Creepy Short Stories

Insane Asylum

"Right, and you are?" Asks what appears to be one of my new guards. He takes a look at my straight jacket and notices my name tag. "Is that, Schmidt?" He questions me. Me! An insane person. Some people in here don't even know their own name. And he's asking me! On the contrary, I nod my head nonchalantly. "Alright then. Cell 246. Johnson, take this bastard somewhere I can't see him." He shouts to another guard. He strolls over, being used to insane people like me. I ponder on how many there could be in here. Cell 246 implies that there are up to a least 246 prisoners. Johnson grabs me vigorously and drags me to my new cell. If I really wanted to, I would take a chance to take him. Kill him. If it wasn't for this straight jacket. Dammit.

As we gradually make our way to Cell 246, he interrogates me. "So why were you transferred?" "Haven't a clue." I reply in a positive tone; obviously lying. "Bullshit. C'mon just tell me." He pleads. "Beg." I ask of him. "Beg." I repeat. "Please tell me." He demands. "According to them: murder. But I was diagnosed for a memory loss, so I believe it's something very different." I explain truthfully, though I don't imagine him to believe. "Well?" I question Johnson. "We're here." Johnson informs me. "We are so different you and I. I can see it. I can smell it. You can help me get out. It will be in your favour." I start to explain. "As I said: we are not so different." "And this is the exact reason you're here." Johnson jokes at me. I laugh at his face as he begins to lock me up. "You fool!" I shout. "You fool!" I shout louder as he wanders off. Going away from me. The last person he'll ever lock up, is me.

"Is he alright?" I hear guards exclaim in the distance, though it is merely a whisper to me. "Jesus Christ! He's dead!" I hear another. "How? How did he just die like that?" "How would I know?" "Get someone to carry this poor bastard away." I hear them consulting in the far distance. "Someone get Davison. Tell him... tell him that Johnson just dropped dead." I hear a guard inform the others. Those four words. That's all it took. Just those four words: 'Johnson just dropped dead' made me chuckle. I was laughing hysterically at the fact that I had claimed another helpless victim. "What the fuck!?" I listen in after a mild explosive sound. "His stomach just blew open!"

The next morning after a terrific night, a guard enters my cell with my breakfast. "Where's Johnson." I request. "I liked him, he... h-he was a nice guard, no?" I add, the guard just stared at me. Right into my eyes. "Johson's dead." He answers morosely. "Oh, such a pity." The guard ignores me and leaves me isolated. I crack up laughing again. Like the night Johnson died. "Christ!" Shouts a guard. "Sir, Smith's neck... it just... broke!" Explains one of the guards to Davison, who was walking by. I burst into tears from laughter. "Schmidt. It was Schmidt." Davison answers. My laughing comes to an abrupt stop. How? How did he know? "W-what? Who?" The guard quizzes him. "Cell 246. I was informed of unusual paranormal activity on this inmate." Davison explains. "You should stay here. You'll be safer." Davison suggests. 'No one is safe from me!'

Davison reaches my cell he opens up blindfolds me. "What are you doing? Get off me!" I scream to him. "Alcatraz. We're taking you to Alcatraz!" He notifies me. I had heard about that place. Heard it had only been open for a couple months. 'What am I?' I begin to question even myself. 'Who am I?'