Marty yawned, stretched and smiled, reliving the last moments of a naughty dream. Contentment lasted until he opened his eyes and saw where he was, remembering with sudden clarity how he came to be there. He couldn’t believe his family had committed him to the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum. Yes, he drank too much and the hospital had a good substance abuse program but did he really need to be locked up?
“Good-bye, good mood. It was nice knowing you.”
The first of the day’s business took place in the communal bathroom. Marty was standing at the urinal when he heard the distinctive drag-slap sound of Slewfoot entering the room.
“Oh great” thought Marty, but he greeted the other man politely. Slewfoot smiled and came to stand at the neighboring urinal. Marty quickly realized that Slewfoot was eyeing him and hurried to finish.
Just as Marty was about to tuck himself back into his shorts, Slewfoot said, “Nice equipment you got there. Want to put it to good use?”
Marty realized Slewfoot had some unknown mental problem so he simply muttered, “No, thank you” and hurried to the sink to wash his hands.
Slewfoot shrugged and left.
Marty was unnerved at having been propositioned by a man. That the man was insane added another layer of unreality. Marty gave himself a mental shake, brushed his teeth and was washing his face when he heard drag-slap footsteps rushing across the cool tile of the bathroom floor.
Before Marty could dry his eyes he felt a searing pain in his shoulder. He jerked up, turned and felt a jab of pain in his neck. He saw a flash of sharp metal at the same time that a gout of blood gushed out, splashing his attacker. Slewfoot stood there, drenched in Marty’s steaming blood.
Marty ran for the door, sliding in the red pool, making his way toward the nurses’ station. Too much blood! Every beat of his heart was sending sprays of it out onto the pale blue tile.
This was ridiculous. He giggled but it came out as a gurgle. He was choking on his own blood. Lightheaded and delirious, his pierced throat wouldn’t allow him to call for help and there was no one in view. He felt weaker by the second and fell to his knees. Arms buckling, he could no longer pull himself along. He collapsed. As he was breathing his last painful breaths, his vision dimmed. The last sound he heard was drag-slap.
“Good-bye, good mood. It was nice knowing you.”
The first of the day’s business took place in the communal bathroom. Marty was standing at the urinal when he heard the distinctive drag-slap sound of Slewfoot entering the room.
“Oh great” thought Marty, but he greeted the other man politely. Slewfoot smiled and came to stand at the neighboring urinal. Marty quickly realized that Slewfoot was eyeing him and hurried to finish.
Just as Marty was about to tuck himself back into his shorts, Slewfoot said, “Nice equipment you got there. Want to put it to good use?”
Marty realized Slewfoot had some unknown mental problem so he simply muttered, “No, thank you” and hurried to the sink to wash his hands.
Slewfoot shrugged and left.
Marty was unnerved at having been propositioned by a man. That the man was insane added another layer of unreality. Marty gave himself a mental shake, brushed his teeth and was washing his face when he heard drag-slap footsteps rushing across the cool tile of the bathroom floor.
Before Marty could dry his eyes he felt a searing pain in his shoulder. He jerked up, turned and felt a jab of pain in his neck. He saw a flash of sharp metal at the same time that a gout of blood gushed out, splashing his attacker. Slewfoot stood there, drenched in Marty’s steaming blood.
Marty ran for the door, sliding in the red pool, making his way toward the nurses’ station. Too much blood! Every beat of his heart was sending sprays of it out onto the pale blue tile.
This was ridiculous. He giggled but it came out as a gurgle. He was choking on his own blood. Lightheaded and delirious, his pierced throat wouldn’t allow him to call for help and there was no one in view. He felt weaker by the second and fell to his knees. Arms buckling, he could no longer pull himself along. He collapsed. As he was breathing his last painful breaths, his vision dimmed. The last sound he heard was drag-slap.
This little story was written for a short (very short) story contest being held by The Travel Channel on behalf of their hit show, Ghost Adventures. Slewfoot, apparently,was a real resident at Trans-Allegheny and his spirit is reported to still be in residence.
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