Pinnochio

[WP] You are a caretaker in a hospital for the mentally ill. One patient has no name, no background, and no one could remember when he was first admitted. He mills the halls quietly, never speaking or causing problems. One day he tells you his story. It will haunt you for the rest of your days.

Ecer since Day One, I was told to stay away from him.

The old man in the cashmere sweater and baggy trousers.

"Some cases are just beyond remedy," my supervisor said, referring to him as he showed me around the facility. I didn't believe that; I just could not wrap my head around the fact that there were people who were too broken to be fixed.

"But surely that's why he's here, right? So we can help him. So we can change turn his mental health status around and restore him back to a state where he can associate with the larger society; isn't that right?" I asked.

"Feh," he laughed, looking at me. "Fresh from college, huh? You're still carrying around the fanciful ideologies that were burned into your brain. This place isn't really for their rehabilitation, Mandy - it's a prison."

"But a prison is..."

"I know what a prison is. I'm saying this is a Mental Health Prison - 90% of the people here have either committed gruesome crimes or they nurture thoughts and say things that are... let's just say, antisocial or leaning towards plain demonic. None of them will EVER be released into society."

"Then why..."

"Of course, there'll be some blockheaded social justice warriors out there talking crap about freedom and all that, so we just keep on saying they haven't passed our tests which will determine if it's safe to allow them into society again. They'll die here; they are never getting out."

"Huh... that's depressing."

"What's really depressing is having to work with some of them. That's why I keep on telling y'all; stay away from alcohol and drugs. It worsens these things. Try something fun - amusement parks, games - anything to lift the spirits."

"Ah, those are words to live by," I said while he grinned. "But do you know why he's here?"

"We don't even know his name, who he is or where he's from. Because he will not speak. Ever. We've tried, and we've failed. He doesn't seem to be a hazard, since he doesn't talk or act up. He just eats, sleeps and walks around, looking at everything and nothing in particular. But then again, the silence is cryptic... scary, and coupled with the circumstances surrounding how we found him, we're not sure if he isn't a keg of gunpowder waiting to explode."

"Hmmm, what were the circumstances anyway?"

"He was called in by a cab driver. He was naked and sitting down in the middle of the road, or at least that's what everyone says."

"That's what everyone says?"

"He was here before I came. But no one knows when he came, not even the 'veterans' here. The story has just been passed along the generations of supervisors, and now I'm passing it to you, Caretaker Mandy. It's just creepy, the whole story about this guy. When I say stay away, you'd better stay away."

That was how I began, going about my daily duty as a caretaker at the Cresswell Mental Hospital. I met my fair share of infamous serial killers, rapists and the likes, but what intrigued me most was 'TheUnknown Inmate' as I had learned to call him.

What really happened to him? What kind of psychological trauma does one go through to become like this? My curiosity kept increasing, but I was certain answers would never come.

I was wrong. I didn get my answers, but afterwards, I wished I'd never found out.

Ir was a day like any other. I'd just entered the common room; a room where we had televisions airing the latest news, kids shows and the likes. But there he was, standing, looking at me with those dead eyes of his.

I stood there for a moment, gauging his facial expression. Nothing.

"Ah, for a moment there, I thought you were going to say something. Giuess I got my hopes up," I laughed as I picked up a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to him.

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe it."

I froze. Was it me? Did I hear the voice inside my head and imagine that he'd actually talked?"

"I've never told the story because everyone seems to be ignoring me, so I decided to keep it to myself. No one will believe me anyway."

No, this time I was watching his lips move. He talked. He actually talked.

"What's your story like?"

"Hmmm. It was one I was working on. A novel really. I just remember bits and pieces of it at times. But I think I have the full picture."

"A novel?" What the hell is wrong with this guy?

"YYes. It starts with two brothers. I think their parents weren't really around; maybe business, maye they were dead.But these brothers, they were mostly on their own. Was there a nanny? I cannot remember. The younger brother was a silent, sinister person. He controlled his calmer older brother a lot."

"Whose story is this?"

"The younger brother had plans," he continued. I did not think he was ignoring me. Most likely, he was already well into memory lane, seeing the story as though it was a movie. The walls, the building, me myself... we did not exist to him. He was finally telling his story.

"He had plans of a very evil nature while he was studying Psychology at college. He had plans on how to manipulate people and turn them to his puppets.And who better to use than his brother? So he tortured him, beat him, insulted him, told him all manner of things and finally broke his brother."

I felt a chill all over me, and goosebumps sprouted everywhere. I had a remote feeling that this was more than just 'a story I was working on', like he said.

"He finally had a puppet. He sent him at midnight to murder people and bring their organs back to the house. His older brother would come in a daze, his clothes bloodied and a heart in his grip. He would send him to rape girls and cut their nipples off; he was that insane."

I was shivering. "So, your...this brother you talk about, he didn't really ask him to do those things because he liked crime, but because he loved to control a person to do it?"

He looked at me, a faint twinkle in his eyes. He looked pleased, excited that I seemed to be understanding.

"it seems you know the story too. Yes, he was always thrilled to see his brother come with a face and clothes splattered with blood, a red hand holding unto a nipple. His brother, the puppet, would always wish that the Police would get him, tat someone wold see him walking around, but he'd been programmed to avoid being seen.He was careful without being wanting to, and even as he chopped off a crying victims head, he cried himself, but did what was asked of him."

"H-how does the story end?"

"The puppet began tocome to life. To think; to feel. To remember what it was to be human and to have a mind of his own. The younger brother was infuriated, and hit him over the head with a big wrench. The last thing he remembered was being dragged into a car."

He became silent. Surely there had to be more?

"And then what happened?"

"I don't know how the story went after that, because when I awoke I was in the middle of the road with no clothes on. My manuscript, my story about that guy was gone. But I felt like I know the older brother. His story seemed so real, like I had sen it myself In fact, I'm sure he's out there. Because I've seen the younger brother around here. His face has changed, but those eyes remain the same."

"Around here? W-who is it?" I asked, my heart beating uncontrollably.

"The one in that picture there..." He said, pointing at t a picture on the wall.

To my horror, I tuned to see that it was the picture of my supervisor.

******

@Leo_kitti, @Hanzell bringing back the chills 👻🥶