Don't Go to Sleep: A Re-telling of "The Russian Sleep Experiment"

I

Septemeber 30th, 1984 - A Letter from Researcher John Lavinstine to his sister-in-law, Drew Barryon

Drew,

I won't be able to make it out towards Michigan until maybe late next month. I've been offered a great job opportunity on Staten Island to do some research for a Mr. Richards. I can't entirely disclose what is happening, but I can tell you...the money he's offered me can definitely pay for her funeral in December. After all, that is the main reason I took the job. I miss her and am excited to see you within a month. That's all I am allowed to say really.

John Lavinstine, 09-30-1984

The place wasn't exactly what they'd hoped for. They were expecting a highly advanced laboratory. Instead they get this, the slum and "freak central" of New York's great empire. "Staten Island then," John, 32, said, looking at his surroundings with a slight disappointment in his voice. "Yeah...the best place to do experiments," Jordan piped up sarcastically, setting her heavy suitcase on the ground. Tim pulled out a damp map from his satchel and looked at it. "That's funny..." he began. "What?" John asked. "This place is sitting right on top of an ancient Indian burial site. Jordan laughed. "So, it's haunted?"

Suddenly, a middle-aged man with a scruffy grey beard stepped out of the dying front doors to Seaview Hospital, which stood in front of them about 125 yards out. "Mr. Richards?" Tim questioned, taking the first step forward. "Benson Richards..." the man corrected in a strong British-Russian Accent. He was wearing a white lab coat and green nurse scrubs. "Um, sir, I have a question..." John began. Benson held up his hand to silence him. "All in good time, Mr. Lavinstine. Now, please, follow me to the heart of the hospital. Well, one of them. I believe this place has many hearts, as you will soon see."

Jordan shuddered at that thought. She conjured an image in her head of a bowl full of living, beating human hearts. Benson coughed. "Well, follow me, let's not stand out here in this cold and catch pneumonia." Some rain began sprinkling outside. They decided it'd be best to follow Mr. Richards inside. Upon entering the decaying hosptial, they began to think this experiment was a joke. The wallpaper was peeling off down the endless halls and abandoned wheelchairs stained with dried blood. Benson breathed in proudly. "What a place!" he exclaimed. "Yeah..." John muttered under his breath, "...amazing."

After walking through the depressing hell-hole, they reached a room with clean white wallpaper and some tables set up with a bunch of brand-new, straight out of the box hospital equipment: heart rate monitors, IV drips, the works. They were all connected to a heavy metal door that was adjacent to a couple of glass portholes. Jordan and Tim stepped forward and peered through the holes. It was a simple room. It had five beds, two tables, a bookshelf with some reading material, a couple of chairs, a sink, a door that presumably led toward a bathroom, and a drain in the middle of the floor. Tim laughed. "What is this?"

Benson charged toward Tim, a look of fury in his eyes. "You must think this is some sort of joke, don't you?" he roared, grabbing Tim by his collar. John stepped forward. "Mr. Richards?" "Shut up!" Benson hissed. "It's no joke..."

And at last, they knew he wasn't kidding. Something evil was going to happen...