Pins and Needles
By: Sarah Kelderman
I stood before two narrow staircases, both leading up. The hallway I stood in was dim and orange and covered with a dingy red, oriental rug. The pictures on the walls were smeared and crooked. Somehow I’d become lost inside this building. I’d become so lost I couldn’t even hear the rain and thunder outside anymore, pelting downwards, or hear the talking and laughter of my group of friends.
I’d become distracted like usual. Curious about this strange building, and now I was here, horribly lost inside it, and all I wanted was to hear the rain and thunder and laughter and talking of my group of friends again.
“Take the left staircase,” said a sudden voice, and a sleek, black cat stood next to me, licking its paws. It blinked its green eyes and seemed to grin. “Left will lead you out. Meow.”
“You can talk?” I said stupidly.
“Just take the left staircase,” said the cat again, this time purring. “I’ll let you pet my head if you do.”
“That’s okay,” I said.
“Fine,” said the cat. “Be that way.” And it ran off down the hallway and disappeared into darkness.
I didn’t trust talking cats and started climbing the narrow, cement right staircase. It grew colder the further up I walked, and wound, around and around, and I knew I must be going in the wrong direction. It grew so narrow I had to climb sideways, and then it opened up to a dark landing that smelled of antiseptic and hand sanitizer and used band aids. I could hear the rain outside now, pelting on the roof, and the landing opened up to a wide, dark corridor, lit with naked dim light bulbs that hung from the cement ceiling. The floor was glossy brown and the walls water stained yellow.
“You went the wrong way,” said a sudden voice, and there stood that black cat again, at my feet. “Now you’re in the ICU.”
It played with one of my shoelaces and I wanted to kick it away. Where had the cat come from? I could hear the rain outside now though, so maybe I was at ground level and there’d be a back door out, and besides I was curious.
Of course I was curious.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” my mom used to tell me, before she died, gasping for breath from lung cancer. Too many cigarettes. My mom had been a heavy smoker.
Something or someone moaned.
Something or someone shuffled and mumbled.
“I’d go back,” said the cat suddenly, at my feet again, so close I nearly tripped over it. “Meow.”
“Shut up,” I said. “Go away.”
“Fine,” said the cat. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And it disappeared back down the corridor and into darkness. I didn’t trust that cat.
“Hello?” I called out tentatively, beginning down the glossy corridor again.
Wide metal doorways opened up on either side of me, slightly ajar. I opened one, curious, and peeked inside. A man lay on a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. A thin, bloody sheet covered his naked body. He writhed in pain, covered with silver, bloody needles and mouth sewn shut with black, evil looking stitches. His eyes watered. I backed out quickly and looked in a different room, where an equally bloody woman was hooked up to an IV, covered with needles, the middle of her naked body sewn up, as well as her eyes and her mouth.
I should have listened to that stupid cat.
I needed to get out of here.
Panicked I backed out of the room, and a man stood there. A huge, overbearing man, in a white doctor’s coat, splashed with bright red blood, and wearing a rusted stethoscope. His bald head reflected in the dim orange light, and his right eye was sewn up.
“Oh hello,” he said. “A new patient!”
“Um, no,” I said.
“Um, yes,” he said, sounding delighted.
“I just want out of this house!” I said, trying to run around the balding man, who must have been the doctor, but he grabbed my arm. He was strong. I struggled. And then a tired looking nurse stood there. Her stringy grayed hair was tied back in a ponytail. She wore bloody blue scrubs and her mouth was sewn shut with black, angry looking stitches.
She stuck a needle in my arm.
The liquid inside burned as it went in.
By: Sarah Kelderman
I stood before two narrow staircases, both leading up. The hallway I stood in was dim and orange and covered with a dingy red, oriental rug. The pictures on the walls were smeared and crooked. Somehow I’d become lost inside this building. I’d become so lost I couldn’t even hear the rain and thunder outside anymore, pelting downwards, or hear the talking and laughter of my group of friends.
I’d become distracted like usual. Curious about this strange building, and now I was here, horribly lost inside it, and all I wanted was to hear the rain and thunder and laughter and talking of my group of friends again.
“Take the left staircase,” said a sudden voice, and a sleek, black cat stood next to me, licking its paws. It blinked its green eyes and seemed to grin. “Left will lead you out. Meow.”
“You can talk?” I said stupidly.
“Just take the left staircase,” said the cat again, this time purring. “I’ll let you pet my head if you do.”
“That’s okay,” I said.
“Fine,” said the cat. “Be that way.” And it ran off down the hallway and disappeared into darkness.
I didn’t trust talking cats and started climbing the narrow, cement right staircase. It grew colder the further up I walked, and wound, around and around, and I knew I must be going in the wrong direction. It grew so narrow I had to climb sideways, and then it opened up to a dark landing that smelled of antiseptic and hand sanitizer and used band aids. I could hear the rain outside now, pelting on the roof, and the landing opened up to a wide, dark corridor, lit with naked dim light bulbs that hung from the cement ceiling. The floor was glossy brown and the walls water stained yellow.
“You went the wrong way,” said a sudden voice, and there stood that black cat again, at my feet. “Now you’re in the ICU.”
It played with one of my shoelaces and I wanted to kick it away. Where had the cat come from? I could hear the rain outside now though, so maybe I was at ground level and there’d be a back door out, and besides I was curious.
Of course I was curious.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” my mom used to tell me, before she died, gasping for breath from lung cancer. Too many cigarettes. My mom had been a heavy smoker.
Something or someone moaned.
Something or someone shuffled and mumbled.
“I’d go back,” said the cat suddenly, at my feet again, so close I nearly tripped over it. “Meow.”
“Shut up,” I said. “Go away.”
“Fine,” said the cat. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And it disappeared back down the corridor and into darkness. I didn’t trust that cat.
“Hello?” I called out tentatively, beginning down the glossy corridor again.
Wide metal doorways opened up on either side of me, slightly ajar. I opened one, curious, and peeked inside. A man lay on a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. A thin, bloody sheet covered his naked body. He writhed in pain, covered with silver, bloody needles and mouth sewn shut with black, evil looking stitches. His eyes watered. I backed out quickly and looked in a different room, where an equally bloody woman was hooked up to an IV, covered with needles, the middle of her naked body sewn up, as well as her eyes and her mouth.
I should have listened to that stupid cat.
I needed to get out of here.
Panicked I backed out of the room, and a man stood there. A huge, overbearing man, in a white doctor’s coat, splashed with bright red blood, and wearing a rusted stethoscope. His bald head reflected in the dim orange light, and his right eye was sewn up.
“Oh hello,” he said. “A new patient!”
“Um, no,” I said.
“Um, yes,” he said, sounding delighted.
“I just want out of this house!” I said, trying to run around the balding man, who must have been the doctor, but he grabbed my arm. He was strong. I struggled. And then a tired looking nurse stood there. Her stringy grayed hair was tied back in a ponytail. She wore bloody blue scrubs and her mouth was sewn shut with black, angry looking stitches.
She stuck a needle in my arm.
The liquid inside burned as it went in.