Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep69: Episode 69: Experiment Horror Stories

Episode Date: February 17, 2022

We open proceedings with an original story by Hayong entitled ‘I Quit my Job to Participate in a Sleeping Experiment’:  https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/5ma2rw/i_quit_my_job_to_participate_in_a_sleeping/ Next up we have ‘The Lazarus Experiment’ by Richard Saxon, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/RichardSaxon Today’s phenomenal series of tales of terrifying experimental horror round off with ‘The Babydoll Experiment’, a phenomenal story by The Z, shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/-TheZ-/

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. I can think of no fate worse than being the victim of another human's experimentation. And I think from tonight's stories we'll see that that is a common theme in horror. Later on we have the Lazarus Experiment by Richard Saxon. We round off with the Baby Doll Experiment by The Z. But we begin tonight with the story by Hayong called I Quit My Job to Beard My Job to

participate in a sleeping experiment. Now, as always, before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Three months ago, I made the spontaneous decision to get myself involved in an experiment. I am required to lie on a bed for six straight months, while sleeping at least 12 hours. hours a day. While I was walking down my street to catch a cab to work, a man approached me with a big smile on his face. He asked me if I wanted to make a hundred and fifty thousand in six months. Intrigued, I asked him what I had to do. With a smile, he told me to go with him to his office, about three minutes away walking distance. Now, I promise I'm not one of those. to just follow anyone to a location I know nothing about.

But South Korea is equipped with cameras all over the streets and roads. Just to be safe, I texted my buddy, who worked right beside me, to call the cops if I didn't call him within the next two hours. And I texted him the address of the office once we got there. Feeling assured that I had all of my bases covered, I followed the man into the building. When we got inside, I was amazed by how white everything was. The desks, floors, ceiling, walls, chairs, and even the outfits that the workers wore inside

were all solid white. I couldn't help but stare at everything while we walked towards the back of the building. When we got to the back hallway of the building, I noticed everything was white here, except for the doors. There are three doors in the back, and each door is a different colour. The first door is blue, the second is yellow, and the last is red. He stops in front of the blue door and opens it. Holy shit. Everything in the room is solid blue.

I also notice that there is a huge bed with blankets, pillows and a frame, all of which are completely blue. It really looks like a normal bedroom, with a TV in front of the bed and a laptop in the middle of the bed. He pulled out two chairs and patted on one as he sat on the other. I sat down beside him and he pulled out a piece of paper. The word rules was written on top with a list and a line for me to sign at the bottom. The list of rules stated the following.

Number one, you will not be able to leave your bed during the six months you are here. Number two, you are to sleep for at least 12 hours. a day. Number three, you have access to the laptop and your phone, but you must never reveal what you are doing. Number four, every two months we will move your bed to another room. We will move you, but it's very important that you stay in the same position you were in while you were lying down. Number five, when you receive your own, you receive your own. your food you may put your head up to eat but at least half of your back must be on the bed. Number six, if you need to use the restroom, press the button on the side of the bed.

We have a way for you to use the restroom without you having to leave the bed. Number seven. If you feel sick, press the button twice and we will send someone to assist you. and number eight. Once the six months is up, you will be given $150,000 on a credit card. If you lose the card, we will not be able to replace it for you.

Sign here. I felt a little weird about having to stay in bed for six months. But I do love to sleep, and being paid to sleep for 12 hours seems like a complete luxury. Plus, I will still be able to use a laptop and my phone while I'm lying down, so I won't be bored at all. I can just log

into my Netflix and watch every single show I've been meaning to watch. I call up my buddy and tell him I'm quitting my job and that I found a better opportunity. He asked me what it was, but I'd already hung up on him by then. I let my manager know I'm quitting as well and hang up on him while he was cussing me out and screaming at me about how I completely screwed his team up. I know I just ruined my chances of ever going back to my job and also getting another job in Korea. But once this six months is up, I am going back to the States and finally starting my own restaurant. Once I signed the contract, the man handed me a pair of white pajamas. I changed into the pajamas and got on the bed. The first three weeks go by and I start to run out of things to watch on the laptop.

I don't have anyone to talk to and my buddy has stopped talking to me when I wouldn't tell him where I'm working now. I've never been close to my family and whenever I try calling my mother and father, they don't pick up the phone. The strange thing is, no matter how bored I am, I still feel somewhat happy. I think about how much the money will change my life. I daydream about running a successful restaurant and making a successful chain after a couple of years. I turn on the TV and start flipping through the channels.

I get distracted watching this show about people flipping shit over having their cars towed for the next two hours. And before I know it, a person in white comes in a, injects me with something that makes me fall asleep. I haven't dreamt in the past three weeks, but today I finally had a dream. I'm standing next to my mother and father in a flea market. The same place I used to go with my parents

once a week until I was 13. We are looking at a couple of turtles to get from my aquarium when the man behind the counter approaches us. He points at one particular turtle and tells me this is the turtle I should take home. He turns it around to reveal the face of the turtle and I start to shake. It looks like a turtle everywhere else but the face. The face it had belonged to my old best friend who killed himself when he was 24.

He overdosed on heroin in the door room we were staying. in together the day before graduation. The turtle turned its face to me and slowly closed its eyes while his tongue slid out all the way to the middle of his shell. I woke up in a cold sweat, but immediately felt a wave of peace as I knew it was all a dream. For the rest of the first two months in the blue room, I had the same exact dream. But for some reason, as soon as I woke up, I would automatically feel at peace. When the timer went off, signifying that it was the end of two months, they took me to the yellow room. Two men came in and changed my diaper. Embarrassing, but true, and took me to the room while I stayed in the same position. The man that brought me here was

sitting on the desk waiting for me. He smiles at me and tells me that I'm doing perfectly well. As long as I keep still on the bed, it will all be over before I know it. Everything was the same in this room as the previous room, but everything in here was solid yellow. The first two weeks in the new room, I did not have that horrible dream, but I felt a little sad that I had another four months to go. I just really wish I'd followed what my father wanted me to do and go into law. He already had a firm set up, and he was willing to offer me a six-figure salary on a silver platter. He offered to pay for my schooling, but my hard-headed self decided to. major in English. Oh, I remember how betrayed I felt when my best friend died. He was my only

friend, but now he's gone. I've never found a woman that liked me, making me still wait for my first date at the age of 24. I've successfully wasted the first third of my life on absolute nonsense. The night of the 16th day in this room, I finally had a dream. I'm outside of my dorm room in college. I find the key to my room in my hand, so I put it in the keyhole and open the door. My friend is sitting on the bed, sobbing into his hands. I walk up to him and start patting him on the shoulder and telling him everything will be okay. He starts screaming. No, it won't.

Nothing will ever get better. Then he slowly lifts his face up at me, and I stand there in shock. His eyes are full of sadness, but he has an inhuman smile on his face. His lips are stretched out and ripped open to reach the middle of his cheeks, and the bottom of his lip is torn to his chin. He slowly licks the bottom of his teeth before he grabs me and screams at the top of his lungs at me as his blood hits me on the face.

This dream comes to me for the rest of the time I'm in the yellow room and each time I get more and more depressed about what he says. Nothing will ever ever. get better and I know that's the truth I can make my own restaurant but it'll probably fail I will be broke again and now I won't have an opportunity to work in Korea because I ruined the one reference I had after the two months is up the timer goes off once more and the same two workers lift me up and take me to the fire room. Once again, I see the man sitting at the desk. Last room, my man. After this, you are done,

he says, and leaves the room. I look around the room and see that it is identical to the other two rooms, but red this time. I did not dream for almost the whole two months. I did not dream for almost the whole two months I've been in here. But anger has completely taken over all of my emotions. Why the fuck would a father kick his son out of the house for not choosing the career he wanted? I was never a bad kid and I never got in trouble. Whenever I struggled in the past couple of years and asked for some help, all I got was the phone hung up on me. Everyone that I have loved has left me or fuck me over. My first crush in high school laughed in my face when I asked her to the prom.

I fucking hate everyone now. And I just hope they can never feel happiness again. Last night I had a dream. It was the last night I spend in here. I am standing in front of my life. of my friend. I know what had happened already by the smirk on his face. He's gone behind my back once again and has decided to go to law school and was just guaranteed the job my dad wanted to give me to him. He has just finished gloating in my face about how much more successful

he will be than me and how he just remained my friend through high school and college so he could pursue his greatest passion. He told me how my father told him he was the son he wished he'd had. I already knew about it all before I came into the room. My father called me while I was in the car, driving to my dorm, telling me how he has no use for me anymore, and for me to go ahead and get all my stuff out of his house before the end of the week. Once he is done bragging, he lays on his bed and goes to sleep.

I creeped through his bed with a needle, completely filled with heroin, and find a vein. I slide the needle in fast and inject all of the heroin into the vein on his neck. I woke up with a smile on my face. I think the red room is my favorite. This is the place. Put a smile on your face. Bet on the sports you love with that river sports book. Take a chance.

Must be 19 plus. Available in Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connects Ontario at 1-866-531-2,600, to speak to an advisor, free of charge. I'm an antiques dealer. It's the job that pays the bills, but most of the time I come across incredibly boring

and often ugly things that I can buy cheap and turn a profit on. Throughout my career I found a few strange artifacts, and I've made some decent contacts that'll help me discover lost items, for a share of the profit, of course. Sometimes I'll even get called to different countries, which is fine because I quite like to experience new cultures and see what weird things people leave. behind there. That being said, recently I've come across a pile of documents that all described something called the Lazarus experiment. While I'm still waiting to find out its authenticity, I thought I might as well share it with you fine people. So, below are a few entries that I picked out.

I'm not exactly sure what to make of them. November 10th, Day Zero. I've always been a man of few words, but this past week has been so full of peculiar events, I've finally decided to keep a journal. Even if, never read by anyone, my thoughts will still exist on paper. Hmm, an oddly comforting thought. Currently I'm being moved to a secret facility. They've told me it's some sort of bunker situated deep underground, one where I can finally realize my full scientific potential.

seeing as I'm in the back of a covered truck, not being able to see outside, I can only say we've travelled for about 12 hours at this point. It all escalated so suddenly earlier today, when the state decided that I can be of some help to their cause. Unrest has been on the rise lately, all around the country, and everyone knows in their heart that war is inevitable. Honestly, I've never been into politics. I consider myself to be apolitical, and I believe the rumours were exaggerated.

At least I did until last night when Vandals broke into the university building, where they completely wreaked havoc upon my office and left obscenities on the walls. Several slurs and warnings to get out of town, and not fathom why they hate me so much. I am a simple physicist with some, well, slightly unconventional ideas. As I entered my office this morning to clean what remained, I was approached by two men in shiny new military uniforms. At first I was confused as to why they were with the military and not the police. I, naturally, assumed they were there to question me about the events that had transpired the night before, but they showed no interest in that.

I have to say, they were extraordinarily polite young men. The military usually treated people like myself with much less respect. These men, however, treated me as an equal. The older of the two was a man of higher rank in the military. He told me my work was well known to them and that I had a unique opportunity to serve my country, not on the front nor on any battlefield, but in a state-of-the-art laboratory.

I couldn't say no to such an offer. I've learned throughout my life that Denying the state is a bad idea. Those who do are oftentimes taken away never to be seen again. Time and discretion was of the essence, meaning I would have to leave with them immediately. I demanded to see my family, but they simply told me to write a letter, and they would ensure that my wife received it. Dearest Leah, I've been requested by the state due to my research. I wish I could tell you this in person.

However, our country is no longer safe. We all know a war is coming. Everyone has to contribute to protect those we love, even if not on the battlefield. Well, it's a great honour, but I leave you with a heavy heart and a longing in my soul. I will be back soon enough to see our son take his first step. I think we should name him Adam. Maybe I'll even be there for his birth. I love you always.

yours truly Eliza I'll finish my first entry here the driver says he will arrive shortly November 12th day two I've been guided throughout the facility today

there are 12 floors all underground but I will remain confined to the fourth ball I've never seen such sophisticated equipment and with it I can finally prove my theories

The director of this facility is a military man, an aged soul like myself, but still as strong as ever. He's been put in charge of monitoring the work happening here. The name will be the Lazarus experiment, a bit grandiose for my taste, but I will happily follow orders after being given this gift. Another thing, which I found quite odd, was my new fake name. The director said, it was for my own safety, as this work should never be linked to any of us. So, from here on out, I will call myself Peter, as long as I remain on the premises. November 17th, Day 7. For the past five days, I have attempted to explain the physics behind my project.

During the meetings, I got the feeling that none of them like me very much, well all except for the director who managed to convince them all to have faith in me he said my experiments were essential to our cause it's quite simple actually i told them i do not wish to alter reality but rather to create a rift through time itself and bring people to our time just mere moments before their deaths by doing this they will live but events from the past will not change at all because they are ten taken away rather than being killed. Of course, this requires some knowledge about when and where they died, which limits the capabilities of the machine I will build, but nonetheless it will change the course of history. In a few days the director will grant me full control over the fourth floor, with a crew of 17 to help me conduct my research. June 22nd, Day 955. It's been almost three years since I entered this wretched facility.

On the way, we had faced so many setbacks, I almost lost faith. The thought of being without my family rendered my mind useless. I just wanted to see them once, but my superiors refused me that privilege. By now, my son has been born. I've missed his first words and first steps. I just hope he's healthy. I've also overheard some chatter. The director has mentioned another project on several occasions. It's just been a whisper here and there, but they call it Operation Barbarossa. No matter, I know the war. is raging and many lives have been claimed soon my machine prototype will be ready maybe then we will end the war and i can finally see my beloved family again november third day one thousand and

eighty-nine it worked it finally worked my machine my theories i was right Last evening we decided, after months of planning, to finally try out our prototype. On our first attempt, we would not bring back any more than seven subjects, all from the front lines of the battle. Our goal was to monitor their reaction from being brought back from the dead. Every superior, including the director, was present during our first and most important test. I was honoured to flip the switch, and I smiled, excitedly as I did so. The part of me worried that the machine would not be able to handle the vast force we put on it. That alone is unlike anything ever created in our world. The pylon started rotating at an accelerating rate, quickly reaching as much as 10,000 rotations per minute. The machine held together gracefully as a bright blue light shot out from its core, illuminating our anticipating faces. stood in silence for ten minutes, the light increasing in intensity for each passing second.

Soon it was too much to look at directly, as if staring at a brilliant blue sun. Suddenly, seven small portals appeared, scattered around the laboratory. They were dormant for a few minutes, but then, out of nowhere, one man fell from each portal. Their bodies slumped down on the ground, where they lied silently. My crew ran over to check on their vitals. Sure enough, they were all alive, but unconscious. Upon looking at their IDs, we could confirm their identities. All had died in the same battle, although not knowing each other.

Now they were by our side, unscathed from the war. It's an achievement that will be remembered for millennia to come. No longer will love. lives lose their husbands to battle. No longer will children have to grow up without a father. We... I have saved them all. November 10th, day 10096. Each man we brought back remained asleep for about a week. But this morning they all awoke almost simultaneously. At first, not a single one uttered a word to us. They remained awake, but completely unresponsive to our inquiries. We prodded them and shook them, but nothing happened until exactly

three hours after their awakening. The first man we interviewed spoke of his death. He had been shot in the chest, which punctured a lung. Despite his injury, he couldn't bleed out. His blood had frozen on the cold battlefield, leaving him to gasp for air until he finally throws to death. He had died alone. anyone to comfort him during his last moments on earth, it was impossible. If my machine worked correctly, he would be brought back just before that fatal gunshot, yet he remembered the events surrounding his death. The man knew he should be dead, but didn't appear shocked or at all surprise to be sitting with us without a single scratch. He was calm, but also anodonic. Joyless.

Tonight, I'll sleep uneasy. This experiment no longer feels like a hopeful attempt at saving lost souls. Oh, something sinister lurks in the portals of the dead. December 12th, day 1,128. I'm finally beginning to realize the magnitude of my mistake. It is now been approximately one month since the first subjects awoke. I cannot bring myself to call them human anymore, not after what I've seen them do. They are simply no longer who they used to be when asked whether they would continue the war efforts.

They seemed unafraid and careless about any harm that might occur, even though they'd already experienced the pain of death. They have lost their most basic human instinct to stay alive. They are all dead now, all save for a single soldier we have isolated in a padded cell, a place where he is unable to hurt himself. It's our own fault, of course. We failed to monitor them at every hour of the day. Three of the seven subjects hung themselves in their rooms.

two others repeatedly smashed their heads against the wall until their skulls cracked, and the final subject somehow got hold of a gun. The last one haunts me the most. He had a gun, but he chose not to shoot himself in the head. Instead, he opted to shoot himself in the gut, firing all eight rounds of the pistol. It took him two hours to bleed out. And through it all, he never spoke a word.

He just stared at us as we tried to help him. Emptiness filling his eyes. Despite this major setback, the director is still confident in our cause. He claims, well, with modifications, we can fix the machine and bring back healthy subjects to fight in our war. September 8th, Day 1,700. As time goes on, I've almost forgotten the feeling of sunlight warming my skin, or the face of my beautiful wife. She was always too good for me. A monster like myself doesn't deserve any pity or salvation.

It's been almost two years since our first batch of people were brought back from their deaths. Since then, I have modified my machine to bring back a much larger scale of soldiers. 23,154. A number I will never allow myself to forget. That is the number of soul as men I have helped bring back. Men that were immediately sent to one of the two fronts we're currently fighting. I can't imagine the horrors of fearless. soldiers fighting without a course, not longing for love nor freedom. Even in such a large number,

it's hopeless. War has no winner. I pleaded repeatedly with the director to shut the project down. I told him the Lazarus experiment was a pointless way of prolonging death that these men were no longer human, but he was adamant to we continue. And, I follow orders, in fear of what will happen to my family if I don't. June 6th, day 2035. The war is lost. We're drunken yells that echoed through the hallways of the facility. The director stumbled across the concrete floor,

almost shattering his bottle of wine against the wall. The other superiors quickly escorted him away, Me and my crew were kept in separate rooms while the superiors assessed the situation. After a few hours of waiting in anticipation, a guard entered my room and announced that the experiment was over. I was relieved to say the least. After more than five years, I would finally be able to go home and see my family. I asked to see the director one last time to say farewell,

and thank him for the opportunity. I do not look up to him as much these days, but he served his country like I did, and for that he deserves my respect. The director was sobering up when I met him, still a bit worn out from the alcohol, but clear enough to speak his mind. He told me I was a great scientist that should have gotten much more out of life than I did. He told me he was sorry, but that he had no choice but to send me away. He even shook my hand before I left. I wouldn't be going home. The superiors told me it was due to the war.

They said I would be sent to a camp where my family was waiting for me. The only place that was still safe for people like myself doesn't really matter where I go, as long as I can see my wife and son. I wonder if he'll even know who I am after all these years. I wonder what my wife has told him about me. I've never heard of the place I'm heading. The guards call it Auschwitz. I hope it's nice.

The baby doll experiment. Margaret Kitchell walked into cell 416, her psychologist briefcase bumping against her leg with every other step. As the hydraulic sealed doors locked behind her with a hiss, She took her bearings. The room was the size of an average house's living room, with white paint peeling off the grey walls. It smelled of sweat and metal.

There was very little in the way of furniture, a simple cot in the far corner, a crude toilet in the other one, and in the centre of the room a solid steel table. The occupant of the room was seated at the table. He was a big man in his late twenties, with short, regulation-length hair, and a bit more than a five o'clock shadow. He was staring at a small dent in the table with a smile on his face.

Margaret had been doing this job for six years now, but seeing the faces of her typical patients always did a combination of tugging at her heartstrings and making her stomach drop. When people's minds were as far gone as to necessitate her line of work, they were beyond unpredictable. This notion was manifested. her in the instant that her hand touched the chair opposite the man. He began thrashing, pulling at the restraints, binding his hands and feet to the table. Margaret paused for only a moment,

then continued to pull out the chair and sit down. She ignored his guttural protest and pulled out her briefcase, setting it on the table so that when it was opened the top would mask his view of the contents. She pulled out a folder and selected the top piece of paper. He contained the information on the man in front of her. Staple to the top was a wallet-sized photo of him. He wasn't smiling in the mugshot, but his eyes bore an unsettling twinkle that gave Margaret a moment's hesitation. In a calm voice that was her standard upon meeting new patients,

Margaret finally addressed him. Your name's Mark Owens, is that correct? Upon hearing his name, the man ceased his pulling and tugging, and stared Margaret in the eyes. There was no response besides that, and from what she'd read, she wasn't surprised about his reaction. Do you know where you are, Mark?

She asked him. He chuckled before responding. Sure I do. They locked me up. I'm in the loony bin. I'm in the loony bin. They locked me up. I'm in the loony.

Oh boy. One phrase and Margaret could tell how far gone this man's brain was. She felt a sudden stab of sympathy. She silently berated herself for it. She knew that she shouldn't feel any empathy for him after what he did. But yet she'd been told many times that her natural capacity to care about another person was one of her biggest strengths. That was the reason that she'd steered her career from being a standard depressed teen or scarred childhood psychologist towards being a psychotherapist for people in mental institutions. She was told that her naturally soothing voice and ability to understand people where no one else could would make her ideal for the job.

And so, as a recent college graduate, she'd begun working at hospitals and very soon become a sought-after psychiatrist for people who'd been locked away for insanity. For most patients, she went through a similar process. She would show up, introduce herself, and then lead her patient through a series of exercises that would make her seem like a friend. In some cases, she'd be trying to help cure their damaged brain, but in others, such as Mark Owens' case, she was bleakly aware that she was merely collecting data to hopefully fuel a scientific breakthrough.

This meeting, however, was special. Her high-ups had instructed Margaret to present a gift to her next patient and to monitor how he acted because of it. After a few more minutes of mindless banter, if you'll pardon the pun, she reached into the briefcase and withdrew a package about the size of her torso. Setting the paper down on the table, she moved her briefcase and all the files classed within to the floor. I have a gift for you, Mark. I think you'll enjoy it, she said, as she slid the bag over to where his shackled hands could reach it.

He grabbed the bag without a word and began tearing at the paper, despite the clear open top part. The shreds of paper cascaded to the floor. He froze when he realized what was in the bag. He lay the doll gently on the table, flat on its back, so it was sideways to him. It was made of a fuzzy pink cloth and fitted. filled with a cotton stuffing, with a small plastic head adorned with a cute smile and two beautiful eyes. He didn't move a muscle, just stared at the small baby doll. Margaret spoke in a very soft voice, almost a whisper.

You had a baby, Mark, didn't you? He slowly nodded his big hand. Now, Margaret had already known this. It was very clear in his file what had happened to his own. daughter but talking about their family was a tried and true way for her to get into her patient's head and connect with them Margaret had done her job she'd introduced the doll to him now she gathered her belongings and backed up mark didn't react to her movement at all he was lost in the world that was his own mind as

she was let out of the door to himself she stopped and watched with a small window above the door as a guard unlocked the handcuffs and exited the room. Mark, though free of restraints now, took only a moment before he walked stiffly to his hard bed and sat down on it, his face resting in his hands. Margaret fought a frustrated sigh. She had thought that the dog would have at least captured his interest a little bit more. She waited to see if he'd do anything for several minutes and was turned to leave when he stood up and walked toward the dog. He stared sideways at it before circling the table and sitting down in front of it again. Margaret smiled as he took the baby in his big hands and, to her surprise, cradled it in his

arms. She watched in fascination as he supported its head and rocked it back and forth, just as one would with a real baby. She headed home that day with a sense of triumph. Over the next two weeks she had given baby dolls to a total of four of her patients. All of them had been selected for the experiment because of the severe loss of their respective abilities to be a part of society anymore. In other words, they were all so far gone that there was little hope that any of them would ever be able to be let loose into the public again, without fear of their damaged minds causing harm.

They were the target audience of the experiment. one of them an old man by the name of Thomas Fredrickson had narrowly survived a cancer in his brain. The effects of the treatment and the residual from the cancer itself had turned him into a blubbering fool. The only woman of the group was chosen because she'd brainwashed herself into believing that she was possessed by a demon, and it was forcing her to do things against her will. She'd been arrested after attempting to kidnap a group of girls to sacrifice them, to some unknown deity. The last was a man barely in his twenties, still just a boy really,

who'd been admitted to the insane asylum by his family for his own protection after failing seven suicide attempts. And of course, the first person subjected to the experiment was Mark Owens. His story still made Margaret Shiver whenever she thought about it. He was the case that captured her interest the most. The reason for that, she was partially unsure. It could have been a number of things, like the fact that he was her newest patient, having only arrived in the institution days before.

She'd been meeting with the boy who'd tried to kill himself for several months now, and the old man had regular meetings with her. The possessed woman was fairly new still, but she'd met with Margaret a few times over the past month. Mark, though, was fresh blood. He was new. he was mysterious. No one had been able to get into his head

to find out the why behind what he did. Maybe that was Margaret's hope. To be able to understand someone that no one else could and maybe help him. Margaret had been going over the recordings of her patient's behaviours for the past week. She paid special attention to how they treated the baby doll. The boy simply held the doll by its foot

and tossed it into a corner. Skipping forward, Margaret could see that it remained untouched for several days. No luck in this case. The old man gave a little more interest to the doll. He played with it, much the same way a toddler with play with an action figure. Taking the legs, he walked it around his cell, making it enact adventures with his imagination. Cute but not necessarily where the experiment was designed to go. determined to keep an eye on him.

Turning next to the woman, she could see a certain amount of success. For the first few hours, the woman showed certain care for the baby door, holding it in her arms and cooing to it in a motherly fashion. Perfect. Margaret had one success. She fast-forwarded four hours, hoping for a continuation of the previous actions, but instead gasped in horror. The woman must have been given crayons in a colouring book recently because there were shards of papers scattered all over the floor and in a red crayon crude devil's star on the floor.

With the baby doll lying face down in the middle of it while the possessed woman danced circles around it. No, nothing would come from this case either. And so Margaret turned last to Mark. The way he'd first picked up the doll The first day had stuck with her And sure enough, when she checked his footage She found nothing but care for the doll He would spend hours pacing

Holding the doll in his arms and rocking it The same way a caring parent would calm a fussing baby It sat next to him on the table during meal time And even tried to share some of his mashed potatoes with it He'd even lay it down on his bed for nap time staying for hours in a kneeling position, watching it sleep. At night Mark would tuck the baby into the corner of his bed, wrapping his only blanket around it.

Even though he shivered all night, Mark still gave the doll his blanket every time he'd go to bed. She took note of everything he did, hoping it would be good information. It was touching to Margaret to see him like this. The man, despite popular opinion, had a heart. Well, it was hard to believe that despite all this love and care for an inanimate baby doll, he was still a monster.

Margaret's second meeting with Mark was interesting. Upon arriving, she noticed that Mark was again chained up to his seat across the table from her, but he'd still set up the baby doll to sit next to him on the table, facing Margaret. She hadn't even sat down yet when he spoke to her. I named her Margaret, you know. She's got your eyes. Margaret started at the unexpected cordiality from the man. He never spoke to the guards or the doctors out of his own volition.

She was told that the few nonsensical phrases she'd got out of him on her last visit was in rare form for him. She looked at the dog, blue eyes just like her. She had to wonder if naming it after her meant anything deeper than the obvious, but seeing as his mind was in the gutter, she figured it didn't. It's a pretty name, Mark, she responded with a conflicted smile. A strange shiver rolled up her spine. And she told him her name the last time they met. She didn't think so.

Maybe one of the nurses had told him. Shaking the feeling off, she wasn't. went through her normal routine, talking about how the doll made him feel and questioning him on why he took such good care of it. She wasn't able to get a solid answer for either, but she considered the meeting a success because he seemed at ease with her, and that was a good start. A week later, she met with him again. This time when she sat down, she looked up to see the big man with tears streaming down his face. Mark, she inquired. He said nothing but glanced at the baby doll.

I heard her, he sobbed. Margaret looked the doll over. There wasn't a mark on it. Mark repeated himself. I heard her. I heard them both. Hurt them both? What did he mean?

There was only one doll. Oh, Margaret kicked herself. Of course. He's remembering. she struggled for a moment on how to respond yes yes you did does does the baby help ease the pain she figured that he was hurting well the way he was openly sobbing in front of her made the pictures she'd seen his wife and daughter even though his mind was gone she knew that he had some emotions left for them i they He cut himself off. Margaret figured that this was her chance to probe into his brain a little bit. Do you know what you did, Mark?

He nodded, and his sobbing increased tenfold. Margaret pushed one more time, hoping that the name of his wife would stir his conscience. Do you know what you did to Katrina? All at once, his loud cries and wrenching sobbing sobbed. stopped tears still streamed down his eyes he made no other indication of emotion in a calm voice he replied yes yes they didn't listen to me I don't like to be ignored they say I'm a bad person they're gone they ignored me this response shocked Margaret the way that his mind had deciphered his situation as their

ignoring him. They were dead. They couldn't have responded. They were dead. Swallowing her sudden onslaught of nervous tension, she gestured over to the baby doll. I've seen how good care you take of her, though. Does she remind you of Cassandra? His big brown eyes narrowed as he looked sideways at the doll. His tears had stopped, and he seemed unsure for a moment. And suddenly, with fit of violence, he grabbed for the doll, knocking it across the room, shouting and cursing, he screamed after it. Why did you leave me? Don't you love me?

Margaret yelped and barely suppressed and urged to sprint out of the room. Images flashed through her heads, pictures from the case file. A shot matched the scene in front of her chillingly well. An infant girl, Mark's daughter, crumpled. pulled in the corner, her skull smashed and blood all over the wall. Images of his wife's body rused and broken. The man in front of her had finally shown her his monster side, after almost two weeks of convincing her through his actions that he was a new person. Now Margaret could see the reason for the high security cell in the lowest basement floor of the complex, the handcuffs

and all of the extra security measures not usually needed for the other people at the this mental hospital. Mark was a huge, strong man. In his fits of rage, he thrashed against his restraints, slamming his hands on the table. Blood trickled down his arms as the metal around his wrist began to dig into his skin. Suddenly, with a snap, his hands came free from the table and he stood up, throwing the metal chair across the room. Soon, the room, which had been pristine due to the relative lack of really anything to make a mess with had been overturned. The mattress had been haphazardly thrown against the opposite wall, and the table with its few adornments had been knocked to the floor. Mark scrambled toward the discarded doll, violently wringing it in his hands

before slinging it towards the wall with another enraged scream. Margaret very quickly realized the danger she was in, and she flew to the door, leaving her belongings behind. Banging her hands on the glass, she screamed at the guards to let her out. The doors hissed, and as they squealed open, she felt Mark's eyes on her. It's all your fault, he wrought. You brought me the doll. You brought me the memories. You brought it all back. Margaret turned to see Mark storming towards her.

He'd picked up the baby doll, whose plastic head was cracked from the trauma of Mark's sudden output. As Margaret slipped out of the door and it started to close, he continued screaming at her, crude and profane things that she cringed away from. Several crashes ensued from behind her, and Margaret turned in time to see Mark using a leg of the table to wedge inside the door before it could close. He had moved so fast. The hinges groaned as he pushed back on them with enormous force, leveraged with the strong metal of the table. table. Margaret could see his face through the window on the door, could see the madness in his eyes as his teeth gritted with exertion. The two guards on the floor rushed towards the door to stop him, but arrived too late. With the sound of snapping metal, the hydraulic seal cracked,

sending steam from the pressurized hinges into the air. Mark emerged from within, looking like the hulking beast that he was and glared at Margaret. In her fearful state, she swore to herself that his eyes had turned red. With a single backhand swing, he laid out the first guard to reach him, rendering him unconscious. The other one yelled to Margaret, get to the elevator, before unleashing his taser on the insane man. Mark crumpled to one knee, but, astonishingly, yanked out the electrifying conductors that have been embedded in his chest. Margaret repeatedly slammed her palm on the up button, praying the elevator would come fast. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Mark had picked up the remaining guard by his collar and began to slam him over and over into the wall.

Past the point where Margaret knew the man was dead. His body was still, violent. violently being smashed into the unyielding structure. Another detail about Mark's arrest came unbidden to her mind. His wife's body, found with nearly every inch covered in bruises, not a single bone in her body remaining intact. This was Mark's way, his calling card. He didn't stop his abuse when his victim was dead. He continued to ravish the body until not much more than a bloody pomp remained.

The elevator opened with an ironically happy-sounding ding. Margaret was inside before the doors were even halfway open, already frantically pressing the main floor button. Mark finished with the daguard and turned his fiery glare on Margaret. He ran towards the elevator as the doors started to come together. They shut seconds before she heard his body slam against the metal. As she ascended in the shaft She could hear his screams of anger echoing throughout the building

Upon reaching the main floor She managed to gasp out loud Marks escaped Before she collapsed to the ground She welcomed the enveloping darkness As she passed out on the cold, tiled floor The hospital staff were friendly enough But they insisted on running several backup checks on her

despite her protests of I'm fine someone had taken her upstairs to a different wing of the hospital after she'd fainted and she remained unconscious for almost an hour before coming too but other than a bruise on her jaw from hitting the ground she was absolutely fine they let her go after another hour's surveillance with warnings to contact her doctor if she felt dizzy or had trouble focusing in the next few days She walked the quarter mile home Her apartment complex was just opposite the street from the hospital

It made commuting easy And climbed the three staircases of her apartment building To get to her room As she walked down the long hallway She was joined by her neighbour Ben Who began to talk in hyperspeed About the latest football game She liked the guy and usually liked his attention

But she brushed him off as she reached her door She couldn't deal with his energy right now now. She felt drained. Once inside her room, she kicked off her shoes and slouched on the couch. Turning on the television, she muted the sound and tried to clear the thoughts bouncing around in her head like a jackhammer. The thing at the front of her consciousness was Mark. His story, she couldn't think of anything but him. The file said that his parents and little brother were killed in a car accident two days before the incident, which police think to be a big cause as to why he snapped.

His wife had just had a baby two months prior, and his friend said that the little girl had changed Mark. He stopped his old alcoholism habits and was generally considered to be a better man after she was born. While there was no confirmation of it, the police did suspect that Mark was abusive even before the incident. But the day of, Margaret had never heard of anything so brutal. Due to an unknown argument, Mark had lost his temper and threw his daughter into the wall,

much as Margaret herself had seen him throw the baby doll. Being just a fragile newborn, she died instantly. Well, his wife began screaming at him, and the forensics say that he hit her over the head with a vase on the table, knocking her unconscious. Realising what had transpired, he collected his baby in his hands and tried to make her wake up. The police believed that this is when the last strands of his humanity snapped. This was when he completely lost his mind. He put on his wife, and when she came to, he began to beat her mercilessly. He threw her body down the stairs and even used some furniture to further brutalize her.

It was unclear when she'd actually died and how much she had to suffer, but the report showed that almost every bone in her body had been fractured, in one way or another. This man was a monster, and it was only hours later when his neighbor had gone over to ask for help moving a new refrigerator that the carnage was finally discovered, and the police called. Mark was arrested and detained in a high security cell at the mental institution. The first few days of her meetings with him, Margaret couldn't believe he'd done all that. He was young and, oh, he was big and strong, he had a softness to his posture. one that would suggest a proud father.

Margaret's thoughts were interrupted when an image on the silent television captured her attention. An aerial view of the mental institution. Looking out her window, she could see the news van still parked in front of it. She unmuted the volume to hear, where authorities have yet to locate him.

The institution claims that there was no outside influence to aid in the escape, but it was all facilitated by him. himself. The screen cut to the basement floor, where Margaret had stood no more than a day and a half ago, and her stomach sank to her ankles, as she saw the door to Mark's cell still open, and a nearby ventilation shaft grate, wrenched off and thrown to the side. The newscast continued, advising people to, stay indoors, if possible, unlock all your doors on windows. The police are out in full force looking for Owens.

If you see or hear anything about him, please notify authorities. Then the news moved on to politics, so Margaret shut the TV off. The haunting sounds of Mark's furious screams echoed inside her mind, and to think that he could be anywhere, Margaret shuddered.

She decided to take a hot shower to clear her head. As she walked towards her bed, bedroom however she paused the doorway was half ajar and within the rectangle of light that the hallway cast into the dark room sat an object a small baby doll lay on its face dusty and torn with a large crack in its plastic head Margaret recognized that doll she screamed as a forearm the size of her thigh entered the rectangle of light and grab the doll around the waist, holding it up. The hand rotated the doll so it was facing Margaret,

and now she could see the scrawl written on its forehead in a sharpie. M-A-R-G. The intention was clear. The door slowly swung open, and Mark Owen's massive frame came into view. He looked at the baby, cradling it in two hands now, without looking up at her, he slurred. I watched the light leave her eyes. My poor, poor Cassie.

She was so beautiful. I'd almost forgotten her. I almost stopped feeling sad. His gentle posture stiffened, and his grip on the doll tightened. But then you showed up, and you brought her back to me. Only it's so much worse to think about. it now you ruined my peace with the last party's tone turned bitter and he spat out his words as he spoke a million questions flew through margaret's mind the most prevalent being how did

he find my apartment has he been in here the whole time and most chillingly of all what as he planned to do next. Margaret was especially scared because she was pretty sure what he was going to do, and she wasn't sure if she could outrun him. Then a light bulb went off in her head. She had a barretta, a small handgun in a bedside dresser drawer, a gift from her father when she'd moved out of the house. It was intended for keeping potential thieves and ill-intentioned men away,

and she figured there'd be no better time than this. She just needed to keep him distracted. Mark, your family's gone. There's nothing I can do about that. As she spoke, she sidled past his body and into the room. He didn't move. But there is something you can do to help feel better. He eyed her suspiciously.

She was halfway to the draw. Margaret's brain tumbled over itself, trying to come up with something he could do to help, but the underlying fear that she'd yet to completely banish was slowing her thought processes. Well, Mark huffed over his shoulder, impatient to hear how she could fix his situation. Margaret stuttered,

Oh, well, you cannot... She hadn't expected him to answer, hadn't thought that far ahead yet. Mark turned to face her. He hunched his shoulders over threateningly and ground. There's nothing, is there? You think I'm a monster just like everyone else does. But I'm not.

I just want my baby girl back. Was that a sob? The insane man's emotions were everywhere. Margaret had reached the drawer and tried to discreetly open it. Mark said, almost passively, Oh, I found your gun. I took it away because I didn't think I'd need it. With this, Margaret abandoned all pretences and frantically threw the drawer open.

Sure enough, it was devoid of her firearm. Mark stepped towards her menacingly. You were going to shoot me? Margaret's panicked mind realized something wrong with what Mark had said before. I found your gun, I took it away because I didn't think I'd need it. He took the gun away because he didn't think he'd need it? This thought triggered her fight or flight reflex. She grabbed her slippers which were tucked under the bed and flung them into Mark's face.

As he swatted at them, she took her chance to duck past him and run out of the door. He roared from within her bedroom and smashed his way past the door. Margaret screamed and tried to escape into the hall, opening the front door, getting one foot out and crying very very, help before she felt a huge hand clamp around her arm. She felt her shoulder pop out of place as she was flung backward and back into the room. She landed with a crash and flipped over the back of her couch. She felt a snap in both of her legs as her shins collided with the marble side table. She tried to crawl away using her one undamaged appendage as Mark stomped over to her, shoving the tupled couch to one side.

He still had the baby doll in one hand, holding it by its head, the crude M-A-R-G ridden on its forehead. With an inhuman growl, he held the doll out to her, and then crushed its head with one hand like he was breaking an egg. Margaret shrieked and ducked as the doll was thrown at her.

It shattered the fallen lamp next to her head and knocked over the small table it was resting on. Mark advanced on Margaret and grabbed her again, swinging her around, her head connected with the wall, and she went limp. She was still conscious, but found that she was unable to control her limbs. She looked desperately towards the door, as the small shape of a man appeared, holding a firearm of his own. She recognized his face, twisted with worry, as her neighbor Ben. He'd probably heard the commotion coming from her room and hopefully had called the cops. She was safe.

She smiled as she heard two cracks emanating from his pistol. She smiled as she heard Mark's animalistic screams of rage and pain increase and then disappear. And she smiled as she passed out for the second time that day. Margaret slept for a long time. She came to occasionally. Enough to recognize the ICU room she was in, enough to catch snippets of the doctor's conversations while they thought she wouldn't be able to hear them.

She won't be the same. It's a miracle she survived. Severe brain trauma. Severe brain trauma. What's that? Margaret slowly regained use of her broken arms and legs, and after a week or so, felt that it was time she left.

She sat up, whereof the weight of the partial body cast around her neck and upper torso, as well as one on her arm and both her legs. But even despite this, she swung her feet off the bed, about to stand up, when a rude aide shoved her down onto her back. What? I want to go home, she screamed. She instantly started bashing him away with her club-like arms, shrieking unintelligible

curses at him. Several more people dressed in sterile white clothing swarmed into the, and they were the room and held her down biting and clawing she was determined to go free but as a sharp pain pinched her side she looked over with glassy eyes to see the syringe now empty of his sense-dulling drug the last thought that entered her mind as lethargy overtook her was one of bewilderment what's going on with me she then laughed maniacly because she had absolutely no clue but oh She was so sleepy. She later had felt some satisfaction to hear that she'd scratched one of the nurse's eyes out on their first tussle.

She didn't know why, just a nice sense of justice. They gave her a nice little jacket that held her arms like a tight hug, once they were free of the cast. They also gave her a new home. It was one room and there wasn't very much pretty furniture, just a hard bed and a steel table. She met occasionally with a nice old man who talked to her about her feelings, and after a week he gave her a present. She's got your eyes.

Margaret looked down and squealed with pure delight. Nestled neatly into the packaging was a small baby doll with two big blue eyes, staring up at her. Jim Michelson shuffled his notes back into his briefcase and snapped the metal clasps shut. Before he stood up from the cold medal seat, he looked up at the person across from him. Margaret Kitchell sat in a wheelchair, her legs still covered in casts, a small baby doll sitting dutifully in her lap. A dopy grin was plastered to her face as she looked down at the doll. He'd been working with people like her for most of his 40 years in the workforce. People in mental hospitals who were hardly able to recognize the written,

and unridden laws of society, and thus by either court mandate or doctor's orders, had a very long stay planned out for them. Recently, Jim had acquired several more patients to add to his own due to an accident that had left his town under lockdown for a few hours while it had been sorted out. He paled when he'd heard about it, because that morning he'd been in the very wing of the hospital that Mark Owens had escaped from. And though he'd never met her, it was still shocking to be. to hear that he'd attacked and injured several people, including the guards outside his cell

before, tracking down his psychotherapist to her house and leaving her in critical condition in the ICU. Jim shivered at that last thought. Since the incident, the prospect had danced across his mind an innumerable amount of times. Oof, could have been me. He was still looking at Margaret, but all of a sudden he had a terrible vision of himself sitting in the wheelchair, while she left him alone after a session of trying to make sense of his jumbled brain, like worked for the same people. It was all dumb, blind luck that she'd been assigned to Mark and not he, ignorant to the fact that before the end of the month

she would end up with enough head trauma to reduce her to a giggling idiot. The doctor said her body would fully heal eventually, but her mind, well, it was clear to Jim that despite her youth and despite her degrees, she would likely never again see life outside the confines of the hospital. It was unnerving to find himself assigned to her in such a short time, especially because he knew that she once sat where he currently was, doing exactly what he was doing. This prompted his eyes to stray towards the doll in her lap.

Jim had never been one for dolls, thought they were creepy, but he couldn't argue that the expression. appeared to have some promise. Margaret had seemed to instantly connect to the doll when he gave it to her at the start of this meeting. She'd become so much more lucid than before, nearly able to pass for her old self. She spoke in clear, cohesive sentences,

spilling her story out in a rush, like she knew that this would be the last time she told it. Something in her had sparked for a while, and her eyes had seemed to shine while she held it. It didn't last long, and in recent minutes she'd return to blabbering nonsense, and her blue eyes had gone dull again. He didn't know if the doll had caused her to do that, or if it was simply correlation, but he at least had some results from the experiment to give his superiors. And the story he'd been told from this poor, crazy woman stuck with him more than any other he'd heard in his long, winded career.

he'd hung on to every word, scribbled down each detail, and placed it safely in his case. Shaking clear from his thoughts, he pushed himself up from the table, thanked his patient, and began to exit the room. While he did so, he stole one more glance at its occupant. Her dopey grin was unchanged, but a while blue eyes were now staring directly at him. they felt cold and wrong like they didn't belong to her she spoke nearly singing the words margaret likes you she'd miss you if you didn't come back jim shivered as he opened the door and left the eruption of giggles to echo around the room behind him and so once again reach the end of tonight's podcast my thanks

Thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.