1
The dead never frightened me. It was the living I had to worry about.
I often fought sleep, afraid of the lucid nightmares that waited for me. When I finally did fall asleep, my body would thrash and kick as if I were struggling against something. I'd grab at my neck, choking, gasping for air. And then I'd wake up—screaming.
This time, I jolted awake drenched in sweat, panting hard. My chest heaved like I'd been running for miles. I tried to sit up but couldn't. I was restrained.
Panic set in.
My heart thundered as I looked around. The walls were padded and blindingly white. An iron door loomed at the far end of the room—my only exit, and it was locked. I couldn't breathe. My stomach twisted into knots. My mind raced, imagining all the horrific things they could do to me while I was helpless like this.
Then—an awful creak.
The door groaned open, and a man stepped inside. He had long black hair and wore a white coat. He said nothing. Without warning, he shoved a needle into my neck. My vision blurred. Darkness swallowed me again.
***
I was staring at a mirror.
My reflection was a nightmare: organs spilling from an open chest cavity, ribs exposed and broken, eyes covered by a blood-soaked blindfold. Starting at my neck, I noticed strange cracks—like those in a porcelain doll. A thick, reddish-black fluid oozed from them, pulsing like veins.
Behind me, something moved.
I turned, but the mirror didn't change. It showed me what was coming before I could react. A tall, skeletal figure with bony fingers and a crow-like skull for a face stood just behind me. Its head tilted slowly, as if studying me. I couldn't scream. I couldn't move.
***
I woke with a violent jolt, gagging, barely managing to suppress the urge to vomit.
The door to my room opened again. Expecting the same man, I braced myself. But it wasn't him. This one moved differently—no urgency, no threat. Something almost careful about the way he crossed the room.
He began undoing my restraints. "Breakfast is downstairs in the cafeteria," he said. "I was asked to escort you. I assume you've already met Dr. Wyvern?"
I only nodded.
"Oh—where are my manners? I'm Dr. Quail. It's nice to meet you, Victor."
I barely heard him. My mind had drifted back to the nightmare—to the thing I saw in the mirror's background. That tall, skeletal figure with the crow-like skull. It hadn't spoken. It hadn't moved. But it had watched me. And somehow, that was worse.
***
The cafeteria was sterile, quiet. The other patients sat in silence, eating like machines. No one spoke. No one looked up. It felt less like a hospital and more like a morgue.
I knew that feeling well. I'd spent four years working in one.
Once in the cafeteria, I took a seat near a window—away from the others—and glanced up at the wall clock.
9:30 a.m.
I scowled. I'd always hated mornings. I only ever woke early because of the nightmares. Sleep hadn't come easy to me since my brother's death—and the questions that followed it. They found my fingerprints on his body. I couldn't explain that. I still can't. Rather than a prison cell, they sent me here. I arrived just yesterday. They took all my belongings, issued me this wretched uniform, and branded me one of their many unstable patients.
I never thought of myself as unstable.
But I suppose this was better than a cell.
I was snapped out of my thoughts when Dr. Quail and the man who had drugged me approached my table.
"Victor," Quail said, "this is Dr. Wyvern—the doctor you met last night."
Wyvern said nothing at first, just studied me. His eyes were cold, analytical, like I was some strange animal. His grin was slight, but there was something cruel about it. Something that made my skin crawl.
Quail continued, "If you don't mind me asking... what was your occupation before you were sent here?"
I hesitated. Still, he seemed harmless enough.
"I worked in a morgue," I said.
Wyvern leaned in slightly. His gaze sharpened.
"Well then," Quail said, standing, "seeing as Dr. Wyvern is your assigned physician and I have other patients to tend to... I should be going. It was nice to meet you, Victor. I do hope we talk again soon."
He left me alone with Wyvern.
The doctor's grin widened. "Let us begin your treatments, Victor."
Darkness took me again.
***
The nightmare returned.
The creature from before was closer now. It pinned me to the ground with one skeletal hand. The other tore into my chest—messy, reckless. It plucked organs at random, examining them like a child discovering something new.
It took joy in my suffering.
When I passed out, it carved into my flesh to wake me again. It bent my limbs in unnatural directions, then slowly forced my body backward until—
Snap.
My spine broke.
Darkness again.
I woke up screaming, drenched in sweat. I frantically checked my body. Everything was intact.
Thank God.
I sat up—and immediately regretted it. Pain exploded in my back and chest. I collapsed to the floor, crying out in agony.
