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. |
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.
Warning for this Chapter Rape by mention (meaning little to no detail). Compared to chapter 5 this one is cake.
I don't know why Otis didn't kill me. He was certainly angry enough when he caught me in the bathroom, and I feared that he didn't really need a reason to kill me. It appeared that Otis was the god-damned leader of the revolution, if some of his talk the night before had been any indication. Leaders of the rebellion/revolution don't need excuses to kill. Crazy people don't need excuses to kill either, so he had both bases covered in that respect.
I had time to speculate in this new life, but it just seemed wrong to wonder why he hadn't killed me. Deep down, I believed that if I were to figure it out, he'd know, and then there wouldn't be a reason to keep me alive. Also, even though I was kept captive for what seemed like an age, time moved very oddly in that house – at least, for me. Things that I’d previously never really given much thought to could take hours in my new life. I learned not to dwell, but to live, totally in the moment.
I never told myself that he let me live because he liked me - I knew better than that. The only people Otis liked were the other lunatics in the house he referred to as “his family”. Everyone else in the human race were nothing more than inferior creatures, existing for the sole purpose of relieving his boredom. Poor Otis had a lot of boredom, being the only person capable of understanding how the world really worked. The rest of us “inferior souls”, locked into our conformist worlds, were really just begging to be set free - we just didn't know it yet. Otis knew. Otis was the artist; Otis had the vision. Otis would take the poor, mundane creatures we were, and transform our bodies into works of art that would suit his whims, and the whims of whatever Gods he counted among his equals. Yeah, I know; what I just wrote sounds crazy, but the scariest thing about Otis was that if you spent enough time with him, that sort of stuff almost started to make sense. It was never crystal-clear, but there were times when I thought if I were just that much smarter, I'd be able to understand.
In the beginning, during those first few days I was out of the basement cages, I fully expected to die at any moment. When I began spending less and less time in the cages, I stopped worrying that death would be so imminent. It could happen - every day, Hell, every second I was alive was, in a sense, borrowed-time. But, Otis hadn't lost his temper and killed me yet, and the odds seemed to be in my favor that he wouldn't. He continued to physically abuse me, but he never pushed it to the point of death, and it soon became apparent that he was deliberately avoiding killing me directly. He never threatened me with a gun, and when he used a razor or knife, he made sure to use an area where I'd be hurt, but not bleed to death. Later, I would begin to again believe he would kill me, but that would be awhile in coming. I figured I'd be most likely to die from malnutrition, starvation, dehydration, infection, or internal injury. Certainly, nobody in the house went out of their way to make sure I was cared for - I had to learn how to do that myself.
Other members of the household (I would find out later that there were six altogether; at that point, I’d still not seen or met Mama and Grandpa) might have killed me, but they didn't. Nothing was ever said about it formally - at least, not in front of me - but I got the feeling that when Baby brought me up to Otis's room that night, I became his. If I were to do something stupid – like, try to escape, or attempt to hurt another family member – then they would kill me, but as long as I wasn't creating any problems, then I wasn't their concern.
That first morning, I woke up when Otis returned to the room. As I opened my eyes, I saw that Tiny was with him. Otis disappeared behind the curtain that led to his studio. Tiny came over to the bed, grabbed the corpse, and dragged it out of the room. I half-expected him to come back to bring me to the cages again, but he just removed the one corpse. He looked down at me for a while, as if he was surprised to see that I was alive, before going back to the task at hand.
After a while, Otis came out from his studio, and paced around the room. “Blocked, blocked, blocked, blocked!” he cried out, slapping his head. “I thought Katmandu was my break-through, but I'm blocked again!” He stormed from the room.
He returned a few minutes later with Rufus. “Take Katman here and see if Spaulding wants it,” he said, “I think it's ruining my inspiration, I need it out of here.”
Rufus nodded, and headed into the studio. Otis looked over at me, annoyed, as if he'd forgotten I was there. When Rufus came out with Katmandu and headed for the door, Otis stopped him. “Rufus, I need you to make something for me.”
Rufus stopped. “What?”
“A box,” Otis said. “About... four-to-five feet long, and three-feet-wide or so. And about this deep.” He gestured a span of about two-feet with his hands. “Make it so it locks down tight from the outside.”
Rufus nodded. “That it?”
“Yeah, make sure it'll fit under my bed.” A slow, unpleasant grin curled across his lips as he said this.
Rufus nodded as he left, taking the grisly statue from the room. Once he was gone, Otis came over and raped me. He didn't play any games with me. He didn't talk to me, either; he just took off his pants, climbed between my legs, slammed himself inside of me, and rode me. He didn't remove his shirt, or even his underwear. He didn't make any noise, either - except for some heavy breathing and a grunting sound when he climaxed. The entire time, he behaved as if this was a slightly unpleasant task that he just wanted to finish, so he could move on to other things.
When he was done, he climbed off me and pulled his pants back on. He started to untie me, and I said nothing. I hardly dared to breathe as he undid the knots that tied me to the bed. Part of me wanted to hope that he was going to let me leave, but I knew better. I just didn't know what game he was playing.
When I was untied, he pulled a straight razor from his pocket, and opened it. The blood drained from my face as he reached out. I exhaled slowly when instead of me he grabed my jeans from the floor. With one swift motion, he cut one leg off, then he flipped the razor around in his hand until it snapped shut. When it disappeard into the blade holder, I nearly smiled. I looked at him nervously, afraid that he’d seen my smile, but I don't think he was aware of me. He took the cloth he'd cut from my jeans and began to wrap it around my left knee, tying it tightly. He moved fast while he did this, and I barely had time to register what he was doing before the pain went shooting up my leg. Unable to stop myself, I cried out.
“Oh, shut up,” he snapped. “I'm trying to help, you stupid maggot.”
I doubted that he would ever do anything to help me, but once he finished tying off the bandage, and the initial rush of pain passed over me, my knee felt better. I took a deep breath, waiting for the relief to end, figuring that it would hurt even more. That seemed like the type of sadistic game that Otis would play with me. After a minute had passed without the pain getting worse, I whispered, “Th-thank you”, completely unable to stop myself.
“Thank you,” he insultingly mimicked me, rolling his eyes as if hearing those words was a burden to him. “Get up.”
“What?”
“Get. Up.” He shook his head. “Which word are you having trouble with? By get, I mean rise; up, meaning on your feet; get up, meaning, get your stupid fat-ass off my bed.”
I did as he demanded I do. The bandaging of my knee made it more bearable, but I wasn't sure how long it would help to support me.
“Okay, start walking.” He came up behind me. “C'mon, we're leaving the room.”
I carefully limped out of the room. “Turn right,” Otis directed me. I did as he asked. I was able to walk on my left leg now, but not well or quickly. As I walked down the hall, Otis did a lot of sighing behind me, as if this was a terrible burden he'd been forced to put up with.
He guided me to the bathroom. “You have five minutes to do what you have to in here,” he said. “I’m not havin’ you pissin’ and shittin’ on my bed, so take care of what you gotta take care of. I'll be out in the hall waiting.” He turned and left, shutting the door behind him.
I was dumbstruck by this. Not by the fact that he brought me here, his motives for that were obvious - he didn't want me to mess up his bed. What shocked me was that he was leaving me alone in here. I expected him to stay, just to make sure I didn't try anything dumb.
I might have wasted a minute or more considering his motives, when my brain clicked and told me I only had a short time left. Standing, I could turn on the faucet, and then I leaned over and drank directly from the spigot. I drank as much as I could.
When I was done sating my thirst, I opened up the medicine chest. I grabbed a bottle of asprin I saw, opened it up and took three of them. I saw a tube of toothpaste and wondered if I could eat it. I'd always heard that too much toothpaste was poisonous, but I was also pretty hungry. I squeezed a tiny bit on my finger and ate that, drinking more water to wash it down. It went down a little rough on my stomach, so I decided not to eat any more.
I took care of everything I could in there. I don't think I ever appreciated a bathroom more in my life. I was able to drink water, use a toilet, wash my hands - all the things I used to take for granted. If I'd had the time, I'd have taken a shower, but I didn't want to risk that.
I assume it was five minutes later when Otis opened the door. My gut was full of water, which helped stop the hunger-pains for the time being. For a moment, I was really grateful to Otis for letting me use the bathroom - then I heard the voice in my head: Grateful? For what? He's beaten you, raped you, said he's going to kill you. So you're happy he let you pee? He only did that so you wouldn't mess up his bed. His bed that's had a corpse in it, remember? Still, it wouldn't hurt to let him think I was appreciative - it might even help. “Thank you,” I said.
If he heard my words of gratitude, he chose not to acknowledge them. “C'mon, Chunky, back to the room.”
We returned to his bedroom, and he tied me to the bed again. With the water fooling my stomach that it was full, and the aspirin helping with the pain in my leg, I fell asleep.
I woke up to the sound of something being dragged across the floor. I opened my eyes to see Rufus, bringing in the box that Otis had asked him to make. As Rufus lugged it into the room, Otis came out from his studio.
“Box,” Rufus said, in his usual chatty ways.
“Thanks. Let's see if it fits under the bed.”
I stared at it, noticing that it looked an awful lot like a homemade coffin. When Otis had asked Rufus to make it, I'd had a feeling that I knew what it was meant to be used for, but I'd refused to think about it. Now that I was seeing the final product, my worries resurfaced.
Rufus put the box down near the bed, and then, with his foot, pushed it under the bed. Otis nodded. “I'll have to pull it out every time I want to use it, right?”
Rufus shook his head and knelt down by the bed. Otis joined him. I could hear scraping noises, but I couldn't see what they were doing. Whatever it was, Otis was pleased. “Yeah, that's great. Now, can you drill a hole right about here?”
I saw Rufus's head nod in agreement. Otis got up, went to his studio, and returning with a with a drill, which he handed to Rufus. “Seems wrong to be using this for something other than my art, but aw, what the hell. Once won't hurt.”
I heard the noise of the drill; then, I saw Rufus hand the drill back to Otis, who returned it to his studio. While he did that, Rufus stood up and stared down at me. I sensed that he was slightly puzzled by my existence. He said nothing though, just stared at me, then turned and left.
When Otis came out from the studio, he untied me again. “C'mere,” he ordered, kneeling down by the bed.
I knew I couldn't kneel, so I slid myself down into a sitting position. I could see the box under the bed. There was a small hole drilled into the side of it, near the top.
Otis undid a couple of brass-snaps, and then lowered the side. I could see inside the box now, and it looked really dark. “You know what this is for, don't you?”
I nodded.
The nod wasn't enough. “Well, tell me then.”
“For me,” I said.
It was his turn to nod; then he added, “And why do you belong in that box?”
I didn't believe that telling him he was a psychopathic monster who makes makes Norman Bates look like a boy-scout was the answer he was looking for. So, I bit my lip and thought about everything he'd said to me so far, trying to provide a clever-enough response.
“Are you that stupid?” he asked, when I didn't respond. “Is your mind so full of whimsical fallacies that you fail to see the simplest of ideas?” His eyes narrowed and he started to get that look he would get before he started beating on me. That look that told me I was pissing him off.
My mind scrambled to come up with an answer that he might buy. My knee started to throb again and it reminded me of when he'd squeezed and poked my knee earlier in the day. He'd told me something before he left me - something about the pain. I gulped. “It's a coffin,” I said.
“We know what it is,” Otis said, rolling his eyes. “Whatis not the question. The question here is why? Why should you be kept in this box?”
“Because I've been dead,” I said, forcing myself to look at him. “My life has been too... um... full of capricious fallacies and whimsical deceptions of soul.”
A strange light began to gleam in his eyes and he nodded, motioning with his hand for me to continue.
“...and if I've been dead all my life, I should have been in a coffin,” I continued. “I need to be in it now, because... I need to understand what my dead imitation of life has been all about.”
“You almost have it,” he said. The word “almost” made me cringe, believing that “almost” wasn’t good enough for Otis; but it seemed that, for someone as capricious and whimsical as me, “almost” was okay - at least, for now. “Maybe it will become clearer to you when you finally fulfill your destiny. Get in the box.”
I laid down on the floor and scooted myself inside the box. It wasn't long enough for me to stretch out to my full length. I had to curl up on my side. I closed my eyes, trying not to be afraid. “It's just a box, it's just a box,” my thoughts repeated. “It's better than being dead.”
Otis shut me into the box. Light came from the hole Rufus had drilled into the side, and that faint bit of light comforted me. I stared at it, trying to see whatever I could through it.
I heard Otis get up and begin fumbling around with the bed. I saw the comforter drop over the side of the bed just before I was plunged into complete blackness.
End of Chapter Eight
Author's Notes: You're probably tired of hearing this, but at this point, I believe my beta readers have completely abandoned me, for reasons, I have no clue. Which means I can either find new beta readers, or start posting the story in unbeta format, and pray it isn't too riddled with mistakes for the readers to be able to understand what's going on.
I'm not sure what I want to do. I hate the idea of putting something up in "raw" format, but if I feel enough people are willing to at least give it a shot, I'll try it.
Special thanks for all of you who've left feedback to encourage me, I really do appreciate it. Mileni, thanks for your emails, they've helped a lot when I've been just about to erase the whole story off my hard drive. Firefly lover, thank you too, for all your encouragement. And Eggy, I appreciate what you've had to say too. And of course, Maiafay... all of you have been wonderful. I only wish I had a better way to thank you than just words on a computer screen.
While AFF and its agents attempt to remove all illegal works from the site as quickly and thoroughly as possible, there is always the possibility that some submissions may be overlooked or dismissed in error. The AFF system includes a rigorous and complex abuse control system in order to prevent improper use of the AFF service, and we hope that its deployment indicates a good-faith effort to eliminate any illegal material on the site in a fair and unbiased manner. This abuse control system is run in accordance with the strict guidelines specified above.
All works displayed here, whether pictorial or literary, are the property of their owners and not Adult-FanFiction.org. Opinions stated in profiles of users may not reflect the opinions or views of Adult-FanFiction.org or any of its owners, agents, or related entities.
Website Domain ©2002-2017 by Apollo. PHP scripting, CSS style sheets, Database layout & Original artwork ©2005-2017 C. Kennington. Restructured Database & Forum skins ©2007-2017 J. Salva. Images, coding, and any other potentially liftable content may not be used without express written permission from their respective creator(s). Thank you for visiting!
Powered by Fiction Portal 2.0
Modifications © Manta2g, DemonGoddess
Site Owner - Apollo