Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Brought My Dad To The Hospital. Now We're Being Hunted By Something | Scary Stories

Episode Date: August 16, 2023

Something horrible came in after us...  Merch is now live at ⁠⁠lighthousehorror.com⁠⁠ Story from DrElsewhere Make sure to check out more of their work at u/DrElsewhere          �� Original Post: Howls in the Hospital : r/nosleep                 Original YouTube link: I Brought My Dad To The Hospital. Now We're Being Hunted By Something  For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new scary stories, new true stories, and new creepypasta stories twice a week!

They're going to cut us up, Marge. They're going to cut us up real good. I gently slapped my father's leg. He probably didn't feel it with the drugs and all. Would you stop that? You're going to make Margaret nervous. The 74-year-old grandmother stared at my father with a quizzical look, then used her thumb to reenact an imaginary throat slit. Got us like fish they are. That's all we are to them. Just fish. The nurses joined my father and Margaret in a chorus of laughter, while wheeling the doped-up pair out of the multiple occupancy hospital room and toward the surgery ward.

I trailed them down the long hallway of the third floor, but was in no mood for jokes. I hated hospitals. The antiseptic smell. Endless beeps and electronic chatter from medical machines. The constant movement of staff gave rise to a sense of perpetual panic, doorway after doorway that represented loved ones finally facing that all-too-real fact. Someday, someone you love will die. Everything reminded me of when my mother stayed in this hospital two years ago.

That was before I'd faced that all-too-real fact. Carotid endartorectomy is a common procedure used to greatly reduce the risk of stroke. My father and I were told all about it after the results for his yearly checkup didn't yield good results, a blockage of fatty deposits that had been detected in an artery along his neck, and the doctor had explained how he would make a three-inch incision to open the artery, then remove most, if not all, of the waxy build-up. It was a preventive measure against strokes and highly effective. After the explanations, my father agreed to the procedure.

I had misgivings, though. I didn't want to lose another patient in this hospital. Margaret, my father's new hospital roommate, was receiving the same procedure for the same reason. Up until six hours ago, she was a complete stranger, but surgery bonds people in strange ways. We'd learn that she was originally from Kentucky, but a better job moved her further south, where she met her husband, and eventually bore three daughters. My father and I met them all, including her seven grandchildren. Before the nurses started to administer the anesthetic drugs, her husband had stayed,

but the other relatives went home and would visit during her recovery. It was a sweet family, a whole family, unlike mine. The ward was up ahead. Margaret's husband kissed his wife and whispered a prayer into her ear. I waved goodbye to my father on his way to the main. medical staff-only doors. See you on the other side. He mumbled through the effects of the medicine.

If I don't make it, remember to feed my dogs. Don't talk like that, Dad. You'll be fine. His head lulled to one side, then stood at attention. His tongue rolled over his lips. Yep, the drugs had kicked in. I miss your mother. This comment froze me in place.

She was the bravest person I knew, a damn strong fighter. I miss her too, Dad. He inhaled deeply, and his eyes found me. At least there's a bright side to not making it through this. How so? I'll get to see your mother again. The nurse rolled my father away before I had time to respond. Margaret's husband and I watched as our loved ones disappeared

between the pivoting doors. Then he gave me a hug and promised our worries were unfounded, that everything would go smoothly. Surgery bonds people in strange ways. I had two hours to kill before the completion of the surgery, and the thought of enduring another talk from Margaret's husband about the reason for rising gas prices spurred me into taking a self-guided tour of the hospital.

I walked down the corridor, occasionally seeing through room windows that the storm outside had intensified. A trek to my car to grab some fast food didn't warrant the brutal conditions I would have to endure to reach the parking lot across the property. But my stomach rumbled. I decided my first stop should be the vending machine on the first floor. I took the elevator down with an orderly, who just finished a shift. My mind raced with gloomy thoughts. How would the following 48 hours go while my father convales? in his shared room. What if the surgeon wasn't at the top of his game? What if the surgery had complications? What if... What if I lost my father? A ding alerted the orderly and I of our arrival,

and we stepped into the small-tiled chamber that fed into the massive lobby. He darted through the automatic entry doors, but I hooked a left and went into the alcove that housed three large vending machines. A small girl, maybe five or six years old, stood in front of the glass window of the center vending machine, staring at all at the huge selection of brightly packaged candy. Hey, I said quietly. You want to split some? The girl reluctantly eyed her mother who sat in a chair, scrolling on her phone. The mother looked up, and I pointed to the machine, then to the girl. She smiled and gave a thumbs up. The girl grabbed at the hem of her navy skirt and did a little dance.

Let's see, I said, and began to list the options. Snickers are a good choice. I like caramel. Butter fingers are yummy. Hey, they have crunch bars. The girl stuck out her tongue and shook her head, then pointed. Rees, good choice. They come with two buttercups.

That is the perfect. perfect candy to share. I inserted the money, pressed the appropriate keys, and the girl and I watched with delight as the orange package fell. She scooped it out, and I helped her open it, then fished out her half, then mine. She grabbed it and ran back to her mother. No sooner had she returned when a tall lanky man came around the corner with a bandage on the crook of his arm. He hugged the girl's mother, then lifted the girl in his arms. She showed him the chocolate treat, then pointed in my direction. The family waved, and I returned the gesture. The man was too young to be that bald. It reminded me of my mother's stay at the hospital.

It had been me that landed her in that grueling four-month process. Before, she'd come to me complaining of sudden chills, chronic fatigue, and weight loss. I did my best impression of my dad and joke that shedding some pounds wasn't necessarily a bad thing. My indifference to her symptoms relaxed my mother. I told her to take melatonin tablets to sleep and have an extra cup of coffee when she felt tired. Some time later, the nosebleed started. I always wondered if I told her to schedule a doctor's appointment earlier.

Would the leukemia have been in an earlier stage? Professionals could have begun treatments. she would have had more time to fight. My mother died in Rome 288 on the second floor of the hospital. The end was painful, long, and hopeless. I held her hand as she passed. My mother's death was my fault. I sat in one of the waiting room chairs and devoured my single piece of Reese's. It was delicious, but my stomach wasn't satisfied. The candy prompted more grouse. owls from my belly, and I rose from the chair to grab something more substantial from the vending machine, peanut buttercrackers or something.

A raucous pair of men barged through the entry doors of the lobby. Their shirts were drenched in rain and stuck to their forms at odd angles. Water dripped from their hair. They were shouting at the receptionist, and they carried a bloody teenager in their arms. I stood by the vending machine and watched as the receptionist yelled that the ER was located nearby and ran with the men to a side door. He was attacked by a dog, a huge dog. The men were almost screaming.

The limp teenager was pale and partially nude, strips of clothing hung loose over massive gashes along his ribs and shoulder. No sound came from his mouth. The men followed the receptionist and their path left awake of blood droplets on the lobby floor. Others in the waiting room leapt to their feet, knowing the group had come into the wrong entrance. ER was the door adjacent to the lobby. Light from the emergency room sign could be seen from the lobby window and transform the storm outside into a crimson hurricane.

But anyone in that situation could make a mistake. The pure terror across the pair of men's faces belied any idea of rational thought. Any door to the hospital would suffice, the men probably thought. Any door. One of the man's demands for help became muffled after they entered the other ward, but his pleas were clear as daylight. Help him. Please help my son.

The scene left the ones in the waiting room despondent. I decided it was time to live. leave the lobby before another injured patient made the same mistake of using the wrong door. The sight of the ravaged teen made my hair stand on end. I traversed the area, stepping over the drops of blood, and entered the elevator. I rode it to the second floor. Grim nostalgia flooded me when I stepped into the corridor. All the memories of the time my mother spent here came back.

Those first few days were optimistic. Years were in high hopes, despite her stage three condition, and their hope seeped into my family like osmosis. Her condition turned out to be anything but hopeful. She got worse, lost more weight, stopped eating. Her eyes sunk far in and became dark in her skull. She rambled on about her possible death after one very bad report. I forced my mother to stop talking.

Years had formed, and I couldn't handle the thought of losing her. It was her way to cope with the inevitable, but I prevented her from coming to terms with what would be reality. I wish I hadn't stopped her. I stopped at room 288 and peered inside. A handsome man was asleep in bed, thick blankets pulled up to his chin. A plethora of tubes snaked out from under the fabric to machines with blue and green lights. The room was dark.

I didn't want to disturb him, but I wanted to enter the room. Perhaps trying to relive those terrible last moments with my mother, and a place they happened would allow me closure. I placed my left foot through the threshold. May I help you? A nurse was behind me. She held a clipboard burdened with paper. The pen in her hand was held out, like she was ready to mark me tardy from a high school

class. My father is having surgery. Is this your father? She hissed. No, no, but to kill time, I... You can't be in here. Please go to one of the waiting rooms located on each floor. I walked away before she could scold me further. I took the stairs, but wasn't able to lift my leg. I felt weak. Numb. I sat on the same level. landing where I had sobbed uncontrollably after my mother had died. I held on to the same railing where my knuckles had turned white from pressure. I sobbed again in the same spot. For my father, for my mother, for the teenager downstairs who I didn't even know but was sure wouldn't make it through the night. The nurse beckoned me from the waiting room when I could

see my father. I'd been on my phone scrolling through local news stories. Resident gives $100,000 to humane society. Woman reports wolf in backyard, ten recipes to try for Thanksgiving. Anything to take my mind off of the anxiety of being in the hospital. After the nurse came, I followed her to the multiple occupancy room and saw my father. My father whispered through his grin, How do I look? I patted his hand, then kissed his forehead. A massive bandage was around his throat, and when he tried to talk again, the nurse assisting Margaret told him to hush.

He rolled his eyes and followed orders. Limit you're talking as much as possible, the nurse said, addressing my father and Margaret. They understood. Margaret's husband and I nodded in agreement, too. My night was spent slouched in an uncomfortable chair, dozing off and on until gray twilight peeked through the blinds. The storm had raged all night, and weather reports warned it wouldn't ease up until the evening. I stretched, and my joints popped. Margaret's husband was awake, tucking his wife's hair under her ears and repositioning the blanket. He was a sweet man.

Coffee? I asked him. Yeah, yeah, that'd be lovely. One cream, please. While my father slept, I went to the commissary downstairs and ordered two coffees, one with cream, one black. I was holding one in each hand when I noticed a familiar face at a table in the corner. It was one of the men who had carried the teenager yesterday.

Dried blood darkened his shirt. His presence meant that I'd been wrong. His son did make it through the night. It was apparent that he hadn't had a wink of sleep. He stared at his own coffee cup mindlessly. I'd been there. When my mother was getting treatment, I was the one sitting alone. Solitary contemplation can be a pernicious affliction if left unchecked.

I would have given anything to have had someone sit down and tell me everything would be okay when my mom was sick, even if her death was a foregone conclusion. A simple act of kindness goes a long way when someone's at rock bottom. I approached them. Sir, I saw you come in last night. How is he? There was no attempt to hide his depression. I see you.

Lots of blood loss, but they stabilized him. That's good news. Yeah. He was about to take a sip of coffee, but instead bowled his fist and slammed it on the table. That damn dog. A dog did that to your son? It was a huge dog. I didn't get a good look, but it all happened so fast.

I own a landscaping business and my sons were helping me with a mulching project for a commercial property. And then I heard him scream. It was, I will never get that sound out of my head. Was it a pit bull? He shook his head, then shrugged. If so, it was the biggest pit bull I've ever seen. No, no, I'm positive it wasn't a pit bull. Maybe a rabid Tibetan Mastiff.

Not sure though, it all happened so damn fast. Well, I'll be thinking of you and your son. I said, putting my hand on his. He'll make it. He grabbed my hand and thanked me. I went back toward the elevator with a cup in each hand. I turned back to find the man lost and thought about what it occurred, trying to piece mysteries together to form a logical explanation. His cup was still full.

A full moon shone like a spotlight through the open window blinds. The storm had finally moved north, but there were still occasional clouds through the night sky. I'd gone through a full battery of phone life while my father recuperated throughout the day. The nurses had been attentive, and when the doctor showed up to check on his progress around lunchtime, he said recovery appeared perfect. No red flags, no hiccups. My father was going to be okay. The doctor had similar news for Margaret, and when the doctor left, her husband began

restating plans for their upcoming family Thanksgiving. He and I bided our time while our loved ones healed. We ate lunch together in the commissary. chatted about our past and our future. I found out he collected stamps. He found out I'd never broken a bone. By the time nightfall came, we were in high spirits about our departure the next morning. I'd open the window blinds to reduce the claustrophobic feel of the room, then turned on the television for my dad and Margaret. Reruns of the Facts of Life flickered on screen until they were both lightly snoring in their respective beds.

Madison administered for pain had them counting sheep. The third floor activity had been reduced to the graveyard shift of nurses and doctors patting down our hall. Once in a while, I heard a door open or the soft conversations between staff that echoed into our third floor room. Then I heard shrieks down the hall, sending the bored nurses into a full-fledged sprint. Margaret's husband went into the hall, and I followed. A herd of doctors maneuvered around us, telling us to get back in our room.

We didn't listen. After hours of uneventful monotonous waiting, the bustle from a medical emergency had our attention pointed to the ICU. Staff funneled into the intensive care unit revolving doors at a breakneck speed. Every time the door swung open, it permitted our view into that section of the hospital. All support seemed to be concentrated on one, particular room. I knew which victim had necessitated the attention when I witnessed the father of the mauled teenager slowly back out of the room. At first, I assumed it was the staff forcing him out while they did their work to save his son. Then I realized he was retreating

by his own free will. Etched in his face like stone was an expression of disbelief and horror. He'll make it, I told him. I guess I was wrong. The third floor was chaotic, as demands from doctors and nurses replaced any sense of ease for all housed patients. A few heads popped out of rooms, wondering what all the fuss was about. Margaret's husband wrapped an arm around me and was about to say something when his words were shut off by a booming growl that vibrated my core. I held my palms to my ears and looked to the man with his arm around me for clarity. The noise came not from someone, but something. Had an animal ventured into the hospital?

If so, how did it manage to get to the third floor? Then the scream started. Human screams. A cacophony of shattering and heavy thuds penetrated the ICU doors that blocked the view. I started to backstep into my father's room, ready to close the door at a moment's notice at the looming threat. A schizophrenic patient? A mass shooter? Anything was possible. And then a doctor burst through the ICU doors. His right leg had a series of gashes, and his pants were soaked crimson. He hobbled in our direction, shouting at curious patients as he

passed. Evacuate the building. Everyone get out. He changed. The doctor refused to aid anyone, but instead ran to the chamber of elevators. He repeatedly slammed his fist against the button, screaming his instructions again. A dark object separated the ICU doors. It was about chest high, But I couldn't make out what it was until it pushed farther into the corridor. The snout of a canine emerged. Deep exhales fogged the metal doors. Whatever creature the snout belonged to must have smelled something enticing. Lips rolled up like curtains to form a snarl that exposed giant white teeth. Oh my God, Margaret's husband said. I pulled him inside the room. We gotta get the hell out of here. Grab the chairs and help me lift.

Groggy from the medicine. My father and Margaret were displeased by the sudden need to move from their beds into wheelchairs. They were too drowsy to understand the circumstances, so I didn't bother. Their understanding wasn't necessary. Their survival was. A dark blur whipped past the doorway. I hesitated at my next move, but knew we were sitting ducks for wretched. whatever had terrorized the ICU. I wheeled my father out of his room, followed closely by Margaret and her husband, and down the lengthy corridor that was devoid of staff or patients. A line of blood was on the floor, only broken by bloody imprints of huge paws. No curious onlookers were in sight. Medical staff was absent. I turned the corner for the elevators, then almost

tripped myself to come to a halt. The doctor with the injured leg lay sprawled in the middle of the area. Hunched over him was something that resembled a massive wolf. It stood on four legs, but the shoulders would have easily been as tall as my chest. Furred muscles and roped tendons covered the limbs and torso. A thick mane of charcoal fur sprouted around a massive head that was buried deep and the silent doctor's neck. The doctor's head separated from his body. Blood splattered the walls and floor in grotesque strings. I pulled my father's wheelchair out of view and caught Margaret's husband before he turned the corner. Stairs, I whispered. There was no protest. He could tell by my face that something terrible was near the elevators. My father was regaining.

his senses, but his tossing and turning made me zigzag his wheelchair on the path to the western stairwell. The tires gathered some of the blood from the floor and stored it in the moving components. It was getting more difficult to push. I arrived at the exit sign first and used my weight to keep the door open while my father lifted himself onto his feet. What's going on? He mumbled.

No time, I replied. You need to get to the first floor. Now. He was on the first step when Margaret arrived. I held the door for her, but still she was too sedated to be ambulatory. Her husband was shifting her weight into his arms when I spotted the creature stalk around the corner. Yellow eyes darted toward us. It balanced on its hind legs, tall ears scraping the ceiling, and let out a howl that almost buckled my knees. Blood-infused Spittle misted the ceiling. Then four paws found the floor, and the beast bounded toward us in a show of raw agility. I barely managed to slam the door shut. The husband had a difficult

time carrying his wife. Advancement was slow. I prodded the older man to hurry. Dad was on the second floor landing, leaning against a wall for a breather. When I screamed at him from behind Margaret's drooping head to keep going. The sound of metal hinges ripping from their steel jams was an explosion in the small stairwell. The deformed husk of the door slammed against the back wall, and what followed was a nightmare. The odor of the creature swelled my sinuses and almost made me vomit. Claws clicked carefully on the tall steps, but when the wolf found its balance, it took them effortlessly. The The muzzle sprang from around the railing, and I knew we didn't have time to make it to the bottom floor. I shoved the second floor door open and shoved my father inside.

He fell on a gurney and upturned it, but I couldn't check on him. The husband reached his hand out from the stairwell, and I grabbed it, then yank the couple with all my strength. All three of us fell beside my father. Margaret was now in my lap, pinning me to the ground. A second later, the left foot of Margaret's husband that was wedged between the stairwell door and frame was jolted to an odd angle. A painful shout sprang from his mouth, and he kicked behind him with the opposite foot.

And then he was gone, sucked through the opening, as if he were in the vacuum of space. His fighting pleas were silenced by a hefty crunch. I rolled Margaret to her side, then helped my father. to his feet. A bruise had formed on his forehead from the fall, and the strain of exercise had caused his surgical wound to bleed through the gauze. After pushing him forward, I yelled for him to get to the elevators and call for help, hospital security, the police, the National Guard even. He shambled away, still quite confused as to what was going on. I didn't know myself. I grabbed Margaret's wrist and against her objections,

due to pain, pulled her down the corridor. The hospital gown slid down her body from the friction, and before I could manage her inside a room, it slipped down to her ankles. Her naked skin tugged at the waxed floor and made my job impossible. She screamed from the pain. Three women in scrubs appeared from around a nurse's station and came to me, inquiring about what the hell I was doing and why I was hurting the woman. The door to the wards. Western stairwell bulged inward. Everyone around Margaret turned in time to see the bulge extend until hinges popped off like buttons.

The beast lunged for the nearest nurse. Thick teeth covered her face, and with a sharp tug the beast snapped the poor woman's neck. The other two nurses ran in the opposite direction. I had no time to think. I grabbed under Margaret's armpits and hoisted her into the nearest room, the click-clack of the approaching animal intensified. I shoved an angry Margaret into the adjoined bathroom and slammed the door shut. I hoped her hiding spot would be enough.

A putrid odor found me. The beast was close. Finding cover was my only option. I scanned the dark hospital room for something to hide behind or in, but all I saw was a handsome, man in bed. Blue and green lights twinkled like stars, and memories came flooding back. The walls, the art on the wall, the positions of the furniture. I was in Rome 288, the room where my mother died. Long blankets and sheets shielded the undercarriage of the hospital bed, so I darted for it. I slipped my foot behind the covering right before I saw the gore-stained muzzle-suit. silhouette against a bright light from the hallway. Only a thin strip of light found its way under the blanket.

Apart from my shoes and shins, I couldn't see anything. And I didn't need to. I held my breath, wondering how sensitive those giant ears were, and I prayed that Margaret wouldn't say anything or come out of the bathroom. I prayed her medicine would stay in her system long enough for the beast to leave. Up inhales from nostrils as large as quarters took in the smell of the room. I pressed my knees to my chest. I wanted to be with my father.

I wanted out of this room, out of this hospital. Beeps from the machine changed cadence. What was once an even tempo became sporadic and irregular. The man had woken up, and I could barely hear him speaking. The crossed brace lifts of the hospital bed collapsed under the new weight. I was pressed flat on my back, the bottom frame of the bed an inch from my face. Blood began to drip to the floor. I wanted to scream, no, I needed to scream.

But to prevent this, all I could do was think of my mother. It was the day before she died when I had my last conversation with her. She was weak, her voice a little more than a whisper on good days. But that day, she'd mustered up the strength to talk with me while Dad was running an errand. What I tell you when the doctor diagnosed me? She asked. That you were going to fight like hell. I answered.

That's right. And I have fought hard, haven't I? Yeah, Mom. You're the bravest woman I know. wanted me to come closer. I fell to my knees at her bedside. She pressed her thumb gently to my cheek and wiped off the single tear that had fallen. Sometimes you win a fight, sometimes you lose. Listen, honey, I'm not sure I have a lot of time, but I want you to do something. Never stop fighting, no matter what it is, school, job, a relationship, cancer.

No matter what, I want you to always keep fighting. Always. I kissed my mom on her forehead and promised her that I would, no matter what. I came back to the present moment. The tension on the bed above me decreased. The deep inhale started back again, and I knew it would find me. I knew that I could die in the same room as my mother had, but something internal gave me a sense of calm. I knew that if I died, I'd go down fighting.

A small digital clock was in my line of sight. It seemed to float in the darkness above me, but I knew it rested on a side table. It was the same table my mother used to store her tower of books she read between treatments. As silently as possible, I wedged my shoulder under a brace and reached. I felt the flat surface of the wood, then the rounded corner of the clock. Then my fingers were on something that proved useful. I pressed the button on the remote control and the wall-mounted television came to life. Blue light permeated the room. Chatter from a man selling car insurance filled the air. The reaction

was immediate. I lifted a corner of the blankets to see the wolf was on its hind legs, inspecting the motion of the screen with its nose. That was my chance. Cautiously, I slipped out from under the bed and skirted the wall opposite the creature. I made it to the hallway, and I sprinted down the corridor, every muscle straining to capacity, each pump of my heart toiling in uncommon fierceness. The hallway made a hard right turn, forming an L-shape, but when I cut the corner, I did so without noticing a food tray. My heel landed on it, and the momentum turned it into a skate. I tumbled forward and smashed hard against a fire extinguisher cabinet. Glass shattered, and a shard sliced through my elbow to the bone. I regained my bearings and saw I was out of view

from the long hallway of the L, out of view from the creature. But I could hear its heavy breathing and claws getting closer. I got to my feet, but I found myself falling again. I didn't understand why until I looked down and noticed my ankle was broken. I almost gave up then. And then I remembered it again what my mother had said. And then the wolf rounded the corner. I think I looked too frail and weak to be a threat. To the creature, I must have appeared an easy prize. A black tongue curled to the roof of its mouth. Lips creeped up to form a spine-chilling snarl. To the creature, it had already won. And then the elevator doors dinged. There was a footfall of a dozen and people. I assumed it to be more staff members, more meals for the thing in front of me.

However, it still wanted me first. The wolf rose to its hind legs and let out a howl, and then I heard gunshots, and I realized the police had arrived. The wolf twitched and spasmed in pain, but the first assault wasn't enough. The beast went to all fours ten feet from me and used the corner of the L is a barrier from the rounds. Blood trickled from half a dozen wounds on its torso, but that merely agitated the creature. And then it looked at me. I think it knew that if it couldn't get out alive, at least it would take me with it. But what the creature hadn't seen was that its easy prize had concealed a fire extinguisher behind its back. The expellant shrouded the creature and drove it back.

It roared in frustration. I sprayed again, pushing it back until its bulky body was in full profile to the dozens of armed police. The next round of fire was twice as loud as the first. More officers had shown up. I covered my ears and watched as the walls were torn to shreds by gunfire. The wolf flinched and roared while chunks of its torso and limbs were ripped from its body. And then there was silence. The creature lay in a pool of its own blood, motionless.

One paw had been severed. Half of its bottom jaw was missing. I could hear footsteps growing louder. And then the police were all around me. An officer took me towards the elevator, but I lifted my head before we arrived at the chamber. A large group of officers had huddled around the body of the body of the room. the wolf, cursing and in shock, and then I saw it. The wolf was suddenly gone.

In its place was the pale body of a teenage boy that was riddled with holes and had a missing left foot and bottom jaw.