Torture - Blog Posts
Kerosene's Collection
Space: The Collector
Fandom: Original Work
AU?: N/A
Extra: This, like the other entries, is my own world and characters.
Warnings: Mentions of real skulls, torture, murder and blood
Tag: @badthingshappenbingo
A deep smell of chemicals and vinegar filled the room, a seemingly normal room to the outside world. But, trust me when I say, the contents of this room are far from normal. At its centre was a metal table with 4 reels of chains drilled to the underside. Those chains had bands of leather, able to be buckled tight, connected to the end. The top surface was scratched and battered, the small trenches in the metal seeming to be stained a reddish brown, similar to old blood on fabric. Around the edge of the room was counters and cabinets and cupboards galore. Some cupboards were labelled: beakers, flasks, pipettes, that sort of thing. Cabinets were bolted shut and locked with heavy-duty padlocks, no one was getting into them.
But that wasn't the weirdest thing within this room. In the far left alcove there's a series of shelves, each one lined with skulls. Though, the skulls were not the fake realistic ones, decorated with roses or playing cards. They were as real as the rest of the room. They ranged in shape, size and species - some were human, others had fangs, horns and wing bones as well. Each one had a little plaque in front of it, like the plaques you get for a teacher's or boss' desk, with names etched into them. The names of those who the skulls belonged to.
An echoey thud resonated through the room, followed by babbling from a psychopath. Babbling about how he'd have another for his beloved collection. Another person on his list, tortured and destroyed. How he'd join in on the search parties when they were announced missing. Muffled screams and aimless kicks accompanied the man, his hand tangled into messy hair while his wrist was clung to. Not that he could feel it - metal had no nerves - and this pathetic, screaming scum was the reason behind the metal. He would take his sweet time with this one.
Ragging the little shit by the hair, he tossed them like an old doll onto the metal, painfully holding their head down while he fastened the band over them. Chains clanked and tinkled as he moved the binds, locking this darling freak to the bed of their death.
What would he do? How would he do it? Oh the possibilities!!!
All he did know though... Was that there would be a new head on his collection...
Albert Fish
March 30, 2023
***Trigger Warning: Lots of graphic nature and abuse of children***
Albert Fish was born Hamilton Howard Albert Fish on May 19, 1870 in Washington, D.C. to Randall and Ellen Fish. Randall was 43 years older than Albert’s mother Ellen, and was 75 years old when Albert was born. The pair had multiple children together, with Albert being the youngest.
Albert began using the name Albert as a child, named after his dead brother so that his peers would stop calling him “Ham & Eggs” a childhood nickname he despised.
Many of Albert’s family members suffered from different mental illnesses. Albert’s mother, Ellen, had what was known as “aural and/or visual hallucinations.” Albert’s father, Randall, had a heart attack and on October 16,1875 he died when Albert was only 5 years old.
Ellen, being overwhelmed with her husband now gone placed Albert in the Saint John’s Orphanage where Albert was abused regularly. Albert would later begin to enjoy the pain he endured at the orphanage, the beginning of him experiencing sexual pleasure during pain or inflicting pain.
In 1880, Ellen got a better paying job and was able to get her son back from the orphanage. In 1882, Albert had begun a relationship with a boy who introduced Albert to drinking urine and eating feces. Albert also began visiting public baths where he could watch young boys undress.
Albert also began to write obscene letters to women who he would see their names in classified ads in the papers.
In 1890, at the age of 20, Albert moved to New York City where he was a male sex worker and began to rape and molest boys, most of whom were under the age of 6. In 1898, Albert married a woman named Anna Mary Hoffman, who was 9 years younger than him. This was an arranged marriage Albert’s mother had set up. Albert and Anna had 6 children together: Albert, Anna, Gertrude, Eugene, John and Henry.
In 1903 Albert was arrested for grand larceny and incarcerated in Sing Sing. Albert later said he had gone to a wax museum with a male lover once and became fascinated by the bisection of the human penis, which led to an obsession with sexual mutilation.
In 1910, Albert met a man named Thomas Kedden. It was said that Thomas was intellectually disabled. The two began a sadomasochistic relationship, it is unclear whether Albert forced Thomas to do any of the acts. After 10 days, Albert took Thomas to an old farm house where he tortured him for two weeks, tying him up and cutting off half of his penis.
Albert’s original plan was the kill Thomas and cut up his body. Albert feared he would be noticed if he tried to bring Thomas’ body back to his house, so he poured peroxide over the wound, wrapped it in a Vaseline-covered handkerchief, and left him $10.
Albert never contacted or tried to contact Thomas again and does not know what happened to him after that.
In January 1917, Albert’s wife left him for another man who had been boarding with them. Albert was then left to raise his children on his own, saying that his wife had taken almost everything they owned with her.
Albert often began having auditory hallucinations, once wrapping himself in a carpet saying he was following instructions from John the Apostle.
Albert began to self harm by embedding needles into his groin and abdomen areas. After he was arrested, the X-rays showed that Albert had at least 29 needles in his pelvic area. He would also hit himself with a nail studded paddle and would put wool covered in lighter fluid into his anus and light it up.
It was never reported that Albert ever abused his own children physically, however it is said that Albert would encourage his children and their friends to hit him in the buttocks with the nail studded paddle.
Around 1919, Albert had stabbed an intellectually disabled boy in Georgetown. Fish claimed he would go over intellectually disabled or African-American people because he did not think they would be missed.
On July 11, 1924, Albert saw 8 year old Beatrice Kiel playing alone on her parent’s farm in Staten Island, New York. Albert offered the little girl money to come help him look for rhubarb. Beatrice was about to leave the farm when her mother chased Albert away. Albert later returned to the Kiel farm where he tried to sleep in their barn, but was discovered by Beatrice’s father.
During 1924, Albert was suffering from psychosis and claimed God was commanding him to torture and sexually mutilate children. Three days after the Kiel’s, Albert murdered Francis McDonnell on Staten Island.
Francis McDonnell
On July 14, 1924, 9 year old Francis McDonnell was reported missing when he did not return home from playing with friends. A search began and his body was found, hanging by a tree in a wooden area near his home.
Francis had been sexually assaulted and then strangled with his suspenders. His left hamstring had been almost entirely stripped of flesh. Albert denied responsibility for this but did say he planned to castrate the boy but heard someone approaching so he ran off.
Francis’ friends told police Francis had been taken by an elderly man with a grey moustache. A neighbour also claimed to have seen Francis with a similar looking man walking towards the woods.
Anna McDonnell, Francis’ mother, said she also saw that man earlier in the day, claiming he had been coming up the street mumbling to himself and making motions with his hands. Anna said the man appeared faded and grey, this description eventually leading to “The Grey Man” nickname Albert was dubbed.
Francis McDonnell’s murder went unsolved until Grace Budd. Albert denied the charges until March 1935, after the trial of Grace Budd’s murder, where he admitted to killing Francis and another boy, Billy Gaffney.
Billy Gaffney
On February 11, 1927, 4 year old Billy Gaffney was playing in their apartment hallway with two other boys, ages 4 and 12. When the 12 year old left, the two smaller boys disappeared.
The 4 year old, a boy named Billy Beaton was found on the roof of the apartments. Beaton said that the “bogeyman” had taken Billy Gaffney. Gaffney’s body was never recovered. A man named Joseph Meehan, a motorman on the Brooklyn trolley eventually recognized a picture of Albert, claiming that was the man he saw on the day Billy went missing.
Meehan claimed the man had been trying to quiet a little boy on the trolley. The boy was not wearing a jacket and was crying for his mother. It was found that Albert had been working a few miles from the location Billy was taken at the time.
Albert later confessed he had taken the boy, tied his hands and feet, and gagged him. He burned his clothes and left. The next day he went back with his tools and whipped Billy, cut off his ears, nose and slit his mouth from ear to ear. Albert also gouged out his eyes, and drank his blood. Albert cut off the head, arms, hands, legs and feet, and threw them in sacks with stones, throwing them into water.
The rest of the boy Albert took home with him and ate. Billy’s mother travelled to Sing Sing to ask Albert about her son’s death but he refused to speak with her. Albert began to weep and asked to be left alone. After two hours of asking questions through his lawyer, Billy’s mother gave up and was not convinced he had killed her son.
Grace Budd
On May 25, 1928, Albert saw an ad in the paper by a young man who wanted work. The young man was 18 year old Edward Budd, who lived at 406 West 15th Street.
On May 28, Albert went to see the Budd family in Manhattan, claiming he wanted to hire Edward but was really planning to tie him up and mutilate him. Albert introduced himself as Frank Howard, a farmer from Farmingdale, New York. Albert told Edward he would take on him and his friend Willie, and would come back for them in a few days.
Albert never showed up a few days later, sending a telegram that apologized to the family, setting up a new date for when he would return.
When Albert came back, he met Edward’s little sister Grace, who was 10 years old at the time. Albert knew he immediately wanted to take Grace instead of Edward, so made up a story about going to his niece’s birthday party, asking Delia and Albert Budd if Grace could come along with him.
Albert took Grace to an abandoned house, a house he had previously picked out for his next victim, before his plans changed and he took Grace instead. Albert murdered Grace Budd and claimed he ate her after as well.
The police arrested a man named Charles Edward Pope on September 5, 1930 for the murder of Grace Budd after his estranged wife accused him. He spent months in jail and was his trial began on December 22, 1930. He was found not guilty.
In November 1934, an anonymous letter was sent to the Budd family, claiming that whoever wrote the letter had murdered Grace and detailed how they had tortured her and then taken 9 days to eat her body. The letter did say that Grace had fought back, and that the writer, who was obviously “Frank Howard” had let Grace die a virgin.
The letter eventually led police back to Albert Fish, who did not deny the murder of Grace Budd. He actually told police his original plan was to kill her brother, Edward. Albert claimed he had no intention of raping Grace, but when he was strangling her he had two involuntary ejaculations.
This was used in trial to determine Grace’s kidnapping was sexually motivated, and it avoided the cannibalism.
Albert’s trial for the murder of Grace Budd started on March 11, 1935. The trial lasted 10 days, where Albert pleaded insanity, claiming he heard God telling him to kill children. It was said that Albert was a “psychiatric phenomenon” and that there was no other individual in medical records who had this many sexual abnormalities.
The jurors all believed that Albert Fish was insane, but they believed he should be executed anyway. So they found him sane and guilty and he was sentenced to death by electrocution.
Albert Fish was executed on January 16, 1936, in the electric chair in Sing Sing. It was said that Albert had actually helped the executioner position the electrodes on his body before he died. He last words were, “I don’t even know why I’m here.”
According to a witness, it took two jolts before Albert died, and rumours circulated that it was due to the needles that he had inserted into his body for years. These rumours turned out to be untrue, as it was claimed that many individuals in the electric chair take more than just one jolt to die.
After Albert’s execution, his lawyer, James Dempsey said he had Albert’s final statement, which was multiple pages of hand-written notes that Albert had written hours before his death. When journalists asked Dempsey to say what Albert had written, he replied, “I will never show it to anyone. It was the most filthy string of obscenities that I have ever read.”
Мой ответ пользователю Millertime, на его вопрос о том что я думаю о пытках.
My response to Millertime, who asked me what I think about torture. With translate.
Спасибо за рекомендацию. Я была в музее пыток, видела все эти предметы, и читала подробное описание о каждом из них. Я думаю пытки, это конечно неправильно и жестоко. Но как и неврозы в современном мире, они являются ответом человеческой психики, и потребностью, если внутри человека есть совесть, а вокруг насаждаются разные кощунства. При этом я имею ввиду не то, что монахи и инквизиторы были хорошими. А то, что при смене религии на новую, в которой бог притесняется. Совесть внутри простых людей, хотя они и не осозновали этого, страдала, и требовала наказания. Если бы не было пыток, не было бы и религий. Потому что люди бы почувствовали что это неправильная вера и просто не смогли бы в ней жить. Но после пыток, они смогли словно простить себя за это. Пытки были весьма популярны на востоке, в исламе,в средние века. Там это целая культура. В средние века там это было возведено в настоящий культ. И связано это с тем, что в этих пытках у людей, от них страдающих, была потребность. От неправильной веры страдала их совесть, и они таким образом смирялись с тем что видят вокруг, и кому они поклоняются. Нормальный человек не может не чувствовать безбожия, хотя бы на бессознательном уровне. И если его совесть не успокоить, причиненными ему мучениями он просто уничтожит неверную религию, вокруг себя. Поэтому кстати, люди в средние века, менее терпимые к пыткам мужчины просто уезжали в другие страны чтобы воевать в них. Это был предлог покинуть это общество. Когда же появилась возможность эммиграграции потребность в пытках и воинах велась к минимуму. Но это не хорошо. И человек должен оставаться со своей верой один на один, чтобы пострадать от нее и понять что она из себя представляет.
В последнее время я этим много интересуюсь. В контексте взаимоотношений мучителя и жертвы нельзя забывать и об обществе, которое это допускает. Также, что касается сожжения на костре, у древних славян было много обрядов, связанных с огнем. Ребенка клали в печь, если он был болен. Недоношенных детей пеленали в тесто и тоже держали в печи некоторое время. Считалось, что это дает здоровье. Также через костры проводились обряды перехода в иные миры и омоложения… Что касается сожжения на костре в средние века, то сложно сказать, что там происходило… Но огонь — это что-то связанное с верой предков, до современных религий..
Так же нельзя забывать о войнах с масонством, которое происходило в те времена. Многие бежавшие от инквизиции евреи масоны и ведьмы осели на территориях современной Украины. И мы теперь имеем страну, захватившую культурную и религиозную жизнь в России. А после победы в войне с Путиным, они ещё и политическую жизнь у нас захватят, с учётом того что Украина это столица мирового масонства, для ещё все таки, христианской России это будет конечно полный духовный крах. Так как Украинцы, это в большой степени потомки тех, кто один на один со своей верой не остался, а просто эммигрировал
Thank you for the recommendation. I have been to the torture museum, seen all these objects, and read detailed descriptions of each of them. I think torture is of course wrong and cruel. But like neuroses in the modern world, they are a response of the human psyche, and a need, if there is a conscience inside a person, and various blasphemies are imposed around. At the same time, I do not mean that monks and inquisitors were good. But that when changing religion to a new one, in which God is oppressed. The conscience inside ordinary people, although they did not realize it, suffered, and demanded punishment. If there were no torture, there would be no religions. Because people would feel that this is the wrong faith and simply could not live in it. But after torture, they were able to forgive themselves for it. Torture was very popular in the East, in Islam, in the Middle Ages. There it is a whole culture. In the Middle Ages it was elevated to a real cult. And this is connected with the fact that the people who suffered from these tortures needed them. Their conscience suffered from the wrong faith and they thus resigned themselves to what they saw around them and to whom they worshiped. A normal person cannot help but feel that religion is wrong, at least on a subconscious level. And if his conscience is not calmed by the tortures inflicted on him, he will simply destroy the wrong religion. That is why, by the way, people in the Middle Ages, men who were less tolerant of torture, simply left for other countries to fight in them. It was an excuse to leave this society. When the opportunity for emigration arose, the need for torture and warriors was reduced to a minimum. But this is not good. And a person must remain alone with his faith in order to suffer from it and understand what it is.
We also cannot forget about the wars with Freemasonry that took place at that time. Many Jews, Freemasons and witches who fled from the Inquisition settled in the territories of modern Ukraine. And now we have a country that has captured the cultural and religious life in Russia. And after the victory in the war with Putin, they will also capture our political life, given that Ukraine is the capital of world Freemasonry, for still Christian Russia this will of course be a complete spiritual collapse. Since Ukrainians are, to a large extent, the descendants of those who were not left alone with their faith, but simply emigrated
Merry Whump of May - Day 7
“Write what you know.”
Box
Magic
Cell
(BBC Merlin)
@themerrywhumpofmay
“If- no, when, we get out of here, I’m going to write a book about what an idiot you are.”
Merlin sighed and rested his head against the wooden bars. “Well, write what you know, I suppose.”
“How could you think stopping to ask for directions could ever be a good idea? I knew where we were going.”
“We were lost and they looked friendly enough.” Merlin turned away from the bars and looked down at Arthur. “Look, how long are you going to complain? Maybe we should try figuring out how to get out here?”
“You figure out how to get us out.” Arthur drawled from his spot on the floor. He was lounging on the one and only pile of damp hay in the cell. The bruises from the attack were still fresh and swollen across his cheek and eye. “I’ll continue to complain, thank you very much.”
Merlin gently rubbed the bump on the back of his head. He looked around the cell for what felt like the hundredth time. They had been taken to a sort of cave lair, a wooden holding cell built into the rock wall. It was sturdy. And they had a guard at all times.
Merlin licked his dry lips.
He couldn’t use magic. Arthur was here.
They were stuck, for now.
Why had they been captured anyway? Maybe they planned to ransom the prince? Merlin puzzled over it until his head began to throb again. He sat down and closed his eyes.
“Don’t tell me you’ve given up.”
“I haven’t.” Merlin murmured and leaned his forehead against the lattice of wooden bars. “I’m thinking.”
Arthur barked out a laugh. “Good luck with that.”
Merlin frowned and made himself bite back several rude remarks.
It was at that moment that a few more bandits, or whatever they were, appeared in the chamber and opened the cell door.
“Oh thank goodness, you’ve come to your senses-” Arthur got up from the floor.
“Stay where you are.” The woman who had opened the door, green eyes blazing in the torchlight, pointed at Arthur.
Then she pointed to Merlin. “You. Come.”
“Me?” Merlin swallowed hard.
“Now.” She ordered.
Arthur took a step forward. “Look, he’s just a servant-”
Another of the bandits pointed a crossbow at Prince Arthur through the cell bars.
Arthur stopped, hands raised.
Merlin picked himself off the rough stone floor. His head throbbed. The woman then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the cell. Merlin threw one last look at Arthur before he disappeared around the corner, deeper into the cave tunnel.
Merlin was taken to a smaller, darker chamber. The walls were wet and moss was growing there. He was forced onto a chair in the middle of the room.
“My name is Deryn.” The green-eyed woman spoke while the others tied Merlin to the chair. “That’s all you need to know about me. As for my companions, ignore them. You will speak only to me; whether answering my questions or begging for mercy. Do you understand?”
Merlin swallowed hard. The ropes binding him to the chair were rough and were painfully tight. His heart was racing. What did they want with him?
“Do you understand?” Deryn repeated.
“Yes.” Merlin rasped. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat.
“Good.”
One of the bandits handed a large, flat wooden box to Deryn. The wood was dark and cracked with age and carved with strange symbols. Merlin tried to make them out in the flickering torchlight. But they swam and danced before his eyes.
Deryn walked forward and set the box on Merlin’s lap.
“Here.” She said, “Hold this for me.”
Merlin, arms bound behind him, could not help but watch as she lifted the lid off, wood scraping, and revealed an enormous, golden collar. It was wide and flat, resembling a darkly glimmering crescent moon. There were fastenings at the two tips. It was old. Very old. Merlin could sense it.
Merlin licked his dry lips and looked back up at Deryn. “What do you want, Deryn?” He asked.
She did not answer.
Deryn picked up the collar by the two ends, leaned forward, and fastened it around Merlin’s neck. It was heavy and cold against his skin. Deryn set the box aside.
“This is a very ancient treasure.” Deryn circled around Merlin and ran a finger over the minute carvings on the collar. “It was found a long time ago and was passed down through my family. It’s been called a blessing. And a bane. Let me show you how it works.”
Deryn brushed a curl of her dark hair back, took out a bone-handled knife, and plunged it into Merlin’s gut.
Merlin opened his mouth to scream, to breathe, to cry. But he could not draw breath. The pain was a fire in his stomach. It blazed through him. He shuddered and realized he’d closed his eyes, tears leaking over his cheeks.
He opened his eyes to see Deryn again. She pulled the knife out.
Agony again. Merlin began to wail, low and keening, each breath he took to cry out was misery.
A wound to the stomach was a death sentence. No one could fix that kind of injury. Not even Gaius. Why had she decided to kill him? Panting and curled over his wound, Merlin watched Deryn wipe off her knife.
“It is a very powerful treasure. One that I’ve had to protect my whole life.” Deryn said. “It should reveal its purpose now.”
And just as she spoke, Merlin felt the pain intensify. He choked.
Every nerve around his wound began to blaze even more. He was dying. He had to be. How could he endure this?
Restrained by the chair, Merlin began to tremble and shake, screaming and screaming and screaming. The collar was killing him.
Hours passed. Or many minutes. Merlin could not tell. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with tears.
Eventually, he noticed that Deryn had approached him again and lifted his shirt. Merlin caught sight of his stomach. No, it couldn’t be.
The wound was gone. There was blood. And a thin, pale scar. But no gaping knife wound. Nothing.
“It heals.” Deryn let Merlin’s shirt drop back down. “Painfully. So,” Deryn brought a chair over and sat down in front of Merlin. “I’m going to ask you some questions. If you refuse.” Deryn held up the knife. “You know what to expect. No surprises.”
Merlin felt the blood leave his face. He threw up all over his lap.
“Let’s get started.”
Sometime later, Merlin found himself being dragged, arms supported and legs limp. Then he was dropped. Someone was calling his name. Every inch of him throbbed, raw with remembered pain.
Merlin felt himself being turned over and he cracked his eyes open.
He found Arthur above him and a rough hand touching his cheek. There was something soft beneath his head.
“Can you hear me? Are you alright?” Arthur’s voice was far away. “Where are you hurt?”
Merlin could not help but attempt a smile.
He wasn’t hurt anywhere. It was all healed. But he still shivered and ached. And it still felt like he had the collar on. He could feel its phantom weight around his neck, cold and heavy.
“Fine.” He managed to rasp in answer to Arthur’s questions. Merlin closed his eyes again. He was so tired. “Not… hurt.” He sighed.
“How am I supposed to believe that when you’re covered in blood?”
“Magic?”
Merlin heard a soft laugh above him and felt a cool hand push his sweaty hair back from his forehead. He drifted.
Merlin awoke to yelling. And pain.
His eyes snapped open.
Arthur was being held back by two of the bandits.
And Deryn was there, standing over Merlin. “Come along.” She ordered.
Swaying and still half-asleep, Merlin struggled to his feet and followed her.
The moss-covered cave room. The box. The collar.
It began again.
But Merlin was ready.
Last time, he didn’t know what to expect. But now he did. No surprises.
As soon as Deryn fastened the golden, crescent-shaped collar about his neck, Merlin kicked out with every ounce of magic he had.
He burned his bonds away. He threw Deryn across the room and heard her spine snap. Then Merlin ran. He knew the way. Falling, half-conscious, he ran to Arthur.
Merlin raised his hands and ripped and tore the wooden cell to pieces. Wood splinters flew. Dust hung in the air. Shouting. Crossbow bolts flew.
“Arthur!” Merlin roared.
Merlin looked at one of the bandits and they burst into fire and sparks. Screams.
They ran. Out of the cave. And into the cold night.
Merlin didn’t realize that they had stopped until he found himself in Arthur’s arms.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Gaius. He- he’ll fix you up, I promise.”
Arthur was laying him down on the cold, wet ground. In the light of a weak dawn, Merlin could see two crossbow bolts sticking out his chest. How had he not noticed?
Arthur’s hands moved to Merlin’s neck, around back, to take off the collar.
No.
Merlin flung his hand out and pushed Arthur away. “Don’t.” He gasped.
The collar was the only thing keeping him alive.
“Take out the bolts.” Merlin begged. “Not this.” He touched the gold collar.
“I don’t understand.” Arthur’s eyes were wide. And frightened.
“It’s magic.” Merlin’s thoughts were too fuzzy to properly explain. “It heals wounds. Take the bolts out. Let it heal me.”
Arthur moved forward, grimacing. “Right now?”
Merlin huffed out a laugh. “Should I schedule a better time for you?”
At that, Arthur gave him a watery smile. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Merlin took Arthur’s hand and guided it to one of the bolts. “Let’s get started.”
