Charlie Walker needed money. He planned one last break-in. But things don't always go to plan. Sometimes there are horrific consequences.

Charlie Walker stood smoking a cigarette in the middle of the line of Oak and Pine trees that shielded the house from the street. He was breathing heavily, exhausted having hiked from his parked car a good eight miles down the road. He left his 96 Ford pickup along a side dirt road that seemed to lead nowhere and in this northwest area of Texas, nowhere was everywhere.


The flakes of snow that fell on this early morning in February lay softly on the ground providing reflective light in the darkness. From where Charlie Walker stood the gray shingled house with white trim looked small. A beautifully crafted wood deck laid out front lined with green scrubs that fought the winter blues that tried to steal their life. A two car garage jutted out to the left. Standing on the acre lot well behind the line of trees that stood as a border, the house was well protected from prying eyes. The nearest neighbor was a good fifty acres in any direction.


The man that lived inside was suppose to live alone except for a few pets. He apparently didn't work, didn't have to work from what Charlie understood. Except for a weekly trip to the grocery store or a trip to the vet the man inside rarely left his house.


It was at The Tavern, a local bar, that Charlie learned of this man. Having a quick shot of Jack Daniels before retreating home to the wife and child he overheard the men at the next table discussing the man who lived in the gray, shingled house with white trim. Charlie took full notice of what was being said. Apparently these men did lawn work for the man that resided here and they had picked up on some information. There were large sums of cash kept in a metal box inside his house. Apparently not trusting banks the man kept a bare minimum in a checking account to cover bills that he paid online. The rest of his money he kept in this metal box. Thousands and thousands of dollars if you were to believe what the men at the next table had to say.


Charlie knew well that men who gathered in a bars had a way of exaggerating the truth, and, well, flat out lying. They usually lied about their sexual conquest or how much money they made on a job. But what he heard from these men at the next table seemed to ring true. At least he hoped so.



Charlie Walker began his career as a burglar in his late teens and continued with it through most of his twenties. He was only caught once and that was enough. He went to prison for a short spell and didn't want to go back. When he got out he decided to play it straight, get a job and lead a clean life. At least a cleaner life.


He began doing some construction work and got a series of jobs. It was during this period just after prison that he met his wife of five years now. Angelina, Angel, as everyone calls her, was a waitress at The Runny Egg, a breakfast house several towns away. They dated a couple of years before she would marry him. She had a few bad experiences with men prior to him and was very cautious. He was very up front about his past and that probably held marriage off for her also. But after he proved himself to be worth the risk she committed. Five years later and a two year old son named Rico had solidified their union.


Charlie had a good run for the seven years after prison. Marriage, a son and steady work were small pickens to most; to him it was heaven on earth. Although Texas had done better than most areas with the downturn of the economy, it eventually trickled into Charlie's world and in the past year he has had a difficult time finding work. He has been able to draw unemployment, but that was nothing compared to the pay he was receiving. Angel brought in some pay from working as a waitress, however, the struggle to make ends meet has been rough.


So here he stood in freezing weather, two-thirty in the AM about to take a step back in time to a former self he'd hoped he would never become again. He was going to break into this house and steal what he needed in order to survive. Charlie said a small prayer in his head, “Oh God, let this be a one time thing and please let no one get hurt. If you let this go smoothly I won't do this again.” As he started to walk towards the house, he didn't feel good about what he was going to do, he didn't feel good about this job at all.


Charlie was in fair shape for his thirty-six years and a smoker to boot. He had caught his breath and regained his composure fairly quickly after the hike from his truck. The bag of tools he carried with what he thought he would need for the job weighed him down a bit, but the light clothes he wore made up some of the difference. He had on a light windbreaker over his flannel shirt with an undershirt as the first layer. The blue jeans he wore were anchored by a pair of cheap cowboy boots. A knit pull on cap covered his head hiding his brown hair that had too many gray streaks in it for his liking. He dressed light so he could move quickly when needed. Of course he was freezing his ass off.


At five foot eight inches and one hundred forty pounds he had lost a lot of the muscle he once sported during his earlier days. He had worked out considerably while in prison gaining quite a bit of muscle and becoming his most buff ever. He needed the muscle in there to make sure he could stand his ground. He was no man's bitch.


Charlie had got a haircut earlier today and was clean shaven. It was important that he felt good when he conducted a job; he needed to feel his best. No alcohol or drugs beforehand. He needed to be sharp. Mind, body, spirit; everything is connected.

If only he could shake the smoking habit.


He had cased the house to learn as much as possible prior to the execution of the job. He learned that there was an alarm system (he had bypassed alarms before), two deadbolt locks on each door (locks can be picked) and a huge German Shepherd (sleeping pills will knock him out.) He also learned that the owner of the house never left or returned to the house at the same time and never went out after dark.


Charlie almost went forward with the job while casing the house. It was daylight and he waited for the man to leave. As he checked each door and window (all the windows were nailed shut) and finished the survey work it occurred to him he could go ahead and burglarize the house. As he stood contemplating this knowing full well he wasn't prepared to finish this job at that moment he saw the man pull into the long drive leading up to the house in his silver Chevy Blazer. Charlie ducked out of site until the man had pulled into the garage and the door closed. Then he hauled ass running as fast as he could to where he had parked his truck. He hadn't parked as far away as he had this morning which was probably not a good idea. Running in broad daylight where God and everyone could see wasn't the best situation either, so he was glad that the truck wasn't so far away.


You see burglarizing a home is not something you do on a whim. It needs to be planned out in detail. That is if you want to make sure you don't get caught. That was what caused him to go to prison before. Not properly planning ahead. He didn't study the job enough before he attempted to break in.


They were an elderly couple. Elderly people tend to be the easiest victims. Old locks, windows not bolted, no alarm systems, few have animals—never a guard dog. They go to bed early and don't hear well. Easy prey. Or so Charlie thought.


He saw the Langleys at the grocery store by chance. When Mr. Langley paid for the groceries he pulled out a wad of cash right there in the store. Charlies mouth watered when he saw the cash. He followed them home and waited until dark. He thought it would be simple. The back door being unlocked should have been a sign. Too inviting, even for the elderly. He had barely got inside and shut the door when he was hit continuously from opposite sides by what he knew were baseball bats. He didn't have the chance to pull out the pistol he carried so he blacked out in seconds. When he regained conscientiousness he was handcuffed to a gurney. Much of the rest of that night was a blur. Prison followed.


Charlie reached the side of the house behind the garage now. He quickly broke the padlock that secured the electrical box. Inside the box, handwritten with a black marker were the locations of the house that the various breakers belonged to. He flipped off the one that had basement written beside it.


Charlie had noticed when casing the house that there was a small window at ground level beneath the kitchen. These windows were normally to bring natural light into a basement. The window was solid glass, no latch or hinges for it to open. Also no sensors for the alarm. He cut the glass out of the two by three foot opening and placed it to the side. A less professional burglar would have just broken the glass. Too much noise, too much mess.


Charlie slid through the opening and hit the ground sooner than he expected. As he stood erect his head barely missed the ceiling. This space was more of an oversized crawl space than a basement. From floor to ceiling was only six feet. He had thought it odd when casing the house that there was a basement. Houses in Texas rarely had them. Some do, but it is rare. This oversized crawl space made more sense.


He turned on his flash light to look around. There had to be stairs close by. Under the kitchen, moving around fairly easily, he realized that he was not alone. He could feel eyes staring at him in the dark. He turned his flashlight away from the walls where he had been looking for a way upstairs to the open crawl space that ran the length and width of the house. That was when he saw who was watching him.


There were cages lining the far wall stacked three high. From his best estimate they were two feet tall, three feet wide, four feet deep. There were at least fifty of them each containing one or two cats. What in the world is this about? This man had over a hundred cats living in his basement.


The cats eyes shined as Charlie shown his flashlight over them. They sat and stared at him, quietly and apparently without fear. They were various colors and sizes. Probably strays the man had found and gave a home. They all looked brushed out and their cages were clean. There was surprisingly no foul odor coming from the cats.


Charlie scanned the rest of the area with his flashlight. In front of the cats the area was clean and vacant. To the left of him there was a free standing bathtub that looked functional. Just behind it there was an enclosure that ran the length of that wall. It had bars and a door that ran from floor to ceiling. These bars stood three feet away from the back wall. Basically it was a prison cell that looked to be hand built for the area. For who Charlie didn't want to think about. He was already beginning to have flashbacks to his prison days just staring at it.


Charlie tried not to think about the cell or the cats anymore. He was grateful that the cats were quiet and he began his search for entry to the upstairs again. He turned to his right and saw the narrow staircase leading to upstairs and to what he hoped was a sizable payoff. With his bag of tools over his shoulder, his pistol tucked in his jeans, he ascended the stairs that lead directly into the kitchen.


The plan was to look around for the cash while being very careful not to set off any motion detectors. If he couldn't find the cash by himself he would have to wake the owner of the house, rough him up a bit to show he meant business and make him turn over the money. Charlie had brought a ski mask to cover his face if it got to that point. He also brought his silencer just in case. It was for the dog if needed, not the man. Charlie did not want to do any damage that wasn't repairable. He was not a murderer.


From what Charlie heard the man was a little “soft” if you get the meaning. The other men at the bar assumed he was a fag since his voice was high pitched and he was fairly prissy. To each his own, Charlie didn't care much about what people were. He just wanted someone manageable if necessary.


Charlie had noticed that from the glimpse he got of the man in his Chevy that he was a large, overweight man. Middle aged and bald. This didn't matter much to Charlie either unless there was a physical confrontation. The man had a good hundred pounds over him.


The wood kitchen floor crackled from his first couple of steps. Charlie was pretty light on his feet though so that only happened with the first couple of steps. He surveyed the kitchen to determine if there would be any place someone would hide money. He had very good instincts normally, but something about this job didn't feel right.


He quickly ruled out the kitchen and proceeded through the rest of the house. A hall lead from the kitchen to what he knew were the bedrooms of the house. He wasn't going that route until he walked through the rest of the house. On the other side of the adjoining wall to the kitchen was the dining room that opened up into a living room. There was a dining table with four chairs and a buffet table. The open living room had a sofa with end tables and one matching chair. A desk with a computer on it sat at one end of this room providing for a make shift office. The beige walls created a warm feeling and the red accents popped throughout. If it weren't for the big desk and computer, the living and dining areas would make Martha Stewart proud.


Charlie scanned around the room looking for anything that would hold money. Much to his surprise he noticed a small safe under the desk. He sat down in the chair and leaned over. The safe was a two foot cube on all sides. He pulled up on it and again to his surprise it wasn't attached to the floor. It was heavy though and would be a bitch to carry back to his truck, but that is what he planned on doing. He would get it open later. The less time he spent in this house the better.


As he lifted and began to pull the small but heavy safe out from under the desk he felt an electric shock on his neck. He dropped the safe and crumbled to the floor. He felt another shock to the front of his neck. His body shook and he didn't have control of his movements. His vision blurred but he could make out a large figure moving in front of him. He tried to grab at it and then tried to grab his pistol. He had never felt a taser before but he knew that was what the shock was from. He thought he was going to be shocked to death.


“It is time for you to sleep,” a high-pitched voice above him said. With that the shocks hit him on his chest, then on his legs. The last shock he felt before he passed out was on his genitals. As he slipped into unconsciousness he thought again about how he didn't have a good feeling about this job.




Charlie Walker couldn't focus on anything as he regained consciousness. His eyes, barely open, were foggy like looking through a coke bottle when he was kid. Laying on his back he could feel the cold concrete floor under his bare skin. Like pulling an anchor up when out at sea he strained to lift his head to determine where he was. It was a labored effort, but he was slightly able to look around. Through the blurred vision he could make out his location.


He could see the free standing bathtub from behind the bars. He laid his head back down on the concrete floor, dazed and confused. He felt pain from his crotch area. He reached his right hand down to the area realizing he was completely naked. His hand felt his crotch area to determine where the pain was coming from. He pushed his penis to the side and felt underneath. His hand searched for what should be there, but came up empty. He felt his ball sac that was held together by thread. It was empty. He had been castrated.


“Oh my God,” escaped from his lips in a soft whisper. His right hand rested on his crotch, tears filled his eyes and streamed down the sides of his face. “What is happening?” he whispered. His left hand covered his eyes to hide the tears from no one. He noticed then that his head was shaved. His entire body had been shaved.


As Charlie Walker regained his composure he could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. He knew he wasn't paralyzed but he felt very heavy. He gathered enough strength, pulled himself up and sat leaning against the wall, the bars that enclosed him inside stood just three feet in front of him.


“Hey babies,” the high pitched voice said speaking to the cats that Charlie now shared living space with. “I will feed you guys in a bit. I need to check on our newest family member.”


“How are you doing baby?” Charlie lifted his head to see his captor. This man was talking to him? Baby? “Are you feeling OK? I know it's hard to get accustomed to a new place. You'll get adjusted and once you do you'll fit right in.”


The man that stood before Charlie was a large middle-aged bald man. His skin was very white. He had a huge smile almost clown like. He wore a white pull over t-shirt with a cat and the words, 'I love pussy' on the front. His frame carried a lot of fat on it. He was soft.


“What should I call you? I'll have to give you a name, but there is plenty of time for that. Don't be afraid, I'm your new daddy.” What a freak. “If you need to tinkle or poo use the box over there like a good boy.” Charlie turned his head to the right slightly and saw a plastic three foot by two foot container eighteen inches deep with kitty litter in it. This freak expected him to piss and shit in that?


Charlie sat on the floor, naked, back leaning against the brick wall. “What did you do to me?”


As if Charlie said nothing, “You behave yourself and you won't get in trouble.” The large man smiled and stared at Charlie with the same endearment that a mother gives their new born baby. “See all your brothers and sisters,” motioning to the endless line of cages with cats. “You're one of us now. You're my new pet.”


Submitted: July 22, 2016

© Copyright 2023 Thomas M. Warford. All rights reserved.

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