Samhane excerpt

Thin trails showed clearly on the grime-covered boards. Had something been dragged or pushed through the corridor? A cold draught blew against Donald's face. It carried laughter and voices from up ahead.

Anticipating a surprise attack, he ventured through the door. He placed his feet lightly to avoid any creaks on the wood.

Partway along the corridor, light through an open doorway illuminated the opposite wall. Donald crouched beside the wooden doorframe. Afraid that Roger, or another member of the house, lurked inside, he peered into the room.

Similar to the corridor, the room had no carpets or wallpaper. A single lamp, minus a shade, lay on its side in the corner. Dirty blinds obscured the window, hiding the outside from view.

Racks covered the wall, each adorned with weapons. Knives, axes, maces, scythes and various other blades hung side by side, up to ceiling. Newspaper covered the floor, The Samhane Enquirer, with the headline WARNING.

Donald fought the urge to run out of the house.

A young girl dangled upside down from the ceiling. Black chains around her ankles linked to a thick hoop embedded in the plaster. Her arms and curly blonde hair reached towards the floor. She looked like a carcass hung in a butcher's shop.

She has to be dead. No one could survive that.

Blood pooled beneath her. Parts of her had been carved out and thrown about the room. Soiled blades lay scattered around the floor. The body gently swayed and spun on the chain. Sliced across her hip were two words:

EDIT THIS!

Heart racing at the gruesome discovery, Donald held his breath and ran past. Lucy's body had given off an awful, meaty stench, but this girl had rotted.

The voices sounded louder. Music played, something classical like Tchaikovsky or Mozart. The corridor opened out into a bigger room. Shadows flickered and danced on the far wall.

But another door stood open before the end of the passageway.

Donald wiped his sweaty hands in turn on his sodden shirt. He took a fresh grip on the slicked tyre iron. He glimpsed around the second doorway but pulled back.

Did they see me? Shit!

After a few tense seconds, Donald poked his head back out.

A man with scruffy black hair lay spread-eagled, naked on the messy red sheets of a bed. Dull barbed wire shackled his arms to the metal headboard. Thin red trails of fresh blood glided down his wrists. Leather straps, wrapped around his face, blinded and gagged him.

Two other figures gracefully paced around the bed, their heads tilted towards the man. Black PVC covered their bodies, from their knee high boots to their smooth, glossy, face-concealing masks. The plastic hugged the contours of their breasts.

The gimp closest to the foot of the bed leapt on top of the captive male. She lowered her shiny head straight to his groin and pulled open a zip across her mouth. The man's penis, flaccid and resting against his thigh, disappeared into the dark slit between the tiny metal teeth. The woman's head bobbed in a steady rhythm. She took the man deep inside, grabbing the base of his shaft and pumping. Her hand slid up to meet her descending mouth. The man writhed and pulled back from her, the barbed wire opening new cuts.

The other woman, watching from behind the headboard, leaned over him. She held a small glass phial. It reflected the light from the lamp like a diamond. She held the glass phial high above the man's bare chest and flicked a silver catch to the side.

Donald watched.

She tilted the phial and spilled its light green contents over the man. The liquid splashed over him and reacted instantly, eating his skin in seconds.

Donald swallowed rising vomit.

The man's chest bubbled and blossomed a deep red. Blood popped from newly formed blisters. He cried out from behind the leather strap, and Donald shivered.

The woman carried on sucking.

Donald seized the opportunity and dove past the doorway.

Maybe it would have been best if Bev had died in the woods compared to the sick shit going on here. They could be doing anything to her.

Donald hated himself for the weak thought.

His back against the wall, he approached the end of the corridor. The people in the room beyond sounded occupied with conversations and laughter, nearly drowning out the music.

Regardless, Donald had come too far to be taken by surprise.

He crept forwards. The tyre iron grew heavier in his shaking grip. He blinked the sweat and tears from his eyes and swallowed to moisten his parched throat. Staying in the relative darkness of the corridor, he peered into the room.

Samhane is available for download for a mere $5.95! Just click on the cover above to go straight to the Wild Child Publishing store.