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The air stank of death.
There was no denying it. The mix of acrid formaldehyde and aerosol sanitizer tried its
best to cover up the pungent perfumes of rotting flesh, but there was precious little
mankind can do to stave off death. That was the most fundamental of truths –
covering up death is easy, but stopping it is impossible.
Sandra hated being sent to the morgue. Fortunately, volunteers were rarely sent on
errands there, but every department in the hospital needed the services of a
volunteer at some point in time. Well, almost every department…
As Sandra navigated the cold corridors of the basement level, weaving between empty
gurneys with rumpled white sheets, she contemplated the mysteries of the seventh
floor, for no other reason than to take her mind off of her current location. There were
dead bodies nearby, separated by little more than a few inches of frosty stone.
In her thirteen months of volunteering as a Candy Striper, Sandra had never been on
the seventh floor. In fact, elevator access to the entire level required a key. Officially,
it was labeled as a “Mental Wellness Facility,” but it was clear that it was anything but
your average psychiatric center. Most hospitals didn’t lock off entire floors, even if
some of the patients had eating disorders or nervous tics. Stranger still, from the
outside of the building, it was clear that there were no windows. Even mentally-ill
patients would want to feel the sunshine occasionally, right?
Sandra arrived at the pathologist’s office. It was a small, sterile office with a set of
double doors at the far side. She had a nasty feeling that behind those double doors
lay the lifeless remains of lost patients. A wave of nausea began to overcome her as
she envisioned the pathologists cracking open rib cages of cadavers and squishing
around in pools of congealed blood, probing feted organs and deciphering the
mysteries of death itself. Was this our fate, she pondered grimly, to wind up on the
slab?
The office was empty. “Hello? Anybody here?” asked Sandra quietly. Frankly, she
was ready to get out of there and she wasn’t about to wait a moment longer. She
placed the manila envelop she had been asked to deliver on the desk and made a
hasty retreat. Before she could leave, the double doors flew open.
“Perfect, a volunteer,” grumbled the doctor as he caught sight of Sandra. His features
were difficult to discern behind his surgical mask and cap, but dark eyes shone in the
florescent lighting. His apron and gloves were covered in greasy smears of gore.
Obviously, he had been in the midst of an autopsy. “I need you to deliver something
for me.”
“Sure,” squeaked Sandra as she watched the man vanish back into the autopsy
room. She really had no desire to touch anything from here, but she had little choice
in the matter. Volunteers pretty much had to do anything a doctor or nurse
requested.
The pathologist returned. His gloves were off and he was carrying a small biohazard
canister and a file. “I need you to deliver this to the nurses’ station on the seventh
floor, STAT,” rumbled the man. He had a deep, gravely voice that echoed like the
halls of the morgue itself. Before Sandra could voice a complaint, the doctor took a
tarnished key off the wall and tossed it to her. “This key will get you in. Hurry. This is
very important. I’d take it up myself, but I need to finish up here.”
Taking the objects, Sandra nodded and left. A strange giddiness spread over her. A
volunteer’s shift was normally comprised of delivering flowers to elderly patients or
packages to busy nurses. Truly important tasks were always a bit of a thrill and
certainly ones into the forbidden regions of the hospital. Then again, anything that
gave her reason to flee the morgue was enough to please Sandra. Striding with great
purpose, she made her way to the elevator.
Once inside, she tried the key in the small security lock on the panel. It was a
surprisingly difficult fit. It was almost as if the key didn’t want to go in, mused Sandra
in frustration. Clearly, either the key or lock had been slightly warped since their last
reunion. She shifted the items in her arms and tried inserting the key with her left
hand. After a final moment of resistance, the key slid into the lock and turned. A
small red light blinked on to let her know that the she had access to the entire
building. She selected floor seven. The doors closed and the car began to rise.
For the entire assent, Sandra’s mind buzzed with curiosity. What would this mystery
floor look like? What was the urgent item in the red canister? Would that cute guy in
the volunteer office believe her? As far as she could tell, she would be the only candy
stripper with firsthand knowledge of the goings on of the seventh floor and she had
every intention of flaunting it. She didn’t know what to expect, but she was sure it
would be interesting.
When the car stopped and doors opened, Sandra was disappointed to see that the
seventh floor looked no different from any other patient level. There were no
windows, of course, and there were fewer seasonal decorations, but it was otherwise
unremarkable. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to find in the enigmatic “Mental
Wellness Facility,” but it hadn’t been this. Stepping out of the elevator, she glanced
about the patient’s rooms. They appeared to be locked, but were otherwise quite
ordinary. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had suspected that there would be
heavy metal doors, with oversized locks. Would a few iron bars have been too much
to ask for?
The elevator doors closed behind her as the car returned to the lower levels. The
florescent hum of lights was quite noticeable in the silence. In fact, the silence itself
was a little unnerving. This was a hospital. Things were rarely perfectly quiet. There
wasn’t even so much as a cough amid the symphony of silence. Come to think of it,
the nurses’ station was empty, too. This was the correct floor, right?
Sandra approached the nurses’ station and placed the file and canister atop it. The
computer monitors displayed the random visualizations of a screensaver. It seemed
that whatever staff was supposed to be tending the desk had been gone for a few
minutes. This sucks, thought Sandra, I finally get to visit the seventh floor and I don’t
even know if there’s anyone in here.
Unless…
She knew it was wrong ― very wrong. Positively illegal. Still, apparently alone on the
seventh floor, Sandra knew the file she had carried up from the morgue might contain
a juicy clue as to what went on up there. After all, the pathologist inferred that this
would be time sensitive material. It couldn’t hurt to take a quick glance, especially if
there was anything she could help out with. Heck, if she was going to make her
parents wishes come true and become a doctor one day, she should take more
initiative. She might even be able to save a life.
Trying to remain as casual as possible, Sandra reached into the file and dragged out
the papers within. A small sticky note was attacked to the front. In hasty chicken
scratch it read “Jesus Christ, Hannah! What is going on here? Watch those goddamn
kids!”
Wow. Now this was getting interesting.
She grabbed a nearby pencil off the desk and pretended to be writing something
down next to it, just in case there were security monitors on her. Just because she
was snooping didn’t mean she had to look the part. As she began reading the
attached document however, she slowly lost interest in maintaining her charade.
Patient: Reggie Austin
Time of Death: 00:00 - 00:07 AM
Cause of Death: Asphyxiation from hanging.
Autopsy notes: Another seventh floor death. Another apparent suicide. Upon
inspecting the patient, discovered several organs had been removed, despite there
being no signs of laceration or evisceration on the outer flesh. No heart, no stomach
and no intestines. A foreign object was discovered in the cavity.
A plush doll.
Clack.
Sandra had dropped the pencil. The sound of the little yellow stick hitting the polished
white floor echoed through the halls, shattering the silence like a bullet. What kind of
a freaky psycho ward was this? Sandra’s heart raced. The lights suddenly flickered,
visually echoing the clatter of the dropped pencil.
Then they started.
Voices, hoarse and plaintive, tinged with desperation cried out. They came from the
locked rooms that lined the halls, joining each other in a mad chorus. Some were
calling for help, some were hollering paranoid prophesies, and some were actually
singing.
“Help me. Please. Can’t somebody help me?!”
“He’s here. I know he is.”
“He’ll get you, too.”
“But I was pure. I know I was.”
“Can you feel the sunshine?”
They were muffled by the thick ward walls, but something in their mad tones was
crystal clear as it reached Sandra. This place was for the truly troubled. This was a
house of madness, and no one seemed to be getting better. The lock doors, the
windowless halls, the stark décor – this was not a place of healing, but a place of
containment. These people were infected by something, a gangrenous madness that
threatened to consume them all. Amputation was the safest way of dealing with such
an infection and the seventh floor effectively removed their rotted minds from the rest
of the world.
This was not a place that Sandra wanted to be. Not even pausing to put the files back
in place, she ran to the elevator and jabbed the button. Grabbing her ears, she tried
desperately to block out the howling madmen and women surrounding her.
“Everything is free, can’t you see?”
“Why won’t you bring back my parents?”
“Please, let me die!”
“Welcome back, Master.”
The elevator rose to the sixth floor and stopped, causing Sandra’s heart to skip a
beat. Why wasn’t it moving?! Was someone on the sixth floor coming up to the
seventh? Why wouldn’t those psychos around her just shut up?! She jabbed at the
elevator button once more.
Sandra gasped quietly as she looked at the call button. There was a key hole
beneath it. She needed the key to access the elevator! Her mind exploded in a
shockwave of panic as she realized she had left the key in the elevator when she had
arrived on the floor. Looking up at the light above the doors, she watched as the car
descended to the basement level, carrying the key to her salvation with it.
In unison, the hellish voices halted.
Sandra was so flustered that she barely noticed the deafening silence. Removing her
hands form her ears, she look around cautiously. Her fear began to ebb as she
listened to the silence. Reason returned as she determined that there had to be
nurses assigned to this floor and that wherever they had gone, they would be
returning soon. Once they got back, they would let her leave. It was just that simple.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
Ever so softly, a new sound began.
It was a muted, grinding sound, like smooth metal on metal. Sandra looked around
quickly. Hope died as she realized that it was much too quite to be a door opening or
the elevator. Stepping back she once again observed her surroundings. She couldn’t
take much more of this. She wished she could call for help.
Yes, of course! The phone! She could use the phone at the nurses’ station to call for
help. She’d explain that she was trapped and someone would come to her aid. She
hurried back to the desk and reached for the phone.
She abandoned her plan as soon as she discovered the source of the new sound.
The biohazard canister was unscrewing itself with unholy steadiness. Unseen forces
were twisting the lid as it rose higher with every uncanny revolution.
Thock.
The lid came free and hit the desk with surprising weight. As the lights began to flicker
once more, a crimson glow pulsed brighter from within the canister.
Cold fear mixed with wanton warmth as Sandra stained her new panties.
Something began to rise out of the canister. A blood-red jewel, emitting an eerie
light. There was something entrancingly beautiful about that gem whose inner
refractions shown with the burgundy elegance of the setting sun.
The jewel rose, revealing something beneath it. It was stained with greasy splotches
of crusty blood, but it appeared to be a stuffed animal. Made of cheap orange fabric
with crudely sewn stitches, it looked like a dog of some kind, with twin gore-matted tails
trailing behind it. It was floating in midair now, staring unblinkingly at Sandra with a
pair of emotionless felt eyes. It began to move.
Sandra let out a piercing scream. Abandoning all hope of the elevator, she ran,
blindly tearing down the hospital halls. Panic clouded her mind. She had to find a way
out. She had to find help. Risking a glance backwards, she discovered the doll was
following her, no more than a few feet away. Its sanguine glow cast pulsing shadows
upon the walls.
Distracted, she didn’t notice the yellow med cart parked outside a room. She hit it full
force, knocking it over and tumbling to the floor. Pain shot through her as she hit the
cold floor hard. Glass vials smashed around her. Her tender flesh was pierced by
several needles. Bottles of clear liquid shattered, sending their contents streaming
across Sandra face, mixing with her hot tears.
The doll was almost on top of her now. In a moment of startling clarity, she caught
sight of an open room to her right. Frantic, she scrambled on her hands and knees
through the jagged medical waste and hurled herself into the doorway. With the last
of her strength, she slammed the heavy door shut, locking the doll on the other side.
As she passed out, she vaguely registered it was a patient’s room. It was vacant, but
the name on the foot of the bed was “Reggie Austin.”
____________________________________________________________________
Sandra woke in a cold sweat. Her body felt stiff and her vision was slightly blurry. Had
she hit her head when she fell?
“Easy now. You are safe.”
Sandra looked to her side and noticed the fuzzy form of a nurse by the bedside,
fiddling with something. When Sandra tried to sit up, she numbly realized that the
nurse was tightening restraints on her wrists. She tried to speak, but all that came out
was a garbled mess of slurred words.
“You’ve been given tranquilizers, dear,” explained the nurse nonchalantly as she
finished setting the restraints. “We can’t have you hurting yourself any further now,
can we?”
The shape of what Sandra guessed to be a doctor appeared in the doorway. “Her
mother’s on her way here,” he said flatly. “Have the papers ready.”
Sandra felt herself drifting off again and fought to remain conscious. “When can I go
home?” she tried to ask as coherently as possible.
Perhaps the nurse didn’t understand her or maybe just didn’t want to. She exited the
room, hesitating only to switch off the lights and lock the door behind her. Alone in the
windowless darkness, Sandra blacked out once more.
She dreamed of the Sunshine.
There was no denying it. The mix of acrid formaldehyde and aerosol sanitizer tried its
best to cover up the pungent perfumes of rotting flesh, but there was precious little
mankind can do to stave off death. That was the most fundamental of truths –
covering up death is easy, but stopping it is impossible.
Sandra hated being sent to the morgue. Fortunately, volunteers were rarely sent on
errands there, but every department in the hospital needed the services of a
volunteer at some point in time. Well, almost every department…
As Sandra navigated the cold corridors of the basement level, weaving between empty
gurneys with rumpled white sheets, she contemplated the mysteries of the seventh
floor, for no other reason than to take her mind off of her current location. There were
dead bodies nearby, separated by little more than a few inches of frosty stone.
In her thirteen months of volunteering as a Candy Striper, Sandra had never been on
the seventh floor. In fact, elevator access to the entire level required a key. Officially,
it was labeled as a “Mental Wellness Facility,” but it was clear that it was anything but
your average psychiatric center. Most hospitals didn’t lock off entire floors, even if
some of the patients had eating disorders or nervous tics. Stranger still, from the
outside of the building, it was clear that there were no windows. Even mentally-ill
patients would want to feel the sunshine occasionally, right?
Sandra arrived at the pathologist’s office. It was a small, sterile office with a set of
double doors at the far side. She had a nasty feeling that behind those double doors
lay the lifeless remains of lost patients. A wave of nausea began to overcome her as
she envisioned the pathologists cracking open rib cages of cadavers and squishing
around in pools of congealed blood, probing feted organs and deciphering the
mysteries of death itself. Was this our fate, she pondered grimly, to wind up on the
slab?
The office was empty. “Hello? Anybody here?” asked Sandra quietly. Frankly, she
was ready to get out of there and she wasn’t about to wait a moment longer. She
placed the manila envelop she had been asked to deliver on the desk and made a
hasty retreat. Before she could leave, the double doors flew open.
“Perfect, a volunteer,” grumbled the doctor as he caught sight of Sandra. His features
were difficult to discern behind his surgical mask and cap, but dark eyes shone in the
florescent lighting. His apron and gloves were covered in greasy smears of gore.
Obviously, he had been in the midst of an autopsy. “I need you to deliver something
for me.”
“Sure,” squeaked Sandra as she watched the man vanish back into the autopsy
room. She really had no desire to touch anything from here, but she had little choice
in the matter. Volunteers pretty much had to do anything a doctor or nurse
requested.
The pathologist returned. His gloves were off and he was carrying a small biohazard
canister and a file. “I need you to deliver this to the nurses’ station on the seventh
floor, STAT,” rumbled the man. He had a deep, gravely voice that echoed like the
halls of the morgue itself. Before Sandra could voice a complaint, the doctor took a
tarnished key off the wall and tossed it to her. “This key will get you in. Hurry. This is
very important. I’d take it up myself, but I need to finish up here.”
Taking the objects, Sandra nodded and left. A strange giddiness spread over her. A
volunteer’s shift was normally comprised of delivering flowers to elderly patients or
packages to busy nurses. Truly important tasks were always a bit of a thrill and
certainly ones into the forbidden regions of the hospital. Then again, anything that
gave her reason to flee the morgue was enough to please Sandra. Striding with great
purpose, she made her way to the elevator.
Once inside, she tried the key in the small security lock on the panel. It was a
surprisingly difficult fit. It was almost as if the key didn’t want to go in, mused Sandra
in frustration. Clearly, either the key or lock had been slightly warped since their last
reunion. She shifted the items in her arms and tried inserting the key with her left
hand. After a final moment of resistance, the key slid into the lock and turned. A
small red light blinked on to let her know that the she had access to the entire
building. She selected floor seven. The doors closed and the car began to rise.
For the entire assent, Sandra’s mind buzzed with curiosity. What would this mystery
floor look like? What was the urgent item in the red canister? Would that cute guy in
the volunteer office believe her? As far as she could tell, she would be the only candy
stripper with firsthand knowledge of the goings on of the seventh floor and she had
every intention of flaunting it. She didn’t know what to expect, but she was sure it
would be interesting.
When the car stopped and doors opened, Sandra was disappointed to see that the
seventh floor looked no different from any other patient level. There were no
windows, of course, and there were fewer seasonal decorations, but it was otherwise
unremarkable. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to find in the enigmatic “Mental
Wellness Facility,” but it hadn’t been this. Stepping out of the elevator, she glanced
about the patient’s rooms. They appeared to be locked, but were otherwise quite
ordinary. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had suspected that there would be
heavy metal doors, with oversized locks. Would a few iron bars have been too much
to ask for?
The elevator doors closed behind her as the car returned to the lower levels. The
florescent hum of lights was quite noticeable in the silence. In fact, the silence itself
was a little unnerving. This was a hospital. Things were rarely perfectly quiet. There
wasn’t even so much as a cough amid the symphony of silence. Come to think of it,
the nurses’ station was empty, too. This was the correct floor, right?
Sandra approached the nurses’ station and placed the file and canister atop it. The
computer monitors displayed the random visualizations of a screensaver. It seemed
that whatever staff was supposed to be tending the desk had been gone for a few
minutes. This sucks, thought Sandra, I finally get to visit the seventh floor and I don’t
even know if there’s anyone in here.
Unless…
She knew it was wrong ― very wrong. Positively illegal. Still, apparently alone on the
seventh floor, Sandra knew the file she had carried up from the morgue might contain
a juicy clue as to what went on up there. After all, the pathologist inferred that this
would be time sensitive material. It couldn’t hurt to take a quick glance, especially if
there was anything she could help out with. Heck, if she was going to make her
parents wishes come true and become a doctor one day, she should take more
initiative. She might even be able to save a life.
Trying to remain as casual as possible, Sandra reached into the file and dragged out
the papers within. A small sticky note was attacked to the front. In hasty chicken
scratch it read “Jesus Christ, Hannah! What is going on here? Watch those goddamn
kids!”
Wow. Now this was getting interesting.
She grabbed a nearby pencil off the desk and pretended to be writing something
down next to it, just in case there were security monitors on her. Just because she
was snooping didn’t mean she had to look the part. As she began reading the
attached document however, she slowly lost interest in maintaining her charade.
Patient: Reggie Austin
Time of Death: 00:00 - 00:07 AM
Cause of Death: Asphyxiation from hanging.
Autopsy notes: Another seventh floor death. Another apparent suicide. Upon
inspecting the patient, discovered several organs had been removed, despite there
being no signs of laceration or evisceration on the outer flesh. No heart, no stomach
and no intestines. A foreign object was discovered in the cavity.
A plush doll.
Clack.
Sandra had dropped the pencil. The sound of the little yellow stick hitting the polished
white floor echoed through the halls, shattering the silence like a bullet. What kind of
a freaky psycho ward was this? Sandra’s heart raced. The lights suddenly flickered,
visually echoing the clatter of the dropped pencil.
Then they started.
Voices, hoarse and plaintive, tinged with desperation cried out. They came from the
locked rooms that lined the halls, joining each other in a mad chorus. Some were
calling for help, some were hollering paranoid prophesies, and some were actually
singing.
“Help me. Please. Can’t somebody help me?!”
“He’s here. I know he is.”
“He’ll get you, too.”
“But I was pure. I know I was.”
“Can you feel the sunshine?”
They were muffled by the thick ward walls, but something in their mad tones was
crystal clear as it reached Sandra. This place was for the truly troubled. This was a
house of madness, and no one seemed to be getting better. The lock doors, the
windowless halls, the stark décor – this was not a place of healing, but a place of
containment. These people were infected by something, a gangrenous madness that
threatened to consume them all. Amputation was the safest way of dealing with such
an infection and the seventh floor effectively removed their rotted minds from the rest
of the world.
This was not a place that Sandra wanted to be. Not even pausing to put the files back
in place, she ran to the elevator and jabbed the button. Grabbing her ears, she tried
desperately to block out the howling madmen and women surrounding her.
“Everything is free, can’t you see?”
“Why won’t you bring back my parents?”
“Please, let me die!”
“Welcome back, Master.”
The elevator rose to the sixth floor and stopped, causing Sandra’s heart to skip a
beat. Why wasn’t it moving?! Was someone on the sixth floor coming up to the
seventh? Why wouldn’t those psychos around her just shut up?! She jabbed at the
elevator button once more.
Sandra gasped quietly as she looked at the call button. There was a key hole
beneath it. She needed the key to access the elevator! Her mind exploded in a
shockwave of panic as she realized she had left the key in the elevator when she had
arrived on the floor. Looking up at the light above the doors, she watched as the car
descended to the basement level, carrying the key to her salvation with it.
In unison, the hellish voices halted.
Sandra was so flustered that she barely noticed the deafening silence. Removing her
hands form her ears, she look around cautiously. Her fear began to ebb as she
listened to the silence. Reason returned as she determined that there had to be
nurses assigned to this floor and that wherever they had gone, they would be
returning soon. Once they got back, they would let her leave. It was just that simple.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
Ever so softly, a new sound began.
It was a muted, grinding sound, like smooth metal on metal. Sandra looked around
quickly. Hope died as she realized that it was much too quite to be a door opening or
the elevator. Stepping back she once again observed her surroundings. She couldn’t
take much more of this. She wished she could call for help.
Yes, of course! The phone! She could use the phone at the nurses’ station to call for
help. She’d explain that she was trapped and someone would come to her aid. She
hurried back to the desk and reached for the phone.
She abandoned her plan as soon as she discovered the source of the new sound.
The biohazard canister was unscrewing itself with unholy steadiness. Unseen forces
were twisting the lid as it rose higher with every uncanny revolution.
Thock.
The lid came free and hit the desk with surprising weight. As the lights began to flicker
once more, a crimson glow pulsed brighter from within the canister.
Cold fear mixed with wanton warmth as Sandra stained her new panties.
Something began to rise out of the canister. A blood-red jewel, emitting an eerie
light. There was something entrancingly beautiful about that gem whose inner
refractions shown with the burgundy elegance of the setting sun.
The jewel rose, revealing something beneath it. It was stained with greasy splotches
of crusty blood, but it appeared to be a stuffed animal. Made of cheap orange fabric
with crudely sewn stitches, it looked like a dog of some kind, with twin gore-matted tails
trailing behind it. It was floating in midair now, staring unblinkingly at Sandra with a
pair of emotionless felt eyes. It began to move.
Sandra let out a piercing scream. Abandoning all hope of the elevator, she ran,
blindly tearing down the hospital halls. Panic clouded her mind. She had to find a way
out. She had to find help. Risking a glance backwards, she discovered the doll was
following her, no more than a few feet away. Its sanguine glow cast pulsing shadows
upon the walls.
Distracted, she didn’t notice the yellow med cart parked outside a room. She hit it full
force, knocking it over and tumbling to the floor. Pain shot through her as she hit the
cold floor hard. Glass vials smashed around her. Her tender flesh was pierced by
several needles. Bottles of clear liquid shattered, sending their contents streaming
across Sandra face, mixing with her hot tears.
The doll was almost on top of her now. In a moment of startling clarity, she caught
sight of an open room to her right. Frantic, she scrambled on her hands and knees
through the jagged medical waste and hurled herself into the doorway. With the last
of her strength, she slammed the heavy door shut, locking the doll on the other side.
As she passed out, she vaguely registered it was a patient’s room. It was vacant, but
the name on the foot of the bed was “Reggie Austin.”
____________________________________________________________________
Sandra woke in a cold sweat. Her body felt stiff and her vision was slightly blurry. Had
she hit her head when she fell?
“Easy now. You are safe.”
Sandra looked to her side and noticed the fuzzy form of a nurse by the bedside,
fiddling with something. When Sandra tried to sit up, she numbly realized that the
nurse was tightening restraints on her wrists. She tried to speak, but all that came out
was a garbled mess of slurred words.
“You’ve been given tranquilizers, dear,” explained the nurse nonchalantly as she
finished setting the restraints. “We can’t have you hurting yourself any further now,
can we?”
The shape of what Sandra guessed to be a doctor appeared in the doorway. “Her
mother’s on her way here,” he said flatly. “Have the papers ready.”
Sandra felt herself drifting off again and fought to remain conscious. “When can I go
home?” she tried to ask as coherently as possible.
Perhaps the nurse didn’t understand her or maybe just didn’t want to. She exited the
room, hesitating only to switch off the lights and lock the door behind her. Alone in the
windowless darkness, Sandra blacked out once more.
She dreamed of the Sunshine.