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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Aggravating_Road2692 on 2024-10-06 22:06:13+00:00.
I landed a new job a few weeks ago as the director of a psychiatric facility. My patients are mostly okay, but my co-workers are freaking me out. I interviewed with this gentleman from the state (the director of the state’s Department of Health and Welfare), while he was kind, he was also very blunt. He informed me that no one was willing to take the job, so by default, he was giving it to me, the only willing applicant who met the minimum educational requirements. For anyone else, this candor would’ve been a gut punch, but for me, it was a God send. No one seemed to want to hire me, and suddenly I had an offer. I happily accepted; a decision I’ve come to regret.
Today was my first day. I walked through the security screening and the guards made me hand over my cell phone. When I moved to question the reasoning, the guards simply pointed at a sign that read:
'This is a closed facility, there are no cell phones nor other outside communication devices allowed within the building.’
As I walked into the hospital I was greeted by the janitor. A middle-aged man who seemed to be in the early stages of Parkinson’s, tremors visibly afflicted his hands. I wish I could say the man welcomed me warmly but he looked at me like I was nothing more than an annoyance.
“I’ll show you to your office.” He grunted out frustratingly. I followed him down this long corridor, all the while the many keys clipped to his belt loop chimed through the halls, garnering the attention of everyone we passed. The patients minded their own business, for the most part, but the staff all gave me the meanest of scowls. If I didn’t know better, it seemed like they hated me already. The stroll to my new office gave me a chance to get a feel for the place, and sad to say, I was not impressed. The facility was in shambles, it was run down, and unsanitary. Rats feasted in any and all open trash cans, the patients looked as if they haven’t been bathed in days, and some even took the liberty to shit freely in the halls. As you can imagine the smell was horrific. But the most horrific aspect of the building was that I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was watching me.
One man, in particular, caught my eye, an older gentleman, who wore a tattered hospital gown. The only patient who seemed to share the same arbitrary hatred towards me.
We reached a door that still bore the name of my predecessor, Dr. Richardson. Fidgeting with his keys, the janitor plucked one and inserted it into the doorknob, swinging the door wide open and promptly turning around to leave. I tried showing my gratitude, but he simply returned a,
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The sound from his keys grew fainter as he traveled farther down the hall.
The perimeter of my office was surrounded by file cabinets, and an old outdated computer and a landline phone sat on the mostly empty desk.
In the center of the flat top, sat a lone piece of paper.
The paper’s header read:
‘[MUST READ] Important information regarding several of the patients at the facility.’
Dr. Richardson left me some guidance.
This was a kind gesture, and I was grateful for the last psychologist’s foresight. No one likes to be dropped into the deep end.
The note started off by detailing basic facility rules. Then it conveyed several tidbits about notable patients, though the note did not say anything about the relevant files being heavily redacted as I’d soon come to find.
‘Patient 106 suffers from extreme schizophrenia. Do not assume she can be transferred to a less vigilant wing of the facility solely because she appears to be improving, she is crafty and will take advantage of any breathing room you give her; She will harm herself and others if given a chance.’
I couldn’t help but pull this patient’s file as I read this passage. Inside should’ve been a complete medical history of the patient in question, but besides a brief physical description (Age: 42, Gender: Female, height: 5’1, black hair), the rest of the documentation was made unreadable by streaking black ink. However, what wasn’t redacted confirmed the information given by my predecessor’s note.
‘Patient 143 is in a near-constant state of catatosis, with emphasis on the near! He will briefly snap out of his trance if you give him your back. Do not let him sneak up behind you!’
In his file:
'(Age: 28, Gender: Male, Height: 5’10, bold)
The patient suffers from a near state of catatosis with brief bouts of extreme violent episodes.’ The rest of the file was redacted in the same black ink as the last.
The patient list was long but as I neared the end, Another large bold heading caught my attention.
‘[Do not skip!] Information on patient 151!’
The section was written completely in bold letters, ensuring that the instructions popped against the white paper.
'This patient is the most dangerous in our facility, you will find out more about him in his file, but to ensure the safety of yourself and everyone else, you must follow these rules.
- Avoid looking at patient 151, he doesn’t like it.
- Do not acknowledge his presence when he creeps around you.
- Do not say his identification number out loud.
- Do not mention Dr. Richardson’s name (My name) around him.
Follow these rules to the letter and 151 will not make your life difficult. As you can see from the heavy security, this facility operates cautiously. The information within this note is for you and you alone. Do not share it with anyone. I wish you the best of luck with your new position. Best Regards, Dr. Richardson.’
I leaned back against my chair, digesting the information the doctor had given me before the need to pull 151’s file overtook me. The manilla folder was buried at the far end of a file cabinet. When I opened it, surprise, surprise, heavily redacted.
'Name: [Black ink redaction]
(Age: 71, Height: 5’3, Hair: Grey)
151 has a history of strong delirium. Along with countless other conditions that amplify his delusions.
'This patient has an extremely violent history and has admitted to a long list of crimes. The patient is self-admitted, but there is doubt that he will ever leave the care of the state. Authorities have been made aware of his confessions (as state law demands). His condition continues to worsen, but for now, we can only await a court order for his transfer to a better-equipped mental hospital.
Note: no matter what we try the patient manages to escape confinement. Follow the rules regarding this patient, and no incidences should occur.’
In the back of the file was the only image included with any of the documentation. A simple black-and-white picture of an old man. His face was wrinkled, his skin drooping off of his bones, and his eyes had an aura of sadness to them. It felt almost hypnotic to gaze into his grey eyes like they were trying to tell me something, drawing me closer the longer I stared.
Suddenly, I heard the pitter-patter of bare feet on laminate flooring. In the doorway crested a man’s grey main. It was the patient who had been watching me from the second I first walked into the facility. It was as if the man knew I was thinking about him. I looked down at the picture in my hand and back up at the man, finding that the two were the same person, though not exactly identical.
The eyes of the man before me did not radiate sadness like the ones in picture, they gave off curiosity. Not to mention that it seemed like his orbs had grown since the last time the photo was taken, doubling in size. They now struggled to fit in his eye sockets, they bulged and slanted slightly.
His mouth had also changed. Its edges had migrated outwards and now finished in the middle of his cheeks. The man’s lips began to part, and he showed me his wide toothless smile. In all my life I had never seen a face as distinct as his.
I must’ve stared a second too long because his brows furled, and he produced an ear-piercing screech from the depths of his chest. It was so high-pitched that my ears yawned. I instantly remembered the instructions in the note.
- Avoid looking at patient 151, he doesn’t like it.
- Do not acknowledge his presence when he creeps around you.
I instantly averted my eyes, looking at the blank wall, but it was too late. The man wasn’t pleased. He started taking a few awkward dragging steps towards my desk until his thighs brushed up against the hard mahogany of my flattop. With one swift motion, he propelled himself off of the ground, feet landing on the desk in front of me. He perched himself in a very animal-like position, sitting on his calves and arms between his legs. He inched his face toward mine. I felt my heart race and a lump began to form in my throat. I was glued to my chair in fear.
His mouth opened, tongue slithered out, oozing in secretions, but just as it was about to slide across the side of my face, the sound of steps again the floor billowed into my office. 151 instantly darted out of the room.
When he’d rounded the door frame, another figure appeared on the other side. The situation with 151 had made me very uneasy, and I couldn’t help but jolt as the woman came into view. She was a nurse, her embroidered scrubs reading, Jenny. As the woman suddenly entered the room, she apologized.
“Oh-- I’m sorry Dr. Clarence. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She said. Just then I remembered my predecessor’s guidance, this note is for your eyes and your eyes only. I hi…
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