Chapter 1: Goodnight
Don't let the boogeyman get you...
+ My eyes snap open the instant I can breathe again. Panicking and searching the room for any signs of the man, my heart rests once I realize I'm awake. But I can't really call this sleep, even if I wanted to. It's more of a nightmare to close my eyes. I like to sleep, but I can't stand dreaming. It's so hard to picture the last time I've slept without screaming. I think it was before my parents brought me here... it's so hard to remember. Then again, I can't remember much from ten years ago. The color red fills those empty spaces.
My hands blindly search the bed for my stuffed wolf. Tugging on an edge of fur, I quickly pull it into my arms and squeeze tightly, as if I was some five-year-old boy seeking comfort. I know I'm way too old to be sleeping with dolls, but Vern is more to me than that. I don't know exactly where I got him, all I know is that I've had him since I was very small. The shades are open and a horrible stinging erupts from my left arm. Pulling up my sleeve, I am un-surprised to find yet another bruise, purple practically covering my entire upper arm. This unusual ritual happened every night ever since I could remember. My arm looks exactly as it did in the nightmare, but with less dirt. Thankfully, it didn't hurt as much when I had consciousness.
Facing my attention to the window the warm, glowing light floods over my bedspread as I sit up to see the comforting morning sun. This room, I don't like to call it my own. It defiantly does not feel like home, and it's nothing to look at in interest. All that's in here is a white dresser and bedside table with a lamp. To make matters worse everything is pure white. White used to be my favorite color when I was little, but being in this hellhole just made me sick at the sight of it. Since my parents left me here at the hospital ten years ago, I never kept anything in my room. They let us draw and glue crafts together but I never really felt that I should hold onto anything. After they left me here, I never could really hold onto anything...not even a friend.
As if I need one, I think. Why did I say that?
"Matt," A voice breaks the silence as the door squeaks open. Immediately pulling my sleeve down I realize it's Linda. She was one of the few nurses that came to give me my medication in person. The rest of the staff just left it on the dresser. I've always wondered why. Were they too afraid to give it to me upfront, or did they just simply want to ignore me?
I wish they were more like Linda.
Handing me the small plate of pills and glass of water, I begin to thank her. Soon enough she disappears from the room without a word before I can even make out the words. I don't know exactly why the doctors gave me medication if it didn't help with the dreams and bruises. Could there be something else wrong with me? Swallowing the last of the water with the bitter aftertaste lingering on my tongue and ache ceasing in my arm I set the plate on the dresser top and walk out with Vern in my anxious grip.
+Wandering towards the far right of the hallway, I try my best to avoid Avril, the woman from 409. Every morning she stands in-between our rooms staring at the fluorescent lights with no movement whatsoever. She's been doing it for ten years. I've always wondered why she looked directly into that light. The doctors say it's because she's suffering from post traumatic stress. But even now I still remember when I first came here I mistook her for a young woman. She had glistening golden hair, and her skin was very fair for her age. It was like looking at an angel. Now, Avril looks more like a lab rat than the angel I used to see every morning. Even today, I try my best to keep my distance for the fear of making her look at me. Her staring at me with those bloodshot eyes... it reminds me of the dreams.
+Midday comes too quickly, as usual. Sitting in a chair in the far corner of his office, Dr. Pumaill scribbles in his notebook as I observe the bandages on my wrist. He takes blood from me every Thursday. Like the pills, I have no idea what he intends to do with my blood or why have it taken.
I hate it. Having him suck me dry through a thin, red tube for an entire hour is the worst kind of living hell. What makes it almost unbearable is the disturbing wide smile he gives every time I go, it me in so many ways. Why does he smile like that in my pain?
"Has anything changed with the new medication?" He asks with his old gentle voice, making the question easier that it seemed.
"It's like I'm not even taking anything." I explain. "The dreams are getting worse. And look-"
Yanking my sleeve up I reveal the colorful array of black-and-purple splotches covering my upper shoulder and arm.
"Oh, my..."
"Isn't there anything else that could help me? Anything else you can give me?" I ask, covering the damage.
For a moment, we sit in silence. Looking down at the floor, he starts to twiddle his thumbs in deep thought.
What is he doing? I just want to walk out of here. But I know I can't do that. They have the building more secured than a prison.
Come on, I think. Say something...anything.
"Matt, I'm afraid..." He starts gingerly.
What is going on?
"There's nothing I can do." I freeze in place at the sound of his words.
"What do you mean you can't do anything?"
"We don't know exactly what is wrong with you. Your Schizophrenia doesn't seem to be loosening, even with the common medication. With your unknown type, I hardly know what to give you."
"But, can't you do anything-"
"Matt, this isn't something medicine can fix." He interrupts.
It's either you try to fight it, or we have to send you to the third floor. This is out of my hands."
"Wait," I stop in a panic, jumping out of my seat. The third floor meant the ultimate loony bin. The place where they tied you up in a straight jacket and no one would listen to you, no matter how hard you screamed. Otherwise, game over. Hovering over him now, I begin to blather.
"I-I can't go to the third floor. I can't. You know I can't"
"Matthew, calm down." He stops me in a stern voice. "Calm down. We can settle the problem another way." This was a direct slap in the face.
Am I really starting to sound crazy?
"I..." Facing him, I lower my head and resume my seat. "I'm sorry."
"Look, you know and I know that you're too...well, you're not physically prepared for shock treatment. You may be nineteen, but you are weaker than most your age. And operation seems too risky and unnecessary in your case. If medication doesn't start to help Matthew-" He looks me dead in the eye.
"We're going to have to go the other way." He turns away, as if ashamed of himself.
Just like everyone else, the voice says.
"Is it really going to come to that, Doctor?" I ask praying for another way out. Rising from his chair, he paces towards the window and lifts his head up to the sun, staring into it. Maybe he did have fewer answers than even the sun, maybe he was also finding another way to escape. If no one knew how to solve this problem, was it even worth talking about? Then what was with all of these meetings. Was Dr. Pumaill's past advice all a misunderstanding too? Was he just playing along or did he actually know what he was saying? Finally he exhales and turns to me with a reassuring grin upon his face.
"No, no Matthew I don't think it will come to that."
"Then..." I trail off.
"We just have to wait. In the meantime I believe you have some major excitement to look forward to." He hints in a cheery tone.
"What do you mean?"
"You don't remember what tomorrow is?" Confused, I rattle my head slowly.
Surprised, he shouts in a ridiculously proud sense. "Tomorrow is your birthday Matthew!"
"Oh...my birthday, of course." Birthdays never really mattered to me. It just marked another year doing the same things and asking the same questions but never getting answers. However, today this seems relieving for some reason.
Once the hour was up, I walked out with a strange feeling lingering in my stomach. Twenty years have already passed by. If I'm going to be twenty, why do I feel much older than that now? Why do things feel the same, but I've changed? The door shuts behind me, and I make my way towards the day room.
+Picking up a red marker, I begin to draw lines on the sheet of paper in front of me. Voices encircle me with their undecipherable chatter. But I don't mind, because I'm busy too. I was never good at drawing but it's still calming. I'll take anything to help with this anxiety. It makes all the confusing information and reality a whole lot easier to handle, because I forget it all in an instant. It all disappears with simply drawing
...Fat...red...lines...
It's late noon. The nurses cram us all in a small area to read, or draw, or something quiet that doesn't require a lot of work for them. I'm in my own little world, sitting in a corner of the room with a man ripping pages out of a magazine on my right, and a woman staring out into the crowd in front of me. They can't bother me and I can't bother them. In my mind, this moment is like a song. It has no words just music. Humming, I nearly cover the entire blank page in red. Ink runs off the paper and onto the table, staining the surface a rose tint. Once all of the white is covered, I put down the marker and begin to fold it.
Why the color I hate? I ask myself.
Now, staring down at my stained fingertips a voice immediately mutters Murderer...
I look down at my creation. It's a paper heart.
I take hold of the paper heart and shove it in my pant's pocket.
How can I ignore the voice so easily now? I ask.
I decide without hesitation that I'm not going to keep the paper heart. I'll give it away in order to calm this fear of the voice in my head, or maybe to help someone else calm their fear and the voice in their head.
If they have a voice ...
Something is telling me I'll need it later.
+The door shuts with a soft click. Sitting on the edge of the bed with Vern the sun paints the rest of the room an unsettling red. I sit Vern on my lap and watch the sun set into the pool of red, yellow, and orange. If I've been in here for already so long, how much longer until I get better? How many more of these sunsets will I have to wait until I can finally feel the grass beneath my feet as a free man, as a sane man? How much longer do I have to wait until I get to talk to other people that aren't trying to help me? Looking down at Vern, he seems to say in a serious tone, nothing lasts forever. Yeah, nothing does last forever even though it does feel like it. Maybe tomorrow won't be so bad. It's just another day what could go wrong? Pulling the sheets over we stare at the ceiling until the red fades over into the night. Trying to stay awake doesn't seem so hard now. Happy Birthday to you, Vern says. What can go wrong? Then I feel a cold sense drop into my breath and choke me with anxiety.
Tomorrow it's coming. Tomorrow it's here. And no one will be able to hear... The voice sings in a mocking tone. Something doesn't feel right. My eyes begin to dry out early. Yawning, I stretch and sit up to fight the weakness. The room is starting to spin. I don't know how much longer I can put up with it before I-
I have to stay awake.
I must stay awake.
I can't...
There's a dimly lit hallway. Yellow light seeps in from the bottom of a cracked door. In the window on my left, a spider spins a red web.
"Blood," I notice, on cue. It's dripping off the delicate strings, like rain into a small puddle in the sill, growing with each drop.
Then the voices start to whisper.
My hand is on the doorknob the next second, shaking with tension. Opening it, I come to find it's a filthy shower room. The lights are flashing fast enough to cause a seizure. On the floor are two little boys huddling in a corner. Their clothes ripped and stained with black. I can hear one faintly crying. My hand reaches out to help them up, but they keep backing away. They're looking at me with the same fear of the man in this nightmare.
"I'm here to help. It's going to be okay." I try to assure them, stepping closer. They scurry backward until the wall no longer lets them through.
"I'm not going to hurt you." I want to help them, but they seem so far away.
Facing me, one of the boys shakily lifts his arm. Instinctively I reached out to take it,
until his finger turns away from me.
Rotating to the other side, my eyes lock into a deer-in-the-headlights gaze towards a mirror. Facing my reflection a knot of uncertainty begins to form in my stomach.
Something doesn't feel right about this image.
Stepping towards the cracked glass, I study the disoriented figure. He has the same ruffled red hair, and emerald eyes. But as I come closer, I can see something else, something eating away at the light in his eyes. Eating away at the life in them.
Or is it just blood on the mirror? My hand wipes away at the glass. The red smudge spreads across the mirror, covering the image more than revealing. I can't see my face anymore. I shiver. Why is this scaring me?
I frantically begin to scrub my elbow against the mirror. Hopelessly facing the picture, I fall back, weak with fear. My eyes are blood red, and hair jet black.
This can't be right...but it's my image that I'm facing.
Staring back at myself, part of me knows it's a reflection.
The other half knows it's the man from my nightmares, smiling back at me.
His hand slips past the glass as if it was water, reaching towards me.
It grows dimmer.
I scamper back in a hope to escape. But I can't move a muscle.
His grip is ice cold clinging onto my shoulders to drag me in. He yanks me towards the mirror, determined to lock me inside.
"You are MINE. MINE. MINE. " He chants in a deep, menacing voice. The tips of the glass brush against my grasping fingers, slicing away thin strips of flesh off my fingertips.
Then the lights shut off.
There is nothing but pure, cold, blackness.
My eyes snap open in a cold sweat. Everything is coming out in a swirling blur. My head feels like it's going to explode. I try to sit up, but my body won't listen.
What's going on? Why can't I move! I panic.
Wait.
I can hear faint voices circling me.
Someone else is in here. I realize with terror.
Suddenly, something long and sharp digs into my arm, the puncture swelling with numbness. My vision is fading fast the blackness eating away at the spinning room.
"Perfect...soon..." It sounds like a man. His voice is as icy as his touch. It sounds like he's moving metal parts around. Trying again to move, I immediately lose consciousness of my arms.
Let me go, LET ME GO! I scream from the inside.
Everything falls into complete blackness...
Closing my eyes, I let it come.
"Matt..."
Sunlight lurks behind the shut blinds, turning the room an unsettling shade of gray.
"Matt," The voice speaks again. The man is gone and I can see again. Lifting my sleeve slowly dreading to see what lied underneath my heart drops into my stomach with relief.
My arm is completely unharmed, for the exception of past night's bruises.
"Matt," Turning towards the front of the room, a young girl sits in the corner by the door.
How did she get in? I ask myself. Approaching carefully, I see that her appearance matched that of a corpse. From a distance, she only appeared fair skinned. Her eyelids are so dark, and her skin a sickly pale. You would think she put on makeup.
"Matt," She whispers again.
"Hey," I say softly in a fear that my words will easily break the delicateness of her.
"What are you doing here?"
"Matt," She repeats in the same fearful tone, without moving a muscle.
"Are you lost?"
"Matt,"
"Did you lose your way?" I ask again.
"Matt," Slowly, she lifts her head. Her dull blue eyes lock onto mine.
"Help...me..." I take a step back.
"Hold on," I reply.
Why do I feel as frightened as she is? I ask myself. Was it something about the way she appeared? "I'll go get-" Trying to grasp her hand and lead her out of the room, mine somehow slips away. Suddenly, she begins to glow.
Her skin is turning...tile white.
"Please, help me." She pleads.
The rest of her image fades. Immediately swiping my hand through to catch her, I feel a burning sensation. It was as if I set my hand ablaze. Yanking my hand away from the invincible fire, I can only stare at her empty place.
Soon enough she vanishes.
"Wait-" I start.
"Don't...go"
"Matt," Her voice echoes again.
"Where are you?" I call out.
"Help..."
"How can I help-"
"Me..."
"Who are you?" I cry out.
Frantically I begin searching every edge of the room.
"WHERE ARE YOU?"
An immediate door knock kicks a jump to my heart.
"Matt, are you okay?" Another voice calls. To my relief it's only Linda with my medication. She opens the door cautiously, giving me a query look.
"Yeah," I assure her, trying my best to bury my fear.
"-I'm fine." I say again. Raising her brow, she sets the tray in its usual spot and heads towards the door.
"Alright..."
Once the door clicks shut, I take Vern in my trembling grasp.
Why do you still carry that stupid doll around? What are you, five years old? Shut up. I fight back. Staring back at Vern's beedie black eyes my grip soon loosens. My eyes wander back to the empty space where she sat. The room somehow seems quieter now. Did I just see a ghost? Or am I really going insane?
Turning the knob, I make sure Linda is gone before I make my move. Heading down the hallway, I scrape myself against the wall as usual. This time I am alone.
Some day to be a birthday, the voice says.