White Walls and Straitjackets

by David Owain Hughes

  After a short walk, they came to another door – a heavy steel looking thing. She rapped on it twice, with a quick flick of her wrist. Bolts were heard disengaging from the other side, before the door opened. He’d half expected it to creak like something out of an old black and white horror movie. He almost let out a nervous laugh.

  “Go through, and use the door marked ‘Out of Order’. You get half-an-hour, after that, I will come to get you. Enjoy.”

  He turned to ask her something, but she was gone, making her way back up the corridor they had just come down. A cold whistle filled the passage. His bottle was starting to go. He looked into the room exposed by the opening, and felt invited. He walked in.

  The door closed behind him. He was standing in a men’s toilet. Not a dingy looking thing – but surprisingly a rather plush one: the floor made up of a quality, pearl-coloured marble, which matched the sinks. Two huge mirrors filled the walls above them. The deco of the walls was a deep red and purple. Warmth came to his mind. No urinals, just cubicles. Both doors closed. One had ‘Out of Order’ written on it, the other had nothing.

  His nerves eased. “Remember, you’re here for a good time,” he said aloud, to calm himself. “John wouldn’t go sending me to some shithole for my jollies – we’ve been friends for far too long for him to do something like that to me. Chill.”

  He walked over to the door with the sign on it, and turned the handle. He pushed it open slowly, then quickly closed it again. He tried the other door – locked. He knocked on it lightly.

  “Hello, anyone in there?”

  His own voice startled him.

  “Go into the door marked out of order, please,” a voice boomed.

  He looked around him. Up on the wall in one corner was a camera and a speaker. He went through the appropriate door. There was no toilet, no tank system, bog roll, or bog roll holder for that matter – nothing. Just three white walls. The one to his left had a circular hole in it, about three inches in circumference. “A glory-hole,” he mouthed aloud. His dick started to stiffen at the thought; a smile pulling across his face. He stepped up to the hole, and undid his zip. A door somewhere inside the ‘toilet’ opened then closed. It came from the other side of the holed wall. His smile widened.

  He looked down at the hole. A slender finger poked through, motioning for him to proceed.

  “How do I know you’re a woman?” he said.

  “I’m all woman, I can assure you of that,” she said, in a smooth, playful voice.

  He groaned, got his semi-hard dick out, and thrust it through the hole, into a warm, wet and waiting mouth. He was pulled tight to the wall with her forceful sucking. She licked his shaft and flicked at the end of his manhood; sucking now and then at his purple, throbbing head.

  His panting hit fever pitch. He could feel his cum making its way up the tubes inside his body. He balled and clenched his hands into fists, before placing them flat again, and feeling for the first time grooves in the wall. He opened his eyes and saw them. How had he missed these?

  Pain raked his body, as his cock was pulled, and his balls were crushed against the wall, his own body squeezing them. He howled and tried pulling back out of the hole but couldn’t. He hammered on the wall with his fist.

  “Let me fucking go, you bitch!”

  He may have been able to pound his fist all the way through the soft wall, had the pain in his nuts not been so intense.

  “Hey, you fucking whore, let me go!” he heard giggles come from the other side. “Fucking slut. You better let me go right now. Or…”

  The cubical door opened to his side. He stopped thrashing. In the doorway stood the woman who had led him here; she had a cleaver in her right hand, and was wearing a blood-spattered apron.

  “Fuck, no, hey, come on, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Oh, but I do!”

  He went to plea again, but the sounds of bolts or cogs engaging stopped him, and suddenly the section of wall he was stuck to, revolved. Leaving his cock exposed to the cleaver. His face went white as he saw the fat man with the belt buckle standing there next to a short, fat woman, who had obviously been the one giving up oral. Directly behind him was a mouth to a hopper which was protruding from the wall; whirring sounds coming from it.

  “Nice to see you again, chum. My name’s Hob, and this is my wife.”

  “You crazy fuckers,” he yelled into their faces. “Let me fucking go.”

  “I’m sorry, we can’t do that,” she said. “We need your body. Your flesh.”

  “Bu…but, why?”

  “Ingredients, chum.”

  He bucked and thrashed again, trying to pull from the wall. The he was suddenly falling backwards, squealing, as he went into the hopper, which was waiting to crush him to a gory pulp. His groin area pissing blood.

  He screamed when the blades tore his feet and legs away, as he clung to the mouth of the hopper. The colour draining from his cheeks and lips, as his face quaked, and his chin gave off tremors. Then Hobs just stood there, anticipating his fall. He screamed and screamed, as he slipped further and further in – the blades claiming more and more of him.

  “Do you want to go down to the cellar for this one, darling?” Hob said.

  “You know how much I hate sifting through the blood for bits of bone and unblended body parts.”

  “I know, but I did do the last three, and we really can’t have another customer complaining about bits of nail being in their food again, now can we?”

  She sighed. “Okay, I’ll do this one. But he is the last one for this week, right, Hob?”

  “Yes, love. But if the economy keeps up the way it is, then we may have to kill more often.”

  She nodded, and heading out the locked cubical door, she was gone.

  Hob went over to the hopper were the guy was still clinging on.

  “Bloody credit crunch,” he said to the man, as he clobbered his fingers, sending the guy howling down into the blades.

  * * * *

  “That sounds like Shelby again, in that story,” Crystal said.

  “Hmm, I think it is him,” Harry said.

  “Very strange,” Crystal said.

  “Look,” Harry said, pointing out of the windshield at the huge castle-like hospital, of Castell Hirwan, which looked down on them from the hill it was perched on.

  “Not far now,” Crystal said.

  “You sure about this? I think we should just get the hell out of here,” Harry said, sounding worried. It wasn’t like him.

  “I won’t be long – I just have to see her. I want to get stuff off my chest before we disappear.”

  “Fair enough, but don’t take your time.”

  Crystal drove the van around the twisty roads of the hill leading up to the hospital, hardly passing a car. When the van reached the grounds, Crystal parked up in the gravelled car park, facing the old, Gothic-style building. It was comprised of large stone work, with rough edges and barred windows. Towers with spires graced each corner. Nothing appeared to be moving. The place was ghostly. Not a sound stirred the air.

  “Well, here goes nothing,” Crystal said, opening her door and stepping out.

  “Hey!” Harry called. “If things get hairy in there, get the fuck out.” Crystal nodded. “And don’t be long…”

  “I know, Harry. Don’t worry.”

  He glared at her, a fresh, fat cigar in his mouth. She closed the door, turned away, and headed for the large doors at the foot of the hospital. Even though it was sunny and warm, her skin prickled with goose pimples. She crossed her arms and held herself tightly.

  Once inside the main door, she was faced with a reception area behind toughened glass – a dumpy, miserably looking old boot worked the desk, with two butch guards in the large room with her. Both were armed with mace and old fashion batons at their hips. The three of them wore the same white-coloured uniform. The two male guards even had the same, military-style haircut, which was cut right down to the scalp. Most probably so that an i
nmate couldn’t grab them by the hair and leave them open for an attack, Crystal thought; and neither of them had a smile on their chops, just like the old boiler.

  They all eyed Crystal as she stepped up to the glass and pushed the button that belonged to the intercom. She spoke into it.

  “I’m here to see Samantha Saunders, please.” The battleaxe looked at her. The two guards went back to their work.

  “Have you got an appointment?” she asked.

  “Erm, no. I didn’t know I had to,” Crystal said, sounding stupid and upset whilst pulling a pouty face.

  “Then I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in.”

  “But,” Crystal started, her bottom lip trembling. Her eyes welling up. “I’ve driven so far to get here,” she said, all sulky.

  “Sorry, the rules…”

  “Hell, Cathy,” one of the guys said from behind the woman. “Let her in, what harm can it do? Especially if she has come a long distance.”

  “But…”

  “I’ve driven all the way from Newport to be here, and I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to come back to see my sister. Please.”

  “Huh,” the woman huffed. “Name?”

  Crystal smiled and gave the male guard a cheeky wink. He was expressionless. “Cry…Christine Saunders.”

  “Sign the book,” she told Crystal. “And here,” Cathy said, handing Crystal a card with visitor written on it, “Wear this.” Crystal nodded, taking the card off the counter as it was slipped under the glass. “You’ve got twenty minutes with her.”

  That’ll be plenty of time, Crystal thought. Say what I have to, then get out of here.

  A buzzer sounded somewhere, and a huge, padded door to her left edged open.

  “Through there,” Cathy said, pointing with a chubby finger. “The guard will take you to where you need to go.”

  Crystal hesitantly stepped up to the heavy door, and opened it. On the other side was a large female guard who made Crystal look small. Her face looked hard. Mean almost. Her hair scrapped back into a short ponytail. A huge set of keys hung at her hip, along with her mace spray and baton, which Crystal now realised was part of the uniform.

  “This way,” she told Crystal, her tone flat. Dull. Crystal nodded, and followed.

  The guard’s shoes squeaked on the floor as she led Crystal down a series of corridors with cells either side; her keys jangled. The doors to the chambers had pokey little windows. Muffled screams and yells filled the warren-like passageways. Crystal shivered. It had been close to ten years since she’d been her last. Sam had been a mere child in her padded hell when she had. And the closer she got to Sam now, the more she was dreading seeing her sister.

  They passed a male nurse pushing a trolley toward them – it was filled with small bottles holding drugs. Syringes and bowls were also visible on the cart, being pushed at a hasty gait. The nurse was as sombre as the rest of the workers Crystal had come across so far. When she and the guard passed the nurse, nothing was said. Not even a flick of the eyes or head in acknowledgement. Spooky, Crystal thought. They’re like cold machines; institutionalised.

  The hefty guard brought them to a standstill.

  “Here we are,” she said, putting a key to the door of Sam’s cell, whilst looking through the tiny window to make sure she could enter safely.

  “Oh,” was all Crystal could mutter.

  The door opened slowly, and the guard looked in before opening the door fully. Just to make sure. Crystal couldn’t understand why she was being taken to her sister’s room. The last time she was here, she had spoken to Sam in a room. Then it all hit her on seeing her sister, who was strapped to her bed via wrist and ankle straps. Her flimsy, plain white gown had ridden up her body due to all her thrashing, revealing her emaciated body, which had once been full.

  The guard went over to Sam, and covered her modesty. “She hardly eats anymore,” she informed Crystal. “Poor child.”

  “Can we be alone?” Crystal asked.

  “Yes, but I’ll be right outside the door. Just shout when you are done, and don’t worry – the straps are for her own safety. She’s not a danger to you.”

  Crystal felt a tear at the corner of her eye, and soon it was gliding down her cheek. The guard put a firm hand to Crystal’s shoulder, then left.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” she said.

  The bitch even managed to sound sincere, Crystal thought.

  The door closed and Crystal was alone with her sister.

  “Sam, Sam honey, it’s your sister. It’s…

  “I fucking damn well know who you are, cunt!”

  “Sam, please. I…”

  “Spare me. Look what you’ve done to me. They may think I’m crazier than a shithouse rat, but we both know the truth – don’t we?!” Sam turned to look at her sister. Her face was sunken.

  Their eyes fused together.

  Pain in one set.

  Aggression in the other. “How can you stand there and fucking weep? Still talking to your fucking doll, you nutcase?”

  “But…”

  “But what? He’s real, is that what you’re going to tell me? You never were right in the head – mam and dad knew it, and we both know what happened to them, don’t we?”

  “Yes, Sam, you murdered them, along with a load of other people when you burnt the chapel down.”

  This enraged Sam. She thrashed, bucked and tried to kick. She stretched her neck out to its limit. Her veins protruded from her skin. Her jaws snapped open and shut, throwing gobs of spittle into the air. “I’ll fucking kill you, whore!!!” Sam yelled at the top of her voice. Her hair flew wild with her manic attempts to be free, and at trying to hit sister with fists and kicks. “You killed them and blamed me! You confessed it to me. Told me that Harry told you to do it.”

  Crystal had to back off. “I have no idea what you are on about. We both know you did it, Sam. I saw you do it.”

  “Oh, I’m going to kill you. You hear me? Kill you!”

  “I only came to say goodbye, sis. This will be the last time you ever see me.”

  “No, you can’t! You can’t leave me here like this. You have to tell them the truth, Christine. Please! For God sake, I can’t take this anymore. I need to feel the sun again, to eat good food – to get fucked good and hard by a total stranger!”

  “Please, don’t make this any harder for me than it already is.” Crystal walked over to her sister, and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, no! Get back here – tell them what you did!” Sam screamed at the top of her voice. Crystal thumped on the door, asking to be let out. Sam continued to shout out behind her, cursing at Crystal. “You won’t get away with this – I will get you. I fucking promise you that!”

  Even outside the room with the white padded walls, and single bed, she could still hear Sam wailing. “I’ll killll yoooou! Fucking killlll yoooou! You fucking insane bitch.”

  “I hardly recognise her,” Crystal told the guard.

  “It’s understandable. Her condition has been worsening these past few years. Huh, and she’s calling you the crazy one,” the guard said, letting out a little chuckle.

  As they walked away, Crystal heard a string of filth being spat from Sam.

  “You-mother-fucking-whore-bitch-slag-slut-fucking-nutjob-fucking-bastard-cunt-fuck-fuck-fuck…I’ll fucking!!! kill yoooou. Hear me?! FUCKING KILL YOU! KILL. CHOP YOU UP INTO TINY FUCKING PIECES AND EAT YOU. THE FUCKING DOLL TOO. DEAD. FUCKING DEAD!

  The whole place shook with Sam’s shouting

  “Try not to worry,” the guard told Crystal. “I’ll give her something to calm down after seeing you out.”

  When Crystal got back in the van, she let out a huge sigh of relief.

  “Well?” Harry asked.

  “Poor child, she’s as mad as ever,” Crystal said. “I couldn’t stay long, she became frantic. Shouting obscenities and trying to blame me for everything. She’s completely mad.”

  “Well, I did try tell
ing you,” Harry said.

  Crystal looked over at Harry – he was sitting lifeless, the book now closed, and on his lap. The stories told. His eyes staring. Unblinking. “I know. But she was all I had left – now I only have you, my love.” Crystal put her hand out to Harry, and stroked the one side of his face. She thought about how cute he looked in his Stetson and bandanna, that was now around his throat, and not his mouth as it had been this morning. Her mind drifted.

  02.00 am

  …beep…beep…beep…His hand slammed down on the snooze button; five more minutes, he thought; just five more minutes. He wrapped himself back up in the king-size duvet, and turned over.

  …beep…beep…beep…Unwrapping himself, he rolled, switched the alarm off, then lay on his back, eyes staring at the holes in the attic lid – five of them in total: one in each corner, and a centre one. Almost like a bullseye.

  He loved looking at the holes, first thing, every morning at 02.00 A.M, before getting up for his ‘run’, and every morning he would make up different stories about what lurked up there. Today it was the turn of the thing with red eyes that peered down at him, making his dick and ball-bag shrink in fear. His smile lost in the pitch-dark room.

  Goose pimples bubbled his flesh as his fantasy played out in his mind: the thing in the attic just looking down at him, paralyzing him with fear in his bed, until he almost pissed himself with fright, then it would start hissing his name out up there, making it seep through the individual holes in the lid, over and over again – Sssssteve, Sssssteve, Sssssssssssssteeeeeeeeve.

  He never sees the thing’s face. Just those brightly polished, ruby-coloured eyes peeping down, burning his body that lies under the thick cover. He shivered, grabbed at his crotch, and ironed the crease out.

  Bored with his fantasy, he listened to the noises within the house with pricked ears. Steve heard a groan from behind a wall from off the water pipes – a landing floorboard whined. Maybe someone’s in the house? He thought, and grinned.

  Throwing the covers off, he went to get up, but a scratch noise like hobnails being dragged across a blackboard, threw him back into bed. He scanned the room, not being able to see anything. The thing has escaped from the attic, he thought. But that’s just a figment of my imagination, fool.