Matt Shaw - Consumed

I’ve always enjoyed horror movies. I’m not sure why, really, considering the rest of my family don’t really rate them that highly. If anything, they go out of their way to avoid them. I guess, if I had to give it a reason, it’s because there’s some faulty wiring going on somewhere deep within my little brain.

The problem is, lately, people seem to be leaning more towards horror films which rely on gore as opposed to genuine scares. Now, although I don’t mind gore (unlike my brother who faints at the slightest hint of blood), I do prefer my horror to play more on my imagination with creepy imagery and things you don’t see as opposed to in your face blood and guts. However, going by what some people have said on my author page (facebook search ‘mattshawpublications’ will take you there) it appears there is a place for gore in horror.

By writing “The Cabin” and “The Cabin II: Asylum” I gave people the horror stories which scare you by playing with your mind as opposed to overloading your senses with blood and guts. The book came out with people raving and a number of five star reviews being awarded to it so I felt as though I had done my job well.

I didn’t, though, give anything to the people who enjoy ‘blood and guts’ with their horror and that’s where ‘Consumed’ comes in. This is my nod to the classic horrors I grew up with: “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”, “Braindead”, “The Last House on the Left” and “I Spit On Your Grave” to name but a few.

I won’t lie, I had great fun writing this piece but I do still prefer my horror with genuine frights as opposed to shocks and moments of disgust. I only hope it goes some way to satisfy the more bloodthirsty of my readers.

Enjoy! BUT… I warn you now. The sole purpose of this book was to shock and disgust the most extreme of gore-hunters whilst all the time giving them my usual entertaining storytelling style.

You’ve been warned.

Her dark hair, stuck to her pretty but pale face, was matted with dried blood from where they had hit her earlier; not hard enough to kill her but hard enough to ensure she stopped running and screaming from them.

Her eyes opened as she slowly regained consciousness and fear set in almost immediately as she realised she was bound, naked, to a dining room table. The blow hadn’t robbed her of the memories of landing on the table — her bruised and battered body aching all over. She managed to fight her first reaction — to scream out in pain and alarm — she knew screaming wouldn’t do any good; it would only let them know she was awake.

She needed time to figure out an escape.

She fought the pain in the side of her head, throbbing from the earlier blow, and started to struggle against the restraints. A dazed look down to her ankles revealed them to be bound by leather straps — perhaps fashioned from old belts? A buckle system around her ankle, she couldn’t see how it was keeping her on the table — perhaps a buckle system around the table leg too? A few more seconds of struggling against the straps and it dawned on her they weren’t about to snap anytime soon.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath.

She looked up at her wrists.

A similar set-up.

“Shit!” she repeated.

Footsteps beyond the old, wooden door in the far corner of the room. They’re coming. Her heart skipped a beat and she screamed when the door was pushed open.

Out of time.

Michael walked straight past screen nine as the doors opened and the audience slowly began to filter out. He walked straight past his colleague Emma — a short, bossy woman who looked as though she should still be at school and not working in the local multiplex — and threw his broom against the door of the usher’s cupboard.

“You’ll need that!” Emma called over to him.

“I’ve finished,” he called back. He didn’t even look at her when he spoke, he simply continued to walk towards the staff-room where he could fetch his belongings before signing out for the night.

“You’re not going to help?” Emma shouted. Michael pretended not to hear her. He could use the hustle and bustle of the leaving audience members as an excuse for his ignorance. He didn’t see why he should hang around and help her. He was supposed to finish at two o’clock in the morning and it was ten to now. From past experience, he knew he’d be late leaving if he did stay and help her with the final clean up operation. Especially considering the cinema was packed to its three hundred seat capacity. “Thanks a bunch!” Emma yelled as Michael disappeared into the male locker room. Besides — Emma never was his favourite work colleague. Despite her small size, Michael found her overbearing. What she lacked in height she made up with the volume in her voice. And where did she get off with barking orders at people as though she were part of the management team? At the end of the day she was the same level as Michael; nothing more and nothing less.

Michael couldn’t help but smile as he pulled his belongings from his locker; the first smile of the day brought on by the fact it was not only the end of an extremely long ten hour shift but also because he’d never be returning to the cinema again. Not that they knew that. At the age of twenty-four, one of the oldest working there, he had always had trouble keeping hold of a job despite rarely being fired. He simply got bored with them and would walk out with little, or no, warning — often leaving his colleagues in dire straits as they’d try and manage their shift knowing they were a man down. Even if boredom hadn’t taken a hold of his senses, in this particular job, he had known from the first day of working there that he wouldn’t fit in. The other staff members were in their late teens and he found it difficult to speak to them on their level. Hell, even the managers looked as though they should have still been in diapers. Some of them even acted like it too.

Two o’clock in the morning and it was still warm outside the air-conditioned building, not that Michael minded having left his home without his coat. He stood in the doorway and lit up a cigarette; a quick drag and the sickly sweet nicotine evaporated any residue stress. He dropped his silver lighter back into his trouser pocket and ran his hand through his dark brown hair. He could feel it was messed up. Another problem with the job was that they forced you to wear a baseball cap. On some people they look cool. Not on Michael. He always complained they made him look special and a few nights into working there he had already come to the conclusion they weren’t even necessary; the management simply made the staff wear them to bring down their confidence a little more. With lowered confidence they’d be easier to control. No one else shared in his beliefs and he had already received two warning letters from the management for failing to turn up in the correct work uniform on the days he decided he didn’t want to wear the hat. A pointless show of disobedience, on his part, for there was always a spare hat close by for him to wear.

From across the car park a stationary van flashed its headlights catching Michael’s attention in the process. Another flash of the headlights when Michael smiled and raised his hand in the air to show he had noticed it and was on his way.

“See you tomorrow,” said Wayne — one of the cinema’s many managers — as he stepped out of the building behind Michael.

Michael flashed him a smile as he walked down the stairs towards the car park, “I don’t think so,” he muttered.