The back of the truck is lit by black candles set in holders at each corner. They light up a scene of sheer horror.
Along each wall of the truck are mounted racks, from which hang a variety of cruel, dangerous-looking items: knives, straps, whips, icepicks, branding irons, gloves with blades at the end of each fingertip, even a cattle prod. Clearly the back of the truck has been set up as a torture chamber - an actual one, not a fetishist's pleasure-pain playhouse. There aren't any spanking benches or crops or light wooden paddles or whips made of soft leather strips designed to sting rather than tear. This truck is a thing of pain and murder, plain and simple. It smells of old blood, and of fear - and fresh varieties of both.
Steel manacles hang from chains at several spots on the ceiling of the truck. At the very back of the truck is a very young woman, a girl, really, nude except for pink panties, her hands bound in a set of the manacles. She stands on her tiptoes, her ankles bound together with rough-looking rope. She stands on a bunch of old towels and rags and what look like they were probably once bits of clothing, all of this atop a large sheet of clear plastic. The entire area smells strongly of urine, and it clear at a glance that the girl has wet herself. The girl's skin has been cut and welted and bruised and pierced in several places. There are burns on her arms and her breasts and her cheeks. Some of the wounds are scabbed over, but others are still open, the blood just starting to thicken. A rag has been tied around her face to make a gag. She whimpers as Mairsil jumps into the van and announces his name.
At the same time, Mairsil produces another reaction by stating his name, not from the girl but from the truck itself and the items in it. The candles flicker for a moment, and the various implements of death hanging along the walls swing back and forth, the shinier of them reflecting the candlelight. Mairsil finds himself thinking that they are inviting him to pick them up, see what they feel like in his hand.
Looking along the walls, Mairsil sees a knife on the floor. It has a plain handle, wood and rivets, and a long, thin blade, single-edged, curved, like the ones used by butchers to flay meat from bone and cut through cartilege. The blade and handle are stained with fresh blood, and the knife itself lays in the middle of a foot-wide puddle of blood, dark and starting to become tacky.
Draft this Post
