Don't Read: A Novel of Extreme Horror, Sex and Gore

  WARNING

  THE FOLLOWING BOOK CONTAINS EXTREME VIOLENCE AND UPSETTING SCENES.

  If you are easily offended, please do not read on. This book is not for you.

  As a horror author, I asked my readers if there is such a thing as‘too far’with regards to the horrors written about in books and whispered from person to person in bedtime stories. They said‘no’. There is no such thing as too far. Whilst that may be true, I do like to push the boundaries of decency wherever possible. The warnings on this book are not to be taken lightly.

  Copyright©2015 by Matt Shaw

  Matt Shaw Publications

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters in this book are purely fictitious.

  Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  1.

  The roadside cafe’s backdoor swung open and slammed against the solid brick wall of the 24 hour business as Hayley stumbled out; two very full black sacks of rubbish in her hands. She stumbled her way across the near empty car park towards the large metal dumpster in the far corner. Her arms aching from the heavy rubbish, a mixture of leftover food and dirtied napkins - the weight of which often surprised her. She hated doing the rubbish run. Not just because the car park gave her the creeps late at night but also because the dumpster stank to high heaven and always made her gag - even on days when it had only been emptied a couple of hours earlier. Another reason to hate the run was because it was always her doing it. Two waitresses worked the long night-shifts, a night manager, and one guy in the kitchen cooking whatever orders may come in - yet it was always her job.

  “Hayley, the bins need emptying,” the night manager would say. A jumped-up little prick who went by the name of Stephen. The kind of self-obsessed idiot who introduced himself with a limp-wristed handshake before telling the unimpressed person on the other end of it that his name was spelt with a ‘PH’ as opposed to a ‘V’. “Hi, I’m Stephen - with a PH…” insert false smile here, “it’s great to meet you, my friend.” Always calling people he’d just been introduced to as ‘my friend’. Hayley hated him. It was rare for her to have such strong feelings but everything from the stink of his breath to his slick backed hair - which she was sure was greased straight from the deep fat fryer - irritated her. Mostly because he wouldn’t leave her alone. If she went to the toilet, he’d be standing there when she came out. A smile on his face and the same old sentence, “Didn’t forget to wash your hands, did you?” If she went for a cigarette - he’d come out despite not smoking. “Just needed some fresh air,” being his lame excuse. And then of course there was the time he asked her out, “So what do you say?” Her negative answer being why she was punished - every shift - with the unpleasant bin duties, the only reason she could think of as to why it was always her having to walk the lonely walk across the car park in the dead of night. A common question often popping to the forefront of her own mind, what if she had said yes to his unwanted advances?

  Inside the café, Hayley’s friend Sara was leaning on the counter thumbing through a day old newspaper one of the patrons had left behind earlier in the evening. She didn’t understand why people felt the need to purchase newspapers. Every day it was the same old thing: a depressing story on the front page which was often continued on the second, a pair of breasts photographed on a photoshopped model on page three, and then more depressing stories leading the way to the television pages which often revealed little in the way of entertainment on the many available channels. The only light relief from the miserable stories being an over-the-top star guide close to the back page, along with some cartoons - one being of a talking cat, one being of a Viking, and a third centred around football, which was something else she didn’t understand the fascination with.

  The bathroom door, in the corner of the cafe, swung open and Stephen walked out - shaking his hands dry from where he’d just washed them.

  “Where’s Hayley?”

  Sara shrugged, “Not seen her.”

  “She’s not back yet?”

  Sara shrugged again as Stephen stepped behind the counter. He leaned down to one of the small cupboards hidden from the customers and pulled out a cloth and a spray bottle of surface cleaner. He set it in front of where Sara leaned on the counter before pulling the newspaper away from her, tossing it straight into the bin.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “You’re paid to work, not read. If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.” He flashed her one of his self-satisfied grins, along with a wink, and walked out the back where he started shouting at the cook; shouted words which translated as mumbles thanks to the closed door.

  “He’s a charmer,” the one customer piped up from the far reaches of the bar. He’d not been sitting there long; long enough to order a coffee and witness the night manager’s post-toilet behaviour. “And that’s your boss?”

  Sara nodded and walked over to where the stranger was sitting. She pretended to clean the area near him for no other reason than it meant she could have a moan with an impartial set of ears listening, “He’s an idiot.”

  “Seems like it.”

  “Like - you know - this job isn’t bad enough. Every time I’m scheduled to work the night shifts I have to do it with him breathing down my back. I wouldn’t be surprised if Hayley has just run off home.” Sara had worked at the roadside cafe for a little over a year now and - from day one - she hadn't enjoyed it. To her though, it was a means to an end. It paid her a steady wage which, in turn, paid her bills whilst she continued her studies at university. She’d never meant to stay for so long. From day one she’d fully intended on finding another job but, when jobs failed to materialise - at least those which offered her a flexible schedule which she could easily fit in with her studies - she found a year had passed by. Now she was in her final year at university. She had enough stress on her plate there without having to organise a new job too. What was one more year working there? The first had flown by and she kept telling herself the second would too.

  “Who’s Hayley?”

  “My colleague. She’s around somewhere. She just had to take the rubbish out to the bin.” She noticed the customer’s coffee mug was empty. “Refill?”

  “Please.”

  She reached for the coffee pot, nestled on the surface behind her, and poured the customer his second coffee for the night. It wasn’t unusual for her cafe to be quiet at night. Sometimes she often wondered why they even stayed open past a certain time. The stretch of dual carriageway beyond the car park was extremely busy during the daytime but - at night - it resembled an old backward road that had long since been forgotten in favour of a quicker route to the surrounding areas. Sara set the coffee pot to one side.

  “Did you want anything to eat yet?” she asked. She had already asked the man when he first sat down. He’d replied that he’d like to see the menu and ordered his coffee. If he wanted something, he must have known by now what he wanted.

  “Cheese omelette would be great.”

  “Coming right up.” Sara called the food order through to the cook via a small hatch used for passing completed orders through and then went back to her one and only customer. She’d rather keep him company than clean as previously instructed. It helped that he was also quite good looking; dark hair, a five o’clock shadow, slim build but with tight clothes making it entirely possible to see a muscular frame, well-define
d. “So where are you headed?” Sara asked.

  “That way,” the man pointed down the road without even turning around.

  “That way. Nice and precise. I like it.” She held her hand out, “I’m Sara.”

  “I know.” He shook her hand.

  “You do?”

  He pointed to the name badge on her light pink top. She blushed and laughed out of embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve never done that before.”

  “It’s fine,” he said. “My name is Chris. It’s nice to meet you.” Chris changed the subject, “Do you like working here? Honestly? It seems a little beneath you.”

  “It is and - to answer your question - no, I hate it.” She checked over her shoulder to make sure Stephen wasn’t lurking, as was his tendency.

  “It’s okay. We’re alone,” he smiled.

  “Is that yours?” Sara nodded out of the front window, overlooking the car park, towards a large lorry. Chris nodded. She didn’t have to ask. She knew it was his as there were no other cars parked up and certainly no roads he could have walked in on, at least, not without a death wish. “You don’t look like a lorry driver.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No.”

  “What are lorry drivers supposed to look like?” he asked.

  She shrugged, “Fat.”

  “Fat?”

  She laughed, “Well, yes, because all they do is drive all day and stop in greasy spoon cafes like this one. So they put weight on.”

  “They can’t look after themselves?” he asked, a smile on his face.

  “Well clearly some do,” she flirted.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should.”

  The door leading back through to the kitchen opened and Stephen poked his head through, “Has she shown up yet?” he asked, referring to Hayley.

  “No.”

  Chris leaned past Sara and stared at the weasel of a manager, an unnoticed look of contempt in his face.

  “Try calling her on her mobile,” he ordered her.

  “She’s on shift. She won’t have it on her,” Sara pointed out.

  Stephen smiled - that fucking smile - and said, “I’m not an idiot. I know you carry them in your bras. I’ve seen you. Please just find out where she is and get her to come to my office, okay?”

  Chris butted in, “I’m sorry but Sara here is helping me with my coffee refill. Maybe you should go and track your own staff members down save forcing the only shop front girl away from the needy customer? Unless of course you don’t need my business, in which case, that’s fine, I can stop off in a few miles at the next services?”

  “I’m terribly sorry, sir, I thought you were catered for…”

  “Sir? Do I look like a sir? That’s very patronising.”

  “No. I didn’t mean…”

  “No what? No I don’t look like a sir? Then what do I look like? You saying I look like an idiot?”

  Stephen blushed, “I’m terribly sorry.” He turned to Sara, “When Hayley comes in can you please send her to my office. Thank you, Sara.” He made a hasty retreat back through the kitchen towards his office. Sara couldn’t help but laugh as soon as the door closed behind him.

  “Oh my God! Did you see his face? That was brilliant. Thank you,” she gushed.

  “Your boss is somewhat of an idiot.”

  “I know but what can you do? Still - his face - that was brilliant. I just wish Hayley had been here to see it. She would have loved it.”

  Chris’ smile faded from his face, “Want me to kill him?”

  “What?”

  “Your boss. Did you want me to kill him?”

  Sara laughed, “Depends on whether you can make it really nasty.”

  “I’m sure I could. Maybe tie him to a chair and peel his face off before forcing it into the smoking hot deep fat fryer?”

  Sara was shocked but still laughed, “Read much horror on your travels?” she asked.

  “Not really,” he smiled and sipped his coffee.

  A bell rung from behind Sara signifying to her that the omelette was ready. She turned around and collected it from the hatch before returning it to the waiting customer. She placed it on the bar in front of him. He reached for a pot of cutlery, next to a salt and pepper shaker, before taking both a knife and a fork for himself. Sara leaned on the counter, to the side of where he ate and continued to engage him in conversation, “You realise I won’t be able to look at the deep fat fryer in the same way again, don’t you?”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “How would you get rid of the body? Can’t very well leave it there.”

  “Maybe I could cut it up and put it in some bin liners? Leave it out with the rest of the garbage.”

  “I have to feel sorry for Hayley, carrying those bags down to the dumpster,” Sara laughed. She looked towards the door and then out of the window, “I wonder where she’s gone - she isn’t usually this long.” The last time it had taken Hayley this long to do the bins, one of the bags had split open as she’d tried throwing it over into the dumpster. Rotting food had ended up everywhere with maggots writhing around the meats. Sara had gone out - looking for her - and found her hunched over gagging violently whilst picking the debris up with her gloved hands. She half-wondered whether she’d venture out there now and find Hayley in a similar position.

  “Maybe she’s been abducted?” Chris suggested.

  “More likely she’s finally had enough of his crap and walked out!”

  Chris cut a slither of egg from his omelette and forked it into his mouth, letting out an audible sigh as he did so. “That is a good omelette,” he said. “Seriously. Best omelette I’ve had for a long, long time.”

  Sara laughed, “It’s an omelette. Eggs, a hint of salt, a touch of pepper, a little milk… Surely they all taste the same?”

  “No. This. This is a special omelette.” He took another bite. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve worked here all this time and you’ve never tried it?”

  “I tend to bring my own sandwiches in,” she said.

  “You need to try this before you die. Everyone should.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. I’m not really an eggy person.”

  “Come on, don’t give me that.” He cut a small piece away and jabbed his fork into it. He held it up for Sara to take. “Try it.” He continued when he realised she wasn’t moving, “Please? For me? I promise I don’t have anything contagious. Can even use your own fork if it would make you feel better?”

  Sara rolled her eyes and leaned across to the fork. She bit the slice of omelette straight from it. “It tastes like egg,” she said. A couple of chews and she swallowed it down.

  “Yeah but good egg. You can’t deny it doesn’t taste good.”

  “It’s egg.”

  “I’m telling you, that is the best free range egg money can buy.”

  Sara laughed, “I doubt that. Most of the stuff we serve is supermarket own brand.”

  Chris continued feasting upon his late snack. “I would like to compliment the chef. Could you bring him out here, please?”

  Sara laughed again unsure as to whether he was trying to wind her up or not, “You’re taking the piss, right?”

  “No. That was a damned fine omelette.”

  She shook her head, “Has anyone ever told you you’re very strange?”

  He smiled, “No one that lived.”

  “Well you are very strange.”

  Chris shook his head, “Such a shame.”

  Sara frowned, really confused now, “Did you really want me to get the chef out here?”

  Chris nodded, “I really do.”

  She smiled, “Okay then.” She took a breath, “Well - I honestly believe this is a first.” She walked out the back, shaking her head in disbelief with each step. Chris jumped up from his bar stool and hurried over to the cafe’s entrance. He flicked the ‘open’ sign around to ‘closed’ and bolted the door shut before returning to his st
ool. “No it’s not a joke,” Sara was saying to the chef as they both came through the door. Sara introduced the chef to Chris, “This is Stuart,” she said, “he’s been working here for the same amount of time I have, if not longer.” And she introduced Stuart the chef to Chris, “And this is Chris - he’s been eating here for the last twenty minutes, or so.”

  Chris extended his hand, “I have to say, that was an amazing omelette. Seriously, probably the best I’ve ever eaten. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “It was fucking omelette,” Stuart laughed. He extended his hand and gripped Chris’s. Chris immediately clamped around Stuart’s hand in a vice-like grip. “What the fuck are you doing?” Stuart tried to pull himself free but couldn’t. With his other hand Chris leaned forward and rammed his eggy fork straight into Stuart’s eye-socket - twisting it around repeatedly in the process as though he were trying to wrap loose spaghetti around a fork. He released the fork, leaving it poking from the chef’s destroyed eye, and picked up the knife he’d earlier used to cut his omelette. Both Stuart and Sara screamed out loud with Stuart’s cry cutting short when Chris slit his throat wide open, covering both himself and the counter in a spray of sticky claret. Sara - still screaming - pushed past the chef as he stood there, wavering back and forth with his hands clamped around his throat stemming the flow of blood. She ran towards the door. Chris calmly picked his once full plate up and - using it as a frisbee - threw it towards Sara. It spun through the air, chasing her, until it crashed into the back of her skull sending her stumbling to the floor as it smashed into several pieces. The chef slumped forward on the counter before sliding off, landing in a bloodied heap on the floor. Chris stood up and cricked his neck before approaching the stunned waitress. He leaned down and took a handful of her hair before dragging her back to the bar she’d run from.

  The kitchen door swung open and Stephen came out to investigate the noise, “What the hell is going on out here?” he asked. His eyes were instantly drawn to the twitching body of his chef before turning to the customer and a seemingly dead Sara. He screamed out in fright and about turned, back into the kitchen and towards the building’s fire exit. Chris released his grip from Sara’s hair and chased him, effortlessly catching up to him in the kitchen. Knowing he was right behind him, Stephen turned to him - fear in both his eyes and his voice.