Necro Files: Two Decades Of Extreme Horror Part 19

"Did you install that? It looks modern." Ian brushed cobweb remnants out of his eyes as they approached a small room. He smelled something burning.

Ernest told them, "I didn't install it, but I doubt my parents know about that secret panel upstairs, or even about this place. I just discovered it myself a few months ago. I wonder what kind of sick s.h.i.+t the previous owner got himself into down here."

Light overtook the blackness. In the center of the room was a large, thick butcher-block table. Tied naked and spread-eagle to the table was a young man with black hair. He was blindfolded, and his gla.s.ses had been placed on a tray beside his head. He was gagged, but that seemed unnecessary since he appeared to be unconscious. The slow rise and fall of his thin chest indicated he was still alive.

That burning smell ...

Ian looked at the corner of the room. A large pot had been set up, and something inside was simmering on a platform above Sterno canisters. "What's that?" he asked.

"Metal," Ernest said. "A combination of metals, actually. Some old figurines, melted down. Lead and tin mostly. Silica. A bunch of stuff. Carefully mixed and tested."

"Tested? On what?" Caleb asked.

Ernest looked up. "Strays. Mostly."

"What, uh, what's the metal for?" Ian asked.

Ernest snapped opened a container of smelling salts and ran it beneath Nolan's nose. "You'll see."

Nolan's head jerked from side to side. He strained against his bindings.

On a tray table beside the butcher block was an a.s.sortment of instruments. Ernest stood beside it and picked up a notebook and pen.

He tried to hand them to Ian, who refused and backed up a step.

"You have to keep notes, Ian."

"Why me?"

"Because Caleb is stronger. I may need his help with ... you know. Other stuff."

"No way. I don't want my handwriting in any journal."

"You idiot," Ernest said. "We're all in this. Someone has to keep notes, and I can't f.u.c.king do it. I'm going to be too G.o.dd.a.m.ned busy to write, a.s.shole. Besides"-he pointed at the camera mounted on a tripod in the corner-"I'm recording all of this. So f.u.c.k you and your handwriting. There's a permanent record."

Nolan screamed a series of desperate and incoherent sounds into his gag.

Ian s.n.a.t.c.hed the notebook and pen out of Ernest's hand.

Caleb moved across the room and studied the tray of instruments. "Ernest, you are one seriously disturbed f.u.c.k."

Ernest handed him clamps. "Start with the nipples. Just don't cut them off."

"Me?" Caleb's face contorted. "Hey, isn't that kind of queer? I don't want to ..."

Ernest sighed, rubbing his eyes with his index fingers. "Look-this is an experiment. It's medical, not s.e.xual. If you get a hard-on while messing with his nipples, that's your hang-up. Otherwise, just G.o.dd.a.m.n do it. It's part of the experiment."

Caleb moved to the other side of the table. Frowning, he ran his palms over Nolan's b.r.e.a.s.t.s until the nipples stood erect. Using the clamps, he grabbed hold, Nolan writhing beneath him. "I still don't see what nipple clamps have to do with anything," Caleb muttered.

Ernest ignored him and turned to Ian. He said, "You ready? Before you write anything, I need you to help prep the subject. I want you to get a feel for this stuff."

Ian stepped forward, and Ernest handed him the next instrument.

"What the h.e.l.l do I do with-"

"We're all pre-med," Ernest said. "Figure it out."

Ian knew what he was supposed to do with the tool, but- "Can you handle it?" Caleb asked. "Need help?"

"You couldn't deal with a nipple clamp, but this you're okay with?" Ernest said.

"f.u.c.k off."

Ian swallowed back a mouthful of spit. "I ... yeah, but, I don't know how ... I mean, I'm not sure."

"Just stick it up his a.s.s," Ernest said.

"You got issues, man," Caleb said.

"I know where it goes," Ian said. "I just don't see what this has to do with your experiment."

"We start small, Ian. Clamps, a few tubes. Understand?" Ernest said. "Part of the experiment is a study in resilience, big and small. I have lots more planned."

"How will we know what he's feeling? Isn't that part of the experiment? Isn't that what you want me to write down?" Ian wasn't sure he wanted to know, or if he was stalling. He stared at the instrument in his hands, and it seemed to have become very heavy.

"How the h.e.l.l do you think he's feeling?" Ernest smiled. "Never mind. We'll ask him in a minute."

"Oh." Ian lubricated the end of the tube and tried to push it into Nolan's a.n.u.s. "I can't do this," he said. "It's, you know. He won't cooperate."

Ernest said to Caleb, "Make him cooperate."

Caleb nodded and took the length of metal tubing, which resembled a thin toilet paper roll, from Ian. He pressed it against Nolan, pus.h.i.+ng and twisting until it found its way inside his writhing body, tearing the soft, delicate tissue at the opening of his a.n.u.s. Blood tricked onto the table. Ernest tossed Caleb a roll of duct tape and instructed him to secure the tube as best as he could.

Nolan screamed into his gag and bucked his legs, but Caleb pushed the tubing in further. "It's secure," Caleb said. To Ian he said, "Just think of him as a cadaver. Easier that way."

"Good job," Ernest said. He leaned over Nolan's face. "I'm going to remove your gag now. I want to ask you a few questions."

Nolan's head bobbed like a float on a lake. Ernest removed the gag and Nolan screamed and begged for help. "Please!" he cried, lifting his head off the table. "It hurts! Take it out!"

Ernest stared at Nolan, a wry smile plastered on his face.

"You f.u.c.king psycho!" Nolan screamed.

Ernest stuffed the gag back in his mouth and clicked his tongue. "No use. He's just gonna be an a.s.shole. How predictable. Anyway, the interesting part's coming up. I'll do it myself but may need some help."

He took a long thin metal tube-so thin it resembled a wire, but it was hollow, like the world's most narrow beaker-from the utensil tray.

Moving to the end of the table, he took hold of Nolan's p.e.n.i.s, which failed to respond. "Grab it," he said to Caleb.

"No way! Nipples were bad enough. I'm not touching his d.i.c.k."

"Look, dips.h.i.+t, you're pre-med. You think you're never going to have to touch a d.i.c.k? I didn't ask you to suck it, just hold it. I told you, there's nothing s.e.xual about any of this."

"You like bringing pre-med up a lot," Caleb said. "Seems more like an excuse for you to play with this guy's d.i.c.k." Looking away, he grabbed Nolan's p.e.n.i.s. It lay unresponsive in his hand.

"I need you both to hold him as still as you can. Ian, pin down his chest."

Ernest grabbed Nolan's p.e.n.i.s and tried to push the metal rod into the urethra. Nolan screamed into his gag, his head thrown back, the veins in his neck straining beneath the skin. His body was coated in a fine layer of sweat, and the smell in the room was a mingling of metal, blood, and musk.

"s.h.i.+t," Ernest said, "hold him!" The rod kept slipping. Fitting it into the narrow urethra was more difficult than he had antic.i.p.ated. "Get him hard," he snapped at Caleb.

"You f.u.c.kin' kidding me?" he yelled.

Finally, it slid inside his urethra. Ernest dropped Nolan's p.e.n.i.s and stood back, panting. Turning to the camera, he said, "G.o.dd.a.m.n. Okay. All tubes are in place."

Ian moved to the edge of the table. There was a small amount of blood on Nolan's crotch. It terrified Ian ... yet somehow it was exhilarating.

"Ready to begin," Ernest said, grinning. He looked at Caleb and said, "Pick an orifice, any orifice."

Caleb ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. "You're seriously disturbed, man."

He tossed Caleb a pair of heavy-duty work gloves. "We'll start with the a.s.s. That tube gets hot, so make sure you wear those. Hold the rod tight. Make sure it stays up his a.s.s."

Caleb nodded.

"It cools pretty fast," Ernest said. "I considered putting him in water, but that would have been a real pain in the a.s.s. Can you imagine if we'd had to start dragging bottles of water down here? That sink is useless." Ernest dipped the metal spoon into the simmering molten metal and stirred.

"We should be able to get enough into the tube if we work fast, before he starts flopping around too much. Otherwise it's just going to spill all over his legs." He filled the ladle and held it up, steam rising, the smell of the metal stronger now. "We don't want to get this on us. It's more than two hundred degrees, so be careful. And work fast. Got it?"

Caleb nodded, getting a better grip on the thick tube protruding from Nolan's a.s.s. He affixed a large funnel to the end of the tubing. Ian stood off to the side, watching them with a transfixed expression of revulsion and horror.

"When I'm done, pull the tube out fast. Then cover up his a.s.shole with the duct tape. Got it?" Ernest poured the contents of the ladle into the tube. Seconds later the liquid reached its intended destination and Nolan went berserk, flailing against the ropes, his agonized screams m.u.f.fled against his gag. Moments later, he was still.

"He dead already?" Caleb blurted, pulling the metal rod out of Nolan's a.s.s, covering it with bandages and tape to keep the liquid from leaking out.

Using the stethoscope from the instrument tray, Ernest listened for a heartbeat. He shook his head. "No, not dead. Strong heartbeat."

Ian dropped against the wall and buried his face in his hands. "Oh my G.o.d," he croaked. "Oh my G.o.d."

"Get a grip," Ernest said. "We're not through." He removed the gag from Nolan's mouth, and a trace of spit and vomit trailed away with the cloth.

"Now what?" Ian asked, choking back tears, trying not to cry.

Ernest picked up the smelling salts. "We continue with the experiment. Should we remove the blindfold now?" He didn't wait for an answer.

"But ..." Ian scratched his head and stepped forward. "But then he could identify us."

The other two exchanged glances before turning back to Ian.

"What did you think was going to happen here?" Ernest asked. "He's got a metal block up his a.s.s. Did you think he was going to just walk away?"

Ian swallowed and shrugged.

"I told you earlier that this wasn't going to end well."

"Yeah, Ernest, but-"

"And you promised! You said you wanted to be part of this, that you would always be one of us. You swore along with Caleb and me, f.u.c.king told us we were your brothers!"

"I didn't know you meant murder!"

Ernest looked at the floor before speaking, using a patronizing voice not unlike his father's. "I told you this would be difficult. I told you this would end badly. I told you we would be sharing secrets for life. What about all of that didn't you understand, you f.u.c.king idiot? What the f.u.c.k did you think I was referring to?"

"Come on, Ian," Caleb said. "You've got to see Nolan for what he is. A non-person, just an a.s.shole getting a free ride. He's a leech, a guinea pig. He's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned lab rat."

Ian looked from Ernest to Caleb and knew they planned to finish. Could he see Nolan as just a giant lab rat? He tried to justify what they were doing to the slab of meat on the butcher block table, hidden away somewhere in a room that reeked of damp, dead wine, a room lit by a naked bulb dangling by a single thin wire. The expressions on the faces of his fellow scientists were feral, somehow evil. They were enjoying this too much and would never need to justify their actions. Ian tried to reason that this was all for posterity, tried to forget that this was how Nolan would spend the last minutes of his pathetic life.

"Okay," Ian whispered. "I'm with you." He didn't know whether or not he really meant it. For now, he did mean it. For now, he would stand with them.

Ernest handed him the notebook and pen. "Good. Let's get going then. First entry was, say, 6:00 pm. Let's see ..." He played with the webbing between his thumb and index finger. "Level One. Subject gagged and blindfolded. Nipple clamps and insertion of rods and tubes. Slight bleeding. Subject ... uncomfortable.

"Level Two. Jot down, like 6:45. Level Two, melted metal enema injected. Subject in extreme pain and pa.s.ses out. I guess this is where we begin Level Three."

Glancing at his watch, he said, "Blindfold and gag removed. Subject will be revived and questioned for response. Start Level Three at 7:00 pm."

Ian wondered what sort of doctor Ernest would become and then remembered his particular fondness for forensic medicine.

Ernest continued his dictation. "About to revive subject." Then he grinned. "Level Three. Wake the f.u.c.ker up."

Caleb waved the salts beneath Nolan's nose. There was no reaction. He waved them for another few seconds, and then lifted the vial to his own face and sniffed. He jerked back his head and snorted. "Nothing wrong with these!"

"Oh, G.o.d," Ian moaned, peering into Nolan's face. "What's wrong with him?"

Ernest rolled his eyes. "Are you serious?" To Caleb he said, "Keep working those salts. See if you can revive him."

Caleb waved the salts and slapped Nolan's cheeks.

He continued the dictation. "Level Three. Subject unresponsive. Efforts to revive subject have been unsuccessful. Unsure at this point what-"

Nolan rocked his head away from the salts. His eyes rolled around in their sockets, trying to focus, unable. The whites of his eyes were tinged with pink, distorted Easter eggs.

Ernest leaned over, his mouth by Nolan's ear. "Can you hear me?"

Nolan moaned.

"Nolan? Come on, man, wake up. We need to know how you feel. For posterity." Ernest looked up at Ian. "Jot this down: subject unwilling or unable to respond. In great deal of pain."

Nolan's eyes focused. He blinked and tried to press himself into the table. Opening his mouth, all that escaped was a belching groan.