The Backroom and Other Short Horror Stories

Never Ending Dream

I don't recall how I got here. I don't know how long I've been here. I don't know if I'll ever get out. I don't know if I'll ever leave this bed. I don't know what's going on. I don't know anything.

I was stuck in a hospital room, with a CRT TV hooked onto the wall in front of me. The floors was a dark green carpet that looked stiff, and the walls were plain white. A bed just like the one I constantly laid in was next to me. In front of the other bed was a clean dresser that contained the clothes I wore. Next to me was a window that was always bright except at night; I couldn't see a single thing out of it. Besides a few empty plugs, that's all there was to this room.

Every time I woke up, the TV screen would be a bright white. No noise emitted from it, and I had no remote to operate it. Eventually, a message from the person known as the "doctor" would appear and give us a message that was almost the same every time. Right after that, my favorite shows would play without a single commercial or ad breaking through. I don't know how these people here knew what my favorite show was. Maybe I told them while I was coming here. Maybe I didn't.

Shortly after, the Doctor popped on the screen. She had long, crimson black hair and devilish red eyes. She always wore a skintight nurse outfit, but claims it's a doctor's uniform. Her skin was always perfectly tanned, and her voice was so crisp the best apple in the world wouldn't have a chance against her.

"Good morning everyone," she cooed. "It's me, the Doctor. I hope you all slept well last night. As usual, your nurse will check in on you every few hours, but if need be, you can press the nurse call button at the side of your bed. Be sure to lay back, relax, and enjoy the shows we put on for you during your recovery. Remember, don't go anywhere without permission or supervision. Nothing good will come out of it. Have a nice day!" She vanished, and The Twilight Zone instantly appeared on the screen.

My nurse came in, softly opening the door and holding a clean pair of clothes. She had smooth, blonde hair that fell to her shoulders. She also wore a nurse outfit, but it wasn't as tight or skimpy as the Doctor's. A red rose barrette sat on the left side of her head. However, she never told me her name despite me asking more times than I could remember. Over time, I stopped asking.

"Good morning," she said quietly to me. She set the clean pair of clothes on top of the dresser and bowed at me.

I muttered the words back at her after a pause. I almost forgot how to pronounce them.

She motioned at the clothes, then at me. At this point, I knew she was telling me that she was going to change me. Of course, the feeling is strange, but I've grown used to it. I hated it in fact.

Before long, she slowly took my shirt off then my pants. I don't remember looking this plump. I could barely see my privates without my stomach getting in the way. As a male, this felt embarrassing. The nurse then applied the fresh clothes onto my body after setting the old ones on the dresser. The same old striking white. Everything I wore were baggy shirts and pants with the same exact design and color. I wondered how they made the clothes so spotless.

The nurse took the bag under my bed, that was stored with my filth, and sat it next to the old clothes. She reached into one of the drawers, grabbed an empty bag, and set it up.

"Anything else," she asked me, "before you receive breakfast?"

I shook my head no, and she took the old clothes and my filth out the room with her. Behind her, she closed the door, sealing any mysteries beyond it.

My eyes stared blankly at the TV screen. Often times, I wondered if there were others like me stuck here. I'd also wonder why the bed next to me was always empty. Unless it was a necessity, the nurse would never answer any curious questions I had. She would simply smile and ignore me.