Doctor's Orders

Donna was walking along past the same houses and shops she always walked past on her way home from work. She was in a good mood, as she had recently discovered she was due a promotion. Nothing was out of the ordinary until she was drawn rather magnetically towards a strange and uncanny door. What made it uncanny? She was unsure, but it felt decidedly "off." Not least of all because she had never seen it before.

It was pastel blue, so it didn’t look especially "sinister," and no red flags were raised. She approached it.

There was something calling to her from behind the door. From beyond the wooden barricade, the oaken breach. Telling her to turn the knob, enter, and explore. It made her feel like the best present lay just within the room the door led to.

Donna considered herself to be a very cynical and astute person. But even she was finding it hard to ignore the pull. The wood almost creaked her name: "D...o....nna....please open me. Pl....ease."

She gave up trying to fight it, feeling her heart racing and serotonin and other positive chemicals flooding her brain. The door required quite a big push from the small-framed Donna before she was through.

She stumbled into darkness. The door slammed shut.

Then came the scratching, like fingers or metal on a chalkboard, causing a gentle but persistent and biting pain across her temples. She tried to cover her ears. The sound felt as if it was coming from inside her brain.

With the scratching came a... baby crying. But not just a baby crying for its mother to pick it up and cuddle it or give it a teat to feast on. No, this baby was really crying—in pain, in terror, or maybe the baby was the terror.

Again, Donna tried to block out the sound. But it persisted. No matter what she did.

She pulled her sweater over her head, not concerned about exposing her bra to the blank blackness of the room. She tried to muffle the sound. But muffling it did not work. If anything, the sound increased. The pain across her temples, through her eardrums, increased.

In time, her core was vibrating in time with the screams. And although she could not see in the dark, she felt something tapping on her belly skin... from within.

She shrieked as loudly as the baby. A spotlight illuminated her exposed belly. Much to her horror, a small baby hand pressed against her skin from inside her belly.

A gentle music box lullaby started to play. The crying was momentarily replaced with cooing as the "baby" seemed to settle. The hand was no longer just pushing through her skin—it started to wave and to signal Donna to lean forward.

Not one of those girls to be the first to die in a horror tale, she refused.

Until she felt a sharp blow to the back of her head. Instinctively, she reacted by leaning forward. The small hand grabbed at her nose.

Several additional spotlights illuminated a heart monitor machine and a man in doctor's whites.

"Now Mrs. Jenkins, how far apart are the contractions?" he asked with an almost smug, yes, smug grin across his face.

"Aren't you wondering why you are even having contractions?"

"Strange, isn’t it, considering no one’s touched you in years? Not by choice, anyway. But don’t worry—our methods are much more reliable."

"What do you mmmean?" Donna tried to ask, but her voice slurred and nonsense came forth from her lips.

A sharp pain worked its way down from her shoulder to her forearm. She realised the "doctor" had injected her with something.

Kaleidoscopic colours twinkled in front of her eyes. The doctor turned into a stretchy form, losing a tangible body. The room felt like it was made of marshmallows. Donna had not felt this good since she took some magic mushrooms at Glastonbury a few years ago.

"Don't worry. You will be... mostly fine." He grinned as his eyes dropped out of their sockets and a large bed appeared beside Donna.

"Relax, Mrs. Jenkins. The next stage is… insertion. Don’t worry, you won’t remember most of it.”

“D—doctor’s orders, right?"

Her body sank into the mattress. It gave way beneath her, swallowing her in marshmallow-like blankets.

The doctor hovered above, scissors flickering between normal size and monstrous garden shears. The bed pulsed in time with her belly and heartbeat.

He leaned over her and placed his stethoscope onto her chest, barking like a dog: "RE-lax." He then stretched like chewed taffy across the ceiling, laughing continuously.

Suddenly, among the strong scents of bleach and antibacterial cleaners swirling around her bed, a strong reek of putrefaction and grapefruit hit her olfactory senses.

"Five a day," sang the doctor, delightfully sinister. "Who knows why, I'm your guy, who knows why."

The room fell to darkness again.

Donna felt a sense of relief come over her. Was whatever the hell this was, over? Though her cynicism was triggered, the calm that came from the darkness.

Silence truly is golden.

But, not everlasting.

The crying... she had forgotten about the crying. The incessant, nonstop crying continued.

The spotlight came back on, swinging over Donna's head, almost blinding her. She felt the small pitter-patter of tiny feet... over her skin. Tiny feet that became tiny claws, digging into her skin, pinpricking and shredding her dermal coating.

She couldn't see anything, just felt the pitter-patter, ripper-shredder. The grotesque silhouette of a baby-like creature approached her face.

As the shadowy figure reached her neck, it pulled out a knife from a diaper—and plunged it downwards.

That was the last Donna saw... of anything.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This is officially, I think, my 24th rejection in my attempt to win competitions and get published outside of Vocal. It was put forward to Ghoulish Tales. You can find out more by checking out the link below.

Onward I march, continuing I shall. Rejection will not stop me. I'm far too obstinate, stubborn, and all that. I also have enough belief in my self that it will happen eventually. Even if part of my brain tells me I'm a hack. Oh the joy.

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