Patient A-3

Chapter 8: Hello

Avalyn

Age 11

It's so cold.

I can't feel my arms, and my head feels fuzzy.

I struggle to flex my fingers, as the numbness continues to spread throughout my body. I try to move my arms, but they won't listen. Turning my head to the side, I take in the stark white surroundings of the basement. Confusion grips me as I try to piece together how I ended up here.

Am I having another nightmare?

Attempting to sit up, I'm abruptly halted as I realize that my arms and legs are securely fastened to the medical table. The grogginess in my mind making it hard to focus. My voice slurs as I call out, "D-Dad?"

Where is he?

Why am I alone?

I tilt my head to the opposite side, hoping to see Mom and Dad, but the room remains empty, devoid of their presence. It's eerily quiet, except for the noisy large industrial fan propped up in the corner, blowing cold air onto me.

I yank on the restraints, tugging hard enough that my little hand slips from the cuff. My fingers fumble with the others, but I manage to slip free. I swing my legs over the table and jump down, failing to land on my feet.

Why don't my legs work?

I shiver as I crawl toward the big door, hoping to find Mom and Dad on the other side. Before I can reach it, the door swings open revealing a frantic-looking man. He's sickly pale, and his hair looks to be falling out, leaving bald patches scattered all over his head.

He's scary.

The man breaks out into a run, tripping over his own feet, and landing right in front of me. His eyes are unfocused as they slightly cross. His mouth hangs open, and drool pools out. He reaches his hand out toward me but stops suddenly when Dad's voice breaks through the silence.

"Yes, Patient A-4 made it out of his cell again," He sighs, stepping into view.

When he spots me, he freezes, quickly hanging up his phone and shoving it into his pocket.

"A-4, you need to stand up. It's time for your treatment." His voice is steady and calm, but his eyes contradict his tone.

Is Dad scared too?

The man tries to speak, but nothing but gargled nonsense comes out. He reminds me of those zombies from the movie Mom forced me to watch. I couldn't sleep that night, and when I did finally fall asleep, I had nightmares about zombies coming into my room.

Is he a zombie?

But this feels like a dream, right?

He can't actually hurt me. Mom said my dreams aren't real, and they certainly won't come true. She said they're just my imagination running wild.

I reach out my hand and touch his own outstretched arm. I clasp my fingers around his and giggle when he begins making those funny gargling sounds.

Silly zombie.

"Avalyn, stop!" Dad shouts, but I ignore him and continue to squeeze the man's hand, shaking it slightly as I introduce myself.

"I'm Avalyn. What's your name, Mr. Zombie?"

But he doesn't reply; instead, he tightens his grip on my hand and pulls me into him. His mouth opens, baring two pointed teeth. I shriek, a fit of laughter bubbling out of me as he snarls.