Level Zero by Dan McDowell (books that read to you TXT) 📕

Ha! You know what? We should get the back of your legs matching with the front. Don’t you think? Those haughty eyes of yours better stop judging others and start doing something more productive, like God made you to. Don’t you worry, I’ll go to your house and collect all those grass choppers. Some strange kinds of idols you got. All you financial people are so materialistic, aren’t you?” The creep clicked the back of his teeth. “Such a Western problem… we’ll get Chris to hang every one of those whackers from the ceiling in one of his exhibits up top. It’ll look good next to the hanging cadavers on hooks. Don’t worry. They’re rubber, of course. Who knows? What I did to you might even end up in a story told over the phone to a self-serving creep up there, too. Heh-heh.”

I can’t take this anymore.

Todd fainted a moment.

Dear God, it hurts.

The relentless tormenter hovered over his body.

“Fifty-two. Fifty-three. Fifty-four! Fifty-four scrapes on your legs. A perfect number in here. Just like you. What are you going to do about them? Just feel the pain. Learn it!” the weirdo’s whiny voice carried through the tunnel. He put his hand on Todd’s shoulder, patting it with a peculiar rhythm.

I’m in agony… my legs are numb.

Todd closed his eyes, working to regain his composure.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

WAYNE WALLACE’s relocation to the tunnel was nothing short of unpleasant. Becoming alert, he panicked.

I can’t see. I can’t see! What have you done?

He tried to scream but could only make guttural noises. Reaching into his mouth, he searched with his index finger as he collapsed to the floor.

My tongue’s been severed.

Creeper Joe called down into Wayne’s cell, “I save only the best for my worst. You folly stricken people are worthy, aren’t you? Fifteen feet deeper than the rest locked away in a cell, Wayne! You deserve it. I know who you are. You’re back again to torment me, aren’t you? You ruined my life on this earth, and I can’t stand thinking about how much you wrecked my childhood. You didn’t have to. You didn’t have to take advantage of us — always turning to the bottle when we needed you most.”

Who does he think I am? I’m a small-time radio guy. Nothing more.

“Don’t you find it ironic? Everything comes full circle, doesn’t it? Silent film star in the 20s… shock jock in the 80s. I liked you better as the film star. Now you’ll be nothing more than a has-been radio star. Think about that for a moment. No one will ever hear you blab with that giant mouth of yours again. Did you ever do anything useful with your God-given gifts and abilities? We’ll remind you with some Dynamic Duds episodes where you trashed others the most with your lying tongue. It seems to me that you wanted to stir up trouble in the community. I can make this place hell for you, you know. Heh-heh.”

Wayne’s mind raced into the unfamiliar past.

The room was dim as evening encroached. He sat in the back pew of the Oak Hollow Church while the reverend spoke to a bruised Joe.

“Son, you need to honor and respect your mother just like Scripture instructs. She deserves better out of you — giving you one-hundred percent every single day. Even setting these meetings up with me to grow you into a better man. You’ve got to do more to show her you care. How can you do God’s work when you act this way? He has a special purpose for you, but you have to deem yourself worthy first.”

Joe nodded his head as he stood up to leave the room.

“Goodbye, Joe. Tell your mother I said hello.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHRIS WILKERSON’s descent to misery followed him everywhere he went as Joe twisted him deeper into his manipulative grip.

I’m sick of the news. Aren’t there better stories for them to cover? No big financial scandals or cover-ups? No affairs? Every single night it’s more and more coverage on the disappearances. I don’t think there’s any getting myself out of this mess—twenty kidnappings more than I should have ever done. A chip in the bucket to the fifty-four. I can’t rationalize my way out anymore.

He popped a can of Flitz, took a big swill, and poured an ounce of Old Tymer’s into the bottle.

That’s a little better. Block it out. Numb the pain. It’s the only way to move forward.

Avoiding Joe prolonged the problem as Chris’s exits from Creepy Nights lessened and his inaction brought out more reclusive tendencies. Manipulating Joe’s victims to kidnap them nauseated him. Doing so amidst their innocence made it agonizing.

The freak’s more than capable of performing the captures on his own, but seems to get a rise from involving me. That’s a ghastly atonement for sharing the mysteries of Oak Hollow. Whatever those are… They’re going to catch us any day. I can feel it. And the worst part is, I went along with it like a freaking puppet. I’ve got nowhere to run. No longer a matter of if, but when — forever an accomplice. These burdens aren’t going anywhere.

The sofa bed couldn’t beckon any faster. He surrounded it with a couple of accordion-style room dividers on rollers and closed himself in. It darkened the area well, but that was no match for the struggle. Every night at dusk, he longed to escape his inner turmoil, but the regime was never enough to achieve inner peace.

Exercises to slow your mind. Ice cream flavors. State capitals. Favorite movies. It’s never enough.

This evening was no different. Chris anguished over Creeper Joe. He struggled even more over a recent victim that he wrangled with electrical wire and duct tape — feeling ever so horrified to see full pieces of the woman’s scalp separate from her skull as he yanked it away. Weeks after the encounter, the memories haunted his mind. With no way out of the toxic agreement, a foreseeable path to relief seemed