Home Intruder: An Extreme Horror Novella (7 page)

Epilogue.

Three Years Later
.

“Don’t do that, honey, it isn’t nice.”

Ed let go of the cat’s tail. “Aw, Mummy.”

Jaz put down her paintbrush and reached for her son who was crawling after the cat on the kitchen floor.

“How would you like your tail pulled? Huh? Huh?”

The little boy squirmed and giggled. Jaz laughed too, but it was underpinned with the constant sadness that she carried with her always.

He’s not Ed’s. He’s
his.

She had hoped and prayed that it wasn’t to be so, but alas, this little boy was the living proof.

He has his father’s eyes,
she thought, and shuddered.

“Mummy, can I play in the garden?”

“Sure sweetie, just don’t go past the back-gate, okay?”

“Kay, Mummy.”

Ed hurtled out the back door into the brilliant sunshine. She stood watching him through the kitchen window as she rinsed her brushes in the sink. Memoires of that night were beginning to fade. Not completely of course, but if there was one thing Jaz had learned from the whole sorry experience was that she was a fighter. Since then, she had sold the house on Dallam Avenue and bought another, smaller house in Treeve.

It had just felt right. Ed had been brought up here, and now little Ed was going to be too. Like the kind old guy from the pasty shop had said, she was able to carve out a pretty decent living here as an artist. Life was good.

Apart from the nightmares. Over the past three years she had tried to piece together the psychological mystery that was Jason Jacks; the sadistic serial killer that liked to torture couples. Unloved and unwanted as a child, he had been in and out of care-homes and foster-homes, suffering God–knows-what at the hands of strangers. Maybe that was why he was so obsessed with ‘testing love.’

Whatever. The obsession had eaten her up and almost destroyed her. She knew that it was time to stop. Time to move on with her life.

What’s Ed doing now?

The little boy was crouched down at the far end of the garden by the wall. He was holding something in his hand, although she couldn’t see what as he had his back to her. When he turned in profile, she gasped. In his little hands he held a sparrow. The poor thing must have been half eaten by a cat or something, and had managed to escape. Its wings were fluttering and its body convulsed.

Her blood ran cold when she saw the glint of a potato knife.

Just like the knife I used to kill Linda.

And his father
…

The little boy slit the bird’s stomach. Not enough to kill it. Just to torture it.

He will
not
turn out like his cunt of a father. He will not.

Taking a deep breath, she went out to join her son in the garden.

THE END.

Thank you for reading, dear reader. I hope you enjoyed the offerings of my warped mind. The following is a sample from the novel,
DJINN
. Although I must warn you, this book gets seriously dark and twisted. I am pleased to say that it is quickly gaining notoriety as one of the most disgusting, filthy, grotesque and downright disturbing books ever written.

Hey, what can I say? I try my best.

Sam West.

Sample of
Djinn
by
Sam West
.

Chapter One.

Somebody’d had a really evil crap in this cubicle. Pam Wilkins gagged, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her tatty cleaning jumper, careful not to let the yellow rubber glove she was wearing touch her face.

“Fuck,” she groaned, the bile rising and her tongue floating in mouth water.

Shit, she should be used to this. She’d been doing it for almost a year, which was a long time as far as cleaning toilets went. The job could be measured in something like dog years. One month felt like ten years so she figured she should really be used to it by now.

She took a step inside the cubicle of death and the door swung shut behind her. There was no way she was getting trapped in with that stench so she placed her plastic bucket full of cleaning products at the foot of the door to wedge it open.

That’s when the dull glint caught her eye under the door hinge. At first glance she thought it was a discarded copper teapot, but then she saw the shape of the thing was too elongated to be a teapot. She bent over to inspect it more closely. Yes, it was some kind of lamp, instantly making her think of Aladdin and The Lamp.

She picked it up, slowly turning it over in her hands. It was filthy, but under the dirt it looked like it might be made of brass. Were brass lamps worth anything? She didn’t know, but she would google it when she got in. Maybe it would be worth a bob or two on Ebay.

She picked out a yellow dustcloth from her bucket and gave it a little rub.

Smoke began to curl out of the spout.

“What the fuck?” she exclaimed, dropping the lamp.

It clattered to the tiled floor, the smoke continuing to rise. It billowed in the confined space, making her gag and her eyes water.

“What the fuck,” she repeated, coughing and spluttering.

Pam stumbled backwards, staring incredulously at the smoke that now filled the cubicle.

All that smoke, but no fire, she thought, her mind whirring in confusion. How can that be?

The cubicle was thick with smoke. But the strange thing was, not even a curl of it escaped the cubicle, like there was an invisible barrier confining it there.

The smoke seemed to be clearing a little, and now that it was, Pam could make out a figure standing amidst it.

“Shit,” she proclaimed, rubbing her eyes, convinced she was seeing things.

But no, there was definitely somebody standing in the cubicle. A man, no less, judging from the tall, broad shouldered silhouette.

“What the fuck is this? Where did you come from?”

“From the lamp. You summoned me. I am here to do your bidding.”

“Yeah, and I’m the queen of fucking Sheeba. Did Wayne put you up to this?”

“No.”

Pam shivered. She couldn’t see his face as the smoke still swirled around his head, obscuring his features. How could the bastard breathe in all that smoke? She had pulled her pullover up over nose and still the smoke felt thick and frightening in her lungs. That aside, it was the voice that got to her. Despite the figure being obviously male, the voice sounded oddly asexual, falling somewhere between masculine and feminine. Not only that, but it didn’t seem to be emanating from the man himself. Like the smoke itself, the lilting voice hung in the air all around them.

It had to be a practical joke, the guy had to have a tape recorded voice in his pocket to make it sound like that. Or maybe there were speakers hidden in the toilet. Pam hated practical jokes, her life was one big joke enough as it was.

A distant part of her mind warned her that this was real. Who the hell did she think she was? She knew perfectly well she wasn’t even interesting enough to be the butt of a practical joke.

“Now listen here, you fucking psycho, obviously you’ve been loitering in the next door cubicle waiting to pull your little stunt, but I don’t want to play your sick games. I’m walking away, right now, and then I’m going to call the police.”

“Stay, Pam. I can give you everything your mortal heart has ever desired. I can make your every wish come true. I am the Djinn.”

“Fuck off.”

Pam was scared. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t right. How could he stand there in all that smoke and not be fucking dead? And now that the smoke was clearing, why could she still not see his fucking face? It was almost like he didn’t have one.

She turned to leave.

“Wait.”

The quiet command of his voice made her pause.

“Leave me alone,” she said, hating how frightened she sounded.

She remained rooted to the spot, not daring to turn around and face him yet also unable to turn and leave.

“Don’t be scared Pam, you have nothing to fear. I am friend, not foe. If you complete a simple set of tasks I can make all your dreams come true.”

Something compelled her to turn around.

He had stepped out of the cubicle where the smoke was rapidly clearing and stood less than a metre away from her. He was wearing a well cut black suit on his perfectly formed body.

She still couldn’t see his face. She rubbed her eyes, convinced she was losing her mind. But no, his features were a blur, like she was too pissed to focus. Except she wasn’t. It was Monday morning and she was stone cold sober. His hair might have been dark, but it was near impossible to tell. His head seemed to gently shimmer and sparkle, like the reflection off an ocean. It hurt to look at it for too long.

“What kind of fucking mask is that?” she asked, shielding her eyes.

“It is not a mask. Mortals cannot gaze upon my visage, my absolute, perfect beauty would destroy your mind. You would not be able to comprehend it.”

“What are you? Apart from conceited?”

“I am Djinn, the third sapient creature of God. There are humans, angels and those like me, the Djinn.”

“You mean a demon, right?”

Pam simply could not believe she was having this conversation. It was ludicrous, she was humouring a psychopath.

Yet as much as she hated to admit it, she believed his every word.

“No Pam, Djinn are not demons. Like you humans, we have free will. We can be good, evil, or benevolent.”

“And what are you?”

He didn’t smile, because he didn’t have a face, but she could hear the tease in his voice.

“Why, I am good, of course.”

She shook her head.  She had gone insane, it was the only logical explanation.  It was hardly a surprise, really. All the financial worries, her bullying boyfriend and generally shitty life had led her to this point.

“You’re not real,” she said, closing her eyes, wanting it to be true.

When she opened them again, he was still there. As she knew, deep down, he would be.

“Make a deal with me Pam. Six wishes in exchange for six simple tasks. You will live a long and perfect life of your choosing, at the end of which, I take your soul.”

“What, so you can torture me for all eternity? I don’t think so.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Pam. I do not wish to torture you, I wish to save you from hell. Do you really think you’re getting into heaven? With all things you’ve done in your life? Please.”

“How do you know what I’ve done?”

“Because I am not of this world. Because when you rubbed the lamp, I absorbed your memories, your very essence. I know everything. I know about the abortions, the hard drinking, the prostituting yourself.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, that was only like twice. And I only did it ‘cause I was desperate ‘cause the bailiffs were on my case.”

“No matter. It is enough to send you to hell.”

“If all this is true, then what the fuck do you want with my soul?”

“What good is a kingdom with no subjects? The third realm consists of saved souls, and the more souls I save from the eternal torture of hell, the happier I will be.”

“So you’re like, the boss of this place?”

“The collective Djinn are. Look, Pam, the politics of the third realm are of little consequence. Do you want to make the deal or not?”

“But why me?”

“Why not? My lamp, or that is, my vessel, had to materialise somewhere. It just happened to be here. I wouldn’t have come out if a good person destined for heaven had found the lamp. I am here to save a soul, and along came you.”

“Along came me,” she repeated wistfully.

Pam’s head ached with the most bizarre encounter of her relatively short life. Six wishes. Oh, the things she could wish for to make her life better. The things she could have and do so she wouldn’t wake up every day in misery…

He closed the gap between them and she shivered when he reached out to touch her arm. He steered her over to the long mirror above the sink and stood behind her.

“Look at yourself Pam. What do you see?”

Pam concentrated on her own face, ignoring the blurred visage of the man behind her. Pam had had a hard life. All the twenty six years of crap were etched on her prematurely lined, sunken face.

“I see sadness,” she said softly.

“I can take all that away. I can make you happy. I can make you beautiful. I can make you rich. Whatever you want.”

Pam looked at her bloodshot, heavily bagged eyes. At the prematurely grey streaked, lank, dark hair. At the double chin and hollow cheeks. At the yellow front teeth and the missing eye teeth. She was a mess. A big, fat mess.

She lowered her eyes in disgust. She was repulsive, she would give anything to be pretty.

Even sell her soul.

“Make the deal, Pam. We cannot proceed until you consent. I will make the first offer, and it will count as the first of your six wishes. Ten thousand pounds will appear in your purse if you complete the first of your six tasks.”

His voice or its voice was so soothing, so hypnotic. She couldn’t think straight, her head felt fuzzy like she had just awoken from a deep sleep.

A distant part of her mind warned that she had fallen under a spell. Yet simultaneously she didn’t care.

“What would I have to do for my first task?”

“All you have to do is drink out of the toilet you were about to clean.”

“What?”

“I think you heard me Pam. Six good swallows, and the ten thousand pounds is yours.”

“There’s a fucking floater in it.”

“So?”

“What if I refuse?”

The be-suited shoulders towering over her shrugged. “Then the deal is off. You go back to being the sad, fat, ugly, pathetic excuse for a human being that you are.”

“Hey, that’s harsh.”

“Yes, it is. And I’m giving you this golden opportunity to change your life. Drink the water, Pam. Take control of your own destiny.”

She turned around and stared at the face that wasn’t until it stung her eyes and she was forced to look away.

I can’t believe I’m even contemplating this. I can’t believe this is happening…

When she glanced over at the stall softly shrouded by the wispiest tendrils of smoke, the porcelain bowl seemed to stare back her.

The mouth water was back again just thinking about it, her tongue curling up at the base.

“What if I do this? What would I have to do for the next one?”

“Each task is on a need to know basis.”

“But what if I do this, and not the next?”

“Then you forfeit everything, including the money for this task, even if you have completed it to my satisfaction. You finish with nothing and the deal is off. You go back to being the fat loser who scrubs toilets for a living and lets her boyfriend beat her.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, thank you. So do we have a deal?”

She hesitated for a second. “What if I get some disease?”

“That’s your choice.”

“Jesus.”

“Oh, come now, Pam. You’ve done worse.”

It was true. She had. But how did he know that?

Because he peered into your mind when you rubbed his lamp, remember?

“Jesus,” she said once more.

Fuck it, he’s right, I have done worse.

She cast her mind back to the time Wayne had made her clean the rim of the toilet bowl with her tongue when she had burnt his dinner. So this would be a walk in the park, right?

Ten grand, she thought. I could sure use ten grand.

In her head she was paying off the back rent and overdue council tax and the payday loan that seemed to have not so much doubled as quadrupled.

“Fuck it,” she said aloud, marching assertively over to the toilet bowl.

“Good girl.”

The smoke had cleared like it had never been. She sunk to her knees, and stared into the bowl. A turd looked back up at her, and it wasn’t solid. It was brown arse piss.

“Can I flush?”

“No.”

“Shit.”

“Indeed.”