I looked up at the white groggy sky, shivering at the cold weather. I was a little scared of driving today because of the snow, but eventually I made it to the hospital.
“Um… I’m looking for room 529,” I shook out, still cold from the current ice.
“Follow me, please,” the clerk said, getting my attention by waving her pen.
We walked into the elevator, hearing the clients upstairs, moaning and laughing, even watching Monday football. When the elevator opened again, the janitor swapped places with us. Carts and gernies passed through the halls, full of fluids, syringes, and technology, squeaking from the lack of oil. I pay attention to the clerk-part-nurse too. I see she has curly black hair, pale lips, and big bags under her eyes; she must’ve been on shift for more than three days. We then see a room with the numbers engraved 529/530.
“Mr. Robbins; a guest is here,” the clerk said, smiling for niceness. With a push of a curtain, and whir of breathing, a frail body stood up from the bed. “Oh, hey!”
“Hi, dad,” I said, holding my arms around him. I could smell the chemotherapy erupting on his skin. I rib his shoulder, holding him tight. I can hear the headphones near his pillow. He’s listening to Water Handel, one of his favorite composers in classical music. I can also see the bowl of green beans and soup on the side table, along with an air tank and more technology.
He starts to cough, and slowly lays down. “Stay with him as long as you want. The cafeteria is open two to seven,” The clerk-nurse tells us before leaving. When she walks out, I laugh. “Do you have to deal with her all day?”
“I’m the popular one too, huh Steve?” he asks loudly. The curtain slides and another old man looks at us. “You’re just trying to hog up all the camera action, John.” We all laugh, and I give my dad a quick peck on the head.
“How’s the chemo?”
“I have to eat a bunch of Altoids, trust me; I should be on one of those Double Mint commercials.”
He tries to make me laugh by joking about his cancer. I laugh, and make him happy, but honestly my heart hurts, and I’m scared he’ll die soon. Plus, he already makes way too many puke-jokes.
The lights begin to flicker, but I barely notice them. Instead, I open my handbag and feel for a CD case. When I feel the plastic cover, I toss it to my dad. “Pop it in.”
I love to burn CDs. You can make your own, even make of a metal or rock band, but erase all the really crappy songs.
He laughs. “I love you, child. John Brickman, right?” he put is through the player and puts his headphones in. He starts to nod and smile even more. He takes them off and passes them to me. “It’s perfect; just what I wanted. Do you want to listen?”
John Brickman is a piano player. Not necessarily rock or metal, but at least he enjoys it.
I nod and pop the head phones in. Rocket to the Moon; the song with all white keys in piano. I turn my head to him and smile. I close my eyes to savor the music.
But sadly I open them again.
I stopped taking my medication for anxiety, because the doctor said it would be better off without them. I never had hallucinations before, so my spine rattled for a split second as I saw what used to be my dad, about to say, “You need to practice more often, too.” Until he collapsed into a pile of fly-ridden flesh.
My dad has turned into a rotting mess, with flesh ripping off bit by bit. Steve is ripping into his liver, lapping his blood like a cat with milk, mixed with a serial killer. The smell is so rancid I throw up on the floor, starting to cry. “What the fuck?”
The piano keys turn into a chaos of mixed chords, going backwards in an eerie display. I gulp as I hear a voice in the song. “I like to see the tears of salty water turn into metallic-tasting blood, my dear.”
The voice was chilling, sounding ghostly yet beastly at the same time.
The music turns to static and screams, but I can’t take them off; they feel like someone super-glued them. “What the fuck!” I scream, crouching down. Steve hears me, even without his hearing aids.
“Steve, stop this! This isn’t you!”
He turns his head, but it’s not him anymore; it’s the clerk-nurse. She screams at me, jumping to the floor. I look down and don’t see a shadow on her. I glance to my shadow to see if I have any sanity left. My shadow twitches, staring at me in blackness. I start to yelp, and back away.
The clerk follows me, crawling like a spider. Her limbs are broken in many places, and she’s drooling pure red blood. I start running down the hall to hear her limbs sprinting to me. I turn my head to see my shadow laying sprawled across the ground, twitching dead, and red glowing holes where the blackness should indicate my eyes.
“The infections always call for dead tongues. Pity that your father will die.”
The voice sounds right above me. I raise my head to see the nurse, or what used to be her, laughing out blood, cursing in her beastly form. Her fingers look as sharp as knifes, her body slender and tan, with her clothes gone. I stare into the giant black eyes, as tears roll down my blue ones.
“I normally like to see people get suffered, then into such more pain, but you don’t satisfy me that well.” She says, climbing down the wall. “I wanted to see you last longer, but I suppose a quick kill won’t be too bad.”
I then realize I’m right behind the elevator.
I wipe away my tears and jump for it, pushing the button down franticly.
“Close the goddamn door!” I cry, seeing the beast of clerk is right there, five feet. It starts prowling towards me, ready to pounce and sink it’s fingers into my flesh faster than a hot knife and butter. Before it does, it says, “Are you okay, Carol?”
I shake to feel I’m in a chair, sitting next to my dad. “You okay, Carol?”
The music is still playing. I’m fine. I’m alive. “Yes, I’m just pretty tired.”
“Oh.” My dad said, chuckling. “You need some rest; I think you should go home.”
I grin. “I love you, dad.” I gave him on more peck, this time on the cheek. “’Later, Steve,” I said, shaking his hand. “Same for you, Carol.” He smiled.
As I walked to my car, and shivered deep in snow. I warmed up the heater, turning on the radio. I fixed my head mirror and breathed. I turned up the radio. Screeches and screams, along with static popped on. I looked through the head mirror to see a bloody corpse behind me. It has scratches on it saying “Carol”. I breathed in deeper this time and tried to turn the station. Same static. I drove out towards my house when I heard the word come out the radio.
“Not…Worth…The…Time…Carol.” It was in a chilled whisper, freezing my ear.
This monster was whispering right in my ear.
I tried to turn the radio off but it was not powering down. I looked through the head mirror again to see the clerk.
I swerved through the snow to hit my garbage cans. I leaped out with my keys to the door. Steps where retracing my own with blood. I started crying in shock, and fell opening the door into the hallway. I quickly locked the door and sat in my chair. I can hear the scratching on the door, followed by screaming. I wiped the tears once more and closed my eyes, wishing for the best.
The door opens, with the monster crawling to me. I gulp, closing my eyes. This is it. I think, grabbing hard to the sides of my chair. The phone rings.
“I’ll get it,” It rasps, walking towards the device. “Don’t.” I whimper, tears rolling down my cold cheeks.
“Hello, my name is Carol. Sorry I’m not here right now, but please leave a message at the beep.” My phone says.
“Hello, Carol. This is your father’s doctor, Mr. Peters. I’m sorry to inform you, but shortly after you left your father passed away because of a heart attack. The chemotherapy could do that, so it isn’t rare. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Credit To – Maison Bray
Credit Link – email@example.com