IWTBU

I stared at my phone in confusion as I read the latest text message from my boyfriend of two years. 

“IWTBU”

I stared up at my computer monitor.  “What the fuck does IWTBU mean?” I asked aloud.

It was a Friday afternoon and I was sitting at work, staring at the black screen with the white writing.  I could feel a headache coming on as I closed my eyes briefly.  That’s when my phone beeped with the cryptic message from my boyfriend.

After a couple of minutes of chewing my lower lip, pondering the possible meanings for the initials IWTBU, I eventually gave up trying to decipher his message and replied with “OK.  See you when I get home.”

As I turned to the pile of papers on my desk, my phone beeped once more. 

“I think you miss understood what I said.  I Want To Break Up.”

I felt numb.  I knew things hadn’t been great with us lately.  He was constantly yelling at me, saying degrading things, talking to cam girls more than me, viewing porn religiously and essentially telling me that I’m useless and worthless.  I was tired of fighting with him and would often just respond to him with “Yeah, OK.  Whatever” before walking away to cool down. 

As I look back now, I guess his Twitter page should have been an indication.  He never talked to me on it even when I was at work and would make witty comments or would send him messages via it.  He always preferred to tweet with some naked model that he had befriended or one of our mutual friends.  I could never bring up how much it hurt me that he would rather chat to a cam girl then to me because it made me seem petty and jealous; two traits he always hated in women.

I slammed my phone down on my desk as I fought back tears.  It wasn’t tears of sadness that my relationship was over.  It was tears of anger that he didn’t have the balls to tell me this to my face, instead opting to do so via a text message.

As the hours of my day slowly slipped away, my anger grew.  I hated technology.  It made everything too easy.  No one sent hand written letters anymore, when they could get an instant response via e-mail.  No one bothered to call anymore when they could just throw it up on Twitter or Facebook or send it in a text.  No one seemed to care about emotions.  And the worst kind of technology emotion was getting dumped via text message.

I began to pack up my work station for the weekend.  I had five minutes left in this hell hole before I boarded the train for my nightly commute.  I wasn’t looking forward to sitting on the train with a bunch of strangers feeling the way that I felt. 

Dragging my feet I headed towards the train station.  People I passed seemed to get the hint that I was not in the best of moods.  They brushed past me, going about their business, avoiding eye contact with me. 

The train arrived on time and I boarded it, taking a seat at the rear of the carriage.  I felt the tears begin to swell in my eyes as I remembered when he use to come into the city to join me on the train so that I wasn’t lonely on my journey home. 

I pulled my phone out of my bag.  Looking past the now cracked screen, I pulled up his message as a gorgeous woman sat down next to me. 

“IWTBU” I said to myself, my lips trembling as I read the message.

“Tough break.”

I glanced up at the gorgeous blonde.  Her long lean legs were crossed at the ankle and her hair was tied into a tight ponytail.  She was dressed in a pinstripe suit and her makeup was flawless.  She looked like one of the girls my boyfriend liked talking to.

“I’m sorry?” I said, unsure of what she meant.

“Tough break.  Getting the IWTBU message.  Been there myself.  It’s always hard.  But the trick is not to let it get you down.”

I snorted.  “After two years of being with this guy, I think it should get me down.  He didn’t have the courage to say it to my face.”

“Oh sweetie, all men are cowards,” the blonde replied, admiring her perfectly rounded French tipped nails.  “Why else do you think the saying goes ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’?  It’s because we hold the power.  You just need to know how to harness it.”

“Harness it?” I asked dumbfounded by the conversation I was having.

The woman smiled at me, her perfect white teeth shining brightly between her luscious full lips.  “It’s rather simple, my dear,” she said sweetly, picking up her bag.  “Make him realize he is nothing without you.  You have to make him suffer by making him realize that no woman will ever want him.”

The train stopped and the tall, leggy blonde got off.  She gave me a friendly wave as she passed my window before disappearing into the night.

Her words haunted me the rest of the trip home.  As I got off the train and made my way to my car, I could hear her voice in my ear.  “Make him realize that he’s nothing without you” echoed inside my mind.  “You have to make him suffer by making him realize that no woman will ever want him.”

As I started the car I began to wonder what she could have possibly meant by that.

My anger reached boiling point when I got to my house.  In the drive way was his car.  If he thought I was moving out of the house I bought with my own money because he was too lazy to get of his ass and make a living, he had another thing coming.

I turned off the engine and got out of the vehicle.  I walked across the grass and carefully peered in the front window. 

There he was, sitting on the couch, some blonde bimbo in his lap, grinding her body on top of his.  I could hear her gasps of pleasure and him screaming “Oh yeah. Oh yeah. OH YEAH!” as he exploded deep within her.

I saw red and thundered into the house.

“GET OUT!” I roared, tossing the blonde his shirt that was lying in the hallway.

My boyfriend scrambled to his feet.  “I thought I said we were breaking up,” he cried, his dark eyes narrowing in my direction. 

“Oh you did,” I assured him.  “And I’m fully committed to that decision.  But you see, Joe, his is my house.  My property.  Everything is in my name so you have no right to be here.  I will count to three, before I call the cops.  And rest assured, Joe, there will not be a four.”

Joe looked at me, dazed and confused as I calmly walked into the kitchen.  I heard the front door open and I smiled, glancing over my shoulder to see the blonde, wearing only Joe’s shirt, scrambling for her freedom. 

“One,” I called as I opened a kitchen drawer, smiling as the front door slammed shut.

“Two,” I said as I entered the hall again.

Joe still hadn’t moved, unsure of what was to happen.

I appeared in the doorway to the lounge, blocking the only exit.  “Aww, what a shame.  I gave you ample time to get out,” I said, my voice coming out all sweet and innocent like.

Joe began to stutter, but I silenced him by walking over and pressing a single finger against his lips.

“Just one last kiss, for old time sake,” I said, pressing my lips against his, my free hand reaching down to stroke his erection.

Letting out a guttural moan, I could feel Joe relaxing.

Slowly, I pulled away, my hand still wrapped around his erect cock.

“Three,” I said, pulling the knife out from behind my back.

Joe screamed as the knife sliced his dick clean off.

Blood spurted over my body, running down his legs and onto the carpet.  His screams were high pitched as he dropped to his knees. 

I held up what was left of his cock, eyeing it carefully.  “You know, I use to remember this being bigger,” I commented, rotating it around in my hand.  I turned my head and whistled, calling for my dog. 

“Demon!”

A large Rottweiler rounded the corner, drool dripping from its upper lip, his teeth bared into a snarl.  I tossed the tip of my boyfriend’s penis towards him.  Demon pounced, grabbing it in his strong jaws and running out of the room.

Joe’s wails became louder as he watched his manhood disappear with my pooch. 

I placed a single nail under Joe’s chin, digging it into his flesh and making him look me in the eye.

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Joe,” I said, stepping on his bloody crotch with my high heel shoe. 

Joe’s eyes were filled with tears as he begged to know why.

My eyes gleamed with delight as I leant in close to his face so he could feel my breath on the tip of his nose.

“IWTBU.”

Should Entertainment Be Blamed For Real Life Violence?

In the wake of the Sandy Hook massacre the debate between violent video games, horror movies and real life violence has reared its head again.  Now, one week after a gunman violently killed twenty school children and six adults before turning the gun on himself, Americans have been rocked by another senseless shooting, with four people gunned down in rural Pennsylvania.

On October 26th 2011, I took to Truly Disturbing to write an article about Horror Movies and Real Life Violence in which I defended the horror genre stating that movies are simply an outlet.  Nothing more, nothing less.

Today, it seems to be an instant reaction.  Once something tragic happens, like a mass murder, people automatically claim that the person responsible for the killings was disturbed thanks to a violent video game or a love of horror movies and literature.  By that same standard then just looking at my office would make me a serial killer in the making.  I have books from horror authors like Stephen King and Clive Barker, but also books on real life crimes and even a book on the world's most evil serial killers.  I have a horror movie collection that has spanned over three rooms of my house and my video game collection for the PS2 and Wii is pretty graphic.  Does that mean I'm in danger of acting out what I play, read and watch?  No.

Violence and entertainment have gone together for centuries.  Don't believe me, then let's take a trip through history.  Gladiators in Ancient Rome were slaves that fought to the death for the entertainment of Caesar.  During the French Revolution, people were beheaded and the towns people were invited to see the spectacle.  During the Salem Witch Trails, people were hanged in front of crowd.  These acts of violence were considered entertainment during these times.

Were these acts of violence bought on by video games and horror movies?  No.  When King Henry VIII has his wives beheaded, was that because a movie inflicted the notion and idea into his head?  No.  When Ted Bundy began his killing spree, was it because of a violent video game or horror novel?  No.

I am a firm believer that people who commit these most heinous acts of violence are already disturbed psychologically.  They already have a hatred of mankind and have a sense of power when toting a weapon, regardless of what that weapon might be.  To quote Billy Loomis (Skeet Ulrich) from Scream, "Don't you blame the movies.  Movies don't create psychos.  Movies make psychos more creative."

The oldest emotion is fear.  Fear is a powerful thing to have.  The world's most evil people thrive on having others fear them.  It's addictive.  It's a power trip.  But it all steams from rage.

Horror movies, horror novels and violent video games don't cause the rage that is responsible for some of the most disturbing acts of violence in history.  That rage was already in existence.  That rage festered until the person snapped.  Who cares if they spent the last three months of their life playing Call Of Duty or watching Saw religiously.  All that did was give them an outlet for their rage.  But when that outlet began to fail was when they took it to the next level; committing the crime themselves and living on the fear of their real life victims.

So, where do you stand?  Do you believe that entertainment such as video games, movies, books and even music are responsible for some of the darkest days in history, or do you feel that violent entertainment is just that - entertainment?  Should movies, books, games and music be held accountable for the anger and rage that festers in one person until they snap?  Are we too quick to blame the movies because we really fear the reasons behind the real life violence?  Should entertainment be blamed for real life violence? 

You Do The Math

A cheating husband decided to write this letter to his wife:

"My Dear Wife,

You will surely understand that I have certain needs that you, being 54 years old, can no longer satisfy.  I am very happy with you and I value you as a good wife, however, after reading this letter I hope you will not wrongly interpret the fact that I will be spending the evening with my 18 years old secretary at the Comfort Inn Hotel.

Please don't be upset, I shall be back before midnight."

When the man came home late that night he found a reply of his letter on the dining room table:

"My Dear Husband,

I received your letter and thank you for your honesty about my being 54 years old.  I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that you are also 54 years old.

As you know, I am a maths teacher at our local college.  I would like to inform you that while you read this, I will be at the Hotel Fiesta with Michael, one of my students, who is also the assistant tennis coach.  He is young,virile and like your secretary, he is 18 years old.  You being a successful businessman with an excellent knowledge of maths you will understand that we are in the same situation, although with one small difference; 18 goes into 54 a lot more times than 54 goes into 18.

Therefore I will not be home until sometime tomorrow!!!"

Es By Maxime Lê

Ladies and gentlemen,

Over the course of the last four years, I've had the pleasure of posting other people's work on my blog, showcasing what I deem to be fantastic stories by extremely talented people.

This post is no exception.

Writing by a Twitter friend of mine, this story is designed to chill you to your bone.  Use the comment box below to voice your opinion on this story.

Enjoy!

Rhiannon Elizabeth Irons
Entry one: my youth.

So, I was born in a weird, fucked up way I guess. My parents were Satanists. It’s... not the best kind of religion, well, cult you’d want to be born in but I was born in it nonetheless. Right smack in the middle of a séance I broke my mother’s waters. My mom was too entranced by some spirit that supposedly came from Hell.

Thankfully my father noticed, or I would have dropped head first onto the floor and break the chalk pentagram and probably crack my skull open... or make my mom’s belly explode and I’d come screaming out like a baby Alien in Aliens. Anyways, he noticed and did some ending ritual and my mother came out of the trance – freaked out obviously. A couple of hours later, I came to this world!

“What should we name her?”  My father asked.

“Emily. Yes, Emily, like we’ve talked about. That’s a nice name!” my mother replied, in between tears of joy.

“Emily it is! Emily Mo—”

My dad was cut off by Child Services and a few Connecticut cops bursting in the deliverance room with full papers and permits obligating their possession of me and jailing my parents.

“Sir, Ma’am, you are under arrest, by the state of Connecticut police we relieve custody of your child.”

Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. My parents – other than being Satanists – were big time into cocaine. In the state of Connecticut my parents robbed several banks and they always moved houses when the slightest trace that the police might be onto them was presented. So being born to Satanic-coke-head-major-criminal parents, you could say the government didn’t want me in those hands at all.

So there I was just minutes into the world and the first thing I’m put in is an ambulance where a nurse tended to me. I was put up for adoption and a quite elderly senile couple who I came to know as “mom” and “dad” signed some papers and I became their daughter. The only thing Child Services liked about me was my name – Emily. They thought it was nice, and it’s the only thing of my not even a week past they’ve made me keep. They erased my last name, they erased my real parents. But now, I was named Emily Waters, daughter of Roger and Mary Waters.

Growing up was weird too. In preschool I was the only girl with blue eyes and black hair. Evidently I was the odd one out and I was always playing alone in the school yard or in class with my plastic doll I’d never let go. His name was Es. Es was the best. Es wasn’t just a doll.

Remember when I said that my mother was supposedly entranced by a spirit from Hell? Well, that spirit was Es. And he did come from Hell. That’s the only reason I know of my real parents’ past, because Es was haunting them all the time. Es told me he felt like my real father because he said he was always protecting me from danger inside the womb, and as soon as I got out.

I was attached to an old doll the Waters had in their home, so I took it with me everywhere, and Es took the opportunity to possess it. So Es became the doll, and Es came with me wherever I went to protect me. I’d have fits if I couldn’t take him anywhere. I bathed with him, played with him, and ate with him ... everything!

Es told me everybody’s dirty little secrets. In preschool, I found out that the most popular kid, Susan-with-gold-hair kissed Timmy-the-fast behind the big tree. Okay, sure, you might not think that’s a dirty little secret but hey, I was what... 5? And having had kissed a boy with cooties at 5 was a big deal back then.

As I grew up through preschool and moved on to elementary, and, well, bullying started to happen. Susan obviously started to pick on me. School and bullying came down to the basics of survival – being hunter, and prey. The biggest picked on the smallest, and I was the smallest in every case.

One day, I was playing with Es in the grass, and he was telling me about life, and how it worked. How we would all die eventually when suddenly he got picked up by Susan. And then an entourage started to form.

“Oh hey Emily!” she said in her chirpy voice.

I already had tears in my eyes – oh God what would happen to Es?

“Give him back.” I said, as I gritted my teeth, trying to sound as tough as I could with my 11 year old voice.

The crowd around us laughed... at me, the weird black haired girl who plays with her doll in 6^th grade.

“Oh? Or else what?”

“Or else he will hurt you!”

As I said that Es’ glass eyes turned to look at me, and it seemed only I noted his head bob.

“Well...” she said, grabbing a lock of his brown hair “I’ll just hurt him instead.”

A huge chunk of hair pulled out from the plastic holdings and flew away into the wind. Afterwards she threw him on the ground and smashed his face, one of his glass eyes shattering.

I let out a scream of rage at that time and balled my eyes out. She was hurting Es! Inside the deafening sound of my tears I could hear Es call out.

“It’ll be okay...I won’t leave without taking her with me.”

I silently nodded and whispered, “Goodbye, Es...”

“Goodbye Emily. You see? This is death for me, like I was telling you about. Live your life.”

“But, will you be back?”

“...Yes.”

“I’ll be waiting!”

“It might take years...”

“It doesn’t matter Es I’ll never forget you! But, how will you get revenge?”

“Watch the news tomorrow.”

So I did. It turns out she was cold bloodedly killed in the middle of winter by a mad man named Esteban while she was walking on her way home. He was recently released from a mental hospital – but ‘unfortunately’ he was released too early. At this point he was returned to the institution, and in his room bloody pentagrams were found on the floor. The blood couldn’t have been identified. It was nobody’s on their database, or any database. Mystery blood.

I personally think Es brought it back from Hell. The river Styx is a mixture of rotting bodies and boiling blood. I’ve never heard of Es again after the incident with Susan...

Entry two: My experience

It only took me a year to forget what happened to and with Es. He was out of my life and I was starting a new stage – puberty.

My periods started at 12 and so did physical changes to my body. My tits began to grow, and so did myself. By grade 8, at 13, I had the appearance of a young lady. I was still lonely in the two years of junior-high... until grade nine.

In freshman I discovered a whole new world, a world hidden from my youth. My parents had begun wondering why I came home so late most nights after school. I mostly lied to them and told them I was gone studying at a friend’s house or was helping out for volunteer hours.

But honestly I came home late because I met Joseph. Joseph was one of the Goth kids in my school who then introduced me to other Goths. I guess I took on their characteristics too, because they were socially outcasts as well, and since high school kids come from various places, there were various outcasts. They found each other, and eventually they – or Joseph – found me eating alone at the cafeteria.

So I started to dress like them, picking interest in their music, their style, and their habits. I wore all black most of the time which went well with my black hair. Joseph’s was blonde, but he dyed his black to match mine.

Honestly, most of my after school’s were spent at or with Joseph. We got to know each other more and more and eventually I started to like him, which I promised myself I wouldn’t do, but couldn’t help but fall for his charm. He was a stranger; he became my friend, my bestfriend, and then, my boyfriend.

The way he and I hung out was by going out back in a little forest, maybe have a few friends around too, and he’d take out some weed and some paper rolls, and we’d light a joint. Jesus Christ, not the Christian’s messiah, but the figure of speech, marijuana becomes your best friend. 

We’d burn every few days and it came in easy supply. We had friends in high (haha, punny) places and always managed to get our hands on some. We never got in deep with the cops or a gang – which was good.

One night Joseph came over to my house, to meet my parents. They didn’t bother me too much about my style – they knew it was a teen thing, so they didn’t mind Joseph either. We’d both grow out of it eventually. He was nice and polite. So trustworthy enough that they let him spend the night with me as they went to a private high class party.

Fantastic, we had the house all to ourselves! The one place my parents knew never to go in was in my room – for they were forbidden. I didn’t want them to see Es and I have talks, I didn’t want them to take him away from me. They know now that I’ve stopped playing with him and taking him everywhere, but where he’s gone they know not where. He’s dead. He’s in Hell, punished by the Devil and other Demons.

You’re probably guessing why I wanted to go to my room. In my room, my parents weren’t allowed in, obviously, and my perfume would hopefully mask the skunk scent of weed. So we went in, locked the room and shared a joint.

I got buzzed hardcore that night. Everything he said was hilarious. Even his proposal to fuck.

“Hey, Em, let’s... fuck.”

I giggled and giggled and maybe even snorted, but Joseph somehow saw a yes in all that. I didn’t disagree, though. It’s been a full year, and soon, a year and three months. It was bound to happen anyway, so I did let it happen.

He climbed on top of me and undid my black chemise, revealing my white bra.

“...White...”

“...It’s... nice. Okay?”

He smiled and just kissed me while unclipping my bra, and he gently took it off and made it fall to the ground. He didn’t look at my bare chest at first; he was covering it with his strong body and kissing me. I could feel him getting stiff, and honestly it got me wet. 

As he made his way down my chest and fondled with my 32B’s, I started to undo my black jeans and slid them off, revealing my black panties.

“Mmm... I like this better.” He said very sensually, looking up at me as he winked.

I giggled of horny-ness and of being high. I don’t know how much time we’ve spent, but the buzz was slowly lying off, and he still wasn’t in me.

He wanted to get me more wet, first, I guess, so he slid his hands in and euphoria kicked in – and Oh. My. God. Fuck the weed, this is better.

My back arches and I moan in pleasure and he goes in and out, but then suddenly a loud crash is heard from the basement...

The power gets knocked out.

Entry three: My horror

Ho-lee-fucking-shit. Worst mood kill ever. No electricity = no light, no heat. I suppose we could make our own heat but... he pulled out and dried his fingers, trying the light switch.

“The power’s out.”

“Joseph, don’t leave me like this.”

“No, babe, I’ll be back. We learned this is physics today – how to deal with a circuit box.”

“But... it’s dark. Want me to come with you?”

“Sure, just stay behind me I don’t want you to trip on something.”

He lit the way with an app on his iPhone and we made it to the basement. The darkness was thick, and his phone got sapped of its energy. The light disappeared, darkness surrounded us.

“Hang on, stay right here. I think I know where the switch is.”

Bad idea Joseph... bad idea... I thought to myself. I didn’t want to lose him.

A hand quickly found mine and he said, “I found it, c’mon!”

He dragged me with all his might across the cold concrete floor and my feet slipped in something slimy. I didn’t remember anything falling over or anything... anyways, it stuck to my feet and its light “splish” on the floor echoed throughout the black silence.

“Ah, here.”

He let’s go of my hand, and with a loud metallic clang the power comes back on.

When my eyes get readjusted I immediately just checked what was under my feet. It was red..., I looked down and I see that I’ve left red footsteps. As I trace them back from the source, they begun by me landing in a wide, dark red pool of liquid, and still the vibrations of splashing make it blurry. I look up to see the source...

And its Joseph hanging from the ceiling, his throat was cut open, what’s left of his blood still spurting out.

Entry four: Six 6 VI

From what I saw with the tears in my eyes, a line of blood flowed out and formed letters. Letters became words, words became phrases. 

They read:

Emily having a good time?

‘Specially since you’ve forgotten me...

Forgotten you? Forgotten who? At the time I couldn’t help myself but to think who!? I was just in so much shock. Joseph, dead. The boy who just pleasured me... dead! I noticed something strange about the letters of the phrases... they both began with a -- the door bell rang.

Ding dong...

Ding dong...

Good! Someone’s here! I ran towards the stairs, but the blood on my feet made me slip, and cut open my chin. God DAMN it hurt.

Ding dong...

Ding dong...

It could be that my parents were back! What time was it anyways? As I got to the kitchen the clock read 6. Six? Couldn’t be. My parents left by then.

Ding dong...

Ding dong...

At the 6^th ring, the person stopped.

I answer the door.

It’s not my parents, it’s a police officer. Thank God.

“Sir! Oh please sir! My friend just got murdered in the basement! You’ve got to help him please!”

He didn’t seem normal...his eyes seemed... empty.

On the floor he dropped some printed out pictures. I picked them up, my hands trembling violently. With some light I could make out what it was. In the background were crashed cars, possibly on fire. But the center of the frame was what caught my eye. Four people dead. Their faces burned off, one is missing a head. They’re placed in a specific order. A male, missing his head was placed in a “C” shape, but flipped. Another male, his head thin and bony, also a “C” shape, but under the first. Then, two women, placed in a “5” shape.

Upon observing closer, the number the picture was a picture of the number 35 made of four humans.

“...Who are these people?” I hesitantly asked the cop. I thought I knew an answer... but was too afraid of it.

“Your real and adoptive parents.”

That’s it. I balled my eyes out. Something was happening.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Six gun shots. The officer was down – he had shot himself. No police car, either.

6 rings, 6 shots, on the 6^th hour.

I scream and terror and run into my room, and lock the door. Behind it I hear nothing, silence. In my room there is peace.

But... only one thing disturbs the quiet of this room. In the corner of my eye I notice the rocking of a crib...

Screak...

Screak...

Screak...

It stopped rocking. I blink long, I blink hard, and I open my eyes, still quite watery.

There’s no more crib.

I’m not in my room.

I’m not anywhere.

I blink again.

I’m in the centre of the pentagram, my parents’ bodies float in the air, the shape of the number 35. Joseph’s hanging body shows “Emily having a good time? ‘Specially since you’ve forgotten me...” I understand now.

Es. He’s back. He’s back and he’s angry – I’ve forgotten him.

I blink again, and there he is. His torn hair, broken eye, thrashed clothes and broken head, standing in front of me. 

This is the end.

“Your mom transferred the curse when she gave birth to you.”

“That’s why you’ve been following me all my life... why didn’t you stay dead?”

“A curse never dies, a curse is reborn.”

“What happens... when I die?”

Es presents me with a book, and a bloody pen.

“Write your biography. Make it short. ”

Reader, this is what you’re reading. My final words are what lay after this.

I sincerely hope you don’t

Lay your eyes upon

The words that are before you... the

Curse can only be transmitted

Upon thee who witness, or hear of it

You, my dear, just did...........................................................................................................

Look behind you, Es will be watching. 

New Years Nightmare Part Two

After somewhat of a huge and eventful time out from writing on Rei's blog I'm back and finally I can bring to you my second part of New Year's Nightmare. It has been almost a year in the making so I sure hope it has been worth the wait!

Groggy and disorientated, Toby slowly began to regain consciousness, his neck swollen and bruised from the syringe that had been plunged into him. As he began to avert his eyes to regain as perfect vision as possible, he released he was tied up. Tied to a chair with rope as thick as the beautiful blonde's hair whom he had pursued, Toby gradually began to re-gather his thoughts and track back to the events that had occurred on New Year’s night.

The room he was currently situated in was minimalistic to say the least; plan white walls surrounding him and another chair opposite, currently sitting empty. Nothing more, nothing less. Attempting to wrangle himself out of the tied knots, Toby began to feel sweat drip down his brow, he had never imagined he would be in a situation like this. Who would? It's not every day you expect to be kidnapped by a beautiful woman and left tied up in some hell-hole in a remote part of London. Just as he thought he had make a breakthrough in untying, the door to the room opened. It was her.

A wry smile on her smile, the slim blonde made her way towards him, the echoes of her stiletto heels reaching every corner of the room as they made contact with the floor. As she approached Toby her arms wrapped around him seductively, sending a sense of confusion rushing through his head - was this a game, a kidnapping, what? As these thoughts multiplied, he could feel her soft breath on his ear and they parted to unveil a laugh that sent spasms down his spine in its severity. He knew he has in deeper than he ever could have imagined.

"Why don't you just let me go, I mean no harm to you, I was just looking for a bit of fun, that's all." Toby pleaded, convinced his words of honesty could talk round his captor.

"But the fun is just about to start..."

With that the door slammed opened to a muscular brutish figure, wearing a black boiler suit and an intimidating stare that could have turned mere mortals to stone. As he grabbed the door with his larger-than-life hands and closed it behind him, the blonde moved swiftly over to him offering the slightest of kisses on the cheek and stood behind him, preparing herself for the events to follow.

On the powerful figure’s face came a wry smile as he whispered,

“This is the sinner...”

“Yes, sir.” The lady in red nodded in agreement.

The boiler suit-clad monster of a man then walked up towards Toby, every footstep echoing round the minimalistic room and sending a shudder down the unwitting victim’s spine. He was helpless to whatever pain was set to come his way; all he could do was compose himself and brace his body for a severe lesson of brutality.

The man looked him up and down with a look of disgust upon his face. As he brushed his hand around his mouth his chapped lips opened and a booming voice rose from within.

“So you’re the guy who thinks he can swan in, take young Rosa and plant your demon seed?”

Toby shook his head immediately and began to stutter out his words.

“I..I..I..I don’t know what you’re talking about. She gave me the eye and I felt obliged to go and talk to her. She looked absolutely gorgeous so naturally I did what I thought best and go speak to her. How was I supposed to fucking know she was gonna coax me into this shithole?! Whatever you are going to do just do it; I just wanna go home!!”

The mysterious man laughed and shook his head.

“I’ve seen your type before and taught people like you lessons. You don’t intimidate us, you know that. Guys like you are after one thing, and that’s the devil’s work!”

At those words Toby suddenly noticed a cross around the man’s neck and fears of being at the mercy of some sort of cult dawned upon him.

“You see, we are a very special group of individuals you cretin. We are god’s disciples, the saviour’s of this decaying world and those who will restore balance in the world. Individuals like who will be banished and converted into real people instead of the demon spawns that you currently exist as. This world will be pure again thanks to our hard work.”

Toby could not believe what he had just heard.

“You’re fucking crazy you know that! It’s people like you who cause pain and suffering in this world. Religion is the fucking thing that causes war, you know that. I’m not converting for anyone. I know my rights, my beliefs and I believe that you people are fucking crazy.”

The man began to pace around the room looking at the floor, maintaining the wry smile upon his face.

“You have no idea who you are dealing with here my friend. It is God’s will for us to cleanse and create an improved world where all those who have and do wrong are banished and reborn. We have the power to make this world a better place and it all starts with people like you. You revel in your sex, your alcohol and your pettiness without worry about the causes and now something must be done to eradicate all your sins. You see Toby, we are the ones who can make you a better person.”

Toby’s heart skipped a beat as the mere mention of his name shocked him to the core.

“How the fuck do you know my name?!”

“You see Toby, like I said, you have no idea who you are dealing with my friend. Even those closest to you may not be who they seem.”

Then opened the door to the room and stepped in two very familiar faces – Jo and Carl.

“Welcome to the Pacifiers Toby, you’re either with us or against us.”

Toby could not believe what he was seeing as Carl approached him, fist clenched, and landed the deadliest of punches square on his jaw.

Toby’s nightmare was set to continue in what was a year that he already wanted to forget.