A Charitable Soul 3/12

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Down deeper and deeper, into the very bowels of the earth. Here is the darkness hell itself has forgotten, the blackest pits that hid the blackest secrets. I ran my hand across the walls as I descended the stairs, feeling the deep grooves in the concrete dug by the fingernails of hundreds being dragged into the abyss. Rusted pipes ran overhead, drip, drip, dripping, the water trickling through the grooves and pooling on the floor.

Under the asylum was a playground. Here the monsters came out to play, away from the prying eyes of those who do not appreciate the crueler arts.

Most of the doors hung off their hinges, the rooms covered in dust, cobwebs, and bits of bone. Some were stacked full of file cabinets with records going back to a much older time when the asylum was known by another name.

There were crates too, boxes and boxes, many older than I, and a few that outdated the city itself. It made one wonder what secrets they held, what kind of buried treasures lay just beneath our feet, and just how many decaying bodies rested in silent peace, never be to found because no one dared to look.

It had been years since I last graced this dank underworld with my presence, but it would take more than a few years to make me forget these walls. I had been a different girl back then... and another monster had ruled the asylum.

Yes, those were the good old days...

And there it was: the old door just as I remember: third on the left, covered in dirt and grime. Everything in the basement was old and unused, the handle to this door was shiny as if new; it was used, and often. All the nail marks along the walls led to that door.

When I tried the handle, it was locked. I knocked but received no response.

Well. That was just rude.

So I kicked down the door. The top hinge cracked, ripping off a chunk of wood as the door burst open, crashing against the opposite wall. 

Bubbling beakers sat lined up in neat little rows. Flames of red, white, blue, and yellow flicked ghostly shadows on the white tile walls. In one corner, black liquid oozed from a human-sized mortar and pestle; a piece of fresh spine hung over the marble bowl, waiting to be crushed into fine powder.

The room was small and smelled thickly of formaldehyde and blood. Three doors broke off in each direction, one to an office on the left, one to medical room on the right. The room to the back... that was where he kept the cages.

"Knock, knock, knock," I called out. "Speak now or forever hold your peace."

No answer. A small red light flashed angrily along the far wall. It was a wise guess to assume that that warning light and my escape were somehow connected. Did the owners of this lovely little cookery flee when I set off the alarm?

Well... that was no fun.

Ting. Ting. Ting. My long fingers tapped against each test tube I walked down the experimenting rows. Acids, all of them, cooked to perfection by a true master. I knew from personal experience that not one of these would kill, the pain inflicted was enough to make the Devil and all the demons of hell jealous.

I was jealous.

I bent down to peer into a yellowing beaker. Floating in the liquid was a scaly eye the size of a dinner plate, which was startled awake when its resting place was violently shaken, and, catching sight of the bright-eyed lurker on the outside, snapped shut and fled to the bottom of the beaker.

"Aw, you darling little thing. Looked at you all cooped up with no space to stretch your legs." I grinned and flicked over the glass with a finger, spilling liquid and eye onto the floor.

Madness At Noon {COMPLETED}Where stories live. Discover now