Rotting Dead F*cks: An Extreme Novel of Horror, Sex, Gore and the Undead by Shaw Matt

Author:Shaw, Matt [Shaw, Matt]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-06-06T16:00:00+00:00

Dr. Platts

We were all standing in the reception area still with the blinds shut. The room was a little lighter so we knew the sun had come up behind the closed blinds. Tempers were frayed - just as they had been for most of the night after Tina reported back to the rest of the group what she had heard Darron and I discussing. Of course I had tried to diffuse the situation by telling them it was nothing more than a discussion and that no decisions had been made. I hadn’t gone into whose idea it had been to leave the group because I didn’t think it would have been fair to Darron but that didn’t matter because Tina had heard everything and filled the group in on the details I had purposefully omitted. Needless to say the group had taken it quite badly with a lot of hostility aimed at Darron - some name calling, a little shoving from one of the male patients who was trapped in here with us. It was only by reminding people that - if we continued to shout at each other - there was a good chance we’d attract whatever was out there waiting for us. It seemed to do the trick and the group went quiet.

Regardless I didn’t sleep a wink. I don’t think anyone did. I could just sense everyone watching each other as though waiting for someone to make a move (no move in particular, just a move in general). We hadn’t even been in here for twenty-four hours and yet already the group was rotting with distrust and fear.

Darron walked over to the window and carefully peered out through the edge of the blind, being as careful as he could not to make it apparent anyone was in here. I didn’t say anything to let him know I was awake and watching him. The way he was moving, quietly, I could tell he thought most of us were still asleep.

“Trying to sneak off?” a voice called out from the back of the room. I didn’t roll over, from where I was lying, to see who had said it. I didn’t need to. His name was John Hankins - one of my more troubled patients (and the man who was supposed to be following Ted’s appointment yesterday). I had seen John for a little over a year now and, of course, tried him on various medications. He’d suffered abuse at the hands of his father when he was younger, and had spent a lifetime going into and out of different correctional facilities since he was fourteen years old. Most of the time it was petty crime he’d be caught for but I knew he was capable of much, much more and I knew - one day - he’d likely just snap. The way he was talking (and looking) at Darron yesterday, I thought that day had come. With that in mind, though, he’d never so much as raised his voice at me directly.

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