"F***ed up, but in a brilliant way. John Raptor is hardcore rural horror, not for the beginner or the squeamish, but very creative and emotionally affecting nonetheless. For people into the dark stuff, but with a hell of a lot of talent and heart, he's your man." -- Amazon review

John Raptor (author of the controversial and provocative Hell High) presents: TRIGGER WARNING.

Four sinners -- a cop, two strippers, and a white supremacist -- trapped in the bowels of a labyrinth known as Hell House. Their tormentors: clowns and men/women in animal masks. If the sinners think the torture chamber is terrifying, wait until they meet Gramma Wilkins -- a religious fanatic who believes very strongly in Old Testament-style punishment.

Robert
I wake up in darkness, a red pulsating pain throbbing between my eyes; the thick stench of sewage putrefying in my nostrils. I retch onto the concrete. I retch until there is nothing left but strings of acidic bile hanging from my chapped lips. And then I wobble onto rubbery legs, stumbling through the darkness, heart pounding in the base of my throat, until I collide with a stone pillar -- which I lean against for support. Swallowing deep breaths, I wait for my eyes to adjust to the room. There is a faint green glow, which tints the walls and floor -- the latter spotted with black puddles of some noxious smelling substance. I squint, rub my eyes, and realize my hands are covered in it: Mud? I scan the room. No, not a room. A chamber. The size of it startles me. Concrete walls and floor, no windows. Some parts of the floor are covered in gravel.
My heart skips and I nearly scream when I spot someone else in the chamber: a girl, blonde, sitting against the far wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, mascara smeared all over her cheeks. She's wearing a miniskirt and halter top and big pumps. She doesn't acknowledge me. Stares at the floor.
"Where are we?" I try to yell, but it comes out a soft quiver. Almost sounds like a cry. She doesn't answer.
"Hey!" My anger comes out this time.
The girl looks up, glaring. Startles me.
"Who are you? Where are we?"
"I... don't know," she whispers, and it echoes eerily off the concrete walls. Her face scrunches up, and she starts sobbing.
"Hey. Don't cry. It's going to be okay. I'm a cop. They'll come looking for me."
"They say you're the reason we're here."
Warm dread flowers in my chest.
"What? Who?"
"The bunny," she says.
I lean against the pillar, hands shaking. I take a deep breath, choking on the humid stench of rot.
"The bunny?"
"They're wearing masks." She breaks down sobbing again.
"Pull yourself together. Who are you?"
"J-J-Jennifer."
"Okay... Jennifer. Just calm down. Everything is going to be alright... I promise."
"They said you'd say that."
A chill racks my body, despite the fact that it's hotter than hell down here.
"Wha -- who?"
"The bunny," she says.
I sigh and sit down on the floor, against the pillar.
"They said you're an expert in evil."
I run my hands through my hair -- greasier than a lubricated rat.
"What do they mean by that?" she asks.
"I don't know."

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• Literature & FictionGenre FictionPsychological

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• Print Length: 137 Pages
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