"When he should come he throws up! When he should throw up he comes!" chanted the madman over and again, eyes darting to and fro as if looking for some holy answer to his vexing conundrum. The chaps head was shaven bald, and he had a centraly crammed face surrounded by a big moon pie head. He was slightly tubby and a bit large but nevertheless appeared to be harlmess. Except, for the wheelchair he was strapped to and straight jacketed in.
"Give 'em hell! Give 'em what they want!" was the next chant to bellow forth. Over and over, he screamed at the top of his lungs. The other patients in the Activity Room turned from the television in the corner to look upon Elmer, a growing excitement on their faces. First one, then others began to mimic his chant. Some whispered, while a few wailed as if in the grips of great passion. They began to stomp and slam fists on the tables in tempo to the rising crescendo. Some stood up, while a ghoul of a man, buzz cut and buzzed beard in stark contrast to his near albino complexion, sat in a fetal pose in the corner.
Luther was the bony patiens name, and he whispered a prayer in the form of a statement to himself, "They're doing it wrong. Ha! They're doing it all wrong God...you have a little longer." He fancied himself a repentant Devil, trying to get back in good graces with God, here in his mind at the end of all things.
Mary, an attractive woman with a constant rebellious expression stamped on her face, ripped her hospital gown open and wagged her perfect breasts at the other patients, cackling and screaming "Want some tittie?" It was like Babel all over again.
Then the bouncers came into the room. They had dense black rubber clubs weighted at the ends. Soon the room filled with the chaos of screams and the dull "whap! whapping" of the bouncers weapons. For them, the paycheck came through suppression of the patients, who tend to riot when Elmer gets them riled. In the end there are sobs and ten thousand tears on the tile floor. There are whelps and bruises, accompanied with sniffles. Then a calm panting in the air, followed by grateful sighs...an typical morning at the sanitarium they all called The Satanatarium.
Elmer was carted down to the Quiet Room at the end of the hall past the Nurses Station. He sat strapped in the wheelchair, giggling triumpantly to himself, eyes rolling, with an expression of glee on his face, like a kid who just scared the bejesus out of his parents with some prank. A padded soundproof cell, the Quiet Room was barren save a table/bed in the center, heavily padded also. All the padding was behind tightly stretched pink cloth, lending the look of being constructed entirely of pink pillows fit for a little princess. Supposedly the color pink is a soothing, calming color to look upon, and so it seemed this was true, for the patients sometines even fell asleep after struggling for a while on the bed.
After elmer was stowed in the room, Brock, the head bouncer walked back up the hall to the Nurses Station and chatted with one of the Techs behind the counter. A loud Buzzer sounded signifying that the entrance to the floor, known as Ward Thirteen was being opened, and the two metal doors at the other end of the hall swung wide. In rolled a man strapped to a gurney, being pushed up to the Station to be registered as a patient. It was a formality, but the nurse behind the desk stood, peered over the counter, and began to ask the new guy some questions, usually these were answered with nonsensical Satanic gibberish, and this man was no different.
"Do you feel homicidal or suicidal Mr. Slatter?" was her first question.
"I have a plan..." he stated, "this place is perfect!" he said looking around, craning his head from side to side to see the layout of the place. "Where's my room? It has to be private."
"You'll be sharing a room with Arnold, room 18 down at the end of the hall sir."
"That's no good, no good at all, I need my privacy, but that's okay, 'cause I have a plan..."
"Just a few more questions Mr. Slatter."
"Lucifer has granted me abilities beyond your wildest imagination!"
Suddenly, the lights flickered. It was storming outside, rain pounded the windows of the Activity Room. Peals of thunder resounded and the windows vibrated. The electric blinked on and off for ten seconds and then went out completely, engulfing all in darkness.
"Shit!" muttered the Tech who was pushing the gurney minutes earlier. The bouncers turned on their flashlights, and panned the lights around the halls and rooms, doing a head count and rounding everyone up in the wide hall.
"Where's Mary?" inquired Brock.
"Want some tittie tough guy?" she piped up, having crept up behind him with her hospital gown open once again.
After all was calm, Brock, a bull of a man, ordered the bouncers beneath him to escort the patients to their rooms, instructing them to "take no shit."
The rest of the night passed uneventfully when all were asleep, or so it seemed, until the next morning when Kyle, a Tech that was new here made his last round of room checks, as he had done repeatedly all night at fifteen minute intervals, before getting to clock out and go home. It was six AM, and everyone appeared to have had a good nights sleep, at least until he cracked the door to room eighteen and shined a pen light into the gloom. At first he stood there in shock, then yelled for Brock, who came running down to the end of the hall. Shining his light into the room, they both jumped as the electric finally blinked back on, revealing a cannibalistic scene before them.
Arnold was splayed on his bed belly up, Slatter was on top of him, hunched like a wolf over a carcass. Arnold was quite dead, an enormous amount of blood covered the bed, leaking from the ragged wound where his adams apple should have been. Slatter looked up from his meal, bands of blood and strings of muscle tissue running down his face and hanging limp from his mouth. He slurped up the meat and licked his lips with a grin. The way he did it reminded Kyle of someone slurping spaghetti noodles. Brock barged into the room, rubber club descended to touch down its weighted end on Slatters temple, erasing the grin from his face, and sending him over the edge of the bed where he crumpled to the floor like a chaotic heap of laundry.