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The doctor will see you now [Horror, bloody scenes]

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Old 10-22-2017, 11:10 AM
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Default The doctor will see you now [Horror, bloody scenes]


Neglected, crumbling building didn’t seem welcoming, to say the least. The floor creaked with every step and the eerie sensation of being observed by unwelcoming eyes crept up his skin as the priest made his way up the corridor. The only source of light was the candle he was holding in his shaky hand. Breathing nervously he opened the door at the end of the hall and walked in slowly. The door slammed behind him making the flame dance. The priest didn’t know what to expect, he had never been in a place like this before. This was the room it happened, he knew that much. The place was small, one bed stood by the broken window, dirty green paint was peeling off of a chair which lied next to a round, metal, table, and the floor was covered with a rusty, red carpet. The man set the candle on the table and blessed himself. A rosary was hanging from his clenched fist as he approached the bed. Signs of struggle were all over the stained mattress. Dried blood, strands of hair, and scratch marks were decorating the bed like a grotesque abstract painting. Almost no one had been there for over twenty years, and the priest wasn’t surprised why.

In the 19th century the building used to be a mental hospital, but the treatment methods were unknown to the public until one of the patients ran away and came back with the police. It was never clear how many people died there, however it was not the number of deaths that was shocking, but rather the way those people died. The investigation showed extraordinarily diverse system of torture and so called treatments which must have been excruciating for the patients. They were partially skinned, injected with illegal substances, their fingernails were missing, some of them had no teeth, others had their toes and ears cut off. Mental patients had been thought of as rejects, things, rather than people, but the times were changing, slowly but surely. After the hospital closed down, the local mayor wanted to repurpose the building for a school. But before the plans were drawn the whole project was shut down. Nobody wanted to touch it. People thought it was haunted, they thought it would be a bad luck to disturb the peace of the dead. There is a grain of truth in every legend, and there are more things in heaven and Earth that are dreamt of in your philosophy, they said. So the building was left to rot. For over two decades the hospital was forgotten, the victims were long buried and perpetrators punished. Everybody thought nothing more of it. The torture clinic, as it was known in the area, was just a scary story kids would tell each other around a campfire.

One day the local butcher’s niece came from across the country to visit her uncle, they were always very close and she missed him dearly. She brought her children and moved in for a week. By the end of her visit she decided to take a walk through the town, see the views, meet the people, feed the ducks by the pond. There were no people, however, the streets were empty. The ducks were also gone, perhaps they flew away for the winter? Even though it was autumn the air stood still, she didn’t feel any wind on her face, the sky was clear, the stars blinked at her. She was sad that she had to leave the next day. Her mind wandered. She decided to pick a longer way home, the evening was so beautiful. As she was walking past the abandoned hospital she heard something, something she knew far too well to be mistaken. Her child, her baby boy was shouting for her. She turned around, shouted his name. Nothing. Few seconds passed and she heard him again. She quickly walked towards the sound still shouting his name, telling him to stop playing around. The next sound she heard was a scream, a high pitched shriek coming from the torture clinic. She ran towards it, pulled the door, it opened easily, she ran inside shouting for her son and running in circles not knowing where to go. Then she heard the scream again. It clearly came from upstairs. She rushed up the creaky stairs and towards the one room with open doors. The screaming was getting louder and more real with every step. She didn’t think about what will happen, what she might see, she only knew she had to save her son, her baby boy. She stood on the threshold and watched her child being lift up by his neck and thrown out the window and she couldn’t move. The boy went silent. She walked slowly toward her son’s murderer. The entity slowly reached, grabbed her her by the neck and laid her on the bed. He stood over her for a few minutes, then started to slowly pull out her hair, one handful at a time. She was lying motionlessly as he ripped out all of her hair, leaving her head bleeding. She didn’t move when he began pulling her fingernails and teeth. The only thing that suggested she was still alive were the tears which uncontrollably rolled down her cheeks as he cut off her eyelids, one after the other, with a razor. When he was done he stood over his creation and smiled eerily. She was done. He took a deep breath, broke her neck and threw her out the window.
-The kid was way too fussy, screaming, scratching the bed, but she, ah, she was a beauty.

When their bodies were found and the coroner confirmed that they were thrown out the window people began to wonder if it was a one-time thing or do they have a serial killer on their hands. The room was searched, nothing of note was found, a year went by and people started forgetting about it. Then it happened again. The same room, the same wounds, a middle aged man was thrown out a window. Then it became regular, the same thing would happen on the exact same date every year. Four different victims, all died on the same day. The police were helpless, private investigators hired by the families of the dead found nothing, search parties were formed to find the murderer, with no result. When the ominous date was approaching the locals would leave the town, go visit family, go on vacation, anything just to avoid the damned place. Once a year the town would become a ghost town.
There was a small church on the outskirts of the town and two priests who lived there permanently. The more God-fearing citizens were convinced that the murders are doings of Satan who saw how evil people are and decided to take advantage and collect few souls. Those people would pester the priests day and night to go to the abandoned hospital and confront the evil spirits, however the police strictly forbade anyone from going into the building. The people were very persistent though and soon the older priest decided to go. He went in on the same date everyone else did, and never came back. Many different theories started to circulate concerning the mysterious deaths; the most common one was that all of them were some weird suicides. That was the only explanation that made any sense.
Exactly one year after his friend’s death the younger priest was struggling with a feeling that he should go and find out what was going on. He took all the necessary things: a rosary, a bottle of holy water, a big crucifix, and read all the prayers he could think of. He prepared himself the best he could.
The hospital room felt cold and it seemed as if something didn’t want him there, however he couldn’t put his finger on it. The candle burned steadily on the table as he looked around the room. The night was quiet, not even a cricket dared disturb the silence. Suddenly a single gust of wind came in through the window and blew out the candle, as if aiming straight for it. The young priest jumped and started franticly looking for matches in his pocket. He found a box and as he tried to open it he dropped it and the matches scattered all over the dirty floor. He kneeled to find at least one, just a single match to light the candle and not be paralyzed by fear. Just one tiny flame would help him put his thoughts back together and help get rid of crippling feeling of imminent death. Because at this very moment he was certain he was going to die, that he knew. As he was crawling on the filthy carpet desperately trying to find the matches it took him a while to realize that the carpet is wet. In fact it was soaked. The man stopped and felt as the palms of his hands sink into it. He felt its warmth and consistency. It wasn’t water, he concluded as he put his fingers together, it was too thick and sticky, it must have been some sort of syrup someone spilled, or mud, or… it was warm. Why was it warm? The priest, still on his hands and knees, slowly raised his fingers towards his nose to smell it. Nothing. He hesitatingly touched his finger to his tongue. Sticky, warm, metallic. At this moment the need to run took over, he was too afraid to stand up, he turned around and ran towards the door like a dog running from a sadistic owner. He almost reached the door when he heard the characteristic sound of lighting a match. On all fours, the man starred motionlessly at the door, paralyzed by fear, feeling only urine dripping down his pants. The match lit the candle and the room brightened up. He could now see the blood that was all over his hands and knees and in the corner of his eye he could see a bloody, naked man without eyelids tossed next to one of the walls, with a matchbox lying right next to him. Heavy footsteps approached the priest and a big, strong hand grabbed him by the neck and lifted him as if he were a rag doll. He was now hanging in the air, with his back to the murderer, waving his arms and legs, screaming and unsuccessfully trying to break free from the deadly grip.
-You aren’t supposed to be here. Stop wiggling, little worm. You need to look at me.

The killer cast the priest on the floor and turned him on his back.
-You will look at me.

The priest conjured up the reminders of his will and closed his eyes as hard as he could, hoping that would help, that the nightmare would just disappear, he was like a child under the covers hiding from the monsters. Maybe if he doesn’t look at him he won’t die. Maybe it’s that simple. Maybe he’ll live. The heavy steps went to the other side of the room, stopped for a second and came back. The priest felt the breath of the monster on his cheek, he felt when he pinched his eyelid in metal thongs and he felt as he cut if off with one swift cut of a razor.
-You will look at me. Ah, the screams, why do you always scream. If you had only looked at me as I asked you to do, it all would have been painless. See, I have magic eyes myself. Look at me!

The priest looked, although for a while all he could see was red all over his eyes. The pain was unbearable, and the feeling of not being able to blink was so alien he couldn’t wrap his head around it. After a while tears washed the blood and he could see again. And he saw him. The moment he looked into his eyes he was calm. The eyes he saw were also lidless, but they have scarred long ago, and he had never before seen such beautiful eyes. His fear went away as if by magic; his trembling body was now relaxed and limp, he was content, he was ready to die. He couldn’t wait. And as the killer cut off his ears and tongue he was happy. He enjoyed being a part of it, because in his mind he already knew what it was all about. He knew and was ecstatic that he could be a part of this process, be a patient of this magnificent doctor. The doctor who would cure the world of madness and hysteria we are all guilty of. He was thankful when the doctor snapped his neck and as he threw his body out the window his cured soul joined the hundreds of other who inhabited the hospital. He was home.


Last edited by pralina; 10-22-2017 at 11:19 AM..
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Old 10-22-2017, 11:45 AM
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Originally Posted by pralina View Post
Neglected, crumbling building didn’t seem welcoming, to say the least.

It was never clear how many people died there, however it was not the number of deaths that was shocking, but rather the way those people died.
First sentence is missing a 'The' or something else. I assume that was a copy-paste error, though.

The second sentence is a run on. perhaps break it up?

It was never clear how many people had died there. It wasn't the number of deaths that was shocking, more so the method in which they were killed... Or something similar.


I liked it, but you lack the emotional connection to our priest for me to be scared or even slightly uneasy. Give him thoughts, as he seems to be our protagonist. We need to know him more. Allow the priest to get close to the reader. Build a connection. Then kill it.

The violence in the story seems overdone, rushed. Go into detail. The tearing of the skin as our baddie cuts off the eyelids of the priest. The searing pain.

The dialogue, however limited, is spectacular. You capture the immaturity of this sociopath in so few words, it's amazing.

You describe well, but sometimes it's better to show rather than tell. Take your third sentence

The only source of light was the candle he was holding in his shaky hand.

Could be revised to something like

The candle shook nervously as the priest made his way to the door, casting erratic shadows onto the walls.

Figurative language can be used to great effect.

You can write well, but you need to focus on bringing in more emotion to the story and the characters.

A small note is that tab doesn't work on writer's beat so we just skip a space.

Like this.
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Old 10-22-2017, 11:53 AM
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Thank you! See, that's exactly what I needed - an impartial opinion. Awesome, I'll definitely look into the things you have pointed out.
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Old 10-22-2017, 12:06 PM
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Neglected, the crumbling building didn’t seem welcoming to say the least, no the floor creaked with every step and an eerie sensation of being observed by unwelcoming eyes crept up one's skin as the priest made his way up the corridor where the only source of light was the candle he was holding in his shaky hand. Breathing nervously he opened the door at the end of the hall and walked in slowly. The door slammed behind him making the flame dance. The priest didn’t know what to expect since he had never been in a place like this before. So this was the room where it had happened, yes he knew that much. The place was small with a bed that lay next to a broken window, where dirty green paint was peeling off of a chair that stood next to a round metal table, and where the floor was covered with a rusty red carpet. The man set the candle on the table and then blessed himself. A rosary was hanging from his clenched fist as he approached the bed. Signs of struggle were all over the stained mattress. Dried blood, strands of hair, and scratch marks too, that decorated the bed like some grotesque abstract painting. Almost no one had been there for over twenty years now, yet the priest was hardly surprised why.

"...you write well..." went the goblin, adding "...yet beds do not stand though, and chairs alas do not lie neither, and perhaps one could use less commas and more conjunctions too, but anyway if you'll forgive the way I write, I could explain the difference between "which" and "that" if you like, but I'm sure that if I did explain that "which" needs and comma and explains something prior to the fact while "that" doesn't, and that "that" doesn't need that comma neither, then it would make me seem very old to you, which is not the purpose of the exercise I might add...", whereupon the goblin shrugged denying all as it were
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