The Extreme Horror Collection

by Lee Mountford

  Jones entered and pulled the door closed, sealing them both inside.

  ‘Your friend is next door,’ he said, nodding his head to the left-hand wall of the room. ‘The one that thinks he’s a woman. He ain’t awake yet, but when he comes to, I’ll take pleasure in giving him a good going over. But, until then…’

  Jones then took a heavy step forward and grabbed Adrian by the throat, heaving him to his feet. Adrian again braced himself for whatever pain was about to come and, even though Jones was only one man, the power and ferocity of his first punch was a shock. As the punch crashed against his cheek, Adrian felt a split form in his gum as a tooth dislodged. A sharp pain spread through his jawbone, and Adrian let out a cry as his vision spun.

  Another punch, this one to his gut, winded Adrian, and he bent double and coughed as he struggled to regain his breath. Jones released his hold on Adrian's throat and allowed him to drop to his knees.

  ‘Now, I need you to remember the pain you are feeling,’ Jones said in his deep, gravelly voice. ‘See, I can’t have people acting up in here. We need to maintain order so that the masses fall in line. And do you know the best way to maintain order?’

  Adrian let out another cry as Jones stepped down atop his left hand, which was splayed flat on the floor. The bone of Adrian’s knuckle was pinned in an agonising position beneath the heavy boot of the orderly.

  ‘By making sure people like you know what the punishment is for stepping out of line. I want you to tell your friends about what is happening to you here today. I want you to tell them every detail. Then, maybe, little outbreaks like the one we had today will not happen.’

  Jones reached down and pulled Adrian to his feet, bringing them both face to face. Adrian swayed unsteady in the man’s grip.

  ‘But if not, then I’m still happy. And I’ll let you in on a little secret as to why…’

  He pulled Adrian in close, and Adrian felt Jones’ breath on his ear as the orderly whispered to him.

  ‘Because I really, really enjoy doing this.’

  Two large hands suddenly gripped the sides of Adrian’s head as Jones unleashed a savage headbutt to the bridge of Adrian’s nose.

  He heard an audible crack and agony erupted all over his face.

  ‘Stop,’ Adrian pleaded, feeling blood flow from his nostrils and over his lips. The pain continued to grow and throb. ‘Please.’

  Jones just laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t think that is going to happen, inmate. We just started, and I’m just getting warmed up. Feel free to fight back if you think it will help.’

  Jones then threw Adrian to the floor and swung a hard kick into his ribs. Arian screamed out again before the sole of Jones’ boot found its way down onto Adrian’s throat, pushing down and cutting off his air.

  Yet again, Adrian was beaten down and belittled.

  When Seymour had done it earlier, Adrian had managed to get some measure of revenge. But here, with Jones, that just wasn’t going to happen. He was forced to take whatever was coming to him.

  Just like he did as a child whenever his father came home—sometimes drunk, sometimes sober.

  Always violent.

  Adrian hated it—the feeling of helplessness, of not being able to stand up for himself and fight back. Of being forced to accept what was thrust upon him.

  ‘I…’ Adrian wheezed, ‘want to speak with—’

  But then Jones pressed his foot down harder, cutting Adrian off.

  ‘Speak to who?’ Jones asked with a sneer. ‘Sorry, I can’t make out what you’re saying. Make yourself clear, inmate. Enunciate.’

  He laughed at himself and kept the pressure up. Adrian’s throat felt like it was about to collapse beneath the weight, and the sides and ridges of the boot sole scratched and scraped at his skin.

  ‘Director,’ Adrian forced out. ‘Speak… with… Director… Templeton.’

  Jones laughed again. ‘Afraid you don’t get to make orders like that. You don’t get to decide when the director will listen to you. Understand?’

  Adrian then croaked out one more word, hoping it would be enough.

  ‘Monster.’

  The weight eased ever so slightly as Jones’ expression changed. His eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Monster,’ Adrian choked out, finding it a little easier to speak now that Jones’ foot had lifted a little. ‘Last night.’

  The foot removed itself completely, and Jones squatted down over him.

  ‘And what do you think you know?’

  Adrian took deep, painful breaths between his words as he replied. ‘In the corridor. A monster.’

  ‘Monster?’ Jones sneered. ‘I think your faculties are slipping, inmate. Fortunately, you are in the best place for that.’

  Adrian shook his head. ‘No. I know what happened. And I want to talk to the director.’

  Jones also shook his head. ‘Ain’t going to happen,’ he said. ‘No reason for it. You’ve nothing of any importance to say.’

  Adrian narrowed his eyes and lifted his head, trying to sound as serious and assertive as he could, given his position on the floor. ‘I saw it,’ he said. ‘I saw that monster, and I saw what it did to those men. And… I know who it was before it changed. Now get the director, otherwise, I tell everyone in here what I saw. Think you can keep order if the patients believe vicious creatures are roaming the halls?’

  Jones bent down and grabbed hold of Adrian’s throat. ‘You pathetic fuck,’ he said with a snarl and genuine anger in his voice. ‘You don’t issue the orders here.’

  Adrian shrugged. ‘Then you have a choice to make. Keep me in here for good. Kill me. Or get the director. If not, I go back and shout about what I know.’

  Jones punched Adrian again, driving his massive fist down into Adrian’s chest, almost cracking the chest bone. But, while Adrian rolled around in agony, Jones left the room.

  It seemed Adrian would get his audience with Director Templeton after all.

  Not that that he had any idea what he was going to say.

  Chapter 12

  Reid sat in his office, pretending to work on reports in solitude, but instead paying close attention to the corridor outside. The wooden door to his room had a pane of glass across the top half, allowing a clear view into the hallway. If he stood close to the door, he would be able to see Templeton’s office farther down the hall. But right now, he knew that Templeton was in his office, so he had to wait for his opportunity to act.

  Reid heard footsteps outside again and saw the large brute Jones come storming past his door.

  The man looked angry, more so than usual. Reid got to his feet and approached one of his bookcases, angling himself so that he could see through the pane of glass in the door. From this position, he watched as Jones walked up to Templeton’s office and banged on the door. Templeton appeared, and the two spoke. Jones seemed to be agitated, gesturing animatedly with his hands. However, they were too far away for Reid to hear anything of what was said.

  Not that it mattered.

  Reid just wanted Templeton out of his office for a while. He had studied the director’s movements that morning, trying to find any pattern to his behaviour that would leave his office abandoned for a period of time. If no opportunity presented itself today, that meant waiting until the following morning when the director spent time in the Chapel.

  The man had left his office a few times over the course of the day, but locked it each time, so Reid was also trying to formulate a way to get his key.

  Or a spare.

  But one way or another, he was going to get inside of that office, and he would find the answers that Templeton was so reluctant to give.

  Reid continued to watch as Templeton finally stepped from his office and pulled the door closed behind him, then followed Jones back down the hallway.

  However, Reid noted that Templeton did not lock the door behind him. Reid buried his head in a book, making a show of studying the words within as th
e two men passed his office. As Reid glanced up, Templeton gave him an unreadable look as he went by, and Reid found himself nodding in acknowledgement. It seemed the natural thing to do.

  Soon, both Jones and Templeton turned a corner up ahead and were out of sight. Reid had no idea how much time he had to work with, but he knew it wouldn’t be long.

  He knew he had to act quickly.

  Reid jogged from his room, not bothering to lock his door, either, and ran down the empty corridor to Templeton’s office. He quickly glanced around, to make absolutely sure no one was present, then opened the door and stepped inside.

  Director Templeton’s office was much different than his own. For one, it was larger, which did not surprise Reid too much. But the other significant difference was just how tidy and ordered everything was.

  His sleek oak desk had on it only an open ledger and a selection of pens, all lined up neatly. A stained oak chair with leather padding was tucked under the desk, and the books in the cases around the room were all organised in alphabetical order, rather than jammed into any spare space as most of the paraphernalia on Reid’s shelves were. Oak dominated the room—not only the desk and chair, but also the full-height wood panelling on the walls. Even the bookcases were built from good, sturdy timber.

  The office also smelled of incense, reminding Reid of the Chapel, and he saw a single, wall-mounted candle on the far side of the room, beside a tall window that was positioned centrally. Outside, Reid could see the grounds run up to a high stone wall that closed the facility off from the outside world. A thick rug lay beneath the desk and chair, plush red, leaving the rest of the wooden floorboards beyond it exposed.

  But Reid did not have time to dwell on the details—he was here for a reason.

  He ran around to the other side of the desk, to the ledger that was practically begging to be read.

  It was filled with reports on the facility’s day-to-day activities. Quickly flicking through the pages, Reid searched for something of note—anything out of the ordinary, or some reference to the mysterious substance Templeton was administering to the patients of the asylum. However, other than a few brief notes about how much of it was to be administered, he could see nothing that gave him anything to go on. Perhaps if he had time to study the ledger in more detail, he could find more.

  But time was short.

  Reid next looked at the desk drawers, but found them locked, much to his frustration. However, surely that meant there was something inside worth seeing?

  He continued looking and realised that many of the books that lined the shelves were not medical but, strangely, tomes on the occult and strange practices. Not the sort of thing one would expect to find in the office of a religious man who ran a mental facility.

  Then again, it was not the sort of place one would expect to find an actual monster, either.

  As Reid took a step toward the bookshelves, he felt a floorboard beneath the thick rug sink a little under his weight. It might have been nothing but a loose board, or it could be something more.

  He quickly pulled the carpet back and saw that one of the boards beneath was a slightly different colour than the others. And, where the others were nailed down, this one was loose. Digging his fingers around the edges of the cold wood, Reid soon managed to tilt the board up, revealing a small, dark hole beneath.

  And there, sitting in the hole, was a small, shiny key.

  Secrets upon secrets.

  Reid grabbed the key, already having an idea as to what it opened. He put it into the lock on the desk drawers and, as expected, it released.

  With no small measure of excitement and nervous energy, Reid dug through the drawers. He found many folders, and in one Reid saw records of written correspondence between Director Templeton and someone named Kane Ainsworth. There was also, in the shallow top drawer, a thick black pocketbook. Reid flicked through it, noticing the dates and neat handwriting within, and realised it was a diary.

  The private diary of Director Templeton.

  He knew he had something to go on here and weighed up his next move. Did he stay here and look through as much as he could? That came with the very real risk of Templeton walking in on him, especially as Reid had no idea how long the director would be. The other option was to take something with him—steal it to review later when he had more time and privacy.

  That seemed the most sensible idea, so he stuffed the diary into his jacket’s hidden pocket that was cut into the lining.

  He considered taking some of the folders as well, but they were larger and more difficult to conceal. If he ran into anyone on his way back to his office, he would not be able to hide what he was carrying.

  So he shut the drawers, leaving the folders where they were.

  For now.

  Hopefully, the diary would shed a little more light on things for him. Working quickly, Reid locked the drawers and placed the key back beneath the floorboard where he had found it. He flattened out the rug and made sure the chair was back in its correct place, the legs finding the corresponding indentations in the carpet fibres, and quickly strode to the door and looked out.

  Much to his relief, there was no one around.

  Reid then slipped from the room and pulled the door closed behind him. A brisk, uninterrupted walk back down the corridor saw him reach the safety of his own office without discovery. Once inside, and with the door securely locked, he allowed himself a moment to bring his nerves under control. Thieving and sneaking around in the shadows was not his forte—he was a doctor, after all—though he could not help but feel a little delight at his success.

  Reid then walked over to his chair and let himself fall into it. He pulled the diary free and looked at the cracked leather of its cover.

  ‘Now, Director Templeton,’ Reid said to himself, ‘let’s find those answers you were talking about, shall we?’

  Chapter 13

  While waiting for Director Templeton to show, Adrian took stock of his injuries; he ached everywhere, and suffered acute pain in his chest, ribs, and even his jaw. He dug a finger into his mouth and touched his teeth, feeling that one rear molar had come loose. When he brought the digit back out again, it glistened red, coated in blood.

  Not long after his arrival, Adrian had resigned himself to seeing out his days in Arlington Asylum—suffering in this hell. Existing here was not a pleasant experience, as days seemed to mix in with each other, becoming one long, monotonous cycle of stupefying misery. But he was, in a macabre kind of way, comfortable with that.

  He deserved it.

  But now, given what had happened recently, he had to consider if that sentiment still rang true.

  He was, after all, here of his own volition, and he wondered what the director would say if he decided that he wanted to be set free.

  Adrian cast his mind back to his first meeting with Director Templeton—a moment when Adrian was about to do something rather drastic.

  After filling his belly with booze, using the last of his money, Adrian took himself down a dark alley in the bustling, uncaring city. The public house he had come from was a place for the lower echelons of society to gather, but with its roaring fire and friendly chatter it was at least a warm place. What he needed now, however, was somewhere cold and forgotten. Somewhere he could bleed out from this world, unnoticed. With a blade tucked into his hand, he found a suitable narrow alleyway, which was dark and secluded—perfect for his needs. His body would probably remain there for a few days, unfound, but this dirty, cobbled corner of the earth was as good a resting place as any for him.

  Adrian walked far enough into the alley that no one passing by the main street would be able to see him. He leaned against the cold brick wall, slid down to his rear, and pulled free the blade from the shaving knife—dull and rusty as it was. He put it to his wrist and took a breath as he prepared to slice.

  ‘Things really that bad?’ a voice said.

  Adrian pulled the blade away and spun his head, instantly embarrassed at get
ting caught in the act. He was confused as to exactly why it embarrassed him, but he quickly folded the blade away and tucked it into the pocket of his old, worn coat.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Adrian asked, struggling not to slur his words with the amount of alcohol that swam in his system. He squinted into the darkness to see the silhouette of an approaching figure coming towards him from the main street.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ the well-spoken man said. ‘But I see a chap disappear into a dark alley, holding an ill-concealed blade in his hand, and I have to worry about what his intentions are. I didn’t see you follow anyone down here, so I assume you plan to do something rather foolish to yourself. Am I correct?’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ Adrian replied, in no mood for discussion. He just wanted to be left in peace to slice his wrists open and bleed out on the ground.

  ‘Oh, come now,’ the mystery person said. ‘What sort of man would I be if I did that? I have a feeling you are in need of help. Let me guess, down on your luck?’

  Adrian just shook his head as the man came closer, stepping out of the shadows. He was advanced in years, with grey hair and a friendly face. He wore a thick coat, and Adrian could make out dark robes beneath. ‘What would you know?’ Adrian asked.

  ‘More than you think, actually,’ the man said. His voice was friendly, almost chipper. ‘You could say I’m an expert in this field.’

  ‘An expert in misery?’ Adrian asked, not bothering to hide the sarcastic tone in his voice.

  ‘You could say that, yes.’ The man walked up to Adrian and squatted down before him. He gave Adrian a smile, one that attempted to be warm, friendly, and understanding. However, Adrian sensed the kind expression was rather rehearsed and not quite genuine. ‘I work with people who are suffering, people with nowhere else to turn. People like you.’