Christmas In Hell
By Lisa McCourt
Hollar
 |
| Art by Thomas Arensberg |
There was a cat
hanging above his head.
When Thomas
first opened his eyes, he thought he was dreaming. His leg had been throbbing
and he had taken some vicodin to deaden the pain, along with some alcohol. It
wasn’t unusual for him to see things when he first awoke, especially after a
night of bingeing. The cat leered down at him, its mouth open in a silent jeer.
You just had to drink the whole bottle of Jack, it seemed to be saying.
“It just seemed
the best way to get through the holiday. Besides, who are you to judge, you’re
the one hanging from the ceiling. Talk about tying one on.” Thomas chuckled at
the joke. The cat didn’t join him, its eyes staring coldly down at him. Thomas studied the cat. He thought its name
was Fluffy. Mrs. Cranston had been looking for it the other day. She seemed to
have thought he’d done something to the flea-ridden beast, just because he had
threatened to gut the thing next time he caught it pissing or shitting in his
garden. Now Fluffy’s white fur was matted with blood and the cat’s entrails
were dangling above Thomas’s head and he wondered if maybe he had, in a drunken
stupor, carried through with the threat.
“Look, I’m
sorry, if I did that to you. I was just looking to spend the next few days
comatose. It’s a Christmas tradition, started by my father when I was a boy.
Beat my mother, fuck my sister… then me and be passed out by nine. Merry
Christmas, Happy New Year. Only it was more a daily tradition, but it always
seemed more special at Christmas.”
The cat stared,
dripping blood onto Thomas’s forehead.
“Okay, will you
stop that?” Thomas tried to swipe at his face, only he couldn’t move his hand.
Something was holding it down. He tried his other, but again, it lay next to
him, as impotent and useless as his dick when he tried to fuck the cute
neighbor. The cat smirked, silently laughing. The cute neighbor had laughed
too, until he’d made her stop. “Stop laughing at me!”
The cat just
stared down, drip, drip, dripping, a good, yet twisted version of the Chinese
Water Torture. Thomas screamed, pleading with God, if God existed, to free him
from this hellish nightmare. After a while, he stopped. God wasn’t going to
help him. He hadn’t helped him when his father used him for sex and he wasn’t
going to help him now. He would have to help himself, just as he had all those
years ago.
“You think you
helped yourself,” his father whispered. “You became me.”
Thomas turned
his head and glowered at his father, who was dressed in the Santa outfit
he’d been wearing when his son had
finally stood up to him. The meat cleaver was still sticking out of his head.
“You’re not here. I don’t want you here.”
Jake Mackey
disappeared and was replaced by his mother. He flinched, startled by the sudden
pain in his chest. He’d hated her. She had allowed the abuse, turning her back
on her own children. She had confessed, just before her death, that she was
always relieved when her husband turned his attention away from her and towards
their two children.
“A mother is
supposed to protect her kids.”
“I couldn’t
protect myself, how was I supposed to protect you?”
“You weren’t
supposed to stand by and watch, while he did the unspeakable to us. He killed
Jenny.”
“No, you did
that.”
She was right.
Jenny had become pregnant. Thomas knew if anyone found out, everyone would know
what was going on inside their home. They would investigate and his father
would go to prison. But then they would also find the animals. He’d buried them
in the basement, but they would find them. They wouldn’t understand that he
needed to release his rage somehow. So Thomas told Jenny she needed to get rid
of the baby. It was the first time he’d seen a vagina. Jenny lay on the bed
with her legs spread open, while he followed the instructions in the book. He’d
done something wrong though. The hanger had pierced something it wasn’t
supposed to and he couldn’t stop the bleeding. And then something happened that
had only occurred when he’d killed the neighborhood cats. He developed an erection.
“I protected you
then,” his mother said. “When I found you on top of your sister, covered with
her blood, I didn’t judge you.”
They told
everyone, including his dad, that she’d run away. But with Jenny gone, Jake
Mackey had turned his full attention to Thomas.
“Your tight
little ass wasn’t so tight after I was done with you,” Jake taunted. His voice
was coming from somewhere behind Thomas and he twisted his head, trying to find
him.
“Go away, I
don’t want you here. Just go to hell and leave me alone.”
His father
laughed. “Where do you think you are?”
Thomas closed
his eyes and screamed until he passed out. When he came to next, the cat was
still there, but it was no longer dripping blood on him. He turned his head,
but there was no sign of his father. Of course not, it had been a dream. A
nightmare, induced by too much Jack.
Then why was the
cat still there?
Thomas tried to
sit up, but he couldn’t. This time he knew why. He was strapped to a table. He
recognized it; it was the table he kept in his basement. He looked around… yes,
that’s where he was. How had he gotten here?
Thomas struggled against his bonds, pulling against the leather straps.
They were cutting into his wrists. He continued to pull. The blood acted as
lubrication and eventually he felt his right wrist beginning to slip free. At
last there was a sickening pop, the sound of his thumb breaking, and his wrist
slid loose. His left side was still tethered to the table. He lifted his free
hand, hoping to undo the restraint, but it was futile. He was able to maneuver
his body so that he could gnaw at the strap with his teeth. It was when he was
halfway through, his teeth bloodied, some broken, that he saw her. Amelia. His
neighbor’s ten year old daughter. She was just sitting there, watching him, a
faint smile on her face.
She smiled when
she saw Thomas watching. It was nearly dark in the room, but her smile shined
and she had a gleam in her eyes that sent a chill through his body. She was
enjoying his pain. Then she spoke.
"You're
funny."
Thomas was
startled to hear the girl speak. She was retarded… no wait, mentally delayed,
that was the correct term. Her mother had come unglued when she’d heard him use
the “R” word. Either way, he’d never
heard her speak, which had made her the perfect plaything for him… at least
until her mother had taken her to the doctor and found out she was pregnant.
“You’re the only
man she’s been around,” Kristin had screamed. “I’ve called the police. You’re
going to go to prison.”
Only she’d ended
up on his table. No one knew about this room and it was soundproof. When the
police came, they didn’t find anything and with Amelia missing too…
Only now he was
on the table.
"Sweetie,
help me."
"Why?"
She had him
there. Amelia had watched him torture her mom. She stepped forward then and
Thomas saw something else gleaming in the dark. She had a knife in her hand.
"I was getting bored with cats. And mommy died too fast. What happened to
your leg?"
“My father broke
it when I was small. It never grew right after that.”
"Does it
hurt?"
“Sometimes.
Honey, why don’t you untie me?”
Amelia laughed.
"I thought you liked the tie up game.”
Again, she
wasn’t wrong, except Thomas liked it better when he was the one with the knife
and the evil gleam in his eye. She stepped forward and he reached out, trying
to grab the knife. Amelia danced out of his way, clearly delighted. Then she
frowned and he saw her for a moment as she had been the last time he saw her,
her neck twisted at an odd angle. He hadn’t meant to break her neck, it had just
happened.
She smiled then
and the image faded. His hand was strapped down to the table again. He
struggled against it as she advanced. “You’re fun,” she said as she raised the
knife. “Now let's see what's going on
with your leg."
She laughed
then. It was the last sound he heard before passing out. Regaining
consciousness, he saw his leg was gone. She wasn’t finished though. She took
his fingers, his eyes… she even cut out his tongue because she said his
screaming wasn’t fun anymore. And then when she had nothing left to cut off,
she sewed them back on and started over again. Sometimes she had help. His
father would show up every now and then, still in his Santa Claus outfit.
“I’ve got a
Christmas package for you,” he’d say, right before flipping him onto his
stomach. His sister rammed a coat hanger into his ass too. “How does this feel,
Thomas?” He cried, pleading for death, but it never came. He knew why. He was
already dead and this was his hell.
***
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