A book of strange and unnerving stories. A horror anthology novel filled with stories you send screaming.
Some stories contain graphic material, so those stories will include a warning at the start of it. Reader digression is advised.
Enjoy.
The group of Christians from the town over entered the nursery home juggling a stereo with Gospel music CD's and trays for communion. They entered the front doors with their bright, beaming smiles; flashing it at every elderly person they crossed.
I followed in behind them, my fists held tightly in the pockets of my jacket. I wasn't wearing my glasses, something I often do if I don't feel like making eye contact with people. So as I looked around, I never got a clear image of what I saw.
A man, strapped tightly and thoughtlessly to his wheelchair, was positioned at the front of the room; mindlessly gazing out the window at a world that's moved on. He was silent and motionless. The group of Christians from the town over continued on walking.
They walked until we came across the front desk. Several workers resided inside the circular shaped desk; papers rustled in their hands as others typed away at their keyboards, their eyes lowered on only the paper works of the people they were suppose to tend to.
I continued looking around; my curious mind taking in all that I could. The people were scattered throughout the building as if their wheelchairs were their guides and they rolled wherever they pleased. They were scattered down the halls and some here and there in the day room. All their heads hung and their glazed eyes stared hopelessly at their lap. They're confined to this place and who knows how long they've been locked away from sight.
After passing the front desk, the group of Christians from the town over mushed on into the vacant mess hall. There were a few people who strayed away from the main lobby, but even with them inside the mess hall, the room was vacant. They were quiet and kept to themselves, not at all fazed by the entrance of strangers.
The men of the group laid down their supplies on a table and began preparing the dishes for communion. I watched them fill each small clear cup with grape juice, very diligently and carefully. The women helped set up the stereo and soon began wheeling in patients to attend the short church service. One by one, the mess hall began filling up. But even with the room full, it was vacant.
My grandma, part of the group of Christians from the town over, helped wheel in an older gentleman. This man, Donald, doesn't speak much but has a fondness for my sweet grandma. He asks her to wheel him to one of the farthest tables in the corner. My grandma follows his command and begins pushing his wheelchair with ease. Donald then requests to be positioned to where his back faces the speaker of the small church session. My grandma, having no intentions to cause discomfort, obeys his request and then begins to help others into the mess hall.
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My mother and I, foreign to this gathering, take a seat towards the back of the room and plan to keep quiet and watch and listen to the sermon. We watch as more people joined; their heads all lowered except for a few who haven't let their wits slip away. They were content with the group of Christians from the town over and were ecstatic to begin singing and praising their Lord and Savior.
