K is for Kidnap: A-Z of Horror, #11

By P.J. Blakey-Novis

K is for Kidnap, the eleventh book in an epic series of twenty-six horror anthologies. In this book you will find a collection of thirteen unsettling stories from some of the most talented independent horror authors on the scene today. From otherworldly creatures to tales of revenge, vicious pirates to religious zealots, K is for Kidnap will keep you guessing until the end of each story. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Cape Publishing
• Release date: Feb 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201922047

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Red Cape Publishing Presents...

The A-Z of Horror: K is for Kidnap

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 Red Cape Publishing

All rights reserved.

Cover Design & Interior Artwork by Red Cape Graphic Design

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Verona Jones

Craig Crawford

Blazing Minds

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Kuttner's Mistakes

Daniel R. Robichaud

Hank Kuttner made one big series of mistakes in his life, and each of them would haunt him until his dying day. He'd just turned around for a moment. A second. Not long enough to lose everything in his life, or so he thought. But that was exactly how long it took for him to check the time on the clocktower, compare it to the clock on his mobile phone, and then turn back to find the carousel was stopped, and the kiddie riders were all hustling toward one of the exits. He waited for the crowd to thin out, waited to see his daughter's pigtails bobbing in the air. He waited, and he waited, and the riders for the next turn started loading onto the sculpted animals, and as the announcer advised them they were about to begin, he was still waiting. Of course, by then, Kuttner's heart was going a mile a minute.

Looking away was not his only mistake, of course. Not insisting on going onto the ride was another mistake. Letting Cathy, who was seven going on seventeen, bulldozer over his wishes by having him Stay here, Daddy, because I'm a big girl, was another. Replying to work texts instead of watching her whip by on her animal of choice was one more. Turning away as the ride was winding down was one of the last in the chain, a compounding event to an already big wrong.

Of course, he did not assume straight away that his seven-year-old daughter had been snatched. Such worries would manifest later. The thirty-five-year-old construction contractor first had to walk around the ride, calling to her, asking her to stop playing this game, please.

Kuttner stood nearly six feet, five inches tall. His arms were banded with muscle, and his torso was lean and on the shorter side than his size suggested. His legs were long, the tangled hair and numerous tattoos shown off by the cargo shorts he wore. His T-shirt was a washed out, tomato red thing, and his sneakers were ragged from five years of strenuous activities.

He cut an imposing figure, and a couple of parental and grandparental types gave him wary glances, as though he might be a predator. He paid them little mind, however. Cathy? Where are you, kiddo?

Did she duck off into the trees over there? He spied a little path, but no giggling blonde haired child. Did she fall down somewhere and hurt herself? No. Was she sneaking another ride on the carousel? No. Both her first choice seahorse and second choice armadillo, which she'd staked out while he bought the ticket, were unburdened with riders. The blur of smiling, laughing, and in one case shrieking children did not include his little girl's face.

Only then did the dread take a more nightmarish form. There are unthinkable ideas that push their way into the head and the heart, ones that refuse to be spoken aloud. They hurt even to think about. They cut across the soul's proverbial belly, spilling out morale and hope.

Did someone take her?

He hurried back around to the main waiting area. Cathy was not there, laughing to herself for having tricked her dumb old Dad, showing him the price for not winning her a stuffed camel as big as she was. He'd tried of course, though the game was rigged to get you to shell out the big, big bucks if you wanted one of the big, big prizes.

He made his way to the ticket seller booth, a free-standing structure that resembled the central tower of the carousel itself, though the windows here were real and not merely painted representations. Kuttner tromped right up to the windows, where a lone seller was returning a credit card along with a pair of tickets to the latest customer, a plucky brunette woman in her twenties and her sagacious three-year-old. The next people in line, a pair of parents with two tanned boys started to complain, but stopped when Kuttner said, My little girl has gone missing.

The fellow in the booth was perhaps eighteen. He was maybe six feet tall and one hundred pounds when soaked to the bone. He had one of those pencil thin necks, which combined with a sizeable Adam's apple, made him resemble a snake swallowing a tangerine. His eyes were a little too far apart, and the nose filling the vast wasteland between them was far too small for the task.

You need to wait in line, sir, the booth attendant said. We have a lot of people waiting for...

My child is missing, Kuttner interrupted. You maybe want to help me with this? Or find me someone who can?

Your... Are you sure? The tangerine rapidly bobbed, possibly in danger of being vomited out. Was she on the ride?

Kuttner nodded. The last go around. I looked for her, but...

Even now, the music for the latest ride was coming to a stop.

Maybe she'll come off now? the ticket seller said.

Kuttner shook his head. She wasn't on this time.

Well...

Can you make an announcement, please? Or call someone who can?

The ticket seller might have been flustered, but this option made sense to him. He bobbed his head. Sure, sure. What's your kid's name?

Cathy. Cathy Kuttner.

The young man raised a mic to his mouth, and as he spoke, his words emerged from a trio of horns arranged around the booth's roof. Will Cathy Cutter please come back to the carousel ticket booth?

It's 'Kuttner', Kuttner corrected.

Cutter?

Kuttner. Cut. Ner.

Oh. The lad raised the mic once more, and said, Will Cathy Cutter please return to the carousel ticket booth? If there wasn't a wall and a bit of glass in the way, Kuttner could have choked him. Maybe not to death. Maybe only until he coughed up that tangerine.

Now what?

I guess we wait to see if she shows up?

What if she can't?

You mean she might be hurt?

Or worse. Yes. I don't know. Can't you call somebody?

Of course. Sure. I can. But I need to sell a couple of tickets first, okay?

No, Kuttner said.

Excuse me?

It's not okay. My little girl got on your ride, and now she's nowhere to be seen. You want...

But I did what I could. You heard me call for her. 'Cathy Cutter', I said, 'come to the ticket booth'. She should be here in a second.

Because he could not choke the teen in the booth, Kuttner slapped a hand on the wall instead. The whole structure tottered. Sir, please! The guy was going for intimidating, but he sounded only terror struck.

"Sir, sir, sir. This new voice sounded far more intimidating. It was a woman's voice, and Kuttner turned to find a slim, Black woman with cornrows and a steely gaze standing nearby. She wore the uniform shirt, shorts, athletic socks, and running shoes of a security guard. Her right hand perched on the slim holster at her side, which held a can of pepper spray. Can I ask what the problem is?"

My little girl...

This guy isn't letting me do my job, the teen in the booth said.

He jumped to the front of the line, the father of the two tan lads waiting for the opportunity to trade money for tickets snapped. Like he owns the place.

You mind explaining yourself? the security guard asked. Her nametag read SOPHIE.

My little girl was on this ride, Kuttner said, cocking a thumb toward the carousel, which was spitting its perky music once again. When it stopped, she didn't come off it.

How's that happen? Sophie asked. Did you see her on it?

She was waiting in line, Kuttner said, feeling stupid. He had been too busy looking at his phone's text messages to answer that question with any degree of confidence. A vacation day might be best spent with family, but in the fast-moving business world there were not true days off--barring medical leaves of absence, when it was verboten to look at business email accounts or answer business calls. I saw her waiting in line and then saw her going through the gate.

This was not quite true. He saw she was in the final lead up to the gate, but did he actually see her body pass through? He would not be able to testify to that.

Testimony be damned! This was his kid!

Would you be kind enough to step over here with me, Mister...

Kuttner.

She led him behind the ticket booth. Yes, Mr. Cutter, right here will be fine.

Kuttner.

I'm sorry? she said, in a way that told him she was anything but.

"There's an 'n' in my name. Cut-ner."

Sure.

God, but these people were annoying. Look...

Can you bring me up to date on the situation? If the woman could have looked any more bored with the whole idea, she might have been on the verge of sleep. This supposedly missing child?

Supposedly? My daughter was in line for the carousel. She...

How old?

Seven.

Seventeen. Go on.

"Seven."

Pardon me?

She's seven.

Seven? she asked, blinking her eyes as though finally ready to wake up. Accusation flared to life on her face and in her words: You let a little kid get on the carousel unsupervised?

She wasn't unsupervised. I was right there. He pointed to the space where he'd been standing. She was on the carousel, but when the other kids got off, she didn't.

Your girl snuck another ride?

No, I mean she was not among the kids who got off the ride. They all dispersed to their parents or whatever. She was gone.

Could she have snuck another ride?

I checked. She wasn't among the others.

You checked?

I watched it go round and round, he said. I also walked around the ride, to see if she was laying on the concrete or something.

Laying on the...?

Fell down. Got a scuffed knee. She's the sort doesn't cry when she gets a boo-boo. She toughs it out. So grown up, he thought.

Does she get hurt a lot at home?

No more than any other kid, I guess. Why was she looking at him that way? Her eyes seemed to be telling him not to make any quick movements. We need to find my daughter.

Name?

Kuttner, I told...

Your daughter's name.

Catherine, he said, though she hated the full name. Cathy.

Which is it?

She prefers Cathy.

And what was she wearing?

A blue top. That cartoon character, Princess Star. Tan skorts.

Skorts?

Shorts meet skirt?

How short a skirt? Again, that tone of disgust. It begged to know: How could you ever be a little girl's parent?

He sighed. Are you being willfully difficult?

There's no need to take that tone with me, sir. I'm just trying to help.

She's seven. She's four feet tall, ninety pounds, mostly muscle. She has blonde hair in pigtails. Wearing a blue T-shirt and tan skirt.

Sneakers?

Blue and black. They light up when she kicks anything.

The security guard nodded. A walkie talkie appeared in her hand. She called in to some kind of supervisor. This is Sophie, you read me? Over.

A guy with a moderately deep voice on the other end of the line admitted he did read her. Then, he asked, You figure out the disturbance? Over?

Turns out it wasn't a disturbance, Sophie said, looking at Kuttner with an appraising eye. He felt like a bug she was debating crushing under her sole. We have a possible missing child. Seven years old. Cathy Cut-ner. She offered up the description. Let's watch the gates, huh? Over.

Roger that, the guy on the other end said. Out.

Now, let's take a look around the carousel.

I already did just that.

Humor me, she said. Then, for the first time since she'd arrived, she adopted a polite tone to say, Please.

They walked through the parental waiting area as the latest batch of kids left the ride. She asked if any of those were his Cathy. Kuttner wished she would appear, playing one of her pranks. She did not.

Sophie the Security Guard called over to the woman at the gate, whose job it was to let in the next wave. Just hold up for a moment. We need to check something.

Kuttner led the way around the carousel, and Sophie spotted the little beaten down trail through the underbrush. Any reason why she would've gone through there? To dodge you?

No, he said.

Let's take a look. Sophie crouched down, looked at the dirt. It rained yesterday. The mud hasn't quite hardened yet. That looks like a footprint to me, she said. And that one too.

He saw small tracks. A set of sneakers had moved through the brush away from the carousel. Maybe, he said. But why would she leave?

Kids always have a reason to ditch their parents, Sophie said. Mommy didn't buy me the right doll. Daddy missed my basketball game. They always have a reason.

I'd like to hear Cathy's.

Come on, Sophie said. Let's see if she's on the other side. The security guard led the way through the trees and weeds. The plant life grew out of a band of earth, a kind of natural wall standing between the carousel and the picnic area. It was no more than ten feet wide. Cathy was not on the other side. No one was.

Though the COVID-19 restrictions from last year were much looser now and less than half the crowd bothered wearing masks outdoors, not many people wanted to shovel food into their faces while sitting too close to anyone else. Sophie said, No luck for us. She pointed the way to the bathrooms behind the picnic area's food hut. Maybe she had to really go.

They checked the bathrooms--Sophie looked in the Ladies, and Kuttner looked in the Men's--but they had no luck. What about there? he asked, pointing toward a fence and gate.

Sophie said, That's restricted. All the dumpsters are there. Overflow employee parking, too.

The gate looks unlocked.

Would she go in there? That disapproval seemed to encompass both father and daughter, now.

Could someone drag her through there?

Sophie considered this and said, Let's see.

She pushed open the gate and headed into the back. Hey, Hector, she called. A man stood at his closed trunk, fiddling with his keys. Her voice dragged him up from his thoughts, and he shook, startled. Damn, Soph. You surprised me.

You see a little girl come this way in the last... To Kuttner, she asked, How long?

Maybe ten minutes?

Ten minutes? Sophie asked the man.

Sure, Hector said, hitting the trunk release on his key fob. The lid bumped open, revealing an empty space. The sick girl and her dad. They got turned around and thought the parking lot was this way. Kuttner's heart was now intent on counting off milliseconds. The man pointed through the parking lot behind him, toward an exit. I sent them around the Petting Zoo, you know? They...

This girl, Sophie asked, what was she wearing?

I don't know, Hector said. But she looked real sick. He was carrying her. She was almost asleep. I should've probably sent them back through the park, but I felt real sorry, seeing her like that.

She have a blue shirt? Kuttner asked.

The man's attention bobbed between Kuttner and the security guard. I guess so, maybe.

And the man? Kuttner demanded. What did he look like?

Like a... like a man. I don't know. Had on a hat and carrying a girl, I couldn't describe him. I didn't pay attention. Soph, what's going on?

This man's child is missing, Sophie said. She was on the carousel, and then she wasn't.

Oh shit, the man said. "Oh no. I'm... We should see if we can... It's been like ten minutes since... Oh shit."

Sophie and Kuttner raced off the way Hector indicated. The man at the trunk of his car called after them. You want me to do something?

Yeah, she called back. Wait here. We'll be right back.

Once they made it around the petting zoo's outbuilding, there was a straight shot to the parking lot, which was aswarm with people. Cathy! Kuttner shrieked before the reality settled in and he realized he was trapped underneath the mighty rock of despair. Cathy!

Let's file a police report, Sophie said. We'll see what we can do. She did not sound convinced, however. Perhaps she knew that missing children cases were more often misses than hits, even for the best cops. Kuttner was inconsolable. He wanted to punch something, someone, as hard as he could, and as often as he could before flesh and bones transformed into gory pulp.

***

Moira D'Averne did not like the look of the man sitting across the table from her. He was not her typical customer. Often, she would see unhappy housewives or grieving folks looking for a little reassurance. This man, however, bore a bodybuilder's physique and a skeptic's face. What brings you to me today?

When she first heard the spirits, Moira D'Averne was a slight girl of fourteen. Back then, they scared the bejesus out of her. Later, she learned to use her gift. The stories the dead whispered were seldom happy ones. Happy thoughts did not linger. The dead spoke of tragedy, misfortune, and misery. It was enough to make anyone depressed as hell. So, it was no wonder that now, at age forty-three, Moira was padded around the waist and thighs. She did not like overeating, but the habit was too ingrained for her to stop.

I'm told you are the best spiritualist in the city. His voice was like gravel, the growl of a creature that has spent a good portion of its life screaming. I want to make contact.

The fortuneteller said, You do not seem like a man who has come to the spirit mediums often.

Oh, I've run through three different sets of yellow pages, he said. Haven't met one yet that can give me what I need.

This man had lost someone dear. As big and tough as he might seem, he lost someone close. He hid his torment well, but she saw its telltale signs.

And what do you need?

I want to correct a mistake, he said. I need to make things right.

She was not sure what that meant. Can you give me a name?

I'm Hank Kuttner, he said.

For the departed, I mean.

Cathy.

There too, she sensed something. A little softness peeking through the big man's steely shell. Well, I am not a cheap medium, Moira said. I employ no parlor tricks. I do my best to find you the satisfaction you crave. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not. I get paid either way. Does this make sense?

He said nothing.

Shall I interpret that as agreement?

If you like.

She reached across the table, offering a clear invitation for him to do likewise. He was hesitant. Shy. It would have been cute if he were not such an intimidating specimen. Now, she said. Do me a favor and guide me to her.

Aren't you the one who's supposed to...

She shook her head. What these people thought they knew all came from terrible television shows. The spirit world is a vast place, filled with the souls of the dead. Some gone from this world for decades or longer. Some departed only recently. They are never the same, and they do not respond to me. Think of me as a radio tower, amplifying and broadcasting your message across the vast distances of the dead places.

What do I do?

He wore discomfort the same way awkward young men did. She recalled the days when such men would ask her to dance and fumble with her clothing when the dancing moved from indoor soirees to the backseats of cars.

You hold my hands, for a start, she said. He finally took them. And now you think her name. Say it if you wish. The dead dwell in a world that connects to ours in many more ways that you could imagine. Sometimes metaphorically and sometimes literally. This is not an exact science we are dealing with.

Cathy, he said, nothing happened, of course. He was shutting himself off from hearing any kind of response. Cathy? He squeezed her hands with enough pressure to make her wince. This Kuttner was a man accustomed to roughness. I don't feel right doing this.

We can stop, if you want...

Daddy.

Moira went rigid. The voice was so soft, so far off. However, the yearning in that voice was too much. Mr. Kuttner, I think...

Did you hear her? he asked. Tears formed in her eyes. He looked on the verge of erupting into a fountain of blubbering and snot. The hard shell cracked and offered her a view of the writhing shape beneath. This was not a hard man, a stony man, this was a man who carried a deep wound. Cathy! It's me. Daddy.

Daddy. I miss you.

Moira shuddered. Being a conduit for the voices of the dead was nothing new. Their voices did not creep out of