Something stirred up in me when I watched the one episode about the murdered women that were forced to wear nurse uniforms. Now, I know that isn't a very good inspiration, but it wasn't until I saw the Piggy Man episode that got my creative juices flowing, and now, after three days of pouring through ideas about what I could do with my characters that I decided to six chapters, two chapters each showing how one character died. Besides being able to use different aspects of Horror, I was able to dig deeper into Urban Legends, which is where Chapters 3-4 is going to use. Please, read carefully and I will show up with Chapter four on Halloween. Muhahahahahahahahaha....
Chapter Three
"A dying man needs to die,
as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as
well as useless, to resist."
Stewart Althop
"Shit!"
"What?" "I'm going to be late for my shift at the morgue."
I said as I began to put on my panties and bra back on. "Oh come on baby,
you just need a night off." I shivered as he kissed my neck and put his wonderfully
strong arms around my middle. "I'm off tomorrow; we'll go out for a
date." "Promise?" "Promise." I kissed my husband and
finished getting dressed; I shivered as I looked out at the full moon from the
bedroom window. I didn't need a reminder that I would be putting on my soft,
but warm, black trench coat.
Little did I know how tonight’s events were
going to unfold, or how I would only play a small part in this dreadful tale.
My name is Casey Wood, M.D. Ya, I know, a Doctor that works in the morgue, if
life could be any more ironic I would just might as well believe that pigs fly.
I’m twenty-five, five foot six, slim, blond, blue, green eyes, a nice smile,
and I should add happily married to a wonderful man that is always constantly
horny. Oh well, it’s nice to be able to rule over him with what I have, he gets
a nice reward for being obedient.
The only reason I was down in that cold
basement was because I was an assistant to the ever-famous Dr. John Seymour, he
was looking for help, and I was looking for a place to work. Therefore, I put
in for the job, and surprise, surprise, I get a call, get interviewed, and get
the job. He’s really not that bad to work for really, he works during the day,
and I get the nights, works out for the both of us.
The roads
tonight were rather scarce of other vehicles and pedestrians, but then again, I
do have to keep reminding myself that I moved to a middle of nowhere town that didn't have much to offer. But, however, it is quiet, no real crime, the locals
are very friendly, and I never thought that me and my husband would be able to
eat all of the Jell-O and turkey dinners that were brought over.
So no, I
really can’t complain, wouldn't be very helpful, especially since I moved
halfway across the country to get where I am now. I pulled into the hospital
parking lot and cursed again. I forgot to get some hot coffee at the
convenience store down the street, handsome kid works days there, goes by the
name of Jason. He’s a local historian buff, but nervous and shy around girls. I
wish the best of luck for him.
I grab my
purse and keys, and double-checked that I left nothing in the car before I
locked it. Last time I forgot my purse and keys and then had to explain to the
police officer what had happened. He helped me out with an old coat hanger, and
I was saved from going to jail for trying to break into my own vehicle. The
hospital is the same as it always has been, same gray brick, same rectangle
windows, and same tired looking yellow curtains.
Sometime
back in nineteen fifty-seven, Black Ridge Sanitarium was construction, ran by
the state, many unlawful practices were committed here. Some of the patients
were never even sick, but were healthy and innocent. Only being used for
illegal surgeries to learn more about the human anatomy, some of the Doctors
performing the operations didn't use anesthetic at all, but rather enjoyed the
pain and suffering they were implementing on their illegal operations. However,
the past is the past, now this place, as far as I know is very safe, what a
fool I was…
I greeted
Marcy, the head Nurse that worked behind the main desk at night; she looked
like my fifth grade school teacher, with the wrinkly, pale looking skin. Hair
pulled painfully back into a bun, no lipstick, no make-up, everything except
her attitude made her look mean and well, evil. In fact, she was the sweetest
old woman with the biggest heart, I ever did meet, just have to get past the
exterior and get a good look at the interior. Several doctors were discussing
something over a coffee break as I passed the break room; hospital coffee is
not something I would recommend unless you have nothing else to keep you up at
night.
As I turned
the corner to go down the hall to the elevator, I was assaulted by yelling and
screaming. Two patients were in the hall, and by the looks of them both, they weren't quite aware of what they were doing. “BLOODY MARY, BLOODY MARY, BLOODY
MARY…” “HERE PIGGY, PIG, PIG, HERE PIGGY, PIG, PIG…” The female patient that
was yelling Bloody Mary, was a rather lanky looking teenager, skinny, dirty
black hair, and yellow skin. The male patients who was yelling Here Piggy Pig,
Pig, was a rather bald, pudgy looking man who looked to be in his late forties,
and his skin was a rather sickly white looking color. Both were still yelling
at the corner mirror when two orderlies grabbed their arms and attempted to
lead them away.
The girl
started to suddenly cry, and to my discomfort it looked like her face had been
scratched repeatedly, leaving her blind in both eyes. The man adamantly refused
to leave the hallway, yelling about Piggy Man was coming for them and that we
were all going to die. I watched the depressing and rather agonizing scene for
the next few minutes, waiting for the orderlies to carefully but forcefully
take the very disturbed patients out of the hall, as the teenager was being led
back to her room she suddenly cried out. “SHE IS COMING!”
That was
enough for me as I practically sprinted down the hallway and pressed the button
to go down to the basement. It wasn't until I got into the elevator and the
doors closed that I allowed myself to breathe. More like gasp at the air I had
denied myself when I ran, but as the elevator descended I realized that I
allowed myself to be affected by the scene with the two disturbed patients.
That really wasn't like me, but maybe it was the mood when I entered, it felt
drab and depressing instead of the usual cheerfulness.
Sullen and
rather depressed when the door opened to my work place, I felt that all life
had ceased to exist in this dimension called The Morgue. “How have my dead been
doing?” I asked to just break the silence that had been plaguing me. No one
answered, didn't expect them to, they were dead, and the dead were better
listeners then most living people I knew. I put my purse down and checked the
time on the wall clock at the far end of the basement. The harsh glare from the
fluorescent lighting made it a little difficult to read but 7:15 was the time.
Fifteen minutes ago, I was worrying about how I was going to stay up, now, all
I wanted to do was do my job, go home, and snuggle underneath my covers with my
cat.
Now between
you and me, the fresh corpses that came in during the day were kept in large
metal boxes, put on metal stretchers that slid in and out of them. Nothing
covering them besides a sheet for dignity, naked underneath as the day they
were born. The room is about as cold as a refrigerator, making it necessary to
wear some sort of sweater while you work. It helps keep the bodies from
decomposing and well, smell. I don’t know if you've ever smelled a dead body,
but just think of putrid pizza coupled with raw fish gone bad. Ya, it’s that
bad, believe me on that.
The first
corpse that I inspected was a woman in her mid-fifties, apparently died from a
heart attack in the ambulance. Poor thing, she looked like she didn't go
peacefully, her mouth still open in a state of pain, her eyes where once the
caring soul that was tortured was gone. Leaving behind an empty house, and for
someone to bury, cry over, cut open, or just ignore. I talked to her as I began
to go over what was written down, now this is where my job comes in. I am to do
a dissection of the body, to make sure the cause of death was natural or not,
weighing organs and such. I pulled out my mini recorder and looked over the
woman.
“Chelsey
Anna Richards, female, died at approximately 3:52 P.M. on October twenty-first,
two thousand and twelve. Patient appears to be fifty-five in age, no
lacerations located on the body. Birthmark on right shoulder in the shape of a star
has white hair, blue eyes.” I paused and studied the clipboard from which I was
reading. I was about to continue when something caught my eye, a blur so fast,
I wasn't even sure if it was real. I looked around for a moment, seeing if it
would happen again, it didn't.
I sighed; I
must have been really stressed because when I looked down to continue my
report, she was gone. Nothing was on that metal stretcher, when I looked up to
see where the body went everything was tinted red. A dark and light red where
the normal color should have been, “No, this isn't happening…” I told myself.
That was when I heard some squealing and grunting, that of a pig. The hairs on
my body stood up when I took a step back and bumped into something.
I turned
around slowly, telling myself that it was only wall, and when I did, I screamed
out in fear. A large looking man, with a pigs head was standing before me; he
was wearing a butcher’s apron and holding a very large, nasty looking cleaver
covered in dry blood. I swear our eyes met, and something inside of me broke as
I took a large leap backwards. Knocking over the stretcher and tripping me when
I tried to run. I yelped in pain as the large Pig man took a step forward and
squealed loudly, the cleaver raised into the air, with my life flashing before
my eyes.
I put my
arms up and closed my eyes as tears ran down my face as the cleaver swung down
and chopped off my arms, leaving only bloody stumps below my elbows. I howled
in pain and terror as the Pig man raised up his cleaver again, my blood running
down the sharp blade, and I cried harder than before, begging, pleading for my
life. However, it was not to be, I could picture the deranged, sadistic smile
behind the mask. I watched in slow motion, as the blade came down, my eyes grew
wide when I felt it bite into my neck and carried through to the other end.
They say
when you are first beheaded, you don’t think, you can’t move, you can’t even
say anything. I watched as I flew off and landed on my right ear, my body
arched its back from the fountain of blood that painted the white tiles red
from the severed neck. I watched helplessly as it then twitched from the death
throes it was going through. It then went still, everything went still, my eyes
closed, and that was all I could remember…
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