The Disappeared: A Horror Short Story

Chapter 1

Six of them drove out into the desert of Nevada, just outside of Las Vegas. There were four young guys and two girls. Each of them was out to drink away any stress from a hard week spent working along the Las Vegas strip.

They parked. Then, they began to drink, dance and party. Mostly acquaintances, Rob and Evan used some roofies to spike one of the girl’s drinks, Debbie. They did not know her name and nor did they want to. This was a night of exploitation.

Interlude

The next day, Debbie woke up on the red sand of the desert, desperately thirsty. Her head throbbed from a pounding heading. This was my punishment from the night before, she thought. Slowly, she rose to her feet, to find herself all alone on the city outskirts. Las Vegas wavered in the distance. Debbie tried to find her bearings: where was everyone?

This thought crossed her mind quickly, as the night before was a complete blur. Debbie could not even remember her name, for a moment or two. But she knew that she wanted to get out of the rising hot sun – and soon.

Unknowingly, she began to parallel Highway 15, which headed towards Las Vegas. Her boots, appropriate for the cold night, became covered in sweat from the mix of heat and leather, in only a few minutes. She tripped and fell, but off in the distance something glinted, something metallic.

Debbie closed the distance to a storm drain entrance, which was a few hundred feet away. Debbie thought: shade, as she moved quickly towards the storm drain’s entrance. Once inside, she squatted down on a small flat rock, trying to remember what had happened to her and how she would get home. The trek to Las Vegas was at least another 5-6 miles and she was not going to get there sitting on her ass.

She then turned towards the interior of the storm drain. Inside the 5’ tunnel, it was mostly black, but there was some light, from where the storm drain had corroded and holes reached the surface. The air inside the round cylinder was cool and there was even little rivlets of water in the corrugated grooves. Debbie decided to stick with the storm drain, despite the chance of getting lost.

After only going a few hundred yards, Debbie already felt more disoriented. The drinking and drugging from the night before left her confused and unsure of herself. However, she tried to hone in to the direction of the strip, by watching the few sun rays that came into the storm drains.

She made a good deal of progress, until she began to hear voices. Unbelievably, people were talking in one of the storm drains on her right. She felt more confident in her choice, as she spoke: “hello!”

Underneath Las Vegas there are over 300 miles of these storm drains, most of which flow right under the city centre. 700 residents also live in these damp refuges. These large pipes house mostly the down-and-out, the drug user and the desperate. Debbie was about to meet her first storm drain dweller.

The talking ceased, after Debbie’s query and the drains became strangely quiet again. Debbie decided to continue in a basic north-westerly direction, hoping to find a highway or bi-way. She continued for a few hundred yards, when she suddenly felt like she was being watched, or followed.

Debbie turned around, but there was no one there. Internal alarm bells were going off. She continued forward, while looking back behind her. The oddly angled storm drains seemed to create shadows of figures behind her, as Debbie’s adrenalin began to pump: “hello? Who’s there?”

There was no sound and there did not seem to be a distinct shape behind her, but Debbie’s fight or flight system kicked up into overdrive. Soon, she was desperately fighting to make progress down the pipes, while looking for a way out. Her high heeled boots hampered her progress, until Debbie became trapped in a storm drain that ended with a small vent. There was a reason so many people drownded down here, Debbie thought.

Debbie turns, only to find a dark figure standing behind her. He is masculine in form, but Debbie cannot see his face: “hello? I’m lost and I need help to get back to the city,” her voice sounded out her plea. She was frightened.

The shape’s left arm became longer, as if he was holding something. He uttered something totally unintelligible to Debbie, before he approached at a run. Debbie’s last thoughts before being attacked were: what did I do to deserve this?

Chapter 2

Detective Jones had been a part of the Las Vegas Police Force for over thirty years now. In this time he had seen too much of the work of pimps, prostitutes and street hustlers in the local community. Promoted from pencil pusher and beat walker to detective ten years ago, Det. Jones had become disassociated from those he was sworn to protect. Las Vegas was simply a beacon for all the low-lifes in the country, drawing the down-trodden like a moth to a flame.

Now working in homicide and missing persons, Jones’ routine consisted of a long early morning breakfast. Then, he would walk some of the notorious alleyways, in search of info’ on a continuing string of prostitute and homeless disappearances. It seemed like every year the list of the missing increased. The lowest of the low are gone forever, Det. Jones thought. Jones, like the majority of the Las Vegas public, was not interested in solving these crimes. It was easier just to forget they existed at all.

“This is Det. Jones to dispatch. I will be heading of the strip and heading towards The Mirage Plaza. I am looking for one of my informants and I will check in at the top of the hour. Over.”

“Roger that Jones. Also, we have had a report this morning of a missing girl. Her roommate reported her missing at 10:00am, when she did not return from an overnight party. Her name is Debbie Largono. Description as follows: 5’ 9”, brunette, 25, with no visible tattoos. Return any news, if you find her. Over.”

“Roger that, dispatch.” Det. Jones scribbled a few lines in his notebook as he headed off the strip towards one of the shelters for the homeless. Here, he found Mitch, his regular snitch.

“What’s cooking, Mitch?” Det. Jones queried.

“Not too much. How is your wife and son?” The homeless man seemed to have a nervous twitch and his grubby appearance showed passerbys where he slept (on the streets).

“Both are good. Geoff is in school for this first time this month. So, we are a little nervous for him.” Det. Jones showed a moment of pride here, when he talked of his family.

“Great. Hey listen, have you heard that more people in the drains have gone missing?” Now, Mitch looked even more nervous. He talked with a whisper while looking from side to side. He seemed afraid of something or someone.

“Mitch, people go missing down there all the time. From drug od’s to drownings…what do expect from people who use and abuse on the streets?” Det. Jones tried to distance himself from those he talked of, with scorn.

“I know. I know. But listen, there are rumours going around about someone taking people from the streets or from the storm drains. They just get snatched!” Mitch looked desperate, while imploring Det. Jones for some compassion.

“Look, there is an outreach program that works with them and volunteers go down there all the time to check on them. Don’t you think they would have heard of something? Anyways, I am on the lookout for a new girl. She is possibly new to the streets. Have you seen any new girls around? A brunette?” Det. Jones raised his eyebrow. This was the first that he had heard of a young girl going missing, outside of the sex trade in a few years. Although a mother of four just vanished into thin air, in 2009 - Jones thought.

“No, I have just been around the lower strip and I have not seen anyone new, just the regulars.”

“Okay, I am going to head cross town, then. Call me on my cell’ if you hear anything.” Det. Jones grunted.

“Right oh. Hey, you don’t have a few bucks you can spare, do you?” Mitch asked.

“I will, if you start helping me find some of these missing people.,” with contempt. “I will talk to you later.” Mitch headed in the opposite direction from which he came. Det. Jones picked up his phone and he dialled his wife.

“Hi sweetheart. Did everything go okay with Geoff, this morning?”

“Yes, he is doing fine. I think that he is getting used to the school now.”

“Great. I might be heading home early, but I need to check out a few spots for another missing girl.” Det. Jones sounded saddened, burdened, or burnt out.

“Okay, I will see you tonight then. Bye.”

Det. Jones hung up the phone while scanning the high rise casinos. They loomed large above a crowd of people shuffling about below. Det. Jones sighed, before once again heading out to find another missing girl. Would these disappearances ever end? he thought.

Chapter 3

The man raised the manhole cover with considerable effort, as the weight of the steel tried to push him back down. After much effort, the cover was pushed to the side and he pulled himself out of the gloom below. He surveyed the alleyway, before choosing a direction.

Jaswinder Singh was a storm drain dweller, a father and a man who felt lost in society. Society had tried to forget him. Now, not being able to speak the language of those around him, he had to take desperate measures to provide for his family and right now, this was the best way to handle it.

Jaswinder crouched to see if anyone had noticed his exit. Next, he moved to the end of the alleyway, while looking across the street to a large mid-level building. Patches of grass were growing around a playground. There was a set of swings and children laughed and played in the enclosed grounds.

He had never tried this before, but compared to the larger adults, this should be easy. Jaswinder crossed the street, while glancing at the 4’ fence surrounding the yard. He walked the length of it, until he came to a patch of brush, which hampered the vision of his movements from anyone looking over from the east side. He quickly jumped over the fence, while casually sitting down behind some shrubs. He was unnoticed, as the traffic around him continued at a mostly serene pace. He did not see any witnesses.

Then, Jaswinder saw him, a young boy. He was no more than five or six years old: just what I was looking for. The students’ minder was busily talking on a cell’ phone. She appeared agitated and distracted. This was perfect, Jaswinder thought.

Several young boys were kicking around a ball. Then, the boy was left alone, as the soccer ball flew to the other side of the field. Jaswinder lunged out of his cover, while heading towards the boy. He picked him up, while covering his nose and mouth. Surely, some of the students at the playground saw him, but within a few seconds Jaswinder was back over the fence and heading back towards the alley. The boy panicked and struggled. Yet, Jaswinder kept his hand over the boy’s face, preventing him from breathing. He quickly grew limp.

Jaswinder was able to gain entrance to the manhole entrance again, while some passerbys paused in their daily lives. They were curious at the commotion from the alley, but urban stress drowned out the event under a haze of honking horns, shouting and general chatter. Then, they resumed their march as if descending into a storm drain with a child was normal. No one responded or offered help.

Before anyone could be summoned, or even become interested, Jaswinder was again navigating the storm drains. He had quite a trek to return to his own shabby piece of real estate, on the outskirts of Las Vegas.

Many of the 700 storm drain dwellers live right under the city centre, for ease of access to credit hustling, begging and other nefarious opportunities. However, some live farther away from the city centre, where the drains are less populated. Now, I just need to avoid the regulars, Jaswinder thought.

The storm drains have killed, on average, 22 people a year in and around Las Vegas. So, many of those living below are desperate, or escaping some type of past. He would rely on their drug induced stupors and drunken highs to get past them, to get back to his family. It would not be long now, before he and his family could eat.

Chapter 4

Jones had just received a phone call from his wife, telling him that Geoff had been taken by, what looked like, a homeless man. One of the other students had seen Geoff picked up by a strange looking man and he took him into the bushes. The authorities had been alerted. Det. Jones was frantically running up the strip to a patrol car.

Next to the Mirage Casino and hotel, Det. Jones radioed in to dispatch that he would be investigating this call, while the head of his department consented. Other squad cars were already heading to the elementary school, as this was a high priority case: possible kidnapping.

Det. Jones turned on the siren and the lamps, while dialing his wife’s number again: “hello, it’s me. Did they give you a description?”

His wife replied: “the teacher and student said he was dark skinned and grubby looking. I am almost there now!” she sobbed.

“I will be there in a few minutes. Have some details for me, when I get there.” Det. Jones hung up the phone as he accelerated the cruiser. Once on the urban streets, the traffic slowed and Det. Jones was able to get to the Kit Carson Elementary School in under five minutes.

At the school, lights were strobing everywhere, as 3-4 police cruisers patrolled the streets. Det. Jones pulled up onto the curb, where he found his wife on her knees crying. She looked up to see him, while pointing to an alleyway.

Det. Jones did not say a word. Instead, he rushed to a dark alley. Here, he found 2-3 policeman hovering around an open man hole cover: “he went down here Jones. We are just waiting for some flashlights.” Jones rushed by them, while climbing down the steel ladder that led into the darkness: “you cannot go down there. Seargeant Connors says we need flashlights for insurance reasons.”

Det. Jones ignored him, while running into the gloom. There was some light and some conversations coming from the left. Det. Jones rushed in that direction, as he looked from left to right. Unbelievably, there were what looked like rooms, that branched off from the main corridor. Inside these rooms were people’s property, including: beds, appliances, books. Det. Jones shook his head. He needed someone to question

A man stumbled towards Jones out of the darkness: “have you seen a blonde boy heading this way?” Det. Jones asked.

The man responded in a surly fashion: “a dark skinned fella went that way.” The drunken man pointed south and Det. Jones had no other choice but to follow. Hurrying, Jones travelled down the straightest storm drain that he could find, while noticing that little pools of water on the floor had been disturbed. Little splashes lined the walls, with Det. Jones moving onwards into what – he did not know.

“Dispatch. This is Det. Jones. I am in the storm drains heading south, in pursuit of the kidnapping suspect.” There was no reply. While the storm drains were generally only a few feet down, under the surface their metal sidings reflected much of the radio signal from Jones’ walkie back down to the source of the signal. Great, Det. Jones’ thought.

Adrenalin fuelled Det. Jones on, while foot patterns and splashes could now be seen along the ground. As Det. Jones moved farther south he found that more light entered the storm drains from grates in the roof. The footsteps brought him deeper and deeper into the tunnels, until the tracks ended at the entrance to another room.

Inside a man lay completely prone and unconscious, with a bottle in his hand. His pockets were out turned, as if he had been robbed. He was an African-American. "This is the dark-skinned man he was talking about," Det. Jones lamented. He slammed his fist on the wall, while feeling hope drain from his body. The excitement and the adrenalin made his body shake. “Geoff!” Det. Jones pleaded, but there was no reply.

Det. Jones knew there were hundreds of miles of tunnels down here and his chances of finding Geoff diminished with each passing moment. He felt pity for himself and all the people he had wronged. He felt pity for his son, who might never be found. Too ignorant of his misdeeds to the community and the people who needed his service, the lessons would not be learned by Det. Jones until long after the calm of this incident had been restored.

Chapter 5

Jaswinder strung up the boy to a loop jutting from one of the walls in a small room. A fire was burning in the center of the gloomy abode and a strange smell wafted up from a metal trash can lid, which was roasting a large slab of meat. A grate in the sealing allowed the smoke to rise, as Jaswinder looked about the room.

His sons and daughters crouched on the floor, wearing rags, which barely covered their lower bodies. They were dirty, but Jaswinder only saw pride. He loved them. Their bloody maws and hungry eyes showed him that what he had done was right. Besides, he tried to rationalize with himself, the Goddess of death, Kali, would want this.

Kali demanded blood sacrifice and Jaswinder would respond. Unable to speak the local language or find a job, Jaswinder had undertaken desperate actions to feed his family. His ancestors were cannibals and while eating human meat is a taboo in North American, Jaswinder saw it as necessary. His mouth watered. He had actually began to enjoy the taste of human flesh.

Jaswinder smiled at his wife, who was cooking the meat. He also looked over at the corner in a wall, where another person was bound. She was a young woman and she was missing her right limb, which ended in a bloody stump. Grime and blood covered the walls, but Jaswinder did not focus on this. He was content, now that his family was about to be fed.

But something began to bother him. From deep down in the tunnels tubes movement could be heard. Jaswinder stepped into the broader corrider and looked north. From that direction, he could hear a dog barking and the sounds of English being spoken. He could not understand what they were saying, but he knew they were coming in his direction.

This was strange, he thought. Never before had any come looking for this missing people he had taken. The meat of prostitutes and drug dealers did not enhance his palette. So, he hunted for people who were more innocent. His new strategies were creating consequences.

Jaswinder spoke to his wife with a few sharp barks. She gathered the children into her arms and lifted them up. They also came into the tunnel, looking frantic. Jaswinder pointed down the tunnel south, as a canine officer entered the tunnel. The dark shape with the dog, let go of his leash and the German Shepard sprinted towards Jaswinder. He had little time to respond, as the animal dug into his arm.

He screamed and gestured for his family to leave, as the dog dug into his face. His throat was cut and the streaming blood felt greasy and warm.

Other officers streamed into the tunnel. Another canine unit pursued his family. He could not offer much resistance. Jaswinder’s vision grew blurry. My family, he thought.

Jaswinder’s last moments were spent looking at Geoff, the boy he had just captured. He looked so content in death and just like one of his own sons. Maybe he would find contentment too. Jaswinder’s eyes closed and the macabre view of Geoff, throat torn by his own hand, dimmed from consciousness. Only the sound of screams remained, from behind him – the screams of his family.

Chapter 6

News reports of the cannibal storm drain dwellers went global. Geoff’s kidnapping and the tragic events which left a family deceased below Las Vegas would remain on headlines for weeks. Reports of what actually happened would only be truly known by the officers. However, rumours talked of an East Indian family of cannibals being killed in the storm drains of Las Vegas. "They had fought with weapons," the officers claimed and they had been shot in self-defence. It was a massacre.

This bloodshed had been seen by a young boy, who was a partial victim to the attack. His father, Jaswinder, had been killed and his mother, his sister…He was dirty and alone. Learning from his father’s mistakes, he dressed in the clothes of those living in the storm drains and the city workers above. While health workers attempted to put an end to the underground dwellers, Achintya learned the ways of the people around him. He learned patience, he learned to speak English and most importantly he learned to temper his desire for revenge.

Several years passed on before he exited the same manhole cover his father had before him, to take Geoff. He followed the city streets to a small urban house located outside of Las Vegas. He broke the heavy duty lock on the rear of the house with a set of bolt cutters, before slipping inside.

A woman in her mid-thirties was inside, drunk. She sat in front of the television semi-conscious. She had a small boy’s sweater in her hand. Achintya removed the sweater, while drawing a knife from his belt. The alcohol will make her meat taste poorly, but I must do this.

Soon, smells of cooking meat circulated out the back and into the neighbourhood, just like any other family bar-b-q. Det. Jones’ mouth would water when he walked into the house unaware of what had happened to his wife. Mrs. Jones would be the meal, but Mr. Jones would be the dessert, Achintya thought to himself. Revenge had never tasted so good, Achintya smiled, while licking his lips.

There have been lots of disappearances in the Las Vegas area, including:

Disappearance in Las Vegas

Inspirations include real life and unsolved disappearances in the Las Vegas area:



 |  |  |  | 

Advertise Here - Contact me Michael Allen at 28DLA

Subscribe to 28 Days Later: An Analysis Email Subscription

Posted in: 2011,disaster,las vegas,murder,short,short stories,short story