13-true-horror-stories-psychiatric-ward

Not for the faint of heart...

After reading the 9th tale in this collection, take a look at a short story I wrote a couple years ago

The Visitor

“YOU'RE AWAKE.”
“Yes.”
There was no use denying it. He always knew.
It didn't matter. He would wait.
Ben cleared his throat, the rasp fled, and his breath quieted to a gentle wheeze. He closed his mouth and collected the little spit that he could find, and used it to wet his parched lips.
“You need a sip of water?”
“Yes.”
“The glass is next to your right hand. That's it. A little further. Good.” The gentle voice guided Ben's hand.
Some spilled. Ben couldn't raise his head to drink, not yet. He poured a dribble where he thought that his mouth might be. Most of it entered, and he choked a little.
“Careful.”
“Yes.”
Ben returned the glass to the night stand and relaxed his body. It was time for his inventory. Head: four. Neck: Two. Shoulders: Six. Hips: Three. Knees and ankles: Eight. Back: Ten. Ben had been assigning numbers to the levels of pain in his various body parts since he turned eighty-five. How long had that been? Fifteen? No, twenty-two years ago.
“How are you?”
“Six overall, I guess.”
“Not bad.”
“Yes.”
A rustle of robes announced that he had stood, and Ben heard his footsteps approach the window.
“Nice day.”
“Nice?”
“Yes, for winter.”
“Hmmm.”
Quiet filled the room.
Ben wondered if he had fallen back asleep. Waking and sleeping were indistinct.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“A nice day, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I'd like to see it.”
“You'll have to open your eyes.”
“Yes.”
A hint of a smile touched the corners of Ben's mouth. He struggled to raise his lids.
The rustle of robes approached his bed. A moment passed, then a damp cloth touched Ben's eyes. It dissolved the dried tears that sealed them shut, and they fluttered open.
“Thank you.”
“Do you want your glasses?”
“No.”
“They're next to the water glass.”
“Thank you. Not yet.”
A shadow passed over Ben's face and his glasses were pressed into his hand.
“When you're ready for them.”
“Thank you.”
Companionable silence passed between them for several minutes. Ben spoke first.
“Who is it today?”
“Mrs. Robinson.”
“Edna? When?”
“Soon. Twenty minutes.”
“I like her.”
“You like everybody.”
“I'll miss her.”
“You miss everybody.”
“Yes.”
More minutes passed.
“Would you like the TV on?”
“No. Nothin' on but them damn elections. Tired of 'em.”
“Hmmm.”
The sound of a cart being wheeled down the hall penetrated the door.
“Would you like to go today?”
Ben thought about this. He always gave this question careful consideration, every day it was asked.
“No, not today, thank you.”
“Okay.”
A hand touched the door handle.
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“Even if no one is going?”
“Someone is always going.”
Ben nodded as the door opened and an attendant entered with his breakfast.
“Good morning, Mr. Ben,” she said. The cheer in her voice matched the roses in her cheeks. “Who was you talkin' to?”
“A friend.”