![]() GhostsA Story by RavenWells![]() A story that I altogether, had too much fun doing research for. WAY too much fun.![]()
"Come this way Mr. Walters, your room is just down here."
Tim Walters timidly followed the nurse across the cracked linoleum. His eyes wandering to the portraits lining the walls of the Sarah Park Psychiatric Hospital. The dim fluorescent lighting making the grim faces come alive with a superiority complex reminiscent of how a king might look upon a cockroach, before crushing it beneath his heel. He read the metal tag under the last face, "R.H. 1946-49". The eyes on Mr.H had been torn off the painting. Leaving only a sly smile, decorated with a large, bookish nose. He wondered why Mr.H had only worked here for three years. Tim shuddered and suppressed a sigh. He wouldn't be in this madhouse if it weren't for those damn hallucinations. Plaguing him night and day, children, old men, even dogs all following him with empty eyes. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? No, he mustn't think like think, "they" didn't exist. He had to believe that if he was going to get well and go home. He had told his wife and kids that he was going on a business trip to China for a month. He didn't want them to know about his problem. "Here you go Mr. Walters, ring the bell if you require anything." She flashed him a quick smile. She was young, she appeared to only be in her twenties. "Thank you dear, I'm sorry but, I didn't catch your name." Ted politely, but dejectedly asked. "It's Martha sir, Martha James." Martha replied with a quick curtsy. Tim smiled before turning to open his door, inside the small room were 3 dusty cots covered with thin red quilts, to his right, was what? A bedpan? He thought modern medicine had advanced to plumbing at the least. To the left of the door sat a bare nightstand with a single bell. Tim wandered to the window to gaze at the unattended hedges lining the gravel road up to the institution. The building itself resembled a mansion in it's grandness. The 3 story brick building had two wings extending from a single center entrance. It was supposedly designed to hold patients by putting the most troublesome patients farthest from the entrance. His room was situated about midway down of the left wing which confused Tim. He wasn't violent, so he didn't know why he was this far down. Tim turned away from the window and jumped. Standing right behind him was a short, dark haired doctor. "Good evening, I'm sorry if I startled you. I just came to talk to you about your file, and to discuss," he paused, "your treatment." "I'm Doctor Hartman, I'l be your psychiatrist for the duration of your stay here at Sarah Park. Now it says here in your file that you see ghosts?" he inquired. "They're only hallucinations of course, but I'v been having trouble distinguishing real from fake. I'm scared that I'l end up hurting my family! Please make them stop." Tim pleaded. His blue eyes touched with desperation. For the next half hour, Doctor Hartman continued to ask him questions with Tim answering as best as he could. Questions ranging from health to hobbies. All answers seeming very important to Hartman. "Now, there's this drug that I believe will work effectively in your case. I have it right here, and I would like to test it now." Doctor Hartman pulled out a needle from his front pocket and gave it a few light taps. "Please sit on this bed right here" He gestured to the one on his left. Tim slowly walked over. He might be forty now, but he still was more than a little nervous around needles. Doctor Hartman continued,"Now I'm not going to lie to you, this will hurt. A lot actually, now that I think about it." "Great, that's reassuring." Tim muttered to himself. He slowly rolled up his sleeve and suppressed a groan. Shots, why'd it have to be shots. Doctor Hartman jabbed the needle into Tim's arm and within seconds fire started burning along his nerves. Molten lead slowly poured over his limbs, burning away his energy. He didn't understand what was happening. One thought just kept resonating in his mind, ring the bell if you require anything. That one thought had Tim feebly crawling across the floor towards the nightstand. Doctor Hartman's laughter echoing in the back of his skull. At last, with energy almost depleted, he reached up and gave the bell one single gong. It was too much for him though and he collapsed onto the cold floor. The last thing he saw before consciousness abandoned him was Martha's silhouette framed against the the doorway. Tim felt his limbs being shackled into some sort of operating table. He attempted to struggle but found he couldn't move his arms, or legs. Not even his eyes. He felt some sort of mask on his face pumping oxygen into his lungs.It was like he was just a consciousness hiding in a shell of a body. He felt his eyelid get peeled back and found himself looking upon Doctor Hartman who was smiling maniacally at him. Tim tried desperately to get free but to no avail, whatever Dr. Hartman had given him had his body in a tight grip. "Ah, I see the curari is working. I wonder, are you conscious in there?" Hartman chuckled. "Not that it affects me but dear oh dear, it will change how this procedure will feel to you." He dropped Tim's eyelid back into place. "Now let's see. What toys will I use today? I haven't used the electro-shock kit in a while, but oh!" He peeled Tim's eyelid back again and started examining his eye. "Yes! You're a perfect candidate! I must go get my equipment! Martha, fetch my lobotomy tools." Tim felt his blood go cold. This man must be utterly insane. He tried even harder to escape the chains of his own body, but the curari refused to release him. Martha's form fluttered in the corner of his eye before approaching his field of vision. She then proceeded with a small piece of medical tape,to tape back his eyelid. Her hands shook with the task. Before she left, she gave him a confused,nervous look before rushing off to some other task that required her attention. After a few minutes Doctor Hartman returned, now donning a pair of surgical gloves. Tim inwardly cringed as he picked up an icepick-like tool. If he could operate his tear ducts he would've cried. Hartman smiled. Doctor Phillips sighed as another pile of case reports was dumped on his desk. He had been working overtime all weekend and all that needed to get done was a reading of these charts. He chose one off the top, the patient name being T. Walters. "Patient suffering from trauma induced psychosis, cause unknown. Brought in by passing pedestrians by the ruins of Sarah Park Psychiatric Hospital. MRI showing what appears to be strokes on the frontal cortex behind the left orbital. When questioned, all that was discerned was the name "Hartman" and the phrase "Martha saved me"." The name Hartman made Phillips pause, that was the name of a psychiatrist in the 50's who was arrested for experimenting on patients. Strange that Walters would be found mumbling his name by Hartman's old place of work. He shook his head, interesting coincidence that's all it was. Phillips threw aside the file and moved to the next one in the stack.
© 2012 RavenWellsAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
Stats
580 Views
12 Reviews Shelved in 2 Libraries
Added on November 16, 2012Last Updated on December 30, 2012 Previous Versions Author![]() RavenWellsILAboutJust someone looking to release some of the stories bubbling up inside me, and have some fun. I love the writing of author H.G. Wells. His side activities such as being a man w***e, I don't idolize as.. more..Writing
|