Detour

Grace and Andrew Bennet had been together six long
and prosperous years, filled with the enjoyment of each other’s company. In
this most glorious occasion of their anniversary, they had both decided upon a
relaxing visit to the Great Smoky Mountains that Asheville, North Carolina
offered so pleasantly. After arriving in their mountain house and unpacking all
of their various belongings, Grace opted for a soothing trip on a canoe the up
rivers that winded along the gorgeous hilly range.

At that very moment, as Andrew drove their beaten up
Ford Focus, Grace was imaging the smooth way that the paddles would glide
across the water as she and Andrew sat in the canoe, perhaps situated at
opposite ends and staring at each other warmly in the eyes, perfectly romantic,
and also a great way to feed her adventurous side.

Andrew was having quite the different fantasy. He
was not exactly an audacious kind of person, and even the prospect of being in
a small boat frightened him. He envisioned what it would be like to
accidentally slip out, or far worse, tip the canoe over, and fall into the
murky depths of the river below. A shudder passed through him, but then he
remembered the beauty of nature that he was going to be seeing, and even
photographing with his brand new Nikon camera in the backseat, and he detached
himself of some of the fear that seeped into his body through his overactive
creativity. He shook himself mentally, thinking of what a loser he really was,
a stay at home wannabe father who couldn’t even manage to get his wife
pregnant. After much arguing and held grudges against Grace’s parents, who had
insisted that she stay away from him for his being a lazy shithead. He was
beginning to think that they may just be right.

He had to prove them wrong. He was going to get a
job as a photographer for the local newspaper, he just knew it. No longer would
he be a pathetic unemployed asshole, as Grace’s father had frequently called
him. He would have a job, a purpose. He had gone into the interview with such
nervousness. He had worked for so long to get every aspect of his clothing, his
thin wiry beard, and his figure as a whole to be presentable, as to impress his
soon to be new boss. It was much to his relief when he was greeted by a calming
atmosphere and a kind, smiling man who claimed to be the head of the company.
He had been sent out the door with a pat on the back and the reassurance that
he had some very real potential for the job.

The phone call would be there on the answering
machine when they got back, announcing his acceptance into the Fayettville news
and press.  As for now, at least he was
an asshole in love. He took his eyes off the road for a split-second to glance
over at Grace, who was looking out the side window of the car, watching the
trees tear by as he pushed the pedal up to sixty miles per hour.

Grace was never particularly beautiful. The first
time he saw her, standing alone in the corner of a very wild college fraternity
party, casually sipping a bottle of Scotch, he had dismissed her as one who did
not belong. At the time he had made a false identity of himself as a hot shot
ladies man, when, in truth, he was one who enjoyed tranquility. He and his
friends had teased her amongst themselves, talking about her short cropped
dirty blonde hair and slightly crooked teeth, while completely ignoring all of
her good features, such as her full body and gorgeous sea green eyes.

It was much later when they were actually
introduced, but when they were, by a friend of a friend at yet another party,
something extraordinary happened. They became friends, and had spent the entire
night on the roof of the dorm, getting to know each other better. They stayed
that way for a year and a half, good friends. Even though he had not found her
initially attractive, Andrew felt himself gradually falling in love with Grace.
He was cool and confident asking her out, having known her so well for a
moderately long period of time, and she had gratefully accepted his
compassionate offer.

Everything had taken off from there. A year later he
was planning to ask Grace to marry him. Then he was kicked out of college.

One phone call ruined his life. He picked up the
receiver and was carelessly informed that his scholarship was gone. He had
expected Grace to leave him after that, what with her parents pushing her to
marry someone she thought would be successful. He knew that they would never
like someone like him who had been dismissed from college.

To his surprise, Grace was incredibly supportive.
The thought of leaving him had apparently not even crossed her mind. Even with
her parent’s protests, she still continued to go out with him. She had restored
his happiness, and, soon afterwards on a fishing trip out on the outer banks,
he had asked her to marry him.

Six years later they were living successfully. Grace,
with her new doctorate, had opened up a veterinary clinic as soon as she was
finished with school. And they had lived happily ever since.

“Andrew honey, look out there’s a detour ahead!”

Andrew started and pressed down on the brakes. He
had been lost in his thoughts of the past, and had not been paying attention to
the road. He chastised himself before muttering a quick word of thanks to his
wife. Sure enough, the big block words glared at him from the bright orange sign
that was blocking the street ahead. “DETOUR” The letters seemed to yell at him,
“PLEASE FOLLOW ARROWS.”

Andrew readily obliged by following the arrows to
the left. The road they turned onto seemed to stretch on into the distance
forever, and it was banked on both sides by rocks that appeared to be reaching
for the clouds. These said rocks were spattered with the graffiti of
unscrupulous teenagers who probably roamed the area during the hours of dusk to
dawn. Beside Andrew, Grace entertained herself by reading the splotchy, red
curving words that had been painted onto the stone.

“All hail Lucifer, our generous lord.”

Andrew, who was now making an honest effort to pay
attention to the twisting terrain of the pavement, did a double take at his
wife, saying “What was that, Grace?”

She let out a tinkling laugh that he had grown to
know very well over the years.

“I’m just reading the words on the wall Andrew.”

He, being raised in a strictly catholic family,
shook his head in disgust, saying “It really is sad what’s happening to our
youth today Grace, even if I myself am not exactly old, it makes me scared to
think what it’ll be like thirty or so years from now, don’t you agree?”

She nodded her head in unspoken concurrence, then,
realizing that Andrew was not looking at her, piped up “Yes, I agree.” Then,
having nothing more to say, turned back to the window and continued to read the
things that had been illustrated on the granite.

“Let he who hath understanding reckon the number of
the beast.”

“Blessed are the destroyers of false hope, for they
are the true messiahs.”

“Prayers are to men as dolls are to children.”

Grace had heard of stories of Satanists making their
home in this rural part of the Smoky Mountains, but she had dismissed them as
rumors and nothing more. Now she grinned like a child to see that these rumors
could very well be true.

Andrew hurriedly reached for the car radio. He
flicked the switch, turning it on, and twisted the knob until he found the
local classic rock station. He found, to his dismay that “Sympathy for the
Devil” by The Rolling Stones was blasting through his speakers. Again he
twisted the knob until he found “Kashmir” by Led Zeppelin, and he relaxed
slightly, leaning back in his seat.

Suddenly, the car skidded and swerved, as if some
unseen thing had pushed it sideways just slightly, almost causing the car to
topple off the road. Grace let out a gasp of terror as Andrew slammed down hard
on the brakes. They sat there for a moment, hearts hammering fast.

“Are you okay?” Andrew asked Grace, concerned for
her well being.

“Fine,” Grace replied, panting. “But what the hell
was that, exactly?”

“I don’t know, give me a moment to go outside and
check it out. Jesus fucking Christ I think we might’ve blown a tire.”

Upon investigation, Andrew found out that they had
indeed somehow emaciated not one, but both of their front tires. He spent the
next minute or so searching the pavement, feeling it with his hands for
something, anything really, that could possibly have lacerated his tires like
they were now.

Then he saw it from a few feet back, a gleam of
silver in the sunlight. He rushed forward and squinted, looking down at what
had so apparently been stretched across the road.

It was razor wire.

He got to his feet slowly before. He started to turn
around, yelling to Grace, “Hey what…?”

But his question was cut off as he felt the
hypodermic needle plunge into his side. He stumbled, tripping over the razor
wire and cutting his ankle. He felt a warm rush of blood but did not register
the pain as all parts of his body became numb. As his vision blurred he got one
good look at his attacker before whoever it was rushed off to the car to
incapacitate Grace.

It was a man, completely naked, with the head of a
goat.

The last thing he knew was Grace’s scream of terror
before he passed out.

Grace was the first to awaken. She lolled her head
sluggishly against her bare shoulder, the full effects of the drugs had not yet
completely worn off, and she was incapable of forming coherent thoughts. The
one thing she could make out was the hurt. It was almost as if her legs and
arms were being… stretched. Something harsh had been shoved into her mouth,
almost choking her, and partially restricting her breathing through her
nostrils. She gagged, even in her stupor, and shivered in the coldness.

Something was terribly wrong here. Then it all came
back to her in a flood of memories. The man with the goat head, seeing Andrew’s
lifeless body in the road, and the feeling of the syringe as it pierced her
neck.

Her eyes shot open, and she screamed in horror when
she became aware of her surroundings, screamed through the metal ball that was
strapped firmly in her mouth, keeping her from making too much noise. The cold
steel grated against her teeth. She shut her eyes tight; not wanting to see…
but being too late. She thrashed desperately against her bindings, but it was no
use. Her hands were tied firmly and were being held above her head. Her legs
were bound also and they were spread apart. She was completely naked, without a
single stitch of clothing adorning her body.

Reality was here. There was no denying it. Grace
could only face it. She opened her eyes once more.

She was undoubtedly in the caverns of the Great
Smoky Mountains. That was clear to see by the various stalactites that hung
from the craggy, arched ceiling which was no less than ten feet above her. The
whole place was like an air pocket made of rock in the middle of a mountain.
The location seemed to be eerily self illuminated, light was simply there, making
the musty and damp cave visible. The men standing before Grace observed her,
never saying a single word while she made her muffled attempts to scream.

Andrew was beside Grace, and like her, he was bound
and gagged. More than that, he was hung upside down, with his feet pointing
upwards towards those dangerously sharp stalactites and his head a mere two
feet from the ground. He had not yet regained his consciousness.

The man with the goat’s head was standing there,
although Grace could now see that he didn’t have the real head goat’s head at
all, it was some sort of strange mask made from the decapitated head of a goat.
She could tell it was real by the way the stench of fresh blood and barnyard
animals constricted her nose.

The other man was dressed in a long black cloak with
a hood that hid his face. His hands were gloved. He held in his arms a large
jar that was filled with what looked like salt. He rocked back and forth
slightly on his feet, as if waiting for something to happen.

Andrew began to stir. His face was red from being
upside down for a long period of time, and he shifted in discomfort. Then his
eyes opened. He began to struggle violently against his restraints, yelling
furiously through the metal ball in his mouth.

The man in the hood began to unscrew the jar. The
smell confirmed that the container was indeed full of salt. Then, the man with
the goat mask reached deep into the jar and withdrew a long silver knife that
flashed wickedly in the dim light that the cave was somehow providing.

The man in the hood extended his hands into the
folds of his midnight robes and drew forth a very old book and what appeared to
be a golden chalice. He handed the grail to his companion before opening the
book. As he opened it, the spine seemed to protest. The pages were yellow and
harbored many stains, as if it had been thumbed through often, maybe searching
for one specific page. He seemed to find what he was looking for, and, with
this completed, he sat down on the rock floor and swayed gently, back and
forth, murmuring to himself contentedly while looking down at the book. Through
her tear stained vision, Grace was able to make out the title that was printed
clearly on the spine. It was a Satanic Bible.

The man with the goat
mask approached Andrew slowly as the man in the cloak read on, his bare feet
scraping against the rocks of the cave floor. He then knelt on the ground next
to Andrew’s face, knife in one hand and chalice in the other. Andrew was still
valiantly trying to free himself of his bonds, even if it was of no use.

The man with the goat
head began to cut Andrew.

He started with a
small incision along the lower abdomen, and worked his way up from there. With
each new slice of the blade, Andrew flinched, and squeezed his eyes shut tight,
as if he were in a nightmare that he was trying with all the power of his mind
to awake from. Blood oozed out of his body thick and hot, and ran down his
torso in maroon tendrils. At this point he had stopped struggling. Once the man
with the goat mask got to the base of Andrew’s chest, he stopped, and set the
knife down on the floor.

The chalice was held
up to Andrew’s bleeding form, and his bodily fluids entered the golden cup,
filling it to the brim. The man with the goat mask then stood and dipped his
fingers in the chalice, bringing them out a dark red. Then, slowly but surely,
he moved them towards his own chest before sliding his fingers across his skin
in quick, decisive strokes, forming the shape of a pentagon.

Then, he picked the
blade off the ground and moved towards Grace. She began her efforts to escape
once again, and again, she was unable. It was almost like taking a shot in the
doctor’s office, except here there was no possible chance of getting out, and she
was most likely going to be tortured by a satanic twosome.

She got a very good
look at the knife that was being carried by this strange man. It was at least
thirteen inches long, large, and curved sharply near the end. It was this
knife, she thought to herself, which would soon be piercing her flesh.

But the man in the
mask had much more insidious intentions.

He stooped, looking
down upon Grace’s genitalia. His head cocked to one side, as if fascinated by
what he had found. He reached out and caressed it with his fingertips, tracing
the vertical line between her legs. Grace began to writhe once more as she was
now terrified to the very core of her being.

The man paid no
notice to her feeble attempts to contest him and instead began to examine her
closely, slipping his fingers inside of her through the space in her legs,
slowly, as if he was almost scared something would bite him.  It was almost like the first time she and
Andrew had had sex. It had started gradually and teasingly.

He probed her until
he found what he wanted, in her very center. Then, he slipped the tip of the
knife within her. Grace had stopped fighting and now stayed as still as she
possibly could for fear of cutting herself, trembling slightly, with her heart
thudding.

Then the man started
to saw with the sharp edge of the knife. The greatest and most personal pain
Grace had ever felt now consumed her, and tears flowed openly down her cheeks.
Her mouth was producing saliva at an alarming rate, and she was afraid that if
she swallowed she would be sick. At the same time she was barely holding back a
biting scream in her throat. She could do nothing but endure the torturous pain
until there was a give on the inside as well as a torrent of blood. The man had
what he wanted. From within her body he withdrew the fleshly and disgusting
thing that was Grace’s clitoris.

He took it over to
the man in the hood, who was still reading silently and rocking back and forth.
The man in the mask tentatively offered the severed clitoris, as a small boy
would offer his dog a piece of meat. The hooded figure stopped rocking and bent
over slightly, before eating the bloody sex organ straight from the hand. There
was a revolting squishing noise as he chewed loudly before swallowing. Grace
could’ve sworn she heard it slide down his throat.

Grace couldn’t hold
it in any longer. She vomited into her restraints. Some of the bile came out of
her nose, but most of it simply glided right back down into her stomach. She
almost choked on some of her own sick but managed to force it down.

Having completed his
task, the man with the Goat head left the cavern, exiting through am opening in
the stone wall that Grace was sure hadn’t been there before. The man in the
hood remained on the floor. He had continued his gentle swaying.

Grace pulled at the
ropes that bound her with a ferocity she had not known existed within her.
Tears came to her eyes but eventually, after several minutes, she was able to
work out one foot, shaking violently, onto the cave floor. She repeated this
gesture with her second foot until it too was free, than she began to work on
her hands.

She gasped with the
pain but, with some perseverance, her left hand was freed. Her right hand came
out of its restraints with a sudden jerk, and she cried out as she felt her
thumb break. Paying no heed to the pain that was throbbing in her hand, Grace
crawled over to Andrew on her hands and knees, not having the strength to get
to her feet.

She looked furtively
over to the man who was rocking back and forth on the ground, but he did
nothing to stop her, or even look up for that matter, as Grace caressed Andrew’s
face and pressed down on the bloody wounds his torso bore. Her hands came back
wet and sticky.

She had to get out.
Getting to civilization would be the first thing to do without a doubt. Grace
stumbled to the entrance of the cave before breaking into a sort of limping
run. It took her two hours to find the exit of the caverns, and when she did
she was met by blinding rays of unforgiving sunlight.

She walked on for
hours, stumbling through the woods in the hope that someone would run across
her, a troop of boy scouts, perhaps, or a hiking family.

Finally, when her
energy had run out she could do nothing but stare at the treetops above as her
back hit the ground hard. All her vigor was depleted, and the trail of blood
that had dripped on the dirt probably had a lot to do with that.

Then all the birds
stopped singing, and a dreadful silence filled the air. Grace just knew
something terrible was going to happen.

Sixty minutes later,
a curious backpacking family of three was surprised to find traces of blood on
the path that they had been following since that morning. The vital fluid ended
very abruptly at one point, which the father of this trio found somewhat
suspicious.

*Strange*… he thought to himself. *It’s*
almost as if the earth swallowed whatever it was right up.

*Credited to SnakeTongue237

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