Expelling all of his pent-up rage felt good—exhilarating, even. So, he kept going, indulging in the violence, and taking a kind of sadistic glee in the power he felt making the man suffer who had caused him such anguish.
‘Say it to me now!’ Adrian screamed again. ‘I dare you!’
He wanted his father to beg for forgiveness and plead for his life. Instead, the old bastard simply looked up at him with his one good eye and spluttered out his reply.
‘Worthless fucking mistake,’ he said, managing a pained smile.
Despite Adrian’s mother’s protests, Adrian allowed himself to fully embrace the anger that fuelled him. He grabbed the man by the throat and squeezed with all he was worth. His father fought back—a pathetic and weak attempt—but soon his face went from being beet-red to a shade of blue, and his eyes bulged from the sockets. With a wheeze, his life was finally choked away.
‘Good,’ a voice said as the walls around Adrian started to change. They peeled and flaked away to reveal a world outside that was not his own. A nightmarish place. He heard his mother’s terrified cries as something took her—a twisted, monstrous being—and crushed her skull.
Adrian screamed.
Adrian was pulled from unconsciousness and back into reality.
It took him a moment to realise why.
The asylum was never exactly a quiet place—the cries and moans of residents around the facility were a constant background noise that took him days to get used to after he had first arrived. But the noises that woke him now were different.
Something was happening.
Adrian lifted his head from the hard pillow and stared over to the closed door of his room, as if doing so could help visualise just what was going on in the hallways beyond. But it didn’t help, because while he could understand and make sense of some noises he heard—panicked yelling and angry shouts—there was another, terrifying sound that made no sense to him at all.
It seemed… inhuman.
Guttural groans and roars that were unfamiliar to him. The sounds were getting closer now and were punctuated by a howl of someone in tremendous pain. That was followed by some kind of gurgling and spluttering.
The chaos of what was happening in the corridor moved closer and was soon outside of his room. Something clashed against the sturdy metal door hard enough to make it rattle in its frame. More pained cries, and then the viewing hatch was knocked open.
Mouth agape, Adrian gazed out into the darkness, not daring to move. The noises outside plateaued, and he could hear somebody struggling desperately, gasping and groaning. Whoever this man was, his pained pleas were soon overwhelmed by a monstrous growl.
Adrian was terrified, but he was also desperate to know what was going on. Surely the thick door between them would keep him safe from harm? He got to his feet and, ever-so-slowly, made his way over to the now-open hatch. He heard a horrible crunch from beyond and yet another cry of agony, then a prolonged ripping sound as the cries heightened before blurring into a wet gurgle.
Adrian reached the hatch and carefully peered out. Before he had the chance to take anything in, a blood-covered face slammed into the opening, causing him to yell and jump back in shock.
Adrian looked at the terrified face in repulsion. This man was one of the asylum's orderlies, but it was hard to be sure as to which one because his jaw was missing completely; it had been ripped off, leaving jagged wounds and exposed red flesh and tendons beneath. His tongue lolled down through the door’s hatch and into Adrian’s room. It writhed and twitched, almost with a life of its own.
Adrian made eye contact with the orderly, but immediately regretted doing so. The eyes seemed to plead for help, but the only sounds the man could make were incomprehensible moans. As quickly as it had appeared, the face was yanked away, and Adrian heard more growls. Then a pained, high-pitched cry.
He was scared, but couldn’t help himself; Adrian slowly moved forward and peered out to see the dark corridor beyond. He could make out a tall, spindly figure in the darkness, holding what appeared to be the orderly’s head in its long, claw-like hands as the detached body was dropped carelessly to the floor. Whatever this thing was, it was almost seven feet tall and its skin was pulled tight over oddly shaped bones that protruded beneath.
Adrian drew in a sharp gasp of breath as fear gripped him further, and as he did it appeared the demonic thing outside heard him. While still holding the severed head, it turned, allowing Adrian to see its face: melted and warped, the features like that of some horrific painting. One eye hung considerable lower than the other, almost in line with the corner of its unnaturally wide mouth, which opened like that of a snake, revealing rows of long, serrated teeth. The edges of its thin lips turned up into a smile as it raised the detached head up and pushed it into its open maw.
The demon made a sound reminiscent of a chuckle as the jaws clamped down over the cranium and started to exert force. It didn’t take long for the head to crunch and compress, eventually popping completely, causing a shower of gore and grey brain-matter to burst free.
Another sound came from the tall, gangly thing outside of Adrian’s room. It was a kind of huffing, snorting noise. The thing’s shoulders bobbed up and down and its smile increased as it began to chew.
Adrian realised that it was laughing.
Then Adrian heard approaching voices, and he turned to look farther back down the dark corridor. In the distance, he could see bodies littering the floor—other orderlies who had met a similar fate as their friend. The approaching group seemed to be coming from that direction, but had not arrived in full view as yet. The chewing, demonic thing outside evidently heard the same voices and running footsteps, too, as it turned in the same direction. It began to backpedal, but before running off into the darkness completely, it cast Adrian one last look.
It may have just been Adrian’s imagination after seeing something so horrific, but he was sure he recognised a familiarity in that melted, twisted face.
Malcolm?
Adrian heard the monster’s thumping footsteps move down the corridor as it fled. A group of orderlies finally emerged, sprinting after the thing, armed with knives, coshes, and sticks.
And one of them had a different kind of weapon altogether.
In his hands, he gripped a thin pipe that was fitted with handles and a nozzle at the end. A rubber tube ran from the back of the shaped metal pipe and connected to a small tank that was strapped to the man’s back. From the end of the nozzle, Adrian saw a small, blue flame.
Could that weapon really be what he thought it was?
If so, why the hell did an asylum need to be equipped with something like that?
‘Get it,’ an orderly yelled as they sprinted in a huddled group down the narrow hallway. One orderly bringing up the rear saw Adrian’s open hatch and locked eyes with him through it. The man quickly slammed the cover shut, cutting off Adrian’s view of what was happening.
Adrian then heard the voices and clattering footsteps disappear as they moved further away.
It seemed the chase was on.
Adrian stood before his door in silent disbelief.
What had he just seen? And could that thing have really been Malcolm?
Unable to make sense of it, he eventually made his way back over to his bed and dropped down onto it. He lay back and pulled his knees up to his chest, feeling himself shaking with fear and adrenaline.
He listened, trying to make out any sounds in the distance that would give him a clue as to what was going on, and he could hear wild cries, screams, and roars. Whatever was happening, Adrian knew there was violence involved.
And amongst all of that, the patients in the facility seemed particularly agitated tonight, and their mad bellows were also clearly audible.
Adrian had no idea of the hour, but he knew he would not sleep again that night.
Chapter 6
It was late, but Reid could not sleep. He was seated in his office, a rather small, cramped room which hou
sed his chair and writing desk in the centre, spare chair near the door, and tall bookcases lining the walls. Each case was crammed full of files and medical journals, while his desk itself was a sea of loose papers, parchment, and notes. As precise and meticulous as he believed he was, his office was in stark contrast to that—organised chaos was how he liked to describe it, with more emphasis on the chaos than the organised.
He was trying to focus on the job at hand—of writing up a report on a patient. Reid had a treatment in mind for the man, and it was the same treatment that had derailed his career and landed him in this God-forsaken place. Though it was not the report that was keeping him awake.
The altercation with Director Templeton was playing on his mind, specifically the things the man had said to him.
Prove yourself. Do not disappoint.
All vague riddles and threats, with nothing of substance behind them. What the hell was expected of him here?
He tried to concentrate on the words he was scribbling in his ledger as his eyes had started to ache with tiredness, but he knew it was pointless trying to rest them, as his mind was just too active. To help, he had switched off the light in his office and was now writing by the gentle, flickering glow of his table-mounted lantern. He’d owned the lamp for many years, even brought it with him when he’d started at Arlington Asylum, and found that the soft hue it gave off was much more forgiving on his eyes than the sharp illumination from the electric lights fitted throughout the facility. It also usually helped his mind to settle.
But not tonight.
He was not the kind of man to take kindly to threats—obscure or not.
Ignore the old fool, Reid said to himself. Concentrate on your work, then you can leave this place behind forever.
He tried doing just that and went back to a report which outlined the treatment he was planning to try on one of his patients—a young man, only seventeen, who had been picked up after living on the streets. He suffered from fits of violence, and with no warning he would erupt and lash out at anyone around him. Afterwards, when the episodes subsided, he always showed great regret for his actions, and Reid felt that he was the perfect candidate to try the procedure on again—the one that had almost ruined him last time.
It was less of a risk now.
If he failed, no one would care. He could simply try again. Not like last time, with Elton Breyer.
The procedure that was supposed to push him into fame and renown had not gone as expected.
Elton had been tied down to Reid’s table, fully awake and cognisant. Reid knew exactly what he had to do, and how much pressure to exert, but knowing something and actually carrying it out were two different things. Reid remembered taking hold of the instrument—which was long and thin, with a sharp end and made of lightweight aluminium—and bringing it down to the inside corner of Elton’s left eye. The young man’s blue irises had looked up to him as he did, wide with fear at the approaching pick. Reid felt the instrument slip in beside the wet eyeball and could see the fleshy orb push slightly to the side, making room for the new object that had invaded its space.
Reid had then brought up a mallet and started to gently hammer the pick into Elton’s head. It had slipped inside easily, moving down farther and farther until Reid had felt resistance.
He had reached the brain.
With a steady hand, he had hammered the pick again and penetrated the rubbery matter. Elton had let out a moan, and his body had begun to convulse. Reid had kept hitting the instrument, pushing it down farther, and Elton’s convulsions had become more severe. Finally, Reid had stopped, keeping the pick in place at what he thought was the correct depth. Then he had gently moved it from side to side, hoping to successfully sever the connections to the prefrontal cortex and frontal lobes of the brain.
This procedure, known as a transorbital lobotomy, should have put an end to Elton’s violent episodes and made him much more docile. While not conceived or developed by Reid himself, it was still considered an untested and unpractised procedure, and therefore looked down upon by the stuffy old medical elite—especially here in England. However, it was much easier and simpler to perform than a conventional lobotomy, saving time and money, and Reid had ambitions of taking this idea and pushing it to become common practice in his home country—and collecting all the plaudits that were owed to him as he did.
But things had not worked out that way.
Instead, Elton had died on his table and Dr. Thomas Reid’s promising career had gone into free-fall.
But he was determined to prove that the procedure was not only viable, but also the best way to treat most mental ailments.
Which meant he needed to try again.
And he had scheduled his first re-attempt for the very next day. If successful, he intended to try again and again, and hone the procedure until he was able to carry it out flawlessly, each and every time.
Then he could leave Arlington Asylum behind, and the clueless Isaac Templeton—a religious idiot playing at medicine—could go to hell.
Reid dropped his pen and let out a sigh. That was enough for tonight. While he was a man who did not need a lot of sleep to operate well, he was in danger of overdoing it and leaving himself too exhausted tomorrow to be at his best. And when he was overly tired, Reid tended to think of his wife and son, and he could not afford to let himself do that. He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Time for sleep, at least for a few hours. And even if sleep did not come, he could at least rest his tired eyes.
He then got to his feet and turned off the lantern before leaving his office and locking it securely behind him. Like every other area of the asylum, his personal quarters were just off the Main Hall. That area acted as a hub, and the other wards were connected to this central section like the arms running from the head of an octopus. The building itself was all single storey, with no stairs or elevators to speak of.
Though that wasn’t true, was it? There was an old-looking service elevator at the back of the Main Hall, one that Reid was not allowed to use. He knew it went down, but to where he had no clue, and Templeton would not tell him.
Secrets upon secrets, in a structure that almost seemed designed to be hidden from the world: sunken into a surrounding forest, with only one road in and out.
A road that was not much travelled anymore.
Hell, even the administrative staff who worked in the Main Hall seemed to live on site. At times, this place felt more like a prison than a place of work. He was allowed to leave, but excursions needed to be arranged with Templeton, who held the key, and it was made clear that the facility was not to be discussed with anyone outside of its own walls. Another threat from Templeton, this one followed with a promise of expulsion.
And given that Arlington seemed to be his last chance at professional redemption, Reid could ill afford to go against the director.
Reid made his way towards the Main Hall, savouring the quiet. At this time of night, things were usually silent in the area—the cries of the insane insulated to their own wards.
And he expected that tonight would be no different.
But as he got closer to the Main Hall, he heard it.
Voices.
Screams.
They were panicked, and as he got closer, he could make out the sounds of a struggle. Screams bellowed, and muffled orders were barked out.
Above it all, a horrific screech.
Reid stopped, not knowing if he should run back or continue forward. Curiosity got the better of him and he jogged onwards.
What on earth could make a sound like that? His first instinct was that there was an animal loose in the asylum. How that had happened, he had no idea, but what else could explain it?
He reached the blank iron door that separated the zone he was in from the Main Hall and unlocked it. Whatever was happening beyond seemed to be in full flow. He gently pushed the door open, just in time to hear an ear-piercing scream as someone wailed in agony.
Reid peeked through the opening and could scarcely believe his own eyes.
A group of orderlies had surrounded… something… and were trying in vain to subdue it. They seemed to be failing in their efforts, however, and Reid saw who it was that was crying out in agony. One of the orderlies was without his arm, and blood pumped freely from the stump at his shoulder. The severed appendage was on the floor close to the creature that they had all surrounded.
And Reid had no idea what it was.
Humanoid in shape, certainly—with arms, legs, a torso, and head, but it was not human. First of all, it was far too tall, and its limbs were stick-thin. It evidently possessed a power that belied its slight build, however, having pulled a man’s arm clean off. Reid was too far away to make out its face or finer features, but its thin skin looked to be black, or at least a dark purple.
Reid then saw Jones run into the room, coming from Ward A.
‘What do we do?’ one of the other orderlies yelled, desperate for help and instruction, clearly at a loss as to how best handle a situation such as this. Jones circled round to another of the men, one who was equipped with a strange weapon, one that was connected to a metallic tank on his back.
Jones relieved the man of the instrument and quickly put it on himself. ‘We kill it,’ he said.
‘But what about the director? Will he allow us to do that?’ another asked.
Jones raised the end of the weapon and aimed at the feet of the approaching beast.
‘I’ll explain it to Templeton,’ Jones said, before a stream of orange and yellow liquid flame burst free from the metal nozzle.
The creature was immediately engulfed in searing fire that swam up its body, coating it completely. The monster roared and screeched and continued to run towards Jones. The orderly, however, was not easily fazed and circled the creature before letting loose with another burst from the weapon. Flames engulfed it completely now, so fierce that Reid could barely make out the black of its skin beneath the yellow and red flames.
The Extreme Horror Collection Page 23
