A little fiction…or is it? Part 2


A group of five teenagers were supposedly partying in the cemetery behind the Dixmont Mental Hospital. They had their fair share of beer and whiskey after the first win of the basketball season.

Around sunset they made their way to the abandoned hospital. They had heard stories of hauntings and paranormal activity but didn’t think much of it. As they grew closer, the air drew in and seemed to smother them. Late in August should have still felt in the lower 60’s that late at night. They could see their breath as they drew open the old rusty door.

The loud screech of the hinges was sure to draw some attention to them if anyone else was around. They didn’t care, their voices were even louder.

As they made their way into the west wing and down the dark corridor, the smell of copper filled all of their noses. The sole girl, Jessie, within the group vomited. The four young men ran off into the darkness at that very moment.

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They ran down the hallway unaware of their surrounding until they turned a corner by the original administration office converted into the lobby and froze in their tracks. A light burst on and suddenly the entire area was re-furnished. It looked brand new: bright glaze over the yellow painted walls, a red swirl on the newly marbled floor, a deep voice booming over the loud speaker.

The boys didn’t know what to do. A nurse ran by them grabbing the lead boy’s arm. “Come with me, I need your help!”

All four boys, still in shock, did what she said. The nurse pushed open a blocked in wall, hustled down a spiral staircase, and stood over a man in a wheelchair covered by a bloodstained cloth. The boys gathered at the base of the steps.

“Wheel him over here! Follow me! The doctor needs the specimen right away!” The nurse’s voice seemed faint and echoed, but not like it should have. It didn’t carry like a normal voice should. It almost disappeared as her voice hit the walls. She scuttled down the hall anticipating the teens to follow her. When she noticed that they hadn’t moved the nurse ran back and pushed the wheelchair herself. “Fine, I’ll do it myself! The doctor will appreciate my efforts,” she rambled.

The teens, still completely confused, slowly navigated down the medieval hallway using the lit torches. They finally arrived at a dimly lit room with a large operating light, which had begun to buzz and warm up, aimed over a discolored out operating table.

The nurse wheeled the clothed figure close to the table. “Here she is, doctor.” She seemed almost excited, giddy even, when talking to the doctor.

A deep booming voice yelled out from a dark opening in the far end of the room: “Put her on the table! We must get started immediately or we will lose all brain function!”

By this time, the boys had huddled against the back wall looking on in awe as the nurse laid the figure under the cloth back and rolled it onto the table. The top portion of the cloth was cut off quickly by the nurse revealing auburn hair surrounding a shaved portion of the poor soul’s head.

The saw quickly buzzed around the skull, shredding the skin and mangling the skull enough to remove it. During this entire process, the teen boys now completely sober from the shock listened to the screams echo throughout the room. Blood sprayed everywhere including all over their sweaty game jerseys.

A broad shouldered man sauntered out from the darkness. A black surgical mask was draped over his face, blood stains were strewn across his apron. This surgeon held a blade to the boys. “Here!” he proclaimed, “Let me teach you!”

He held it out until one of the boys hesitantly grabbed it out of his hand. It was cold, freezing cold, burning cold. The boy tried to drop the knife but could not. The rest gathered around him.

The doctor guided his hand to the bald head. He removed the top portion of the skull revealing a bright red mucus covering. With a quick swipe of his hand the mucus was gone; in its place was the interweaving of a thick pink membrane – the brain. The boy with the knife turned away and let lose a long stream of vomit.

A deep laugh echoed throughout the room. The doctor snatched the knife out of his hand. “Here, this is how you do it!” He sunk the blade deep within the brain. The doctor dug around until he pulled out a small portion of the brain and held it up. “Who wants to hold it?”

The teens pushed backward again as the doctor stepped closer. A low moan could be heard under the cloth. All the boys could do is stare at the shuddering body.

“Should I put her out of her misery?” the nurse quietly asked from behind the surgeon.

He turned his head back to the table. “Let her be. It’ll be over soon. Let me complete my operation.”


The shuddering persisted as the boys stared on. Finally, as the doctor backed away, the cloth slid off the cadaver – the boys slumped in fear in the far corner.

Three of the boys are still in jail for murdering their good friend Jessie. The last boy committed suicide with a surgical knife before the police could arrive.

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