The Love Room
When Feldman stepped inside the front door, he knew something was wrong. Walking from the foyer into the great room, he saw the stuffing from his sofa and loveseat spilled out on the hardwood floor. His glass coffee table and matching end tables were shattered into a thousand pieces on the accent rugs and into the dining room. His 55-inch TV had a gaping hole in the center of the screen. His face was a mask of fear and trepidation, but not because of the state of his personal property. Something far more serious troubled him.
Without pausing to assess the damage to the living area, he walked briskly to the kitchen. Stepping over two expensive wall hangings someone had punctured with their fist, he crunched across the broken china blanketing the ceramic tile floor. Arriving at his destination, which was the door to the basement, he put his ear to the closed door and quietly listened. What if the culprit was still in the house? He might even be in the basement.
Turning his eyes to the kitchen floor, he saw a butcher knife protruding from under a dinner plate in the rubble and picked it up. Calling the police was not an option at this point. If the intruder were here, he’d have to deal with him.
He opened the door, turned on the light, and strained to hear the slightest movement from below. He heard nothing. He descended the fourteen steps with wary apprehension. When he reached the bottom, his greatest fear was realized. The door to the soundproof room was wide open. Looking inside, he found the young woman he’d abducted the previous evening gone. The nightmare that had caused him so many sleepless nights had finally come true.
He had kidnapped fifty-two women over a ten-year period and had imprisoned them in this room without a glitch. The one he captured last night seemed a little harder to take down at first, but in the end, she was out like a light. His M.O. was always the same. He lured the women to his van under false pretenses in a remote part of the parking lot when it was near dark and visibility was poor. His victims always believed the female dummy in the front seat was his sick wife. When they approached the van, the stun gun worked perfectly. To his amazement, this last woman needed a double dose. After that, it was business as usual, and he dragged her into the van and took off.
Feldman, a well-respected member of the community, was president of the local savings and loan and a deacon in his church. He lived on a five-acre estate a mile from the main road in the middle of nowhere. Once inside the garage, he carried each victim to the basement and tied them down on a king-sized bed in a padded cell he called his love room. After that it was all fun and games until he got tired of sodomizing and torturing the same person too long, or the bitch finally succumbed to the blood loss caused by his repetitive mutilations, which usually came to pass in about a month.
When he turned on the light and entered, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The leather straps that held the woman had been ripped to shreds; the pieces were strewn about the room. It would have taken superhuman strength to sever the heavy, leather straps; no human being could have done this. He was even more astounded when he turned and saw the heavy steel door to the room hanging askew on one hinge. Looking more closely, he found a gaping hole in the doorframe where the dead bolt had been, which indicated the door had been opened from the inside.
Whatever he had captured last night was not the typical pushover piece of ass he normally abducted. He gripped the butcher knife tighter and listened to the silence.
He surmised the she beast had trashed his house for revenge. No one had broken in as he had thought. He hoped the fit of rage had satisfied the thing, and she would not seek additional payback. She didn’t appear to be here now. If she were still here, she would have pounced on him as soon as he walked in the door. He was certainly no match for her.
Suddenly he heard a sound upstairs. His hands began to shake, and his lower lip started twitching uncontrollably. He left the love room and ventured into the expanse of the remaining basement. He looked at the window he’d painted black at the top of the cinder block wall and knew he couldn’t crawl through it. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and all he could do was wait for the thing to come for him.
Then he heard a loud snap in the furnace room. The lights went out, not only in the basement, but also in the entire house. The thing was only ten feet away and had tripped the circuit breaker.
He started stabbing the butcher knife into the blackness as he backed toward the stairs.
“Boo!” said an emphatic female voice in the dark.
Feldman jumped backward and continued to stab the air wildly. He felt something touch his face and flung himself backwards away from it.
The side of his head thumped against a column that felt like a brick wall. The knife slipped from his hand, and he fell hard on the concrete floor with a nose-cracking thud and lost consciousness.
When he awoke, he found himself on his back with his arms and legs tied with what felt like leather straps. He assumed he was in the love room, but in the pitch-blackness, he couldn’t tell.
A female voice whispered in his right ear, “You are a very unlucky person.”
Startled, Feldman recoiled away to the left and cried out, “Let me go! I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
He tried to remember the question and groaned, “Why am I so unlucky?”
“Of all the women on the planet you could have abducted, you chose me,”
“Who are you?”
“It’s not who I am. It’s what I am.”
Feldman said nothing and continued trying to free himself.
“Did you see what I did to the leather straps?”
“Did you see what I did to the steel door?”
“Then you know I’m not a normal woman.”
Feldman’s throat tightened with the words, “What are you?”
After a long pause, a fiendish, cackle emanated from the graveyard stillness of the black basement. Feldman squirmed in horror under the leather straps. A sharp fingernail dug into his cheekbone just below his right eye. He felt her hot breath on his neck.
“My name is Marlo,” she hissed. “You might say I’m like the bride of Frankenstein, but I’m a lot prettier and a lot stronger.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Doctors created me from body parts taken from cadavers in a laboratory at a military compound,”
“That’s bullshit!” he shrieked. “Turn on the lights. Let me see you. We need to work something out. I’m a rich man I tell you. I’ll pay you an obscene amount of money if you’ll untie me and go your own way.”
“I really can’t do that. I know what kind of monster you are. I found your scrapbook. You raped and tortured fifty-one women according to your ledger over a period of almost ten years. I found the videos you shot of what you did to each one of them. I can tell from watching several of them you are particularly fond of chainsaws.”
Feldman kept silent still trying to free himself.
“Cat got your tongue? I also found a map of where you buried what was left of them in the septic field out back.”
Feldman squirmed, but couldn’t budge the straps that bound him. The leather had already cut off his circulation.
“What do you want?”
‘I want you to suffer just like the women you tortured suffered. While you were unconscious, I thought of something so diabolical, it would even make the Marquis de Sade blush.”
“Please, call the police. I’ll tell them everything. Turn on the lights. Let me see you,” he pleaded.
“You saw me when you zapped me with the stun gun.”
“What are you going to do?”
“It just so happens I have some of the white powder the doctors who created me used to animate my body parts.”
Feldman grimaced at the thought.
“Do you remember Belinda Wilson?”
Feldman said nothing and continued struggling.
“Do you remember her?” she screamed in his ear.
“No. I don’t remember.”
“She was a strawberry blonde with freckles. Thanks to you, she has no ears and no nose. According to your records, she went to the septic field on April 3 of this year. You must have a short memory. That would be seventy-one days ago. She should be a ripe candidate to be your first lover of the evening.”
“What are you saying, you fiendish bitch!”
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Yes, Howard. Can I call you Howard? About an hour ago, I sprinkled a bag of the animation powder on the space where your journal says she’s buried. Shortly afterward while you were out, I injected you with a double dose of Viagra I found in your medicine cabinet. There’s absolutely no doubt you will have an erection lasting more than four hours, and you’re going to need it.”
Feldman heard a sound like someone dragging a foot across the tile floor upstairs, and then a low moan increased to a shriek. In the pitch-blackness, he heard something shuffling down the stairs, one agonizing step at a time.
“Listen to me. I‘m a rich man, I tell you,” Feldman kept repeating this like a broken record until Marlo found his mouth in the blackness and snipped off his tongue with some garden shears.
Belinda reached the basement floor and oozed toward the open door to the love room. An unbearable stench quickly filled every inch of the space and grew more intense as Belinda crawled into bed with Feldman, who, in spite of not having a tongue, kept trying to scream.
Then when he thought nothing could get any worse, Marlo turned on the lights.
This story is found in Shivers and Other Nightmares http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008O9SPEW and In Your Face Horror http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008TC5WHM . If you liked it, buy my book and get 30 more cheap chills in the Kindle store.
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