Home Intruder: An Extreme Horror Novella

Home Intruder: An Extreme Horror Novella

By Sam West

Copyright Sam West 2014

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced or used in any way without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews. The characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

PROLOGUE.

“Please don’t hurt us,” the woman said between hitching sobs.

Jason Jacks looked dispassionately down at her and took a drag of his cigarette, the hunting knife dangling loosely from the fingers of his other hand. She lay on her side on the concrete floor of the basement, her hands tied behind her back with rope. Her husband watched on helplessly. His wrists were also bound by rope, his arms stretched high above his head, the end of the rope looped in a secure knot around one of the meat hooks that hung from the ceiling.

Like his wife, he was naked. Unlike his wife, three small fish hooks had been inserted deep inside his rectum, piercing the walls of his rectal passage. The three correlating strands of the thin fishing twine attached to each hook extended out of his anus and all the way up to the hook above his hands where the ends were tied.

He was shuddering in pain, Jason noted with some satisfaction.

Jason crouched down next to the trembling woman.             

“Don’t cry. I want you to live. Really I do. I want you both to live. I want love to win.”

It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. But he knew they wouldn’t live. None of them ever did.

“You sick fucking freak!” the man screamed through what must have been unspeakable pain.

“Now, now,” Jason replied, having to speak loudly because of the woman’s persistent sobbing. “Please don’t shout at me, or insult me. Every time you do that, I will do this. Or something much
worse.”

He stubbed the cigarette out on the hysterical woman’s shoulder. She howled in agony and tried to slither away from him using her feet as leverage.

Jason didn’t want her crawling away like she owned the place and he stood up, kicking her square in the stomach with the tip of his steel toe cap boot.

“I didn’t say you could move either.”

Her beautiful body was sheened in sweat and he felt a pang of arousal.

Not yet,
he told himself.
Patience. I’ve barely even started
…

He went over to the man and reached up to slice through the rope, freeing him from the hook. His hands, however, were still secured tightly together and fell down to cover his flaccid penis. Whether that was intentional or not, Jason didn’t know.

“I’m going to have some fun with your wife now,” he called over his shoulder as he walked back over to the woman who was making pitiful noises like a run over cat. “Feel free to come and stop
me.
If you can prove to me that the love you have for your wife is stronger than the pain you will inflict upon your flesh, then I will let you both live.”

The lie tripped easily off his lips and he stood over the terrified woman.

“Don’t do it,” the woman sobbed. “You’ll rip yourself open.”

Her husband didn’t answer. Jason watched in fascination the way the veins in his neck protruded and his tightly clenched jawline as he stupidly tried to reach round for the hooks in his anus. There was no way he was going to be able to insert his fingers into his rectum to remove the hooks with his hands tied before him like that. The only way to remove them was by brute force. For his next move he reached up and tugged on the twine. Neither the hook screwed into the ceiling nor the twine budged.

Nothing was going to snap that twine, you could land fucking Jaws with that stuff. The man must have realised this for he let go with a howl and Jason could see the bloody streaks where the twine had bit into his palms.

Jason turned his attention back to the sobbing woman.

What should he do first? Sever the toes or the fingers? Perhaps gouge out an eye? Or maybe just jump in and do what he was dying to do. That is, to fuck her with the husband watching.

He rubbed the crotch of his black jeans just thinking about how good she would feel.

An ear splitting scream from the husband commanded his attention.

Wow, he’s really going to rip open his arsehole for his wife. How sweet.

Jason leaned down and fisted the woman’s long hair and lifted up her head. He placed the edge of the knife at her hairline.  Blood spurted, momentarily blinding him as he drew back the knife, sawing until her scalp came away in his hand. He held the bloody wig out in front of him, waving it at the husband like a red rag to a bull.

The woman had stopped screaming. She wasn’t dead though, just out cold. Probably in shock.

The husband let out an inhuman sounding
howl
and lunged forward. The hooks pulled free in a spray of blood that erupted from his anus in a red fountain. The man went sprawling, landing heavily on his stomach.

He dragged himself across the floor with hands like claws, drawing closer. Jason stomped on his buttocks and the man flattened out like a human rug, arms and legs spreads wide.

Jason smiled. “Come on lover boy. Let’s play. Let’s see how far you will go in the name of love.”

CHAPTER ONE.

Edward Sullivan pulled up into the driveway of eight Dallam Avenue, his childhood home, killing the engine of the white Hyundai hire car.

A small shiver ran through him. It hadn’t changed a bit.

Hs wife, Jazmine, immediately flung open the passenger door to let some air into the stifling hot interior.

“It’s lush. I think we should live here.”

Ed turned to look at her beautiful profile as she gazed up at the house. A small knot of apprehension twisted in his guts because he knew she was only half joking. She might have been only twenty-five, but the stresses of her London career had been getting to her lately. He could imagine her carving a life out for herself in Cornwall, as one of those bohemian artist types. She was almost as good an artist as she was a photographer. A life here would suit her.

But not him. He felt sick just
thinking
about it. He reached over her slender, bare thighs and clicked open the glove compartment for his cigarettes.

“And give up everything we have in London?” he asked, lighting up and keeping his tone deliberately light. “Our friends? All the money we make? Our lifestyle? Should we chuck it all away to become country hicks?”

“I would hardly call Treeve the back of beyond. It’s a proper town.”

“Barely. It’s not dubbed the poor man’s St Ives for nothing.”

“If you’re so down on it, then why bother coming here at all? Why not just stick the house on the market and forget about it?”

Because you made me
...

“Let’s just go in, shall we?”

“Fine.”

Jaz swung her long legs out the car and Ed briefly admired her derriere in the blue denim cutoffs before it disappeared from view.

“Come on then,” she called out to him when she reached the front door, her irritation at him apparently forgotten. “And you needn’t think you’ll be smoking inside. Same rules here as at home, mister.”

But he barely heard her. The fingers of one hand remained curled around the steering wheel as he stared up at the house, thoughtfully drawing deep on the cigarette. Dallam Avenue, perched on the cliff top and overlooking Leven Bay was by far the quietest, most upmarket and sought after spot in town. This was the only street that consisted entirely of Victorian detacheds, not cute cottages or new builds that made up the rest of town. It was number eight in a row of eight. Beyond this house was nothing, just a meandering cliff path that eventually led to St Ives.

“Ed! Come
on.
”

Jaz calling him snapped him out of his trance. When he got out of the car, he found he was trembling slightly. So many memories from his childhood, both good and bad, suddenly at the forefront of his mind. He ground out his fag with the sole of his flip flop and followed her inside.

Inside the hallway it was dark and cool, a total contrast to the blazing heat of outside.

“You okay?” Jaz asked, circling her arm around his waist.

“Yeah, fine. It’s just strange being back here, that’s all. It looks so different, yet it’s exactly the same too. God, I know how stupid that must sound.”

“Not at all. It’s been used as a holiday let for years, right? The décor must be totally different to what you grew up with.”

“Yeah.”

She was right, of course, but it was more than that. The house had changed, and so had he. They no longer had any business being together, he could feel it in his bones.

We should never have come,
he thought for the umpteenth time.

He followed Jaz into the front room, a big, white washed space with a deep bay window that looked out over the cliff path to the sparkling sea.

“Wow, what a view.”

“You should see upstairs.”

He went to her as she gazed out the window, wrapping his arms around her slender middle and breathing in the flowery scent of her long blonde hair.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she sighed wistfully.

“Yeah. Complete with a beautiful leaking roof.”

Jaz elbowed him in the ribs, hard enough to almost hurt.

“Hey! You can’t hit guys who wear glasses.”

“Stop being such a pessimist. Roofs can be fixed. I’m starving, I’m going to go to the car and get the supplies, maybe rustle us something up to eat in the kitchen.”

“It’s too hot to cook. Why don’t we head into town and I’ll treat you to a Cornish pasty?”

“You really know how to spoil a girl.”

“And if you’re
really
good I might even buy you a pint after.”

“Now you’re talking. Come on then, what are you waiting for?”

She dodged out of his embrace and skipped into the hallway. In that moment he loved her more than anything in the world. She was his life, his everything. How did he ever get so lucky? How did the geeky, skinny guy with glasses ever land a babe like her? Not only was she beautiful, but she was smart too. Her blonde hair, slim but curvaceous figure, and angelic face completely belied her intelligence and creativity. She may have only been twenty five to his thirty three, but she was wise beyond her years.

“I love you, you know that?” he called out to her.

Mixed in with in with the sudden rush of love was something else. Something dark. He was suddenly terrified of losing her and an inexplicable sense of foreboding washed over him. Just as quick it was gone again and he followed her outside into the sunshine.

They took the cliff path into town, greeting strangers on the way in.

“That’s what I love about this place,” Jaz sighed, “no one says hello in London.”

“Can you imagine Liverpool Street in rush hour if they did? It would be a cacophony of hellos, like a sketch out of a comedy show or something.”

Jaz laughed and gazed out to sea, her clear blue eyes hidden by dark glasses.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she said again.

It was. The sea glistened emerald green under the azure sky. Colours seemed so bright, so fierce after the drab monochrome of London. The cliff path opened out at the end of the steep incline, revealing the edge of town.

Such as it was. Ed didn’t recognise any of the shops, but then, he hadn’t been back here since he was eighteen.

Fifteen years ago. God, had it really been that long?

Leven Bay, the miles long stretch of white, sandy beach abruptly ended where the town began. A stone pier extended outwards, signalling the end of the beach and the coastline curved inwards, providing a natural, horseshoe shaped harbour that was mainly used for mackerel fishing. Beyond the harbour and the manmade sea defences that protected the town, the sea beat directly against a rocky cliff face for many miles.

He steered them right, up the cobbled, main high street that ran parallel to the seafront. And there it was, just as it had been all those years ago.

“Treleigh pasty’s. The best in all of Cornwall,” he said with some pride, like he had cooked the damn things himself.

But it was nice to see the old guy’s shop was still here.

It was even nicer to see the very same man behind the counter. He wondered if old Jow still recognised him.

“Edward? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the passing of your mother.”

“How did you hear about that?” he asked, more harshly than he had intended to.

Jow shrugged. “Tis common knowledge that Trelisk holiday lets no longer have Dallam Avenue on their books due to the demise of your mother.”

“This is my Jaz, my wife. Jaz, this is Thomas,” Ed said, changing the subject.

“Please, call me Jow. Ain’t been called Thomas for sixty eight years since the day I was born.”

“Jow?” she asked.

“Cornish for geet lazy bastard,” he said with a smile, revealing a row of blatantly false choppers. “Married, ay? Congratulations, the pair of you. When did you tie the knot?”

“Last week, as it happens,” Ed said, putting his arm around his wife and pulling her close.

“Congratulations again. So shouldn’t you two lovebirds be off on your honeymoon then?”

“We’re going to the Bahamas next week.”

“That’ll be rich, my ‘andsome. Are you here to put the house on the market? Or are you going to move back home and start a family now you’re married?”

“Here to fix the leaky roof before the summer ends and sell it.”

“Ay. That’s a shame you’re selling. But I hear you got yourself a fine ol’ career up in London.”

“Well, you know, I have a job that I can’t afford to leave.”

Jow cocked an enquiring eyebrow.

“I’m an editor for a paper,” he said by of explanation.

“You have done well for yourself, son. Your old mum must have been so proud.”

“Yeah, she was,” he replied, a lump forming in his throat.

Her death was too recent for comfort, and had been a complete shock to him. A massive heart attack had claimed her life at the relatively young age of sixty-five. He had attended his mother’s funeral and got married in the same week. To Ed’s utter heart break, the funeral had come first.

“Treeve is gorgeous. I’d move here in a heartbeat if I could,” Jaz said.

“And what do you do, young lady?”

“I’m a photographer.”

“Artistic, ay? If you can paint too that’s a job to be had here. Real strong artist community here in Treeve and St Ives. Best in Britain they say.”

Jaz looked wistful for a moment, her eyes glazing over. “I do paint a little, as it happens.”

A queue of people had built up behind them.

“We’re holding you up,” Ed said, quickly asking for the pasties, suddenly keen to go before Jaz got any more ideas about moving to Treeve.

He was nice,” Jaz said, once they were sat on a bench on the seafront eating their pasties.

“Yeah. I’ve known him pretty much since the day I was born.”

“You never talk about your childhood much.”

Ed shrugged, suddenly uneasy. “There’s not much to tell.”

“There’s
always
something to tell.”

“Not really. You know it all. I grew up here and when I went away to uni, I never came back. End of.”

“Why didn’t you ever come back?”

“Why would I? Mum moved in with her sister in Kent after my dad died and she let the house out. There was no reason to come back.”

It was too
painful
to come back. So many memories of Dad. And now my dead mum too…

“You don’t talk much about your father.”

“What do you want me to say? He was a good man and I loved him very much. When he died in a car accident just before I left for university, neither me nor Mum could bare to come back here again.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up you past and make you feel bad.” She wrapped her arm around his back and lightly rested her head on his shoulder. “I hope being back here helps. I hope that you can start to remember the good times and not let the bad sour your memories.”

Another lump formed in his throat. He knew she was right. They were happy memories. Until his dad’s horrific accident ripped his and Mum’s world apart.

He tilted his pale face up to the late afternoon sun, stemming the flow of tears. He wasn’t going to sit here crying like a god damn
girl
.

“Ed?”

The voice came from behind them. A familiar voice with a strong Cornish accent.

He twisted round his head and found himself staring up into the face of his childhood sweetheart.

“Oh my God, I
knew
it was you.”

“Linda. God, hello. How are you?”

He jumped to his feet, walked round the bench and pecked her on the cheek.

His first thought was that time hadn’t been kind to her. She was thirty-three, the same age as him, but she looked a decade older. Her obviously dyed blonde hair looked garish against her weathered face and she was no longer the slender girl he had known.

“Ed,” she said, the delight shining in her eyes as she gripped his shoulders, holding him away from her at arms’ length. “What are you doing back here? Oh, of course, stupid me. I’m so sorry about your mum.”

Jesus, was nothing secret in this town?

“Yeah, well, thanks.”

“I guess you’re going to put the house on the market then? Or maybe you’re going to move back?”

Her look of moist eyed eagerness was all too obvious and it embarrassed him.

“Linda, I’d like you to meet my wife, Jaz. Jaz, this is Linda,” he said, dodging the question.

“Did you say
wife
?” Linda asked.

“Yep, I sure did.”

Linda turned pink. A funny look came over her eyes, like she was about to burst into tears, but just as quick it was gone again. Ed decided he had imagined it.