Sinister Scribblings - Volume 1

by Matt Hickman

  “Kllaaddfffrrrr,” she repeated.

  Ian struggled to respond, the pressure in his head felt like his cranium was about to explode. His eyes felt like they were about to pop from his skull, his tongue began to hang limp from the side of his mouth.

  The woman released her grip.

  Ian gasped greedily, struggling to take in large breaths at once. He continued to cough and splutter as the oxygen swiftly refilled his lungs.

  The latex woman stood before him, her hands rested gently upon her wide hips as she continued to observe, impassively.

  “Kllaaddfffrrrr,” she repeated.

  Ian struggled to force a reply as he attempted to take in air.

  “I … Don’t … understand,” he spluttered.

  She looked at the latex man. “Kllaaddjjjwwwww.” She repeated.

  He nodded.

  She produced a syringe and began waving the long, sharp needle around in front of Ian’s face. Reflection from the light bulb above glinted from the surface of the steel. Instinctively, he pulled away, panicking.

  “What are you doing?” he screamed as she continued to wave the syringe just a few millimetres from his face.

  “Kllaaddfffrrrr.”

  Not knowing how else to react, he nodded. “Yes, yes.”

  The woman stopped and stood back, and looked over at the man, who nodded without uttering a word. Without giving Ian any chance to react, she thrust forward with the syringe and stabbed the tip directly through the soft layers of flesh and muscle in the centre of his chest. He screamed as the razor-sharp steel seamlessly punctured its way through the outer layers and penetrated through his chest bone. directly into the soggy internal organs.

  Within just a few seconds, Ian began to feel woozy. He continued to stare around him as the walls began to melt as if dripping gallons of thick white paint. He attempted to fight against it as he felt his consciousness slowly begin to dwindle.

  Attempting to stay alert, he struggled to keep his head upright as it bobbed from side to side awkwardly. Both figures began to lean towards him and examine his behaviour.

  The woman leaned in closer.

  “Kllaaddfffrrrr.”

  Ian didn’t respond as he battled to keep hold of his remaining moments of clarity. The last thing he saw before everything went back was the latex clad woman turn back to the man.

  “Kllaaddjjjwwwww.”

  *****

  Ian awoke with a start. The back of his throat felt raw and his head was pounding as if he’d been hit over the head with a baseball bat. It threatened to explode and send the contents of his cranium spraying into the room like an erupting volcano. He carefully inspected the room around him, it was empty. The plain white walls were now replaced with dark walls – hanging plaster exposed old, weathered brickwork. A solitary light bulb hung from an electrical fixture above him in the centre of the room. On the far wall stood a tall, rectangular doorway with a small, square observation window near the top of the frame. No handles or latches were on the inside.

  Ian checked himself; instead of being in the wheelchair from earlier, he appeared to be lying flat, strapped to a medical bed, with thick bounds across his wrists, neck and ankles. Another thick strap was strung around his groin, barely covering his modesty.

  He struggled against his bonds but couldn’t move. He called out.

  “Hello. Is anybody there?”

  No reply.

  Ian struggled against his bonds as he watched the doorway on the far end of the room begin to open. He panicked as another latex bound character entered the room in the same manner as before. The only difference – this man’s suit was black instead of white.

  Ian began to hyperventilate as the figure leaned in towards his face, the man’s facial features obscured behind the macabre mask. The light reflected from above against the smooth surface.

  “Kllaaddfffrrrr,” the man said.

  “I don’t understand you. Please I don’t understand what’s happening here. You have to help me, I can’t move.”

  The figure didn’t reply, he simply stared at Ian from behind the mask. The man clicked his fingers in front of his captive’s face, Ian heard the texture of latex rubbing against latex from the man’s gloves. A grunting noise stemmed from behind the mask as if the man was stifling a laugh.

  “What are you doing?” Ian snapped, “let me up from here.”

  The man didn’t reply, he continued to stare at him.

  “Kllaaddjjjwwwww.”

  Ian watched in silence as the figure turned away and walked to the corner of the room. He turned and began wheeling a trolley covered with a dark coloured tablecloth that had been obscured by the shadows into the centre of the room. He steadied the trolley in a position next to the bed, in line with the centre of Ian’s chest.

  Ian screamed as the figure pulled back the cover, and revealed an assortment of gleaming, stainless steel surgical tools. He frantically pulled against his restraints as the man leaned over and collected a scalpel.

  “Please, please you don’t have to…” Ian screamed in agony as the razor-sharp tip of the steel sliced effortlessly into the flesh on his upper body. Claret squirted out like a fountain and coated the front of the man’s mask. He ignored the blood as he continued to slice a deep incision down the length of Ian’s chest, directly to his sternum. He panicked, casting his mind back to his days at university, where he studied to be a doctor before eventually flunking his exams. An open wound in an unsterile environment such as this could be prove to be severe.

  The latex man ignored Ian’s begs and sobs as he placed the bloodied scalpel back onto the tray with the other tools. Ian struggled to grasp his situation as his chest cavity laid wide open, his whole body was now soaked in a fresh hue of sweat.

  He watched in terror as the man leaned over to the trolley and returned with a stainless-steel instrument that he didn’t recognise. The man held it in both gloved hands, it appeared to be two vertical steel curves that were connected by a rectangular, horizontal steel bar.

  “Please, don’t,” he sobbed as the man inserted the base of the implement into the incision that he had made, securing both blades against the sides of the opening. Ian screamed as the man pulled the two vertical steel curves apart, that locked down into the horizontal bar with a clicking motion, holding the slit apart by about six inches. With the retraction device held in place against the sides of the epidermis, Ian stared in shock at the gaping wound that was now his trunk.

  He continued to scream in abject terror as his mind attempted to comprehend the vision that is was being exposed to. Ian watched as the man plunged both of his hands into the open incision and began pushing his fingertips deeper, tearing between muscle and skin and grabbing soggy handfuls of viscera from his small intestine and dragging it from the wound in long, droopy lengths.

  Ian continued to yell as the man continued to remove his innards and toss them carelessly onto a pile on the trolley next to him. Ian watched in horror as the mound of entrails increased with every handful. A putrid stench of copper and faeces filled the air.

  The man stared down in the expanse of Ian’s stomach and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Kllaaddfffrrrr,” he said to himself.

  Ian continued to watch in disbelief as the man reached into the expanse and removed an organ with both hands. The man inspected it for a brief moment before tossing it onto the trolley next to the pile of other innards.

  Ian froze in fear as he watched the man pick up the scalpel and begin to cut through the dense matter of his sternum. He felt the blood rise in his throat as the coppery aroma began to creep up his gullet and fill his mouth. He continued to watch in a mixture of terror and awe as the man reached into his chest with his latex clad hands, gripped the inside edges of his ribcage and pull them apart in one swift movement. The bones gave out an audible crank as the cavity sprang open.

  Ian no longer felt pain, it was as if he was liberated somehow from the experience.

  Am I de
ad?

  Ian continued to watch as the man reached into his chest cavity with the scalpel and cut at the inferior vena cava and superior vena cava, along with the brachiocephalic artery that kept the heart in place. Fresh arterial blood squirted in every direction, pattering his neck and face along with the man’s latex suit. After a few moments of slicing at the connections, he pulled the organ free and tossed it alongside the rest of the organs on the steel tray. Fresh blood streamed from the pile of gore and began to pool on the floor.

  The man leaned over and looked directly into the open void, poking around with the tip of the scalpel at the remaining organs and viscera. He looked up at Ian who was beginning to swim into a sea of oblivion. He stared for a moment, from behind the black latex mask. The man spoke. “Kllaaddfffrrrr.”

  Ian slowly began to relax as the sensation of unconsciousness began to shroud him, within a few seconds, all was dark, all was peaceful.

  *****

  Ian awoke with a start. The back of his throat felt raw and his head was pounding as if he’d been hit over the head with a baseball bat. It threatened to explode and send the contents of his cranium spraying into the room like an erupting volcano. He carefully inspected the room around him, it was empty. He was still in the room with dark, brick walls. The solitary light bulb continued to swing gently from the electrical fixture above him in the centre of the room. On the far wall stood a tall, rectangular doorway with a small, square observation window near the top of the frame. No handles or latches were on the inside.

  He looked down and panicked as he realised that the massive crater that had been cut into his chest had now been sewn up with coarse black thread. The stitches criss-crossed across his torso like a grisly, fucked up teddy bear. The skin around the edges of the stitches had begun to turn purple where the thread had punctured the skin. Dried blood was plastered across his entire frame.

  He attempted to pull against his bonds – he couldn’t move a muscle.

  Ian watched as the man clad in black latex stood next to him, the scalpel held aloft in his left hand. He inched the blade towards Ian’s face.

  “Please, no, you don’t have to do this. Please, I beg you.”

  Ignoring his plea, the man began slicing along the centre of Ian’s forehead with the blade. Ian attempted to flinch but couldn’t, he no longer felt the pain from the blade as it cut, but he could feel the sensation as it effortlessly cut between the outer layers of flesh. He stared in disbelief as the latex man placed the scalpel back down onto the tray and placed his fingertips between the edges of the slit across his forehead.

  There was a squelching sound, and the feeling of resistance for a few moments before the man worked the skin and hair loose on his scalp. It came free from the top of his head with a soft ripping sound. He quickly threw it onto the trolley with the gathering mass of gore.

  The man returned with a small angle grinder in his hands. The circular blade whizzed into motion as he depressed the button with his latex clad finger. He held the tool out in front of Ian’s face for a moment, he almost became hypnotised by the gyration of the blade.

  “Kllaaddfffrrrr.”

  Ian attempted to close his eyes as the latex man inched the ceramic blade to the side of his head. The vibrations shot around his cranium like the roar of rumbling thunder as the circular blade touched and scratched the side of his exposed skull. He lay still, unable to move as the man increased the pressure, forcing the blade downwards and into his skull. His whole head jarred and vibrated as the blade bit down into the bone, shaking as it gripped and sent a violent tremor around his head and along his jawbone, threatening to smash his teeth.

  Small pieces of gore, liquid and bone fragments flew off in every direction, showering the man’s black latex outfit as he continued to pulverise his skull. After a few, agonisingly long minutes, the man isolated the hand saw and placed it back onto the tray. The surface of the blade and handle were now decked with fresh blood and gore, dripping from the surface.

  Ian winced as the man grabbed the top of his skull and began twisting. After a few moments of exertion, Ian felt the pressure against the top of his head alleviate with a sucking sound as the man removed the top of his skull. He felt the strange sensation of the man’s fingers rooting around inside his head as his warm hands wrapped around the outside of his brain.

  Ian began to drift further into the expanse of a strange slumber as the vivid images that he encountered began to slowly drift from his mind into a hazy blur. He felt a strange sensation of calm as he slowly felt his body shut down.

  The man stepped a few feet forwards, so that he was standing at the side of Ian’s bed. He slowly turned to face him. The last vision that Ian encountered was the soulless eyes of the stranger gazing at him from behind the mask, his brain slumped in both of his gloved hands.

  The man spoke. “Kllaaddfffrrrr.”

  Slowly, Ian’s world went dark.

  *****

  Ian awoke with a start, the back of his throat felt raw and his head was pounding. As he inspected the room, it was dark, he couldn’t see a thing. There were no plain white soft walls, there was nothing but an expanse of black. The same solitary light bulb no longer hung in the centre of the room.

  Ian listened, he heard nothing. He tried to move, he couldn’t tell whether he was still bound to the hospital bed. His body didn’t respond to his commands to react. He listened out again for the sound of his own breathing, but heard nothing.

  Where are you? Where has everyone gone?

  He attempted to wiggle his toes.

  Nothing.

  He listened as he heard a sound in the distance. It sounded like muffled voices. They appeared to get closer. Ian winced as a cover was pulled over him from his head down to his waist. The sudden light invaded his senses, making his pupils dilate and squirm anxiously.

  Staring down above him stood a man and a woman. Both were wearing white medical gowns; the woman was holding a clipboard and a pencil.

  The woman spoke. “Subject forty-two, sir. Admitted late last night after a suspected drug overdose. He was picked up by an ambulance after an anonymous phone call.”

  “You dealt with this emergency initially, yourself with Doctor Grace. Was procedure followed?”

  “Indeed, sir. Upon admittance, I administered a shot of adrenaline but he was too far gone to react to the drugs. It seemed we just got to him too late.”

  “Did we get a chemical analysis?”

  “Yes. It seemed there were a cocktail of drugs in his bloodstream. We found traces of ketamine, ecstasy and high levels of heroin.”

  The man shook his head incredulously. “I presume from the patchwork that an autopsy has already been conducted?”

  “Yes, sir. It appears that cause of death was a failure of his respiratory drive. His blood pressure was dangerously low upon admittance and he ultimately suffered from arrhythmia.”

  “Was there any evidence from the autopsy that that there had been a lack of blood supplied to the internal organs?”

  “Yes, sir. Ultimately, his heart gave up supplying a flow of blood to the rest of his body and he died from brain damage.”

  Ian listened to the conversation, and panicked. He attempted to call out but no sound would escape his lips. He vividly recalled the party at John’s house, the cooking up with a spoon and lighter. Some top-notch gear.

  The man took another look inside. “These kids. Constantly taking a gamble with these drugs they’re playing with. For them it’s as simple as falling asleep. It’s not quite as simple for the people they leave behind. Has his family been informed?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re on the way.”

  Ian screamed out in panic as he overheard their conversation.

  “Okay, shut the drawer. Onto the next.” The man ordered.

  Ian screamed again as his world fell black.

  The Storm

  She lay in the sturdy, oak framed bed in the main bedroom of the cabin. There were no windows in the room, n
othing allowing any view of anything outside of the four walls. Illumination within the room was provided by the small lamp that resided on the bedside table. The light offered by the dim bulb was not enough to brighten the entire area, casting dark shadows over the rest of the room - cascading reflective light rays into the wooden joists above, shadows danced downwards onto the old wooden floor.

  The room was entirely calm, she couldn’t hear a sound from within or from elsewhere within the entire cabin – total silence. She lay perfectly still with the bed clothes pulled up tightly around her waist, her back leaning against the headboard, hugging her knees as they were bent up towards her chest.

  Suddenly, she heard a faint scratching sound that seemed to emanate from just outside the bedroom door, it made her freeze in terror. Listening intently to the sound, it was eerie. Similar to the sound of a finger nail being slowly drawn backwards and forwards against a hard surface.

  At first it was almost silent, barely audible. Was it her imagination?

  She stared at the metal handle on the bedroom door, expecting it to turn at any moment but it stayed put. The noise very slowly began to intensify in rate and volume, beginning to augment until it became more intense; it now sounded like a hundred fingers scraping themselves quickly down a blackboard. The escalation of noise was matched by the swelling of terror from within as it became distracting, almost intolerable - building, spreading, until suddenly…nothing.

  She sat deadly still, encased with dread - unable to move even if she wanted to. Holding her breath, she listened.

  Silence - no longer a sound.

  Daring a glimpse around the room she saw nothing, nothing hidden away in the shadows, nothing ready to pounce.

  There was definitely a sound. Was she being paranoid?

  She was in a strange room on her own. Maybe her imagination was getting carried away, it was a possibility.

  She remained glued to the spot, a slight flicker of light from the bulb in the lamp made her heart thunder once more in her chest. She risked a glance to her side, two further flickers of light and the lamp continued to illuminate the room uninterrupted. Again, she questioned herself. Is there something faulty with the electrics in the cabin? It was the only light in the room. Is it just a bulb on the blink?