Redgrave: An Erotic Horror Read online

  Situations like this, who the hell would be prepared to handle a situation like this?

  I knew what I had to do.

  I crept quietly down the hall. The overhead lighting was out and the corridor was bathed in darkness. Unlike the ground floor, this one seemed to consist mostly of sleeping quarters, a fact I realized as I shined my flashlight in the first room I came to. The door had been removed. All the doors to all the rooms had been. This presented a whole new danger as I grasped the fact that Redgrave could be inside any of the rooms, and without the doors to work as barriers, I had to be prepared for any sudden attack.

  With no real weapon other than my makeshift bat, I wasn’t prepared to clear every room. Instead, I shined my light in each one quickly as I made my way closer to the rooms at the end of the hallway, where I’d seen the prisoner only moments before.

  My heart beat wildly and I was panting as if I’d just run a marathon. I kept going. All the rooms, upon a quick glance, appeared empty, and I found myself standing right outside of the last doorway, the room I was sure Redgrave had entered.

  Moonlight seeped through the window, the one I’d seen Redgrave silhouetted in front of only minutes before. Had it been only minutes? The march down the hallway felt like it had taken an eternity, and I couldn’t help feeling like I could be slinking my way toward my own death.

  As I stood outside the open doorframe, flashlight at the ready, I panicked. I froze in place. I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d been taught to never move in a fight without knowing your destination. I suddenly realized I had no destination. Only a dark room lay ahead. I strained my ears again, searching for movement inside the room, something that would give away the prisoner’s location.

  “Force Control, this is Foxtrot Two, initiating R.V.I., over.”

  The sound of the radio cut through the silence. My prayer had been answered. But the sound of the radio didn’t seem to be coming from inside the room. It came from somewhere else in the building. I dashed through the doorway, my wooden bat at the ready. The room was empty except for a couple of beds that lined two walls.

  “Foxtrot Two, this is Force Control. Go ahead with your R.V.I., over.”

  I stood alone in the room, trying to figure out the location of the radio. Hearing the normality of my friends, my coworkers, carrying out their normal law enforcement duties made me feel all the more confined. My call sign was Confinement One, and that’s just what I was, confined. I tried to hone in on the radio chatter and knew whoever was carrying it was somewhere far away.

  On my way out of the room, my flashlight beam reflected off of something. I fixed the light on the bottom of the bed, where it glimmered on a pair of highly polished black combat boots.

  Chapman.

  It had to be him. A pool of blood was spreading around the boots. I rushed to the bed and flipped it over.

  “Oh Jesus,” I blurted out. “Oh my God.”

  I couldn’t catch my breath. I gulped at the air, trying to satisfy my lungs, but it was as if my childhood asthma had returned.

  Lying on his back, staring up at me, was the bloody, pale face of Airman Chapman. From his forehead all the way down to both ears and up under his chin, he’d been sliced open. His face had been removed, the skin pulled away, leaving behind only a bloody, muscly mess. He’d been flayed.

  Beneath his chin was a bloody grin, where Chapman’s neck had been sliced open. That was the source of all the blood, as the skinless face was surprisingly dry, like the killer had sopped up the blood with a biscuit.

  My teeth chattered uncontrollably. I was shivering and couldn’t control my breathing. My eyes blurred and I thought I might pass out.

  I turned to look behind me, flinching in the process, not for any reason other than the expectation that a blade might be waiting for me. I looked down at Chapman’s body once more and half expected his eyes to pop open.

  He can’t be dead.

  I didn’t realize I was backing up and I jumped a little when I reached the wall. I took a knee and watched the world around me, shrouded in shadows, as I pursed my lips and took soft, controlled breaths through my nose. It wasn’t working. I couldn’t breathe. My throat felt constricted.

  Then I vomited. I threw up there on the floor by my feet, once good, and then two or three more times with only dry heaves. I could breathe again but I felt weird, like I wasn’t in the right body. Like I was watching some kind of sick and twisted TV show.

  Right in front of me was the door leading into the next room. As I glanced into it, I saw that a doorway existed in each room, in the same place, all missing doors, leaving a clear view from my location in the last room, all the way through to the first room near Chapman’s desk.

  The lamp from Chapman’s desk shined in to that first room, illuminating the prisoner. Redgrave watched me. The fear of seeing him was mixed with the relief that he was far away. At least he wouldn’t be reaching out from underneath a bed or flinging himself from the ceiling or something. He was all the way at the end of the corridor. And he was playing with me.

  Why won’t he just break free and disappear into the night? Why is he fucking with me like this?

  Redgrave held up Chapman’s radio and waved it back and forth, taunting me. That was enough. Finally, adrenaline took over, mixed with rage, and I climbed to my feet. With my bat in one hand and my flashlight in the other, I charged through the doorways, one after the other, hopping over a bed, sliding a table out of the way, climbing over medical equipment.

  Redgrave stayed still until I made it about halfway to him, then he rushed out of the room and out into the hallway.

  “You wanna fuck with me?” I shouted. “I’m not running from you! Come on!”

  I heard the sound of a door slamming shut and knew the prisoner had disappeared into the stairwell.

  “Fuck!” I swore as I exited the room.

  I swung my bat hard to the left and right as I entered the hallway, hoping the son of a bitch had tried to trick me and was waiting around the corner. The bat smashed into the wall and the vibrations shocked my hand, sending a sting up my arm that almost caused me to drop my bat.

  With no time to waste on recovery, I plowed through the door to the stairwell and shined my light down. I saw Redgrave’s arm and leg enter the first floor, the last traces that the phantom killer was present, like a breadcrumb trail being blown away by the wind.

  He could have easily escaped out the stairwell windows but he stuck around instead.

  But why, damn it? Why would you go back to the first floor? Why won’t you just leave?

  It wasn’t the time for questions and answers. There was a murderer on the loose, a man who’d taken the skin of…of Chapman. I couldn’t call him the man I loved. But the man I could have come to love.

  Only a few drops of blood had dripped onto the stairs. I imagined there’d be much more if he was carrying the skin off Chapman’s face. He must’ve stashed it somewhere or wiped it off…I didn’t know what to think.

  Again, I was searching for someone. Like I’d started back at the beginning, having no idea where Redgrave lurked. Each corridor was a new puzzle to decipher. I made my way down the hall, much like I had so many other times that night, but this time, instead of looking for broken windows or fried electrical outlets, I was searching for a sick and twisted murderer.

  And this guy wasn’t just any killer. He was a lieutenant from the intelligence squadron, which meant he had a mind built for mental challenges. He knew exactly what he was up to and had probably lay in bed half the night considering this very moment.

  What would I do if I were in your position?

  That was an easy one. I’d leap through the fucking window and hightail it off base. For being a secure military installation, getting off base wouldn’t be impossible. It wouldn’t even be difficult since I had no way of signaling anyone that the prisoner was on the loose. But this guy wasn’t on the run.

  What else does he have in mind?

  I was only b
iding my time, searching the first floor hall. Hunting the hunter. That’s what I ended up doing, pushing through each door, never knowing if I’d be struck down on the other side. I was convinced he’d be hiding in the kitchen, but he wasn’t. No sign of the porcupine either. Just the frigid air sending ice water through my veins.

  The bathroom. He has to be in the bathroom.

  With my hand on the door, I said a silent prayer, wishing God would send angels to watch over me and protect me.

  If only I had a grenade to toss into the room. To toss into every room in the building.

  I would’ve loved nothing more than to kick open the door to find bloody body parts all over the tile floor, sinks, and shattered mirrors. If my imagination could kill, this prisoner would die a thousand deaths, but unfortunately, all I had was a wooden table leg.

  As I entered the bathroom, the light above crackled just like it had earlier, and the door creaked. It slammed shut with a bang. I should have been smart enough to close it quietly, but at the moment, all I could think of was the heart pounding in my chest. I bit at my bottom lip, chewing until the copper taste of blood filled my mouth. I was a wreck.

  The stalls loomed in front of me like a maniacal game of The Price is Right. Which showcase should I choose? Stall number one had no door, so that was an easy one. I considered moving to the second stall next, but decided that was to be expected, so I went with the third. I kicked the door and it swung open, revealing an empty stall. The door bounced back with a thud, then opened and closed a couple more times like a basketball left to dribble to a stop.

  I waited, hoping to hear something that would let me know if Redgrave was in the second stall. I backed away and ducked down, peeking beneath to see if any feet were visible. I saw none. This was all assuming the killer was even in the bathroom with me. He could be anywhere in the building, really. He could’ve walked right past the bathroom door as soon as I entered. Maybe he’d actually found that intelligence the military had seen in him and escaped out the window.

  It didn’t matter where he might have been. I needed to check the second stall. I kicked the door open. It smacked against the stall wall. I flinched when I saw the garbage bag over the toilet, then remembered earlier that night when I’d first seen it. I shook my head. I’d fallen for it again.

  The door was swinging shut when I noticed the body below the bag.

  Suddenly the garbage bag lurched out at me.

  It was Redgrave, wearing the bag over his head.

  I fell backward. Something solid smashed against my forehead and I tumbled to the floor. The killer landed on top of me. Everything was blurry. Redgrave raised his weapon again. It was a frying pan. The skillet hit me once more and all was black.

  ***

  The flickering lights overhead made me feel as though my head was trying to tune in like an old transistor radio. Flashes of reality brought me back to the real world and I realized I was still lying on the bathroom floor. My senses came back slowly and then the fear followed.

  My face, oh my God, my face. He took my face.

  I threw my hands up, feeling around like a lunatic, making sure my skin was there.

  What would it feel like to be a living man with skin removed?

  I imagined it would be painful as hell and at least a little wet and sticky. All I felt was smoothness and dryness and I realized my face had been spared. A quick glance around the bathroom showed me my flashlight and table leg were lying on the floor next to me, placed side by side as if Redgrave was letting me know that he feared neither of the makeshift weapons.

  I could see beneath the stall doors and saw no feet. I was alone. The killer had escaped.

  It was over.

  Being tactical seemed pointless. The killer had already kicked my ass and let me live. Maybe he had a soft spot for women. If he’d wanted me dead, I would’ve been. So I left the bathroom and walked out into the hallway.

  The feeling of failure was overwhelming, even more so than the fear. I’d lost the battle and had been allowed to live. My head hurt. The strike from the skillet was hard and my forehead was tender. I was bleeding but it seemed to have caked there. I’d be okay.

  I stumbled through the hallway, feeling a little wobbly on my feet. I never should have looked left. But I did.

  The stairwell door was open and standing in the doorway was the silhouette of Redgrave. It was the shadow of the man and I couldn’t tell if he was looking directly at me or if he was facing the opposite direction, looking out the windows.

  I assumed it was the latter as there’d be no reason for Redgrave to be standing there, just watching me. Waiting for me. He’d already won.

  Then I heard the laughter.

  It was the same wicked cackle from earlier, but this time it was aimed right at me and I realized Redgrave was indeed staring at me. The game, whatever it was, was not finished.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  Each step forward was a difficult one. The whack to my head had taken its toll.

  The laughter came again.

  “Go ahead!” I yelled. “Leave. The window’s right behind you!

  Chapman.

  I realized I still had some fight left in me.

  “And my friends will mow your ass down with a spray of bullets before you get a hundred yards from here,” I added. “Try it, fucker!”

  The prisoner backed up and let the door slam shut, leaving me in darkness.

  “Try that frying pan trick again!” I called out. “You want my face? You’re gonna have to earn it!”

  Outside was all bravado but inside was a trembling child.

  The laughter in the stairwell taunted me. Redgrave could speak, I was sure of it, but he simply refused to. It was all games with this prick. Mind games.

  I reached the stairwell and angrily stalked through the door. The prisoner was nowhere in sight. He’d run again. Hide and seek seemed to be the game. I shined my light up at the top of the stairwell. Nothing.

  I remembered there was a third floor. Chapman had been in charge of the second and third floors. I hoped the killer hadn’t gone that far. The windows were still all intact. Barely visible through the haze of misty snowfall, I could see the porch lights and random room lights of the supply squadron’s dorm building and the housing of my own squadron’s troops.

  All those people resting peacefully, oblivious to what I was going through at the moment. I considered knocking out the window and yelling for help, but it would be useless. Nobody would hear me. Even on a clear morning my voice wouldn’t carry that far.

  I was trying to figure out my plan of action when I heard a crash from below. The basement. It was settled.

  The room was dark. Redgrave had turned off the warm orange light I’d left on earlier that evening. More than likely he’d smashed it.

  I held my flashlight out and checked the corners and center of the room, my mind playing tricks on me the whole time.

  Movement in the corner.

  Is that Redgrave, crouched down, holding his head in his hands like a scared child?

  My beam illuminated the spaces and I saw it was empty.

  Something’s on the ceiling, spider walking, coming right at me…

  Then nothing.

  Dark pools on the ground, like puddles of oil, maybe ten of them, each rising and transforming into the shape of a man…

  But then nothing was there.

  I couldn’t get a grip on reality and worse was that I couldn’t quite figure out whether it was all my warped imagination or some kind of demonic power Redgrave held over me.

  I’d read too many Stephen King and Bentley Little novels. Too many horror movies. Too many scary video games. Every nightmare in my mind seemed like a possibility. The room was clear. No demons or monsters were slinking through the shadows. But I knew the madman was down there somewhere. That left the other two rooms.

  I checked the first room. Its red light had been smashed out the same as in the main room. The chair, that o
ne single chair that bothered me so much earlier, had been knocked over.

  He’s definitely down here, but where the hell is he?

  There was only one other room, the one that had been locked earlier that evening. I moved on, stepping out to the main room only long enough to find the other door. The room had always been locked so I’d never seen the inside.

  This time, as I reached out for the knob, and with darkness completely enveloping me, I noticed light shining out from the cracks of the door. Had the light inside been on earlier? I didn’t know. I didn’t think so.