Upheaving Crooked Orchards

Part Eight

  As he glanced around the corner, part of him relaxed as he saw the patients from his ward. Michael didn't have much concern for anybody in the facility, but he held no aggression towards the inmates--they were suffering the same tortured fate as him, and he did need them to take care of the other doctors and guards. They seemed to have gathered more patients, as Michael was staring at faces he'd never seen. They were intimidated by Michael--while they killed people themselves, they could feel something about the tall man that evoked a sense of uneasiness amidst them. They did their best to walk around him, careful as to not disturb or anger him. Williams held his head low as he walked by Lenard.

  "They got 'im...They got Gurney." He whispered to his friend, "They just kept hitting his head with their sticks until his head couldn't hold up no more. I tried to pull him away, but I couldn't.." 

  Lenard strolled after Williams to comfort him, but Michael stayed behind to observe what he'd created.  The walls were covered with red, as if it was a lazy paint job. The scent of blood was stagnant, mixed with the smell of sterilization and metal. Michael leaned against the wall again--he was able to rest, but with the realization there wasn't a threat, his body began to surge with aches and pains. He felt something drip down his left cheek and moved a rigid and shaky hand up to his face to wipe it. He looked at what was on his fingers--it was the same color that coated the walls--his eye was bleeding. He let himself drop to the floor and sat with the bodies, his legs reluctant to move but still gave way. He remained there for a while, his muscles not wanting to relax themselves. The patients continued to see the damage Michael had done--a few doctors  here and there with an additional guard or two. 

  They came to the electric room and found Kavell's body. He was put on display in the chair. He had needles poking out of his arms and his eyelids were stapled open--Michael didn't want him to close his eyes during the procedure. He had multiple bite marks on his face and hands. He had the electric patches all over his body and in his mouth. His chest was decorated with long scratches--they weren't frantic, they were done with precision. They saw his jaw which looked crooked and misplaced and gazed at the blood soaked tools in a tray next to him. Williams stepped in a puddle of blood next to Kavell's leg. Michael had cut the tendons to his ankles and legs, as well as under his kneecaps. They weren't sure how long Kavell was alive for Michael's twisted playtime, but they didn't really want to know. 

   By the next morning, the patients disposed of the bodies that laced the halls--they left Kavell for Michael to deal with, but Michael never moved him. He was the perfect trophy. When Michael was ready to move, he went to the electric room and stood to gaze at his work. He soaked in his memories of the fifteen years under the torment of this doctor. He compressed multiple years of torture to one night in a chair to get back at Kavell. He kept staring at Kavell's scared eyes and bathed in the satisfaction of what happened the previous night. 

  After a while, Smith's Grove Sanitarium was deemed abandoned. No one tried to contact the staff and ask for family members, authorities were glad they didn't have to worry about the psychiatric ward, and creepy stories began to spread around the town about it being haunted, keeping the children at bay. Michael chose not to leave--he would be killed if he escaped, and he enjoyed the quiet of the hospital. The other patients stayed with him--they saw him as something that could keep them safe, he gave them the courage to fight the staff. Lenard knew he wouldn't leave, he felt bad that Michael struggled to move sometimes and didn't want him to fall down somewhere. There was plenty of food still in the cafeteria and they were allowed to stay wherever they wanted. Michael paid no mind to the people surrounding him but still preferred to be alone most of the time. A few teenagers would come, looking for ghosts and trying to prove of its haunting, but if they encountered Michael, they were never seen again. The tall man still had a bloodlust that came down to strangers from off the ward. As the patients saw Michael kill and drag away the teenagers' bodies, they began to pick up that no one was allowed to come inside, thus resulting in them becoming more territorial. 

  Lenard watched as his fellow inmates would terrorize local kids but seemed to be oblivious to what they were doing. Multiple residents in Haddonfield filed missing person alerts but no one knew where they went. As time went on, Michael's muscles began to stop more and more and began to have moments of uncontrollable twitching in his arms. Lenard made sure to stay by Michael--he knew the young man never spoke so he'd call for help for him should he need it. Regardless of how much help came, Michael never used their assistance. The ward looked rugged now--random hospital beds were strung across the halls, wires hung from the ceiling, and broken fragments of the walls were scattered on the floor. 

  Winter came and the cold was no help to Michael's injured body. There was always a frigid draft seeping through the cracks and there was no heater--not anymore. Most of the patients huddled together to keep warm, but Michael stayed by himself. He was standing by the window trying to absorb some of the heat from the evening sun but something caught his attention. It was a lone teenager--probably sixteen--he was creeping into the facility. He had a large backpack and a flashlight and was looking around the yard. He jumped back when he saw Michael standing in the window but hurried inside. Michael made a quick travel across the ward. He stalked down the stairs and onto the first floor. He saw the kid had made it inside the hospital but Michael stuck to the shadows, planning on how he'd hunt his new victim.