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Now, That's Insane!
Monsters are fine I guess, even scary, but there's nothing as frightening as Man. To me, humans are the scariest thing on earth. We have the capacity to learn so much, do so much, but when our brain goes haywire, or gets a short-circuit, then watchout. Crazy people can be so unpredictable, yet interesting. They have habits and tics that I love to write about. Like this little segment from "Possession" . . . .
Tony pushed his wobbly-wheeled trolley over to cell number thirty-one, knocked on the door, and then slid the small observation window open and peeked inside.
"What the hell duya want?" the small man inside barked. "Can't a fella get some sleep around here?"
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mister Rodgers, but it's time for your medication."
"Oh . . . well, that crap ain't for me, I'm cured!" he said, and then giggled shrilly.
Tony slowly dropped the two pills into the tray in the door. "You gotta take your meds, Mister Rodgers, or I'll have to call the orderlies to help you. Understand?"
"Sure, sure, I understand. But I'm telling you . . . I don't need 'em anymore. I'm all better." He crawled out of bed and approached the door, stopped, walked back to the bed again, as if he forgot where he was going, and then turned and came back toward the door. He quickly snagged the pills, dropped them into his mouth, as if performing a magic trick, and then chewed them up while growling like a wild animal. Through clenched teeth, speckled with green pieces of granulated pills, he forced a smile as if he were working to stay calm--struggling to appear normal. "Tell the damn doctors I'm all better now," he grimaced. "Tell them I'm cured. I don't need to be here anymore. Tell them I want to go home now." Then he started to cry, not just weeping, but more like the sobbing of a broken man about to die. "Please . . . " he said shuddering, "tell them . . . tell them for me." Then he lunged at the door, screaming violently. "Tell them!"
Startled, Tony jumped back, "Okay, okay, I'll tell them, Mister Rodgers. I promise . . . I'll tell them for you." Tony closed the panel, trying to shake the chill out of his spine, and then moved his cart down to room thirty-two.
Sliding open the door panel, he softly called out, "Hello? Miss Grange? I've got your medicine, dear." He quickly turned his head so that she would not see him looking directly at her. She didn't like that, so Tony observed her from the corner of his eye.
Rosemarie Grange sat on the edge of her bed cradling a doll. As Tony watched, she took the doll and shook it harshly, and then threw it under the bed. She stood calmly then, smoothed the wrinkles from her clothes and walked to the door. "Is it that time already, Tony? I thought it was still day out." From over her shoulder, she hollered, "You hear that, Elizabeth? It's time for bed, so you can just stop that crying!"
She shuffled toward the door, her silver hair in disarray, clumps of it sticking out comically as if she had just seen a ghost. She was only twenty-eight, but looked twice that age. Her eyes were as dark as black water and set deeply into her skull against pale and pasty skin. She was horribly frail--weak looking--as if she had never slept a day in her life. As she came forward, she stuck her index finger to her lips, "Shhh," she whispered. "Let's keep our voices down, okay Tony? I've just put Elizabeth to bed. She's been so cranky of late."
Tony nodded, still not looking at her. "Of course, Miss Grange. Here's your medicine; it'll help you sleep."
There was a small metal tray, like a coin drop, in the center of the door covered by a swinging flap. Tony dropped two little green pills inside; they rattled around before settling to the bottom. "You take those, Miss Grange, and then get some rest, okay?"
"Bless you, Tony...bless you. You have no idea how hard it's been to sleep at night. Especially since you-know-who moved in next door." She lowered her voice and looked around, whispered, "We can hear him talking to us in our head, Tony. He's a bad one...real bad. He tells us all the horrible stuff he's going to do to us. Terrible things...just terrible. We don't want his sort around here, oh no. Poor Elizabeth is scared to death. She's been crying and crying all day." She turned back and looked at the bed forgetting everything she had just said. "She's spoiled, that's what she is. I told her I would have to punish her if she didn't keep her eyes closed, but she kept looking at me, staring and staring with those eyes."
"Do you want me to call the doctor, Miss Grange?"
"No...no need, Tony, but you can give him these." She bent to the door and put something into the tray; it clattered around like a ball dropping onto a roulette wheel. Tony reached in and grabbed two plastic eyeballs, doll's eyes.
"Okay, Miss Grange, I'll be sure to give them to him."
"Tell him I didn't want to do it, Tony." She anxiously glanced next door, afraid of something. "He told me to do it."
"Okay, Miss Grange, I understand. Now you take your medicine."
"Oh, bless you, Tony. Why didn't I have a sweet understanding boy like you? So thoughtful and caring, not like whiney little girls, not like what I got, always looking at me and crying. I feel like I want to do something awful to her, you know, something unpleasant."
"I'll be sure to pass that on to the doctor, Miss Grange, goodnight for now. Try to get some sleep."
Turning, she shambled back toward the bed. Tony watched her bend down and pull the doll out from underneath. She gripped it by the hair and dangled it in front of her, wagging a finger and scolding. "Oh, no you don't. Don't you start crying over those eyes again. I told you what I would do if you kept staring at me."
Tony looked down at the two shiny eyes cupped in his hand. They looked almost real, as if they were staring up at him. He would have to tell the doctor that Miss Grange popped them out again. She had been doing so well too. This doll had lasted nearly four months. Twelve years ago, the woman had done the same thing to her real two-year-old daughter, Elizabeth.
Tony sadly closed the panel. She's never gonna leave here, he thought. Not all the medicine and psychological babble in the world is enough to cure her. Some folks just aren't right inside, and that's all there is to it. They belong here.
He moved on down to thirty-three, the new tenant's cell. He rapped on the door once, and then slid the small panel back that covered the observation window. Tony nearly let out a scream. Jack Stone stood at the window, smashing his face against the glass, his black skin deeply pitted from old acne scars, and his bugged-out eyes taking in the trolley filled with pills. He looked up and smiled knowingly at Tony.
"You the drug pusher 'round here, boy? Pushing and pushing your cart full of drugs. You the Pusher Man? Whatcha got fer old Jack, Pusher Man, huh? Whatcha got?"
"Just something to help you sleep, Mister Stone."
In a high-pitched voice, Jack mimicked him, "Just something to help you sleep, Mister Stone. What are you, boy, some kinda pansy-ass?"
Tony lifted the little flap on the door and dropped the pills into the tray. "Goodnight, Mister Stone, pleasant dreams."
Jack Stone grabbed the pills, stepped back and studied them, as if they were rat turds. He was a big man, almost seven foot, a barrel of a chest and arms like tree branches. In a sudden rage, he threw the pills at the door. "I ain't taking this crap, boy! I was raised around stronger stuff 'an this and I never gave in...never let it take me. Drugs is bad for ya...makes ya cra...zy. I never took no drugs my whole life. Never! And here I am in a hospital that's suppose to helps people out, and what's the first thing they gives me? Drugs! Drugs put your mind to sleep and that's when they come. When you're so damn tired you can't fight 'em. That's when they come! That's when they makes you do things you don't wants to do...bad things."
"Who?"
Jack looked around as if he thought there was someone in the room with him. Twisting his face unnaturally, he said, "The Grays...that's who. Those big-eyed demons from hell."
Tony smiled. "What duya mean . . . like aliens or something?"
"Oh, you think it's a joke, huh? You'll see. Giving them another name don't change what they are, boy." Jack placed his hands on either side of his head and wiggled his fingers around. "Oh, look at the cute little aliens from outer space. La-di-da . . . " He did a stupid little dance while he said it, hopping from one foot to the other, then stood rigid, looking up with a bitter half-smile. "You don't know squat, boy! When they come there ain't nothing you can do about it. They ain't human, and they definitely ain't aliens. They're pure evil. Demons!"
"You're not the first one to say he was possessed by demons, you know."
"You think ol' Jack is crazy, huh. You'll see. They'll be along soon enough. This place won't keep 'em out. Nothing can. Then we're all gonna die. Die like pigs."
"Goodnight, Mister Stone." Tony slowly closed the panel. From behind the thick door, he could still hear Stone yell, "We're all gonna die!"
Wordlessly, Tony turned away and moved down the hall. It was going to be a long night.
Good writing and good stories come from good characters. The more time you spend creating these people the better things get. Here's another piece from someone I've been working on for fifteen years, my daugter, Rebecca . . . .
THE ASYLUM
My keepers dragged me by my arms to the cell. I saw a sickly rat scuttle across the floor with a menacing expression upon its whiskered face, though the caretakers either didn't notice or didn't care. This was my new home. I sat upon the grubby floor and looked at the gruesome details of the cell. Every inch was filthy, and the details of this I was unwilling to explore. The room itself was fairly small, and I knew that I would soon be packed in with twenty-nine other girls, which explained the excessive grime that covered nearly everything.
I could hardly endure being in the room, and I knew that the conditions would worsen once the others returned, but for the moment, they were all being... 'treated'. I had heard rumors of these supposed treatments back home, but no one had truly believed the extremity to which the surgeons allegedly operated. Sitting in the dark now, hearing the patients' screams, I knew the rumors had not been misleading, and I was sure to never leave the asylum alive.
~~~
I was awakened by the doctors at 4 o'clock for the day's torture, along with my new roommates. I was given no notice by the other girls who, although had walked into the asylum sane but under false pretenses like myself, were now either insane or scared senseless. Having been excused from the operations on the day before, out of sheer mercy I presume, I had no idea what lay ahead.
Later I was strapped to a table, where the illiterate doctor proceeded to maim and torture every inch of my body, on the pretense of mental treatment. No form of anesthesia had been given to me prior to the operation, and I surely would have fainted from pain, except that pain was the very thing that kept me from doing so. In this condition, I felt every scrape, poke, jab, and slice that was performed with the rusty and unsterilized instruments. I now understood fully the anguish which had led to the other patients' loss of sanity, although at this point I had little reason to contemplate it.
At some point, the surgeon stopped what he was doing, and I prayed that it was over, but after a short time there was a phlebotomist standing over me, fully equipped with a jar of leeches for purging. I could feel every ounce of blood as it was being sucked from my body by the hideous creatures. I began to feel light-headed and weak from the blood loss, and I was finally blessed with unconsciousness.
~~~
Back in the cell, I became acutely aware of each patient and the wounds they had received. I recognized the points where the leeches had been placed and the jagged edges of wounds inflicted with blunt scalpels. I noticed the rotting corpses of plague rats in the corners, which no one had bothered to move or dispose of, and knew that this was how I would probably end up. These thoughts sickened me, and I tried to escape them with sleep, but I found myself haunted by the echoes of screams.
This same process occurred every single day for months on end. The other patients were beyond communication, and I soon began to realize how very alone I was in this dreadful place. "Perhaps death is the only way to escape..." I thought aloud.
"Perhaps. But perhaps you really belong here, Mad Girl."
A chill ran up my spine as I looked around for the owner of the voice. But, of course it was impossible that it was a patient- the voice was distinctly male.
"The one that belongs here must be you," I mused, "For only the Mad would bother with a woman's thoughts." I continued to scrutinize the dark room and hoped that I had distracted him enough to find where he was. But he sounded so close...
"You won't find me, Lucy," the voice chuckled mockingly "You were very close in your guess, however. I am not mad, but Madness itself."
What an impetuous and arrogant voice- what a rude voice! "Do not taunt me, egotistical man." Surely no one but the patients were in the room, I had looked everywhere. There was no way in or out besides the locked door. The Voice must have been telling the truth--Madness--madness locked inside my head. I drifted off to sleep.
~~~
With my new friend, Madness, by my side, the days went by in a blur. One day however, the surgeons and doctors were in a flurry of excitement over their new toy--an electric shock machine, and naturally, they couldn't wait to test it out on their captive patients. I was one of the first to experience it, and because they did not know how to use it yet, they turned the voltage on the lowest, most slow and torturous level.
I sat with that mechanism on my pressure points and head for three straight hours. This procedure in itself was maddening, but what pushed me over the edge was the fact that the doctors, surgeons, and keepers hovered around me, laughing at my suffering, but once again, unconsciousness rescued me.
~~~
As usual, I awoke in the cell, and this time it was simply impossible for me to sleep. I heard a loud and monotonous buzzing inside my skull, and I realized that I was shrieking. Any possible form of respite evaded me, Madness was nowhere to be found, and I remained conscious and screaming throughout the night.
~~~
The next morning came against my will and the doctors soon dragged me off, away from the others. I was again strapped to a table, but this time it was in a real operating room. "Hello again, Mad Girl." The familiar voice was anything but comforting at that moment. No, it's his fault I'm here, his fault I am who I am. I ignored him and tried to hear what the doctors were saying through the drone which remained in my head, and I soon discovered what the fuss was about--frontal lobotomy. They were planning on making me placid and worthless; this was no doubt a decision made due to the screeches I had been making the previous night.
This thought in itself had me feeling lightheaded, and I knew that I could not let myself fall into an incompetent state, I could never escape. I attempted to pull at the straps but they were cinched tightly. I looked around for a tool I might use and finally set my eyes on a scalpel that was on a counter near the operating table. The instrument was only a few inches from my grasp--tantalizingly close--and I stretched my arm to its full extent. It was barely an inch out of reach. I continued to stretch, and finally, I got my fingers around it. I spun it around so the sharper end was near the straps, and I started sawing at my restraints.
I was soon free, and I looked for the most advantageous exit. I was still a bit woozy from being so close to life-long emptiness, so I stumbled over to the closest door. There was a bizarre odor emanating from behind it, but I knew that this was my only chance. I swung the door open and saw that it was a cellar--every inch of which was filled with rotting corpses.
I gagged and felt acid rise in my throat, but still I searched for an exit. I saw a few of my roommates, but this didn't surprise me. How could the asylum possibly continue to torture and murder women if dead bodies kept turning up? Of course, they had to be kept... I still looked for an exit, but then, in the corner, I saw my own body--a maimed corpse, putrid and terrifying.
"The Asylum" © Copyright 2010 RC Wilcox
I have four daughters that pretty much drive me crazy. Rebecca is the little one in the crook of my left arm . . .
Until next time, my crazies,
billwilcox
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You Meet Some of the Craziest People In Some of the Craziest Places
| |  | The Asylum (13+)
In a lockdown, no patients escape the asylum...and no guards escape the patients.
#1729942 by NickB  |
| | Possession (18+)
In an asylum for the criminally insane, a young orderly discovers true possession...
#1028269 by W.D.Wilcox |
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#1252193 by Not Available. |
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DEAD LETTERS
LJPC - the tortoise
Comments:
Hi Bill!
There are many people who feel as you do. I'm enough of a cynic to believe that every generation thinks their time is 'the worst'. Just look at all the Rapture nuts who said the world was ending.
There have been countless doomsayers throughout history, yet we're still here.
I enjoyed the story you shared; it felt like a a great Twilight Zone idea. You portrayed the angst very well.
I hope the sun comes out in WA soon! If not, book a vacation to Egypt. We have sun 360 days a year! 
-- Laura
Damaris
Comments:
Excellent! Loved The Story!
Specter
Asks:
W.D.
Thank you for showing my comments. For me, it has been a gripping situation since May 1984. And that is an understatement! It was, at that time, when my small perspective of reality took a drastic turn, and then I realized that there are other factors beyond our means...or understanding.
What would you do if you came face to face with an UFO? How would you react and think? Even 27 years later? This is not a cheap-shot but the real deal.
--slick
Well, Slickster, if I came face-to-face with a UFO, I'd be like, "Oh my God, a freaking UFO! Please don't kill or probe me!" And then I'd run like the devil himself were after me. 
Jezri 
Comments:
Thank you for including my story in this weeks newsletter. I always look forward to reading your articles~
LuisPadilla
Comments:
Would love it if you could include ""Jonah's grin"" in the next horror newsletter.
Consider it, done and done.
BIG BAD WOLF is Howling 
Comments:
I know the weather is bad, but it could be worse. It could be raining vampires and werewolves.
kymee
Recites "Broken Wings"
My little angel battered and bruised
wings too broken to fly
Lives in her abusive world
trying hard not to cry.
A childhood that's lost in time
a child that's lost in space
All her emptiness and sorrow
made life really hard to face.
Pain that's so overwhelming
and shame that's hard to hide
A child who lost her innocence
and carries those memories inside.
With no future to her existence
and no reason to be alive
Her life was stolen then destroyed
and now must struggle to survive.
A life with no sense of direction
a truth that can tell her no lies
memories that continually haunt her
and a wish for her demise.
Wings so badly broken
it hampers her escape
Bad thoughts control her thinking
and guide her to a catatonic state.
So hopeless is this child
whose words could not convey
The seriousness of her thoughts
because she killed herself today.
© Copyright 2011 kymee
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Horror/Scary: June 29, 2011 Issue [#4473]
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