by Lucas Pederson.

Jason Raker smiled when he pulled the severed forearm from the pot of boiling water with a pair of old barbeque tongs. The smell in the kitchen, as foul and as rancid as it was, didn't much bother him. He was hungry and such things didn*t matter when he was hungry. The smell was like candy to him.

The blistered foot came out next, skin sloughing off, pinched tightly in the tongs.

"Yummy-yum-yum," Jason grunted.

He set the human foot down on the table next to the forearm; different owners, of course. He liked variety. Both body parts had been boiling all day and finally they were done.

Suddenly Jason doubled over, hands clasped to his stomach and vomited all over himself. Yellowish goop and blood splattered to the floor and on to his jeans. He laughed, despite all this. Then he vomited again. Being seriously sick or in need of a hospital never crossed his lunatic mind.

When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of one trembling hand and then left the kitchen, still chuckling to himself. m.u.f.fled, barely audible, he heard them down there in the bas.e.m.e.nt; his donors.

"Help me! Oh G.o.d! Help me! Please!"

Jason's smile lengthened. He had sound proofed the entire bas.e.m.e.nt in preparation of this. He wasn't dumb. He had also replaced all the wooden doors in the house with thick, almost vault like, metal ones. He made sure those down stairs were padded. There was nothing worse than bruised meat after all.

Each door was locked with inch thick dead bolts on the top, middle, and bottom of them and each has a combination lock with its own unique combination. And of course Jason knew them all by heart. No. He wasn't dumb. Even for this brave new world in the year 2270.

So in other words they could scream themselves to death down there and no one would ever hear them. Not unless someone were to listen really, really carefully. And still they might just think the noises were other things. A breeze blowing through the eves, an ionic water heater on the fritz, or maybe a ten legged stray cat trapped down in the bas.e.m.e.nt.

The stench of boiled human wavered in front of his nose and he took in the rancid aroma gladly. His stomach growled. Supper time. But first...

She heard him just outside the door. She could hear his breathing, that slurping, gasping noise. How many days has it been now? Three? Four? A week? Maybe more? Cindy didn't know. Time had no meaning here anyway. But it felt like an eternity.

Why is he just standing there, her weary mind screamed. She winced at the power in it.

Brushing away ratty, dirty hair from her eyes she stood up. He had already taken her virginity along with three of the five fingers on her right hand, which he had st.i.tched the stumps back up, nice and neat as if nothing had ever happened. Enough was enough. Since the finger cutting incident he's been using her as his own personal s.e.x toy; raping her over and over again, each time hurting a little more than the last. He was a sick man and she hated him. Even now she could feel his small wart encrusted p.e.n.i.s, ramming and probing. She shuddered at the thought.

The sound of the single deadbolt sliding away made her jump in place. She held the plunger handle tight in her left hand. The door k.n.o.b turned slowly and Cindy got ready, lifting the plunger handle up over her head. She just prayed she'd be quick enough and strong enough. Otherwise she was a dead girl standing. She would become one of his gruesome meals for sure.

Cindy stood on the right side of the door, her b.u.t.t pressed firmly against the rusty steel sink. She was skinny enough now so he wouldn't even see her standing there, not at first glance anyway.

But what if he's prepared for this sort of thing? Why else would he just leave the plunger in the bathroom, she thought.

But Cindy didn't let this thought sway her in the least. The door swung open and he stepped into sight. Cindy brought the plunger handle down as fast and as hard as her malnourished arms would allow, breaking the handle, over the back of his neck. He immediately went down like a sack of rotten potatoes, smacking face first into the floor. Blood splattered out of his gaping mouth when he hit. He twitched once and then fell very still. She couldn't tell if he was breathing or not and it didn't matter now anyway. She dropped the remains of the plunger handle and shot out of the bathroom.

The stench hit her like a brick boxing glove, making her stop cold in her tracks. Of course it wasn't an unfamiliar smell; she had been there for some time and it was a common aroma. But it still got to her and made her sick every time. Her stomach did a lurch and she fell to her knees and vomited up what little lunch she had; a slice of white bread and a gla.s.s of rusty water. The guy liked his woman lean, like his meat.

After what felt like hours of dry heaving, Cindy finally began to feel a little better. She got to her feet, her legs trembling and her eyes searching. She had to find a way out of here. She took a step and then heard them, the others. Those still down in the bas.e.m.e.nt, screaming for help. She stood still for a moment, deciding on what should be done. Then she half trotted, half stumbled to the bas.e.m.e.nt door. And without any further thought she slid open the dead bolts, all three of them.

If it wasn't for the round, black and white combination lock, she would be unlocking the others already. But all she could do was stare at it and cry. She didn't know the combination.

Cindy slammed her fists against the steel door, bellowing sobs at its shiny surface. They had to get out too. There are mothers down there, wives, daughters, and even a son or husband or father. And when that p.r.i.c.k had come down to bring her upstairs for his sick pleasures, the only man down there had looked close to death already. She had to get them out.

Just leave, said a voice in her head. Leave and let the cops get them out later. But what if there was no later? What if they are so close to dying right now that an hour or two would mean their end? This didn't seem very likely, but it might be possible. And what if that evil b.a.s.t.a.r.d woke up? What if he saw she was gone and killed everyone and fled? Or even worse; killed everyone and came after her?

No. If she left them he would kill them all. That's if he was still alive, of course. She had to save them now. What was that old saying? Now or never? Sure, that was it.

Cindy stepped away from the steel door and walked into the kitchen. Her eyes darted this way and that. And every now and then she'd peek over her shoulder, just to make sure no one was creeping up behind her. The smell in the kitchen made her gorge rise again and her stomach to churn. The smell was always the worst in here.

Of course it is, whispered a phantom voice from within, This is where he does all the cooking. Her stomach did a triple flip inside of her at the thought. She glanced around but found nothing that would help her open the steel door.

When she came upon the boiled forearm and foot, Cindy didn't throw up. She was too- Suddenly she was on the floor, her a.s.s throbbing dully under her. And it took her a good minute to realize what had happened. She had slipped in something, but- The chunky, slimy liquid feeling on her bare feet finally registered in her frazzled mind. And a wetness soaking through her tattered green summer dress he always made her wear, brought out a disgusted, little, panicky whine. Oh G.o.d! Oh Christ! I slipped in his puke! She felt her gorge rise further and swallowed it down with every bit of strength she had. A wave of faintness blew over her then was gone.

On her knees she crawled to the sink and yanked down the hand towel that had been lying on the counter. After cleaning the vomit from her feet and bottom she immediately left the kitchen. She just couldn't be in there anymore. It was an awful place. She came to the living room and stopped. The room, to put it bluntly, was a pig sty. And not just a pig-sty but a nasty room all together.

Here, human bones in every variety lay in a thigh high mound near the end of an old and badly tattered sprung couch. Rats. At least a dozen of them scurried about the room, most of them gnawing on the remains of various limbs and appendages that were well on their way into decay.

The stink in this room was even worse than that of the kitchen. She has never been in this room before and the stench was so sudden it made her dizzy. Instead of boiled human, this was decaying human. Cindy took a step forward and felt a strange sort of jelly goosh between her toes. And she didn't have to look down to know what it was. Puke. More of that sick f.u.c.k's puke. She glanced down and to her horror she found she was standing in not puke but a small heap of nearly decayed guts. Now she wished it had been puke instead. She let go a sickened gasp and quickly stepped out of the squishy, rotten pile of intestines. It was hard to tell if they were human or animal. Cindy didn't give a s.h.i.t either way. It was gross.

She wiped her feet off on the dirty carpet and backed out of the room of death and decay. A rat, adventurous in its own twisted way, came scurrying towards her. Cindy blew out a shriek of terror, turned, and ran.

The last time she looked at the clock that hung over the kitchen sink, two hours had pa.s.sed. Two hours and nothing to show for it but tears. She had to find a way to get those people out. Although it never occurred to her that in the two hours she had spent searching for anything to open the door, she could have already been at the police station, safe, and spilling everything about this stinking h.e.l.l hole. She had found nothing in her search.

A half an hour ago she had built up enough courage to check on the b.a.s.t.a.r.d that laid half in and half out of the bathroom. He still didn't look like he was breathing, which was a very good sign. Now she stood staring down at him again as he lay face down on the moldy bathroom tiles. Without any thought at all she pushed him the rest of the way into the bathroom. His head struck the toilet with a dull smacking sound. The sound you get when you strike a rock and a log together. It was a horrible sound. Cindy closed the door and pulled the deadbolt home, just in case.

In a frazzled sort of way she wished he was at least somewhat alive to know how it feels to be locked up. Eye for an eye, as they say.

That done, she turned away from the door and glared at the bas.e.m.e.nt door. There was nothing she could do to get them out, that was obvious now. But it still didn't take away the s.h.i.tty feeling in her gut and heart.

Now! Go now! He's locked up. Hurry, shouted that restless inner voice of hers. Yes, he was locked up alright. h.e.l.l, he could be dead for all I know. And that was all it took. She bolted, on legs that felt a bit rubbery under her, down the short hallway and to the front door that gave way to freedom. The front door resided in the dining room. A strange place for a front door, but that didn't matter. This room was clean and dignified looking with its long oak table and immaculate setting. But she came to a sudden, sobbing stop.

The front door, the entrance to her freedom, also had one of those forsaking combo locks on it.

"No!" She screamed. "No! No! No!"

Just then, the phone rang. The phone? The phone! She whirled around, listening and tracking at the same time. She never even thought of looking for a phone. How many times had she pa.s.sed right by it looking for something to break down or through the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt? A dozen? Maybe more?

She followed the beeping ring of the phone, wiping her watering eyes as she went, through the kitchen and then into the living room; that nasty room of decay. And there it was; a fairly new GE cordless digital phone, lying on the arm of the old and battered and grimy couch, a white speck of clean amongst an ocean of dirt and decay. It was truly beautiful.

She stood, watching it ring. Part of her wanted to answer it and another part didn't. What if it's someone he knows? A buddy or something. What if he has a partner? She doubted the latter but it might be possible to a.s.sume, right? She reached out for the cordless, and then drew her hand back quickly as if the phone was on fire. Soon it stopped ringing and she felt a gush of relief seize her.

Picking it up was the hardest, but she managed. It felt roughly fifty pounds in her left hand. She stared dumbly at it. Her eyes lowered to her mutilated right hand. The st.i.tches were holding good but the stumps looked a little too red for comfort. Infected, by Christ, it's infected. He hadn't used any peroxide or alcohol to sanitize the wounds. Of course it was infected. Cindy shook her head from side to side. No time to worry about that now.

The digital phone looked simple enough to use. She has used her fair share of cordless phones in her lifetime to know. She pushed the oval TALK b.u.t.ton and the phone beeped on. She lifted it to her left ear and listened to the constant, never ending hum of an open line. A smile of triumph curled on her dirty face.

"Now..." said a growling, low voice from somewhere behind her.

She spun around, dropping the phone. Her breath caught in her throat like a sharp fish bone. But no one was there. A cold chill ran through her and she shuddered.

Quickly she bent down and picked up the phone, nearly grabbing onto a fat rat in the process, and dialed 911.

"Now...You'll die..." rasped that same grim voice from behind her. A voice she knew all too well by now. It was his voice. She didn't have to turn around to know it was coming from the kitchen. But she turned anyway.

"911 Emergency. How may I help you?" a woman's voice said from the phone.

Cindy couldn't answer. She stepped forward, eyes wide and focused on the archway leading in to the kitchen. Her heart sped to an alarming pace in her chest.

"h.e.l.lo? Anyone there? h.e.l.lo?" the woman's voice called out from the phone, sounding a bit concerned now.

"Gonna getcha, Cindy. Gonna eat your ovaries. Yum-yum," the voice from the kitchen hissed.

"No," Cindy moaned.

"h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo? Who is this please? You've reached 911 Emergen-"

But Cindy no longer heard the woman on the other end of the phone. All her attention narrowed towards the kitchen where his voice spoke from.

But there's no way he got out without me hearing. No way at all, she thought absently. She waited for a long time, just standing there and staring at the archway. The 911 dispatch woman had hung up a couple minutes ago and now the phone was braying at her in that annoying tone.

Something clanked in the kitchen. A pan, perhaps, being set on a stove. Or, and Cindy feared this most of all, a knife being set out for cutting purposes. Cindy gulped down a whine in her throat and took an unconscious step forward.

"Oh Cindy, you've been a bad, bad, little girl..." hissed that maddening voice.

She snapped out of her little trance and by that time she had nearly made it to the archway. She had been walking unconsciously towards that voice. The phone was still making that irritating racket and she pushed the TALK b.u.t.ton again. The phone turned off. Backing away from the archway now, she realized she was sweating. Sweating badly by the feel. A rat skittered between her feet without notice. Shaking her head she pushed the TALK b.u.t.ton and dialed 911 again. This time it was a man's voice that answered, strong and very stern sounding to her left ear.

"911 Emergency. Please identify-"

Cindy cut the man off in an explosion of panic.

"You got to help us! Please! We're trapped in this house. He's...He's-"

"Cindy..." that familiar evil voice taunted. "Oh, Cindy. I'm so hungry. So hungry...So-"

"h.e.l.lo? Miss? You there? Miss?" The man's voice on the other end of the phone sounded more than frightened now. All that authority seemed to have been vaporized.

Both voices reverberated inside her head, mingling and merging and then bouncing all over.

"No." She moaned again and hung up the phone without realizing it.

"Oh so tasty you'll be...Those juicy ovaries...Yum."

A shadow pa.s.sed across the archway and the phone fell from her trembling left hand. She shrieked in terror at what she had just seen. Laughter, his laughter, cackled out at her from somewhere in the kitchen. Another clanking noise then everything fell quiet. Cindy sucked in a breath, gritted her teeth, and walked to the archway, her eyes darting. Her fear was at its undeniable peak, but still she kept moving. It was time to face her fate. It was either that or insanity.

She stepped into the kitchen cautiously, preparing herself for a fist in the face or worse, a knife in the neck. Her eyes tried to dart everywhere at once. But there was nothing in the kitchen. Nothing but the boiled body parts and that rank smell.

"What-" she began and a freezing chill blew into her. She whirled in its direction, but again nothing was there. I'm losing it. She thought. I'm losing it.

She gave in to her curiosity and opened the bathroom door. A large meat cutting knife she had swiped from the kitchen held shakily in her left hand. But he lay as before. His face smashed against the grimy tiles, his body sprawled and lifeless. She was pretty sure he was dead now. Unless she had managed to knock him completely comatose, which she doubted, but yet had her suspicions. She waited for maybe two more minutes just staring down at him, ready from him to spring up and get her. But he lay limp on the floor and still his back did not rise and fall to indicate breathing. Yes, he had to be dead.

Cindy closed the door and locked it again with the deadbolt, unaware she had done it at all. Dead and harmless now.

Remember that, girlfriend. Dead and harmless, she thought to herself. But the fact remained she really didn't know if he was dead or not.

Trying to find a way out of this house was like trying to find ones way out of a giant labyrinth. She searched the house again, still finding nothing to help her open the doors. Trapped like a rat. She had heard the phrase used many times before and only now she knew the true meaning, the true feeling, of it. She had forgotten again about the phone.

After an hour or so of pacing the house she found herself sitting down at the kitchen table, her weary eyes transfixed to the boiled human body parts. How do they taste? She wondered. Like pork? It smells a little like pork. Her stomach growled savagely at this thought and she shuddered.

What seemed like hours, but was only about twenty minutes, pa.s.sed. She heard them down there in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Their voices hoa.r.s.e and dry from shouting too much. It was amazing some of them could shout at all. They'll never leave that dungeon. She thought. They were doomed from the beginning. They are already dead. Dead and doomed like she herself would be in a couple days or so if she didn't eat or drink anything. Her eyes fell to the body parts again without thought. Her stomach growled unnoticed this time.

"Gonna eat you, b.i.t.c.h. Gonna eat you all up..." rasped his voice for the hundredth time since she heard him the first.

Cindy shook her head and lifted her eyes from the human parts on the table.

"Think of it as exotic pork..." whispered some other voice. A new voice she had trouble placing.

Her gorge rose and it took a tremendous effort to swallow it down.

Pork? she thought. Oh, that's sick. It's just wrong, and she tried to push the thought away. And again she found herself staring down at the boiled body parts. As her eyes narrowed she noticed the p.r.i.c.kles of black, coa.r.s.e hair sticking out of the forearm. She grimaced at the sight of half c.o.c.ked and yellowed toenails. These were man parts. Could they be from the man in the bas.e.m.e.nt? She wondered. Did he finally die? Or did he kill him? Cindy thought the latter to be the closest.

A cold wind blew into her and she shivered. A loud clanking noise sounded behind her. She jumped and spun around in the chair. A shadow, dark and hunched, lurched towards her.

"I'm gonna eat ya, Cindy. Oh... I'm so hungry..." growled the shadow.

No matter how much she wanted to get the h.e.l.l out of there, she couldn't move. She was frozen by fear. And the shadow came for her, its clawed hands clenching and unclenching. The right corner of Cindy's mouth twitched and her face fell slack.

"Give me those ovaries, Cindy..." snarled the awful shadow as it advanced on her.

All she could do was close her eyes. A very sudden, frigged wind blew in to her. There was a moment of cold terror that shook her from the inside out and then...it was gone. Just like that it was gone. Her eyes popped open and she began to laugh. Then the simple laughing turned into pure hysterical gales. She pushed away from the table, doubling over and holding her thin stomach. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she barked humorless laughter at the floor. She laughed so hard she began to dry heave again.

The insane laughing ceased as if it had never happened. Now she was all too aware just how hungry she was. Her stomach had shrunk, sure, but that didn't mean she needed less to eat exactly. It felt as if there were a billion king crabs inside pinching at her guts. She began to giggle again at the thought of crabs. She put a sudden stop to the giggles that would surely turn into that awful barking again.

Could they hear her down there? she wondered. Did they just hear that crazy laughing? Sure, they might have. But so what? What could they do for her? What could she do for them? Nothing, that's what. And they could think she has gone totally coo-coo all they want. Yeah, coo-coo and then some, huh? What did it matter? Again, nothing was the answer.

Cindy glanced around. There was nothing to eat. She hadn't even found the bread he had fed her earlier today. She thought that he might have hidden it all away somewhere, but no matter how hard she looked she still came up with nothing. Nothing to eat, but- Her eyes fell to the body parts on the table. And her gorge rose once again. No. Not that. Anything but that, she thought. But then her stomach growled again.

"Go on Cindy, eat it. Eat my food or I'll eat you." His voice so close to her ear she felt the heat of his breath on her lower lobe.

Cindy whirled in the chair. But again, he wasn't there and she didn't notice the shadow that moved near the refrigerator. A hulking, grotesque shape that stood watching and waiting.

She stared at the body parts now, utterly fixed upon them. Saliva welled in her mouth and her eyes widened.

Four hours later the police finally broke through the thick steel front door and came billowing inside, shotguns and side arms drawn. All of the six that entered stopped in their tracks just a few feet from the front door. Some began waving a hand in front of their faces and grimacing. Others held their nose closed with their free fingers. The smell in the house was one of burnt flesh, hair, and a rank whiff of something they could only really a.s.sociate with boiled pork...and puke of course. All these smells mingled together in one rancid stench creating a sickening soup. Even their eyes began to water because of it.

"Ha! Gotcha, you lil' wiggly!" screeched a woman's dry, crackling voice up ahead, just down the short hallway in front of them.

"Yum-Yum!" the woman cried and then came the smacking and slurping sounds.