However, his brain still played tricks on him. Paranoia set in, like it always did for Rupert. It was instinct.
His beliefs meant he didn’t believe in ghosts and ghouls, but he did believe in fate, judgment, the revelations, and he also believed in karma too. That was his own belief: that you get what you deserve, so if you treat people nicely, the favour is returned in kind. Everything happens for a reason, and God will smite you down should you sin.
Being kidnapped, held prisoner and at the mercy of a death-trap had not been something he’d expected. This was the act of a beast, a man who didn’t adhere to the rules of God, to the beliefs of the church. This wasn’t karma, this wasn’t judgement. This was brutality at its very worst.
So why is my house here?
Rupert felt the need to cry now. To weep out of confusion or frustration. Maybe both.
This, he believed, is what horror movies were made of. True life horror was something he only ever saw on daytime TV shows and bad movies.
Rupert stood up and walked to his hallway, then moved back into the kitchen again. He studied the room, convinced he would find something incriminating about it. Proof that, indeed, this wasn’t his house. But he saw none.
No one could make this good a replica of his home in just a day. Or even in two or three days. If, in fact, that was the length of time he’d been out for. How could his kidnappers capture the smells, atmosphere and general ambience that is part and parcel of a lived-in home?
Rupert decided to stop thinking about it.
He left the room and walked towards the front door. The latch was off. He turned it to lock it. He couldn’t analyse what had happened right now, his head hurt and he needed a wash. At this moment a nice long shower and a drink would be a treat.
Rupert turned back to his stairs and walked up to the bathroom. The door slammed behind him.
Downstairs, the front door’s latch unlocked itself.
The door opened and a figure stepped through. The door closed behind the intruder, and locked itself again.
The person just stood there, until the sound of the shower broke the silence. Carrying a heavy green bag, the new arrival moved to the lounge.
Upstairs, Rupert began to sing.
***
The first man tapped a few keys and five different camera shots from the bathroom of Rupert’s house appeared on his monitor screen. He saw his man walking about taking off his clothes, running the shower, testing the heat with his hand before jumping under the hot spray. The water sprayed off his lithe body and misted the camera. Switching to a longer shot (the camera was hidden in the window frame) the man came into full view, his naked wet body filling the screen, with no misting apparent. Twisting under the hot water, the man massaged his skin, applied shower gel and soaped himself.
As he tapped another key, the picture changed to a view of downstairs.
Quite a different picture, this one of a naked man walking about. The man who’d entered Rupert’s house had already positioned a chair in the centre of the lounge, on the expensive rug that was in front of the fireplace. He was rifling through the kitchen drawers now for a knife. The figure disappeared from one camera and appeared again from another camera’s transmission, as he went into the lounge and opened a green bag. Bright light filled the screen as the figure removed a machete from it. The blade caught the light as the stranger placed it on the floor beside the chair, beside the four knives he had found in the drawer.
The person looked directly at the camera and smiled.
Then he disappeared, standing in a blind spot off-camera.
Dammit !
After tapping a few keys the shower scene returned, and the man was lathered up, the bubbles streaming down his rippled body. He applied white liquid to his hair and started to rinse it with the spray from the shower head. His lips moved incoherently, as if he was singing.
The observer unzipped the front of his
His beliefs meant he didn’t believe in ghosts and ghouls, but he did believe in fate, judgment, the revelations, and he also believed in karma too. That was his own belief: that you get what you deserve, so if you treat people nicely, the favour is returned in kind. Everything happens for a reason, and God will smite you down should you sin.
Being kidnapped, held prisoner and at the mercy of a death-trap had not been something he’d expected. This was the act of a beast, a man who didn’t adhere to the rules of God, to the beliefs of the church. This wasn’t karma, this wasn’t judgement. This was brutality at its very worst.
So why is my house here?
Rupert felt the need to cry now. To weep out of confusion or frustration. Maybe both.
This, he believed, is what horror movies were made of. True life horror was something he only ever saw on daytime TV shows and bad movies.
Rupert stood up and walked to his hallway, then moved back into the kitchen again. He studied the room, convinced he would find something incriminating about it. Proof that, indeed, this wasn’t his house. But he saw none.
No one could make this good a replica of his home in just a day. Or even in two or three days. If, in fact, that was the length of time he’d been out for. How could his kidnappers capture the smells, atmosphere and general ambience that is part and parcel of a lived-in home?
Rupert decided to stop thinking about it.
He left the room and walked towards the front door. The latch was off. He turned it to lock it. He couldn’t analyse what had happened right now, his head hurt and he needed a wash. At this moment a nice long shower and a drink would be a treat.
Rupert turned back to his stairs and walked up to the bathroom. The door slammed behind him.
Downstairs, the front door’s latch unlocked itself.
The door opened and a figure stepped through. The door closed behind the intruder, and locked itself again.
The person just stood there, until the sound of the shower broke the silence. Carrying a heavy green bag, the new arrival moved to the lounge.
Upstairs, Rupert began to sing.
***
The first man tapped a few keys and five different camera shots from the bathroom of Rupert’s house appeared on his monitor screen. He saw his man walking about taking off his clothes, running the shower, testing the heat with his hand before jumping under the hot spray. The water sprayed off his lithe body and misted the camera. Switching to a longer shot (the camera was hidden in the window frame) the man came into full view, his naked wet body filling the screen, with no misting apparent. Twisting under the hot water, the man massaged his skin, applied shower gel and soaped himself.
As he tapped another key, the picture changed to a view of downstairs.
Quite a different picture, this one of a naked man walking about. The man who’d entered Rupert’s house had already positioned a chair in the centre of the lounge, on the expensive rug that was in front of the fireplace. He was rifling through the kitchen drawers now for a knife. The figure disappeared from one camera and appeared again from another camera’s transmission, as he went into the lounge and opened a green bag. Bright light filled the screen as the figure removed a machete from it. The blade caught the light as the stranger placed it on the floor beside the chair, beside the four knives he had found in the drawer.
The person looked directly at the camera and smiled.
Then he disappeared, standing in a blind spot off-camera.
Dammit !
After tapping a few keys the shower scene returned, and the man was lathered up, the bubbles streaming down his rippled body. He applied white liquid to his hair and started to rinse it with the spray from the shower head. His lips moved incoherently, as if he was singing.
The observer unzipped the front of his
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