If you are only JUST entering Hallow’s Eve Asylum, please go to the introduction first. This is a story that should be read in order! Each story is under 1000 words. Please scroll to the bottom to learn more about today’s author and enter a giveaway! -Katy
Room #1 Archibald Lennon Smythe Patient: Found wandering in empty house, covered in blood. Refuses to make eye contact. By Caroline A. Gill
Wall. Wall. Sweet and Lovely Wall that stands between me and …. them.
“Another,” Archie, me, I whisper into the white. Another, please. Smashing my forehead into the padding, the silence is all I wish for. But real quiet slipped away with the falling sun, taking my last hope with it.
If I can hit it just right. Just there. There’s a promise of blissful oblivion… warm blood and darkness. I can feel the silence that comes right before the slaughter.
If I can strike my head hard enough, I can escape.
Blackout–I crave it, I need it to the bottom of my crippled soul.
Even from the barred and frosted window, I see the full moon rising. Time’s up. The thick padded walls prevent me from hiding. And no there’s no escape. Not any more.
With the moon comes the voices. And they’re never wrong.
Right there, just behind the wall… Scratching.
“My name is Archie. Archie.” My hands clench, shaking. I feel the dread building up, focusing just beyond the concrete, where the droopy flowers wilted and died, outside in the rundown garden. The wall is thin, too thin to hold them back.
“They are coming. They are coming…” Moaning, I shiver against the cold. I pound my head again into the cushioned wall. Stunning my mind with each impact, it isn’t enough to free me from the terrors. Never enough to let me slide into the waiting arms of oblivion.
A trickle of blood runs from my nose, down my mouth, dropping in bright red roses on my chest and the bleached white linoleum floor.
Underneath my feet, the ground heaves violently and shakes my balance. The moon rises.
I don’t want to know, don’t want to be here, trapped in these four walls.
Hunger. A need so big my mind can’t understand the emotion. So primitive, so focused–that hunger pours through the shaking concrete and the steel and plaster walls. Cushioned drywall shifts, pressing inward, flexing from the weight of the beast that cannot be stopped.
The moon. It calls them. I cover my ears as the moonlight falls across the cursed cell. Inescapable. Undeniable.
The voices purr. Demanding. Distorting. Howling.
Something inside me shifts, feeding on the darkness. From under the building, voices call to me. Whispers shake me to my core, melting me into a puddle of instinct and defiance.
Scratch. But now the scratches come from inside the walls. Moonlight on my skin sends goosebumps up and down my tiny body.
Hair stands on end. Growing darker, longer, just like my ears.
A wrenching pain tears through my jaw. Sharp teeth fill my slobbering mouth. I try to talk. Can’t speak. Reason shreds away. Thick hair covers my neck, red brown just like the spilt blood on the straightjacket.
Joints pop as my arms lengthen.
With a shake and a wiggle, I tear off the bindings. Sharp razors cover my fingertips making short work of the padding in the room, the plaster, the wall itself. A tunnel. The way out.
Looking back only once, I shimmy through the hole, past the structure that held me prisoner. Fresh dirt under my paws feels like silk.
Breaking through the dead plants in the garden, I am free.