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Please, please believe me.

My Dad was an odd man, quiet , reclusive and with a weird sense of humour. But it was a safe strangeness, a slight eccentricity that I assumed all aging fathers had.The strangest thing about him was the fact that his left hand only had a thumb, a forefinger and a little finger. He never explained what happened, and the one time I was to ask - when I was nearing 16 - he very calmly stared at me and told me to never ask again. It was the type of calm that chills you, the type of calm that's only formed through utter, utter rage. I'd asked my Mum about it and she'd always quietly replied "Ask your father.". Apart from that he was relatively normal.

My Dad used to stay up late, watching old VHS' in the attic whilst we (my mother and I) went about our business downstairs, me playing on the computer and her cooking, or whatever she got up to. The room at the top of the House, essentially a converted attic was his domain. My Dad didn't ask much, but that room was his and only his. My and my Mum were never, ever allowed in. I took it for granted at the time, assumed everyone had their 'me' place, and for the most part brushed it off. I was never allowed into the top room - I assumed when I was younger it was because it was his secret lair, though as I grew older I thought he could be watching porn.

The truth is far more sinister.

My Dad never left the house except for working whilst I was at school, he didn't seem to have many friends and so I never had a chance to see what he was really hiding. I tried once to look for Christmas presents, and once more when I was older... for porn. Both times the door was locked, firmly and the thought of my Dad finding me looking made me terrified. His temper flared rarely, and nastily.

After bunking off school after lunch to finish a project at the fine age of 19 to finally conquer the room, driven by a desire for independence and to satisfy my endless curiousity. I got in today. My Dad was at work, and judging by the half finished bottle of whiskey sitting on the stairs, he'd been drinking. He forgot to lock the door, which was a rarity. The past times I'd tried the door was double locked, but I assumed that in the rush my Dad had simply forgotten to lock it- assuming I'd be out all day. On opening I was assuming something dark and dangerous would appear, I'd see a dead body - or something hiedous, but instead all there was was a box of old VHS a faded armchair, and an old, large TV.

I instantly leapt to the videos, knowing I didn't have much time and that my Dad would be furious if he was to find me looking through them. I found a large amount of old movies, old taped TV shows - I was about to give up - until I found a tape simply labelled, in childish, scrawled hand 'PACT'. The reason I noticed it was that it was clean, the white case it was in was dog-eared, but clean. All the other videos were dusty but in pristine condition, and this film hidden at the bottom seemed to have been watched over and over.

Taking a deep breath, and listening to hear if the door unlocked I slipped it into the TV.

This is where it gets weird.

The film starts with a shot of four men naked, holding hands. They all wore masks - a clown, a monkey, a wolf and an owl. They chanted slowly and firmly some sort of latin chant, as the tempo and volume grew the film slowly faded in to a shot of a large, empty warehouse.

I don't know if you've ever heard of snuff films, but essentially they're real films of people being murdered, raped and god knows what else. The film would cut between the clown, wolf and monkey carrying out depraved acts whilst the clown filmed. The film was a mishmash, a collection of shorts that were at turns vile, sadistic and above-all inhuman. They began with a woman tied up, gagged and covered in a cold sweat being held down whilst the monkey would slowly run a razor blade up and down her skin. Lacerating her with thin red lines whilst the others masturbated, and the clown filmed. The shot was haunting, her face flashed between pure terror and pain, as the heavy breathing of the four filled the spaces between her screams. They slit her throat and immediately the film cut to a slow, lingering shot of the monkey sneaking into a hotel room with two children in a bed - and filmed him pissing on the carpet whilst they slept for about two minutes. The film would continue like this for a while, a horribly disturbing film of a rape - sometimes of women, once of a young child - and then cut to a surreal, but sexual shot. A young man, tied to a chair and weeping, with nails slowly being hammered into every appendage in his body - would be followed by a long shot of the Wolf, still with his mask on but dressed in a suit, offering children sweets until he was chased off by angry mothers. Scarring, violent outbursts followed by segments that made me deeply uncomfortable, something about the lingering camera, with heavy breathing as these men I'd just seen rape and kill doing the most bizarre things made me shudder.

These clips were always, always with the deep, heavy breathing in the background. It wasn't a pant that you get when you're out of breath, it was the type of deep breath that only comes from a truely primal sense of arousal.

Of course, you would ask, why would I watch it. At first I assumed that this was simply a movie. I loved horror, a good horror film late at night made something come alive in me. I assumed it could be a surreal horror movie, released early 90s that was banned or something, but a google search returned nothing for 'PACT'. it must be a real snuff film. I felt sick, and almost dry heaved but I was determined to finish it. If I'd been locked out my whole childhood I needed to know what this film was, and why it consumed my Dad. As any good son was, I hoped he had no part in it.

A thought flashed into my mind, this film must contain my Dad losing his fingers. Clown, Monkey, Owl and Wolf must have taken them from him. A few of the torture scenes included mutilation, and I was sure I would find a clip of my father being tortured - and it would all be fine. He wouldn't be the monster I was building in my head.

I kept watching.

The clips became shorter and shorter. It was building to a grotesque climax, the rape scenes almost stopped and the film was now focused entirely on murder, the three main characters laughing and whooping as young woman would plead before dying. I won't go too into detail about the film, I don't think I could legally, and more the safety of you. No human should ever have to witness something so raw, disgusting and primal. They were celebrating the darkest side of human nature.

The film ended with a long shot of of a young woman, dressed as a nurse, being repeatedly kicked by the three culprits. It started slowly, a steady thud, thud, thud of kicks before escalating into a full on beating.

I turned the sound down.

They kept going after she stopped moving, naked except for Doc Martins when they all looked to Clown. I heard, faintly, the zip of the cameraman's flies coming down - and as I reached to turn the television off, sick of the depravity whether fiction or not, the camera panned to the mirror. The hand holding the camera had a thumb, a forefinger and a little finger. Nothing else.

I almost screamed in pure terror, but the sound of the lock turning downstairs made me jump. I turned off the TV, and took out the VHS, slotting it back into it's box, shoving it back where it came from and dashing out the room. Quietly, with my heart racing I nipped into my room just as my Dad started coming up the stairs with a thud, thud, thud. My head was spinning, my mouth was dry and I was almost wretching - my whole body covered in a cold sweat. I casually passed him on the stairs to the kitchen, my whole body screaming at me to run - but I was still in a state of disbelief. It could all be a horror movie, and this could be some bizarre coincidence. In my head I made all manner of excuses for him, he had to be innocent.

I knew he wasn't.

"I'll be in my room if you need me. Remember to knock." He said.

Fuck. I forgot to rewind the tape. I'd forgotten that VHS' need rewinding otherwise they started from where you watched them.

He'd know.

He hasn't mentioned it yet, but he quietly mumbled something about "looking for his old camera".

by reddit user somethingstraange via:

PS: This is a work of fiction


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