Necro Files: Two Decades of Extreme Horror

Light overtook the blackness. In the center of the room was a large, thick butcher-block table. Tied naked and spread-eagle to the table was a young man with black hair. He was blindfolded, and his glasses had been placed on a tray beside his head. He was gagged, but that seemed unnecessary since he appeared to be unconscious. The slow rise and fall of his thin chest indicated he was still alive.

That burning smell …

Ian looked at the corner of the room. A large pot had been set up, and something inside was simmering on a platform above Sterno canisters. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Metal,” Ernest said. “A combination of metals, actually. Some old figurines, melted down. Lead and tin mostly. Silica. A bunch of stuff. Carefully mixed and tested.”

“Tested? On what?” Caleb asked.

Ernest looked up. “Strays. Mostly.”

“What, uh, what’s the metal for?” Ian asked.

Ernest snapped opened a container of smelling salts and ran it beneath Nolan’s nose. “You’ll see.”

Nolan’s head jerked from side to side. He strained against his bindings.

On a tray table beside the butcher block was an assortment of instruments. Ernest stood beside it and picked up a notebook and pen.

He tried to hand them to Ian, who refused and backed up a step.

“You have to keep notes, Ian.”

“Why me?”

“Because Caleb is stronger. I may need his help with … you know. Other stuff.”

“No way. I don’t want my handwriting in any journal.”

“You idiot,” Ernest said. “We’re all in this. Someone has to keep notes, and I can’t fucking do it. I’m going to be too goddamned busy to write, asshole. Besides”—he pointed at the camera mounted on a tripod in the corner—“I’m recording all of this. So fuck you and your handwriting. There’s a permanent record.”

Nolan screamed a series of desperate and incoherent sounds into his gag.

Ian snatched the notebook and pen out of Ernest’s hand.

Caleb moved across the room and studied the tray of instruments. “Ernest, you are one seriously disturbed fuck.”

Ernest handed him clamps. “Start with the nipples. Just don’t cut them off.”

“Me?” Caleb’s face contorted. “Hey, isn’t that kind of queer? I don’t want to …”

Ernest sighed, rubbing his eyes with his index fingers. “Look—this is an experiment. It’s medical, not sexual. If you get a hard-on while messing with his nipples, that’s your hang-up. Otherwise, just goddamn do it. It’s part of the experiment.”

Caleb moved to the other side of the table. Frowning, he ran his palms over Nolan’s breasts until the nipples stood erect. Using the clamps, he grabbed hold, Nolan writhing beneath him. “I still don’t see what nipple clamps have to do with anything,” Caleb muttered.

Ernest ignored him and turned to Ian. He said, “You ready? Before you write anything, I need you to help prep the subject. I want you to get a feel for this stuff.”

Ian stepped forward, and Ernest handed him the next instrument.

“What the hell do I do with—”

“We’re all pre-med,” Ernest said. “Figure it out.”

Ian knew what he was supposed to do with the tool, but—

“Can you handle it?” Caleb asked. “Need help?”

“You couldn’t deal with a nipple clamp, but this you’re okay with?” Ernest said.

“Fuck off.”

Ian swallowed back a mouthful of spit. “I … yeah, but, I don’t know how … I mean, I’m not sure.”

“Just stick it up his ass,” Ernest said.

“You got issues, man,” Caleb said.

“I know where it goes,” Ian said. “I just don’t see what this has to do with your experiment.”

“We start small, Ian. Clamps, a few tubes. Understand?” Ernest said. “Part of the experiment is a study in resilience, big and small. I have lots more planned.”

“How will we know what he’s feeling? Isn’t that part of the experiment? Isn’t that what you want me to write down?” Ian wasn’t sure he wanted to know, or if he was stalling. He stared at the instrument in his hands, and it seemed to have become very heavy.

“How the hell do you think he’s feeling?” Ernest smiled. “Never mind. We’ll ask him in a minute.”

“Oh.” Ian lubricated the end of the tube and tried to push it into Nolan’s anus. “I can’t do this,” he said. “It’s, you know. He won’t cooperate.”

Ernest said to Caleb, “Make him cooperate.”

Caleb nodded and took the length of metal tubing, which resembled a thin toilet paper roll, from Ian. He pressed it against Nolan, pushing and twisting until it found its way inside his writhing body, tearing the soft, delicate tissue at the opening of his anus. Blood tricked onto the table. Ernest tossed Caleb a roll of duct tape and instructed him to secure the tube as best as he could.

Nolan screamed into his gag and bucked his legs, but Caleb pushed the tubing in further. “It’s secure,” Caleb said. To Ian he said, “Just think of him as a cadaver. Easier that way.”

“Good job,” Ernest said. He leaned over Nolan’s face. “I’m going to remove your gag now. I want to ask you a few questions.”

Nolan’s head bobbed like a float on a lake. Ernest removed the gag and Nolan screamed and begged for help. “Please!” he cried, lifting his head off the table. “It hurts! Take it out!”