Splatterhouse: Patient #6504
Two months after the incident... July, 1988
Rick had been very calm after his outburst, Dr. Turner reflected. After that day, he'd said very little, but at least he was talking now. Still, what he was saying made no sense whatsoever. He had made references to the mansion, and every so often muttered something about monsters... and any time Jennifer was mentioned he retreated back into his shell for a day or two. At any rate, Turner now felt he was not going to have another outburst, so he had the straightjacket removed. Of course, an orderly was keeping an eye on him at all times.
Turner had immediately reported that to the lieutenants, who were happy to hear that he was finally talking, but still impatient for him to confess something, what with Senator Willis breathing down their department's neck. After a few weeks, Turner had decided to try a little therapy that had worked for troubled cases in the past. There was an art room that a lot of the patients used for painting. The paintings they created were usually very insightful - almost like you were looking into what was going on in their minds. Turner left Rick in the care of one of the other doctors that day, Dr. Alicia Lee, while he went out to attend to some other buisness. When he returned, Dr. Lee was waiting by his office for him.
"Doctor," she said. She was holding a stack of papers in her hand.
"Yes, Doctor Lee. How was Rick today?" Turner asked as he unlocked the door to his office. He took a seat and motioned for her to sit down.
"That's the reason I'm here," she said as she sat down. "I'm afraid he had another relapse while he was in the art room today."
Turner glanced up at her. "Violent?" he asked.
"Yes. He's been restrained and returned to his room," Lee replied.
"What brought it on? Do you have any idea?"
"I'm not entirely certain. He was sitting quietly, drawing, when he suddenly started screaming. He fell to the floor and knocked over his easel before I could get the orderlies in the room, but that didn't seem to affect him. He just kept holding his head and screaming 'Get it out!' over and over."
"Has he calmed down since?"
"He seems to have... at least, after he was sedated. He was sleeping when I checked on him last."
Lee looked down at the stack of papers in her hand. "After Rick was sedated and returned to his room, I picked up the pictures he'd been working on off of the floor. I found these, and I really think you should take a look at them."
She handed the stack of papers to Turner as he fished a cigarette out of his desk drawer. Upon his first look at the top sketch, he froze, the cigarette forgotten.
"What in god's name?" he whispered to himself as he looked through the small stack of sketches. They were all done in pencil ("He didn't want to use paints," Lee explained) and they were all like nothing Turner had ever seen before.
There were five in all. The first sketch was of some kind of creature. It looked almost human, except from what he could tell, the flesh on this thing was falling off. It was almost reaching out of the sketch, it seemed. The next sketch was what looked like an upside-down cross surrounded by severed heads. The heads appeared to be screaming in agony. Turner swallowed briefly - this was disturbing, even to him. He flipped over the sketch of the upside-down cross and looked at the next sketch. It appeared to be a rotting head and arms emerging from the ground... sharp teeth lined the head's mouth, and the hands appeared to be reaching out of the sketch, just like the creature in the first sketch. Turner shivered slightly, then flipped to the next sketch.
The next sketch was even more disturbing. It looked human... except that it had no skin. Its head was covered by a bag, tied off at the neck, and where it's hands should have been were two chainsaws, poised like they were ready to slice something - or someone - to ribbons. Turner shuddered, then flipped over that sketch to the final one in the stack.
On the piece of paper in front him was one object. It looked almost like a face, its eyes narrowed - yet completely black - and its mouth twisted in a hideous grin. The very sight of the thing caused Turner to break out into a cold sweat. He could barely make out what looked like straps attached to the back of it. Is it some kind of mask? he wondered.
He set the sketches on his desk and turned back to Lee. He fumbled in his desk for the cigarette, then lifted it to his lips and shakily lit it. He took two or three nervous puffs, but said nothing else. Lee could see that he had been seriously shaken by what he'd seen.
"I felt the same way when I saw them," she said softly. "Whatever's going in that boy's head is... well, I don't know what it is."
"Thank you, Doctor Lee," Turner said abruptly. He picked up the sketches and slipped them into Rick's file. Lee needed no further urging.
"You're welcome, James," Lee said softly as she stood up. Without another word, she turned and left the room.
After she had left, Turner started to reread the files on Rick, nervously puffing away on his cigarette the whole time.
* * *
"NO!!!" Rick screamed as he bolted out of bed, covered in a cold sweat. It was just after three a.m.
His dreams of Jennifer were becoming more disturbing as time went on. It had been two full months since the incident, and things were becoming clearer to Rick about what had happened that night. These kinds of memories, horrible as they are, would normally be repressed by the human mind, but it seemed that something was causing Rick to remember more and more as he slept. He didn't want to remember what had happened, regardless of what had happened to Jennifer, but it was becoming clearer and clearer to him. The monsters he had sketched that day in the art room were appearing more and more frequently in his dreams - except for the one in the final sketch, that is. That one only appeared briefly every so often, and each time it did, Rick would awaken with a start, screaming like a madman - his heart hammering in his chest, his eyes wide open with fear. His reaction in the art room that day had even taken him by surprise, but then again, he hadn't expected to be seized by that kind of terror after seeing it again. Luckily it had not been that particular phantom this time, but instead it was the chainsaw-armed creature. Still, that had been enough to shock him awake.
Rick curled himself up into the fetal position, whimpering and sobbing like a baby. Everything was becoming clearer to him as time went on, and he didn't want to think about any of it. He wanted to block it out, force it away from him... but still the dreams came, and with them the memories of that horrible night. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force away the memories, but it was no use. He wrapped his blanket around him tightly, and opened one eye. All he could see was the window, and through it, a star was shining brightly. He opened his other eye and stared intently at the star, until finally, an hour or so later, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep... the first such sleep he'd had since the night of the incident.