An untitled dark thriller by @dehelen #NaNoWriMo



Written by Sandra de Helen


NaNo Excerpt

A sliver of the new moon is rising through the clouds as an unseen watcher leans closer to the closed window of the shed. The ramshackle
building is covered in English ivy, honeysuckle, and a wild rambling rose
that makes it difficult to see into the one-story wood working workshop
that is lit with nothing but a Coleman lantern. Earl Vogelsang sits on a
stack of gunnysacks in his underwear, smoking, a can of Budweiser at his
side. The boy is in a heap, wearing only his tee shirt, his back heaving with
“Get it together you little shit. You got to go inside and you got to act
like everything’s ok.”
The boy jerks away from Earl, but raises his head and faces him.
“Wipe your face and stuff. Straighten up.”
The boy wipes his nose with the back of his hand, stands up, covering
his private parts with his other hand. Earl slaps the boy’s hands away.
“Knock that off you little pussy. I already seen everything you got, and
you seen mine. You liked it too, all right? Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna tell
nobody. And you ain’t either! You got it?” With that, Earl grabs the boy’s
left ear and twists it until the boy drops to his knees, but the boy does not
cry out.
“That’s better. That’s a little man. Now come here and let Uncle Earl
give you a kiss.”
The boy steps forward and Earl pulls the boy into his arms and kisses
the boy on the mouth. Then he turns him around and gives him a push.
“Now get dressed and get in the house. Just act like you always do.
Everything’s ok. All right?”
With that, the boy scurries to put his clothes and shoes on, and runs
out the door, letting it slam behind him. As soon as he is gone, the watcher
goes around to that door, opens it, steps inside, and locks it.
Before Earl can express more than surprise, the watcher crosses the
room and knocks him in the head with a crowbar. That puts him out, and
allows the watcher to prepare the room. First the window is covered with
a black cloth. The door is barred to make it more secure than the lock by
itself. Next the workbench is cleared to make room for Earl. The watcher
uses the firefighter’s carry to get the thirty-seven year old onto the bench.
He is of average height and weight, but he is unconscious, so of no help.
Once he is on the table, the watcher secures him to it with ¾” galvanized
metal strapping, using a nail gun. Earl is strapped at neck, biceps, wrists,
waist, thighs, knees, shins, and ankles. And one across the forehead for
good measure. The watcher opens Earl’s mouth and stuffs it with a sock,
then wraps a bandana around the back of his head and ties it over the sock
in his mouth.
Earl groans and begins to squirm. The watcher holds up a pair of
scissors and a roll of duct tape where Earl can see them. He tries to yell
and when he can’t, he begins to thrash, his eyes wild. The scissors, held in
hands encased in black rubber gloves, come at his face, stopping just short
of his right eye. Earl presses his head into the workbench. Beads of sweat
pop up on his forehead and a deep growl issues from his throat. The warm
building reeks of bodily fluids.
“That’s better. Now stay still just like that. I’m going to give you some
shots so the things I do won’t hurt so bad, okay? Shh. Be quiet now. You
know we like to be quiet. We don’t want anyone to know what you do out
here in the shed, do we? No. So hold real still while I put this needle in
your hand, and now the other one. Now I’m gonna cut your underpants
off, here we go. Don’t wiggle, you’ll make me cut you. Woops, now see? I
did cut you, these scissors are really sharp. Let’s cut these all the way off,
see what you’ve got down here. Well, that’s not so much, is it? What’s the
matter, you cold? All the time I was thinking I’ll bet you hurt that little
boy you had in here, but maybe you didn’t hurt him so bad with this little
old thing here. Oh, but I’m forgetting. It gets hard when you’re around
little kids, right? Little boys and little girls both, right? You’re equal like
that, huh? A real man. Maybe you need to be a bit less of a man. Maybe
you need to be castrated. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll give you some shots. Now
hold still. Here we go. Are you numbing up yet? How about now? Look,
it’s not going to hurt that much anyway, right? I’m not going cut them off
with the scissors. No. I’m going use dental floss. I’ll tie them real tight and
they will fall off in a couple of weeks. Hold still. Hold still!”
When Earl continues to twist and turn, the metal banding starts to
come loose. At the first sound of the nails pulling from the workbench, the
watcher grabs the scissors and stabs Earl in the stomach, then again
higher in the chest, and finally in the throat. Blood is gushing from Earl’s
body, but Earl is still. The watcher gathers up all the tools, including the
black cloth from the window, the bar from the door, the crowbar, the nail
gun, and what is left of the metal strapping. With a last look around, the
watcher leaves the shed, shuts the door, pulls off the rubber gloves and
stows them in a pocket.

Author Bio

Sandra de Helen lives and writes in Portland, Oregon. See more of her work at de Helen is a member of the Golden Crown Literary Society, Sisters in Crime, Dramatists Guild and International Centre for Women Playwrights. Follow her on Twitter @dehelen, read her blog and like her on Facebook at

Disclaimer: I apologize for the above format. It's how I received it. The problem lies in what I call typerwriter syndrome. Each line is it's own paragraph, which is incredibly difficult to format for a blog.