TAXI!

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

A man leaves a nightclub and takes him away for an eventful ride...

I

John Smith left Thompson’s nightclub at approximately 01:14, after heading out with his friends George, Peter, and Michael. When in the club he indulged in excessive glasses of double Vodka and Red Bulls, and when he left the club, he had to be carried out by the bouncers, who brought him to the front of the club and pushed him out onto the street, where he stumbled and fell to the ground. Everybody who stood awaiting their entrance to the club laughed at him and some had thrown food at him. None of this bothered him as he struggled back to his feet and walked out of the dark alleyway.

When he reached the better lit area of the city centre, he looked down and saw that his black jeans were stained yellow and his red, black chequered shirt was stained a strange green, but somehow his white Converse shoes survived the fast-food onslaught.

As he stumbled along the footpath, he found a series of parked taxis that were there solely for the transporting home of drunk strangers, and so had their rooflights turned on. These taxis either were already booked for other drunken folk or else they had people already seated inside.

He continued to examine the series of parked taxis and finally came to one that had nobody inside. John walked up beside the passenger side window and saw a man seated inside, his face and features indistinguishable, although he was smoking a cigarette. He walked up to the open passenger side window and leaned in.

‘Excuse me mate, are you booked for anyone?’ he asked, his eyes trying to focus in on the shadowed figure. The driver shook his head and took another drag from his cigarette.

‘Would you be able to bring me home? I only live up the road’ John asked. The man nodded his head and continued to smoke, his head not moving from staring straight ahead out the front window.

John went to open the door and climb in the backseat, when he realised that the driver did not have his rooflight switched on, and the rooflight itself only had ‘TAXI’ scribbled on in fast hand with black marker. He stood there for a moment, looking from the rooflight to the driver, who remained staring straight ahead, not speaking. Eventually, due to his lack of coat, the bitterly cold evening and the whereabouts of his friends unknown, he climbed in the backseat and almost instantly, when he climbed inside the car, the driver shot off and down the road.

 

II

John slid around the back of the car from the sharp braking and sharp turning from the driver. When he eventually managed to settle into his seat, he managed to get his seatbelt on and remained in place. He looked into the front of the car through a glass window that slid open as to allow for the fare to be paid. He saw that there was no heating and no radio, and he sank back in his seat, beginning to feel slightly uneasy. His uneasiness, he assumed, was brought on by the mountain of drinks he had only consumed just over an hour prior to finding this taxi, although he now felt as though he should have trusted the red herring he found before getting in. Still, he put his head back on the headrest and gazed out the window, watching the buildings, trees and streetlights of the city centre fly past him. They were driving towards where John lived, which gave him slight relief from the peculiarity of both the state of the taxi and the driver, as the driver had still not spoken a single word to him, and John could almost guarantee to himself, the driver had not blinked once since he climbed in as he could see the sides of the man’s eyes.

The driver eventually drove into John’s street and John had finally given up all his apprehension when suddenly, as the taxi drew closer to the outside of his house, the vehicle sped up and drove further down the street. The apprehension that John had let go sliced its way back home, as he now sat leaning forward, starting to sweat and his hands clenching on the edges of his seat. He leaned through the opening of the glass window and spoke to the driver.

‘Excuse me mate, you just drove past my house’ he said. The driver did not reply nor did he provide any reaction to John’s words. He spoke again. ‘Excuse me, can I get off here?’ he said, his voice loudening slightly. Once again, the driver did not respond or react. John felt his temper begin to break as he shouted at the driver, ‘dickhead, can you stop the fucking car and let me out?’ John immediately saw a flash of light in both eyes as he felt his head crash against the backseats of the car after the driver spun around and hit him with the back of his hand. John looked at the driver and saw that the opening in the glass was now shut. John leaned forward, clawing at the window to try and open it to grab the driver, but was unsuccessful. Now bordering on feeling helpless and panicking, he lay back along the length of the back of the car and began to kick at the window so that he could jump to his freedom. With his 4th kick, he produced a large crack in the window and, noticing this, began to kick harder and harder, as hard as his body would allow before giving up. The driver turned around and looked at him and John saw a sight that he could never have dreamt in his whole life, even as a young boy after watching all of the scariest movies. He saw a pair of grey eyes that had no eyelids, and strong, refined, sharp teeth pressed against each other in a fury set against a face that had absolutely no skin, only the various muscles, bones and ligaments of the face. The driver’s eyebrows were forced towards each other, almost producing a unibrow that was shaped like the letter V. Upon seeing this, his strength began to fail him, and a blue smoke began to pour into the back of the car from the air-conditioning vents and he felt himself begin to drift into a drowsy state. A while later, the kicking stopped, and John was passed out in the backseat and the taxi driver continued driving, now faster than before.

III

When he woke up, John was alone in the backseat of the Taxi. He tried to pick himself up into an upright position and felt an immediate sharp pain in both of his temples and pressed his two middle fingers pressed against his two temples and he rubbed fiercely. To John, this felt like an incredible hangover, although he had never encountered a hangover with such vigour and such animosity, almost as if this hangover were out to personally hurt him.

When John’s headache began to subside ever so slightly, he began to understand and realise the events that occurred prior to his waking up. Firstly, he was cunted beyond belief and lost his friends, which for John was not completely contrary to the regular occurrences of his drunken evenings. Secondly, he remembered that he had climbed into a very dodgy looking taxi upon reflection, for the rooflight had ‘Taxi’ scribbled on in marker pen, and he finally remembered the Taxi person’s complete disregard for his home address. John in his mind referred to the driver as a Taxi person because, due to the horror of their facial features, he could not distinguish whether or not the driver was a man or a woman.

When John had finally gathered himself and his senses were relatively restored to normality aside for some dizziness, headache and confusion, he hacked open the taxi door. He was surprised at how easily it opened, for he fought with his entire life and strength to force the door open to escape the mad driver’s clutches. A part of John felt as though the driver was giving him a chance to get away and run home, until he stepped outside of the taxi and onto the pavement. When John stepped outside the taxi, he did not recognise his surroundings and was isolated. He was lost. The driver had taken him somewhere to inspire hope of returning home, but for John, this was an impossibility. When he stepped outside the taxi, the night was full of stars and a full moon shone greatly in the night sky. When he last checked his phone, the time was 1:43am and that felt like an eternity ago, for now the temperature dropped to what felt like negative two degrees Celsius.

Directly in front of him, there stood a massive church, looking completely black in its construction. There was a small porch located at the front of the church and there stood a single cross on top of it. The cross had a figure of Jesus Christ nailed to it and John zeroed in on the face. There was a great pain in the face. A pain that reeked of desperation, of panic, of helplessness and of great pain. For John, the appearance of Jesus Christ had given him great comfort, for he saw in his face great similarities to his own experience at that moment.

John pulled his arms out of the sleeves of his shirt and hugged them to his body to try and warm himself up, when he noticed that the entrance to the church was open and a dull, orange light emanated from it. Feeling like the evening could not possibly become any more bizarre, he began walking towards the entrance.

When he arrived on the porch, there was nobody to be found sitting, all he noticed was that the lobby doors were open and the doors beyond that led to the church altar were closed. He walked further into the church and replaced his arms into their sleeves after realising that the heating was on.

When he walked up to the entrance to the altar of the church, he noticed through the glass windows of the doors that there were people attending a mass. He opened the door, walked into the church hall and sat in the back row, away from the attendees of the mass, trying to make sense of what was happening. There was a figure in a red cloak and black mask seated atop a throne at the other end of the hall, with two women with white feathered cloaks on and their breasts showing stood at either side of the figure. A few yards in front of the cloaked figure there was a woman nailed to a stone slab that resembled a manger and she was crying out for help. John did not know if this was a part of some sick ritual and decided to remain as seated. As the woman lay nailed to this large stone, there were six people, dressed in black cloaks and carrying large wooden torches, circling the woman, entranced in a chant that sounded macabre.

Iesus Christus,

Ostende misericordiae eius,

Parcat ei dolorem amplius:

Thau date ei de eius iustitia,

Tu enim mortuus est propter delicta eius,

Eius dolori parcere amplius 

 

John remained in his seat and continued to follow the ritual. The six people now unsheathed small daggers from the inside of their cloaks and began to slice through the young woman’s skin, while remaining in love with the chant. Her cries were unlike anything he had ever heard, not even the worst cries in his worst nightmares could compare with the sound he had heard from the young woman. Finally, he stood up.

‘That’s enough!’

The mass paused. The red cloaked figure signalled to the six people to kneel down, while the young woman continued to scream. John walked up to the figure and stood in front of him beside the woman.

‘I believe you are the young man that they call John’ the figure in the red cloak said in a deep voice that was as bass baritone as John had ever encountered.

‘How do you know my name?’ John responded.

The figure raised his hand and from beyond the shadows behind the figure, the taxi driver emerged, also wearing a black cloak. The figure finally responded to John’s query.

‘Our kindest transporter seized your belongings, Master John Smith’ the figure said.

John stood aghast, knowing that the driver had rummaged through his pockets while he lay unconscious in the back of the taxi. He could only imagine what else had happened during his period of unconsciousness. He glanced at the young woman whose cries now subdued into deep sobbing.

‘Why are you torturing this woman?’ John asked.

‘She’s a whore!’ one of the black cloaked figures screamed.

The red cloaked figure raised his hand to order the person’s silence.

‘She’s not a whore, but she most certainly is not an innocent party’ the figure said.

John remained aghast, for he looked across to this woman who was laying there with huge gashes to her flesh and her legs were also stabbed. There was a bottle of salt water placed on the floor beside the stone and this was poured onto the woman’s wounds when the mass was in progress. John looked from the woman to the figure once more.

‘What crime could a woman commit to warrant such horror?’

‘She’s a cheater.’

‘A cheater?’

‘She cheated on her partner, our beloved taxi driver that brought you here to enjoy our ceremony.’

No wonder, John thought. The woman was very beautiful, despite her injuries and her partner looked like he just climbed straight out of the toilet and smelled like he’d happily and passionately rolled around in dog’s shit.

John, without realising, shook his head rapidly, trying to make sense of the madness that was his world in the last few hours. A few hours ago, he was chatting up girls in Thompson’s nightclub and drinking pints of Guinness. Now, he was a witness to a potential homicide. In a church!

‘Her cheating does not warrant this kind of treatment.’

‘Ah to the contrary, adultery in the Bible is condemned’ the figure said defiantly.

‘Murder is also condemned and prohibited in the Bible’ John replied.

The figure looked at him for a moment before standing up. His two women disappeared into the shadows beyond the throne on which he sat. The figure walked up to John.

‘Clever boy.’

‘The word of God prohibits murder, which is what will happen to this young woman if she does not get help quickly.’

‘This woman is a sinner.’

‘Aren’t you a sinner of greater heights? Are you blind to your own hypocrisy? Are all of you people blind in the house of God?’

The people in the black cloaks remained in silence. The figure again paused and looked at John before turning away from him and returning to his throne. John watched him walk away closely, wary of the figure trying to attack him suddenly like the taxi driver had done a few hours prior.

‘Very well’ said the figure, ‘you may grant this woman salvation.’

John looked at the woman, whose violent sobs had quietened to hyperventilation.

‘If you want to save this woman’s life and soul, you will kill one of these six henchmen.’ the figure said, with an iota of pride in his voice.  John stood no longer aghast, but in disgust. He thought it was frivolous that he should kill somebody to save the life of an innocent woman.

‘God will abandon you when you’re at the pearly gates and will send you to hell for deepthroating and spitroasting’ John said, his throat getting slightly heavy.

The figure laughed gently.

‘Get him a sword. If you win, Master John, you will spare this young woman’s life’ the figure said.

John removed his shirt to reveal a white vest underneath and accepted his sword from one of the cloaked figures. One of the figures broke away from the rest of the group and stood in front of John. John could feel the heaviness in his throat become more severe and he felt on the verge of tears, but he didn’t dare reveal this to his opponent. The figure got into a stance that looked like a Bruce Lee stance, while John did the same to simply mimic the figure.

‘Let the battle commence!’ the red cloaked figure said. He clapped his hands and the fighting began.

In an instant, the opponent’s sword cut into John and he stumbled backwards. He could feel the warmth of blood trickling down his breast and his white vest was now stained red with blood. John moved back towards the figure and swung his sword for the head. He missed, and before the swing of the sword was complete, John again felt the opponent’s blade sinking into his flesh and the stain on his vest grew bigger. The sword then slashed quickly across both of his legs and he fell to his knees. The figure kicked him in his face and he fell backwards in a daze. John was scrambling backwards away from his opponent, trying desperately to save his own life, rather than the woman’s. He did not care about the stranger’s dismay when his own life hung in the balance. The figure stomped on his chest and all the strength left his body. His arms fell down onto the ground, with the sword still in his hand. The figure slowly walked up to him and raised his sword above his head. At that moment John, with all the strength he could gather, all the life in him, all the happy memories, all the sad memories, raised his sword into the air and into the chest of his opponent. He left his sword in the figure as he slowly stood up and watched the figure stumble and fall down onto his knees. John walked up to the figure, removed the sword from his chest and cut into the temple of the figure. John had won, and the figure now fell onto his back and to the ground, lifeless.

‘Well done’ the red cloaked figure said. John turned, forgetting he was there and began breathing heavily.

‘Let her go now. Let me go now, I just want to go home’ John said, beginning to sob slightly.

The red cloaked figure raised a hand and the woman was released. She immediately ran for the exit. She cupped her hands over her breasts as she ran away, which upset John. He wanted to see them do the bouncy, as a reward for his bravery.

‘Grab him’ the figure said.

In an instant, John was grabbed at each arm and leg and placed onto the stone that the woman was stuck on. The woman turned back, saw John being placed on the stone, and immediately ran to call for help.

‘You saved her life John, congratulations.’ the figure said.

John lay on the stone and the five remaining figures began their ritualistic chant and began cutting into John’s flesh. His screams were worse than the woman’s screams and before he knew it, all the light left in the world was gone.

 

IV

 

Victoria Goodbody screamed her lungs to the point of breathlessness and pain for help from somebody. Anybody. When she reached the outside of the church, she ran out onto the street that was now incredibly thickened with fog to the point where all that was visible were her immediate surroundings and the dull, dampened glow of lampposts along the road. She began running. She hoped that she would eventually reach somebody’s house that still had the lights on, or even better, a police station.

 Her running brought her to the outside of Albert Pinetree’s house, a 65-year-old shopkeeper just a few hundred yards down the street from the church where she almost enjoyed death. He and his wife Agnes were still awake watching old classics on the TV, enjoying a cup of tea in the process. Victoria crashed through their gate violently and threw her entire being at the front door. The crash against wood from the front of their house startled the elderly people in the house and Albert stood up when he heard screaming. HELP! THEY’RE GOING TO KILL HIM! Albert went to the front door and opened it to find Victoria on the ground, her eyes pouring with tears.

‘What’s wrong dear?’ Albert asked curiously.

‘The church… d- down the r-road…they’re going to k-kill him’ Victoria replied, struggling for her breath.

Albert looked outside and down the street. He could see nothing apart from a thick blanket of fog and dull orange light in the air. Agnes came to the door.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

‘She said there’s somebody in the church down the street that’s going to be killed’ Albert replied.

‘They tried to kill me. Look.’ Victoria said, and showed of her wounds from the mass. Agnes jumped in horror while Albert stood curiously.

‘Call 999’ Albert said, gesturing to his wife to go to the phone immediately.

In an instant, Victoria got to her feet, turned quickly and ran from the front porch to the street and back down the road.

‘Where are you going?’ Albert shouted.

‘Send them to the church!’ Victoria screamed back.

Albert relayed this to Agnes and then put on his puffy black coat and left the house and went to the car. He got in, reversed out of the driveway and started driving down the street. He found Victoria not much later and they both made way for the church.

 

V

When they reached the immediate exterior of the church, Victoria climbed straight out of the car and ran hard into the church. Albert took a while longer to get out of the car. A 65-year-old could not afford the luxury of being able to run as quickly as a 24-year-old. He eventually got out of the car, not bothering to shut the door and made his way as quickly as he could inside the church. In the distance, he could hear multiple sirens and he saw blue light getting brighter in the thick fog blanket. Nearly here.

 

VI

When they were both inside, Victoria and Albert looked around to see if there was anybody hanging around the church lobby, waiting to strike them. After looking for about a minute, they returned to the main lobby, slightly at ease.

‘It’s too quiet’ Victoria said. The lack of noise, chanting or screaming worried her because in her mind, only one of two outcomes could have occurred. One outcome is that John was taken away somewhere else for the ritual to continue, as a means of avoiding capture by the police. The second outcome, the one she felt the most likely, was that John was laying in the church dead and the murderers were nowhere to be found. No weapons, no blood, no DNA, no hair, nothing. Not a single trace back to the perpetrators.

Victoria quickly walked towards the church hall and looked through the glass in the door but could see nothing. The window was painted in blood. Thick blood. Blood that was aged. She thought it was hers, painted onto the glass by the maniacs so as to not spoil the surprise of what lay beyond the door. Albert reached the hall doors shortly after she did.

‘Get ready, they could be waiting for us. They have knives and torches so brace yourself’ Victoria said, taking Albert’s hand in her own. She thought to herself that this was not an environment for a 65-year-old to be spending this time of the night in.

‘I’m so sorry for bringing you into this’ she said, ‘your house was the first I found with the lights on’ she said, tears rising in her eyes.

Albert put his hand over her hand that held his and smiled gently, the typical old man smile.

‘Listen dear, I’ve had to put up with much worse don’t worry about that’ he said, ‘I’m just glad that I’ve been able to make sure you’re okay’ he said again smiling. He kissed her hand before letting go. Victoria forced the doors open and slowly walked into the church hall. Albert followed. The room was lit as it was when she ran for her life, but the throne where the red cloaked sadist sat with his two whores was empty, as were the surroundings of the stone manger. That was when she noticed. A body. She hurried over to the manger and began screaming like she had when she was being cut. John lay on the manger with his face sliced off, revealing the muscles and bones of the face. His eyes were gouged out, leaving behind two black dents that looked like the dent left in a plum when the seed was removed. His wrists were slashed about twenty times each, his socks were removed, and his toenails had been trailed off, as were his fingernails. His tongue was cut off halfway down and there was a hatchet mark in the centre of his forehead, with a small section of his brain poking out like the skull was sticking its tongue out. John died a slow, very painful death, starting with his tongue, then his toenails, his fingernails, his eyes, his wrists and finally the axe to the head. Her screaming continued. She turned to Albert and hid her face in his chest, her screams now changing into violent cries.

‘He saved me. They killed him because he saved my life’ she cried.

Albert looked upon John’s destroyed, lifeless body and began sobbing. He looked up at the stained-glass image of Jesus Christ offering his hands to the beholder for salvation. He spat at it.

Not long after, the police arrived. One officer ran out screaming, another officer vomited and other officers either cried or removed their hats as a gesture of respect to the lost soul that lay on the stone.

Albert took Victoria back to his house after a barrage of police questioning where she had to be sedated to be able to get as close to sleeping as possible. 


Submitted: December 25, 2020

© Copyright 2021 CountDan. All rights reserved.

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