Few people notice the absence of Victor Lewis, an Urbex that targets one building a month, taking pictures and recording video. Two weeks ago, he targeted an abandoned mall, and told friends of his plans – only they made the connection to his plans and disappearance, and share it on a small local forum. As the rumors spread, more follow after Victor’s footsteps.
Mature | Death; Body mutilation; Body horror;
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The car came back again.
It sat for a while, and the driver got out on the other side, something was moving around in the back seat. I can only stare from the window, watching as a dog and the driver came out around the front and the headlights of the car flashes off and on – it was locked. The dog, a big black one against the snow, followed the driver towards here, walking in her steps. An item takes occupation of the driver’s hands, probably a camera, as the dark dressed driver looks above the building and looks across it. When she stops and turns down to the dog, it moves ahead of her and starts looking around, plodding through the snow; what in the hell is it looking for?
The dog stares straight at the window and the driver starts pulling something out of a bag. The black tarp falls from my bloody hand and I stand still, waiting, silent, and then a huge light shines through the tarp’s small holes. A long-beam light, could this be a police officer, or another person checking the place out? Either will just end the same. The high range light moves down after a couple minutes and I peek out.
The dark dogs starts barking. Reeling back from the window is my first move, and the light comes back shortly and stays there until the dog stops its loud barks. The light goes away again and its off and out of the driver’s hands – what looks like a camera has taken its place and she is tracing the sky. The dog is barking again, I swear we make eye contact, but the driver doesn’t move away from tracing around the building –nowhere near the window the dog watches and I look through. But now the driver is tracing around lower on the outside, and might pass by the window again, and I press back away from the window and back out of sight.
I have no idea if the woman in black is still looking at the window. There I stand, waiting, listening to the driver shout at the dog. I look out again and lock eyes on the dog. It’s still staring, even as it walks away, it still keeps sight of the window where I stand. Eventually the car owned by the woman in black leaves. The snow fields are quiet again but stained in boot and paw-prints.
Disgusting, ruining the snow for what, a few pictures?
It is time to make the route again.
But many of their faces are completely ruined, most of their eyes popped out, a few with perfect permanent smiles. A few of them still have a piece of their scalp. I could try to do something new, pass the time a bit more.
No, no, it’s time to pop another one. If I still could, I’d be smiling and laughing, but only bloody bubbles come to express my joy – or was it the sensation of feeling their crying, their sobbing, their begging, echoing through me? It’s hard to tell. I don’t get any sexual pleasures from it, I don’t skull fuck them in their macerated faces while they beg and plead – then again, that could be fun – if it wasn’t completely blown off like the rest of me by a few shotgun blasts. I’m not so bad that I’d do that, not completely, but what is sensations without feeling?
The knife wiggles within the gash in my upper arm as I walk down the stairs, listening to the complete silence surrounding me. Just beautiful, and it hides all the suffering locked away in the dark. I haven’t gouged the eyes out of two of the shooters in the basement, and of the guy suffering in the room with the teenager he broke the skull of. I could get a two-for-one, scare the teen enough that he starts crying about someone named ‘Jess’ or some other inane bullshit he makes up. He’s done more harm to himself than I ever did.
I wonder if he talks to the guy when they’re alone.
It’d be interesting to watch. The teen shouting at the guy that is completely unable to move and just sobbing, and the teen beating himself over some bullshit for being a fucking moron about even coming here. He fucking deserves dying here, he came and got himself fucked up, completely, and doesn’t even have the decency to die before I arrived and saved his ass from death.
Sure enough when I walk into the office place where he’s stored in the backroom, probably the first time in…. ten days? I remember fuck all of when he arrived here and got his stupid ass stuck here. He’s sobbing about not being with a girl, the ‘Jess’ he was talking about earlier, and the other guy is moaning and puking, yelling through it for the teen to shut the fuck up. Hard to say I disagree with him, I’m glad everything goes quiet outside of here.
I take my time walking through the dust and my blood flowing forward – which took some time to get used to. But he won’t fucking stop going on and crying his little bitch-ass off about this fucking chick – walking faster makes sense. I shove the door in to the darkness and the crying stops.
“Are you fucking ready to explain yourself you fucking dick!” screams the teen, I can hear the shaking in his voice, and then a light bursts into my face. “Took long enough for your limp-dick shit stain of a face back in here – long enough that I could drag myself by my broken fingers to get this bullshit.” A red bubble groan rumbles within me.
“It,” I pull the knife from my arm, listen to the flap of the gash closing, and put it towards the light, “you,” I take a step and put the knife up against my face, the blade digging into my cheek and blood oozes down, “face.” He’s quiet, and I can finally get to business scaring the shit out of his face. The guy on the ground started crying and murmuring, something along the lines of ‘please no’, ‘get away from me’, ‘monster’, ‘oh god’, etc etc. Nothing I haven’t heard before. I kneel, turning him onto his back and I hold his face.
“What are you doing to him,” the teen still has the light on me.
I want him to watch.
Boney fingers dig into his fat face and against his jaw, forcing the fucking thing open and that’s where I first put the knife, inside his fucking mouth. The guy is crying, sobbing, pleading, but it’s hard to hear with his mouth stuck open and the blade pushing against the side of his mouth. It goes up and down, slowly, and pushes until he starts bleeding, and I push the blade harder, and harder. Only bone stops me, then I go to the other side and press the blade between his lips, and force his mouth closed.
“What the fuck,” the teen’s voice hitches.
A jagged tear forms on the other side of the guy’s jaw; a pull and press, pull and press. Surely his tongue is being cut too, since its still in there somewhere. The guy cries, boo-fucking-hoo, I had a lot worse you disgusting sack. The blade meets bone and I pull the knife out – the teen sighs in relief – and then the knife goes across the guy’s nose and a welt of red drips. Oh the release is so close, they are right there for the picking. A plump white, red, and brown sphere that just screams for me to break it; since the teen is so kind to shine a light this whole time, bless him, I can actually see it pop.
It feels like the first time again, tracing the knife around the guy’s eye. He has the gull to close his eyes. It just won’t do, they are screaming at me too much to break them. Carefully the knife slips around the side of the guy’s right eye socket – I turn his head to the light to see even better. Slowly, ever so deliciously slowly, I stick he skin by his eye and watch it bleed. A hand has to hold his face still through his jaw and into his sinuses, to keep the knife from popping the gorgeous sphere too early. Carefully the knife cuts off the upper eyelid and flutters around over his nose, and the lower one comes off soon afterwards – but now the pearl is stained, more red than white and the brown bounces side to side. The tears clean it off slowly, I wait for it to return to white and the teenager pukes in the corner. Almost there, and the knife goes around his eye socket, the brown following it and gurgles coming from his throat as red bubbles.
This is it, and I press the tip into the center of the brown, listen to him try to scream without a lower jaw and tongue. Ever so gently, and the first burst comes from the brown, oh, so gorgeous. The pearl is next. I can already feel the gushing over my hands, just like the first time. Pressings are slow, I sit upon his stomach and red bubbles leak from the hole in my chest and the cut throat. The angle is wrong, I move it back a bit, and press more, and more, soon, very soon –
It pours clear over my hand and deflates into its socket, all in the light of the flashlight the teen generously picked up and shined on us. I felt it inside me, the fluttering and the tears across my face breaking wider. Ah yes, it was so worth it, I should save the other one for another time, get off to popping the white pearl with the brown spot peeking out. “Yes,” slips out from me, a rumble of red bubbles, and the teenager pukes again.
“You – you’re fucking insane, oh god, fuck.” Looking over, the teen is curled in a corner, the flashlight thrown away, still on the guys face. They’re both crying, but one of them can cry a little less and is unable to speak, his jaw hanging down limp. What a buzz-kill.
Outside the room, I hear people speaking.
New pearls to pop.