The Night my ADHD Almost Got me Killed

I’m not what you would call a particularly smart individual. I generally like to think it’s my ADHD that caused me to perform so poorly in school. But I haven’t exactly been diagnosed with it or anything. My dad is about as much of a dumb ass as me, but he did a good enough job for being a single parent and all.

Mom was a proud member of the pill-popping mothers of America, so she wasn’t in the picture for long after I came around. Last I heard, she’s up north somewhere, supposedly ‘working on herself’, or something. As far as I can tell, she’s been working on herself since long before I had no reason to yell ‘mama’ into the night. No sense dwelling on all of that, though.

So, yeah. I haven’t spent much time in doctors’ offices over the years, as my dad didn’t always have the time, insurance, or money to take me to get checked out. Hell, he won’t go to the hospital himself, if he can help it. I remember one time he came home from the garage with two fingers on his left hand taped together, with a bent welding rod on each side to keep them in place.

From what he said, the beat-up, old cherry picker gave out while they were trying to install a new motor in a lifted pickup truck. Dumb ass reached out to catch it when the chain slipped, snapping back his pinky and ring finger while the motor dropped to the ground. Supposedly, it damn near crushed his foot too–likely would have if he hadn’t been dancing around, cussing up a storm at the time.

He claimed that the emergency room likely wouldn’t be able to do much, other than charge him ten grand to hook him up with a more professional-looking splint. So he just took care of it himself. He was probably right, truth be told. Either way, after wearing that tape and welding rods for two months or so, his stubborn ass claimed his hand was back to normal. Like I couldn’t hear that clicking sound his pinky made afterward. Still does it to this day, too.

Anywho, short story long–we don’t really do doctors unless it’s absolutely necessary. So when my mind would drift something awful in just about every class (outside of shop and art, for one reason or another), I looked some stuff up online and assumed I had attention deficit disorder. It did account for my mind’s tendency to wander and all.

It didn’t help matters that most of my teachers were boring as shit! I mean, if it isn’t bad enough that for some reason, some asshole, years ago, decided it would be a good idea to throw letters into mathematical equations, my algebra teacher had to be pushing ninety, droning on in the most unenthused voice imaginable, while expecting his students to pay attention. I bet I counted every damn hole in that drop ceiling over the three years I spent repeating that damn class.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, the night I almost got myself killed. So, this was after high school, when I was working with my dad at the garage. He’s pretty tight with the owner since they went to school together too. I may not be the sharpest harpoon in the boat, but I’m pretty good with cars, just like my old man.

Honestly, I like working with him. I got my own place now, so I probably wouldn’t see him as much if it wasn’t for that. Plus the job pays pretty well, especially for a guy who took an extra couple of years to graduate high school. Sure, we fight like rabid cats sometimes, but a lot of the guys’ butt heads at the shop. Maybe it’s just the nature of that kind of work. It could be that we’re just a bunch of dysfunctional assholes too. But we’re all cool by the end of the day.

So, me and Dwayne–an older guy who had worked there since around the time dirt was invented, I think, had to head to the other side of Atlanta to pick up a car. Apparently, it belonged to the boss’s cousin’s kid or something, but he promised to get it fixed up for them. Given the fact that one of us was supposed to drive it back after we got there, I had to believe it wasn’t in too bad of a shape, but he didn’t specify anything about it.

It took us about two hours to get to the classy neighborhood–something that made me think this guy could surely afford to take care of any repairs at a closer garage. But I suppose even the wealthy folks aren’t about to turn away the chance for something for free. The ride down there wasn’t fun at all, with Dwayne blasting ancient country music the whole time.

I’m not trying to shit on anyone’s taste in music or anything, but that old stuff, back when it was still called country and western music, with the twangy guitar and depressing lyrics…Yeah. Not my thing. The old guy warbled the words so loud, it damn near ruptured my eardrums. Ok, I’m exaggerating, but the dude couldn’t sing for shit! It sounded like we had a damn Chihuahua wrapped around the front axle, trying to grab our attention while it beat its head against the concrete.

Once we pulled up in front of the massive house, I stayed back by the road to have a smoke while Dwayne went to the front door. Turned out, I had more than enough time to finish off the couple I had left with how long the old man ran his mouth for. Sure, it could’ve been the other guy who wouldn’t shut up. But I knew that my coworker was a talker when he wasn’t moaning out ancient song lyrics anyway.

When they finally finished up whatever four-hundred-page novel they had been reciting, Dwayne walked back to the truck, tossed me the keys, and nodded back to the gorgeous, metallic blue Mercedes in the driveway. I was actually pretty surprised he was letting me drive it. But he always looked as though he’d rolled around in a puddle of grease before even stepping a foot into the garage, so it was probably for the best.

He was already tearing off, howling that old country and western shit before I even got the car cranked. I suppose that was when I likely should’ve had the common sense to call him real quick before he got too far ahead of me. As I pulled out of the neighborhood I could never even hope to be able to afford to live in, it hit me that I had not paid the slightest bit of attention on the way there.

While my driver tortured the lyrics to every God-awful song, I just played mindless games on my cell phone, not so much as taking note of the first road or street sign. Still, regardless of the fact that I had no idea of where I was at the time, other than it being somewhere on the other side of Atlanta, I knew I could allow the GPS on my phone to take the wheel.

For those first ten minutes or so, everything was going great. I managed to keep my thoughts focused enough to pay attention to the computerized voice guiding the path ahead. Naturally, it was right as my phone led me to some back road in the middle of the Georgia boonies, that the damn thing died.

Maybe if I’d thought to charge it before heading out, I wouldn’t have drained the battery trying to entertain myself while Dwayne warbled his songs. Hell, if I’d even brought my charger with me, it would’ve been something. But the owner of the car I was trying to get back to the shop had made sure to clean the damn thing out, not so much as leaving an old stick of chewing gum in the glove compartment.

Being surrounded by nothing even remotely familiar to my eyes, I took off again, this time in search of a gas station. Not only would that likely be my best chance to get some directions, maybe even a map, but I finished my last cigarette while I waited for Dwayne and the owner of the car to finish their extended sermon or whatever.

I wasn’t about to light up in this classy car or anything, even if I did pick up the scent of smoke in the upholstery. But getting myself lost had most certainly caused me a craving or four. I was still verbally kicking my ass for not paying attention on the ride when I pulled into some old gas station and bait shop combo.

The whole place smelled like two-week-old roadkill. But I breathed through my mouth for long enough to grab a fresh drink, a ‘king-sized’ candy bar, snatch up a map, and ask for a fresh pack of smokes. The old guy behind the counter looked like he hadn’t bathed or done laundry since Easter, had about five teeth in his mouth and maybe fourteen hairs in all–each one pasted across the top of his scalp in the worst attempt at a combover I’d ever seen.

“Would you happen to know how to get to the interstate from here?” I asked, likely sounding nasal as hell with my nostrils blocking the stench of the place.

“Yuh-huh,” he replied, wearing a wide smile that revealed I may have been overestimating the number of teeth after all, “Whatcha wan’ do is take a right, foller ‘at road fer a good seven miles, an’…”

‘I think I have that same shirt,’ I thought, with my eyes drifting from his mouth to the stained button-up, ‘I think you may have misaligned those buttons, bucko. Did you really try to slip that center button into two slots? Is it this place that smells like shit, or you? Why am I being such an asshole? What the fuck is it my business if this guy doesn’t own a toothbrush or a shower?’

“… that’ll take ye right to it,” he said, finishing the directions I had not remotely paid attention to.

“Oh, um…so, I take a right out of here, and..?”

“S’right,” he replied, laughing under his breath, “was you even list’nin’?”

“Yeah!” I lied, “I just want to be sure, you know?”

“Lookie,” he began again, drooling slightly from his chuckles and a large wad of chewing tobacco,” take ‘at first right, foller that fer ’bout seven miles. After ‘at, ye’ll see a red…”

‘Just spit already!’ I thought, my eyes following the thick, brown drool as it dropped from his chin to his shirt, ‘you have a bottle right there! Just spit, wipe your damn mouth, and…shit.’

“…when ye see the old farmhouse up on the hill, ye should be ’bout there. Take ‘at second left after…”

‘SPIT! For crying out loud, I know you gotta feel it leaking down your chin! I know smoking is a nasty enough habit, but bleagh, that shit’s gross! Just…’

“…and that’ll take ye right to it,” he finished, just glaring at me as though a large question mark just appeared above my head, “you got it now?”

“Um, yeah…um…thanks,” I said, snatching up my bag of goodies, turning on my heels, and swiftly heading through the door.

Yes, I felt like a very special sort of idiot for not even being able to hang in there long enough for some simple directions, but I still felt confident I’d heard enough to get by. “Take ‘at first right,” he said, and that’s exactly what I planned to do, after indulging in a well-earned cigarette.

As I lit one up, feeling that peculiar sensation of being watched, I turned to see the old guy staring out at me, as though wondering why I hadn’t gotten moving yet, given his masterful directions I had been mentally checked out for, twice. I just waved back at him, feeling more uncomfortable by the second, wearing a grin I know had to be downright goofy. He did not return either of my gestures, only glared back at me with a very puzzled expression on his face.

Though I had barely cleaned off half of my smoke, I dropped it to the ground, smeared it out with my shoe, and got back in the car, backing out as soon as it cranked up. I gave one last glance back at the strange old man, who still just glared at me, even with another customer seemingly awaiting his change. I just gave a nod and left the old bait/gas station in the dust, taking that first right as suggested.

Sure enough, seven miles up that road, I saw a large, red barn, next to an intersection–a four-way intersection of all things. Had this not been the point in which my mind wandered each time the old guy attempted to lend me a hand, I may have had the slightest idea which road to take.

I just parked there, studying each of the roads that looked no different from one another–not in any way that read as the most likely to lead to the interstate anyway. I unfolded the map I’d picked up at the bait shop, staring at it like I was attempting to decipher the DaVinci code. This being the first time I had ever looked at a map, other than a passing glance or three, I couldn’t so much as narrow down my location at the time.

Finally, giving up on that, folding the damn thing back up to the best of my ability, I just tossed it on the passenger seat and resumed my stare down with the intersection. I have no idea how long I sat in place, feeling like Sherlock Holmes attempting to deduce the clues most likely to indicate who bludgeoned Lady Whitheringtonton to death or some shit when a horn from behind snapped me back to reality.

Feeling as though I had just experienced a stroke of genius, I rolled down the window to wave the large, green pickup truck to go around me, hoping that I could potentially follow them back to civilization. When they slowly pulled alongside me, the guy in the passenger seat (who looked about seven feet tall and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet), stared down at me like I was recording a topless TikTok or something, before they turned to the left, hitting the gas as soon as the wheels straightened back out.

Taking that as my hopeful indicator of the correct path, I threw the Mercedes back in gear and began my pursuit. While I didn’t stop to consider that this may seem somewhat unsettling to those guiding the road ahead, as I waved them onwards only to follow behind, it didn’t take me long to lose sight of them. This being an especially windy road–one with which I wasn’t remotely familiar, I hadn’t a chance of keeping up with those who seemingly had no issues navigating it.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, after seeing not the slightest trace of anything or anyone, I was beginning to feel as though I had made the worst decision possible. Granted, I couldn’t be sure how far I had actually traveled since leaving that intersection behind, as the road had more curves than my ex-girlfriend, making it so I could barely break forty miles an hour.

There wasn’t even anywhere to turn around–no driveways, no branching roads, only two skinny lanes, and a shit ton of sharp lefts and rights. I swear whoever designed that damned road must have been fifty shades of plastered at the time. I halfway thought about attempting to make a U-turn and head back to that four-way, but I didn’t need to risk getting the wheels lodged in the ditch or anything. I was already lost, the last thing I needed was to be stranded as well.

Another twenty minutes or so later, as I was beginning to feel more hopeless than a hooker in a monastery, I was finally greeted with the sight of a right turn ahead. It looked like a much smoother road than the one I was on, so I considered just using it to turn back the way I came until the subtle light ahead encouraged me to check it out. Not only was I in no rush to head back to that intersection, only to have another choice to make, but I had to believe that the illumination was a sign of civilization at last.

About five miles up that straight as an arrow, and baby-smooth road, I finally saw life beyond my own ahead, but not in the way I’d hoped. It looked like some sort of fancy mansion, all lit up like Christmas morning. The closer I got, the more out of my element I felt. There were maybe nine or ten vehicles parked out front, most of which looked as though I could never afford to make a single payment, let alone own one outright. But that same green pickup was third from the end in the row.

Given that this was the first thing I’d seen besides trees and potholes in God knows how long, it wasn’t exactly a surprise to see the roads only other travelers. But I hoped they wouldn’t think I was some kind of weirdo if I did run into them in person. With the fairly wide parking area, I didn’t exactly have a hard time finding an open spot. But I was still hesitant about walking up and knocking on the door.

I couldn’t make out any sounds coming from the massive house that was easily five or seven times the size of my place, regardless of the veritable hoard of what I assumed to be visitors parked out front. If nothing else, I hoped somebody inside would be willing and able to help me find my way home. But as I climbed out of the Mercedes, I was suddenly in no rush to find out.

Being not exactly a people person, I wasn’t fond of asking strangers for assistance, especially in their own house in which I likely wouldn’t be welcome. So I lit another cigarette while I muddled over my next steps. I felt my whole back tense up with nerves when the front door swung open, revealing a pretty and glamorous blonde who stared right at me when she walked out.

“Hi,” she mouthed, giving me a wave.

I just waved back, uncertain of anything else to do at the time.

As she closed the door behind her, walked down the steps, and paced toward me, she maintained that friendly grin the whole time. It wasn’t a fake smile either–it didn’t come off that way anyway. If anything, it seemed more of an expression that only the closest of friends or family would wear–that ‘I’m genuinely happy to see you’ smile.

While I was parked at the end of the row of crazy expensive vehicles, she didn’t have all that far to travel to get to me. The way she moved in that tight-fitting and slinky black dress, it was more like she floated across the pavement rather than placing one foot before the other. She was both elegant and absolutely gorgeous–quite far removed from the women I would talk to on a more regular basis.

“Can I bum one of those?” she asked, breathing the words in a sultry voice while gesturing to the cigarette I still held.

“Oh…yeah, of course,” I replied, pulling the pack from my pocket and flipping open the lid.

“Thanks! I’ve been dying for a drag, but daddy doesn’t approve,” she said, rolling her eyes with a giggle, “So, are you the guy? I thought you’d be bigger…and not as cute.”

“Huh? No…um, I was just hoping I could maybe get some directions back to the interstate. Got myself turned around a while back and…”

“Wait, you ended up here completely by chance?” she said with a laugh that lit up her whole face, “what are the odds of that!?”

“Well, I mean, this was the only place for miles, y’know? I hadn’t seen nobody, um, anyone for a while. Just hoped I could…”

“I gotcha,” she said, laying a hand on my arm, still giving me that warm smile, “it’s not hard to find. All you have to do is head back the way you came until you get to a four-way intersection, you with me?”

“Yeah. I think that’s where I got mixed up, to be honest.”

“Okay, so when you get there, take that left. Follow that for about…”

‘I can barely believe how glamorous this woman is,’ I thought, my eyes enraptured as she moaned her words, ‘She looks maybe a few years older than me. Of course, that could easily just be the effect of her makeup and perfectly styled, shoulder-length hair. But she’s, like, movie star hot! This is not the average girl, by any means. And she’s talking to me like an old friend! Even though we’ve never met, it’s just…shit…’

“…another right after that, and you should hit the exit after a couple of miles.”

“Um, so left at the four-way,” I stated, pretending I’d paid the slightest bit of attention to what came next.

“Yup yup,” she said, slipping her hand from my arm.

“Well, I can’t thank you enough. I guess I’ll…”

“You wanna come in for a bit? We’re having a little get-together, and I know you’ve got to be hungry or thirsty after all the driving.”

“Um, nah. I really should get going,” I said, knowing full well that my dad would either be worried or pissed by this point–likely both, to be honest, “but I really do appreciate your help.”

“You suure?” she asked in a playful voice, stroking my arm again, “we could talk more if you come inside.”

“Believe me, I would love nothing more, but…”

“That’s that then,” she giggled, snatching me by the hand, flicking the butt of her cigarette to one side, “everyone’s gonna love you, I just know it!”

“But…I really need to…I mean, I’m not dressed for…”

“Oh quit playing hard to get,” she said, giggling some more, “you know you wanna.”

She wasn’t wrong, of course. Not to overshare or anything, but it had been a while. Okay, the Sahara desert has probably been going through a shorter dry spell than me. But surely someone as intoxicating as this gorgeous blonde couldn’t really be interested in me like that, right? Yeah, I was certain she was just being friendly and all, but I wasn’t going to argue with the chance to find out–not that she was giving me much of a choice in the matter.

“What’s your name, cutie?” she asked, opening the door to the strangely intimidating mansion.

“Um, Bill…Billy Saxon…most people call me Sax.”

“Well isn’t that Sax-y,” she said, chuckling again while biting her lower lip, “You’re so cute…I could just eat you up!”

Yeah, she was totally leading me on, but I was lapping it up like an attention-starved puppy. I’ve never been what you could call especially good-looking or anything, but I try to keep in shape. Sort of goes with the job really, given the heavy lifting and working with my hands and all. But she seemed like someone who likes to play games. Still, I mean, I had to go with it, right?

When she pulled me into a wide dining area type of room, there were only a handful of other people there: an older man and woman, each with gray and white hair and a look on their face like they were watching their favorite beagle dropping the kids off at the fire hydrant. Three men who looked like they could be the blonde’s brothers, and a pretty brunette, wearing a black skirt and white top.

They all looked directly at me when the girl finally let my hand drop from hers, glancing back at me with an oddly proud expression.

“This is Billy, everyone, but you can call him Sax! He got himself lost, and ended up here completely by accident!” She made an exaggerated pouty face with that.

“Is that right,” the older guy said, looking like he could smell the sweat that was forming on my lower back.

“Yup yup,” the blonde said, “so whatcha think?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah…you have a lovely home…um”

“Selena,” she replied, cupping her hand beneath my chin, “Se-li-na,” she pulled open my mouth with each syllable, flapping her own open and shut to mimic how I must have looked to her.

“Oh, do stop that, ‘Lina,” the thinner of the well-dressed men said.

“Aw, come on. I’m just having a little fun!”

“Well, I’m certain you’re making him feel…”

While they bantered back and forth, I just gazed around the large room, attempting to not notice the especially judgy eyes of the older couple. Seeing them as her folks, I was reminded that my dad would likely be getting pretty heated if I didn’t show up soon. Hell, he was likely more worried about the car than me, to be honest. I’m not trying to sound like a dick or anything, but work comes first, and I was on the job at the time.

We’d always been pretty close, my old man and me, but he was a working man through and through, and he expected the same of me. I just hoped that…wait. What did he just say?

“I’m not ‘playing with my food’, Charles,” the blonde said, making exaggerated air quotes, “I’m just having fun. You should try it sometime.”

“Um, what?” I asked, right before something jabbed into my neck, causing the lights to dim before me almost immediately.

“Nighty night, Sax-y boy,” was the last thing I heard before hitting the floor.

When I woke up–when I was forced back to awareness by some guy jarring my shoulder so hard I thought I may suffer from late-stage shaken baby syndrome, I couldn’t see much of anything. From what I could make out, I was in some sort of large cage, with two other captives, one of which being the guy who snapped me out from whatever our hosts had stuck me with.

Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, while I still felt pretty loopy from the drugs, I saw the tall and skinny guy who had rode shotgun in the green truck that halfway led me here. The other man, who I assumed to be the one in the driver’s seat, was not as tall, but twice as stocky. They both had similar features–the same freckled face and light red hair, patchy beard stubble, and wide noses. So when they introduced themselves as the Hodge brothers, I wasn’t exactly surprised.

“I’m Earl,” the slender guy said in a surprisingly deep voice, “this is Burt.”

“Bill – Billy,” I replied, still feeling out of it, “what the hell is this?”

“Dunno,” the big guy said in a surprisingly gentle and almost squeaky tone, “but I’m sure it ain’t nothin’ good”

“Yeah, we come out here to pick up a couch they had up for sale. Turns out, there wasn’t no sofa, just a damn cell,” Earl said with a sigh.

“Hell, I ended up here by accident…got turned around, y’know?”

“You was the one at the four-way!” Burt said, “thought you was high or somethin’. Thought you was follerin’ us too after you come out after us.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said with a slightly embarrassed chuckle, “wished I’d just rolled the dice on one of the other roads now.”

“Wish daddy hadn’t puked all over our couch too!” Earl said, shaking his head, “couldn’t get that smell out fer shit! Figured the one we come out here fer was too good for the money they was askin’. Fitty bucks for a full-on sectional! Shoulda knowed it was just too damn good to…shit…”

He cut his words short when a door opened, shedding light on the otherwise darkened room. It was almost blinding at first, even though it looked as though it came from the top of a staircase, some ten or fifteen feet away. When heavy feet began to stomp down to the level we were on, I felt my stomach lurch from fear of whatever they had in store for us.

I just stared up at the glow silhouetting the group who strolled down as casually as if they were fetching a bottle from the wine cellar. My heart was jackhammering with the hope of finding a way out of this seeming incredibly more unlikely by the second. One thing was certain, though: whatever this batshit crazy family had planned for us, we were about to find out.

Selena walked behind the three men in neatly tailored suits, seemingly having left their folks and other sister upstairs. Whether or not they were involved with whatever was going on here didn’t much matter to me at the time. The blonde still looked as happy and carefree as she did before, as though she was about to pet her new fluffy puppy, rather than touching base with her prisoners.

“Let us go you som’bitches!” Burt said as soon as they came into view, “y’all ain’t got no right to keep us like this!”

“And what rights have you?” the self-important-looking guy, with the slicked back, dark hair and glasses asked.

“What’s ‘at s’pose to mean?” Earl snapped.

The taller of the four, with spiky, brown hair strolled casually up to the bars, raising his head to be able to continue looking down his upturned, pointy nose at us.

“You are the dregs of this world, buddy-boy–all three of you…”

“Hey!” I barked, having nothing else prepared to add to that.

“All you do is drink, and fuck. And eat, and fuck. Pop your little pills…and fuck, spilling your seed wherever it may land. Spreading your stain every time you procreate. You are…”

‘You’re the fuckin’ dregs, you damn, uppity douche-balloon!’ I thought, ‘That’s what I shoulda said. Yeah, you pompous little, ratty-haired prick, in your fancy suit and stuck-up pointy nose!’ Ugh! I can’t stand these sorts of holier-than-thou assholes who think they rule the damn world. Sure, they got all the money and business sense, and all that shit, but what else? Bet they wouldn’t know how to change a transmission on their high-priced, panty-dropping cars.

Speaking of which, is it wrong that I still keep eyeballing the blonde? Sure, she had most definitely been leading me on to get me into her house and all, but man she looked good in that painted-on dress. Damnit! What the hell am I thinking!? What’re you gonna do? Ask her out for a cheap ass beer when she gets done eating your liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti!? Wait…did I hear that right!?’

“You’re gonna what?” Earl asked, whimpering slightly as he backed away from the bars.
“We…are…going…to…dine…on…you..,” snooty-looking, slicked back hair guy said, mockingly slowly.

“Y’all some sick mother fuckers…” Burt said, shaking his head in apparent denial.

Selena was giggling, bouncing up and down on her heels, and clapping her hands like a lunatic. Safe to say, I found her a good deal less attractive by that point.

When the other guy walked down the stairs, flexing each likely high-priced step under his massive feet, I understood that they were not just toying with us, or playing some sick joke to get their rocks off and whatnot. He looked like about four hundred pounds of rock-solid muscle, wearing a wife-beater and a leather apron that was covered in brown and red stains, likely from many previous dinner specials. He didn’t have a lick of hair on his head, nor did he remotely resemble any of the other residents of the house.

I figured he was…’the guy’, Selina momentarily mistook me for, though I saw not the slightest resemblance between us. Likely some kind of very special chef or something, like the Gordon Ramsay for the upper-crusty cannibals of the country.

‘This week on Cooking with the Rich and Shameless: Pier, the People Pickler, whips up a deluxe batch of redneck genitals to tease your palate. Stay tuned for the recipe for Country-fried Gonads on a bed of caviar and parsley.’

Fuck me. We were screwed!

“Not all at once, of course,” the spiky-haired guy said, “that would just be a waste, after all. So, who will be the first?”

“I want the cute one,” Selena said, still lit up like a birthday girl.

It’s not often that I don’t want to be considered ‘the cute one’ to a pretty girl. But I was most certainly hoping she was more into skinny or stocky guys at this point.

“I want Sax-y boy! He looks delicious!” she said, bouncing in place again.

While I attempted to take the sentiment and flattery in a more positive way than her having a craving for what she may consider the more adorable set of kidneys between the three of her captives, I wasn’t exactly giddy about it.

“Oh, do shut up, ‘Lina,” the slick hair and glasses guy said, “you are not the only vote you know?”

“I want the big guy,” the other, more slender guy with black hair added, “I like a bit of gristle on my meat.”

“I could care less,” spiky-haired guy said, “but we do need to make a decision soon. I’m positively famished!”

“In that case, I will add my vote for ‘the cute one’ as well,” slick said, mimicking his sister’s exaggerated air quotes from earlier.

‘Well shit’, I thought, letting out a heavy sigh. While I held onto the hope that the stone-faced beast of a chef may get a vote, it would only tie things up at best. Of course, given the way the quartet of spoiled rich kids regarded him, he seemed nothing more than hired help to them. Plus, he hadn’t spoken even the first word since strolling into the room.

“Yay!” Selena said, now clapping her hands in addition to the hopping.

“You two, up against the back,” the barbarian chef said in a disturbingly gentle and intelligent-sounding, English accent, holding out a hand to receive the key that the snooty, slicked-back hair guy held out.

I could almost feel my sternum crack from how violently my heart was beating as he slid the key into the padlock holding the gate shut. As he turned it, the immense speed at which the blood was coursing through my veins made my head so loopy, I thought I may either pass out or pass on. I almost hoped for the second option more than the first, as I had no idea if I would be laid to rest before being stuffed like a damn Thanksgiving turkey.

While Earl and Burt were doing as they were told–pressing their backs firmly against the bars at the rear of the cage, I suddenly found my mind no longer attempting to drift away. The scene played out before me in almost slow motion, with the padlock freed and the gates latch screeching to one side in an agonizing wail that I would likely imitate within the hour.

I couldn’t even hope to break my attention from the immense man whose head sparkled in the soft illumination. When he reached one gargantuan hand through the opening, snatching me by the collar and aggressively yanking me several steps closer to my being flambeed, he outstretched his other wide mitt to close the gate back shut–something that did not quite go as effectively as he had planned.

With some sort of primal scream, seemingly beginning in the pit of Burt’s gut before launching from his mouth like it was shot from a cannon, I felt my body careening back to the hard ground as he attempted to tackle the beefy chef. While his attack was about as effective as if he were swatting a brick wall with a Wiffle bat, it did cause the hulking man to take a few steps back, allowing his far more slender sibling to slide free of the cage as well.

While I fell to the ground, I took great satisfaction in seeing Earl’s tightly balled fist connecting with the pointy nose of the spiky-haired guy, effectively redirecting its angle with a splash of sticky blood. Burt was still waging a war on the midsection of the beast in the leather apron, causing little more than earning some laughter from his target.

When the chef snatched up the fist that couldn’t even inspire him to wince a little, slamming Burt against the gate, he finally succeeded in closing it back shut. In the meantime, a screeching Selena was running for the steps, while the quite impressive fighting skills of the skinny guy had already rendered two of the brothers unconscious.

While he kicked at the gut of the slick-haired guy on the floor, the more slender of the brothers landed a hit to his face, almost causing him to lose his footing and join the duo on the ground. Finally pushing myself back to my feet, I interjected before he could land another punch, kicking the well-dressed man in the nuts so hard I felt the concussion in my ankle.

Though the anguished and horror-stricken look on his face was almost laughable, I wasted no time in launching my steel-toe boot into his boys for a second and third time, not yielding my attack on his chances for potential offspring until I felt them crunch, dropping him next to his brothers. While the other two were down for the count, I went ahead and similarly crushed their cajones, just to lessen the possibility of their family tree growing any more branches.

When Burt, seemingly inspired by my actions, began thrusting his own feet against the crotch of the guy who now held him against the gate, two feet from the floor in his outstretched hand, it barely caused the people pickler to break a sweat. Earl and I both were beating, kicking, and punching at the giant until I heard more feet stomping down the steps behind us. I turned around just in time to push the skinny guy from the path of the bullet the older man fired at us.

Selina was standing right behind him, holding his shoulder like she needed him to protect her from the monster in her closet. Over and over again he discharged his weapon, taking no care in the fact that half of his bullets were drilling into his likely high-priced cook. Again, the large man barely reacted to the multiple wounds leaking fluids from his back, tossing Burt to one side like a ragdoll, before turning to face the old man with the rifle still trained on him.

“Do you mind?” he said in that soft yet somewhat aggravated voice, in his upper-class, English accent.

“Oh,” the old gent said, wearing a sheepish and slightly ashamed grin, “my apologies.”

With this slight moment of distraction, Earl and I slid to his brother, before we shuffled off to the right side of the room, desperately in search of some sort of exit. While we did find a door–one that was unlocked for that matter, what we found within the contents of that room was no salvation. But a possible nail in our respective coffins, with a shovel to boot.

Though the tools this area of the house held were not quite so literal in the six feet under analogy, the razor-sharp-looking blades of the extravagantly designed ‘utensils’ were very likely what the big guy planned to use to prepare the feast for his employers. The hospital-style bed in the center of the room, layered in the same plastic that lined the floor and walls was the only thing blocking our path to the selection of potential weaponry.

Without a word (though I had plenty come to mind as we glared, slack-jawed at the rack of knives and power tools), we gave a glance at one another before sprinting around the bed, towards the display, each of us claiming a weapon for the inevitable showdown.

While I felt barely confident in my choice of a long, serrated knife, almost modeled more like a wakizashi than kitchen flare. That brief moment of self-assurance came to a quick close when the beast in the apron came strolling through the open door, having claimed the rifle from his boss. I barely avoided that first shot, feeling it graze my shoulder as I leaped to one side–something that appeared so much more effective in the average action movie.

The next one drilled into the side of the rack of blades, sending many of them cascading to the plastic-lined floor. I must have come off like a poorly trained breakdancer as I swirled around on the ground, attempting to avoid certain death. While my would-be executioner seemed so focused on me at the time; though, he had seemingly missed the surprisingly stealthy maneuvering of the stockier of the Hodge brothers.

For the first time, the immense man looked shocked when Burt slammed the wide butcher’s knife into the meat of his upper thigh, breaking that stone-faced expression he had worn since we met. When he kicked back his attacker with his less mutilated leg, he yanked the blade free, dropping the rifle to the floor.

Burt slid back, reaching out for the heavy meat tenderizing hammer his brother attempted to hand to him, when the big guy closed in quickly, bringing the butcher’s knife down on the arm his target held out, separating it halfway down his forearm. Earl screamed out harder than his sibling was able to, as he just glared wide-eyed and horrified at the stump that used to have a wrist and hand attached.

As the chef swiped down for a second time, I pushed forward, holding my blade out like a lance, piercing it through his wrist before he could dig a ditch into Burt’s neck. He just stopped in place, stared down at his oozing limb, and up to face me, tilting his head like a curious mutt. When he began to move towards me, not so much as pulling the knife from his arm, Earl let out another scream, one almost as primal as the warcry his brother had echoed back in the cage.

When he had traded in the meat tenderizer for an especially wide, dual-edged blade, I can’t say, as I was a deer in headlights before the almost reddening eyes of the hell-bent chef. But when he forced it into the groin of the big guy, it was finally clear that it was indeed a man we faced after all. The shriek that howled from the mouth of the massive individual was almost enough to make my ears bleed–a shrill squeal that grew louder and more visceral with every tear of Earl’s dagger.

Even with the large arms, one of which still had a knife through it, swinging erratically at the skinny fella, he had little problem avoiding them as he was quite the squirrely one. There was nothing but grizzled meat and gnarled tissue left in the wake of his attacks. And when Burt rejoined the fight, slicing at the gut of the big guy with that same butcher’s knife that took his other hand, I snatched up the biggest damn blade I could find.

All three of us swung our weapons at the beast, hacking ditches and carving chunks from him until there was simply not enough blood left in the man to allow him to remain conscious. When he dropped to the floor, I almost felt more like a lumberjack, having toppled an enormous, ancient tree rather than some poor bastard who had to resort to such madness to survive.

Once we were certain he would not be getting back up, I pulled off my belt to attempt to slow the fluids oozing from Burt. Earl wrapped his severed hand with some plastic he cut from the lining of the floor, hopeful to be able to preserve it for the time being, before we helped his brother back to his feet. As we hesitantly approached the door, I picked up the rifle, inspected it to see that only two bullets remained, and I took the forefront on our hopeful escape.

I saw no trace of anyone when we got back to the room with the cage, except for the three buckled men still seemingly sleeping it off. I strangely wasn’t surprised to see that their folks or sisters hadn’t attempted to pull them to safety. Just for good measure, I gave a few more complimentary kicks to their pills as we passed by, to be sure they weren’t simply faking it to throw us off. Not to mention, it was just sort of satisfying by that point.

Even Burt let out an exhausted chuckle as I planted my steel toe against the third set of well-tenderized meatballs. But I had to be sure, right?

When I placed my foot on the first step, I tried to keep it as light as possible. While I was sure a wealthy family of carnivores would not tolerate a squeaky floor in their fancy mansion, I wasn’t about to take any chances. With each hesitant step, I tried to keep my shivering limbs from significantly altering the potential trajectory of any of the two bullets I may have to spend on these sick bastards. But when I peered through the doorway at the top of the stairs to see nobody around, I just knew they were planning something.

I suggested taking a look around to see if we could locate some ice to put Burt’s hand on, but he shook his head dismissively.

“Let’s just get the hell outta here.”

I gave a glance to Earl, who nodded his approval, and we made our way to the front door, keeping an eye on our backs. As soon as I opened the door, feeling almost exhilarated from the cool wind blowing in from the outside world, the sound of a hammer being pulled back on another firearm caused that brief moment of joy to sink into the pit of my stomach.

“Turn around,” the voice from behind uttered.

I turned to see the older guy holding what looked to be some sort of flintlock pistol outstretched, wearing a shit-eating grin. His wife and daughters stood a ways behind him, with him attempting to come off like the noble hero in this insane scenario.

“Not only can we not allow you to leave–not after what you have done to my children…But we are still hungry, you see?”

“Your chef is dead, prick,” I replied.

“While Jeffrey is, well, was, quite the talented professional…it is not as though I have never had to prepare my own food. Now, if you will kindly close the door, drop the…”

Whether it was the fact that I was too damn tired to care anymore, or just that I had a feeling he was fully prepared to drone on for a while to make us feel as small and worthless as possible, I can’t honestly say. Whatever it was, the shocked look on his face when I quickly raised the rifle, sending one of my two remaining bullets directly between his eyes, was almost as satisfying as the sound of his son’s cajones being pummeled.

Selena, her sister, and her mother all screamed and ran out of the room before I could decide who would get the last bullet, so we wasted no time in quickening our escape through the open door. I helped Earl load his brother into the truck, before heading for the car I still had to get to the shop, though that was the least of my concerns at the time.

As I backed up to see the taillights of the green truck speeding away, I threw the Mercedes into drive and pushed the pedal to the floor, slamming the brakes seconds later when the pretty blonde in the painted-on dress came running out, about ten feet in front of me.

“Don’t go!” she called out with tears streaming down her face, “please, just…”

I was so focused on her (or I suppose whether or not I should risk damage to the fancy car by slamming the front end against her), that I didn’t even notice the tail lights speeding back toward me. When the bed of the truck collided with her slender frame, she dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Earl pulled back beside where I was parked with my foot still on the brake pedal.

“Burt said we should wait for ye, on account of yer gettin’ lost before,” he said with a laugh, “good thing we did, looks like.”

When Selena slowly lifted herself back to her trembling legs, the large green truck sped forward again, this time leaving her in a state from which she was far less likely to bounce back. I watched her body tumble and crunch under the wheels of the heavy four by four, before the brake lights lit up once more.

“Just foller me,” Earl yelled, hanging out of the driver’s side window, “gonna be gunnin’ so, so try to keep up.”

Giving one more look at the broken blonde to see her not so much as twitching anymore, my guide headed back up the baby-smooth, elongated driveway with me in tow. I made sure to swerve around what remained of the pretty girl who ‘could just eat me up’, and sped away from the home of the rich and cannibalistic.

I made sure to keep as close to the large truck as I could this time, focusing my mind more than I had ever been capable of before. While it did attempt to drift on occasion, especially given all of the new grotesque and messed up imagery this crazy night had shown me, I managed to swipe it to the side, like thumbing through applications on my dead phone.

While I had no idea where that was currently located, as it was no longer sitting on the passenger seat where I left it, I just didn’t even care at the time. Against all odds, we had survived and that alone was enough to keep my eyes on the road, as well as the heavy vehicle guiding my path to freedom.

When we reached the nearest hospital, I placed a call to the police while the doctor took Burt back to see what they could do for him. All three of us would have some questions to answer after they checked out the mansion to which I directed them. But they couldn’t deny that the story we told matched the evidence. Unfortunately, the Mother, her three sons, and only living daughter had vacated the area by the time the cops got there. Plus there was apparently no trace of the blonde either.

They found the old man and the beast of a chef, along with a large freezer filled with the remains of those not as fortunate as the Hodge boys and I. While I was informed about some of their findings, I could only be permitted so much information on the case. But they thought it unlikely that we had anything further to worry about after all was said and done.

The doctors managed to save Burt’s arm, and I am so thankful for that, as is his brother. If it wasn’t for those two, whatever was left of me would likely have been flushed down a fancy toilet by now, and I owe them so much for that. We still keep in touch, the three of us. The stocky guy still has a lot of physical therapy ahead of him, but he says it’s a small price to pay, all things considered.

When I finally made it back to the garage, my dad was beside himself with worry. I’d never seen him like that before, so I honestly had no idea how to react. He was almost in tears after I told him what happened, while Dwayne listened on, shaking his head from side to side. Yeah, he made fun of me for getting so lost, as it turned out I was a good thirty miles in the opposite direction of where I needed to be, but I could tell he felt bad about it.

It wasn’t his fault, of course. I have nobody to blame but myself and my wandering mind, as well as the insane family who wanted all of my tasty morsels for themselves. I’ve been trying to work on my attention deficit issues. I even finally got my ass to a doctor. Turns out I was dead-on-balls accurate with my self-diagnosis, but I can’t tell if the meds he put me on are helping just yet. I did manage to type all of this out though, so that’s not for nothing.

It’s been a little over six months since that batshit crazy night, and I truly thought it was over. Those first few weeks, I kept looking over my shoulder like a crackhead at the policeman’s ball. But I got back into a stride after a while, barely even thinking about those sickos anymore.

It wasn’t until a few days back, while I was washing up before heading home for the night, when I heard someone call from outside the garage door. I always get a bit pissed off when someone shows up when we’re closing up for the night. But when I peeked out to see my dad already talking to the woman, I ducked back into the bathroom until I heard my dad tell them it would be a few days until we could get to whatever it was they wanted.

When I walked back out to see the blonde hair blowing in the wind as the fancy-looking woman climbed into the back of the pristine Escalade, I could barely force my legs to move. While my dad was giving me the rundown of the conversation–one involving what could be a high-paying job, I found myself unable to focus on his words.

My eyes and mind were glued to the woman who rolled down the window to give a friendly wave as the SUV pulled up parallel to the open door.

“See ya soon…Sax-y boy,” Selena called out, blowing me a kiss before they pulled back out onto the road and drove out of sight.

“I think she likes you, kid,” my dad said with a chuckle.

“Yeah,” I replied, just gazing at where the vehicle was parked only seconds before, “on a buttered roll with a side of french fries.”

While it’s very possible that it was just the other sister to whom I hadn’t paid much attention, having dyed her hair to throw me off, I think that it really was Selena. If that’s the case, I have no idea how she could’ve survived what the Hodge boys’ truck did to her. But there ain’t much money can’t buy, I suppose, if you know where to look, of course.

Either way, I’m seriously considering getting the hell out of town. The cops assured me they were going to keep a close eye on the shop and the house, but they can’t be with me every second. I called Earl to let him know what’s up, so he and Burt are going to make themselves scarce for a bit.

Dad and I are going to be armed and on guard until this whole thing is resolved, but hey, maybe they do just need some work done on their fancy cars. Yeah, that’s about as likely as Pier, the People Pickler making babies at this point, but they have got to know the police are onto them. Maybe they just wanted to swing by to make me wonder, you know? Just to keep me on edge and afraid.

Whatever the case–whether that visit was just to let me know that we didn’t beat them, or that they still plan on having me over for dinner, I can most definitely say that my mind is far more focused than it used to be. Yes, that primary thought is that I quite literally escaped the frying pan, only to potentially belly-flop into the fire. But that’s something, right?

Credit: William Rayne

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