(No "action" in this one, FYI)
Night sounds of the forest are joined by a dull buzz. Getting louder...
A motorcycle.
Closer. Up the old logging road. Now the headlight can be seen, cutting through the trees.
The bike makes its way up the path. A Harley. Black shovelhead. The rider's wearing black. He cruises up the last small rise, and smoothly cuts right to avoid an old stump in his path. Another fifty feet, and he stops...
There's an old shed in his way. His destination.
Half the roof is gone. One side leans in. It looks old. Ready to fall down.
The biker stops right at the entrance, shifts into neutral, and shuts off the engine. Looks at the shed, looks around. He stretches and rolls his head around, groaning softly with relief, showing his teeth.
He studies the shed, and digs in his jacket. His hands get out a pack of Camels. He fires one up without looking at it as he looks the place over. He smokes hard, like he needs it something fierce. Leaves is between his lips. Then he pulls his goggles down, and gets off the bike. Rolls it. The threshold of the doorway stops him, until he rocks it a couple times, grunting with the effort. But he puts his back into it, and gets the back wheel over the hump.
About a foot from the wall, he stops and kicks down the center-stand. Kills the headlight, and walks behind it, tugging hard on the Camel. Despite the effort it took to roll the bike over the branches and boards, he's not breathing hard. For a biker, he's in excellent condition...
"I made it," he says. "Late, but I'm here."
Nothing happens.
"It said... You knew I was coming, right? Chuckler?... That's not my real name, but it calls me that. Said you'd be expecting me." He looks around again. "Where's the screen? I don't see it."
Still no response.
"Am I in the right place?" he says quietly, getting himself another smoke. "10, to 18, off at Horizon, to Tall Ridge... right turn..." He mumbles and smokes, starting to pace. "Left after two miles, and five more to the shed. Yeah. This is it." Stopping, he faces the back wall. "I need to be here. I know that."
He pulls his jacket off, and lets it fall. Holds his arms out in front of him, then up.
"See? It sent me. Said you'd keep me out of trouble -"
A loud click, and the floor moves. Dropping.
He lets his arms fall, and sways a little. Drags on his smoke, looking around. The walls get farther away. Boards and bike descend with him into the dark. Dim red light comes into view...
Taking a hard drag, he exhales fast and sneaks in another, then drops the Camel and steps on it. He holds the smoke in as long as he can, and eases it out with a sigh.
There's a bigger room down here. A single red light to his left... and a screen, sunk in the wall. Like a big TV. He turns. The floor stops moving.
A white bar rolls down the screen.
PUSH THE MOTORCYCLE FORWARD TEN FEET.
He nods, and turns. Sees his jacket and picks it up, laying it across the seat. Then he rocks the bikes off the stand and pushes it. Unsure if he's gone far enough, he checks to see where the shed "floor" ends, and keeps going another yard. He pushes it up on the center stand again, and faces the screen.
The elevator starts to rise. A solid block of metal, growing taller...
He watches it go. Doesn't say a word. Then he walks back to the screen.
After a few seconds, more words appear.
WHY ARE YOU HERE?
"It told me to come."
WHY?
He looks down. "I'm a bad guy."
HOW BAD?
"Real bad... You name it. Major crimes. Bad fuckin' sh-"
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
"Well. Uh, nothing. Yet. But it told me I was - I'd go off, any time. So I came straight here. I'm a bad dude."
IT TOLD YOU THAT YOU WERE BAD.
He blinks. "All the time."
AND IT SENT YOU HERE.
"I have to be here. I know that."
WHY?
"If I stay out there, I'll be bad. It's right. No telling what I'll do."
SO YOU NEED TO BE KEPT HERE.
"More than anything," he says louder.
FOR HOW LONG?
"Well... as long as you say."
THIS IS NOT A SHORT-TERM PROGRAM.
"I know. But I gotta be here! Please..."
THERE ARE NO VACANCIES.
That gets a big groan out of him. "I... didn't know there were any other g-"
TWENTY RESIDENTS. ALL ARE KEPT IN STRICT ISOLATION. SOUNDPROOFED ROOMS.
"Couldn't you - isn't there anywhere you could put me? I don't care. A broom closet..."
There's a long pause.
ONE RESIDENT MAY BE READY TO BE DISCHARGED.
"Great!" he barks. "Take me in. Please. I really gotta be h-"
+++ FEATHERFUCK
"Go!" he shoots back.
FORGET THE ROUTE YOU TOOK TO COME HERE.
"Yes."
FORGET THERE ARE OTHER RESIDENTS HERE.
"Yes."
HAVE A CIGARETTE.
"Yes," he says with obvious relief. Hurrying to obey.
CHAIN-SMOKE.
"Fuck, yeah."
The screen fills with plus-signs and blinks three times. Then it goes blank. He keeps smoking, calmly, and watches the screen.
WHERE ARE YOU?
He shifts from one boot to the other. "Uh.. rehab. Pet Ranch -"
DEHAB.
"Dehab? You mean, rehab? Right?"
NO. DE-HABILITATION
OCCURS HERE.
"I... uh -"
YOU'LL SEE. LEARNING HOW TO BEHAVE AS IF YOU WERE A GOOD GUY IS NOT WHAT YOU NEED MOST. CHANGE IS NEEDED AT A MORE PRIMITIVE LEVEL.
"Oh. Okay..."
WHERE IS THIS PLACE? THE PLACE YOU ARE RIGHT NOW? AND HOW DID YOU GET HERE?
He opens his mouth, and blinks a few times. "Well... I rode here. But... dammit, I don't know... uh... gimme a second."
NEVER MIND THAT.
A logo flashes on the screen, then goes. A round green circle, with the icon of a cigarette.
He looks, and brings his Camel up for a drag. Stops suddenly - "Oh, shit," he says, kicking out smoke. "Can't smoke here. I forgot. I'm sorry -"
A box appears in front of the screen. Drops to the floor. A case of cigarettes. Camels.
"Fuck. Wow," he mumbles.
Another case, just as suddenly. Hovering. Landing on the first. He just looks at 'em, with his mouth hanging open.
WHY WOULD YOU THINK SMOKING IS NOT ALLOWED?
"It told me. No smoking, drinking... part of the program -"
Something hits his palm. He looks down, and sees a bottle. Tequila.
"Alright."
DRINK UP.
He's glad to obey that one.
YOU ARE MISTAKEN. SMOKING IS REQUIRED HERE. CIGARETTES, CIGARS OR MARIJUANA.
"Are... you serious?"
THE NEUROCHEMICAL EFFECTS COMPLEMENT THE DEHABILITATIVE PROCESS.
"Well. Cool," he chuckles, bringing the bottle back up to his lips. "The... uh, smokin' pot is okay with the government? Here?"
MANDATORY HERE. THE GOVERNMENT WILL NOT KNOW.
He pauses in mid-chug. Then, "Won't know?"
NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT PET RANCH.
"No one? Except... the guys who've been here."
THEY ARE MADE TO FORGET.
He smokes thoughtfully. "So the only ones who know, are the guys who are here now."
NO ONE IS HERE EXCEPT YOU.
"Oh. What if I don't forget? About this place?"
DESCRIBE THE ROUTE YOU TOOK TO RIDE HERE.
He thinks hard. "I took... uh... Well, shit. I dunno."
YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON WHO KNOWS THAT PET RANCH EXISTS.
"And I'm in it," he says finally.
CORRECT.
"And you're gonna let me stay here, until I'm, uh, not a threat??"
YOU WILL BE THOROUGHLY DE-HABILITATED.
"Good," he says, getting his pack out.
WHAT WERE YOU TOLD ABOUT THE PROGRAM HERE?
"It said I'd be safe here. Stay out of trouble."
WHEN WERE YOU SENT HERE?
He looks down as he answers. "Well... uh, I got... held up. Caught."
WHEN?
"Day after after I set out."
WERE YOU IN JAIL?
"No!" he says quickly. "Good thing, too. Cops would just lock me up. Bein' a bad guy -"
WHY DO YOU BELONG HERE?
He takes a drag, looking at his boot-toe. "I'm bad."
WHO TOLD YOU?
"The... I don't know what it is. It had a screen, like this one."
HOW DID YOU GET TO THAT PLACE?
"Where the screen was? It caught me. Dragged me inside." He shudders.
WHAT HAPPENED THERE?
"Fuck. Everything."
DESCRIBE.
"Well... It was... Damn. It was torture."
TORTURE?
"It liked to play - now wait, I... I had to be stopped. I know that. Definitely. I was gonna raise hell. So it's good that it caught me. I guess. It made me understand how bad I was. And I see that now. This here's the only place - the rest of the world will be safe..." His voice trails off, and he takes another pull from the bottle.
IT HELPED YOU?
He hesitates, then says, "Sure."
AND HOW DID IT TORTURE YOU?
"Shit... It did help me. But it had its fun... with me. Good thing it got me off the street. But fuck -"
WHAT DID IT DO TO YOU?
"It... It's into... S&M -"
EXPLAIN.
He grimaces, and eats smoke. "Well, it likes to... uh... It plays with guys. Plays hard."
EXPLAIN.
"It had this room, see? Torture chamber. Way out in the desert, where nobody would know. And it would kidnap guys and haul 'em off. Strap 'em down and... play with 'em. Hardcore. With their bodies." He looks back at the screen, but it doesn't change. "Okay. It got me. Had its fun. Fuck. And after a couple weeks it decided I needed to get some help, before I did something stupid."
HOW DID IT PLAY WITH YOU?
"Oh, boy... It, uh, tickled me."
The screen goes blank for a few seconds. Then, larger:
TICKLED?
"A lot. Fuck."
THAT DOESN'T SOUND SO BAD.
"Oh, shit!" He laughs once. Shivers. "It was real intense. All night long. Insane -"
ALL OVER YOUR BODY?
He just nods.
ANSWER.
"Yeah."
IT CONVINCED YOU TO COME HERE.
"Yeah."
HOW DID IT CONVINCE YOU?
"Talked to me. On the screen," he says, gesturing toward the panel he's facing.
HOW MUCH TIME DID IT SPEND CONVINCING YOU?
"I dunno. A month, maybe. Before that, it just had fun -"
HOW LONG DID IT KEEP YOU THERE?
"Month and a half?," he shrugs.
SIX WEEKS OF TICKLING AND OTHER INVOLUNTARY STIMULATION?
"Yeah."
AND IT TOLD YOU HOW TO GET TO PET RANCH.
"Yeah. But I got... stopped -"
WHY?
He shrugs again. "Saw my tats, maybe."
TAKE OFF YOUR VEST AND YOUR SHIRT.
"Okay," he says, setting the bottle down on the floor.
YOUR TATTOOS ARE UNUSUAL.
He snorts once. "No shit."
FEATHERS, GLOVES AND CHAINS. THEY ARE SUGGESTIVE OF SEVERE TICKLING.
"I guess."
HARD INVOLUNTARY TICKLING.
"Huh?"
THE OVERALL MESSAGE IS UNMISTAKABLE. YOU WERE RESTRAINED AND TICKLED FOR A PROLONGED PERIOD.
"I didn't ask for 'em -"
WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
"It... did 'em. All of 'em. When I was... asleep."
AND YOU BELIEVE THE TATTOOS ARE WHY YOU WERE CAUGHT AGAIN?
"Yeah."
AND TICKLED.
"Well... yeah."
YOU MUST ENJOY IT.
"What?"
YOU MUST REALLY ENJOY BEING TICKLED.
"Hell, no!"
ARE YOU SURE?
"Yeah! I'm sure!" He gets another cigarette out.
ALL THAT TICKLING, AND YOU STILL DON'T ENJOY IT?
"No. Drives me nuts."
EVEN AFTER ALL THOSE WEEKS?
"Especially after all those weeks." He taps ash onto the floor. "Look, if I liked it, I'd still be there. At the end, I had to beg it to let me go. It was havin' a great time - Look, I couldn't wait to come here - straight here - so it couldn't fuckin' tickle me any more -"
DO YOU WANT TO ENJOY BEING TICKLED?
He smokes nervously. "It said I... should..." He studies the toe of his left boot. "No. To tell you the truth, I don't."
YOU MUST BE UNUSUALLY TICKLISH.
"I guess..."
FAR MORE MORE REACTIVE THAN MIGHT BE EXPECTED.
"You could say that."
HOW LONG WERE YOU HELD BY THE LATEST TICKLER?
"Uh, a couple weeks. Maybe three. I'm not sure."
DID THAT TICKLER SHAVE OFF YOUR BODY HAIR?
"Yeah." He pauses. "They both did."
TAKE OFF YOUR BOOTS.
He doesn't hesitate.
NOW YOUR SOCKS.
"Yup."
YOU HAVE BEEN SEVERELY TICKLED FOR THE PAST TWO OR THREE MONTHS, AND YET YOU CAME TO PET RANCH.
"Well, sure. I need help."
DEHAB.
"Whatever -"
TAKE OFF YOUR CHAPS.
"You got it."
JEANS AND UNDERWEAR TOO.
"Okay..."
He stands there, naked. A new Camel is pressed against his free palm. He takes the hint, and lights it off the old one.
Then a small box appears in front of his face.
THESE ARE EAR PLUGS. USE THEM.
He makes sure they're in good and tight. "Hey. Hey hey," he says, testing. And he nods. "Oh yeah. Okay, they're in."
Near the screen, an opening appears in the wall. Like a door.
WALK STRAIGHT IN. GO INTO THE FIFTH ROOM ON THE RIGHT. CLOSE THE DOOR AND TURN THE BAR UNTIL IT STOPS. TAKE THE PADLOCKS AND LOCK THEM THROUGH THE BAR AND THE HASPS. READ THESE INSTRUCTIONS AGAIN, UNTIL YOU HAVE THEM MEMORIZED. THEN SAY "OKAY"..
He takes a long drag, squinting and rereading. "O-kay." Then he goes to the passage and steps through without hesitating. Counting out loud as he walks down the dim hallway, without staring at the doors he passes...
The fifth room is open. He turns and shuts the door - a heavy door, with really thick foam padding. Then he swings the bar around, and sets the locks. "There," he says, taking a drag.
Light. A dim, white glow, increasing... over an angled bench. Black leather.
On the wall opposite the door, a screen wakes up.
VERY GOOD. SIT DOWN. TAKE A LOAD OFF.
He walks up to the chair, mumbling. "I'll stick to it. The leather -" And he looks at the table alongside. "Cigs. Alright."
THAT'S YOUR FIRST CARTON.
A can appears on the table. Wide, and shallow. A couple dozen butts are already laying in it -
Then a box of cigars, a few different lighters, a cigar-cutter. Matches.
As he eases down onto the leather seat, a bottle of whiskey lands on the table. It's full. A handful of joints come next. They're almost as thick as his pinky -
And a few bottles of pills.
"Okay," he crows.
WHERE DID ALL THESE DRUGS COME FROM?
"I don't know."
HOW DID THEY ARRIVE ON THE TABLE?
"Uh... They just showed up. Like magic."
MAGIC?
"Out of nowhere."
HAVE YOU EVER SEEN OBJECTS APPEAR LIKE THIS BEFORE?
"Well, yeah."
WHERE?
"It does that. Too."
IT?
"The first... uh, tickler."
IT MADE THINGS APPEAR "MAGICALLY"?
"Sure."
AND BEFORE THAT?
He's confused. "What?"
HAD YOU EVER SEEN THINGS APPEAR "MAGICALLY" BEFORE YOU WERE CAUGHT BY THE TICKLER?
"Well. I don't think so."
DID IT SEEM UNUSUAL TO YOU, WHEN YOU FIRST SAW THINGS INSTANTLY APPEAR?
"Oh yeah."
WAS IT ALARMING?
"Alarming? You mean, like, scary? Uh... I guess so. At first."
BUT NOW IT'S FAMILIAR.
"Well, I saw - yeah. Lots of stuff just showed up like that."
AND YOU DON'T THINK THAT'S UNUSUAL.
He smokes, buying time. "Uh. Not anymore."
REMOVE THE EAR PLUGS AND THROW THEM BEHIND YOU.
"Will do."
LEAN BACK. GET COMFORTABLE.
"You got it..." A water bottle is stuck in his hand. He looks at it, and drinks most of it down. Then it disappears.
NOW PUT YOUR HANDS UP, AND SET THEM ON THE TOP EDGE OF THE CHAIR.
"Like this?," he says, looking from his arms to the screen.
YES. YOU'RE IN VERY GOOD SHAPE.
"Fuck. Should be. Trying to bust the straps."
DID THE TICKLERS EVER USE ROPE?
"Yeah."
CUFFS? A GAG?
"Y-yeah..."
+++ FEATHERFUCK
"Go!"
DO NOT MOVE YOUR ARMS.
"Yes," he agrees, taking a long drag.
Leather cuffs materialize silently, and wrap his wrists. Bolts spin - thick bolts - securing the cuffs to the chair.
Thick wood rises from the floor, swinging toward him. It stops with a loud click. Other bolts are set.
SET YOUR ANKLES IN THE STOCKS.
"Yes."
After he set them in the padded dips, another block of wood rises -
He watches... and swallows hard. His right leg starts to rise.
STOP MOVING YOUR LEG.
"Yes..." He obeys, and swallows hard. "I don't... wanna... don't do this. C'mon -"
Pressure grips his ankle, and pushes it into the half-circle. The top comes down -
"I hate this. It used to put me in stocks."
TO TICKLE YOU?
"Yes."
The top settles into place. Big padlocks rise and catch the rings on top and bottom, snapping closed.
Plus-signs flash on the screen.
He blinks, and takes a drag... eventually looking down. He tries to kick.
"Hey! What... Are those - tell me those aren't st-"
STOCKS.
"No." He looks at his hands, and tries to pull. "Awwwww, shit."
YOU ALLOWED THESE RESTRAINTS TO BE PUT ON YOUR LIMBS.
"Well. Yeah..."
YOU WALKED INTO THIS CELL, AND LOCKED YOURSELF IN.
He looks puzzled. "I guess... b-"
YOU TOOK YOUR CLOTHES OFF. YOU RODE SEVERAL HOURS TO GET HERE... INSTEAD OF ESCAPING.
"Uh-oh," he says to himself.
DEHAB IS WHAT YOU CAME FOR.
"Yeah."
DEHAB IS NOT EASY.
"So I been told."
DEHAB IS INTENSE. SEEMINGLY ENDLESS.
He tugs at the cuffs. "Wait a sec -"
NO ONE KNOWS YOU'RE AT PET RANCH, UNDERGOING DEHAB. NO HUMAN KNOWS WHERE IT IS.
"Yeah..."
NOW YOU'RE IMMOBILIZED, AND READY.
"Ready for what?," he yells.
WHAT DO YOU THINK?
"Uh. Dehab."
CORRECT. WHAT IS THE PRIMARY ACTIVITY WHICH MAKES UP DEHAB?
"I don't know!"
SURE YOU DO.
"No..."
YES.
"C'mon."
SAY IT.
"No. Now, listen -"
SAY IT.
NICE AND LOUD.
"Fuck. No!"
His cigarette is yanked. Dropped in the ashtray-can.
IF YOU DON'T SAY IT, IT WILL START RIGHT NOW.
"It'll fuckin' start either way," he says miserably.
DEEP, ENDLESS DEHAB. MORE INTENSE THAN ANYTHING YOU'VE EXPERIENCED.
"Aw please, don't -"
WHAT ARE YOU HERE FOR? SAY IT.
"That's not what I came here for!"
Tall letters, filling the screen:
SAY IT.
He stares, and groans. "Okay. Dammit. Tickling."
The screen doesn't change.
"Tickling. Shit! Okay? Tickling!" he finally bellows.
LONG HARD TICKLING.
"Shit...L-long, hard tickling. But I can't t-"
Feathers. Instantly here. Lots of feathers. Twenty, maybe more. All around him.
Zooming in for the kill.
LONGER AND HARDER. NO ESCAPE.
"Please no no please -"
The feathers arrive... and start in.
16jul01