Necro Files: Two Decades Of Extreme Horror Part 28

Carl smiled and put the magazine back where he'd found it. "You do that."

Dennis exited the house with a sense of shaking excitement that chased him on the drive home. He couldn't get his mind off that image of the corpse of the old woman being f.u.c.ked by the faceless stranger.

"Dennis, are you okay? "

"Hmmm?" Dennis snapped awake, banis.h.i.+ng the daydream that had been floating through his mind. He was replaying the images of the necrophilia photo in his dreams again, wondering what it felt like to f.u.c.k a rotting corpse. Trying to imagine what the sensation must feel like on your d.i.c.k.

"You've been awfully quiet tonight. Everything okay at work?"

"Yeah, everything's fine."

Dennis was sitting up in bed watching the evening news. His wife, Carrie, was sitting next to him doing her nails. Their son, Justin, was in his room doing G.o.d knew what on the internet and their daughter, Elizabeth, was in her room talking on the phone with her friends. Dennis had hardly paid attention to his children when he got home this afternoon. All he'd been able to think of were the images from that magazine.

Carrie lolled on the bed, her hair up in curlers. Dennis tried not to look at her; she'd grown increasingly flabby in the past five years. Her a.s.s was a mile wide, the cellulite on her thighs quivered like Jell-O. Dennis tried to get his wife to accompany him to the gym, but she showed no interest. "I've got an early morning and late afternoon meeting tomorrow," he said, flipping through the channels, "so I won't be home till late. That okay with you?"

"Fine with me," Carrie said, finis.h.i.+ng her nails. "What's on Channel Two?"

And that's the way things went every night. It was the way things had been for fifteen years. The minute they began to have kids, their s.e.x life took a nosedive. And to compensate, Dennis sought to relieve his outlet through other means. p.o.r.nography.

And the more he got into it, the more he needed to satiate his needs. Where before he couldn't stomach an a.n.a.l s.e.x scene, within a few short years he began to crave it ... where before he flinched at the barest suggestion of S&M, within a few years he was exploring every aspect of that subculture. Where before he'd gagged at the site of a woman sucking a Great Dane's c.o.c.k, or some redneck f.u.c.king a sheep, now b.e.s.t.i.a.lity films held a strange fascination for him. And while he had heard of snuff films over the years, the closest he'd ever come to seeing one was an extreme hardcore loop Carl Grossman sold him. The clip showed a woman being viscously whipped, then burned with a hot piece of metal as she dangled from the ceiling in an abandoned warehouse. The first time Dennis saw the clip it disturbed him. Later viewings turned him on. He currently kept the tape in a safe in his study and only brought it out when he knew he was going to get at least four hours to himself at home, which was rare.

Now the only thing that could get him off was the hardest of the hardcore. Currently he possessed two additional films other than the torture film, which were the only things that could bring him to o.r.g.a.s.m, all three he kept in the safe. One was a film showing a woman being f.u.c.ked by an Orangutan; it was followed by a guy s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g a female German Shepard. The other tape was a rape film showing the very real rapes of a twelve-year-old girl, a forty-year-old toothless crack addict who looked like he was seventy, and an eighteen-year-old man who already looked like he was in his mid-forties courtesy of hard-living. Carrie would never dream that both tapes resided in a locked safe in Dennis' study.

Before they settled down to sleep Carrie said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Bob Lansing called this afternoon."

"Really?" Dennis felt his stomach clench. "What did he want?"

"To talk to you," Carrie turned over. "He sounded surprised, like he thought you would be home."

"Bob gets confused sometimes," Dennis said, the lie springing to him easy. "He must have forgotten I had that meeting at our West LA office and thought I'd gone home early."

Carrie didn't say anything. Dennis waited for a response, and when none came he rolled over on his right side, facing the wall. He waited until he heard the calm breathing of his wife sleeping beside him, and then he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep himself. But it was a long time in coming.

He had a meeting on his calendar the next morning but he skipped it, stopping by Carl Grossman's instead. He'd gone to the bank on the way and had the fifteen hundred dollars for the necrophilia magazine; he simply couldn't get it out of his mind. He'd woken up in a good mood so why not splurge? Carl shook his head as Dennis asked for the magazine. "Sorry. Shoulda bought it yesterday. I sold it last night right after you left."

Dennis felt his hopes deflate. "Oh. That's too bad." He didn't know the magazine would sell so quickly.

"But you're in luck," Carl said, moving to a corner of the living room that he referred to as his "office"; it was crammed with a small desk and filing cabinet. He rummaged around on the desk for a business card and copied a name, address, and phone number on it. "You might want to talk to the guy that bought it. He's a big collector. You and he have similar interests. Maybe he can help you find another one." He handed the card to Dennis, who slipped it into his pocket.

"Thanks," Dennis said.

Dennis took a look at the card in his car. The name on the card-Harvey Panozzo-was unfamiliar to him. At first he wasn't going to place the call; after all, he had to get to work and start giving his employers the impression he gave a s.h.i.+t about his job. But he finally succ.u.mbed to his desires and punched Harvey's number in his cell phone.

The phone was picked up on the other end. "Panozzo here."

Dennis quickly introduced himself and told Harvey how he came by his number. "Carl suggested I call you since we have similar interests."

"Are you busy later today?"

"Not at all."

"Why don't you stop by? We'll chat then. You have the address?"

"Yes." Harvey was in Monrovia, just down the freeway from Pasadena where Dennis lived. He jotted down the directions and hung up, his nerves on edge at the thought that he was going to see more of the type of material he was becoming enamoured with.

The next few hours were spent at work. He made phone calls to various business contacts, did some work on the CPM spreadsheet. Bob Lansing poked his head in his cube and asked where he was yesterday. Dennis told him he'd been stuck in traffic, which was why he was late to the CPM meeting in West LA. Bob nodded, then asked him how the meeting this morning was. Dennis made something up and Bob left, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

He spent the remainder of his day cruising the internet, always making sure to keep a spreadsheet open, and to be on alert in case anybody came by. There'd been a few close calls when Dennis had fumbled with the icon at the bottom of his screen for the spreadsheet, thus blocking out whatever p.o.r.n website he was on. Thank G.o.d for quick fingers.

He visited ten p.o.r.n sites that afternoon including his favorite: the rape page. He also did some searches on Google for necrophilia pages. He couldn't find any.

He left the office at his normal time and arrived at Harvey's house ten minutes early. Harvey Panozzo lived in a nice neighborhood with tree-lined streets and ranch homes. He met Dennis at the front door dressed in tan slacks and a white s.h.i.+rt; he looked like he'd just come home from work. He appeared to be around Dennis's age-early forties-and had thinning black hair and a dark mustache. He also looked like he spent a lot of time out in the sun.

"Nice to meet you," Harvey said, holding out his hand.

"Thanks for meeting with me," Dennis said, shaking his hand. "I really appreciate it."

Harvey invited him inside the house and Dennis followed the man, his nerves twitching. One time he'd met an extreme hardcore fetish enthusiast in the hopes of scoring some bloodsport videos and was tackled from behind by another character who was lying in wait. Looking back on it now, Dennis realized that they were going to rape him, probably torture him to fulfill their own desires, but Dennis was lucky. Working out at the gym every day gave him an advantage a lot of guys his age lacked, and he was able to fight off his attackers ruthlessly. He was careful in meeting like-minded freaks, and now as he followed Harvey Panozzo down the hall toward a rear bedroom, his senses were on heightened alert.

"Carl is a trusted friend and ally," Harvey said, motioning for Dennis to have a seat. "I knew you were okay when you mentioned Carl sent you. I don't trust people that are referred to me by people other than Carl."

"Neither do I," Dennis said.

"You said you were going to buy the necro publication Carl had?" Harvey asked.

Dennis nodded. "Yes. He said you bought it last night, that you're a fellow ..."

"Enthusiast?" Harvey smiled. "I suppose I am." He paused for a moment. "I take it you are interested in similar material?"

Dennis nodded. "Very much so."

"I think I may be able to help you."

Dennis felt a burst of excitement. "That would be great."

"Tell me something," Harvey said, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. "What do you do for a living?"

Dennis hesitated a moment, then plunged on ahead. "I'm a financial a.n.a.lyst."

Harvey nodded. "I see. The reason I'm asking is that the group has pretty specific members.h.i.+p requirements. They like for fellow members to be professionally employed."

"Well ..."

Harvey smiled. "Don't worry. I take it that with your job t.i.tle you have at least a Bachelor's Degree and that you make at least fifty k a year. Correct?"

Dennis nodded. Actually he made quite a bit more than that but he wasn't going to tell Harvey.

Harvey rose to his feet. "Come with me. I think I have just what you're looking for."

Dennis followed him to the next room, which appeared to be an office. Harvey opened a file cabinet with a key and rifled through it. He extracted a glossy paged magazine wrapped in plastic and handed it to Dennis, who took it in trembling hands. "Is this the kind of material you're looking for?"

Dennis looked at it. The dead girl with the severed throat glared at him, her eyes lifeless. Dennis nodded. "Yes."

"If you'd like, I can give you some time alone with it. Perhaps thirty minutes?"

"That would be great." Dennis tried to keep his excitement at bay.

"After that, all I have to ask of you are three things," Harvey said. "The first: make sure you stay employed. We have our reasons for insisting on this policy, the main reason being that when you begin to acquire a taste for the type of material we're into, it can get rather expensive. We'd rather have you indulge with money you are making honestly. We have no desire to have the police come poking around should you resort to a life of crime in order for you to pay for your habit. Agreed?"

Dennis nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Number two, your being employed is actually a benefit. It automatically separates you from a lot of the other hardcore freaks out there. We have no desire to a.s.sociate with drug addicts, ex-p.o.r.n stars, the homeless, or other degenerates. What we do is in the privacy of our own homes. We don't hurt anybody. We are simply working professionals with similar interests. Agreed?"

Dennis nodded. "And the third?"

"That when you are finally admitted to our group you bring us some materials. An offering, if you will." Harvey smiled. "It doesn't matter what it is ... a loop of some junkie getting f.u.c.ked by a Doberman ... a torture flick ... some chicken hawk stuff for the pedophiles in our group. But you'll score big points if you can procure some necro flicks or some snuff. And not the fake c.r.a.p, either. We're seasoned veterans and we can spot fake a mile away."

Dennis nodded. "Yeah, I think I can do that." What the h.e.l.l are you thinking? Where the h.e.l.l are you going to find more of this kind of stuff?

Harvey clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm sure you will. Now why don't I leave you alone for awhile?"

And he did just that. Harvey left Dennis alone in the office, pointing out a box of Kleenex and a bottle of lotion on the desk. He closed the door behind him, leaving Dennis alone.

Dennis sighed, opened the magazine to the spread of the decayed old woman, and felt his d.i.c.k grow hard at the sight of the anonymous p.e.n.i.s penetrating the rotting flesh of her stomach, and then he began to jack off.

When Bob Lansing called Dennis into his office the following day he was exiting another meeting regarding the CPM project. Dennis thought Bob wanted to pick his brain some more about the project, but as he closed the door to Bob's office he saw his superior's features were grave. "Sit down, Dennis," Bob said.

Dennis sat down, his stomach growing leaden. He'd been feeling uneasy since exiting Harvey Panozzo's house yesterday. He'd driven home wondering if anybody saw him leave the house. Ever since bringing himself to o.r.g.a.s.m yesterday courtesy of the necrophilia publication, he felt like he was under scrutiny now, as if everybody around him suddenly knew he was different from them. It was a feeling that had chased him throughout the day.

"What's up?" Dennis asked Bob as he settled into his seat.

Bob pushed a set of papers across the desk at Dennis wordlessly. He refused to meet Dennis' eyes. Dennis picked up the paper and scanned the doc.u.ment. At first he thought it was computer code, but then he recognized it as website URLs. His eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the URLs as websites he visited at work. "I don't understand," he said, trying to sound casual but doing a terrible job of it.

"Those are the websites you've been visiting during your work day," Bob Lansing said, jabbing a finger at the doc.u.ment. He looked at Dennis unsympathetically. "I got an IT tech to download some software on your PC yesterday when you were out and run a check. Human Resources gave me a call the day before that to inform me an anonymous call was placed to their s.e.xual Hara.s.sment hotline informing them you were viewing s.e.xually explicit material at work, so we had to investigate. And this is what we came up with."

The news was. .h.i.tting Dennis like a sledgehammer. Despite the fact the evidence was staring him right in the face, he still tried to talk his way out of it. "There must be some kind of mistake," he stammered. "I don't-"

Bob Lansing leaned forward. "Can the bulls.h.i.+t, Dennis! Between you and me, it would be one thing if you were visiting the Playboy Website and looking at a little T & A. Human Resources would still want me to fire you, but I'd fight for you because I like you, and I like your work. But the c.r.a.p you've been looking at on our computers, on our time?" He emphasized this by jabbing his finger down on the paper, his tone of voice becoming hoa.r.s.e with anger. "Frankly I don't have much respect for guys like you that get off on watching women being degraded like that." His left hand dipped down to his desk drawer and emerged with a doc.u.ment and a green envelope. He slid them across the desk to Dennis. "Consider yourself fired. You're getting off easy; if the material you'd been viewing in your cubical involved children, so help me G.o.d I would have waited until after work and then I would have kicked the living s.h.i.+t out of you and d.a.m.n the consequences."

Dennis was shocked; he didn't know how to respond. Bob Lansing glared back at him with anger and disgust. "Now get the f.u.c.k out of my office. You disgust me."

Dennis rose to his feet slowly, feeling the burning of Bob's gaze on his back as he exited his office. A tall African-American man from building security was already at his cube, waiting to escort him out of the building. The security guard stood at sentry duty as Dennis gathered the few personal items he had in his cubical and then he left the department, not even aware of the furtive whispers of his co-workers as the gossip mill started.

Dennis was at home when Harvey Panozzo called. He picked it up in the extension in his study upstairs. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Dennis! Harvey here. Are you ready?"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to join just yet," Dennis said, lowering his voice. He was still reeling from the events at work today and was pouring through his business rolodex, coming up with a list of contacts. He had enough money to float on for a while, but he would have to get another position fairly soon. "Some things have come up and-"

"Oh, but you don't have to worry about joining, Dennis." Harvey's voice was soothing. "Consider yourself a charter member."

"Well ... thanks, but-"

"The reason I'm calling, actually, is to see if you've held up your end of the bargain."

Dennis' mind drew a blank.

"Don't you remember? You were supposed to contribute something to the circle? A film? Photos perhaps?"

Dennis couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I just met you yesterday. You expect me to come up with something in twenty-four hours?"

"Why not? Surely you have something in your own collection that would suffice."

Dennis felt his nerves tremble. "Well, yeah ... I guess I do."

"Great! How about you swing by on your way home from the office tomorrow and drop it off?"

Dennis told him that was fine and hung up. He spent the next thirty minutes staring out the window. He was so involved in his thoughts that he barely noticed when Carrie arrived home with the kids.

Dennis left early the next morning dressed in his normal work attire just like any other day. He didn't go to the office, however. Instead, he headed straight for the nearest coffee shop.

He bought a copy of the Los Angeles Times and sat in a corner booth, sipping coffee and circling the job listings. He also had a good breakfast: pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns, orange juice. He left the coffee shop at ten-thirty, taking the paper with him, and leaving the waitress a satisfying tip.

His house was silent and empty when he got home. Just as he thought it would be.

He headed straight to his study where the safe was. He got the safe opened and took out the rape video. This should satisfy them, he thought as he closed the safe. They probably want something really hardcore and this is the hardest I have.

He spent the rest of the day at the library making phone calls from his cellular phone, making connections, trying to set up some meetings. He was able to get a few interviews set up, and by the time he set out for Harvey Panozzo's place that afternoon he was already starting to feel better.

When he pulled up to Harvey Panozzo's home he saw the garage door was open. The silver Mercedes he'd seen in the driveway yesterday was absent. A group of kids were messing around on skateboards on the driveway. Dennis walked up the driveway, briefcase in hand. One of the kids, a twelve-year-old boy with curly black hair, looked up as Dennis approached. "If you're looking for my dad, he isn't home yet."

"Oh." Dennis frowned. "When will your dad be home?"

The boy shrugged. "Probably after six. He said he had a meeting."

"Okay. Thanks." Dennis walked back to the car, his feeling of apprehension growing again.

It turned to dread when he pulled into his neighborhood and saw the police car parked in front of his house.