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For All The Wrong Reasons	By : darqstar Category: G through L > House of 1000 Corpses Views: 4942 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House of 1000 Corpses, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 2
- 3
DISCLAIMER:I do not in any way own any part of the movies House of 1000 Corpses or The Devil's Rejects. I do not own most of these characters. They are the property of Rob Zombie, Liongate films, and whoever else holds a commercial or property license over them. This is fan fiction, intended for the sole purpose of entertainment. No one has been paid to write or host this story. No one is paid or will have to pay to read it.

THE STORY ITSELF DISCLAIMER This story is rated NC-17, for disturbing images and excessive violence as much if not more than sexual contents. If stories involving murder, rape, extreme violence, cannibalism, humiliation, and so on, are not your cup of tea, DO NOT READ IT. If you are under the age of 18 don't read it either.

Specific warning for this chapter:Extreme violence, cruelty, and canabalism

Chapter Two
Decending Into Hell

Back in my first life, when I was Karen, I was never considered �brave.� I wasn't a shaking ball of jelly who was afraid of her own shadow, but I didn't have that sense of fearlessness and overconfidence that often comes with bravery . I didn't mind being alone in my house at night, but I always made sure to lock my doors and windows. I whistled when I walked through a graveyard. I closed my eyes when I was on the first fall of the roller-coaster. Sneak up behind me and yell �Boo!�, and I would jump. Perfectly normal, right?

There was nothing special about me in any other way, either. I wasn't spectacularly good-looking, but I had never stopped a clock. I was of average height, with light-brown hair and hazel eyes. No one called me fat in my old life, but I would have looked better if I could have taken off ten or fifteen pounds. I had an average nose, average mouth, and average-sized lips and ears. My teeth were even and straight, thanks to braces and payment plans.

Personality wise, I was totally average and completely unremarkable. Growing up, I got mostly B's in school, got enough A's so my parents could feel I was smart, and the occasional C to show there were some subjects I needed more work on. I didn't hang with the �in�crowd, but my friends weren't among the �losers� either.

I was accepted into a good college. Not Ivy League, but not the local community college either. College for me was much like High School; mostly B's, a few A's and a couple of C's. My friends in college were similar to my friends in High School. I didn't meet the love of my life, but I had a few good relationships; one in my senior year that seemed for awhile like it would be the Big One - we even slept together. We talked about marriage, but as our final year drew to a close, we both realized that we didn't share that type of relationship. Our break-up was amicable and I didn't regret that I'd slept with him.

I showed every indication of living a Nancy Normal life. My friends, parents, and even I expected that my life would follow the pattern of my generation. I would work for a few years, meet a good guy, settle down and get married. I'd continue to work - because a new day was dawning, a day where women weren't expected to leave the workforce when married - but it would be my husband's job that would really count. Once the children came along, I'd either cut down my hours or stop to raise the children. When they were older, perhaps I'd go back to work full-time. My life wouldn't be exciting, but it would be a good life, with the normal ups and downs.

If you wanted to attach a catch-phrase to my life, it would be, �Steady as she goes.� In fact, the only time I ever broke away from the norm was when I decided to visit my former college roommate, Tracy; traveling from New England to Texas in my brand new, baby-blue Chevy Chevette, a graduation gift from my parents. My parents were solid middle-class, so the car had been a bit extravagant for them, but I'd gone through college with a '67 Chevy Nova that was falling apart and they wanted me to start my real adult life with a good set of wheels.

For most of the trip, I did everything the way a good Nancy Normal would. I stayed on the main roads and only stopped in inexpensive but reputable hotels for the night. I didn't go to any restaurants unless they were in well-lit public locations. I didn't drive too long each day, so I wouldn't fall asleep behind the wheel. I took regular breaks and stopped at the proper historical landmarks that every good little tourist stops at. Every evening, I alternated between calling my parents and calling Tracy, just to keep them informed of my progress.

Then, I got to Texas and decided that instead of the main highway, I'd take an alternate route. Why? I can't say. There was no reason not to take the newer interstate; no construction or weather difficulties that would lead me to vary the path. All I can think is that I knew I'd be at my friend's house in the next day or so, and I wanted to do something a bit different before I got there. Maybe have a small adventure that might give me and my friend something to talk about when we went to the local bar for beer and chili-cheese fries. �Yeah, I took one of the older interstate roads. It was great, hardly any traffic, beautiful farms, and some really pretty scenery. I even stopped in one of the smaller towns and had dinner in this funky old diner. Something right out of the '40s. Yeah, definitely pre-�Happy Days.� The locals were so colorful! Then, I decided to spend the night in town. I ended up staying in this darling inn - really, a large house that the owners had converted. So much nicer than staying at yet another Holiday Inn.� Wouldn't that make me sound so worldly? Traveling by myself and stopping at remote towns to take in some of the ambiance.

I'd grown up in New England, where most of the area was urban or suburbanized. I didn't realize how far apart they could space little towns in Texas, and thus as a direct result, gas stations. As I was driving down the road, singing along with John Fogarty and the rest of Credence Clearwater Revival about a �Bad Moon Rising�, I noticed my gas gauge was reading �E.�

I thought I was in luck, because right after I noticed, I saw a sign for some place called Captain Spaulding's, at the next exit. I didn't look the billboard over too carefully because my eyes caught the words �Fried Chicken and Gasoline� and that was enough for me. �To Ruggsville it is,� I commented, and continued singing along with the radio.

It was quite easy to find the place; but once I got there and saw it, I began to have serious doubts about getting gasoline at the place - never mind fried chicken. The place had a creepy look to it. �Museum of Monsters and Madmen� and all those sinister looking clowns? I didn't have a fear of clowns; in fact, like most kids my age, I grew up watching Bozo. But these clowns looked - well, evil. Normally, clowns and murder just don't go together, but these sure seemed to.

Okay, so maybe I wasn't ready to be that much of an adventurer - especially with it being dark out. I decided to drive through town and hope Ruggsville had a brand-name gas station. Sure, a Shell or a Mobil station wouldn't have fried chicken, but I was willing to forgo that in favor of guaranteed clean rest-rooms and a well-lit parking lot. I was also thinking maybe I could find that nifty diner and darling family owned inn I'd been fantasizing about too.

I drove away from Spaulding's, hoping to just luck out and find another gas station and then hopefully the main part of town. I'd never been to Ruggsville before and, so I had no idea how remote it really was. I drove for awhile the needle of the gas gage getting more and more comfortable sitting on that big old �E� I wasn't finding any signs of civilization - not a quaint country church, or a diner, or even houses.

Just as I was trying to convince myself that I'd be smarter to turn around and risk Captain Spaulding's, my car began to sputter. I managed to coast to the side of the road before it completely shut down.

I knew what the problem was and I also knew that it might be hours until someone found me. I had only seen one or two cars on the road the entire time I'd been traveling on it.

Staying with the car didn't seem like the right option, and I had no idea what was up ahead. The best thing to do would be to walk back to Spaulding's and get a can full of gas to put in the car; enough so that I could drive back and get a proper fill-up. If I was lucky, the place would have an assistant who could drive me back to the car, saving me a double walking-trip. I got out and opened the hood to let people know the car was having mechanical trouble, and that it hadn't been abandoned. I grabbed a notebook and wrote a note saying I was out of gas with an arrow to point the direction I was going to head. I figured if the cops passed and checked out the car, they would see what happened, try to find me and hopefully give me a ride the rest of the way. Again, as any average person might be, I was a little nervous about walking alone at night. Nothing extra-brave about me at all.

I had only walked a couple miles when I saw lights coming from behind me. I turned around to see a vehicle, what I thought was probably a pick-up truck or something, heading in my direction. I stayed safely on the side of the road, but waved my arms so they would know I was there and hopefully stop.

The truck came closer and, much to my relief, I saw it was a tow truck - how lucky could I get? The driver pulled over to the side of the road. I ran over to the driver's open window. �Hi-� I began, then stopped.

The driver was the biggest man I'd ever seen in my life. The cab of the truck was high, but his head was almost scraping the top, indicating that he had to be well over six-feet tall. And it wasn't just his height that made him tall, it was all of him. His upper arms looked like a couple of hams, the rest of him thick and muscular. He had long, black hair, and eyes that glittered in the dim light coming from the moon. I knew it was rude, but I couldn't help staring.

He didn't seem to notice or care about my lack of manners. �Your car?� he asked, jerking his thumb to indicate behind him.

His voice startled me out of my rude staring, and I nodded. �Yes, that's my car. I ran out of gas. Do you have any gas in the truck for this sort of thing? If not, can you drive me to that gas station up the road? I'll pay-�

He interrupted my little speech. �Get in.�

Okay, I thought to myself, this guy isn't Mr. Conversation. But, he is a tow truck driver; he's got to be somewhat trustworthy, or he wouldn't be in business. I ran around to the passenger side. He didn't even look at me, let alone lean over to open the door for me. I wrenched the door open myself and climbed in.

I barely had the door shut when the driver took off. I looked around for a seatbelt, but found none. The interior of the truck was worn and filthy; and it stank of grease, oil, hundreds of fast food dinners eaten over many years, body odor, sweat, and a metallic type of undercurrent scent I couldn't place, but, for some reason, made me think of a dentist's office. This truck looked as if it had been around forever and had the snot beaten out of it every day. The engine sounded relatively quiet as we drove along, which made me figure that the truck was kept in excellent shape, mechanically so the driver just didn't care about the interior. Half the radio knobs were missing too, and the door to the glove compartment was gone.

Trying to be polite, I told him my name and asked what his was. He ignored me. It would be quite awhile before I found out his name was Rufus. I told myself not to be offended, that maybe he got awfully tired of strangers who asked him his name all the time. I decided to try a different tactic, thinking I'd get him to relax, and then approach the name exchange again.

�I'm really glad to see you,� I said. �I was afraid I'd have to walk the whole way to that gas station up ahead. I feel so silly, running out of gas like that- I should really know better. But your coming along was a godsend.�

He let me babble like this for a couple minutes before taking his eyes off the road to look at me. �You talk too much. Shut up.�

Now I was more than a little shocked at this rudeness. But, again, I tried to justify it in my mind, thinking that in a hick town like Ruggsville, everyone was probably used to this guy's odd behavior and knew it was nothing personal. I did what he asked and shut up. I knew I'd feel a lot better when I was back in my car with a full tank and driving away from this town, away from scary clowns and rude tow truck drivers that looked like the missing link.

When we were getting close to Spalding's, he suddenly turned off the main road, and started driving down a small, dirt, side street, heading in the opposite direction of Captain Spaulding's.

�Uhm... are we going to another gas station?� I asked.

He didn't answer me, but drove faster. The road was really poorly maintained. Every bump jousted me around and several times I was bounced high enough to hit my head on the ceiling.

Now I was starting to get more than a little nervous. �Excuse me,� I said, deciding the silent rule was over when this guy deviated from the main road. �Where are we going?�

�Thought I told you to shut up.�

I forced myself not to panic, but instead tried to think about what I could do to get out of this situation. My first thought was to hope he would slow down a bit, then jump out of the car. Trying not to be obvious, I started feeling around for the latch, only to realize there was none. I felt for the window crank, thinking maybe I could open the window and open the door from the outside - but the crank was gone. Things that I had been dismissing as signs of extreme wear and tear began to feel more sinister. These weren't mere coincidences; this truck was designed to keep the passengers inside, no matter what. I knew this guy had no intentions of taking me to the gas station or back to my car.

Visions of being raped went through my head, which scared me enough. Then, visions of being murdered after I was raped joined them. My resolve of not panicking began to crumble. �What are you going to do with me?� I asked, trying to sound calm, but failing to hide the tremor in my voice. �Please, don't hurt me. Please? I-I have money. A hundred in cash and some travelers' checks. You can have all of it, I don't mind, just please, don't hurt me.�

He let me babble in this vein for a bit before drawing in a sharp breath. �You don't listen. Told you to SHUT UP!� The last part boomed out of his mouth like thunder. His anger alone was enough to make me shut my mouth, but just in case I decided not to heed his warning, he reached down under the seat and came up with a hunting knife. Even in the barely visible light from the moon, the blade shone wickedly. I had a feeling that it was sharp enough to split a hair on. He reached over and held it to my throat, staring at me. Clearly, he knew this road we were on like the back of his hand, because he continued to speed along, even though he wasn't paying any attention to the road. �Ready to shut up now?�

I nodded very slowly, very carefully, so I wouldn't accidentally cut myself on the knife. I could feel the flat of the blade, cold against my throat.

He continued to stare at me for a few moments and, when he became convinced I really was going to keep my mouth shut, he drew the knife away from my throat and returned his attention to the road. He kept the knife in his hand though, and occasionally looked over at me, almost as if he was waiting for me to give him an excuse to kill me.

By then, I was convinced that I was going to be raped and killed, and I was doing everything I could not to scream in absolute panic. I didn't know then that being raped and killed wasn't the worst thing that could happen to someone. By now I could hear my heart beating rapidly; it seemed to be echoing through the cab of the tow truck. I was surprised the driver didn't yell at me to make it shut up. My throat began to feel dry, while my hands were clammy.

The driver finally pulled into the driveway of this dilapidated old farmhouse. And by dilapidated, I mean the place looked like even if the Big Bad Wolf was a chain smoking asthmatic, he still would have been able to huff and puff and blow the place down. Even though it was dark, I could still see the place looked like hick-paradise. Cows were loose in the front yard, sharing their space with a couple of abandoned old cars. Bottles on ropes hung from the eaves of the porch.

As Rufus pulled on to the property, he blew the horn; just one short blast. By the time we were up close to the house, the front door opened, revealing a man who made my kidnapper look small. He was bent and twisted, and walked with a slow, shuffling gait. He wore a cloth bag over his head, with eye, nose, and mouth holes cut out so he could see and breathe. He lumbered over to the truck and opened up the passenger door. I found out later that this guy had the ironic nickname of �Tiny� and he wore that mask because he'd been horribly burned as a child.

Without a word, as if this was a common routine, the bigger guy grabbed me, pulled me out, and threw me over his shoulder as if I were nothing but the smallest of children. He headed into the house, Rufus bringing up the rear. I said nothing, thinking that if I kept quiet, and observed, I might find a way out of this. It was a slim hope, but the only hope I had at this point.

We walked through the dark, dusty living room, into a small hallway and down into a basement. To my utmost horror and disgust, the basement was filled with cages full of people, as if this basement was some alien race's idea of a zoo. �Come one, come all, see the humans. Careful, sonny, they might bite!� The people in the cages were in various states of health, ranging from seemingly fine to a serious case of death. Those who were capable ran to the front of the cages and started grabbing at the wire, screaming at us. Some were demanding to be released, Others begging for food or water - a lot were just shrieking like animals. I'd never seen anything like this in my life.

Tiny began shuffling down the hall while Rufus followed behind us, to make sure I didn't pull anything crazy. They didn't have to worry, I was in too much shock to do anything. Seeing these people was bad, hearing their shrieking was worse, and beyond that, I could also smell blood, human waste, and scents I couldn't identify and didn't want to. If someone wanted to give a name to the smell of the basement it would be �Human Misery.�

In one of the cages was guy who looked about my age. He and his clothing were filthy: he was too thin, and was covered in bruises, but he still had some life in him � and obviously decided to show his defiance to the situation. As we walked past the cage he was in, he came running up, screaming like he was possessed by a thousand demons. I looked over and saw that he'd exposed himself. He pushed his member through the wire on the cage and began pissing, trying to hit Rufus.

Belittling the notion that big guys were slow, before one drop of urine had a chance to hit him, Rufus was able to side-step it. Quick as a rattlesnake, he reached out and grabbed the guy's plumbing, pulling on it hard. The kid threw himself against the wire, gasping as that most sensitive area was jerked on. Rufus took the knife he'd carried in from the truck and, in one swift motion, cut off what the guy had exposed. All of it, even the parts that hang underneath.

The guy's eyes went wide in shock. A thin, high pitched scream came from his lips and he crumpled onto the floor of the cage. Blood began flowing over the floor. I don't know if he died instantly, or suffered for a bit, but he never moved again on his own power. He had barely hit the ground when the rest of his cage mates started swarming all over him.

A cold, evil grin crossed Rufus' lips as he held up the guy's private parts. He wiped the blade of his knife on his pants with his free hand and threw the grisly trophy in the opposite cage The people inside were so thin that they reminded me of pictures of the concentration-camp victims from WWII Germany. They jumped on what he threw at them, growling at each other as each of them fought for some of it. It was like watching a horror-movie version of people at a Pinata party, scrambling around for the candy and prizes, right down to the �winners� stuffing their �prizes� into their mouths.

This all happened so fast that for a moment, I didn't even comprehend what had happened. Then, as it sunk in, I began to scream.

�Shut UP!� Rufus bellowed.

I couldn't. It was like someone threw a switch in my head that would only allow me to scream, no matter how much I was threatened.

Rufus found the off-switch pretty fast. He raised his fist and swung it at me. I felt a thud against my head, then everything went black.
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For All The Wrong Reasons