White Eyes Part 1/2

WARNING: The following contains themes and scenarios that certain viewers may find upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.

~RUTLEDGE ASYLUM AND FOSTER HOME FOR THE GIFTED~

Warden Jones should have remembered to lock that door. But he was old, and fed up, and the crazies in Section Zero were getting on what remained of his nerves. He'd spent half an hour trying to persuade the juting collection of limbs and heads called Ricardo to eat it's damn food, and that had been the last straw. Now all he wanted to do was get out, go home and get his own dinner - what amounted to it, anyway. He knew that, sooner or later, his vegetables would cease growing altogether, and then he'd have to move out before the ice reached him.

It also didn't help that he was drunk. He'd been indulging himself from his looted stash prior to his rounds - his method of coping with the screaming, jabbering and God knows what other noises he'd have to deal with. The only reason he hadn't been fired for this was because he was really good at his job, and in any case management knew they wouldn't be able to replace him. And, in any case, alcohol didn't impair him enough to stop him doing his job, although the stink of it made the freaks howl even worse.

At the time of writing, he'd just had to cart Patient Zero back to its cell. The Water Tests had been producing nothing new, except that the kid was surviving longer and longer, and what that was supposed to tell anyone, Jones had no clue. He didn't see how it was supposed to help them survive in this damned hellhole, where wolves and spiders and much worse prowled around and got those who didn't pay attention. But then again, Patient Zero was just another crazy to his mind - a quiet one, and much easier to manage, but not worth shedding tears about.

It was a little odd that they gave it this particular cell, though. A lot bigger than the others, and with more facilities - running water, an actual bed, a few board or puzzle games. Jones often wondered why this was necessary, but on this occasion he was drunk and fed up, and so didn't give it much thought at all, more concerned with bundling the shivering, whmpering thing into its bed than pondering the mysteries of life.

He slammed the heavy iron double-doors shut with a grunt of irritation, causing some of the rowdier monsters to start jabbering.And then, in a freakish, thousand-to-one chance, forgot to draw the sturdy, iron bolts that locked the door. Experience taught him that there should have been a beep to confirm if they were closed or not, but irritation and alcohol shoved that aside, and he simply assumed that it had already happened instead of double-checking. Who was he to doubt himself, after all, if not the best Warden in the entire asylum?

Taking his trolley and doing his best to shut out the noises of the other inmates, Jones turned and made for the exit door as fast as he could.

Short Horror: Just Add Water (NSFW)

WARNING: The following post contains horror themes and material that certain readers may find upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.  

I was seven when Sea Dragons first became a "thing".

It was Christmas, and I'd done the usual seven-year-old thing of running downstairs too early in anticipation of what was under the tree. My parents, of course, made me sit down and eat breakfast first - thankfully, it was early enough that the single piece of toast wouldn't ruin the massive dinner they always had planned. But the wait was like torture to my young mind, the orange juice and peanut butter a physical barrier between me and the brightly-coloured gifts. And once I'd eaten, I dived upon them like a peregrine falcon swooping on an unsuspecting pigeon.

The Sea Dragons were the first thing I opened. My fitness fanatic Aunt had discovered them whilst browsing the internet for healthier alternatives to soya milk, stumbling upon the website of their owner, the Ursa Foundation, by accident. The logo of a bear's roaring head was prominent in the corner of the packaging, but I was more fascinated by the pictures of strange, arrow-headed creatures on the steel-grey box. For someone who had always wanted a pet, but knew the family could never own something like a dog, this was the best present ever.

As hackeneyed as the phrase is, if I knew anything that I did now, I would have thrown the things away as soon as possible.

Setting up the little, plastic egg-shaped tank was more complicated than it sould have been. The type of water didn't really matter, but first one had to break these little tablets called "purification pellets" into the water, to create the right conditions. After twenty-four hours, the eggs were added to the water, where they were supposed to hatch an hour or so after touching the watter - mine took a little longer, about two hours. Then the creatures that hatched had to be first fed with a powdery substance twice a week, five days after hatching, followed by strange pink pellets after the first five weeks...

What I'm saying is that it was a lot to throw at a small boy of seven. But it was worth it - with the tank in my window so that the Dragons could get enough sunlight, I soon had a small horde of strange animals swimming about in the egg. They weren't like anything I'd ever seen before, almost like tadpoles crossed with lizards, and it was fascinating to just watch the things swim around in the tank, chasing each other and doing loop-the-loops. It was almost surreal, like staring into an alien world.

According to the instructions, one sent off for more food and other items by signing the enclosed order form, stamping the logo of the Ursa Corporation onto the letter to ensure it reached the right place. On top of this, there were three major rules that simply had to be followed. These were spelled out in block capitals in the back of the booklet, giving something of a sense of desperate urgency.

1. NEVER CHANGE THE WATER IN THE TANK.
2. NEVER FEED THE DRAGONS ANY OTHER FOOD.
3. NEVER TOUCH THE DRAGONS WITH YOUR BARE HANDS.

Simple enough rules, right? Even when I was seven, I could rattle them off by heart - that's the sort of person I was. But as I was also a stupid kid, I often wondered; why would it be so bad if I broke one of those three rules? Would it be so bad to slip them a bit of pizza or hot dog, just to see what it would do? What harm would giving them fresh water do? What would it be like to hold one in the palm of my hand, to see it wiggle and writhe like a worm from the back garden?

I would later learn just how bad it was.