Psychosurgery

Another short story for my creative writing class. Please leave reviews :D

Psychosurgery

I.

The eerie, faint sound of a girl screaming pulled me out of my terrorised sleep. My tiny bedroom was in darkness with only the soft moon providing light and diffusing dust across the room. I threw back my blankets and sprang from bed over to the window. I noticed through my sleepy constricted eyes that my window was wide open and allowing the frosty, crisp night air to flood in. I was sure I had closed it before I went to sleep.

My bedroom was at the back of the house and my window overlooked some small houses and a path risen on a grassy hill behind them. The path was used frequently as a shortcut for the locals to get from the town centre back to their houses.

The girl’s distant shrieks continued to echo against the clouds. I almost preferred the horrifying blare of the air raid sirens to these awful cries. I heard her gasp hard then abruptly the unnerving wails stopped. The night fell silent and I listened intently but all I could hear was my own rapid pulse throbbing in my ears.

As I waited silently, I vaguely saw a flicker of movement from between the dark trees behind the path.

A ghostly hand immerged from between the branches, followed by a beastly seven foot man who clambered out from the trees. He wore a long beige trench coat. He had scruffy black hair and a ghastly scar etched from his left eyelid down to the corner of his mouth.

I was transfixed in a disturbed state of shock and terror as I watched the enormous figure pull something out from the small murky woodland. He yanked out a body from the bushes and began to pull the person by the ankles. It was the screaming girl.

The girl stirred and awakened from unconsciousness. She began to struggle and flail as she was dragged along the ground. She was wearing a pale pink nightdress, her hands were tied behind her back, tape covered her mouth, twigs and leaves matted her hair and she was covered in blood. She tried furiously to wriggle free but the towering figure pulled her along with ease. After a moment, the two figures who had now left the moons spotlight and became darkened silhouettes, escaped my sight where my view of the path was cut off.

“What are you doing? Why are you waking me at this time? Go back to bed,” my mother groaned as I shook her awake.

I explained what I saw and urged her to take me to the police.

“Dorothy, you know you have nightmares. You probably imagined it,” my mother said in a sleepy daze.

“Mum, I have to go to the police. He has kidnapped that poor girl!” I protested.

It was useless. She had already fallen back into a deep sleep.

I went back to my room and peered out the window again. There was no trace of the man or the girl.

In the morning when my mother was chaotically rushing to get my siblings ready for school and organising her ration book, I slipped out and instead of going to school, I headed for the police station.

As I walked along Churchill Street in my neatly pressed school uniform, my heart jumped into my mouth. Right across the road was the monstrous man I saw the night before. He just stood there, staring at me. I was frozen on the spot. I began to shake as his gaze intensified and suddenly I bolted. I ran as fast as I could and turned the corner to the police station. I quickly sprinted inside, finally feeling safe, and rushed to the counter. I nervously told the police officer I needed to make a statement. He looked at me with suspicion before calling over another officer to take me into an interview room.

“What’s your name?” He sighed flippantly as we began the interview.

“Dorothy Edwards. I’m sixteen and I live at 27 Glebe Road,” I answered as he scribbled on a form.

“Okay. So what information do you have for us, Dorothy?”

I frantically gushed every detail I could remember about the hideous, frightening man and the young girl.

“And I saw that man again this morning! He was standing on Churchill Street. He just glowered at me. You have to find him. I think he could be dangerous. And you have to find that girl!” I said panicked.

“Could you give me the girl’s description again? Just to be sure,” PC Cooper asked.

“Yes. Eh, she had dark hair and it was tangled with twigs and leaves. She was wearing a baby pink nightdress, she was covered in blood, her hands were tied and there was silver duck-tape across her mouth,” I blurted out again.

 “This is the third time this month, Dorothy. We warned you what would happen if this happened again,” he sighed.

“What are you talking about?”

“Go and look in that mirror, Dorothy,” he groaned as he pointed to a full length mirror in the corner of the room.

In confusion, I hesitantly walked over to the long mirror.

I wasn’t wearing my pleated school skirt and blazer at all.

I was in my bare feet wearing only a pale pink, cotton nightgown that was stained with congealed blood. My hazelnut brown hair was in an impossibly matted frizz ball with twigs, grass, debris and leaves layered through it. Frayed rope tangled from my red, scratched left wrist and duck-tape was crumpled and gripped in my right hand. I was the screaming girl.

I stared at the unfamiliar girl. I felt like I was looking into a carnival mirror that distorts and warps your reflection. This wasn’t me. My eyes watered and swelled like shiny balls of frogspawn.

Vague memories from last night rushed back to me.

Edging out of the window in my nightdress… Cutting my legs as I fell from the drainpipe… Taking rope and duck-tape from the Anderson shelter and walking into the forest…Looking down at my hands and seeing fresh blood.

That was all I could remember.

When I turned around again, a doctor was there along with my teary mother.

“Dorothy, this is Dr Jenkins,” PC Cooper said softly.

“Why do I need a doctor? What’s happening?” I asked, failing to conceal the fear in my voice.

“Dorothy, I’m afraid that due to your mental state and your recent actions, we feel it is necessary for you to be lobotomised,” the posh doctor said.

I had heard horror stories about lobotomy and I was not certainly not willing to have it done. Horrified, I appealed to my mother to protect me from the doctors and take me home but she just sobbed hard and turned away from my gaze. I kicked, struggled and fought but I was eventually restrained and taken to the hospital.

II.

The poor girl was only sixteen. After reading her report, I suspected schizophrenia or a similar disorder. She was so terrified before Dr Jenkins gave her the electric convulsions that rendered her unconscious. I was only a student nurse at the time so I needed all the experience I could get but this operation was a particularly gruesome one. The doctor delicately lifted a long, thin needle from his tray and peeled the girl’s eyelid up with the other hand. I could feel my breakfast churning in my heavy stomach. He pierced the inside of the eye socket, above the actual eyeball, with the ice pick and with a sickening crunch tapped lightly on the opposite end of the needle with a hammer to break through the orbital plate into the white matter of the frontal lobe. He then twirled the needle in his hand and wiggled it around inside the brain. The process was then repeated on the other eye which bruised, just like the first, in a matter of seconds. The traumatic surgery was complete in only ten minutes. Many believed lobotomy was the new cure for all mental illnesses but in most cases, the patient was left with devastating brain damage. I knew that girl would never be the same again.

Reviews

[Meraki]

Wow, I feel like this was of those shutter island horror stories. It was during World War II in Britain they only had theories and sepculations on mental health cures. You portrayed the mental illness extremely well, I didn't even know she had one until she the doctor came in. I was confused when officer acted the way he did and said it happened 3 times. I can only imagine how they feel when someone tells them what they see isn't real scary and confusing is what it is. Well what I think it is. This is one of my favorites from you so far! You paint pictures with words and your stories play like movies in my head.

[Sophie McN]

aw thank you!! yeah thats the kind of idea I was trying to create, looking back now I feel like I maybe should have clarified that the man she saw was wasn't real and that she fantasied it all but I think that comes across anyway when you find out she has a mental illness. aw I'm glad you liked it, thanks!

[Robert Strzalko]

A very powerful and thought provoking piece.

[Sophie McN]

thank you!!