Halloween IV: The Ultimate Edition Read Free Page B

hell. Somebody has to guard this place. Make sure no crazy gets out. Sometimes crazies get in, and they don’t even hafta be the damn patients, either .
    He tested the coffee with his finger to make sure it really was lukewarm, then swirled around what little cream there was floating towards the center. He thought he heard within the next second what sounded like snoring, and he turned and saw his companion guard on the stool beside him as always, and he was simply clearing his throat and turning another page of FIELD AND STREAM. Turning back to his coffee, the fly gone to return again possibly later, the guard looked up and saw the two attendants from Smith’s Grove. He withdrew his finger from the coffee and set the mug down next to a small build-up of paperwork. He gave his crew cut another quick scratch.
    “Good evening,” one of the attendants spoke cheerlessly. The other attendant, a woman, looked on with much the same enthusiasm. “We’re from Smith’s Grove ”
    No shit , the guard thought, seeing that it was written several times over their uniforms.
    “All metal objects into the tray on your left,” he told them.
    There weren’t very many objects for this tray, and the guard barely managed them a glance. He was busily sorting out the paperwork before him, found something on a clipboard, and proceeded to jot something down. He continued talking.
    “Purpose of visit?”
    “Patient pick-up and transfer to Smith’s Grove,” the male attendant answered.
    Another clipboard. More jotting. Another sip of coffee.
    “All right,” he said. “Hold on a second. I’ll take you down there myself.”
    The guard grabbed the last clipboard and stood from his seat. His fingers disappeared under the counter and a buzzing issued forth the news that the two could now enter the glass door through the side. He joined them as the other guard with the magazine took his place at the window, reaching for the SPANIEL coffee mug. The guard with the attendants turned to him, noticing this.
    “I got mono,” he warned, half-jokingly.
    The guard set the coffee mug down.
    The two attendants then proceeded to follow the guard down a silent corridor.
    “You’re late,” he told the two. He wasn’t angry; he was simply inviting conversation.
    “Yeah, well, you should be on the road,” the male attendant exclaimed.
    “Helluva night, huh?” the guard said.
    “Real charmer.”
    The guard led the two attendants down the silent corridors, silent save for the echoes of their footsteps against the grey stone floors. Soon enough, after they passed a series of small see—through offices, a janitor’s supply closet, and employee restrooms, they arrived at what the guard referred to confidentially as the “corridor of the crazies.” The three of them beheld locked ward doors baring small square windows. There were faces behind the windows; faces of human beings. The degenerates of society. Some appeared to be distressed and physically damaged, but what they all had in common the attendants swiftly noticed was that each one of them displayed the same emotion: some sort of agony. For some, the agony was distorting their physical appearance, creating elongated arms and cheekbones as if from starvation. Others were beyond agony, simply staring blankly into empty space.
    Staring…….. forever staring….             
    “First time here?” the guard asked the two behind him.
    “Hope it’s the last time…..” the woman remarked.
    “You never get used to them,” the guard said, keeping his eyes ahead of him, not looking up. “You never get used to the faces.”
    As they passed, the three felt the eyes of the onlookers gazing out, watching them, gawking at them. Their faces pressed to the glass, molding their faces into the undersized panes, one man’s scar tissue rubbing off and creating a crimson smear, his hot breath now a steamy film.
    The woman turned away, disgusted. “They’re all criminally