Doc Mortis

by Barry Hutchison

‘No, you are not. You are...’

  A flash of excitement suddenly swept over his face. He studied me even more intently, staring deep into one eye, and then the other. ‘Unless... But no, that would be... Is it even possible?’

  Releasing my eyelids, he stepped back and began to pace up and down beside the bed, chewing on his fingernails.

  ‘Possible, yes, anything is possible, but how could...?’ he was muttering to himself now, no longer paying me any attention. It would’ve been the perfect chance to escape, if only I had been able to move. ‘Could it...? Is it...?’

  His podgy frame seemed to swell as he took a deep breath. ‘Think of the possibilities,’ he said. ‘Limitless. Limitless. But there must be tests, of course. Many tests.’

  He stopped walking and spun on the spot to face me. His eyes were dark and narrow as he looked me up and down. ‘Research. I must research before going any further. But first, let us take precautions, I think.’

  Raising his hands up to shoulder height he clapped them together, twice. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the double doors across from the bed were thrown open, and something from a nightmare strolled in.

  I knew right away that it was one of the figures I’d seen through the fog in the clown room. I could see it properly now, although every single part of me wished that I couldn’t.

  The thing was abnormally tall and impossibly thin. It wore a light blue hospital porter uniform that was several sizes too small. Arms and legs that were nothing more than bones wrapped in skin poked from the ends of the sleeves and trouser-legs. On its feet it wore slip-on shoe covers, the elastic bunched loosely round both spindly ankles.

  A surgical mask covered its mouth and nose, tied off behind two mangled ears that grew like tumours from the sides of its head. Above the mask, two round yellow buttons had been stitched in place where the thing’s eyes should have been. The buttons themselves were dirty and chipped, the thread holding them in place almost frayed away.

  Red welts and scabbed-over scars stood out all over its exposed skin. A blue hair net covered the top of its head, despite the fact that the creature was quite clearly bald.

  It lurched into the room like a marionette puppet, all jerky movements and shuffled steps. Its button eyes searched the room, its head rolling left to right as it staggered towards the bed.

  ‘What... what is that?’ I gasped, pushing myself backwards into the hard mattress. ‘Keep it away.’

  ‘Sssh, now, don’t fret,’ Doc said. ‘Two-one-seven here is one of my porters. He’s staff. You can trust him just as much as you trust me.’

  ‘But I don’t trust you!’

  He sniggered again, more snorting somewhere high up in his nasal cavity. ‘Ah. In that case...’ His fat red tongue licked along the length of his top lip. ‘Brace yourself.’

  The porter reached the foot of the bed, but didn’t stop coming. First, its left hand caught the edge of the frame beside my shin, then its right hand gripped the mattress near my thigh. First one bony knee, then the other, clambered up on top of the bed, shaking its metal frame.

  It crawled just a few centimetres, until its disfigured face was level with mine. Its long, pencil-thin fingers tip-toed across its cheeks, searching for the edges of its mask. It fumbled with it, broken fingernails scratching its skin as it struggled to pull the mask away.

  A pig-like snout was uncovered first. It was set deep into its face, barely more than two dark holes through which I could hear its breath hissing in and out.

  The mask was drawn back completely, and the creature’s mouth was revealed. It was perfectly round, with no lips to speak of. Dozens of needle-like teeth lined the inside, their points all meeting in the middle of the circular hole. Small scraps of meat were stuck between some of the teeth. I tried not to think about what kind of meat it might be.

  ‘Two-one-seven has some very special talents,’ Doc said. I didn’t dare turn to look at him. ‘I suggest you try to keep still.’

  The straps across me meant there was no way I could do anything but keep still. Even without them, though, fear would have kept me there on the bed.

  The porter brought its face even closer to mine, until I could feel its rough skin brushing against my cheek. It paused there for a moment, then craned its head down and began to sniff my neck. For the first time, I was grateful for the brace. It acted like a shield across my throat, stopping the thing getting too close.

  ‘He is getting your scent,’ Doc explained. ‘Smelling the very blood coursing through your veins. Do you know what that means?’

  I didn’t answer, so he continued.

  ‘It means you can never escape. It means if you try to get away, he will find you. Wherever you go, however fast you run, he will find you, and he will catch you, and he will bring you back to me.’

  At last, the porter stopped snuffling at my neck. It crawled backwards off me, button eyes gazing emptily in my direction. Doc was back standing by my feet. He held the metal hook in both hands, the pointed tip angled towards me. ‘And I will be very upset with you. Do I make myself clear?’

  Again I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. Fear had frozen my words in my throat. He took my silence to mean I understood perfectly.

  ‘Good,’ he said, and he sat the hook back down on the trolley. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some thinking to do, and some other patients to attend to before we get down to business. If you are what you claim you are, you deserve something...’ A shudder of excitement rippled through him. ‘...extra special.’

  The porter scurried past him and held open the doors. Doc backed away from me, still peering over his glasses, holding my gaze. He began to sing as he edged towards the door, his voice taking on the same slow, scratchy drone as earlier.

  ‘If you go down to the woods today, you’d better not go alone. It’s lovely down in the woods today, but safer to stay at home. For every bear that ever there was, will gather there for certain because...’

  He hesitated just beyond the doors. ‘Today’s the day the teddy bears have their piiicnic.’

  The doors swung closed, and like that, they were gone.

  ‘Weirdo,’ I whispered, letting myself breathe out and allowing my knotted muscles to relax just a fraction. ‘What a psycho.’

  A groan from the doors stopped me saying any more. My muscles bunched up again, my brief respite apparently over. The left-hand door was nudged open a crack, and the hinges groaned more loudly.

  The face that appeared was not one I expected. It was thick with dirt, and looked almost as scared as I felt. The boy’s silvery eyes watched me, unblinking.

  ‘You!’ I said, louder than I’d meant to. The boy shrank back behind the door, and for one terrible moment I thought I’d scared him off. But the door stayed wedged open, and I knew he was still out there. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ I said. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Can’t hurt me,’ he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. ‘You’re all tied up.’

  I couldn’t really argue with his logic on that one. ‘I know. Listen, you’ve got to help me,’ I said. ‘You’ve got to help me get out.’

  There was silence for a moment, then, ‘You stole my crisps.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My crisps. You stole them.’

  ‘Oh, right. Um... I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were yours.’

  ‘And my sweets.’

  ‘Yes, again, I—’

  ‘And my bag.’

  ‘You punched me in the balls!’ I reminded him, but he pulled back at that and I quickly softened my tone. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ I said hurriedly. ‘For all of it. Most of the stuff’s still in the bag.’ My eyes searched the debris around me. ‘It’s just, I’m not sure where the bag is right now. But if you help untie me, I’ll find it.’

  The boy’s face appeared round the door again. He chewed on his thumbnail anxiously. ‘He’ll hurt me if I help you.’

  I looked him right in the eye. ‘He’ll kill me if you don’t.’ The boy glanced
back over his shoulder, then slipped through the gap in the door and into the room. He couldn’t have been more than five years old. His movements were fast and jerky, but not like the man with the button eyes. The porter moved like a monster. The boy moved like a mouse.

  ‘Have you seen Toby?’ he asked. ‘Toby? No, I don’t... Who’s Toby?’

  ‘Toby’s my friend. I can’t find him.’ The boy sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘Can’t find Toby.’

  ‘I haven’t seen him,’ I said, ‘but if you untie me we can look for him together. How about that?’

  He nibbled at another of his fingernails, considering the offer.

  ‘Please,’ I urged. ‘Help me. Get me out. Please.’

  With a final glance behind him, the boy let go of the door and stepped further into the room. His eyes darted to the straps round my wrists.

  ‘OK,’ he said, and he set to work.

  Chapter Ten

  THE SECRET HIDEOUT

  He moved through the hospital like he’d been there all his life, leading me swiftly through a decrepit maze of corridors, offices and wards. Occasionally, he’d hesitate at a door and listen, deciding if it was safe to go through or not. At least half the time it wasn’t, and he’d double back and take us down a different route.

  ‘What are you listening for?’ I asked at one of the doors.

  He didn’t look at me, just said, ‘The bad people,’ and then moved quickly on.

  Running with his head down and his shoulders hunched, the boy came up to about my waist. On the rare occasions he stood up straight, the top of his head was just below the bottom of my chest. His size made him nimble. He moved fast, but quietly, and I found myself racing flat out to keep up with him.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, as we picked our way through yet another empty ward.

  ‘Safe place,’ he assured me. ‘There soon.’

  He wasn’t lying. We’d barely turned on to the next corridor when he began to slow down. A sturdy, unmarked door stood in an alcove, set back from the corridor itself. The boy stopped outside it and pulled a fist-sized bundle of keys from his pocket. They were wrapped in a piece of cloth, presumably to stop them clinking together as he ran.

  Glancing along the corridor in both directions, he slipped a key into the lock, turned it, then stepped through the door into the darkened room beyond. I hesitated, suddenly fearing some kind of trap. But he’d rescued me from Doc, hadn’t he? Even if this was a trap, it surely couldn’t be any worse than the one he’d freed me from.

  ‘Quickly,’ he said, holding the door wider. He stepped aside, letting me past, and then quietly locked the door behind me. I jumped as something buzzed loudly above my head, then blinked in the sudden glow of the overhead light.

  The room was little more than a storage cupboard, about three metres long by two wide. It was cold. Very cold. Cold enough to turn my breath to vapour. Three or four large cardboard boxes were stacked in one corner. A crumpled blanket lay on the floor beside them, with a grubby pillow on top of it.

  ‘You sleep here?’

  The boy shrugged. ‘I sleep lots of places.’

  I remembered the office I’d taken the food from, with the blanket hidden behind the overturned table.

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Don’t remember. Long time. Long time. Since Toby got sick.’

  ‘Toby, right. Who is this Toby?’ I asked, before realising I was jumping too far ahead. ‘In fact, let’s go back to the start. Who are you? What’s your name?’

  ‘I.C.’

  I frowned. ‘What? “I see?” As in... what? “I see you?”’

  ‘Nope, as in...’ He carefully drew the letters in the air with his index finger. ‘I.C.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I see. I mean... right.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked. He was wringing his hands together and keeping his distance as much as he could in a room that size.

  ‘I’m Kyle,’ I told him.

  ‘You’re not one of the bad people, are you?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I’m not one of the bad people,’ I said. ‘I’m just a kid. I’m just like you.’

  The beginnings of a smile curved the edges of his mouth. ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  He seemed to relax a little at that. Kneeling down by the back wall, he rummaged below his blanket, then pulled out a bar of chocolate. Two squares had been eaten, leaving four untouched. Just the sight of it flooded my mouth with saliva.

  ‘This is for you,’ he said, holding it out to me. I accepted it gratefully, tore through the paper, and stuffed the first two chunks in my mouth. The cold had made the chocolate hard, but as it melted it became like warm velvet on my tongue. It was so good that, just for a moment, I forgot to be afraid.

  ‘Eat it all, if you want,’ I.C. said, but from his voice and the way he was staring at the last two squares I knew he must be hungry too.

  ‘No, you have the last bit,’ I replied, forcing a smile to hide my disappointment. He took the rest of the bar without hesitation and stuffed it in his mouth.

  ‘’S good,’ he said, mid-chew. ‘’S really nice.’

  Neither of us said anything for a while after that. We just stood there, half a metre apart, using the tips of our tongues to hunt out any last scrap of chocolate that might’ve become wedged somewhere between our teeth and gums.

  When we’d accepted there was no more to be had, he said, ‘Toby isn’t allowed chocolate.’

  ‘Oh? Why not?’

  ‘He’s not allowed any real food. Not since he got sick. No food. None.’

  I.C. leaned his back against the wall, then slid down so he was sitting on the floor, his knees against his chest. ‘I’ve got to find him.’

  I sat directly across from him, my back against the opposite wall. ‘We will,’ I said, although even to my ears I didn’t sound convincing. ‘Where did you last see him?’

  The boy’s eyes were fixed on the floor a few centimetres in front of his feet. Although he was speaking to me, it felt as if he didn’t even know I was there in the room.

  ‘He was in bed. Sleeping. He was sleeping and he wouldn’t wake up. I kept poking him, but he wouldn’t wake up. “Toby!” I kept shouting. “Toby, wake up!” But he just kept sleeping. Kept sleeping. And then the ambulance came, nee naw, nee naw, and it took us to the hospital, lickety-split.’

  ‘This hospital?’

  ‘No. Yes. No,’ he said, apparently arguing with himself. ‘It was nicer then. Nicer. Not so scary. But still a bit scary, because it was a hospital, and all hospitals are a bit scary, and because Toby wouldn’t wake up, even when I was shaking him and shouting “WAKE UP, TOBY!” right in his ear. “TOBY, WAKE UP!”.’

  A feeling of unease crept over me as I listened to the boy talk. ‘What then?’ I asked him. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘They put a beep-beep-beep machine in him. Beep. Beep. Beep. And tubes and other things. And Toby’s mum was crying and his dad was cuddling her and rubbing her hair and saying “Sssh, it’ll be OK, it’ll be OK” and stuff like that, but she wasn’t listening because she kept crying and crying. Boo hoo, boo hoo. And I was going, “Why are you crying? He’s just sleeping. Stop being so mental, lady!”.’

  I remembered some of what Doc had said when I was strapped to the bed – the questions he’d asked about my “creator” – and I knew exactly what I.C. was going to say next.

  ‘And his mum and dad – Toby’s parents – did they explain to you what was going on?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Why not?’

  No reply.

  ‘Why didn’t they talk to you about it, I.C.?’

  His eyes raised and met mine. ‘Because Toby’s mum and dad don’t ever talk to me. Nobody talks to me but Toby.’

  I’d expected it, but the words still came as a shock. I’d known what he was, of course, what he had to be, but having it confirmed like that still shook me up.

  I�
��d told him I was just a normal kid, like him. But that wasn’t the truth. I wasn’t like him, and he wasn’t like me. He was one of them. He was someone’s imaginary friend.

  The question was, did he know that?

  ‘And why do you think that is?’ I asked him. ‘Why didn’t they talk to you?’

  His shoulders raised and dropped. ‘Dunno. They didn’t like me. Don’t think they liked me.’

  I stared at him, searching his face for something to indicate he was holding back, something that would tell me he knew precisely why no one else had ever spoken to him. I searched, but I didn’t find it.

  ‘You really don’t know, do you?’ I mumbled. ‘You’ve got absolutely no idea what you are.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ he asked, his forehead furrowing. His dirty fingernails went to his mouth and he nibbled nervously.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Not right now,’ I said, regretting opening my mouth.

  ‘Don’t know what? What don’t I know?’

  ‘Let’s just talk about what happened to Toby,’ I said, steering the conversation back on to his favourite topic. ‘He got worse, didn’t he? More sick. Lots of doctors started rushing around, doing things to him.’

  I.C.’s head nodded slowly. ‘Toby’s mum started screaming,’ he said, his eyes glazing over. ‘Screaming so loud I thought Toby was bound to wake up, and then the beep-beep-beep machine stopped going beep-beep-beep, and Toby’s dad tried to climb right over the doctors, and he was shouting “I want to hold his hand. I want to hold his hand! Please, let me hold his hand!” over and over, but the doctors were all like, “No, you can’t, get lost!” and... and...’

  His voice seemed to evaporate. He wrapped his arms round his legs and pulled his knees in tighter to his chest.

  ‘And then everything changed,’ I said, guessing the rest. ‘And then that hospital became this one.’

  He pressed his eyes against his knees, hiding his eyes. ‘I don’t like this hospital,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t like it one little bit. I want Toby. I want to go home.’

  Home. How could I tell him he had no home now? How could I tell him that, to all intents and purposes, he was home?

  With a loud sniff he wiped his nose across his sleeve again, and I saw him properly. Not as some lost imaginary friend, but as a frightened kid who more than anything wanted to escape this hellish place.