Zandor’s Hellhouse

“Sometimes the prompt can only lead to something horrific! Todays prompts were no exception. So today we take a walk on the dark side. A warning, this one is a little violent and disturbing!”

I wrote this story in answer to the following prompts:
Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #95 – The image above
FOWC with Fandango — Body
Your Daily Word Prompt — Fantastic
Ragtag Daily Prompt — Swish
Word of the Day Challenge — Spontaneous

Zandor’s Hellhouse

I’m Officer Reg Metcalf and I just made a terrible mistake. I’d identified sadistic murderer Ira Zandor, whilst on patrol. I radioed for support and gave chase on foot. I pursued him into the rear entrance of an old building. Trouble was, the door slammed shut. “Fantastic! Fan-fricking-tastic. Now, I’m locked inside with the sick murderer!”

Turning from the door, I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm my rattled nerves. The small room was devoid of light and felt full of people despite being unoccupied. Peeling paint and graffiti showed this building had been disused for decades

Officer Metcalf. What’s your position, over.’

The damned radio scared me half to death. “I’m in the old Ferguson building. I’m currently locked in. I don’t know where Zandor is. Need emergency assistance.” I replied in the low shaky voice.

‘Roger that, help isn’t far away.’ As the dispatcher clicked off a terrifying laugh echoed through the building.

“They’ll never make it in time to save your skin, wahahaha!”

“Shit!” I whispered. “Zandor, come out with your hands up. I will put you down by force if I have to!” Drawing my extendable battle, I shook my head. I didn’t even have a stun gun. This guy could drop me before I even swung this thing. With no choice, I crept through the gloom and peered out of the room.

Dark corridors peeled off left and right. Vacuous, terrifying rooms opened up everywhere. Putting my head into the first, I saw lines of washing machines. Yes, this place had been an industrial laundry. I vaguely remember my aunt working here many years ago.

A footstep behind me — I whirled around. Something whizzed past my ear and hammered against the wall. The crowbar clattered to the floor. More laughter and running feet echoed along the corridors. Bathed in a cold sweat, I gulped down my fear and took the crowbar. “Thanks for the better weapon, pal,” I breathed.

Zandor’s passage echoed through the building. Chasing with great caution, I heard him thunder upstairs. I picked my way through bags of trash, old mattresses, boxes of who knows what, broken glass, and used syringes, in the corridors until I found the stairs. Another thing I knew about the building had been confirmed, this was a squat until recent.

The lack of light in the stairwell was so complete I felt I was looking up at a black wall. Zandor could be on the next landing and I’d never see him. Just ascending felt like heading into a trap. I crept up a few steps as my hand feathered my torch. I had to refrain from using it, the murderer had enough advantage already without me showing him my position.

“Come to me, Metcalf. I’m going to disassemble and make your body into modern art. Then, Metcalf. Ooh, this is the fun part— I’m going to visit Laura and Rosie and boy are we gonna have lots of fun, wahahaha!”

“I shook horrendous images of my wife and daughter suffering from my brain. My breathing drew deeper. A fiery heat rose through my body flushing my face. I felt my hand clench on the crowbar and my eyes burning as a rage boiled through me. With my emotions volcanic, I felt no fear as I stomped up the remaining steps. The door was open, beckoning me inside. Again corridors, left and right, littered with junk.

A bottle tinkled to the floor down to the left. Stalking that way my nose was assaulted by the smell of urine. The door ahead and right slammed shut. One of three at the end of this corridor. A shaft of light coming from the remaining open one, showed a thin fishing line running from the slammed door. ‘Nice try!’ I whispered. Reaching forward, I slammed the crowbar into the woodwork and stepped back. If I expected Zandor to jump me I was mistaken. A terrible silence fell over me like a suffocating blanket.

I crept into the open door and gasped. Hanging like a morbid scarecrow was a naked and very dead man in his sixties. Satanic symbols hacked into his flesh showed just how disturbed Zandor was. The fishing line was wrapped around the man’s neck.

Spinning on my heels, I left the room. I instinctively ignored the slamming door, instead selecting the one at the end of the corridor. Pushing it open, I found myself in a room hanging with bedsheets. Orange light from the streetlamps turned the sheets to evil spectres in the otherwise dark room. The ominous effect was magnified by the way they would eerily swish about in the air.

He was here in this room. I could feel him, his evil presence was oppressive in this room. I could smell him too. Death and decay from all the murders clung to his hair and skin. “Where are you, you sick, bastard!”

A rush of air billowed the sheets. I followed the movement but nothing lurked there. “I applaud you, Zandor. You know my family which means I saw you because you wanted me too. It was a nice trap but a big mistake. Now —” something tore behind me.

Scissors plunged through a sheet. The hole widened with every stab of the sharp blades. A shadowy figure appeared emerged behind the sheet. The emaciated form of Zandor, lunged again and again as he laughed in his demonic way. I could tell his Afro was as disarranged and dishevelled as his demon-possessed mind. He’d be the perfect zombie in one of those apocalypse movies.

Zandor screamed and lunged at me through the sheet.

In a spontaneous eruption of movement, I slammed my crowbar into the scissors and threw my shoulder into his stomach. We tore through dozens of sheets until his back slammed into a table. The impact pitched me to the floor with searing pain in my shoulder. The crowbar skittered away across the room.

“What was my mistake, plaything?” Zandor rose, wielding a large gore-soaked cleaver. He was wearing a pair of denim shorts and oversized shirt both drenched in gore. His pale skin was carved with demonic skulls, devilish visages, and symbols amid more piercings than a jewellery shop. My eyes were drawn to the hundreds of puncture marks on his arms. His demon with likely named heroin.

“I was going to arrest you until you made it personal, you evil, scumbag!” I answered dangerously as I waited for him to pounce on me.

“Ooh, did I strike a nerve? Don’t worry, in a few short moments none of your nerves will be connected to your brain so you won’t feel a thing.” Zandor’s voice had become devoid of emotion. Almost robotic in an unsettling way, “This is, Sally. She loves cutting through flesh!”  He wrinkled his nose and brought the cleaver with a menacing swish through the air.

“He named his bloody cleaver!” I breathed in shock as I rolled beneath it and smashed his face with the heel of my boot. He recoiled, hit the wall and bounded straight back at me. This time I felt the cleaver dig into my stab-proof vest. Catching him with a head-butt, I felt his nose break as I hurled him into a pile of festering cardboard boxes. “Well, I can still feel a few things. So, I know you felt that one,” I couldn’t help but jeer as I watched him bleeding onto the floor. His eyes darting like a trapped snake. I took the cleaver from my chest and hurled it on the table.

“Pain is my friend. It only makes me stronger.” Zandor struggled to his feet. “You should have kept Sally; she might have kept you alive.”  

“Enough games — let’s finish this!” I took a strong stance and beckoned him. My second mistake!

Zandor began to turn with me but not for long. He kicked a bottle, forcing me to block it. That second was all he needed to blast me threw more of the sheets and over a laundry cart. He hurled it aside, shattering what sounded like a hundred bottles and dropped onto my chest.

I was forced to look into his blood-soaked grin as he snapped his teeth at me. I was powerless with the crushing force of his body on my torso.

“Now, we can have a little fun.” He chuckled while wiping his broken face.

I had no idea where the filleting knife came from, but I felt it plunge into my shoulder. Screaming in pain, I writhed and somehow cracked his groin with my knee. He slipped forward releasing the pressure on the knife as I lunged off the floor. My face contorted into a grimace as I caught him with a sickening head-butt. The blow dazed me but I was able to get free.

The deranged murderer slumped to the filthy floor and appeared unconscious. Using a bench under the window, I pulled myself to my feet with the knife still in my shoulder. The pain was immense, I knew I couldn’t extract it myself. Focusing on Zandor, I made it one step before he burst his feet. He let out a guttural roar and charged. Falling to a knee, I powered into his stomach and sent him thundering over the bench and crashing straight through the window. His roar became a scream as he fell. I almost smiled at the sound of his broken body obliterating a bus shelter as he plunged through it and came to rest in the road. The fall ensured his soul would burn in hell where it belonged.

I would need surgery on my shoulder but I would return to work. The city became a happier place knowing Ira Zandor would terrorise it no more.

The End


Thanks for reading my friends and don’t forget there’s always plenty more stories for you in the Short Stories and Short Stories 2 tabs.

Have a great day!

6 thoughts on “Zandor’s Hellhouse

Add yours

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

Create your website with WordPress.com
Get started
%d bloggers like this: