Horror Becomes Me Read online

  Horror becomes me

  The Black Chronicle:

  Part Two

  By Oldrich Stibor

   Copyright 2015 by Red Right Hand Publishing - All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopy, recording or any other electronic methods without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  EPILOGUE

  CONCLUSION

  EXCERPT OF ‘FEAR THE MONKEY KING’ also by Oldrich Stibor:

  CHAPTER 1

  Jeremy found himself inside Mister’s clothes, creeping towards a house, ready to kill its occupants. If there was an override switch for your humanity, the costume, and more importantly the circumstances, helped him find it. The devil had his son. And the devil demanded blood. The devil gets what the devil wants.

  The lights were all off. He prayed they were all asleep. Things could get out of control very quickly if they weren't. He had no idea how he was going to do it. The gun would be too noisy so that was out. It would have to be the hatchet but first thing was first; he had to find a way inside.

  The house was a very narrow three story with a cemented walkway that lead into the backyard. He looked for an alarm sticker but couldn't find one. Didn't these people know there was a psychopath on the loose? He opened the wooden get and floated into the backyard. He looked in the kitchen window, no movement inside. He moved to the back door which he could tell by looking in the widow led into a small mud room. He reached for the handle knowing it must surely be locked but it wasn't. The handle turned and the door glided open with eerie ease, like the devil himself had unlocked it and bid him to enter. And there he was, staring into the sanctuary of strangers, a green light straight to hell.

  Even though he had already determined to do this horrible thing, there came a moment, right then, where he knew he really could. A certain sense of belief in his ability to follow through that scared him, and shook him awake for the brief moment he needed to take a step back.

  He would not do this. He could. And maybe even he should for Charlie but that would be playing into Mister's plan. There was no way he would simply release Charlie once this was done. That was nothing more than foolish, naive, optimism. Optimism was an indulgence he couldn't afford himself.

  He quickly scurried back to the car and began to urgently scrub the paint from his face with his sleeve. It wasn't until he scrubbed every last spec of the white paint off that he began to feel like himself again. He changed back into his clothes, knowing that he would be receiving another video and much sooner than he hoped.

  Jeremy had been sitting in his living room since before the moon hid herself away and the sun rose making the lights still lit in his apartment pointless but he noticed none of it. Charlie had been taken roughly seven hours ago and still he couldn't bring himself to tell Katie or the police. Of course that was exactly what he should do, legally speaking, morally maybe even, but there was a bigger picture to consider. Statistically Charlie was already dead. A dead number in a dead column. But Mister wanted to play games. And that at least meant Mister would keep Charlie alive long enough to use against him. There was still a window of opportunity. But if he told Katie, if he told the FBI then that would severely limited his options.

  He would have to tell Katie something obviously, she would be expecting him to bring Charlie home Sunday night. Jeremy would just have to tell her that when he came home Charlie was gone. Play it angry, like he assumed Charlie went out without telling them and never came back. He felt like a piece of shit deceiving Katie about this but he knew in the back of his mind, way, way in the back, that one of the options he may need to keep available was the ability to play along and do what Mister wanted while the FBI tracked him down. Though he had to admit, he thought that was doubtful. Costa had called him first thing in the morning and said:

  “Bumkis on the mall security cameras. Traffic cams have the girl on her way to work but nowhere on her route home. Consensus is he probably got her in the parking lot.”

  So that was a dead end. He tried to take stock of the information, tried to let the connections take shape in his mind but his mind was a desolate tundra, scorched earth, ghost town. Midnight of the fucking soul. There was nobody he could talk to, nobody he could turn to for help, nobody that knew what a living hell his life and become... No, he realized. There was one person. Though he was supposed to be helping her, not the other way around.

  CHAPTER 2

  Before his eyes even opened Mister's mouth smeared itself into a big self-satisfied grin. Glancing at his alarm clock he realized it was a little earlier than he was accustomed to getting up but he was anxious to enjoy his most recent triumph and couldn't fall back asleep now even if he wanted. So like a child on Christmas morning he rolled out of bed and walked barefoot down the stairs and into the living room where he made some coffee and turned on the television.

  How had the shrink fared? Perhaps he had failed and been killed by the husband? Shot by the police? That would be amusing of course but not as helpful in dispelling the illusion as having bent him to his will would have been. No, he had big plans for the Dr. Jeremy Foster. It was clear his involvement was part of the configuration of suffering God had laid before him to fulfill.

  He had already known of Dr. Foster long before he discovered the connection between him and Mary. How could he not be interested in the man famous for cracking the nut which is Victor Matherport? Who of course was a joke. Matherport was just another no-man. Just another brick in the wall, certainly not a 'disciple to the real Mister' as some had referred to him. He suspected Foster was closer to a truer projection of himself than Matherport could ever be. And now here he is, speaking with Mary, looking for Mister. What aspect of his God-mind was this Dr. Foster spawned from? He supposed he would just have to wait until the final illumination to fully know such things but it was all coming together and soon he would be free.

  The morning news program he had on hadn't mentioned anything of interest yet and the coffee would take a few moments so he went to check on the livestock while he had a moment. He entered the hallway outside of the cellar and switched on his wall of monitors. The pets where all present and accounted for. Their heads hung f
orward or dangling to the side, indicating they were asleep. All but the shrink’s boy who was perfectly upright in his seat. He probably hadn't slept a wink. They never do the first few nights.

  Returning to the living room he poured himself a cup and plunked himself down in front of the television.

  “-moving slow on the one-ten but no slower than usual for this time of day. Everything else is moving relatively fine. We will update you again at the top of the hour. Julie.” Said Eduardo the traffic guy.

  “Thanks Eduardo,” said Julie as the TV flashed back to the USA Rise and Shine set on the ANN network. Julie was a pretty tall blond who must have married a zoom white specialist because her teeth were disco balls. Her measured pronunciation was as flawless as her skin and hair. He could take her if he wanted. Perhaps there was room for Miss. Julie whatever-her-last name in his orchestra of suffering.

  “Well it looks like congress still hasn't been able to come to an agreement regarding the fiscal cliff,” Julie said turning to her co-host Jip, or Kitch, or something, with an entirely inappropriate amount of chirpiness in her voice.

  “No surprise there!” let's say, 'Kitch' agreed.

  “Yup. According to Congressmen Samuel Becker, there is-” and here she lifted her fingers to hang imaginary quotes, “no deal, no prospect of a deal, and no consensus on virtually anything that could be agreed on in a deal.” He would love to hang her by her tits on meat hooks the way she hangs those air quotes.

  “Yeah it's really frustrating isn't it?” Kitch added with a serious and practiced shake of his head.

  He sat there numbly and watched them prattle until it was clear they weren't going to mention anything about a new Mister related killing. He switched the channel to several more cookie cutter wake up and eat your grits good ol’ American morning news shows and was likewise disappointed by them all. The shrink did not comply. But he would.

  He finished his coffee and walked down to his 'prep room' in the cellar, which was really no larger than a walk in closet. It had a small table and mirror, his Mister suit, the paint, some implements. And something else he had been keeping for a very special boy, on a very, very special day. An extremely hungry alley cat he had caught a week ago in his yard. He picked up the tiny cage he had lured it into with some cheese and it hissed at him with feral anger. Ammonia from its shit and piss singed his nostrils and he threw the cage to the floor in disgust. The cat cried and Mister chuckled at it the way God must chuckle at him. He decided to forgo the suit. He felt like switching it up today. Today he would go au natural. Almost. Oh he couldn't wait. Dr. Foster wasn't going to ruin the fun with his disobedience. No, no, no. It was going to be a fun day despite the shrink’s insolence, maybe even more fun because of it.

  ***

  Charlie's mouth felt disgusting. He could still taste he blood from where his tooth had been ripped loose. At some point through the night he had become tired of spitting it out and just started swallowing it.

  He wanted to talk to the girl and the man who were in the room with him but they had warned him against it. 'He is watching' they said. So instead he just spent the night trying not to cry which of course was the stupidest thing ever because what did it matter if he cried or not? Did he really care what these people think? They were all going to die in that fucking room, so fuck what they think, right?

  He could die. Not that he had a choice. But he could face it. Mister would blow his brains out with a gun or slit his throat or something and it sucks- well stepping in dog shit sucks, math exams suck, this was a nightmare. It was horrible. But he could do it. He'd be dead and that would be it. He would just stop being, so it's not like he could feel bad about it, or suffer. But he knew his mother would suffer. She would suffer for the rest of her life knowing what happened to him.

  And his dad... his dad was probably already dead. He had overheard him and his mom fighting about him being in the FBI again and it must have had something to do with Mister because he wrote that book on the Mister copycat and he was like an expert on the subject now, or whatever. But a lot of good his expertise did him because Mister had killed him took his son just to rub it in! Mister: two. Dad: a big fat fucking zero. Then before he knew it he was crying again. He pictured his dad dead in his own bed. So unhappy alive and now dead in the unhappiest of circumstances.

  The door to wherever they were screeched open and he tried his best to stop crying. The footsteps came closer and closer to him and then hands were on his ankles, removing the chains. He thought the rope around his hands would be next but instead he felt a foot hit him on his side, more of a push then a kick, and he was falling with the chair, his hands instinctively and uselessly trying to reach up and protect his face. His head bounced off the floor so hard he could feel it in his teeth. This was it it, he was about to die.

  Mister grabbed the chair and dragged him a couple feet. Charlie’s face rubbing against the floor so bad it felt like it was on fire and his blindfold was torn loose. The room he was in was exactly what he imagined only bigger: An empty basement or warehouse space or something, grey cement floor and walls. He caught a glimpse of the girl who was very pretty, long blond hair, dressed like stripper or something and her large naked breasts had dry blood all over them.

  Jesus what did he do to her?

  Charlie tried to crane his neck to see who else was in the room but Mister started dragging him across the floor again. The sound of the chairs scraping against the cement was loud and painful in his ears and echoed back at him from every wall. And then he saw Mister. He was naked. His entire naked body painted white. There was something about it that scared the shit out of Charlie. He was skinny. Boney even, yet muscular at the same time. The muscles in his body looked like how a piece of string does when you hold each end of it and twist it and twist, like all tight and knotted up entwined. Was he naked because he was going to rape him? There was nothing he could do but squeeze the chair and squeeze his eyes tight. He squeezed everything inside of him, the way you do on a roller coaster or when someone scares you really bad.

  When he opened his eyes again he was in a different room. It was narrow and maybe twenty feet long and empty except for a cage with a very pissed off looking cat inside it.

  CHAPTER 3

  Fuck it. He was going to speed. Hopefully flashing the FBI credentials would keep the car from being impounded if he was caught going over eighty. Anything short of that was a ticket. Somewhere in the silent hours spent coming to terms with the reality of the situation a possibility had begun to take shape in his mind. Something so obvious he had been cursing himself all morning for not considering it sooner. He spent the entire drive back to Pelican Bay praying that he had been wrong about a great many things.

  He signed in, walked the halls and series of sally ports until he reached the interview room, not before instructing that this time, and from now on, Matherport would have to be restrained and cuffed to the table. ‘Warden’s orders.’ As if he wasn’t going to insist on it himself?

  He waited impatiently for another fifteen minutes until Victor was finally herded into the room and fastened to his chair with ankle braces and hand cuffs.

  “I didn't expect to see you again,” Matherport said calmly. His heavy frame hunched over his side of the table.

  “Likewise.”

  “You know, if I get the chance, I will kill you.”

  “Well then it's a good thing for me they're going to fry you before you'll ever get the chance.” He fired right back. Victor was so surprised he snorted.

  “That's not nice Doc.”

  “Listen to me Victor. I'm not here today to chit chat about your family history or your fucking feelings. I'm here to present you with a real opportunity. A chance to save yourself. Because nobody else will. Nobody else wants to.”

  “Save myself huh? What? Did you bring me a cake with a file baked into it?”

  Jeremy was so on edge he was literally trembling. He clasped his hands together on the table in an attempt to steel
himself.

  “How did he first contact you?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who?”

  “No I don't.”

  “Look,” Jeremy said wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “There's no point in lying anymore.”

  But Matherport just shook his head and insisted:

  “I'm not lying to you Jeremy. You're my friend.”

  “Yeah, I'm your friend. I'm you're only friend. So let's drop the bullshit. How did it start? He give you an address and tell you to kill them all?”

  There was a flash in Victor's eyes and that's all the confirmation he needed. Jeremy's throat suddenly went dry, his heart began to race.

  “Look, it's not too late. Based on new information not presented at trial, your death sentence can be appealed...Victor do you hear what I'm saying to you? I'm talking about a chance to save your life.”

  Victor's breathing became heavy, his massive chest heaving up and down with each long measured breath. Jeremy could see the wheels turning in his big stupid head.

  “Let me put it to you in terms you will understand. If we can prove, you were coerced - pressured -”

  “I know what coerced means you fucking egg head!”

  “Well if we can prove that to the courts well...“ Jeremy let his voice trail of knowing this next part was a risk. He didn't know if Mister used the same method to make Matherport do his dirty work as he had tried for him. If he demonstrated he was off course with any of this he gave the upper hand back to Matherport. But if he hit the nail right on the head than Victor would have no idea what else Jeremy did or didn't know for certain.

  “If he had one of your relatives or friends for instance,” Jeremy continued, “and you were told if you didn't do what he told you to do, that this person would be harmed, I believe your life sentence would be rescinded.”