Checking In

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

My head pulsed as if every heartbeat brought a hammer down on it. I shifted sideways, searching for relief in a new position, but the bed was hard, unyielding and uncomfortable no matter how I moved. 

Consciousness crept back in, and with it, pain—each part of my body stiff and strained. What happened last night?

A constant, unnerving beeping needled at me. I knew I wouldn't be falling back asleep. My eyelids felt glued shut, and when I finally forced them open, harsh light made my headache flare.

But the beeping was worse. Continuous. Loud.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

On and on, drilling straight into my skull. I could not stand it. 

I reached out to silence it, fumbling for a snooze button—then froze right after. The device I'd just turned off wasn't an alarm clock.

And this wasn't my bed. Or my house.

The thought sent me jolting upright. Nausea rolled through me as my surroundings swam, then slowly sharpened.

The walls were the color of bone. No windows. Light overall was thin, coming only from the surrounding machines, just enough to sketch out shapes and silhouettes.

Stainless steel surfaces gleamed without warmth, crowded with disarranged instruments. The air smelled sharp and chemical—disinfectant and plastic—so sterile it burned my lungs. A hospital, perhaps. But what was I doing at a hospital?

My eyes squeezed shut, trying to push through the haze, to retrieve the memories of how I got here. Nothing came. I didn't remember how I got here—didn't even remember my own name.

I grew frustrated.

Why me? Why do I have to end up in a situation like this?

Fate loved screwing the innocent. The story of my life. 

"Nurse," I called. The word scraped my throat raw. I coughed, pain flaring like I'd swallowed molten metal. It was a new feeling—far different than the cottonmouth I'd known some mornings.

No answer. No call button to press. No way to summon any help. 

And the more I looked around, picking my surroundings out of the shadows, the clearer it became—this wasn't a hospital room. It was a surgical one. For some reason, they had left me in a surgical suite.

Whatever their excuse for leaving me here, I'd file a formal complaint once I figured out what the hell was going on. Where was the doctor or the nurse? Where was anyone?

At least they'd remembered not to keep me strapped down. I dragged my feet off the stiff surgical bed and noticed electrodes stuck to my chest, wires trailing to the beeping machine I'd silenced earlier. I finally recognized what it was.

A heart monitor.

After ripping the wires free from my body, I stood. My legs shook like jelly, but they held, carrying me toward the door.

The door where a figure now stood. It was shorter than I was. I couldn't make out any of their features—the lighting was too poor. 

I was startled, then irritation quickly overtook the fear.

"Nurse, finally. Mind explaining what's going on here?"

The figure took a step. And then:

"Why?" a feminine voice asked. It was an aged voice.

I didn't understand the question. "What do you mean 'why'? I'm supposed to be recovering in a proper room, with a real bed, am I not?"

Another step. Her voice grew louder. "Why?"

Something about her crawled under my skin. But I didn't understand what. 

As she came closer, some of her features slid into focus. And then I started to understand.

The figure was a woman. Wrinkled. Gray-haired. Matched the shaky voice asking questions. 

But she wasn't wearing a nurse uniform.

In fact, she wore the same as I did—one of those thin patient gowns that were little more than underwear. It probably opened up in the back like mine, too. 

"Why? Why? Why?" Each word snapped out of her as I backed away. Every step she took was accompanied by a strained creak, like a rusted door forced open.

Eventually, my rear hit one of the monitors. It flared to life behind me, flooding the room with white light—and her face.

She didn't blink. She couldn't. 

Blood streaked down her cheeks in thin, crooked lines. Something shifted beneath the skin of her cheeks in mechanical rhythm. Where her eyes should have been, pistons stared back at me—rusted steel pumping in and out of their sockets, matching my pulse.

My legs moved before I could breathe. Before I could understand what I was looking at.

I bolted, aiming for the door. Whatever she was, I wanted nothing to do with it. The doors burst open when I pushed through and swung back as I ran.

Behind me came clanking. Grinding. Screeching metal. I knew it was following me. I couldn't stop.

I didn't dare look back—just burst into the corridor, slammed the door, and ran. Through unlit hallways, down the stairs, my bare feet slapping against cold tiles. Everywhere I looked, I couldn't see any sign of life. No doctors, no nurses. 

This was a nightmare. It had to be. The aching joints, the exhaustion dragging at my limbs—none of it was real.

Still, I wasn't about to let that thing catch me. 

I soon reached the first floor, as dark and silent as the rest of the hospital. The only sound was my own movement. The only light, the moon shining through the entrance doors.

Definitely a dream. No other explanation.

Which meant that as long as I didn't fear it, it couldn't hurt me.

I approached an exit and willed it to open, to lead straight into waking up.

It didn't. I walked face first into it, aggravating my headache. 

Well. That was disappointing. But maybe—

I kept wandering through the hospital. A flicker of green caught my eye. Off on one of the sides in the lobby was a familiar counterspace with an abandoned line queue. There was a pharmacy here. 

That gave me a better idea than waking up. Since this was a dream, I could do whatever I wanted.

The door to the pharmacy stood open, shelves fully stocked. Most of the labels were unreadable in the dim light. But it made no difference. I simply opened every bottle I found until the smell told me I'd won.

I'd found it. My perfect medicine. 

I drank it like water in a desert. Discomfort evaporated almost instantly, replaced by a spreading warmth that started in my belly and flowed outward through the rest of my body. Yeah, that was the good stuff. Even from a pharmacy—even in my nightmares—it still tasted like glory. Still slaked my thirst like it always did. 

I knew I shouldn't push my luck. That thing was still out there. But I also didn't care enough. I lifted the bottle again, ready for another sip, when I heard it.

The unmistakable roar of an engine, approaching.

I dove behind the counter, knocking over what was left of the queue. The sound grew louder, reverberating through the space like a caged beast.

"Where?" A man's voice growled over the revving. It kept growing louder until it was almost all I could hear. 

The woman wasn't the only abomination here. Peeking through the edge of the counter, I saw him stalking between the shelves. His head towered over them, far too large for his body, trembling as he moved. It must have been heavy—his neck would lean from side to side, letting the head wobble.

A spark flared, briefly lighting his face. Meat and machinery fused together in a bloody, grotesque mismatch—far worse than the woman upstairs.

"Where…?" His voice dropped, slower now. Closer. I curled in on myself and took another sip, trying to steady my breathing. My eyes closed and I hoped. I tried to will this dream monster away.

Please don't find me.
Please don't find me.

Please just don't find me, you accursed monster!

The noise grew quiet. He might've passed me by, but I couldn't stand it anymore. When he turned down another aisle, I burst from my hiding spot and ran.

I want out of this stupid dream!

I didn't get far before something yanked tight from behind my neck. It pulled me back into one of the aisles, knocking over boxes of medications I couldn't pronounce.

I choked on the gown. He'd caught me.

"Here." He turned me around and forced me to look at him. His face loomed inches from mine. Hot breath washed over me, reeking of oil. The engine's vibration traveled through his hands and into my skin, numbing it where he held me.

The grip tightened, robbing me of air. I couldn't breathe.

This wasn't a dream. Or a nightmare. 

I was going to die. I didn't want to die. I didn't deserve to die.

I started to panic. Thrashing, my hand slammed into the bulk that passed for his head—the hand still clutching the bottle. It shattered. Liquid sprayed everywhere.

Right as my vision dimmed, a spark snapped from his head. The alcohol ignited in an instant. His head went up in flames in an instant. The acrid mix of burning hair and smoke filled my lungs and burned my eyes

He screamed, high and shrill, and his grip loosened. I collapsed on the floor, gasping for air and eyes tearing up. He staggered away, crashing into shelves, knocking over anything he touched. His flaming head bobbed through aisles.

I didn't stay to see the result of my actions—left before I got caught in the aftermath. It was time to leave.

But not without grabbing another bottle of the good stuff on my way out.