creative writing · Horror stories

The Demon inside- 22/08/17

Read part three here first!
The Demon inside
22/08/17

 Dave,

This is probably going to be the last letter I will be able to write to you for a while, I heard the nurses talking last night after they thought I was asleep, they’re transferring me soon to somewhere with higher security. They still haven’t decided exactly what is wrong with me. I don’t think they ever will.

Getting back to my story, from the police station, I was transferred in handcuffs to the hospital. I was given tranquilizers, some antipsychotic medication. I was locked away in a tiny bedroom. Funnily enough but what struck me first when I got here was the walls weren’t actually padded! A small wooden bed frame was bolted to the floor, a plastic mattress was covered with thin, itchy sheets and a flat pillow. The window was made of thick glass blocks, a metal toilet lurked in the corner.

This place is not a place of healing, it’s a prison.

The first night here was quiet, maybe I was just too doped up to notice anything, I had gone too long without rest. I passed out quickly and was not aware of anything until a nurse woke me up in the morning to make me come for breakfast.

Shuffling down the hallway behind her, in the hospital gown and slippers I had been provided, I took note of my surroundings for the first time. The sounds of doors slamming, screams and shouts echoing down the halls. The smell of unwashed bodies, urine and bleach. It was terrifying, overwhelming. Every staff member I came across had a fake smile and dead eyes.

I won’t go into all the gory details, what happens inside these walls, stays inside these walls. I just wanted you to know the general atmosphere.

I sat by myself, kept my head down, tried to think through the fog of medication. I was given another assessment by the head of psychiatry. I don’t remember what he asked me, I don’t remembered what I answered. I drifted through the days drowning in the tide of drugs.

It wasn’t long before ‘It’ found me.

I drifted to sleep on the uncomfortable mattress that squeaked under the dirty sheets. Pulled down into dreamland by my chemical anchor. I was roused from my slumber by a noise in my room. A small noise, a scurrying noise. More noticeable by its quietness, everything else in this place was loud, brash.

I blocked out the other patients, suffering in their own rooms and focused all my attention on the bubble of silence in my cell. There is was again, a soft footstep, a sigh of breath, this time followed by a whisper.

I opened my eyes and glared into the gloom of the room, shadows slowly moving along the walls as clouds moved across the light of the moon. Nothing changed, nothing stood out. I closed my eyes.

Whispering.

Unintelligible, getting louder. Everywhere, all around me. Drowning out the sounds of everyone and everything else. Not this again, please not again, I thought I was safe here! Squeezing my eyes shut, I put my hands over my ears and shouted. “Go away! Leave me alone, please stop”

A light clicks on, blinding me though my closed eyelids.

The whispering cuts off.

A pin prick of pain in my arm, an injection of some sort.

Darkness.

 

I woke 13 hours later, unsure if it had happened or if it was a dream. Until the nurse came in, the same fake sympathetic smile on her otherwise blank face.  

“Sleeping beauty has finally risen” she says with fake chirpiness. “How’re you feeling?”

“My head hurts and my mouth feels like I’ve been eating sand”

“It’s quite normal to feel that way after the medication you had last night, you had a little episode so the doctor has ordered an immediate change of meds, these ones are a little stronger so you might feel a little funny today but they’ll be much better for you in the long run”

So it was real. There really was something there and the solution? Pump me full of stronger drugs. Fantastic. Of course no one here would believe me, they never, ever would. Everything I said was a symptom, the way I walked, ate and slept were symptoms of something or other, I was being scrutinized from every angle, 24 hours a day.

How was I going to escape this nightmare? The one thing I knew for sure, is it would be back and I would need to be ready.

I carried on my days much like before, head down, not saying much, doing everything I was told. The whispering came at night, roaring through till dawn, the longer I left it the worse it got. Closer and closer, louder and louder until nothing else seemed to exist.

The screaming whispers brushed against me, crawled along my skin, pinpricks of pain, inside and out. I felt hopeless, helpless. How could I ever be expected to defend myself with my chemical restraints?

Get rid of them of course!

I was docile, despite everything. I watched, waited. I was calm, patient. When they lost their suspicion. I started pocketing my meds and flushing them down the toilet. It took a few days for all of the effects to wear off. The drowsiness was the first to go, followed by the acidic taste in my mouth and lastly the confusion. I was myself again.

And I had a plan.

During the days of the meds wearing off, I heard the whispers, heard what they were saying to me, this thing, this evil creature who had done who knows what to Stacey, who had tormented me, broken me… It was inside me all along! I know what I have to do.

Hopefully I’ll see you soon to tell you everything myself.

 

Charlie x

the demon inside

Afterward

Dave pulled up outside the formidable building. A storm was brewing and the thunderous clouds only added to the dark atmosphere though he knew part of his bad impression was down to the heaviness in his heart from what he was about to do.

He walked into the hospital, was lead down a corridor to a doctors office, a box was placed in front of him. Filled with sheets of paper, covered in scribbles.

He read every single word, despite every sentence dropping him deeper into despair. He just needed to know, know how and why they could have let this happen to her. How she had got here in the first place. He needed answers, however hard those answers were going to be. He blamed himself. He should have seen the signs and thought he owed both Stacey and Charlie to find out everything he could.

But they were both dead. Nothing he could do now would change that.

photo by Ian Espinosa on Unsplash

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s