The two detective entered the interview room and called out to the sleeping man.
"Mr. Williams."
The man did not move. They called again.
"Mr. Williams, are you alright?"
The man stirred and lifted his head from his arms that were crossed beneath his head. The man slowly sat up and wiped drool from the corners of his mouth. He looked horrible. He had dark bags under his eyes and his face was pale and gaunt. The detectives noted the fact that he smelled as if he hadn't showered in days. The unpleasant smell of hair oil and sweat filled the room.
"Can I get you anything--coffee, water, soda?"
"No."
"We appreciate you coming into the provide a voluntary statement regarding the disappearance of your wife. I can assure you we are doing everything in our power to locate her and reunite the two of you. Every resource we have at our disposal is currently being used to follow up on leads as they emerge. Also, the FBI will be joining the investigation and will be bringing in additional resources as well."
The man sat back in his chair, his face void of emotion. The young detective placed a digital recorder on the table and pressed the red record button, it beeped as it began to record his statement.
"Today is Tuesday, November 3rd, 2015 and the time is 1436 hours. Present in the room are myself, Detective Tom Jennings, and Detective Brian Fields. Also present in the room is, please state your name."
The man spoke, his voice flat and raspy as if he had been screaming. "Paul Williams."
"Mr. Williams, because you have agreed to make a voluntary statement, I must admonish you that you are free to leave at any time. The door behind us is unlocked. If you wish to leave, you simply need to exit this door, turn right and leave through the same lobby doors you entered through. Do you understand."
"Yes."
"With this admonishment in mind, do you still want to provide a statement."
"Yes."
"Do you have any questions before we begin?"
"No."
"Very well. In your own words, please describe the events that occurred between Saturday, October 24th, 2015 and Sunday, November 2nd, 2015. Please be sure to include as much detail as possible. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Very well, Mr. Williams. You may begin."
The man shifted in chair. His face showed he was searching for details, for facts that would help the police help him. He struggled to remember what had happened. Bits and pieces were clear as day, but others escaped him. Those details were just behind the thin veil of forgetfulness, like a well-known name on the tip of the tongue.
He cleared his aching throat and began to tell his story.
CHAPTER 1:
"Oh, wow. Listen to this." Sarah said as she adjusted herself in her chair in that particular way only women can pull off. She threw her left leg under her butt, used both hands to tuck her hair behind her ears as she leaned forward to get a closer look at the computer screen. A smile began to spread on her face.
"You are invited to experience the most extreme, immersive haunted theater ever created. Join your guide for an all-access tour of the Hidden Oaks Home for the Mentally Ill. Closed in 1934 following an investigation into patient abuse and its controversial eugenics program, the horrors of the Hidden Oaks Home has been buried in history and concealed from the knowledge of the general public. Through detailed research, we have recreated the Hidden Oaks Home and the horrors that happened within its haunted walls. Our re-creation will cause you to question the very existence of reality as the darkness of the human heart is laid bare before you. Adults only."
"Sounds interesting." I told her, trying to hide my involuntary eye roll.
"Right?" She said. "Let's go to this one!"
My wife Sarah had a thing for haunted houses. It had become an annual tradition for her to seek out the most realistic event possible in order to supplement the usual theme park Halloween events we "had" to go to. No matter how lame the houses were, the most ridiculous part was how terrified she was after going. She usually had trouble sleeping for weeks and it was extremely annoying.
"Why do you insist on going to those stupid things?" I asked her.
"Because it's Halloween, Paul." She feigned irritation. "Do I complain when you want to watch football all weekend with your friends?"
"Uh, sometimes." I shot back.
"Well, then. I'm only ask to go to these once a year. Quit complaining."
"And what happens to you afterwards?"
"I get scared, so what?" She was getting annoyed. "It's a haunted house. That's the point." I waited for the "duh", but it never came.
"Scared probably isn't the right adjective." I continued, knowing I should probably back off. "Terrified would be far more accurate."
She made her cute, pouty face. "Well, I want to go to this one."
"Whatever. It's your thing, not mine." I told her.
"It's kind of expensive though."
"Whatever, its coming out of your account. I'm not wasting my money on that nonsense."
Sarah purchased two tickets for the following Saturday, explaining to me we were "lucky" to get tickets as it apparently sold out quickly. Combined with limited engagements, there were few spots still available. A collector's edition haunted house--awesome.
Saturday arrived and Sarah was as excited as ever. She finished getting ready and walked out of the bedroom dressed in her "costume." She wore a pair of cutoff denim shorts, a flannel shirt tied in a knot above her belly button and a pair of dark brown cowboy boots. She wore her rich, auburn hair in pig tails and her dusting of freckles completed the cowgirl/farmer's daughter look she was going for.
Her Halloween "costume" was sexy, but not slutty. Some of Sarah's friends insisted on dressing up as whorish as possible on Halloween, a point I never understood the point. Thankfully, Sarah was more reserved and didn't subscribe to the same thought process. I was fortunate in that regard. It seemed her friends thought Halloween should be less about little kids trick-or-treating and more about sex driven pagan rituals.
"How do I look?" She asked as she spun in a circle on the heels of her boots.
"Nice. All you need is a hat and a piece of straw and I'd say you would make the perfect farmer's daughter." I replied, my response genuine.
"Thank you!" She gave me a hug and a kiss. "Thanks again for doing this."
"No biggie, just try not to be a freak for the next few weeks."
"I'll try!" She laughed as she lied to me.
CHAPTER 2:
"Are you sure this is it?" I asked her.
"I gave you the directions exactly as they are written." She said, frustration showing on her face. "This is supposed to be it."
We sat in our Tahoe, the engine idling. The address on the tickets didn't exist. Instead of a building, we only found a vacant lot. Although we were just under an hour early, we were the only people there. I hoped we hadn't been scammed--I highly doubted there were refunds. From what she seemed to gather, the company that produced Hidden Oaks was a traveling group of stage performers. Sounded like a bunch of carnies to me.
After about 15 minutes of waiting nervously, other cars began to show up. I got the impression the other people were suffering from the same anxiety as us. Several of the others got out of their cars and were looking around for signs of a haunted house which wasn't to be found. They gathered in clumps and we joined them, hoping to find someone who might know what was going on.
It was a mixed group. There were a few couples like us, but mostly college-aged kids. Someone in the group was smoking pot and a few were drinking cheap beer. There were about 24 of us in all. Only the couples seemed concerned about being scammed, the kids seemed not to care. They had their party favors and it probably didn't matter if this went down or not.
At 9:55, an old, patina green big rig pulled into the dusty lot, a rusted, beat to shit cattle car in tow. The ragged engine shut off and a big, corn fed man hopped out of the passenger side of the cab. Another man, similar in appearance, exited the driver side. As expected, both had the stereotypical carny appearance.
The driver walked to the back of the trailer and began unlocking the door, lowering to the ground. I fully expected a stampede of steer to come rushing out, but nothing happened. He took off his dirty, leather work gloves and stuffed them into the back pocket of his stained jeans. He waited by the lowered ramp.
The passenger was looking over a clipboard as he walked up to the group.
"Y'all going to Hidden Oaks?" He asked, his accent was country and a man of less culture, a man such as myself, would have instantly judged him to be ignorant.
"Before you get on my truck, y'all need to read this here waiver." He said, pausing to spit what I assumed to be tobacco juice on the ground. "Once you sign and date, get into a single file line next to Gene." He pointed to the driver. "That's Gene."
Each of us received a waiver, but few actually read it. Sarah and I glossed it over and signed. It was the typical hold harmless waiver one signs before participating in activities that had the potential of being bad for your health. Nothing stood out on ours with the exception of references to disturbing sights and sounds, touching by staff, etc. etc.
After handing the man our waivers, Sarah and I joined the line at the back of the trailer. Once everyone was in line, Gene told the group to begin filing in. I was surprised they were putting in the trailer, but people actually began to file in.
"All the way to the back, y'all!" Gene yelled. "Everybody gots to fit."
The group piled in, shoulder to shoulder. Gene closed a smaller door on us, isolating us from the remainder of the trailer. It was cramped inside the trailer and it smelled of stale urine and feces. People groaned as they tried to shift to create space, but none was to be made. If someone in our group was claustrophobic, panic was likely to soon ensue.
Gene raised the ramp and started up the truck. Grinding the gears, he pulled out of the lot and made a right on the two-lane road. We were heading east, but I quickly became disoriented after a series of turns on small, unpaved roads. I was beginning to become nervous. During the five years of our marriage, Sarah had dragged me kicking and screaming to dozens of haunted houses. To date, I had never experienced anything like this.
"What do you think?" I asked her as I looked down at her face. She was smiling from ear-to-ear.
"This is exciting." She replied.
Her hands were clasped in front of her cleavage. Despite her professed excitement, she gave me the impression she was afraid she was going to get groped in the dark trailer. There were some rowdies in the group and that part didn't seem too exciting to her. She stepped even closer to me, seeking protection from phantom gropers.
CHAPTER 3:
After a thirty-minute drive, the old truck squealed to a halt. I could see dim lights and the ghostly shape of a rundown building through the holes in our side of the trailer. There was a cluster of men dressed in all white gathered under a large willow tree. Some were smoking, the red cherries glowing bright and then fading with each inhalation. I watched as the smokers dropped their butts to the ground and rubbed them out with the sole of thick, black work boots.
I heard the ramp being unlocked and lowered. Gene entered the trailer and walked to where the partition held us in the forward most portion of the trailer.
"Anyone wanting to leave needs to stay on my trailer. Understand? This is your last chance. You get off, there ain't no getting back on." Several people snickered at his warning, but it left me uneasy. No one expressed a desire to stay on the trailer.
"Alright, suit y'all selves. Now don't go trying to blame Gene if something bad happens to y'all. Can't say you ain't been warned."
People began to file off the trailer passing Gene as he waited at the base of the ramp. As Sarah and I exited the trailer, Gene stopped me.
"I wouldn't take her in there, sir. Something bad might to happen. These people are liars."
I smiled at him. "Thanks for the advice, Gene."
The truck fired back up and drove away.
The men in white began to form the loose group into a single file line. The men walked the line, seemingly assessing their "guests", asking who came with who. The men would break out the guests into smaller groups that varied in size, mostly 4-6 people per. It appeared they were keeping everyone together that had arrived together.
One of the men stopped in front of me and Sarah. He was a large man who had a greasy, pig-like appearance. His thinning black hair was slicked back and his whites were stained yellow in spots. He carried a scuffed up wooden baton and had a large ring of keys attached to his belt. He reeked of alcohol.
"You with him?" He asked Sarah.
"Yes."
He looked her over and then looked at me. "Pretty girl."
"Thanks." I said, his comment annoying me.
"You two are with me. Wait here and I will introduce myself once I get these other people moving along." He instructed.
After several minutes, each group was led out of the parking lot in what seemed to be 5 minute intervals. All the groups entered the same set of front doors of the dilapidated building. It had the look of an old, run down factory that had been closed down for at least 50 years. I was actually impressed with the attention to detail used so far. The anxiety over the creepy feeling I had been getting briefly fading.
Porky Pig walked back up to me and Sarah and thanked us for waiting so patiently. He introduced himself and "Mr. George."
"Ok, folks. I'm going to give you the run down right quick. I will be your guide tonight. Rule number one: listen to everything I tell you. I'm not much for being on the bossy side, so everything I tell you is for your safety." He looked at us with the utmost sincerity before continuing.
"This is a fully operational mental health facility and has been in service since before the Great War." He was pulling the period piece, referencing WWI. "We have all kinds of people committed here, some more dangerous than others. We have from your regular ole crazies all the way up to serial killers that were too nuts to send up to the penitentiary, so that should say a lot."
"If for any reason we get separated and you happen to hear an alarm, please, for your safety, find the nearest room and lock yourselves in it. We have breakouts from time-to-time and some of these nasty boogers can be extremely violent."
Sarah leaned into me, a sign she was buying Mr. George's safety brief. I wrapped my arm around her and rubbed her bare arm; she was covered in goosebumps.
"Anyway, I'm not trying to scare you folks, but it's part of the job." He smiled, attempting humor. "We get lots on interest in our place these days. Lots of government types coming out to inspect us."
"They say we abuse the residents here, which is a flat out lie. Sometimes we crack a few skulls, but that's better than what would happen to anyone they got ahold of. I'm sure you've heard of 'retard strength', but I'm here to tell you it ain't no lie.
"Anyways, sorry I get easily carried away. Like I was saying, these people from the county and from all the way up at the state capital come down here and accuse us of beating and molesting patients. Hogwash! They also say we do crazy research on people's traits and such. Genics or something like that."
"Eugenics." Sarah offered.
"Yes, ma'am, that's the word. They say Dr. Grabels does the eugenics all wrong. I don't know about that, but you can ask him for yourselves when you meet him."
"You folks ready?" He asked and turned to walk towards the interest without our response.
Sarah and I looked at each other and she smiled at me. I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling I had, so I was only able to muster a nod.
"Don't be a deadbeat." She told me. "This is far more realistic than anything we have gone to so far."
"I can't argue with that." I told her.
"Cheer up! Let me scream a little now and I'll scream a whole lot more for you later tonight." She winked and I grabbed her soft bottom through her shorts.
"Deal." I said, leaning down to kiss her on the lips.
CHAPTER 4:
Mr. George led us through the main doors and into the lobby. An older female sat behind a large desk and appeared to be writing in a large file. "That's Mrs. Doris." He told us. "She doesn't talk much."
"I'm going to show you where we keep the guests before you meet with Dr. Grabels."
Mr. George guided us to a closed door. He opened up a small peep hole and peered into, the closing the rotating hood. "All clear. Gotta make sure no one has got out their cage."
He inserted a large key into to the locking mechanism and turned it several times, the lock making several loud clicking noises as he turned the key. Once unlocked, he pulled the heavy door open and exposed on long, dark hallway. Metal, jail style bars were present on both sides of the hallway, bright light emanated from each of the rooms. I counted ten of them on each side.
"After you." Mr. George extended his, encouraging us to enter the dark hallway. He gave us a peculiar look as we passed him. "For your safety, please stay to the center of the hallway. Wouldn't want you to get grabbed by one of the yahoos."
After entering, he turned and locked the door behind us. I watched as he secured the large key ring back on his belt. He smiled at me. "Security is paramount."
Mr. George passed both of us and began walking down the hallway, his baton rattling down the bars like a playing card in the spokes of a bicycle. "These are basically your garden variety vegetables. Mostly harmless, but you still got to keep an eye on them at all times."
We began to follow, several steps behind. Sarah and I looked in the cells as we passed them one by one. The patients were of different sexes and different ages, all disheveled. Wild hair and wild eyes were ever present. Some muttered, but most were silently rocking back and forth or sat in a corner of their cell, backs to us.
Mr. George suddenly stopped near the end of the hallway and faced to his right.
"Jesus, Fred! Put that thing away, we have guests!"
We caught up to him and looked into the cell. A massive hulk of a man was sitting completely naked in the middle of the cell and was masturbating as he rocked back and forth.
"You ever seen a pecker that big?" He asked, smiling. "I swear that boy's half mule and its obvious which half is which."
He wasn't exaggerating. Fred had freakishly long cock that was as thick as beer can. He rocked back and forth as he played with it--tugging, jerking, or squeezing it as it pleased him, apparently with no rhyme or reason.
"He's the one you don't want grabbing you as you walk by." Mr. George sounded somber. "Back in '26, I seen Fred pull a man's arm plumb off."
The black man looked up at us and began to grunt loudly. He suddenly stood up, his massive tool bobbing up and down between his legs, and lunged for Sarah through the bars. She screamed and backed into the cage behind us and an arm quickly wrapped around her waist. The patient in the cage was a wild eyed older man, his hair hanging in his eyes.
"Right in the doodie!" He screamed again and again as he humped Sarah's shorts from behind. I tried to punch him in the face, but his was too far back for me to reach. Mr. George raised his arm, the wooden baton held high in the air.
"I swear to God, Pete, I'll bust your arm!" The old man let go of Sarah and backed further into his cell, both forefingers curled into hooks. He whispered "doodie, doodie, doodie" and then placed the knuckles of his curled fingers in his mouth and bit down hard. He screamed non-stop, eyes even wider than before.
Sarah wrapped her arms around my waist and buried her face in my chest. She was shaking uncontrollably. "Holy shit." She whispered.
"Goddammit, Fred. See what you gone and done. You scared the lady, you son-of-a-bitch!"
Fred was standing against the cell, his massive hands wrapped around iron bars. Fred's foot long cock was jutting out between the bars. He didn't say anything, he just stared at Sarah.
"He likes your wife." George told me.
"That big ole John Thomas there would damn near split you in two if he got ahold of you, if you know what I mean." George told Sarah. "I'd cut that damn thing off and sell it to a zookeeper if I wasn't so afraid he'd bleed to death if I did. Lord knows we have enough trouble as it is. We don't need another suspicious death."
He reached out with his baton and lightly struck the man's penis with it. "Yep, harder than woodpecker lips. Ain't no woman ever going to appreciate that thing, poor fella."
George unlocked the door and we exited the hall. We followed the narrow, well-lit corridor. The cinder block construction of the passage echoed the sounds of our shoes as we walked on concrete flooring. After another 40 feet, our way was obstructed by another heavy steel door. George searched the ring for the appropriate key and opened his, the steel squealing as it rotated on its hinges.
"This is where we keep the bad ones." He smiled. "These savages here have probably killed more men, women and children that the Black Death itself—a most violent bunch."
"We keep these ones behind iron doors. Your lady would most certainly meet an untimely death if any of this lot put their hands on her."
His tone was growing darker as we moved further into the building. It was as if he was transforming before our eyes. The friendly man from the parking lot had been replaced by a callous, ominous figure. His words implied threats of violence and destruction.
"Yep, I wouldn't be able to lift a finger before they had her head clean off her body and used her pretty mouth for all sorts of perversions." He laughed, slapping me roughly on the shoulder. "We wouldn't want that to happen now would we?"
We quickly moved through the corridor, not stopping as we had in what could be described as the medium security wing. There were small windows on each door. Eyes glared at us as we walked by. Catcalls and whistles broke out as we hurried to the far door.
"Mmmmm, mmmm, mmmm! I can smell that pretty little cunny of yours, all nice and clean. Let me have a taste!" A voice yelled.
"I'll cut your teats off, you cunt!" Another voiced screamed.
Sarah squeezed against me tightly. I looked down at her and she was frightened beyond description. "I'm not enjoying this." She said, the screams and lewd comments nearly drowning her voice out.
George heard her as he unlocked the door and put his back to it, pushing it open. "You aren't supposed to be enjoying it, but one thing is certain -- they are. They will."
He pointed down the corridor, urging us to continue. The hallway was well lit and clean in comparison to the areas occupied by the filthy patients. It smelled of bleach and floor wax, not piss and shit. George led us to a row of green upholstered chairs arranged against the wood paneling of the hallway. It appeared he had led us to the administrative area of the building. Signs hung perpendicular above to the doors: records, accounting, secretary to name a few. The sign above the door next us read "Dr. H. Grabels."
"Sit down." He ordered, no hint of friendliness left. "Dr. Grabels will see you shortly."
We both sat down and George knocked on a the door. After waiting several seconds, he entered and closed the door behind him.
"I don't like this." Sarah told me in a faint whisper.
"Me neither." I whispered.
"I want to leave." She whispered back.
"I'll tell them as soon as they come back." I assured her.
CHAPTER 5:
Several minutes later, the door opened and George emerged. "Dr. Grabels will see you now."
"George, we want to call it a night. We appreciate it, but my wife isn't feeling all that well." I told him.
"Duly noted. I can assure you the end is near." He said, pointing into the office.
I took Sarah's hand and led her into the office, I could feel her hesitation as we crossed the threshold into the dark room. Three sides of the room were glass and beyond the glass were three separate rooms. The rooms were brightly lit and had a green hue to them. They looked like operating rooms.
In the center of the room, an office I assumed, was a large wooden desk. Books were scattered about and an old school banker's lamp lit the array of materials with a yellow glow. A scrawny man sat behind the desk. He was balding and was sickly in appearance. His eyes were sunken and dark circles formed beneath the beady eyes. The man stood and his bony fingers formed a steeple in front of his chest.
"Good evening, I am Dr. Hans Grabels." He had a heavy European accent that could have been German or a language very similar to it. "I trust my staff has treated you with the upmost courtesy and professionalism."
"Yes, they have." I responded. "We'd like to leave now if it wouldn't be too much trouble."
"Certainly." He spoke hurriedly. "As Mr. George indicated, the end is near. Please have a seat."
"No, we need to leave." I was becoming angry.
"Please sit." His tone darkened. "Unless you have keys to the many doors in this facility, I'm afraid you can't go far. Furthermore, I cannot guarantee your safety if you decided to run. You are indeed in the heart of Pandora's Box."
I led Sarah to the worn, dark brown leather chairs and we both sat down. Sarah continued to hold my hand as I sat in the chair next to her. I could feel my blood pressure rising, my face growing hot and my pulse pounding in my temples. I was becoming angry, but also afraid.
He took out a cigarette from a brass case, tapping the filter on the lid before placing it between his narrow lips. He produced an ornate, silver lighter and lit the end the end of the smoke, the cherry burning bright as he inhaled deeply. Grabels exhaled the smoke upwards, into the air. He briefly coughed.
"Before you leave, I want to clarify this place. Have either one of you heard of Eugenics?"
We both sat silent and motionless.
"I didn't think so as most haven't. Eugenics is the science of identifying traits that are most desirable and seeking ways to advance those traits, all the while determining ways to repress less desirable traits. Eugenics, or versions thereof, has been practiced since ancient times, reaching as far back as the classical Greeks."
He took another long drag from his cigarette, crossing his legs and holding the cigarette in the air in the distinctly European manner.
"Unfortunately, most research has focused on furthering the desirable. I, however, have focused my life's work on determining if negative traits can be repressed through selective breeding. If a defective individual is mated with someone with exceedingly desirable genes, can the non-desirable disappear?"
Another drag.
"The problem with society is this rarely occurs in a natural setting. The strong prefer the strong and the weak are left weaken even further. The burden this places on society is evident—soaring crime rates, birth defects and rampant mental illness are all examples. So it is my goal to right this inherent wrong and offer a true solution to our weaker nature. Breed it out."
"Before I show you the extent of my research, I must assure you that you are absolutely safe and that no harm will come to you." He signaled to George. George turned and opened the door we had entered and two additional white clad men entered the room. One carried a wad of off white canvas.
"Mr. George, if you could please demonstrate the safety device to our guests."
George walked up to me and told me to stand. "Put your arms out to the side."
I put my arms out, fearing what would happen if I didn't. George and the other two men slid the material on my arms. It was a straitjacket. I began to resist, but was easily overpowered by the bigger men. They forcefully secured the buckles tightly behind my back. I wasn't able to move my arms.
Sarah had screamed and started to stand up, but one of the men pressed her back into the chair by the shoulder. "Please remain calm and keep in your seat."
One of the men behind me told me to open my mouth.
"No." I defiantly told him.
"Open your mouth or we'll open it for you." He said, his voice calm and collected.
"Paul, just do it." Sarah said to me from the chair. "Just do it so we can leave."
I looked at her and opened my mouth. The man inserted a leather wrapped bite stick and passed one end of the leather thong through a brass ring on the other end. He attached a long leather leash to the ring and held it loosely in his hands.
CHAPTER 6:
Once secured, the second man entered one of the operating rooms and retrieved a large rolling device that was a mixture of chair and something altogether else. It had a work light attached to it and numerous gears and levers. The man banged it through the double doors and rolled it up next to Grabels' desk.
"Ma'am, if you'd please have a seat." He smiled as he extended his arm to the chair. Sarah looked at the chair, at me and then Grabels. She was wide-eyed with fear. I tried to tell her no, but the bit prevented me from saying anything intelligible. Muffled cries were all that came out.
"Please." Grabels still smiled as he invited her to sit in the contraption. Sarah slowly stood and walked to the chair, every step was one of terror. She turned and slowly sat on the edge of the chair, leaving her boots resting on the ground. Her hands were clenched together in her lap.
The second man stepped forward. "Sit all the way back." She did.
"Put your legs in the stirrups." She did without protest, but she moved as if it took tremendous mental exertion to make her legs move.
The man placed her forearms on the arm rests of the contraption and began to strap them to the wood. He did the same to her legs, wrapping heavy leather straps around her lower legs, just below her knees. Sarah was restrained in the chair and was unable to move.
"Thank you for your cooperation." Grabels said in a friendly manner. "Gentlemen, you may leave."
The two men turned smartly and left the office, securing the door behind them. George walked to the door, leading me by the leash, and locked the deadbolt. He led me back to the chair and had me sit down.
Grabels lit another cigarette and paced in circles around Sarah. "It is amazing how gullible people are these days."
"I only recently started using the Hidden Oaks Home ruse to attract unsuspecting people to me. Once difficult to find, they now come to me like moths to the flame. A perfect means to find perfect research subjects."
He continued to pace. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched his slow, calculated steps.
"Being you two are so eager to leave, I suppose we shall dispense with the pleasantries and get straight to point."
Grabels extinguished his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. He took off his white coat and unbuttoned each sleeve, turning the material several times until he had formed two crisp cuffs. Without saying anything, he walked to a sink against the wall and began scrubbing his hands and arms with soap. After washing, the dried his hands and arms with a green towel and dropped it on the counter. He put on two latex gloves and picked up a pair of heavy shears. He turned and walked to the device Sarah was strapped to.
He looked at her and smiled. "I detest screaming, never could stand it. If you scream, your husband will pay the penalty. Do you understand?" Sarah slowly shook her head yes, tears beginning to fall from her eyes.
"Excellent." He began stepping on a pedal at the base of the contraption and the seat began to lift into the air. Once at the desired height, Grabels released the pedal. With one hand, he released a pin at the bottom of the device and the seat dropped out from under her bottom causing her to slightly sag. He began turning a wheel on the side of the chair and Sarah began to flatten out, almost prone. Once satisfied with her position, he began to slowly cut through the flannel shirt she wore. She began to sob as he tossed pieces of the cloth on the floor.
CHAPTER 7:
Once the shirt was cut from her, he stepped back and studied his work. "You should do quite well." He stepped forward swiftly and without hesitation, grabbed her bra by the material between the cups and cut it. The tension of her navy blue bra was released and her heavy breasts spilled out. He made a few more cuts and the bra was gone.
He stepped back like a painter and viewed his work. "Yes, you will serve my research well. Excellent genes."
Sarah's chest was heaving, her pink nipples hard with fear. I watched as goosebumps broke out over her skin. Her eyes closed as Grabels began to rub a gloved hand over her taut stomach, I watched helplessly as she shuddered at his touch. He caressed her skin with his fingers and traced the tip of his index finger up the thin, shallow line of her belly until he reached the base of her breasts.
Grabels smiled as he grabbed her right breast with his hand, squeezing the softness. He pinched her erect nipple with his other hand before moving to the left breast. "Such soft, succulent flesh." He hissed as he turned to me. "Wouldn't you agree?" His eyes were dark with lust.
Grabels jiggled her left breast, watching as the flesh roll under his gloved hand. He switched to the right and then back to the left. He turned to me again. "One must never mix business with pleasure."
Grabels grabbed the opening of her shorts at her left thigh and began to cut the denim material away. After removing the shorts, all Sarah had left of her fading dignity was her blue panties and her cowboy boots. Grabels pulled the boots off along with her socks, leaving her small feet dangling in the air.
"And now for the prize." He said as he lifted the hip strings of her panties, cutting the left and then the right. A small gauze like triangle of material fell between her legs. Grabels reached down and grabbed it, pulling the thin fabric of her g-string from her between her cheeks. He held the destroyed g-string in the air at eye-level and simply dropped it to the floor. Her auburn pubic hair formed a triangle above her exposed vagina. Grabels stepped back and shouted angrily, "This will simply not do!"
Both of us startled at his sudden anger.
He dropped the shears to the floor and walked back to the counter. He draped himself in a heavy rubber apron and pulled a shaving mug and a brush from a cabinet above the sink. He added a little water and began pacing, working the soap into a heavy lather. Before returning to Sarah, he retrieved a straight razor from the counter and quickly walked back to her.
"This must absolutely go; my test subjects detest the sight of pubic hair on women." He hissed. "Their distaste for it is likely the result of some long repressed memory, perhaps abuse by a woman at some point in their distant past—a mother probably."
He began lathering Sarah with the soap, building the white lather on her mound. He brushed between her legs, ensuring her whole sex was covered. He stood and walked back to the counter and picked up another green towel, neatly folding it in thirds. He slowly walked back to Sarah and turned on a small work lamp that was attached to the contraption, focusing the light on her lathered pubes.
Grabels sat on a small stool and appeared to take mental note of how he intended on approaching his work. Having decided, he pressed his left thumb into the soft flesh above her pubic bone and pushed upwards, drawing the flesh taut. The steel of the straight razor glinted in the light as he began to blade her auburn patch. He worked quickly and thoroughly, contorting my wife's womanhood in order to remove all hints of hair. He paused only to wipe the razor on the green towel he had laid across his left arm.
Satisfied with his work, he took the towel and wiped Sarah clean. Her mound was completely bald and bright pink from the razor's edge. I watched as he removed his surgical gloves and dropped them into the pile of Sarah's discarded clothing. He stood up and walked back to the counter. As he walked away, I looked at Sarah. She looked at me with tearful eyes, her chin quivering from fear and shame. I wanted to so badly to break free from my restraints and butcher Grabels with his own straight razor. I flexed the muscles in my arms, chest and back, trying to escape, but it was to no avail.
CHAPTER 8:
Grabels returned with a bottle of clear liquid. Taking his seat, he unscrewed the cap and poured the liquid into the palm of his left hand. He set the bottle on the ground and began rubbing his two palms together. He reached out, ungloved, and began to rub the substance on Sarah's hairless mound. Sarah tensed under his touch, trying to fight her restraints as well. Grabels continued rubbing her with the oily liquid, massaging it onto her stomach and inner thighs.
"Relax." He said to Sarah. "It's only to prevent irritation from the shave. Think of it as feminine aftershave."
I lunged at Grabels, but George quickly jerked me back with the wooden bit. The wood yanking backwards in my mouth, threatening to tear the corners of my mouth and shatter molars. I strained against the leash, tears of pain streaking from the corners of my eyes. George grabbed the collar of the jacket and pulled me back into the leather chair. Once seated, he forced my head between my knees and held me there, his weight making it impossible for me to move. The combination of rage, exertion and restraint caused me strain for breath and felt consciousness began to fade.
Grabels spoke directly above me. "I will not tolerate your pathetic outbursts while I conduct my work. Do you really believe you are in any position to alter your current situation? I can assure you, only through total compliance will you to ever hope to leave this building. Understand?"
I tried to scream "fuck you", but the bit made my words unintelligible. "Mmmm mmm" was all that would come out.
"I thought not." He said.
I heard him walk towards was likely his counter. After a few moments, I felt a jab into the meat of my left shoulder, followed by a sharp pinching sensation. I squirmed beneath George, trying to escape his grasp. As I fought, I felt warmth began to spread from my shoulder to the rest of my body and a deep sense of relaxation began to quench my rage. I sagged under the George's weight, the tension leaving my once aching muscles. My breathing became slow and I closed my eyes, white orbs danced languidly on the backs of my fluttering eyelids. My anxiety and fear faded, the foreboding sense of danger drifted away.
"Lorazepam, in heavier doses, works wonder." Grabels said, his accented voice echoing through my brain. Each word was slowly compared to the mind's catalog of word meaning, trying to ensure proper association was made. "Now I can continue my work."
George lifted me up and leaned me back into the chair. Grabels returned to Sarah and sat in his work stool. He turned to George and said, "Have Patient #4 prepared for the initial experimentation." His words echoed again and I struggled to understand what he was saying. His mouth moved and I heard his voice, but I to focus in order to piece the words together.
"Now, where were we?" Grabels picked up the bottle and coated his hands. He began rubbing Sarah's sex again. Through my fog, I could see he was no longer simply applying the liquid, he was exploring her as he did so. The bony thumb of his right hand massaged circles on her clitoris. Sarah cried out, but not in pleasure.
Am I hurting you?" He asked.
"Why are you doing this to us?" She sobbed.
"My dear, this all in the interest of science." He attempted to soothe her growing sobs. "I am a doctor and I must first do no harm."
"Look at your husband." He continued. "He is relaxed and no harm is coming to him. As long as you relax, none shall come to you either."
She began to cry, her heavy breasts rolling under the force of her sobs. He looked at her with feigned empathy. "I can make this all go away, Sarah. I can make this easier on you if you wish. I can medicate you if you would like me too, but I must first have your consent."
Sarah looked at me, her tears rolling off her cheeks and falling to the ground.
"Please let us go." She sobbed. "We won't tell anyone. I swear, I swear we won't!!!!!!!!!"
"I will let you go, I promise. First we must conduct a much needed experiment and then you will be free to go."
"Give me what you gave him." She cried, closing her eyes and turning her head to her right shoulder.
"As you wish."
Grabels stood and retrieved another syringe and a vial of some unknown liquid from his counter. He inverted the vial, inserted the needle and carefully extracted a measured amount of the substance. He tapped the barrel of the syringe and slowly advanced the plunger, a few small drops of the liquid fell from the point of the needle.
"What is that?" She asked him, her voice full of fear.
"It is a special formula I have developed especially for circumstances as these." He said as he held the syringe to the light, ensuring it was free of air bubbles. "It is a mixture of lorazepam and a synthetic blend of oxytocin. As and added feature, I have included a significant dose of flibanserin. I can assure you it is entirely safe and you may even enjoy it. Regardless, its effects will most definitely achieve the desired result."
I watched as he stood above her and poked the needle into her left shoulder. Sarah sobbed as he depressed the plunger, her eyes locked to mine. The lorazepam defeated any sense of worry I should have felt, the sense of calmness continued to coax me into relaxation.
Sarah's eyes widened and then became expressionless. She tossed her head back and forth slowly, her eyes suddenly taking on a dreamy appearance. A faint smile formed on she bit her lower lip. He stood over her for several minutes, watching as the Sarah continued to transform beneath him.
"Nice, isn't it?" He asked. She slowly shook her head in agreement.
He sat back down and began stimulating her clitoris again. Sarah did not protest, but began to slowly gyrate her hips beneath his touch. A soft moan escaped her throat as the bony thumb massage in small circles.
"How does that feel, my dear?" He asked.
"So good...." She whispered.
CHAPTER 9:
Grabels stood and took off the apron and laid it across his messy desk. He walked to his counter and quickly returned with a long, black device that had a large dome shaped object on the end. He plugged the long power cord into an outlet and sat on his stool.
I watched as he turned a dial and it began a softly hum. He held the object to Sarah's mound and her back immediately arched from the intense sensation it apparently gave her. She began to gyrate her hips as the device stimulated her. Seeing her reaction, Grabels slid the object up and down her opening, even pressing it into her anus. She began to thrust her hips and hiss as he stimulated her.
"Yesssss." She looked at him with lustful eyes and groaned. "That makes my pussy and ass hole feel so good. Please don't stop."
Grabels turned the knob on the device and the hum became a beehive-like buzz. She pitched her head back and let out a long moan. All hints of resistance were gone and she reveled in the pleasure Grabels was giving her. He rubbed her pussy and asshole attentively with the vibrator, pressing it in to both openings as she ground against the black dome. She began to buck her hips wildly, tossing her head back and forth. Her body was gleaming with sweat. Suddenly, she began to convulse under the waves of intense orgasm. Her thighs quivered uncontrollably as he left the device in place.
Grabels turned off the device and set it on the ground. He stood and began to unbuckle his belt and lower the zipper of his slacks. He pulled his small, flaccid penis out and began to tug on it, stretching it into the shape of a grotesque earthworm. He held his slacks up with his left hand and shuffled to the left side of Sarah's chair and began to rub the small head of his penis against her lips. As if on cue, Sarah began to circle the tip with her tongue. Grabels smiled as she took his cock into her mouth, rolling her head as she began to suck him with abandon, encouraging him to grow hard.
After several minutes of her ministrations, Grabels stepped back from her mouth, Sarah attempting to follow the cock as like a starving person having their first meal taken one bite in. She smiled and gazed up at him, her eyes the same dreamy expression as when he had injected her with the cocktail of sex inducing drugs. "I want it in me." She said.
Grabels continued to stroke his now hard cock as he shuffled between her legs. It was grossly misshapen and had the appearance of a long broken nose. He stepped into her parted legs and slid into her. Once inside, he gripped the top of her thighs and began to clumsily pull himself into her. He bucked wildly as he explored her pussy without his cock. He continued for several minutes, making high pitched squeals as he did satisfied his own needs.
"I believe she is sufficiently prepared for the experiment." He grunted as he pulled his cock out and began to spurt yellowish semen on her stomach. "Yesssssssss, she is most ready."
I watched as Grabels picked up the green towel from the floor and wipe her juices from his cock, the semen from her stomach.
"Would you like more pleasure, Sarah?" He asked her as he smiled at me.
"Yes." She said.
"Yes, what?" Deeming her answer unacceptable.
"More pleasure, please." She whispered.
CHAPTER 10:
Grabels unbuckled her restraints and helped to her feet; she was unsteady and fell into his chest. He placed an arm over her shoulders and walked her through the double doors and into the first operating room. George pulled me to my feet and we followed Grabels and Sarah into the room.
Grabels led her to the operating table and helped her onto the black padded surface. Without prompting, she began rubbing herself, her legs falling open. She wiggled and squirmed under her own touch, her left hand pulling and twisting at her hard, pink nipples. Her face and chest were flush with desire as she began to shove two fingers into her wet, swollen pussy.
A door on the far wall opened and two large men dressed in white stepped into the room. They were followed by a giant black man. The man looked to be about 6' 6" and probably weighed over 300 pounds. He was heavily muscled, his massive chest covered in tightly curled black hair. He was completely naked from head to toe with the exception of a mask of hammered bronze shaped in the form of a Sabbatic goat. The two horns rose ominously from the top, a scraggly beard from the chin and two large ears from the sides. It had dark holes for eyes created a harrowing blank stare. The man stood at the entrance of the room, his head moving slowly to the right and left. His cock hung limply from the base of his abdomen, resting on a large scrotum that housed testicles the size of plums. Even in its soft state, his cock was beyond large.
His appearance startled me, but the sense of fear quickly faded and was replaced by a sense of familiarity. I had seen the man before, but I could not remember where. It had been recent though, maybe earlier that evening.
"George informs me you have already met Fred." Grabels told me.
Fred, yes, that was his name. He had been in the cell earlier that evening masturbating. He had startled Sarah, causing her to back into the other man's cell. I glanced at Sarah on the table to see if she had noticed Fred enter the room. She was still rubbing herself with her right hand. Her left forefinger was in her mouth and she was squeezing her breasts together with her upper arms. She removed the wet finger from her mouth and began to circle her nipples. She began to make erotic moaning sounds as she writhed on the table top.
CHAPTER 11:
Fred appeared to notice her touching herself and slowly walked towards the table, standing over her as she thrashed about in self-pleasure. He reached down with a huge hand and grabbed her right breast, roughly squeezing it. He then grabbed the left, squeezing it just as hard. Sarah rubbed herself faster, opening her eyes at the man standing above her. She did not appear to be afraid of the masked man and she smiled as he squeezed her breasts harder, her flesh bulging from his hand. Sarah's left hand joined her right, spreading her labia wide as the forefinger of her right hand rubbed her clitoris.
The goat released her breasts and began to walk in circles around the table, the dark eyes of the mask never leaving her form. Her eyes followed him as well, her tongue lustfully licking her upper lip. He stopped at the end of the table nearest her head and climbed up onto his hands and knees. His cock dangled above her, his sack hanging low—more than half his flaccid length.
Sarah eyed the organ and ceased her rubbing. She reached up with both hands and sandwiched Fred's cock between her palms, fingers extended. She slowly began to stroke it with her palms as Fred lowered his hips, the head of his cock touched her lips. She began to gently kiss it and then circling the head with her tongue. She stretched the soft meat so she could lick the full length of it.
The goat mask went from looking straight ahead to looking between his legs as my wife worshipped his cock. It began filling with blood and soon became as threatening as the mask itself. He reached between her legs and began to rub her sex roughly, rubbing her in big circles before thrusting the middle and ring fingers of his right hand into her pussy. She began to rhythmically buck her hips in to his hand has he jammed them into her.
Sarah started to suck the head of the cock and stroke it with clenched fists, it's girth too great for her hands to fully encircle. Her sucking sounds were sloppy and wet. She moaned with a mouthful of his cock as he assaulted her with his fingers. As if wanting more, she reached through his tree trunk legs and used them as leverage in order to pull herself through to the waist. She sat up behind him and her mouth found his ass hole. She began to explore it with her tongue while her hands pulled on his cock and tugged on his heavy ball sack.
The goat man made an animalistic groan, befitting the mask, as she continued to lick him. She wrapped her left hand around the base of his scrotum and squeezed his balls into a bloated, balloon looking shape and did her best to stuff his balls in her mouth. She moaned passionately as she serviced him and he grunted deeply as he rapidly drove his thick fingers into her.
Fred crawled off her and pushed her to the side as he laid on his back on the wide table. She crawled on top of him and grabbed the base of the goat's cock, holding it straight into the air. She positioned her hips over his chest and Fred shoved the mouth of the goat against her pussy, pressing it roughly into her. Her mouth descended on his cock and she desperately tried to deepthroat him, gagging and coughing as she swallowed as much of him as she could. She only pulled off of him when she had to gasp for air, rubbing her thick spit on his shaft and jerking him wildly.
Suddenly, she let go of the cock and it fell to his stomach with a slap. She turned around and straddled him, reaching between her legs for his cock and pressing the fat head against her pussy lips. The dark chocolate color of his cock contrasted vividly with her creamy skin and the redness of her swollen pussy. She rubbed the engorged head against her opening and pressed it into her. She slowly sat back on him, her pussy spreading wider and wider as she covered his cock with her slick folds. She let out a loud moan as she sat further back, fully impaling herself on his enormous length.
The goat grabbed her by her ass cheeks and spread her wide to receive him. He began to thrust upward with long powerful strokes, forcing himself past her tightness. Sarah screamed in ecstasy as the goat rammed himself into her faster and faster, her walls giving way to his black battering ram. Sarah arched her back as he held her ass in place, her breasts bouncing wildly as her body absorbed the kinetic energy of the pounding she was receiving from him.
She pulled her knees forward and sat upright and began the grind on the monster between her legs. Fred let go of her ass and began to roughly squeeze her breasts, smashing them together as she violently rocked her pelvis back and forth on him. She fell to his chest and began kissing and licking the bronze mask as Fred began to thrust into her again, his cock ringed with her cream.
Fred held her tightly and sat up, oblivious to her weight and laid her on her back. Her legs spread wide to receive him, her hands grabbing his massive ass as he entered her, resuming his assault. Her feet bobbed back and forth in the air as he impacted her, the muscles of his back and arms rippling as he pressed his fists into the padding of the table. Fred continued to pound her until she orgasmed. She screamed out as her body convulsed beneath his. He slowed and then pulled his glistening cock from her and turned her over onto her stomach, pressing her legs together as he straddled her ass.
He thrust into her forcefully, squeezing her ass checks together before spreading them wide. His hips rocked back and forth with surprising speed, plunging in and out of her stretched pussy until he threw his head back and let out a deep howl. He thrust deeply into her one last time and began filling her with his seed. Fred bucked into her as the last contents of his balls were coaxed from his cock as she clenched him with her pussy. He reached forward with his left hand and grabbed her by the throat, violently pulling her head back as he continued to slide in and out, pushing his seed further into her womb.
CHAPTER 12:
Once complete, Fred climbed down from the table. His cock was covered in his own milky semen and her white cream. He slowly walked to the open door and was escorted out of the room by the men in white. Sarah was still face down on the operating table, her eyes closed and her hips slowly gyrating.
"Well, it seems Fred has taken a liking to your wife." Grabels said to me. His meaning lost to me as I watched Sarah roll onto her back, her white body covered in red marks that would eventually bruise.
"She will remain here for the time being and continue to mate with Fred until she bears child." He continued. "Once she delivers, she will be free to leave. Unfortunately, I doubt either one of you will ever speak again. Although one of the side effects of the sedatives you both used is memory loss, it is only short term, and your memories will return after several days."
"What impact will your memories of this evening have on your relationship no one knows." He smiled as he looked into my eyes that didn't process what he was saying. "Perhaps she will elect to remain here, effectively donating her body to science. I have other subjects needing experimentation and she is the perfect candidate for my research."
The two men that had escorted Fred out returned with a rolling cart and pulled Sarah from the bed. They placed her on a cart and left the room as swiftly as they had entered. That was the last time I saw my wife.
"You will be placed in a cell and released once you regain your wits." Grabels informed me.
George began to lead me from the room. Before I passed through the double doors, Grabels called my name. His voice missing the heavy accent.
"Paul."
I turned to look at him.
"Thank you for visiting the Hidden Oaks Home for the Mentally Ill." He smiled widely. "I believe I shall see to your wife; her medication will not wear off for several more hours and it would be a shame to waste such an opportunity for further........research."
The double doors closed behind me and I was led to a cell in the medium security wing. George removed the bit and locked the door behind me. I laid down on the concrete floor and faded into darkness, dreaming of goat men and green rooms.
EPILOGUE:
The room was silent. The detectives sat back in their chairs, their faces a mixture of shock and disbelief. The man sat silently as the detectives exchanged glances with one another.
"I'm sorry Mr. Williams, it must be excruciating to relieve the experience." Detective Jennings told him, his voice full of sincerity.
Detective Fields joined the conversation for the first time. "We have contacted numerous other agencies in the area and it seems there are quite a few disappearances with circumstances similar to yours." The man's head sagged.
"We have also contacted on of our professional networks with the circumstances. Over the past three years, similar cases have been committed in over six states. To date, none of the abducted have been found. We don't want you to lose hope, but I want you to fully understand the situation."
"Is she dead?" The man asked.
"No bodies have been found, so we still have hope for Sarah and the others."
"The time is 1836 and this concludes our interview with Paul Williams regarding case number 15-12945." Detective Jennings turned off the recorder and stared at the missing person report sitting on the table in front of him.
"We'll be in touch once we have more information. In the meantime, please try to take care of yourself."
The detectives gathered their belongings and left the man by himself in his room. After several moments, he slowly stood and walked out of the interview room and to his car. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the photo he and his wife had taken before their fateful trip to the Hidden Oaks Home of the Mentally Ill.
The man cried as his finger traced the outline of his missing wife. "Oh baby, I miss you so, so much." He sobbed. He dropped the phone in his lap and began to scream.
