Shades of Green

by Ian Woodhead

  Nothing moved outside. He ran back to the door and took a deep breath.

  “Hello?” he shouted. His voice echoed down the corridors. Arthur received no answer, he was alone – well, except for the lovely Ida who somehow seemed to have trebled in size since she’d last worn her dressing gown. He continued to the common room, looking in every room and seeing the same pattern, nobody about but beds slept in and patient’s possessions scattered around the rooms.

  The common room was just around the corner. A tiny part of his mind was still clinging to the thought that they were all in there, watching some mind numbing crap on TV or reading through the ancient lifestyle magazines.

  He remembered the first thing he saw when he’d first found the common room was an old sun-faded notice stapled to the wall requesting patrons to keep the noise down at all times. He’d looked at the assorted collection of old crocks and wondered just how much noise they could really make, hell even if they all screamed at once there still wouldn’t be enough noise to wake an insomniac baby up.

  As he entered the room this time, the whole place, just like the other rooms was bereft of people. He would give anything just to hear one voice. He tore the notice off the wall and threw the damn thing onto the floor.

  Oh this was just not right, not even the horse-breathing nurse was in here looking for another mushy book. She’d be spoilt for choice as all the books scattered over the coffee tables were now mushy, swollen and sodden through like they had been dropped in a bath.

  He turned in a tight circle, staring slack jawed at the posters, leaflets, magazines and books. Everything made of paper was just rotting away like they had been sprayed with a corrosive chemical.

  After Polly had finished bending his ear last night, she had homed in on some other poor sod but not before whispering her room number into his ear and winking. At the time, he had shuddered and hoped to never see her again. Instead of retreating back to his own room, he had settled down with the old folk and picked up a horror book. He’d received his fair share of odd looks from the other residents in the room of the nearly dead over his choice of reading material. The news of what he had stumbled upon must have gone through this place like wild-fire and he guessed that he must be traumatised. Well, sod them. It would take more than that to upset this ex-butcher.

  What remained of the book was still in the same place where he had thrown it last night, blue and yellow mould growing over the cover, it had expanded to three times its original size. Arthur tried to pick it up but the book just fell through his hands like wet papier-mâché. He wiped the disgusting mess on the edge of the door as he left; there was no point in staying here. He took a left and set off towards Polly’s room, if anyone would know what was going on here then it would be her.

  Arthur hurried down the ward, not caring whether the rooms were empty or not. That feeling of unease had now developed into a full blown panic. Ever since he’d left the common room, he was sure that someone or something was following him, stalking him. He shouldn’t be heading for Polly’s rooms, he ought to be heading for the nearest fire exit and getting the hell out of here. He stopped, hid behind a concrete pillar and listened, not daring to breathe.

  It was the smell that first alerted him, a cross between rotten pork and wet clay. He’d noticed something similar back in Ida’s room but it was almost undetectable. The smell almost knocked him on his back a few seconds ago and then there were the clicks, like the sound his dog’s claws made on his kitchen tiles, only much louder.

  There it was again, he knew he hadn’t imagined it. The image of a great big slobbering grizzly bear chasing him through the ward ran through his mind but he didn’t know of any bear, grizzly or not that went into rooms and shut the door after it.

  The clattering receded. Arthur decided to run for it before the creature got any closer. He peered around the column and caught a glimpse of something big and black running into a patient’s room. He ran over to the nurse’s station and ducked behind the desk, hoping that the slapping of his slippers on the floor wouldn’t draw its attention. That was no bear that was for goddamn sure. Arthur now had no doubt that the horse-breather and that thing were one and the same creature. Pens? More like claws.

  It was taking its time in that room. The creature wasn’t benign; he knew that for a bloody fact, plant eaters didn’t have talons. What if it was eating? Found a sleeping patient and started to feast? He ought to go and check.

  Bollocks to that, maybe if he had a machine gun. He peered over the desk; the best weapon he could find was a stapler. The room next to him was 217. Polly had whispered 221 to him so it must be round here somewhere. He waited a few more seconds, trying not to think of the beast tearing chunks of flesh out of some unfortunate patient then he stood up and edged towards the next room. His eyes fixed on that doorway, knowing full well that it could emerge any second and he would basically be the thing’s next meal.

  217’s door was wide open; he saw a desk and a couple of chairs in there and guessed it must be a consultation room. Arthur picked up the stapler from the desk; it was old and heavy, perfect for what he had in mind.

  He opened the door next to the room where the big creature ran in and threw the stapler hard against the window then ran around the corner. As the sound of splintering wood filled his ears, he flattened himself against the wall, hoping that the bloody thing would go in the other direction.

  He held his breath, listening out for any more noise but it had gone totally silent; he guessed that it must have returned to that room. The door directly across from him was Polly’s, if she was in there he would have to try and get her out of the nearest fire exit, they couldn’t go back the way he’d come. The rooms on this part of the ward were more private. No frosted glass windows, the floors were carpeted and even the doors were fitted with locks. The must be the posh bit where all of Holburn’s well to do patients were kept. Did that mean Polly had a bit of money? Maybe he should start being friendlier to her if she had cash. Oh God, listen to him, he was beginning to sound like his own bloody sister.

  Her door had her name scrawled on the little board just like everyone else’s, for some reason he’d expected a brass plaque. He approached with caution; despite the door being wide open, he couldn’t see inside. Arthur should at least be able to make out the wallpaper. It looked like it was foggy or full of smoke. As he reached the door frame, he saw that it was neither.

  Countless threads of a fine grey cotton like material had being secured to every surface in the room - even the door handle was covered in the stuff. Arthur could just about make out the shape of the bed but had no idea if it was occupied.

  Could this stuff be spider silk? He extended a finger and touched a thread then jerked it back, hissing. Good God, the stuff was freezing, he wasn’t expecting that. His finger had created a tiny hole like boiling water dripping on ice. His finger seemed fine if bloody cold.

  “Polly?” he shouted. “Are you in there?”

  Something on the bed moved. Through the haze of threads, he could make out a shape on the bed thrashing about.

  “Arthur?” she cried.

  Oh Christ, she’s hurt; it sounded like she was buried under a pile of blankets. What the hell was going on?

  “Hang on,” he replied, “I’m coming.” Arthur lifted off a bed sheet folded on a trolley and threw it over his head then ran into the room, thankful that he still had his slippers on.

  He stopped at the foot of the bed, panting, and lifted the blanket off his head and held it in his hand. None of the stuff came anywhere near where Polly was lying, as if a dome-like perimeter had formed around her bed. He watched the tunnel he had made close up. Jesus what was that stuff?

  She lay in bed, the sheet covered up to her neck. Her chest was moving up and down, she appeared to be asleep.

  “Polly?”

  No answer. He bent a little closer, trying to see if he could hear her breathing. Something fell off his wrist and he almost shat himself.


  It was only the bloody sheet; he’d forgotten he had that. Arthur wanted to keep hold of it, he would have to put it back over his head when they left but when he looked again, the sheet was rotting away, falling through gaps in his fingers. He threw what was left of it at the closing-in tunnel, and then took a very close look at his finger looking for any sign of rot.

  When he looked back to Polly, she had her eyes wide open, staring at him with a look of helplessness and fear. Her mouth opened and closed but no words uttered.

  “Polly, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  He bent over her, unable to work out what she was saying to him. Her hand closed around his wrist and squeezed, she moved her head a couple of inches closer.

  “Kill me,” she said.

  Polly looked down at the white sheet covering her frail body, tiny gasps escaping from her mouth. He followed her eyes and a sudden chill ran through Arthur Wright’s spine.

  Tiny wet, green spots appeared on the sheet, spreading out like ink on blotting paper. He gripped the edge of the sheet and wrenched it back, exposing Polly’s naked top half. Her body was covered in hundreds of little cratered holes, a green jelly substance spilling out from the middle. Hordes of tiny black insects crawled through the glop.

  Arthur’s shaking hand dropped the sheet and he staggered back, his numbed brain unable to comprehend what his eyes were showing him. His neck and shoulders brushed against some of the threads. He cried out and fell forward. He slammed his hand against the metal bed stand to stop him from falling into the writhing mass of insects and clamped the other hand on the back of his neck. The affected part of his skin drew the heat out of his hand like a dry sponge.

  Arthur looked back at the poor woman, knowing that she had just died. In the space of a few seconds, her skin had stretched tight across her face, cheekbones threatening to rip through the thin dry skin at any moment.

  The insect things had drained her until she resembled nothing more than a desiccated corpse.

  They were dripping off the bed in large lumps. Some scurried under the bed but most started to climb the web, heading for him. When he spotted two enormous spider-like legs poking out from under the bed, he pulled the pillow out from under her.

  Polly’s head fell back down and exploded like a giant puffball mushroom. He placed the pillow over his face and ran through the threads. He was convinced that the spider thing would jump onto his back at any moment and drag him under that bed.

  He moved the pillow away from his head just in time to stop him from colliding into the trolley; he dropped the pillow and picked up two soft towels and wrapped them around his freezing hands.

  He ran back the way he came. Fuck the hospital, fuck the giant spider and fuck the black monster. He was going to find his clothes and get out of this madhouse. Arthur Wright was going home.

  He flew down the hospital corridors, oblivious to the hidden horrors behind the closed doors, his mind only focused on one thing.

  Arthur reached his room and pulled open the door. The temperature had returned to normal. Arthur refused to dwell on it, his mind now on automatic. His towels fell to the floor, followed by the rotting dressing gown, he yanked open the cupboard and took out the clothes he’d come here with. The jacket still smelled of decaying leaves. He’d have to get that washed.

  Fully dressed and feeling better than he had since he first woke up, he wandered over to the window. It was going to be a nice day today as soon as the sun broke through that cloud. Perhaps he ought to ring Maureen up and tell her about the homemade burgers in the freezer. She always liked his homemade burgers.

  Every cell in his body screamed at him to get out before it was too late.

  He walked to the bed and picked up his watch from the bedside cabinet. No, he won’t ring her, he could pop into the supermarket and pick up some burger buns and surprise her. Arthur could fry up some chips, open that last tin of peas…

  Oh bugger, his shoelace must be caught on something. Arthur’s legs were pulled out from under him, the floor rocketed towards his face but his nose hit the radiator first before his body smashed into the floor. Arthur felt himself being flipped onto his back; another huge spider thing scuttled out from under the bed and crawled over his legs.

  His vision was filled with a pair of black fangs dripping with green slime. He couldn’t move; the thing had pinned him to the floor. Any second now, those two fangs would puncture his stomach.

  Oh God, this is what must have happened to Polly. He was about to be filled with tiny spider eggs. He shut his eyes and prayed that it would miss and stab his heart to save him that agony.

  The spider fell onto his body; Arthur screamed but felt no pain. He opened his eyes a crack.

  The spider was dead. A stranger stood on the bed holding the IV stand in both hands, the sharp end buried into the monster’s abdomen.

  He pushed the revolting thing off him and sat up. The man threw him a hanky soaked in cold water.

  “We need to get you out of here.” He pointed at the blood streaming from Arthur’s nose. “That will attract the others like flies to shit.”

  He gave his saviour the once over. “Who are you?”

  The man grinned, showing off his rotten teeth. “Don’t you remember me? Dave may have made my life a complete misery but at least I wasn’t his fucking lapdog.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  For the first time in months, his pink marigold gloves had stayed on the shelf in the store cupboard when he’d picked up his other cleaning gear. He’d had enough of Andrew’s cruel banter yesterday and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give him any excuse to start again. He could imagine exactly how the stupid ox would react if he saw him wearing his pair of pink washing up gloves.

  Pete secretly glanced up, expecting the lad to be standing over him with his hands planted on his hips and scowling down but he was still in the same place, the seat by the till with those size ten ex-army boots parked on the desk. Andrew still had Pete’s old paper in front of his face.

  It didn’t take anyone, even an idiot like Andrew, four hours to read one newspaper, unless he was only pretending. That made sense; he suspected the only things he did read were betting slips and beer prices in pubs.

  Pete shook his head and got back to the task of cleaning out the mouse cage. He should have put the gloves on, anything was better than getting soggy rodent shit under his fingernails, even getting the piss taken out of him by some thug half his age. Pete looked up once more and wondered if the idiot would have even noticed if he had donned the gloves. He doubted that he’d notice if he put on a fairy costume, the lad hadn’t said a word for hours.

  This wasn’t right. As soon as he heard the boy’s voice this morning, Pete had resigned himself to another day of torment, snide remarks and veiled threats. Perhaps he should’ve been thankful that he was staying out of his way but he wasn’t, if anything he was more stressed. Every time Andrew moved, he jumped out of his skin.

  He was going to have to get out of here; otherwise he’d be a nervous wreck by the end of the day. It was almost twelve; Dave should be over in a few minutes. He might stay over there for the rest of the day, it’s not like they’d been busy. Hell, they hadn’t had a single customer all morning.

  Pete cleared away the rubbish, put some new bedding in the sage then transferred the mice back. That’s what he was going to do, he decided. The rest of the cleaning could wait until tomorrow. He’d spend some quality time with Dave. Sod the shop, why should he care anymore? His new employer didn’t, he’d proved that by setting that brain donor on him.

  Pete wiped his hands on a towel. In the past he would have berated himself for thinking such childish thoughts but today he really couldn’t give a monkey’s bollock.

  Well, not as much as he should’ve done, anyway. He perhaps should at least finish off the rodent cages before he left the shop, it shouldn’t take that long. Pete shook the antiseptic spray bottle; the few dregs sloshing about at the bottom wouldn’t be any use. He�
�d have to get it re-filled.

  “Andrew, I’m just going into the cellar for some antiseptic. I won’t be a moment.”

  “Get me an ice cream,” the voice behind the newspaper replied.

  There were a few retorts he could have used but he kept quiet. He flicked the light switch and descended into the cellar, while in his mind, he was holding the bastard’s head under water in the tropical fish tank.

  He wouldn’t have spoken to his mate Dave like that, he wouldn’t have dared. He jumped out of the way of Andrew’s thrashing legs without taking pressure off his head. The bastard must be in the final throes of death by now; it didn’t take that long for a man to drown. At last he felt the lad’s strength draining away.

  Pete smiled as he stepped into the cellar. Dave would have called his fantasies childish and unhealthy. He’d order him to act like a man and just clip the lad round the back of the head. He imagined that if he did do that, Andrew would knock him into the middle of next week. Dave didn’t have a clue what it was like to be him. Pete was the polar opposite of Dave which was probably why they got on so well. It was just unfortunate that what attracted Dave to him also attracted the Andrews of this world, eager to make his life a complete misery.

  Maybe it would be best if he just left this down here and went out, stop Dave from coming over. This was ridiculous; he shouldn’t allow his work to suffer just because he was scared of what would happen when they met. Dave was bound to cross Andrew’s path sooner or later, it might as well be today. He dug out the funnel and refill jar then started filling up his bottle very slowly. It might as well be today, while he was down here.