call the police then, I’m going home.”

“You ain’t going anywhere. You need to step up boy, whatever it is that’s going on in that house, it’s our business now. You always were a sly one, Boris Coleman.”

He sure as shit didn’t want the old fart calling the fuzz. He really didn’t want to have to explain what he was doing here.

“So what do you suggest we do about it?”

“Give me your phone,” the old man said. “I’m calling the police.”

“Ain’t got it on me,” Boko replied.

This time he was telling the truth. It hadn’t even occurred to him to bring it. The last thing he wanted was Linda calling or texting him.

“I betcha lying to me, boy.”

“I am not! Search me if you want. Ain’t you got one?”

“What would I want with one of them mobile telephones? Don’t be soft.”

“So what do we do?”

“Well, I guess we just go right up to that there door and knock.”

Boko
knew
that was a crappy idea. “Why don’t we just go and knock up one of the neighbours? Ask to use their phone?”

“Because ain’t nothing on this road ‘cept for holiday lets. Can you see any lights on? No. Means the houses are empty, or all the emmetts are out on the town. Come on, let’s just knock. It’s probably nothing anyway.”

“You’ve changed your tune.”

“I got you with me, haven’t I? No one messes with Boris Coleman right? So come on and do the right thing for once in your life.”

“Aw, shit.” Boris knew when he was beat. “Fine.”

He thought of the backdoor key in his pocket, unsure whether to mention it or not. He decided against it. The old git would never believe they
gave
it to him. So the front door it was.

They crossed the car-less road in silence. When they reached the door, Boris found he was trembling.

There ain’t nothing wrong. Just ring the god damn bell.

The bell rung out in the silence of the night. The two men exchanged a worried look and Boko just knew this was a mistake.

Jaz had reached the kitchen where she had been dragged on her stomach when the doorbell rang. Her entire front burned hot from being dragged in such a merciless way across the hard boards, but the pain was immediately forgotten the second the bell sounded. Her heart surged in hope and she drew breath to cry out.