Written a short, gruesome story as I thought it is the season of Halloween. I advise you do not read if squeamish.
The Surgeon
By Patch Middleton
“Bite down on this, and try not to scream too loudly.”
He passed me the soggy piece of rope, about as thick as my wrist. I clamped my teeth around it and tensed.
“Are you ready?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded. It was all I could manage. His knife cut into the skin flesh of my stomach, slicing off the top layer. I spasmed, pain rushing through every synapse of my body. It felt like acid. A burning beyond burning.
“Now that is interesting,” he muttered, bringing out his knife, now soaked in blood, “Has that always been there?”
Has what always been where? I forced my head up and peered through the slits of my eyelids to try to catch a glimpse of what he had found. I could see nothing but blood. My head swam, threatening to drown me in unconsciousness. I had to stay awake. The worst thing that could happen was death, and that, at least, would be a sweet release from this pain. Nothing could be worse than death so there was nothing to fear. That’s what I told myself.
“Oh no, silly me,” he laughed, “It was just one of my rings! I wonder how that got in there.”
He plunged the knife in again, deeper, routing around inside my gut. I clenched my hands on the table rim until my knuckles burned white and tried to think of why I came here. I had no choice. No one ever came to The Surgeon if they had a choice. My sister needed me, and this was the only way I could help. Think of my sister. Lying on my bed, her breath ebbing from her limp body. I couldn’t save her then, but I could now.
The industrial city of Blessing was everything but a blessing. Built in the early Eighth Age as a citadel to the future and all that mankind could achieve, it now rotted away, all but forgotten, the skeletons of factories looming on a grey horizon. It had been a place of hope once. I could not remember the last time I felt hope.
We had been out walking after dark, a foolish idea, but we had gone to visit an old friend down by the Drydocks and stayed a little too long. As we wandered the smoke-clogged streets, I heard them. The Snatchers. The Wailers. The Snapfingers. We had tried to run, but they were fast. My sister tripped and fell, and one had jumped her, its hand plunging inside and ripping out a kidney. I had fought it off with my bare hands and dragged her to the nearest building.
By the time morning showed its face, I thought she was dead. But luck seemed to have one last surprise for me. She was alive, just. For how much longer, I did not know.
A sudden banging rocked the door of the Surgeon’s chamber. He flicked an annoyed glance in its direction, but then turned back to me.
“Did they follow you?”
I could not answer, only hope that it was not the case.
“Then we have to be quick.”
He rushed across the room and checked the bold on the door. The banging got louder.
“We have a few minutes. That’s time enough. Which one is it again? The left, or the right?”
I gestured with my head to the left and the Surgeon nodded. As he crossed the tiny, dank room to grab another tool, he knocked the gas lamp with his shoulder and sent it spinning around the room on its hanging chain. Shadows whipped around me. I felt nausea bubbling in my throat. If I was sick, I could choke to death.
The surgeon returned, tongs in hand. They were black and covered in soot. I tried not to think about what they would do to me, what they would feel like.
“I can see it Thomas. Last chance to change your mind.”
I shook my head.
“As you wish, dear friend, as you wish.”
The tongs crawled inside the open maw that was what was left of my stomach. I felt the rummage inside me, brushing against ribs and intestine. The banging grew deafening. Bile burned my mouth. My teeth shook. I bit the rope tighter. Sweat poured down my forehead. The door creaked. There was a sudden snag of intense pain, and then nothing.
I awoke, head throbbing, stomach feeling as though it belonged to someone else. I could see a face in my vision, but the features were blurred and distant.
“…Thomas… Thomas…”
It was a voice I recognised, but could not pinpoint where from.
“Leave him, it’s a lot to take in. He’ll come to.”
The fog cleared and I could see the room once again. I was still in the Surgeon’s chamber, but this time daylight streamed through the thick glass window. The Surgeon beamed at me.
“He’s awake,” he said, “How do you feel, Thomas?”
“Where is my sister?”
“I’m right here.”
My sister placed her arm on my shoulder, her eyes wide with worry.
“The procedure at her end was a complete success. It took her a few weeks to get back to full health but she got there in the end,” the Surgeon said.
“A few weeks?” I cried out.
“Yes. I’m afraid you’ve been away from us for quite some times.”
I tried to look down at myself but could not move my head.
“Wait, what did you mean by procedure at her end being a success?”
“I meant exactly that.”
“I meant exactly that.”
I glanced at my sister, who looked away, tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong? What happened? What happened to me?”
I tried to stand but could not. I couldn’t even feel my legs.
“There were a few… complications,” the Surgeon said, “I did as best I could with what I had, and tried to put you back together.”
“Put me back together?”
“You see, all was going well, but then it broke in.”
“It?”
“A Snatcher,” my sister said, grimly, “It probably followed you here.”
“Well, I managed to kill it, but not before it did some damage to you…”
I could not understand what I was hearing. My ears rang with disbelief.
“What happened. Tell me. TELL ME.”
The Surgeon held up a mirror. I could no’t even scream. My head and torso remained as I remembered, if a little paler. But the rest…
“You… you turned me into one of them…”
“I used what I had,” the Surgeon said, “You cannot fault me for that.”
My black, twisted arms were tied to the wall either side of me. My legs were bolted together with metal.
“Let me go,” I said, as calm as I could.
“We can’t do that, Thomas. We don’t know what you’ll do,” the Surgeon said.
I looked to my sister, pleading with my eyes. She shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Thomas. I’ll look after you, I promise. I’ll come every day.”
“I did this for you,” I spat, blood flecking my lips, “I became this for you, and this is how you repay me?”
“Let’s leave him. He needs some rest. It’ll be a long recovery process,” the Surgeon said.
He took my sister by the arm and led her from the room, slamming the door shut after them. I screamed and screamed until my lungs burned. There was nothing I could do.
Death would have been better than this.
