Fear Factors Read online

  Title Page

  FEAR FACTORS

  By

  Peter Andrew Sacco

  Publisher Information

  Published in the United States by Booklocker.com, Inc., Bangor, Maine

  Digital edition converted and

  Distributed in 2012 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright © Peter Andrew Sacco

  The right of Peter Andrew Sacco to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Revised Edition

  Dedication

  We’ve all dreamt those dreams that cause us to stir in our sleep, awake and think about what if they really could happen? Fear Factors is a collection of short stories which looks at those frightening dreams which cause many to stay awake at night and ponder their worst fears. It takes a look at the dark side of humanity and the evil humans are willing to do to others as well as themselves. Jules Verne was a visionary who authored books based on his fantastical dreams and insights. Decades later, much of what he wrote about in fiction has become a large part of technological fact. What if all types of dreams could come true? Scary thought!

  This book is dedicated to my parents and their unrelenting and faithful support in my life as well as to my sisters, Melanie and Lisa.

  It is dedicated to fellow readers and authors like myself who like to think about the sensational fiction which has the ability to create goose bumps throughout bodies. Because of the likes of Stephen King, Clive Barker, Wes Craven, Edgar Allen Poe, Tim Burton, Chris Carter and Alfred Hitchcock, I too have ventured into the magic, fantasies, horrors and illusions of writing what makes people mumble…”uh oh!”

  Thanks to these masters of horror! And thank you to every reader who enjoys my work!

  Chapter One

  One Hell Of A Sexy Deal

  A sickly looking man in his late thirties stands atop the edge of a high bridge, overlooking very choppy waters. After much hesitation, he slings one leg over the rail, and then the other, until both feet come to rest on a ledge no more than eight inches wide. The fierce winds blow the ball cap from his head into the water. What is left of the man’s hair is strewn about in the wind. The man purses his lips tightly.

  His badly disfigured face looks like it will crack if he flinches any tighter. A harsh sounding cough resembling a dog’s bark, resonates from his mouth. Tears gently start to form in the corner of the man’s eyes and slowly begin to stream down his cheeks until they are lost in the deep, dark crevasses of his face. The man lets one of his hands become independent of the railing. His arm blows free like a rag doll. The right side of his overcoat takes off in the wind like a child’s kite. A motorist passing by, sees the man and stops their car. A couple step out and rush over to the man. A second motorist follows suit and then a third. Soon there is a handful of people standing at the edge of the bridge trying to talk the man out of jumping.

  The man slips out of his overcoat, one arm at a time, grasping onto the iron rail firmly with each hand. The man slings the coat back over the rail and stares at the onlookers for a brief moment. One of the women standing near the man catches his coat in her arms and face, as the others try to pull the man back over the rail. In a loud shriek, the man screams “You win, you son of a bitch!” Before they can grab onto his legs, or torso, the man leaps off the bridge and his body descends violently in the wind toward the water. Several of the onlookers turn their heads in disbelief, while others stare over the rail, watching him plunge down into the dark depths. The woman, who caught the man’s jacket, removes a large envelope that has been stapled to the lining of his coat pocket. She opens the brown envelope and reveals what appears to be a small manuscript. In the background, wailing sirens can now be heard growing closer. The woman walks away from the bridge with her husband, and reads the manuscript aloud.

  “I am Dr. David Jacob. Welcome to my nightmare.”

  ***

  It was not long ago I had everything a thirty-nine year old man could possibly ask for. I had a beautiful, blonde wife with a figure which could compete with any runway model. I had a great job as a professor of philosophy at Columbia University. I drove a brand new Mercedes coupe. And my penthouse totally incredible! I believe everything I ever owned, I deserved, including my problem which I will share with you soon.

  Before I tell you about ‘that’ problem, allow me to tell you about the problem I had which put me in a dilemma of sorts. You see, I have a problem with women. I really do love my wife, but there are just so many nice tits and asses out there, at times, I just lose it. I just can’t help lusting after women!

  Being in the position I am in, young, very good looking and of course, intelligent female students swarm my office like bees to honey. A man is only so strong.

  My wife and I had a good sex life but I just needed more; not more out of life, just more sex. How can I describe it without sounding like some crazed nympho? Well, sex was what drove me. It was my life-long hunger. Whenever I walked by one of those female students in the hallway, the ones with the mini-skirt strategically pulled up to the crack beckoning beneath the base of her crotch, and of course no underwear, I would salivate. It was like the hot fudge sundae I lusted for as I graded poorly written papers into the break of dawn. And when they had leather on, mercy me! I needed female tail of all sorts.

  I had my first encounter with one of my students just over a year ago. One minute we were discussing Spinoza, the next minute, we were rolling around on the couch in my office. Was she a hot number! She was getting by with a C in the course, and after her performance, I made sure she came out of the course with a B+. That escapade was only the tip of the iceberg. It seemed this was the first hole in the dike and the waters came crashing through soon after. Within the next three months, I bedded about nine of my students and a few strays here and there whom I picked up in the halls. And to believe I had been married four years until this point and never committed an infidelity! Now, it was a regular part of my life.

  Stroking before class, oral sex between classes and intercourse on the couch in my office after class. Talk about being the ultimate sex machine. I must have been going through some kind of mid-life crisis. Things got even more risky. I got so bold as to invite one of my students over one weekend, when my wife Trish, the CEO, was away at some convention. As it turned out, the stupid bitch left her underwear under the bed, the first time she ever wore underwear, and my wife found them the following week. I don’t know how I did it, but I pulled a David Copperfield and wiggled my way out of it with no hard feelings. That really should have been the end of it, but I had to press my luck one more time.

  The wife was out of town again on business two months later, so I thought. I had one of my students over and we had just started mattress tosses when the wife walked in. Fortunately, I was on top and this spared Connie, my student, a little shame and a bruised forehead, after Trish hit me in the head with a plastic mug. Before I had a chance to do or say anything, Trish was packed up and out of the penthouse. I was alone. This is when my real problem began.

  I was taking a shower on the Sunday mornin
g following the incident, when my life got more interesting. Given what happened the previous night, I was in a fairly decent mood. I was singing aloud U2’s song “Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” There was something tugging at me inside. I think it was one of Descartes’ meditations on being. I thought repeatedly to myself what it would be like “to be” forever, and to have all the pussy I could get for the rest of my life. Then I made some stupid comment aloud. What was it? Oh yes. “If I could live forever, and never age another day the rest of my life, I would be the ultimate lover. Dracula and Casanova, eat your heart out. I’d even sell my soul to the devil for that chance.”

  A few minutes later, I finished my shower, dried myself off and was staring at my handsome features in the mirror for a few moments. I really was the complete package. I had looks, brains, and all the charm in the world. I threw my robe on and went into the bedroom. My eyes almost rolled out of their sockets. There she was. She was incredible! I had to rub my eyes because

  I thought I was hallucinating. I wasn’t. The most incredible, voluptuous red-head was lying spread-eagled on my bed dressed in black tights, which covered her whole body like plastic wrap. Her nipples protruded out like two incredible erections. I had mistaken her genitalia momentarily for the Panama canal. After a brief body scan, our eyes met. Her eyes were the deepest brown, with hot coals afire in the middles. I felt myself burning in them. I joked to myself that five minutes gazing into those lasers, one could easily become spontaneous-combustible. I tore myself away from her gaze and studied her perfect nose and her pouting lips, as hot as black cherries. I could suck on them for the rest of my life and never grow chapped. I was so captivated by her lips I did not hear what she said. Still entranced, she slithered off the bed and sauntered toward me. Her walk!

  She flowed like honey off bee comb across the floor. Her presence sweetened the air. It was the aroma I had always associated with love making to the most beautiful woman in the world. That aroma was here in my bedroom. I could feel a bulge beginning to grow in my robe. At the back of my mind I was still fumbling with the irrelevant questions of who the hell this broad was, and how the hell did she get in here, and who the hell really cares right now, ‘cause I’m about to score major, that is, until I wake up.

  At last she was standing before me and her soft lips touched my own ever so gently. I tried to kiss her back but she pulled away. I wanted to taste her lips. She gently caressed the bulge in my robe and laughed aloud. I looked at her ivory white teeth and the heart-shaped form of her lips. Quite abruptly, she stopped laughing and looked serious for a moment.

  This time she spoke and I heard her. “So you want to be the Dracula of the twenty-first century and sample the forbidden fruits from every garden?” she whispered.

  How the hell did she know that? I just nodded.

  “You think you are God’s gift to women, do you not?”

  Once more, I nodded. Before she could speak again, I interrupted. “Who are you?”

  “Do you like what you see?” she answered with a snicker.

  “Damn right!” I yelped.

  She looked at me for and moment, studying my eyes and then began to speak softly and slowly. “I am here to give you what you desire. You wanted to live forever, and have your fill of women, and be the world’s greatest lover. I can give you that. I can offer you the chance to live forever.”

  I snickered and nodded. She stared at me like I was some immature teen. “You do not believe I can offer you everlasting life on this earth?”

  “Yeah, right lady! I don’t know how you got in here, or who the hell you are, but I love your sense of passion. You’ve definitely turned me on. So tell me, did Trish send you to get even? Is this retribution?”

  She looked at me, laughing again. This time she appeared to be laughing at me. I was curious, but at the same time I was really turned on. I just wanted to get this broad on the bed and make endless passion. I kept asking myself if Trish, my wife, sent her. But for some reason, I knew she did not. Who the hell was she? She spoke again in her soft, seductive voice. “You were the one who had me sent.”

  I just looked at her and smiled. “I wish it was this easy every time I got horny. Talk about thirty seconds or free,” I joked aloud.

  She smiled at me and took out a black piece of paper from beneath her sleeve. Instantly, she produced a stylus from nothingness. I was definitely impressed, as well as curious.

  “A magician as well!” I joked.

  She looked at me and smiled once more. It finally dawned on me. She had been sent by one of the boys. For some time now, my colleagues and I had been engaging in the fine art of practical jokes. Who would think stuffy, philosophical minds could engage in such pathetic ruses? A while back I got Roger McRae, an ancient Greek philosophy professor in the department, really good. He had been riding me for some time, so I had a male strip-o-gram sent to his largest lecture. Rumor had it he turned beet red throughout the striptease Yes, it must be him. He sent this chick.

  She must be some sort of professional call girl, or entertainer. Knowing the boys, they might have her wired up, or have some kind of hidden camera. She knew of my desire to live forever. The guys must have filled her in on a brief bio of yours truly. Being a professional, she’s probably good at picking locks, or using credit cards, which would explain how she got in. How would they know I would be home today? And alone for that matter? Wait one minute.

  I left a message on Steve’s machine last night telling him what happened and I would not be able to make the luncheon today. Bingo! That’s it! What the hell, I’ll just humor her and play along and try not to do anything embarrassing in the process.

  “What is the pen and paper for?” I asked trying to keep a straight face.

  She walked towards me and guided me onto edge of the bed. She handed me the black piece of paper while slowly nibbling the tip of the pen. That was even a bigger turn-on!

  “Is this like a consent to sex form I am supposed to sign?” I joked.

  She shook her head and smiled. “You don’t understand, do you? I’m here to offer you everlasting life in exchange for your soul.”

  I tried to refrain from laughing, but was unsuccessful. The guys will love this response, I thought. “So what you are telling me is I might engage in an existential beingness by being, and I will assume infinity in time and space, and never be juxtaposed to non-being, nor the meaningless, posh lost existence marked by a descended state of nothingness?” I wanted my crap to smell sweet.

  She stared at me in silence. Obviously, her mind was still caught up in a whirlwind on some other plane. She smiled and proceeded in her sale. “Do you want to live forever?”

  “Everyone would love to live forever,” I stated.

  “I am offering you eternal life. You will never perish from this world unless you want to, and at that point, you come to me,” she asserted.

  “And where are you going to be?” I asked mockingly.

  “In hell,” she answered.

  When she said that I almost broke out into a frenzy of laughter, but I kept my cool. There was no way those guys were going to win.

  “Are you the devil?” I asked her.

  “I am anything you want me to be,” she replied.

  “What if I told you I do not believe in hell,” I said.

  “Well then, by signing your soul over to me, you have nothing to lose, do you?”

  I looked at her and smiled. “Is it really as hot and painful down there as everyone portrays hell to be?” I mockingly asked.

  She offered me a sarcastic grin. “Oh, it’s nasty.”

  “Can it get any nastier than here?” I scoffed.

  “Oh, you’d be very surprised,” she said licking her lips.

  “So what would I get from this deal again,” I said thinking aloud. “I get everlasting life, as
long as I want it, and then when I’ve had enough, you get my soul, and I am then condemned to everlasting suffering and pain of the S and M variety. Is that the deal?”

  “Yes,” she answered with a wink.

  “So I could get hit by cars, jump off buildings, get shot, and I would not die unless I willingly surrendered my soul to you?”

  “Yes, it’s your show,” she answered again.

  “I could therefore, do anything which would kill human beings and not die?”

  “Yes,” she answered again.

  “And sickness and disease? I would never get ill and die from it?”

  “Yes, that’s right. You will never die from any disease and will never suffer any of the effects of any disease known to man,” she answered.

  “So all I have to do is sign your deed here and I can live forever?”

  She looked at me for a moment and then handed me the pen. I tried very hard to remain composed and to go along with this charade.

  “Where do I sign my soul away?” I quipped.

  “Just sign your name anywhere,” she answered.

  I looked at her one last moment and then signed my name to the deed trying not to laugh. A thick red ink which resembled blood, flowed from the pen. I thought to myself that these guys would sure as hell go to any length to play a joke. After I signed the paper I handed both the pen and the paper back to her. She smiled a seductive smile and licked her lips. This was the part I was waiting for.

  Boldly, I asked her if we were going to seal our deed with a kiss or maybe more. She nodded her head, her long, fiery red hair flowing over her shoulders. She smiled and leaned forward and kissed my lips. As our lips touched and I felt the heat of them I remembered nothing more than waking up in my bedroom having gone to sleep wearing nothing more than my bath robe. When I awoke, the clock read four p.m. I must have dozed for most of the day. I tried to remember what had happened, but could not recall any events preceding the kiss. For that matter, I wondered if I had dreamt the entire experience. Hot showers do tire me. It must have been a dream. It was definitely wishful thinking the woman I had lusted after my entire life would just happen to appear in my bedroom out of nowhere and then disappear without a trace.