Scary Stories

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"Pain"

Notice: I am not insane. I just think that written horror is in the gruesome details, and I held nothing back when I wrote this. If you have the ability to fear, you should not read this story. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED...

   It was raining, not like a thunder storm, but more like a gentle yet ominous pitter-patter. The clouds were a gloomy shade of grey, and so thick that you doubt the existence of a sky. It was this weather I had to drive in, and I did so reluctantly. It wasn’t just the weather; it was what I was driving to. Working for Collectors Incorporated was painful. Ruining hundreds of lives so that big, wealthy clients could be satisfied sickened me, but I had no choice. I always searched for another job when I got the chance, but I failed to find any. My life was as hopeless as those I visited.
   I felt better about the next person who was to pay up. He was the filthy rich Eddie Billman. He was once a client of Collectors Inc., and now the tables had turned. It was as if I was being redeemed, all because of an overdue water bill.
   I pulled up to the mansion. It was immense, so large that I had to stare at it for about a minute to take it all in. The architecture was not fancy, and the colors were rather plain, but it was easy to give it a high price just by its size. One would have expected it to be lit up and full of merrymaking people, but it was dead dark and strangely silent. Not a single bit of commotion could be seen in any one of the windows. A man smart enough to make enough money to buy that house would at least have hired a sufficient crew to tend to it at all times. This had me curious to meet the billionaire, something that I would regret to this very day.
   I cautiously creeped up to the thick, wooden oak door. I did not knock, but rather pounded to make sure any noise got through. It created a gentle echo that dispersed throughout the building. Then I heard a faint, hoarse voice come in reply that sounded like “Come in.” With some effort I slowly pushed open the weighty door and softly stepped in.
   It was dark, but as soon as my eyes adjusted I was able to make out the shape of the entrance hall. It was inexplicably roomy, to the point at which I could not even see the ceiling. There were at least a dozen hallways branching off, and two staircases that led to even more paths. It didn’t seem as luxurious as one would have initially thought based on the fortune spent on it. Although it was hard to see much, it seemed to be filthy, with numerous cracks and holes in the walls and dusty furniture. It practically looked as if it had been abandoned a long time ago.
   As I looked around, I started to hear a quiet sound coming from somewhere in the house. “Scrrrreech…scrrrrrrreech” it went. As I listened, I determined the source of the clatter to be on the other side of the hall. There I could see a lone door, cracked ever so slightly open. As I approached and the noise became louder, my feet felt increasingly cold and damp. I checked the floor by my feet, and could see large puddles of some strange liquid. I could not tell what it was because of the dark, but I settled with the thought that it was water from a leaky pipe. The mansion was, after all, in bad shape.
   As the door creaked open I saw the shape of an executive’s office in the dark. There was a desk, cluttered with what seemed to be enormous amounts of paperwork, all carelessly taken care of, as it seemed that most of them were blank and torn around the edges. Against the walls were some bookshelves, with many books shabbily littered on the floor.
   Then I saw the figure of a man, sitting behind the desk. It took me a while to take the man to be Billman, because he looked wrinkled and aged in the dark, while I had heard before that he was only in his thirties. He was fiddling with something in his hand, apparently causing the screeching noise that had been piercing my senses.
   “Welcome.” stated a ruffled, half-indifferent voice from behind the desk. “As you are probably aware, I am Edward Billman, and this is my mansion. May I service you in anyway?” He said so almost mechanically, as if he was focused more on what was in his hands than me.
   I told him about the unpaid bills he owed to his water company and how they had come to Collectors Inc. to go and retrieve what was due to them.
   “Ah, yes,” he continued, “That is so. You must forgive me, I have been…preoccupied. Yes, quite preoccupied as you can see by my desk. Time flies when you’re having fun…”
As he said this, he started gently patting what looked like a dog by his side. I was surprised that I had not seen it before, as most dogs would get excited at the appearance of a guest. It remained quiet even in the presence of a stranger such as me.
   “If you could give me a check to sign, I would be glad to sign it.” Billman continued.
I had one prepared, as I always did on visits like this, so I gave it to him.
   “Oh, silly me! I forgot about the light. I can’t write without light. Could you just flip that switch by your left shoulder?”
   I did as told, all wondering what he had been so busy with if he could not write in the dark. I turned my back, turned on the switch and turned back.
   My eyes were not ready for what I saw next.
   Billman was demonically malformed, with nearly every inch of his pulsating flesh blood stained. Underneath his gore-soaked clothes I could see bones sticking out, veins rapidly pumping blood to countless, pink, fleshy wounds, and blood slowly pouring from his body. Where there weren’t giant scars or skin cells trying their best to keep the body together, there was the palest flesh imaginable, so pale that a ghost would not make an accurate comparison.
   Even more frightening was his face, torn apart so much that one could see his blood-stained skull. His lips, although smiling, were brittle, and there was red, flat flesh where his nose should have been. His eyelids were cut off, making his eyeballs horrifically visible. He was all together one large, vulgar scab.
   After he was finished with the check, he saw my surprised expression and inquired in his choked voice “Are you okay? You seem tense…” As he talked he went back to fiddling with that one object I had seen in the dark—a knife. He scraped the rough blackened crust of his arm, letting the pieces fall upon a pile of chunked skin on his desk.
   “Don’t worry,” he said, trying to be encouraging, “I have learned a trick to cutting off stress from one’s life, if you’ll allow me to demonstrate.”
   He picked his knife up, and the intent of stabbing me with it could be seen clearly in his eyes. Thinking quickly, I remembered that I always brought a tazorgun with me when I was on jobs like this, in case people were dangerously reluctant to pay. I hastily grabbed it from my pocket and pressed it against his chest. He rumbled as if he was in a spasm, and I could see his lungs furiously twitch behind his ribcage. All the while he joyously cackled, pleasuring the volts of electricity I sent through his body.
   I drew the tazor back, and he stumbled back, but just a step. The paradoxical grin on his face grew wider as he said “Ah! I see you already know the wonders of pain, but it seems that you are in more need of it than me…” He strolled over to his dog, a hairless Rottweiler that matched his master’s demented form. “Blood here is a very good boy when it comes to bringing pain to those who need it.” At this he viciously smacked Blood on his head, causing him to start growling. “He knows that it is best when it comes by surprise.” He hit him even harder, feeding the dog’s snarling mood. “Take a look around the house if you like. He’ll come for you whenever it is most unexpected, don’t you worry.” With this he raised his arm as high as I could imagine he could, and landed a blow on the dog so excruciating that I couldn’t help but close by eyes as the growling transformed into wild snapping. When I opened my eyes, they were both gone.
   Grabbing the check, I hurried like hell to get out of there. However, I slipped and fell face first as I tried to run through the entrance hall. My whole body was soaked with what I had apparently stepped in before—tiny lakes of thick, red, clotty blood. I was petrified in cold terror for nearly a minute before I could bear standing up. I continued as fast as I could manage in my drenched clothes. My eyes stung from the blood, nearly blinding me.
   I arrived at the oak door soon enough. It was closed, which was strange because I did not remember closing it when I entered. I tried opening it, yet it wouldn’t budge. It was lodged shut, so I pounded furiously on the windows. They were heavily reinforced, stronger than bullet-proof glass. I was trapped inside the house.
   I knew I had to keep moving. If I stood still for a second, they could get a gain on me, so I couldn’t stop to make a call for help. If I tried hiding, not only was it likely that Billman knew every corner of his mansion, but the dog could sniff me out if he couldn’t. My only choice was to run, out-run them both if I—
   As I tried thinking it through, I felt a powerful sting on my leg. I screamed in pain as I saw the dog shred a lump of skin from my lower leg and rush into one of the countless hallways. My leg was bleeding horribly, but I knew the dog would be back, so I couldn’t stop to tend to it. I started running into a different hallway immediately.
   I never slowed down. I picked up a light stool while running and bashed it against every window I encountered. They were inexplicably impossible to break, as if Billman had doomed me during the very construction of the house.
   I racked my brain as hard as I could for a solution as I dashed through the shadow-laden halls of the mansion, a harder feat than one would think. My eyes tricked me, painting the gory, insane visage of Billman anywhere and everywhere he could be hiding with the rabid Rottweiler ready to pounce on me. With all this running through my head I couldn’t think straight.
   Next thing I knew, I was back in the entrance hall, and to keep moving I darted up the stairs. Then my way to survival hit me—the roof. If I could follow the stairs up there I could climb down and be freed from this—
   Again interrupting my thoughts was the Rottweiler, who had seemingly appeared out of thin air and had grabbed a hold of the same leg again. With his uncanny strength he pulled me off my feet and started slowly dragging me down the stairs, letting my skull bash repeatedly against the steps. I struggled and shook my leg, only to have him reach higher upon it for a better grip. Soon enough he was holding onto the pocket with my tazor in it, which tore off, landing the tazor in the back of his mouth. He writhed and shook and trembled in throbbing agony for nearly a minute, until he fell down the stairs, dead. I could see his carcass, with intestines hanging out after his exposed bones had cracked from falling, still shaking from the electric utility lodge in his throat.
   I didn’t bother to get my tazor back. I didn’t even bother to look at my leg. I half-limped, half-sprinted up flight after flight of stairs, leaving a trail of blood puddles behind me.
   When I reached the top floor there was only one hallway, a relief as it would be easy to find the roof from here. This path was exceptionally dark, to the point where I actually had to slow down and feel my way forward. My eyes didn’t seem to be able to adjust whatsoever, so I felt as blind as a bat.
   After what seemed to be an hour of slow, agonizing torture anticipating Billman to strike me down at any moment, my foot fell lower than before as I stepped it forward. The idea of stairs that went down was nearly unthinkable to me at this moment, but the truth of what I felt was just that. I took it slowly, one step down at a time. I felt loose skin hanging from my leg painfully slap against each previous step as I did so. After I passed about two steps, I lowered my right foot into what felt like cool, refreshing water. As it started clinging to my leg, however, I knew that it wasn’t life-saving water. It was more blood, and I was shin-deep in it. Appalled and discouraged, I sloshed forward ever more sluggishly, uncaring if the Lord took my life at that very moment.
   As I went by at my dawdling pace, I started to hear strange noises, moans and groans, and inaudible murmurs. Disturbed at the idea I could be becoming mad and be hallucinating, I covered my ears defiantly and sped up my wading, hoping that the exit to the roof actually existed. Suddenly, I felt something crunch underneath my feet. I stood frozen for a second as I felt a hand touch my leg.
“Hel-el-el-lep”
   I startled back and stared straight at where I had stepped. My eyes were finally able to adjust, only to regret being able to see.
   Lying there in the blood was a man, hopelessly paralyzed by long, pussy incisions, holes carved in his stomach and chest, and bones shattered to pieces. He was hanging onto his horrid life by a single thread, suffering more than I could bear to think of. Looking around there were dozens of people just like him lying around, contributing to the river of blood. I wanted to help them, but I wasn’t a doctor and didn’t have time to call one. I strolled carefully around them, ignoring their moans for mercy.
   As I passed by the last of them, I saw a faint light down at the end of the hall. If my leg wasn’t so mangled, I could have leaped for joy as I rushed toward that glorious door. As I opened it, letting out a waterfall of blood, I found myself upon a balcony, some six stories above the ground. I looked at the outer walls of my former prison, and to my dismay, they were too smooth to grip. I still thought I could cling to them in a way that would slow my descent. I climbed onto the railing of the balcony and prepared to jump—only to be pulled back by the leg.
   It was Billman, the devil who, in my hurry, I had forgotten even existed. He pinned my face to the floor and scolded me. “Hold it together man! I didn’t know you were so depressed as to commit suicide, You have your whole life ahead of you! Let me just calm you down a bit.”
   At this he produced his knife, that dreaded bloody knife, and proceeded to slice into my shoulders, my hips, my scalp, leaving me in too much pain to express my horror in any physical way. He did it so methodically and so easily, that it seemed like he had been doing it for years. I was doomed to eternal agony if that was the case.
   But by luck, by pure dumb luck, my struggling was able to slip him up as he started with my hands. He dropped his knife and before he knew anything I grabbed it and struck it right through his ribcage and into his lungs.
His demonic grin disappeared. He started gasping for breath, only for it to leak out of his lungs. “I’ve nev-v-v-ver felt-t like-k this before.” With those words, he started wobbling around, splurting blood and all other sorts of bodily fluid from his mouth, before finally falling forward, knocking me off the balcony in the process.
   Although caught off guard, I was able to grab hold of the ledge of a second-floor window and safely drop down to the ground. I had survived.
   The first thing in my mind was to call 911, but my cell-phone had no reception here, so I limped over to my car and started driving. I still couldn’t believe what had happened, even as I was driving I couldn’t help but look back at that deathly mansion in my rearview window.
   When I dragged my eyes away from it and back to the road, I was shocked to my grave.
   Not two feet away from me stood Billman, staring at me from the middle of the road. I braked as hard as I could, but not only did I hit him, I also launched myself out of the windshield, as I had forgotten my seatbelt. I landed on my head, making my skull crack and pierce my brain. Shards of glass punctured the rest of my body as Billman’s head rolled across from me.
   There I remain, in complete agony, with Billman still haunting me with his inhuman face. I have waited for someone to find me, but the more I feel the intense pain that surrounds me…

…the more I love it.

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