The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!
Head Trauma
by Bailey Hunter
“Please, come in and have a seat, Miss Jasper.” Doctor Caron motioned to the couch, waiting for her patient to settle into it before taking her own seat in the chair next to it.
“You can call me Myrtle. Did you want me to lie down, or…”
Doctor Caron smiled at the wisp of a girl. It was the first question out of almost every first-time client. “Only if you want to. I want you to feel comfortable here, that is the main priority at this point.” She waited, and continued her well-practiced comforting smile.
Myrtle shrugged and pushed her impossibly small frame into the back of the couch before replying, “I think I’ll sit for now. Thank you.”
“Why don’t you tell me what brought you here today, Myrtle. We can start from there.” Doctor Caron pulled out a notepad.
“O-okay. Its my brain. I’m in constant agony. I’ve been to the so many doctors, and been scanned, poked, 7 ways from Sunday, and yet, they can’t find anything wrong with me. I’ve taken all the meds the doctors gave me; I’ve cut everything out of my diet and yet this pain is relentless. So I figure maybe this pain in my head really is all in my head.”
“I’m glad that you have gotten medical assurances that it’s not something dangerous. It will make our work easier. It takes a strong person to be willing to look at all avenues of a problem to seek solutions. You are clearly a strong, young woman, Myrtle.”
She watched as Myrtle’s body seemed to both expand and relax at that last statement. Doctor Caron gave Myrtle a moment to revel in that freedom before continuing.
“Do you know when the pain first started? Was there anything particular that may have set it into motion?”
“I guess.” Myrtle bit her lower lip, scraping off some of the candy pink gloss. “I went to a party about a year ago. I got really hammered. Blackout level drunk. I never did that before. When I woke up, I was home, I have no idea how, and I had a hangover to beat all hangovers. But the thing is, the pain, it never went away.” Myrtle began rubbing her forehead with the heel of her palm. “Like right now, no matter how hard I rub my head it’s there. It feels as if my brain is trying to push its way out. When it gets real bad, I blackout again.”
“Would you like some water?” Doctor Caron watched Myrtle’s face shift, the skin seeming to tighten over every bone. “Are you ok? Are you feeling like you might lose consciousness now?”
Myrtle’s head flopped; her wide eyes rolled back in their sockets.
“Myrtle! Miss Jasper! Can you hear me?” Doctor Caron moved from her chair and sat next to the girl who seemed to be having a seizure.
When she moved her face closer to check for breath, she noticed something pinkish-grey oozing out of Myrtle’s ear. It landed on the couch between them with a wet splot sound. By the time she realised what it was, the brain had grown triple in size, each hemisphere detaching from the other to reveal thousands of needle teeth in seemingly endless rows.
Doctor Caron tried to jump up but hit the table with her shin and fell back on to the couch. The brain had tripled in size again, its makeshift mouth opened wide and clamped down on her arm. She screamed, at least she tried, but before it could leave her lips, her body was flooded with dopamine, and even though she could feel her body being devoured by this thing, she was almost euphoric.
Doctor Caron said to herself, as the brain chewed and swallowed its way up her body, “talk about head trauma,” and she began to laugh uncontrollably at her own bad joke, until the brain swallowed that up too.
Fiction © Copyright Bailey Hunter
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
More from Bailey Hunter:
Bailey is a publisher with Dark Recesses Press.
Staking Cinderella
Gavin’s got a serious problem. A “praise Jee-sus,” rich-bitch caught him fanging—and banging—his Halloween date. Now she’s playing Holy Vampire Killer, and it’s ticking him off.
Since then, Gavin’s found someone better to occupy his mind and heart. Isolde—in bed, on the couch, in the shower. She has a thing for Disney princesses, but he’s willing to overlook it. Women like her only come around once or twice in five hundred years. He knows.
When Isolde is kidnapped to bait a deathtrap for Gavin, he’s torn between two truths…abandoning Isolde is unthinkable, but rescuing her could mean death for both of them.
Splendidly gruesome and creepy.