7
REUNION
Brandon was in a daze again, a common feeling for him over the last couple of weeks. His head hung low, chin to his chest, as the medication took its effect. He was being pushed down the hall for yet another round of mental observation, or diagnosis. Arms and legs strapped to the wheelchair, the ride seemed to take forever. Although the medicine was injected into his body as a mild sedation, and while it did leave his body feeling heavy and lifeless, it didn't affect his thinking. His mind was clear and always knew what was happening around him.
After three weeks in the detention center, things had not changed for Brandon. His mental state had deteriorated to the point that he was going to be transferred to a mental hospital for a more thorough diagnosis.
The killings started again each week in October.
Gary Holloway was murdered, in his bed, while he slept. His throat was slit, and his chest impaled by a sickle. Police could not find a motive.
The shocking double-murder of Mark and Jean Ellis followed the next week. They were found by a family member, murdered in their barn, hung by chains from the rafters, their faces, barely recognizable, carved and sliced—one of The Mangler's trademarks. Mark and Jean had escaped Coleman's murder attempt years earlier.
Anyone who sees me must die.
Their murders had some citizens questioning the impossible—could it be the ghost of The Mangler? Authorities were asked by reporters about the Ellis family's connection to Coleman, and the murder attempt years before. Their answer was always, 'no comment'.
Law enforcement, from local police to the FBI, knew they had a serious copycat on their hands. The public found themselves questioning all logic, and some started to believe that The Mangler was responsible.
Most alarming, was the death of thirteen-year-old, Doug Sellers, one week later. While recovering at home from the stab wound, he was found in his room in a sitting position with his back wedged in the corner. Doug was not hung, nor was his throat slit. The coroner's early opinion was that he died of a heart attack, and unless he had a history of heart problems, his unofficial opinion was that Doug was, for lack of a better term . . . scared-to-death.
When his mother found him, his open eyes were filled with terror, and gazed upwards, as if still staring at something. His body was stiff, locked into the sitting position, as if rigor mortis had set in, although he had only been dead for a couple of hours.
The police knew that they had a very serious problem, and once again, they had the makings of a copycat killer on their hands. Not one of the law enforcement officers believed that this was the work of Coleman, or the ghost of The Mangler. They didn't deal in the supernatural. The facts were that he died years ago. But around town, people were scared, and the myth of the famous serial killer was back and again haunting the town. No one felt safe, and an after-dark curfew was finally issued for anyone under eighteen.
Brandon was not allowed access to the outside world, and was never told of the killings, especially Doug's death. He was not in the proper mental state to take in negative information like that. His parents did their best to help him pull out of his withdrawn state, but nothing seemed to work, and because he was not making progress, the court decided, based on medical advice, to admit him to a secure mental hospital, better equipped for his condition.
The truth was that Brandon was trying to reconnect with Coleman since stabbing Doug and tasting blood for the first time. It was Coleman who mentored and took care of him, and that's how he saw him, not as a monster, but as a man. But since that night in the alley, Coleman had not appeared in his dreams, nor within the strange supernatural world like he did before.
He knew what was going on around him. He wasn't responding to his parents or the doctors for fear that Coleman would not approve.
His improvements over the past year began to turn dark just before he stabbed Doug, and within his rage in the fight, he proved to Coleman that he was capable of doing his work. He was now sorry that he had tried to attack his mentor last Halloween, and while he didn't know about the recent murders, he felt that something was building again with the killer. He had to keep a guarded distance from the doctors to get closer to his mentor.
Halloween...
Based on Brandon's degrading mental condition, doctors decided to admit him to the newly opened Bay Coast Mental Health Clinic, located within the new medical complex. Brandon was not told that he was being moved to the same location of the old hospital. His parents and doctor felt that there was no need to tell him just yet.
Before they transported him, Brandon was slightly sedated, just enough to make him drowsy. The effects would wear off by the time they got him situated in the new hospital.
The transport van arrived at the back entrance where Brandon's parents were waiting with his doctor. After a kiss from his mother and a hug by his father, he was placed in a wheelchair and pushed into the back entrance to access the rear elevator. The Psych Ward was on the fifth floor.
His parents, the doctor, and a nurse, pushing Brandon, all loaded into the elevator. As customary, and for legal reasons, his wrists and ankles were lightly strapped to the chair using two-inch wide leather straps.
The building and the elevator had the look and smell of a new hospital. Brandon's mother looked out into the lobby as the elevator doors closed. Brandon was aware of his surroundings, and of being moved to a different location, but did not know where.
The doctor leaned down. “Brandon, you are being taken to a different place, a place where you can get better care.” He waited a moment, but got no reaction. He stood up and nodded at Brandon's parents to let them know it was okay to speak to him.
His mother bent down. “Honey? Brandon? Are you feeling okay?” she asked.
Brandon nodded, but did not speak.
Half-satisfied, his mother patted his shoulder and stood up again, looking at her husband's concerned expression.
The elevator passed the third floor as Brandon focused on the digital display. The fourth floor, and a moment later, the fifth floor displayed—Psychiatric Care. The elevator came to a stop.
The doors did not open. Instead, the walls began to shake. The lights flickered and blinked on and off. Whatever the effects of the mild sedation given to Brandon earlier, were gone now. His mother let out a small scream.
“Everything will be okay,” the doctor said. “Probably just a temporary maintenance problem.”
The elevator shook worse, banging and rattling sounds of metal clashing. And then, a sudden drop, a quick free-fall. Everyone let out a shocked… “Ohhh!”
The wheelchair rattled and vibrated. Brandon's heart raced. He looked behind him, looking for assurances. He saw confusion in their eyes.
Then, everything went still. Everything went silent.
A red light flashed inside the elevator as a buzzer sounded from within the panel.
The red digital display flashed, '4'...'4'...'4'. Brandon looked at it and fear immediately set in. His only comfort was that he was not alone.
Ding.
The door opened. A dark hallway greeted him as the door slowly parted. Brandon, who had wanted to reconnect with Coleman, now wanted nothing to do with him. He wanted to leave and tried to pull against his straps, only they were no longer leather straps. He looked down and saw that chains now wrapped his wrists and ankles. A dim light glowed at the end of the dark hallway.
Brandon twisted his neck to look behind him. His parents, the doctor, and the nurse, all stared straight ahead. Their faces expressionless, bodies motionless. They stared at the end of the long hallway.
The wheelchair started slowly rolling forward. Again, Brandon turned; no one was pushing him, the chair was moving on its own, leaving the safety and light of the elevator and into the darkness. Lights flickered in the hallway, creating just enough light to see his surroundings.
Brandon struggled against the chains. The lights went out completely. From a short distance, a light moved toward h
im—a flashlight. The light went out, the chair stopped moving, then the light flashed on again. Brandon screamed as an old nurse, wearing a nurse's hat and uniform from the 1940's. She wore bright-red lipstick and appeared in front of him. The light only illuminated half of her smiling face. Brandon leaned away from her as his heart pounded faster.
“Welcome to Floor Four,” the nurse said with a big smile and a creepy look in her eyes. Her lipstick was smeared on her face in a maniacal-looking pattern, most of it missing her lips completely. She stepped aside as the chair began to slowly move forward. Her arm outstretched in front of him, moving in the direction of the hall, inviting him in.
He tried to shake loose again as the doors down the hall began to open and close, slamming shut each time. The sound of the doors slamming closed was so loud he thought his ears would pop. He turned and looked back at the elevator once more. The door was closing. His eyes widened and he screamed. His mother, father, doctor, and nurse hung in the elevator, necks wrapped in chains.
The door closed sucking the last bit of light from the hallway.
He continued moving down the hall, doors still opening and closing. Papers were scattered on the ground and some were floating and falling softly back to the floor. Brandon was sweating, his wrists starting to bleed from his struggle to free himself from the chains.
The doors all slammed at once, then opened. The hall went silent and the lights started flickering. Appearing in each doorway were the hospice patients. Brandon's eyes looked at the first one, an older man. The man was in a hospital gown and grabbed the top of it, pulling it down to reveal his chest. His chest was split open, revealing his two damaged lungs, blackened by years and years of smoking, cancer staking the last claim.
“Got a cigarette?” he asked Brandon.
Shocked, Brandon tried to turn his head away, but it was now held in place to the back of the chair by another chain. He could not close his eyes, he had no control, and to his left stood an old woman holding something in her hands. As the chair neared, she stepped forward.
“How's your heart dear? Want to trade?” the woman said, laughing hysterically. The heart pumped in her hand, but where there should have been blood, thick black liquid oozed down between her fingers.
He tried again to close his eyes. The chair continued down the hall passing patient after patient. All of them dying. Each there for their final days. He was getting closer to the light at the end of the long hall.
Now to his right, another older man stood in his doorway looking straight ahead. He removed his sunglasses. His eyes had no pupils. They glowed a solid white. He reached for Brandon. Brandon tried to lean away from him, but the man's shaking hand grabbed hold of his arm and squeezed. His other hand reached for Brandon's eyes.
“I got my eyes on you,” the man said.
Crying, tears filling his eyes, Brandon leaned as far away as he could. The chair rattled, and the man let go as it continued its roll.
The silhouette of a man stood just before the frosted-glass door at the end of the hall, his features not visible because of the light behind him. The chair stopped in front of the figure. The lights flickered, and through the quick flashes of light his face became visible.
Jake.
His eyes were closed and body limp.
This was too much for Brandon, and he struggled against his restraints, trying desperately to get free and leave the evil place. His heart was beating faster. His breathing heavy and labored. Blood was building around his wrists and ankles.
Jake fell forward on to him.
Brandon screamed again.
Jake's dead body slid and fell to the side of the chair with a thud.
Now, in front of him stood David Henry Coleman, and even through the dim light, he could see that evil sneer. Brandon started to pass out.
“You can't hide that way,” Coleman told him. He stepped forward and grabbed Brandon by his hair. “You betrayed me, and now you must die by my rule.”
Brandon looked at him, and strangely, didn't feel afraid. He no longer wanted to be his student and wasn't worried about what might be done to him. Somehow, he was at peace. A sense of calm came over him and he smiled.
“I see you didn't miss me at all,” Coleman told him. “I came back exactly one year later to offer you a choice and to tell you what I have been up to.” He reached over his shoulder and pulled out his tool of death, the sickle. “In the past three weeks I have murdered again. Each one, a connection from the past. The ones I planned to kill before. You're the only one left,” he said, bringing the tip of the sickle to Brandon's chest.
Brandon almost threw up, no longer at ease. The cold metal of the sickle's blade gently slid up to his neck, as Coleman walked around him. Brandon's heart pounded in his chest, sweat poured from his forehead, blood dripped from his wrists and ankles.
“Anyone who sees me, must die,” he told Brandon, “but I will give you the choice to live or die.” He now stood behind him.
The wheelchair spun around quickly, The Mangler grasping the handles.
Brandon's eyes widened further, and standing in front of him were his parents. Strangely, they were smiling. He tried again to break free, desperately wanting to run to them, be saved by them, and ask them to forgive him.
“Do you want to live or die?”
The chains that held Brandon, unwrapped and dropped to the floor, hitting in a simultaneous clang of steel that echoed down the long hallway. He wanted to stand and run, but instead looked up at his parents, and they remained standing, looking at him and smiling, seemingly oblivious to what was going on around them.
“Your choice . . . you or them,” he told Brandon, as he walked and stood behind his parents.
Brandon now realized what he meant. This quickly shook him free from the spell of the moment, he cleared his head.
He tried to reason with the killer. “But, my parents never saw you. Why do you want to kill them?”
“You know so little and you think you know so much,” Coleman's voice sounded deeper and darker. “I will not be killing them . . . you will,” he said, as he walked between his parents, knocking them apart, and reaching for Brandon, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him up in a standing position.
Brandon's eyes showed fear again as he stared at the man in black, face-to-face.
“You or them!” Coleman yelled, as he reached behind him, pulling out his famed sickle and slamming the tip down and into the arm rest of the wheelchair. He let go of Brandon and walked around behind the chair.
Brandon stood, not knowing what to do. He looked up at his parents, and there they stood, shoulder to shoulder, still smiling. He was frightened more than any other time, but he knew it was time.
He reached out with his shaking, bloody hand and grabbed the handle of the sickle tight.
The Mangler smiled.
Brandon paused, looked back at his parents, quickly pulled the blade from the arm rest and faced them––their smiling faces still greeting him.
He quickly turned to The Mangler and swung the blade with all his might. He yelled––a yell that perfectly represented all of his fears, frustrations and anger, all at once. He closed his eyes as he felt the blade drive into its chest.
He opened them and his heart sank, as a deep inner pain took over.
The blade, now dripping with fresh blood, was lodged into his mother's chest. He looked up at her, then to his father; their eyes met his, shocked, they no longer smiled. Their faces did not express anger or pain. Their faces expressed sadness . . . only sadness.
Tears filled his eyes as he screamed at the top of his lungs, just as The Mangler's blade came down over him.
The day was sunny, the air crisp and cool, as Brandon was moved from the transport van to the waiting wheelchair at the new hospital. His parents, his doctor, and a nurse all greeted him with smiles.
Now awake, but still drowsy from the sedation meds given to him earlier, Brandon could make out the people
around him. The situation and surroundings seemed eerily familiar. Fear struck him as he raised his head and looked around.
Did I just have a nightmare? Brandon was afraid and confused. He tugged against the straps.
The doctor patted him on the shoulder.
“You'll be fine,” the doctor assured him. “Just relax, we'll be in the room soon.”
Brandon wanted to get out of the chair, but the meds still had hold of him. The nurse pushed him through the lobby and to the elevator doors. Lighting in the new hospital was very bright and everything was so new. He could hear employees talking and laughing. He was still apprehensive, but he didn't feel in danger. Everything seemed normal.
The elevator's stainless steel doors opened, and a young couple exited, nodding at Brandon. For some reason he felt like he knew them. The nurse pushed him in and turned him, facing the slowly closing doors.
The young couple stood in the middle of the lobby, waving and smiling at him. The door closed as he stared out, trying to figure out why they looked so familiar. He closed his eyes, thinking harder.
The elevator shook briefly, then lifted.
Then it hit him. They were his parents, from when they first got married. They posed that same way in a picture on their nightstand. He opened his eyes and looked up behind him. His parents looked down, smiling, just like the picture at home.
Strange.
His eyes shifted to the doctor. He was typing something on his phone.
Brandon looked up at the elevator's digital display. The numbers 2, 3 and then 4 displayed on the panel. He held his breath as the screen continued displaying the red number 4.
The dream he just had was becoming clearer.
This scared him, but the lights were burning bright, not flickering like in his dream. Everyone seemed okay, no panic, no worries.
Finally, the number 5 displayed, as the elevator came to a stop.
Brandon lowered his head, anticipating that the elevator would start shaking again. The young Hispanic nurse smiled down at him, making him feel better.
“Here we are,” the doctor said.
The doors opened.
Brandon let out a relieved breath.
The long, well-lit hallway, with its newly polished floor, was busy with activity, full of nurses, patients, and some maintenance personnel. Halloween decorations were visible throughout the lobby and hall. He relaxed a little more as the chair moved out of the elevator.
He glanced at the nurse's station, and to his relief, he saw a big number '5' mounted in the middle of the reception counter, signifying he was on the fifth floor.
More relief.
Everything was normal, but he didn't notice that the wheelchair was slowly rolling forward without anyone pushing it.
Feeling safe and secure, putting the dream he had earlier further behind him, he almost let himself smile. He turned to speak to his parents, but saw no one.
No parents, no doctor, no nurse.
Brandon's fear and anxiety came back quickly, and he twisted his body around, only to see the elevator doors closing, the light inside flickering on and off. Panic struck him as he tried to get out of the chair. Chains wrapped around his wrists, ankles, and neck, securing him to the chair. The supernatural force was back.
The chair stopped rolling.
Brandon's eyes widened as he screamed at the top of his lungs.
From down the dark hall, running towards him, and dressed in black, was The Mangler. He held long chains in both hands, dragging the bloody bodies of his mother and father behind him.
Brandon passed out.
“Brandon? Brandon how are you feeling?”
He started to come to. He tried to see through his blurry vision. The light hurt his eyes. A hand gently shook his shoulder.
“Hello, Brandon. I'm Denise. I'll be your nurse today,” she said.
His vision and thoughts became clearer.
The beautiful young nurse looked him in the eyes, smiling.
He wanted to speak, but only managed to slur his words.
His thoughts were clearer than his speech, happily realizing that he had only had another bad dream.
“Don't worry about talking right now. They gave you a strong dose of sedative. It might take a little longer to wear off,” she said, straightening his pillow.
“Where am I?” he asked, speaking a little clearer, trying to sit up.
Helping him, by raising the bed, she said, “You're at the brand new Bay Coast Health Center. You're one of our first patients.” She smiled again.
Everything was coming back to Brandon now. The old hospital, the new building, built on the same land. His heart rate increased, taking it all in. “How long will I be...”
“You just lay back and relax. We will take good care of you.” She paused, her head still down, adjusting the blanket. “Anyone who sees me must die,” she said, her voice changed, slower and much deeper now.
The voice and words shook Brandon to his core, his body stiffened.
“Wait . . . what did you just say?!” he asked, frantically leaning over the rail, away from her. “Anyone what...?”
“Anyone who sees me must smile? That's our slogan here to keep patients smiling. Kinda corny but...” She pointed to the embroidered words on her uniform.
“If you need anything, just hit the red button . . . Happy Halloween.”
Brandon went from stressed to totally relieved, and almost started laughing. He knew now that his mind was playing tricks on him and he was acting paranoid, probably because of the medication and the dreams he just had. Maybe, just maybe, this was all behind him now. He laid his head back against the pillow, feeling better.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” the nurse said, pausing at the half-open door. The lights flickered in the now dark hallway behind her.
“Welcome to Floor Four.”
Hearing those words again, stunned Brandon. His body tensed, and he quickly closed his eyes, refusing to look.
The Mangler's maniacal laugh echoed in the hall, as the door slowly closed.
Author’s Note
In this story, I have taken certain fictional liberties in changing the names of places and things. For anyone who reads this, and for those who live in the town where this story takes place, you may be able to piece together, one chain link at a time, the real places that inspired this novella. If you do locate the old hospital (it still stands, by the way), my advice is to not venture in and explore as the boys did in the story . . . safety concerns, you understand.
But . . . if you do stand at the fence line on a quiet night, listen real close. You may hear the unmistakable sounds of a sickle scraping against metal or chains dragging along the stairwell and floors from within. And while you’re there, take a glance up at the fourth floor windows. Let me know if you see anyone stirring around up there. And if your imagination is anything like mine, maybe you’ll write your own scary story.
The first part of Floor Four was first published in Purgatory-13 Tales of the Macabre. This edition is the complete story.
Also part of the A. Lopez, Jr. Library:
Purgatory–13 Tales of the Macabre - In the spirit of King, Laymon, Little, and Keene comes a collection of short stories of the macabre. One story begins in the name of research when a world-famous horror author spends the night in one of the most haunted houses around, Ritter House, only to discover that reality is much more horrific than fiction. In Road Trip, a man must travel across state lines to identify his brother’s dead body and drive him home in the back of his car to a mortuary run by a dead man. In Tic Toc, a man has two hours to try and prevent a catastrophe in the building that his wife works in, only, he can’t recall how or why. His only clue is the nightmare he had two hours earlier. Christmas will never be the same for a little boy in Santa Claws, and an old wooden box in a warehouse carries a story all its own in The Crate. A trip into Purgatory will open the door to these stories and more.
Night Dreams
(series) - A Dream Psychologist, Dr. Joseph Rickettes, has no choice but to live out the nightmares of his patients in hopes of curing them of their demons. He is bound by the demons in their dreams, while he struggles to make sense of the nightmares that plague his own life. In the first episode in the novella series, The Beginning tells the story of how it all started for Joseph, and how he came to possess his power, or curse, to delve into and live out, the nightmares of others.
(titles available in eBook and print)
~ Coming Soon ~
Night Dreams – Episode Two
“ANDREA’S DEMON”
The haunting novella series continues with episode two answering more questions about Dr. Joseph Rickettes and the power he possesses. The power, or curse, as he calls it, spills over into his family life and directly into his marriage. His wife, Andrea, is being tormented by a powerful demon in her dreams, one that threatens to cross over into the real world. Joseph struggles with the decision to tell his wife of his secret gift, so that he can try to help her.
“31 DAYS”
A Horror Novel
“Tomorrow starts the countdown to Halloween, folks,” the radio DJ announced to the listening public. “Yes, tomorrow is October 1st, bringing in the cooler temperatures, shorter days, and the one creepy night of the year that we love so much . . . Beware of the goblins!”
Little did he know that the countdown had already begun, long before he spoke his prophetic words.
The terror that was coming was far more hellish than he, or any of his listeners could imagine. The terror that is coming, begins in 31 Days.
For more information on the author
please visit his blog:
www.alopezjr.com
Book cover art and formatting done by Ace-Hil-Ink
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