Doc Mortis Page 10

  I.C. shivered. His hand slipped into mine and gripped it tightly. His skin felt cold to the touch.

  ‘Within the Gallery you will see many things, many wonderful, incredible things,’ Doc told us. He was becoming breathless with excitement now, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. ‘Things which would never have been, which could never have been, without my... talents.’

  He smiled wistfully, and gazed down at the floor, as if recalling some fond memory. I looked across to the door on the left, but he spoke again before I could even think about making my move.

  ‘Who knows? Perhaps if you are lucky, one of you may end up in the Gallery too.’ He leaned over and ruffled I.C.’s hair. ‘You’d like that, I think, wouldn’t you? You’d like that very much.’

  For once, I.C. didn’t say anything. He just stood there in silence and tightened his grip on my hand until I could feel the blood pumping through his fingers.

  ‘Now, if you’ll follow me, you will see some of the highlights of my life’s work. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.’

  He clapped his hands twice. The sound was startlingly loud in the otherwise silent hospital. Somewhere close by – back along one of the corridors we’d just come through, I thought – I heard the rattle of metal and a frenzied chorus of hungry, hungry, hungry. With everything going on inside, I’d forgotten about the things outside. Still, they didn’t seem important now. A distant danger, at worst.

  With a mechanical whirr, the orange doors juddered open. The room beyond was dark as pitch, but as Doc took a pace forward, dozens of soft lights began to glow, as if someone was slowly turning up a dimmer switch.

  The lights weren’t mounted on the ceiling. They stood in rows running the length of the entire ward – two rows, each with twenty or more lights, spaced two or three metres apart. Dark shapes moved at the centre of each light, shapes I couldn’t even begin to identify.

  As the lights grew in intensity, I recognised where they were coming from – inside glass and metal tubes, like the ones I’d stumbled on earlier. These ones were illuminated, no doubt to give a clearer view of the horrors that were trapped inside. They were not, as far as I could tell, filled with the same orange fluid as the others.

  The porters nudged us into the room. A speaker mounted on the wall just inside the doorway spat angry static for a few moments, before a soft, mellow tune began to play. It was a jarringly gentle little ditty, played on the xylophone or something, and completely at odds with the increasingly frenzied movements of the shapes in the tubes.

  ‘Now then, my darling children,’ said Doc, running his stubby fingers through his wiry white hair, ‘let us take a look at what’s in the Gallery.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE GALLERY

  I.C. had let go of my hand and was now clutching my arm instead. He was sobbing silently, silvery tears meandering slowly down his pale cheeks.

  ‘Don’t look,’ I told him. He hesitated, but then obeyed, turning his gaze away from the wretched creature thrashing around in the glass tube in front of us.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Doc, stepping up behind us. He snagged a handful of I.C.’s hair and yanked the boy’s head back up, forcing him to look. ‘I insist.’

  It was a child, that thing in the tube. At least, I assumed so. It had the proportions of a child – one somewhere between I.C.’s age and mine – if not the appearance.

  It took me almost a full minute to figure out what Doc had done to him, or her – it was impossible to say which. Doc stood by, waiting for me to comment on his handiwork. His “masterpiece”, as he’d called it. But then, that’s what he’d called all six of the monstrosities he’d shown us so far.

  I looked down at the exposed ribs, the bones yellow and sickly-looking. They curved outwards from the chest bone, like the frame of a half-finished boat. A red, fleshy blob pulsed in the centre of the ribcage, attached to the rest of the body by countless veins and arteries. On each side of the heart, two purple lungs slowly inflated and deflated. In, out, in, out.

  ‘You’ve...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They’re...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Inside out,’ I grimaced. ‘You... you turned them inside out.’

  And he had. Most of the kid’s skeleton could be seen, overlaying the exposed sinew and muscle of its body. The other organs were on display too. The kidneys. The liver. The little funny-shaped one at the side that doesn’t do anything. All of them.

  Its brain sat atop its skull like a sloppy pink hat. It would almost have been funny, if it wasn’t so horrific and terrifying.

  Doc clapped his hands together happily. ‘Inside out! Well done! You are being rather good at this, yes?’ The more excitable he became, the stronger his accent got. It was still impossible to place, but I’d figured out why. It wasn’t a real accent at all, it was a child’s attempt at an accent. Doc, like everyone else here, had been created by the imagination of a kid in the real world. I wondered how long he’d been here for, to become as warped and twisted as he had.

  ‘Come, come. We have much to see,’ he said, skipping on to the next tube and beckoning for us to follow. The porters hovered round us, shepherding us after their master.

  ‘So, let me get this straight,’ I began. Doc had stopped before another of the glass tubes. I didn’t look into it, but faced him instead. ‘You’re the one making this place the way it is? All the things roaming around out there, you’re the one turning them into... whatever they are?’

  ‘Oh my goodness, no,’ Doc said, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. ‘The Darkest Corners itself does much of the work. It remakes them. Changes them. I merely lend a helping hand now and then.

  ‘I have worked on just a few thousand patients.’ He pointed towards the closest wall. ‘Out there, there are millions of them. Billions. All being altered a little bit every day. Here in my hospital I simply, how you say, hurry things along a little.’

  ‘And you keep them all here?’ I asked. I was stalling for time now, trying to delay the moment he’d force me to turn round and “admire” another tormented soul. ‘You keep them here to look at.’

  ‘Not all, no. Not all. Some I set free.’ He rubbed his hands together and giggled below his breath. ‘It... amuses me to think of them out there. In the wild. All alone. Poor frightened rabbits.’

  His glasses had slipped along his nose again. He peered over them at I.C., who was half hidden behind my back.

  ‘Like you, little one, frightened little bunny.’ He reached out to stroke I.C.’s face. I caught his hand by the wrist and held it. The porters bristled.

  ‘Don’t touch him,’ I warned. ‘He’s just a kid.’

  A creepy, sickening smile spread across Doc’s face, exposing almost every one of his yellow teeth. ‘But those are my favourite patients of all,’ he oozed. He took his arm back with a single sharp tug. ‘And I shall do more than touch him. I have great plans for this boy. Perhaps something like this?’

  He motioned towards the tube. Reluctantly, I turned and looked. Something – no, I corrected myself. Someone sat on the floor of the tube, knees up to their chest, arms wrapped round their shins, hugging them tight.

  The person in the tube was mostly normal. Mostly. Normal legs, normal arms, normal body. But the head...

  The head.

  ‘You’re sick,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ leered Doc. He ran his hand down the glass front of the tube, caressing it. ‘I know.’

  He turned his gaze back to I.C., who was staring at the person behind the glass, as if in a trance. ‘Perhaps I will do the same to you, yes? Perhaps I will do to you what I did to her.’

  I.C. shook his head furiously. Inside the tube, the girl raised her eyes to meet mine. Except they weren’t her eyes. It wasn’t even her head. It was a dog’s head.

  The maniac had given her a dog’s head.

  ‘No. No, quite right,’ Doc agreed, smiling down at I.C. He stroked his c
hin thoughtfully. ‘Not original. Something special for you two, I think.’ He looked me right in the eye. ‘Something special for something special, yes?’

  He leaned closer to I.C., placed the back of his hand by his mouth, and whispered as if imparting some great secret. ‘He’s real, you know? A real boy, here in the Darkest Corners.’

  I.C.’s smooth brow furrowed. ‘I’m a real boy.’

  Doc dropped his hand, adjusted his glasses, then broke into a laugh so sharp and sudden it made both I.C. and me jump. ‘Real,’ he guffawed. ‘That’s a good one.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I hissed.

  ‘A very funny joke, I think—’

  ‘Shut up!’

  Doc caught my expression and his eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘You mean...? Oh, how wonderful! He does not know, does he?’

  ‘Know what? What don’t I know? Why does everyone keep saying that?’

  ‘My, oh my, this is going to be more fun than I dared dream,’ Doc continued. He rubbed his hands together so vigorously I thought his skin might rub away. ‘Come, I must show you the rest of the Gallery, and then –’ madness flashed behind his eyes ‘– we shall prep for surgery.’

  The Gallery did not get any less disturbing. Quite the opposite.

  We’d seen a boy with insects crawling beneath his skin. We’d seen twins stitched together, back to back. I’d lost count of all the others, their bodies deformed, or charred, or – in one case – turned into something resembling brown Plasticine. Their unique, individual horrors blended in my mind until I couldn’t even remember the details. Maybe that was no bad thing.

  After the Plasticine man the music stopped and we were ushered back towards the door. The tour, it seemed, was over.

  We were back in the operating theatre where we’d been captured. Mr Mumbles was gone, but drag marks through the garbage showed he’d been taken out through the door next to the light switches. It had been closed again afterwards. Despite myself, I wondered what was happening to him.

  Doc stood by a sink, running his hands under a flow of murky brown water that spat from the end of a corroded tap. He hummed to himself as he scrubbed up. “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic” again. The three porters stood round I.C. and me, still caging us in with their freakish bodies.

  ‘Hygiene,’ he announced, not looking round. ‘So important. Wouldn’t want any of my patients catching infection.’

  He turned round and wiped his hands across the filthy, blood-soaked apron he had pulled over his front. ‘Not by accident, anyway. Although, my porter tells me he has already smelled infection within you. A most interesting and unusual infection,’ he continued, looking at me. ‘But we will leave you with this, I think.’

  I saw an opportunity. ‘What’s the matter? Can’t you cure it? I thought you were a doctor.’

  ‘Ha!’ he cried, without mirth. ‘To cure you would be simplicity itself. I have medicines which could cure you in an instant. One quick stab with the needle, and poof. Infection gone. No more.’ He sniffed, shoving his glasses higher on his nose with a little more force than usual. ‘But I choose not to. I think this infection works to my benefit, yes?’

  He knew. He knew what was keeping me here. But he’d also told me what I needed to know. Some of it, at least. The cure Joseph had told me about had to be injected. Now all I had to do was figure out what it was I needed to inject. But first, I had to get to Ward 13.

  ‘All clean,’ Doc sang, holding up his hands. ‘Now, who’s first?’ He pointed a finger in my direction, then tick-tocked slowly between me and I.C., muttering below his breath.

  ‘If you... go down... to the woods... today...’ His finger moved between us on each pause. ‘You’d better... not go... alone...’

  ‘What’s he going to do to us?’ I.C. whimpered. He was attached to me like a limpet, arms wrapped round one of mine, fingers clutching at my jumper.

  ‘Nothing,’ I lied, then, ‘I don’t know. Just be ready, OK?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Anything. Just be ready.’

  ‘...bear... that ever... there was...’

  ‘What, anything? Like... monkeys?’

  ‘No, not monkeys,’ I sighed. Then I remembered that nothing could be ruled out in this place, and added, ‘Probably not monkeys.’

  I looked to the door Doc had led us through earlier. I’d been careful to memorise the route from the Gallery back to here. Retracing our steps would be easy. Not that I wanted to revisit the Gallery, of course, but the door that led through to the section housing Ward 13 was right beside it. It was thirty metres from here to that door, maybe less. Thirty metres with porters hunting us down. The one in the air duct had been quick, but how fast could they move standing up? I realised with a shudder that I had absolutely no idea.

  As if reading my mind, the porter directly behind us took a step to its right, adding another barrier between us and the door. Its black button eyes gazed vaguely in my direction, its pig-like snout twitching as it sniffed the air. I feared for a second that it had somehow smelled my thoughts, but quickly dismissed the idea as ridiculous. If anything, it may have smelled some adrenaline surge, or other chemical change in my body, as I’d considered making a run for it. Either way, it was now on its guard.

  ‘...the day... the teddy bears... have their... pic... nic.’

  The finger stopped on I.C. and Doc gave a curt, but satisfied, nod. ‘You first,’ he said, matter-of-fact, and I.C. screamed as all three of the porters pounced.

  Chapter Fifteen

  FROZEN WITH FEAR

  They were on us before we could react, two holding me while the other caught I.C. by the hair. Dirty, scarred arms hauled us apart, I.C. kicking and screaming as he was dragged towards the closest operating table.

  ‘No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ he wailed, as if apologising would somehow make Doc change his mind.

  ‘Let him go!’ I demanded, struggling against the arms that held me. Seeing the terror on I.C.’s face made me forget my own safety, too worried about his. ‘Do me first. Do me.’

  ‘Oh, how precious,’ Doc smirked. He raised a hand and the porter that was dragging I.C. stopped. For a moment, the doctor seemed to consider switching patients. Then, with another wave of Doc’s hand, the porter resumed its jerky progress towards the table.

  ‘No, no!’

  Struggling furiously, I fought to pull my hands free, but the porters holding me were too strong, and I quickly found both arms folded tightly against my back.

  They angled me so I was facing the operating area. Doc wasn’t just going to mutilate the boy, he was going to make me watch as he did it.

  ‘You freak!’ I spat. ‘You sick freak!’

  I.C.’s face was a mess of tears and snot. There was no sound coming from him now, his fear coming out as big, silent sobs that made his whole body tremble. The porter scooped him up with one hand, slammed him down on to the table, and reached for the straps.

  But I.C. wasn’t going to be tied up easily. His narrow frame squirmed around on the tabletop, limbs flapping madly as if he was having a fit. Every time the porter made a grab for an arm it’d miss. The creature’s scarred face was puckering up in frustration as I.C. continued to move and dodge.

  ‘I want Toby, I want Toby!’ he howled. The words came out as clouds of condensation. He was still wriggling for all he was worth, but the porter soon found a solution.

  KER-ACK!

  The back of the monster’s hand rattled across I.C.’s jaw. He stopped moving at once. I surged forward, but agony exploded up my arms and across my shoulders. Only the porters’ grip stopped me dropping to the floor.

  I let out a cry of pain, and saw the sound become mist as it left my mouth. I felt the skin on my arms goosebump, and realised I was starting to shiver in a sudden chill.

  Doc was standing by a trolley, his medical bag open on top of it. The scalpel and drill were already laid out. With a clunk, the metal hook joined the other tools.

  ‘I think I will m
ake you tell me what you are most afraid of,’ he said, glancing across at I.C. and the porter. ‘And then I will do it to you. Slowly.’

  The porter at the operating table had one elongated hand on I.C.’s left arm, pinning it down. Still stunned by the slap, the boy wasn’t able to pull his arm away. With its free hand, Doc’s assistant reached for the first leather strap and began to draw it across I.C.’s wrist.

  ‘Stop! Cut it out! Leave him alone!’ I cried, but neither Doc nor his porters even acknowledged that I had spoken.

  ‘No, no, no!’ I.C. was howling. His right hand was reaching up, pushing against the porter’s chin, trying desperately to shove it away. ‘Don’t, don’t, don’t, DON’T !’

  The last word came out as a shrill scream, as the full reality of the situation gripped I.C. and he plunged headlong into terror.

  The porter holding him gave a twitch, his body tensing as it went rigid. I watched, transfixed, as a thick crust of white began to spread like a rash across the creature’s scarred chin and up over its mouth.

  I.C.’s hand didn’t pull back. He pressed it harder against the porter’s face, and the layer of white began to move at a faster pace. It raced across the piggy nose, flowing deep into the wide nostrils. It passed over the button eyes, snapping their worn thread and making them drop, one by one, to the floor. In moments the whiteness covered the porter’s whole head and was spreading down the rest of its body. As it grew thicker, forming into crystals, I realised what it was.

  Frost. The porter was freezing at I.C.’s touch.

  I.C. If my hands had been free I’d have slapped myself on the forehead. I thought back to all the times I’d felt so cold around him, and to the photograph of him with me and Mr Mumbles, a slender icicle hanging from Mumbles’s nose.

  I.C.

  Icy.

  ‘What... what are you doing?’ Doc demanded, his brow furrowed in confusion.

  The frozen porter took a step backwards, finally managing to pull itself away from I.C.’s touch. As its weight fell on its back foot there was a tinkling like the breaking of glass, and the creature’s entire left leg shattered. What was left of the frozen figure toppled sideways, like a felled tree. As it hit the floor it exploded in a shower of frosty shards.