Mad House (A Niall Horan Fan Fiction)

Chapter 1 ~Hope

The time froze still as I sat there, waiting. Waiting for death? Possibly.

Waiting to get out? Another possibility. I squeezed one hand to my right upper arm to try and stop the pain, but it didn't work very well.

"Hello, Melody." The door swung open and I was greeted by Dr. VanVliet. The smile on his face put me off.

After I didn't answer him he continued over to his desk and pulled out a pen, jotted something down, and walked over to me, standing on my left side.

His face was freshly shaved, different from his usual gray scruff. His eyes were a light brown, but they were unusually milky. I couldn't see his pupils very well, his eyes were too foggy. He's gotten more bald over the years that I've been here but he tries to hide it by combing old gray hair over his bald spot.

"I've got information from our test, and the chip we put in your arm is not working the way we expected. It's supposed to keep you from 'seeing' visions, tricking your mind into believing they aren't there, but instead it's sending messages to your brain that might make you see more. You may have anxiety attacks or strong headaches. I think we'll keep you though, I have another test I would like to preform." He finished, and I sighed in relief that I wasn't going today.

This hospital, the Mad House, takes mentally ill people and try to fix their 'problems'. I don't have a problem. I'm not ill. I'm not crazy. I can see ghosts.

When I told my mother, she didn't believe me at first. I mean, I was a 6 year old. But then when I went into the fifth grade, more and more often I would see them. She refused to believe it was true, and like the horrible mother she was, she sent me here.

I've been here for 8 years. 8 whole years they've put me through painful tests and endless pain. Nothing is working. I tried to convince my nurses several times that I'm not lying, that I can actually see ghosts, put I always get a needle in the arm.

When all seems hopeless, they put the person to sleep, killing them I should say. This has happened with several of my room mates. 3 to be exact. It's a sad thing really, but they were actually ill. It's more scary then anything actually, knowing that they can kill you pretty much anytime they want. Don't get me wrong, they do try to cute you. They successfully cured some patients I know, but mostly these people are incurable.

Dr. VanVliet took something off one of the many shelves and put it in my hands. "Use this if you feel bad." He instructed. I nodded my head inspecting the bottle. It's a medicine called anti-prodent. I read the side, the instructions told to take 2 pills when having pain. Easy enough.

I nodded my head, not wanting to speak. Speaking gets people in trouble if you say the wrong thing. A nurse walked in and gestured me towards the door.

"Lets get you back to your room." She said not sounding too excited. I stood up clutching the bottle of anti- prodent and followed her as we walked through the long corridors of the building.

Finally we came to room 8A. The nurse opened the thick white door for me and I walked in.

"Heyyyyyyy, Melody!!" Rachel exclaimed once the door closed behind me. She was sat at her bed playing with a strand of white thread.

"Hey Rachel" I said kindly. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

She shook her head. "Nope. But I found the butterflies again!" She exclaimed moving her attention away from the stray string and looking at me. I shook my head at her.

"Rachel. I've told you plenty of times, there aren't any butterflies."

This made her frown. "Yes there are."

I didn't feel like arguing so I just rolled my eyes dismissing it. I set the small bottle down on our eating table by our door and sat down on one of the chairs. I feel bad for Rachel. She's ill. 3 years I've been with her, and I'm starting to get the feeling that they will put her to sleep. I honestly see no progress with her.

"So how was it?" She asked putting the piece of thread in our nightstand in between our beds.

"Good I guess. It didn't work, but at least he's still trying." I explained.

"What did they do this time?" She questioned.

"They just put a chip in my arm that was supposed to do something to my brain. I don't know exactly. But they said I might have anxiety attacks or bad headaches."

"Oh that sucks." She said. "Are you ready to go to bed? I'm tired."

"Yeah. Me too." I agreed. We both got our off white nightgowns from the nightstand and threw them on, setting our dirty uniforms on the table to be washed over night. Nurses gather all dirty clothes at night and clean, but I'm never really sure when they come into our rooms.

"Goodnight Rach." I said hopping on my bed and pulled the covers over my body. I like night time. That's when I get to think things over. All lights are out by 10 everyday, and usually I only fall asleep around 11.

"Night" she said turning out the lights and getting under the covers of her own bed.

My mind drifted off to careless memories here. One time, someone was out in the hall at 10:06 and they cut her off instantly. I fear the people who work here. They have the power to cut you off like that. Like your just some ant that they can squash. Hopefully they won't squash me anytime soon.

I always wonder what my purpose is. I've been here for 8 years. My family has forgotten about me. I have no education, which means I can't get a job. I have no money or anything. This is my home. The fact that this, the Mad House, is my home, makes me shudder. I hate it here. Fear is in everyone. Why am I still alive? I should just die...I have no purpose.

But the thing is, I don't want to get cut off. I won't give up. There's a little bit of hope within me that I just might get out. Start over. And that's all I need.

Hope.