The Fear: Part Nine

This is the ninth part of a fiction serial, in 795 words.

Experiment One: Part two.
Subject: Michelle O’Connor.
Age: 44
Gender: Female.

Healthy eating and exercise meant I was sufficiently strong to be able to carry Shell downstairs easily. I took her handbag, coat and shoes, leaving her mobile phone connected to its charger in the kitchen. My small van had a folded duvet placed in the back ready, and I reversed it up the short driveway, close to her house. Wrapping her in the duvet, I placed her still unconscious onto the floor of the vehicle, then locked her front door after turning out the lights. The route back to my house had been chosen carefully, avoiding main roads with traffic cameras and speed traps. I drove carefully, giving no passing police cars any reason to stop me.

The container I placed her in was not unlike an incubator, except that it was adult size of course. A circular hole at the bottom would enable any human waste to be collected easily, and strong manacles would secure wrists and ankles. The lid could be locked in place if necessary, and two video cameras would record every reaction. Shell had to be naked of course, but the workshop was heated and air-conditioned, so clothing was not necessary. The reinforced perspex could not be easily damaged by anyone inside it, even if they were able to get free.

As I fastened the metal restraints, her naked female body obviously got my attention, as it was the first I had ever seen. But it did not arouse me in the least, and my only interest in it was clinical. When she was secure, I went to the back of the workshop to find the box I had prepared earlier.

Father has collected syringes of all shapes and sizes over decades of experimentation and invention. He used them for injecting lubricant into tiny gaps, or inserted them through spaces to be able to apply fine oils to complex parts. My intention was to use clean new ones, which I had found in abundance when clearing out his workshops. But I had kept the old ones too, in anticipation of just this situation arising. While Shell was still deeply unconscious, I scattered some around her, and on her body too.

It would be interesting to see the effect of them when she woke up. She would be unlikely to rouse for some hours, so I unfolded a camp-bed next to one of the benches, and got some sleep.

Her screaming seemed to be in my dream, and it took some time to realise it was actually happening. I wasn’t concerned of course, as the extra insulation I had built in not only kept the workshop much warmer, it served to deaden any sound too. Rolling off the camp-bed, I went and set the cameras to record, ignoring Shell’s hysterical babbling. Then I opened a notebook and began to jot down my observations.

She soon seemed to work out that struggling against the restraints was pointless. Instead, she tried to appeal to my better nature, asking to be freed, why I was doing this to her, and vowing to never tell anyone what had happened if I would only let her go. My refusal to engage with her in any way apparently made her angry too, and it was some time before the tirade of swearing and personal abuse subsided. Shell then resorted to offering me sexual favours in return for her release. All manner of strangely perverted sex acts were discussed in detail, with her assurance that I would find her both willing and enthusiastic.

I was careful to note those down, so I could look them up later.

When she finally stopped talking, I brought a bottle of water, and poured some into her mouth. She gulped it down greedily, dried out by the drug I had given her, and more than thirty minutes of screaming and chattering. There was a very interesting expression on her face as she watched me writing calmly. That caused me to change the lens setting on the camera above her head, zooming in to record the upper half of her face, including her eyes. I wanted a record of what I was seeing, so I could study it at leisure.

Thinking what to write down about my impression of this, I settled on the correct two words.

Abject terror.

Once the notes on her awakening were complete, I opened the box of new syringes and needles, choosing a suitably impressive 60 mm syringe, and attaching a large hypodermic needle, similar to the ones used for lumbar punctures.

As she saw me approach with it, Shell didn’t even scream. She just shook her head from side to side, the tears streaming down her face.

26 thoughts on “The Fear: Part Nine

  1. Yikes! Not sure if I can follow this serial all the way through, Pete. I’ll hang in there for a few more episodes. You know how much I enjoy your writing, so please understand that it’s me, not you.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Well I am going to have to quit this one. I love your writing in general, but this one is too creepy for me. I will pick up on the next series. And I love all the none Fear entries.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You are the second reader that cannot cope any more with this one. I’m not sure whether to take that as a ‘horror compliment’, or wonder if I have gone too far with this story. Probably just as well you did though, as it does get worse. πŸ™‚
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. (1) After reading this episode, I’m seriously Shell-shocked!
    (2) How much did Paul have to shell out for that van?
    (3) Shell cringes when she sees syringes.
    (4) “Shell had to be naked of course.” Clothes are like a shell. So Shell has now come out of her shell. (But if Shell has shed her shell, should she shy from shopping for shoes?)
    (5) I only feed my turtle in-shell peanuts.
    (6) Shell’s naked body was the first he’d ever seen. “But it did not arouse me in the least, and my only interest in it was clinical.” I said the same thing after my mother caught me with a secret stash of Playboy magazines. (“I swear, Mom! It’s strictly clinical curiosity!”)
    (7) “Shell then resorted to offering me sexual favours in return for her release. All manner of strangely perverted sex acts were discussed in detail, with her assurance that I would find her both willing and enthusiastic.” At this point, I would have caved.
    (8) “When Abject Terror Becomes That Obscure Object of Desire,” a novel based on the true story of two sisters, Sadie and Michelle (“S&M”) O’Connor. Injected with pointedly humorous anecdotes, the novel relates how extreme fear can generate maximum orgasmic pleasure.
    (9) “That caused me to change the lens setting on the camera above her head, zooming in to record the upper half of her face, including her eyes.” See the CSR Culture Shock Award at right for a screen shot taken while the camera was zooming in on Shell’s face.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You made the most of it, without resorting to ‘Shell sells sea shells by the sea shore’. πŸ™‚
      Chandler’s CSR gif is taken from Paul’s record of that weekend. Well spotted.
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 1 person

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