FIVE DAYS ACT I by Orlando Chacon
September 8th 2013: 11:00 pm, Stone-Brooke Asylum
It was cold, colder than it would normally be this time of year, but hell, it didn’t bother me much. The leaves were starting to fall from the trees, turning a bright orange. However, the bright orange wasn’t visible tonight. Around this time, the darkness made everything seem lifeless and more sinister.
But that’s just me. Or was it the asylum? I don’t know, but it didn’t bother me too much; I was a tough kind of guy; even though I was scrawny and had very little muscle and few combat skills.
I parked my car in the parking lot past the rusted gates of the old, Victorian mansion-like, asylum. I worked here as a security guard. I decided to talk to my boss yesterday and ask for some extra hours to pay off some bills that I had coming up.
He looked at me that day in some sort of odd looking “are you sure?” way so I may have had a couple thoughts about his look before he could give me the hours.
“Is there anything wrong with that sir?” I asked as we stood in his small square office, surrounded by his desktop computer and a desk scattered with patients’ paper work and coffee mug stains next to his actual black coffee mug. He looked at me, eyes squinted and wrinkles upon his aged face and his gray eyebrows narrowed inward. “No, there isn’t. It’s just that not many of the guys want overtime.” He says as he walks over to behind his desk and sits in his desk chair. I was a bit curious so I asked about it again.
“Why, sir?” I ask politely. “Because of Gregory Richards-“He came out with it quickly and with an exhausted sigh. “What do you mean, Gregory who?” I respond, not to sure what he said.
He explained to me why with the same I’m-an-old-man-and-I-don’t-give-a-damn-tone.
“Gregory Richards, A.K.A: the Cannibal; he has been known to disembowel his victims and eat their innards afterwards. He got caught one evening as he was feasting on the family of this little boy-“He paused and a sort of disturbed look clouded his face. “Sad to say, that it was the little boy and his older brother that caught him as they came home from school- poor kids.” He looked up at me and then shrugged as if he was shrugging away a bad thought. A chill ran down my spine, just thinking about those poor kids having to come home from school to such a horrible mess. “Jesus that’s awful.” I exclaim.
“I know- but yeah, he got committed here five years ago, way before you started working here.” He continued. “Okay so what’s that got to do with over time?” I ask. He looks at me and begins to explain.
“Gregory “the Cannibal” Richards, is the only not-so-behaved resident to Stone-Brook and needs to be under constant watch; usually I would do it because I have seen everything he could throw at me so I handle it better.” My head cocks to the left slowly as I contemplate what he meant. “Okay so would that be my overtime?” I assumed. He just stared at me and nodded. He then began to pull out some overtime paperwork for me from his behind his desk and he walked on over to my position by the doorway. Carrying the small folder in his right hand he gave it to me along with a separate sheet of paper that looked like the form for over time. I grabbed it and something was off.
I stared at the paper in confusion and then at the thick, yellow-covered file that he gave me with it. It felt heavy and I felt very strange about this. Upon the file was a stamp in bold red ink: “Classified”.
“Sir what is this?” I ask pointing at the file. He just looked at me and said gruffly: “You need to brush up on some homework before you can watch him.” I looked curiously at the folder then turned to say thank you to him and I left. But as I was out the doorway I heard him mumble something: “God have mercy on your soul.” He said silently under his breath. I quickly turn around and ask him what he had said but he just sent me on my way.
Anyways back at the parking lot I sit in my old Volvo looking at the asylum building. In my passenger seat was the file I didn’t bother to read but I had told my boss I did anyways.
Oh well, here goes nothing.
September 9th 2013, 12:00 am, Stone-Brook Asylum
Okay, so this wasn’t too bad. I was a little freaked out at first but then my chest released its grip on my heart and I finally face my fear.
The 15-story Asylum was separated into three parts: The female ward to the far left, male ward was at the far right, and the center of the building was for the demented and the clinically insane (therefore I worked on the tonight).
Usually I would work in the male ward, keeping the peace between disturbed sick teens with schizophrenia or I would just roam the rooms of the adult males in the back, making sure no one tried anything funny. Due to protocol I wasn’t allowed to be anywhere but the male ward but tonight I was the exception to this rule.
When I arrived inside the lobby room, (which looked like a very dark sort of dungeon with computers in it) file in one hand and my lunch box in the other, I was immediately halted and asked to show my ID badge to two unknown guards that I have never seen before. Well clearly they didn’t see the badge on my left breast pocket or they didn’t notice that I was wearing the same uniform as they were.
I flashed them my ID with the hand I was holding the file with and they told me to go through John’s (My boss) office for further instructions. I guess they knew what I was doing here. I came through there and listen to the boss ramble about the safety precautions as they were the same rules used in the males ward that I had guarded all the time: ‘Don’t communicate with the patients, Don’t abuse the patients, Don’t give the patient any sort of item, harmless or harmful etc.
Once we got finished he patted my shoulder and looked me dead in the eye and just stared at me. I felt awkward as his brown elderly eyes examine me. “You know believe it or not, you remind me of myself when I was your age.” He said with his hands still on my shoulder. “Thanks, sir?” I say awkwardly, he continued: “I was exactly like you, smart, but stupid at the same time.” I was kind of offended at the remark but then I noticed something strange: as he lifted his hand off my shoulder, I saw from behind him, on his desk was a square bottle of Scotch and a drinking glass that was half empty. We weren’t supposed to drink in the asylum but I ignored it since he is the boss. He then pulled out a ring of three different keys and gives it to me. “This one is for the entrance to the ward. This one is for the control room, and this one is for when you feed him.” He explains each key from left to right. I say thank you then turn to leave.
Right when I was about to leave and report to my post in the Clinically Insane ward he stopped me. “And Jason!” He shouted my name when I was at least ten feet away and into the dark narrow hallway with only the boss’ office light illuminating the small corner of the hall. I turned around and he speaks again. “Read the file.” He says softly as he sits down and pours more of the Scotch in his glass.
How the fuck did he know I didn’t read the file? Whatever, he was probably drunk or something. Anyways, I left the office and reported to the dimly-lit security room next to Richard’s cell.
The building looked a lot like the other two wards. I mean it was all one building but the criminally insane had something a little more reinforced. There was always that same white paint on the ceiling walls and floor; it was dirty and boring but this place was never fancy or well-kept anyways.
I walk through halls of reinforced steel doors that contained the most dangerous and most insane criminals ever caught within this city. The bottom floor was almost depressing, because the fluorescents gave me a fuckin headache from hell. Past at least twenty rooms, I finally reached the elevator which was almost like a silver prison cell on its own. As I walk into the elevator I put my lunch box and the file on the ground to free my hands long enough to push the button.
But just as I am about to push the silver number 12 button, I heard a moaning noise, like someone had been in pain or something. The moan was faint and muffled so I assume it was from upstairs. These steel doors may be reinforced but they were not sound proof. I leaned my head outside the elevator and try to ask who that was. “Who was that?” I ask… no answer. Suddenly there is a cackling noise coming from one of the cells from a distance. “What the hell?” I said to myself.
I felt a cold feeling running down my spine, I wanted to go out there and investigate but I had a job to do. So I pushed the elevator button and started toward my post. *
So I finally got here on the twelfth floor and now I am inside the security room next to my new best friend in the whole wide world (I’m being sarcastic I wouldn’t hang anywhere around this sick fuck).
Things are going okay so far, I honestly was expecting something creepy as hell, especially after reading his file for the first thirty minutes.
His mug shot showed his rather awkward and unpleasant features; he had dark rings around his eyes (I guess from him being very tired), he had a square jaw and an unshaven face and had buzz cut styled, black, hair.
He was a skinny kind of guy but he was skinnier then me, almost anorexic. His face was unshaven and he had dark-brown eyes accompanied by black eyebrows.
Okay so get this; his appearance in court, he had complained multiple times to his lawyer that he was hearing voices within his head, telling him to kill everyone in that court room. Now to me that would have been an automatic plea of insanity… but it gets worse.
After reporting said voices, he somehow broke out of his cuffs and fought off the security guards that rushed in to restrain him. The guards tried their best to restrain him but Gregory used their defenses against them and snatched one of the guards’ batons and beat both the officers’ near-to-death with it.
This sent a chill down my spine as I continued to read. I could almost imagine myself in the court room with him. After the brutal attacks on the officers he shouted at the whole court room, saying: “You will all burn in Hell.” Afterwards he jumped at almost impossible lengths and speeds onto the desk of the judge and attacked him. What he did to the judge was apparently so bad that it put the judge in the hospital for months. Gregory… oh God, Gregory had chomped down on the young judge’s neck and tore away not just his skin but a good amount of his neck tendons and muscle tissue.
Judge Clapton, I believe now has to wear a neck brace for the rest of his life and Gregory was sent here for the rest of his natural life.
However, as this night shift progressed he just sat there in his twin mattress bed surrounded by stone walls. The camera had a view of the room from its upper right corner in the far back of the room. The monitor I was watching him in displayed full color and sat on top of a small wooden table. In front of me was a control board and a set of buttons and a small spot for a microphone, right next to my beige green, suitcase-like, lunch box and the file on top of it.
I could literally hear him and speak to him if necessary, but only if necessary. The only thing I was told not to do was to a) not stick my hands into his feeding/mail opening at his door and b) Don’t socialize with him; use the PA system if only you needed to speak to him.
Keep in mind that we weren’t supposed to even talk to the patients let alone socialize with them, and yet I was told it was okay for this guy.
I’ll update when I can later in the shift.
September 9th 2013, 1:00 am, Stone-Brook Asylum
Ok this is some freaky shit.
Let me tell you something, this guy doesn’t make sense, let alone sound like any normal human being, then again he was insane.
After I had written the last journal entry, a question came to mind: What did John (my boss) mean that he had seen everything that Gregory could throw at him? And what did he mean by saying that the other workers never ask for overtime, I mean you are going to want some overtime some time; right?
I guessed that Gregory had the answers. So I turned on the PA system within his room from next door. He quickly noticed the overhead speaker in his room make a high pitched squeal as I turned on the intercom. He shifts from his position of lying down on his bed which was bolted to the back wall of his cell by the steel frame. He quickly sat up and yawned. He wore only his white asylum jumpsuit, which hung off his slender body.
“Why hello, Jason.” He said with his deep yet hoarse voice. How the hell did he know my name?
I am speechless for a second but I had to ask him my questions. I pressed the button down on the control pad for speaking back to him and kept it held down for the remaining period of me speaking. It was a press down to speak and let go to remain silent kind of system so I followed the rules accordingly.
“Uh, how did you know my name?” I ask sounding dumbfounded then let go of the button.
He stares at the door across from his position on the opposite wall and continued talking loud enough for the speakers to hear. “Johnathan told me.” He explained; what the fuck john? I pushed the button down and answered without hesitation. “Why did he tell you my name?”
“The boss man always tells me who’s watching.” He answers then continues”-He takes pity on me for having to spend the rest of my natural born life here. So he lets me know who I am talking to so that I won’t be too alone with my thoughts.” He explains.
Now why the hell would John have pity on this man? He fucking killed multiple families, attacked three guards, and almost ripped out a guy’s throat.
I continue to talk to him but things just got weirder.
“So you and John, you two are friends?” I ask. “No, he is my servant and I am his master.” He tells me as he twitches his head toward the camera up in the corner. He sounded so serious, like he actually meant it.
“What do you mean?” I ask with my hand still holding down the button. “Oh?” He is looking at me questionably as he gets up from his bed and stands up; his long and scrawny body stretches for s brief moment as he walks into the center of the room then faces the camera.
“-he didn’t tell you?” He chuckles a small chuckle and then he grins, staring wickedly into the camera. I continued to speak though my fingers were getting sore form holding down the button for so long.
“Tell me what?” I ask him almost letting the eerie feeling of fear creep from my mouth and into the overhead speaker inside his room. “Tell me what?”
“You’ll see… in five days’ time, you will see what I mean.” He chuckles as he held out his hand with all five fingers of his pale hand directed at the camera. Soon his chuckle had become a cackle and he had collapsed to the floor laughing his lungs out.
I couldn’t stand it, the most maniacal, most sinister laugh I have ever heard in my entire life. This surpassed anything that I have ever heard for seen in horror movies. I then turn off the PA system in his room and then I turned off the volume from the monitor.
I then lean back in the small chair at the desk of the stone brick 10×10 foot concrete room; which was only illuminated by one florescent light bulb, whereas Gregory had two rows of florescent lights in his cell on his ceiling.
As I lay back in my chair as I closed my eyes to relax just take my mind of this psycho -motherfucker for a while.
I lean back for a second and I already feel a chill run down my spine as the hairs of my neck stood up.
I shrugged off the feeling and then I felt breathing down my neck. (Fuck) I open my eyes and no-one was there.
Suddenly something whispers into my ear and says: “Day one”
I just about lost it and darted out of that fucking room grabbing the file and lunchbox and
ran to the stairwell instead of the elevator.
Fuck overtime.
[Authors note: yes I will be posting these for frightful Fridays and I hope you enjoy this story; Acts II – V are already written and ready for posting but I being the tortuous and demented person I am, shall post the next act on the next Frightful Friday. Hope you enjoyed this and comment if you like or simply just like, thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Orlando S.C./ Hells Reject.]
Hells Reject 