《Purge》


 Chapter 1

    It wasn¡¯t supposed to rain.


    Summer had arrived, or, at least, would be arriving rather soon, taking natural delays into account, and every report available had called for clear skies and gentle warmth befitting the transitional period between the seasons. And true, not a single cloud had visited the sky that entire day, yet the nightfall brought with it rainfall, and the rainfall brought with it a smell.


    At first the smell was mild, rather standard of a litter-ridden, trash-filled street, but gradually the smell grew into an odor, and then into a stench, one so pervasive and foul that the entire block reeked of rot and prompted its sickened denizens to issue a slew of complaints to the authorities.


    The supposed source was a daycare that had stood boarded for months, so one car arrived, expecting perhaps a gas leak from neglected pipes, but upon opening the door found neglect of a far more repugnant kind.


    So one car turned to ten, and one gasp turned to twenty as one by one the bodies were brought onto the street. There was a mix of ages and races, both children and adults, anywhere from six to sixty, in various states of undress. Many of the children matched the milk carton portraits of the suddenly vanished, albeit in a far more mangled state than previously seen. There were lesions on their wrists and ankles, some shallow, some deep, some mild, some infected, as well as various other physical traumas in various other parts. Certainly the mental traumas were just as severe, undoubtedly worse in most cases, but no direct accounts could be taken from unmoving mouths.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Though they couldn¡¯t move, the mouths were a point of interest, not just on the children but the adults as well, for all of them showed similar kinds of internal corrosion, as if they¡¯d swished acid like mouthwash and forgotten to spit. Notice was also taken of lacerations about the neck and eyes of most of the adults and a few of the children. Some were even more mangled than that, so much that their facial features were barely recognizable as human; seemingly they¡¯d been dead for much longer than the others.


    As the bodies were loaded onto the trucks to be taken for autopsy, a team of investigators prowled the innards of the daycare, searching for answers, and to their horrified relief they¡¯d found one. There was a rotten door that fell off the hinges immediately after being touched, and this revealed a little side room with dirty mattresses and torn sheets lining the floor. Upon these mattresses were even more bodies and their spilled fluids, but seated on one there was a boy, no more than thirteen, his legs curled to his chest, his chin resting on his knees, humming a soft tune as he gazed listlessly at nothing in particular.


    With trepidation the investigators approached, and with delayed reaction the boy raised his head to turn that listless stare their way. They explained themselves, that he could trust them, that they were here to take him away from this awful, awful place. He gave no response, nothing beyond slow, heavy blinks, as if fighting off sleep.


    But he was alive, and he was the closest they¡¯d get to an immediate answer, and so, repeating their assurances as if they were memorized hymns, they guided him to his feet and led him out of the room. Despite the severe delay in his reactions, the boy did not struggle, and he trudged with the investigators through the foul sludge coating the floor, still humming the tune.

 Chapter 2

    Outside the daycare there hummed a far different tune, one of sirens and radios and microphone static that reverberated all through the night and well into the morning. For days and days after the initial rainfall, reporters and investigators swarmed the site like ants to syrup, all desperately trying to get their fill of the sweet, bloody tragedy before them, yet those closest to the tragedy knew the two sweetest and bloodiest parts lay in the hospital a few blocks away from the daycare: one in the basement, where the corpses were being examined, and one on the sixth floor, where the listless boy in a private room lay.


    All tests conducted on the boy came back normal, with not a trace of toxin or poison to be found, yet despite these readings it was abundantly clear that he¡¯d been afflicted with some sort of mental poison, one that rendered him listless and hollow and almost completely unresponsive--save for the occasional bout of humming, which always carried the same tune.


    He couldn¡¯t have been older than thirteen, and so, combined with the nature of his arrival there, the boy was treated very gently and gingerly by the hospital staff, though to no avail in evoking a response. In fact, for the first few days he was as stiff and silent as a mannequin, barely moving more than a few centimeters a day unassisted, and he seemed never to close his eyes no matter the hour of the day. Had it not been for the completely normal results of numerous tests and scans, as well as his occasional humming, one could easily diagnose him with brain death.


    Among the staff dedicated to his recovery, there was a psychiatrist who¡¯d been assigned to study the boy¡¯s mental state. For the first three days, not a single response was given, yet on the fourth, some progress was made, and for the first time since his discovery, he showed signs of humanity.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    On the fourth day, the psychiatrist brought with her a bag, and when she¡¯d set it on the floor, the contents spilled out, and an apple, an unassumingly average one at that, lit a small spark in the boy¡¯s hollow eyes. The psychiatrist took notice of this, and when she offered it to him, he took it with both hands, carefully, as if it were made of glass, and took a large, shaky, ungraceful bite.


    She asked the boy if he liked apples, and as he took another bite, he gave a single slow nod, and in a small, vacant voice said, ¡°Because they are forbidden.¡±


    So then, spurred with confidence, she prodded further, asking him more questions about the daycare, about his origins and experiences, yet to no avail. Once he¡¯d finished the apple, he ceased to speak.


    For the rest of the week, the psychiatrist visited him with an apple in her bag, and sure enough, he took each one in the same shaky, careful way and took massive, messy bites. With each apple he ate, she received a response to a single question she¡¯d ask.


    She¡¯d learned his name first: Delgen, which he seemingly had to think about before sharing, not so much as if he¡¯d forgotten it, but rather had never known it to begin with, had never been asked for it.


    Then she asked what had happened in the daycare, and with greater confidence but not greater volume, he replied, ¡°Wrongs.¡± He wouldn¡¯t elaborate, even at the prospect of another apple.


    So on the next day, she asked him what had happened the night of the tragedy. This time, for the first time, Delgen met her gaze, and held it there, and in a simple voice said, ¡°He didn¡¯t come.¡±


    Again, he didn¡¯t elaborate, and this time she didn¡¯t prod, for the words he¡¯d spoken brought with them a chill that seemed to freeze her tongue, but not her legs, and so she left without a word.

 Chapter 3

    The psychiatrist and her apples did not return to Delgen the next day, nor did she return any calls from the hospital regarding her whereabouts. A trusted coworker volunteered to check in on her at her home, although at the time of said coworker¡¯s arrival, the place could hardly be called as such.


    It appeared as if a pack of rabid dogs had charged through the place, or perhaps even a miniature cyclone. The floorboards were gashed, the walls were littered with craters and dents, the windows were shattered, and nearly every piece of furniture had either been knocked over or thrown far from its original place.


    Even more thrown, however, was the psychiatrist herself.


    Her skull was cracked in several places, and massive clumps of hair had been ripped out of her scalp--some of which laid in bloody wads around her. Her throat was gashed so severely that patches of muscle were visible, and her vocal cords were completely torn. She¡¯d been found in an empty bathtub with her mouth hanging open, revealing several damaged teeth, and her eyes were nothing more than globs of mush and pulp that streaked down her cheeks like tears. Upon examination of her broken, bloody, worn-to-the-bone fingertips, it became apparent that all of the trauma had been self-inflicted.


    The same was true of the four other corpses reported over the next week, all of whom had been employed at the same hospital but none of whom were found so mangled as the psychiatrist: Two had slit their wrists, one had hanged himself, and the other had leapt from a twelve-story building, yet each of them had cuts and bruises and other wounds marking various parts of their bodies, all of which were self-inflicted.


    In life, the five corpses had barely interacted with one another, save for perhaps the customary hellos and occasional small talk. They were of a variety of ages, genders, races, sexual orientations, and religions--the only clear link between them was Delgen.


    Along with the psychiatrist, there were two nurses, one reporter, and one federal investigator, all of whom had interacted with Delgen in some fashion prior to their self-inflicted deaths. Unsurprisingly, he gave no response when questioned. Recalling the psychiatrist¡¯s findings, one investigator had offered him an apple and asked if he had any idea what had caused their deaths; Delgen took his large, messy bites and replied, ¡°Friends.¡± The next day, they offered him another apple, this time asking if he had anything to do with their deaths. His answer remained the same: ¡°Friends.¡±


    Investigative discussions shifted quickly from the cause of the daycare massacre to the strange boy in the hospital bed, which some began to believe were inherently intertwined. This sparked debate, of course, which gradually grew into full-fledged arguments, but during one of those arguments, an investigator¡¯s eyes drifted to the door and saw someone shambling past: the doctor under whose care Delgen had been placed.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He was a good man, a jovial sort that could brighten any funeral, but now he was pale, and his eyes were wide, and his arms wrapped so tightly around himself that his fingernails had begun to leave gashes in his arms--gashes he seemingly did not notice.


    Attention shifted once again from Delgen to the doctor, who even after being surrounded by investigators did not acknowledge them nor stop his shambling. Questions flew left and right, but the doctor simply shook his head and continued shambling on down the hall. When one investigator took his hand, he reacted with violence, screaming and thrashing like an animal.


    It took four men to restrain him, but eventually the screams faded to whimpers, and the thrashes turned to tremors as he sank down to the floor. He hadn¡¯t blinked once during the entire ordeal, as if his eyes were held open by hooks, and he still seemed not to notice the gashes he¡¯d torn in his arms.


    Again questions were asked, only this time more gently, and through his rapid breaths and trembling lips, he whispered, ¡°Cold¡­so¡­cold¡­¡±


    The incident had attracted the attention of everyone in the vicinity, but the investigator who had seen him first found himself distracted by a different matter and slipped down the hall into Delgen¡¯s room. He found the boy swaying his head back and forth in a slow, lethargic motion while humming a soft tune in time with the sways. His eyes were downcast into his lap, but upon taking notice of the investigator, they lifted, and he ceased his motions.


    He held the investigator¡¯s gaze for a bit, his expression a sort of blank surprise that almost made him look innocent. A chill soon drifted into the room that sent shivers crawling across the investigator¡¯s skin, and one of the fluorescent lights overhead flickered in an irregular pattern.


    A collection of shrieks sent the investigator running down the hall, where he found the same crowd as before but with wide eyes and covered mouths replacing the looks of general curiosity. He looked over their shoulders to see the doctor thrashing once again as other staff members attempted to restrain him to a hospital bed. He screamed and screamed like a wild beast as his body was overtaken by a violent seizure, which only seemed to grow more violent despite syringe after syringe of sedatives being administered into his arms.


    His left eye had been gouged from the socket, seemingly of his own doing, and he¡¯d also bitten off his own tongue, leaving his mouth full of blood as he cried, ¡°Dark! Dark!¡± over and over again. The attack persisted for only a few minutes before he arched his back high off the bed, sent a gurgled, strangled shriek out of his throat, and collapsed like a rag doll.