Rick's Quick Stop
“Well Doc, I just haven’t been feeling right lately, you know what I mean?” Rick said to the faded portrait. The man in the picture stared stoically ahead, lips pursed and lab coat neatly pressed. Rick slapped the wall.
“Wake up!” he yelled. He followed the order with a great peal of laughter.
Rick was a bit of a heavier man, with fifty four years of neglect having draped around his frame. Dressed in brown pants, a white-turning-yellow polo, and checkered blazer, he was the sort of guy that would proudly tell you he preferred suspenders to a belt any day of the week (often followed by a snap of those same suspenders). Not that many folks would ask his opinion on such matters. As the saying goes, there’s no accounting for taste.
There is, however, such a thing as accounting, which is the route by which Rick found himself at the Ellington State Sanitorium. As Rick discovered, just because one has “skimmed a little off the top” for years and gotten away with it doesn’t mean one will continue to get away with it.
Once found out, he quickly discovered that the widowed and orphaned did not take kindly to being deprived of their full due. When it was found that his financial chicanery had led to the death of more than a few elderly due to easily avoidable malnutrition or heat stroke or any of the myriad of issues a proper income could have abated, well, the death threats started.
It was the shotgun blast through his front door that started him running though - he'd made too many enemies in a world where stalking a person just took a few clicks. He decided to go someplace where no internet search could reach. Someplace where he wouldn't be recognized and wouldn't be killed. He wanted someplace beyond the reach of the livid.
Which is exactly why Rick now stood in the lobby of an abandoned mental facility with the entire sum of his worldly possessions parked out front.
His laughter subsiding, he drew in a big breath and stood up as straight as his frame would allow. “Do you mind if I check in?” he said with a swagger. Taking the silence as assent (he certainly was the type), he started working his way through the hallways, trying to find a reasonable spot to spend the night.
Cracked plaster, rusting metal, and whitewash gone moldy seemed to be the decor of choice. Rick went crashing through doors long shut in an attempt to find a room that may have stood the passage of some twenty years with facilities intact. After about a half dozen attempts, he’d collected some moderately clean sheets and a bedroll that didn’t smell too foul and earned himself one well and truly bruised shoulder. Assembling his nest in a room where the toilet looked like it could be flushed with a bucket of water, he decided he had definitely taken a step down from his suburban pad with manicured lawn.
The work, such as it was, completed, Rick set about the business of finally getting a night’s sleep after thirty six hours on the run. The moment he shut his eyes though, the creaking and rattling and whistling started. He ignored it at first - he was no believer in ghosts. Anyone would have done the same. Anyone would chalk it up to wind or critters or whatever. And so did Rick, for a bit.
Eventually though, anyone would crack.
“Shut up!” he commanded, eyes now wide open. A brief inspection of the ceiling and the door showed no sign of malicious presence. He waited a moment in silence in an attempt to find the source of the noise, but all he accomplished was the waste of a minute. Eventually, Rick closed his eyes again.
The symphony started again almost immediately. Rick squeezed his eyes tighter, covered his ears, and tossed and turned, but the cacophony seemed omnipresent. His frustration boiled over once more.
“SHUT. UP.” he yelled, jolting up on his elbows. His breath now came in ragged pants. Once again he surveyed his chamber, willing himself to calm down despite the fact that the room seemed distinctly smaller than during his last inspection.
He stayed alert for a little longer this time, but fatigue caught up with him soon enough. The man’s frame slouched back down to a position of repose. His eyelids followed suit.
“Rick.” A whisper as loud as a jet engine burst into his mind. Rick’s every sense exploded in panic.
“Who’s there!?” he managed after a blubbery shriek. “Who’s there!” he now demanded. There was no answer, indeed, no sound in the room save for the drum solo that was his heart.
“Who’s there?” Rick tried his luck again, feebly. Again, no answer as Rick held still, listening. When he gathered his courage and started to move, however…
“We know.” A hundred voices pushed into the pudgy man’s brain.
“Oh FUCK no!” Rick roared as he jumped from his nest, grabbing what few things he could.
“We know.” The words followed him as he stumbled, shoeless, through dark hallways and doorways.
“We know.” The words pushed him out of the lobby and toward his car, where he only just managed to collect himself. Unlocking and opening the door, he paused a moment before getting in.
“Fuck you, you haunted nuthouse!” An impotent scream from a terrified man. It had the distinction of being misdirected as well - the asylum wasn’t haunted. It was all those he had wronged who would haunt Rick for the rest of his life.
A character that deserved a good scare. Well written enjoyable read. Best!
Thank you!
It's definitely not my best ever, but such is getting something written in a day!
Cool story! I dig the concept that it isn't the nuthouse that's haunted at all, but Rick himself by all the people he's screwed over.
Thanks! Figured I'd give it a little twist!
I love the dark sense of humor in this, him talking to the painting, checking himself in. A man low on morals finding himself equally low on luck, also very appropriate given the more recent outing of unscrupulous behavior coming back to haunt now old men. I kinda like the implication that his tightfistedness ended up getting the place shut down. You manage to convey his lack of belief in ghosts before you even state it, simply by his attitude in hiding out there. I imagine he is also evading the tax man at this point lol - very well written!
If you are on the look out for more contests, i have one of my own with a considerably longer deadline ;)
Thanks for the kind words! And yes, he kind of turned into some Bernie Madoff / Harvey Weinstein character as the story got polished.
Thanks for letting me know about your contest - I have a few (three!) thirty hour train rides ahead of me, so I suspect I'll find a minute to cobble some words together! :)