1: AutopsyMature

In The End


November 2010.













The Unleashing of Madness



POV: Surgeon Jacob Cole

10 am

August 10, 2009


:Article censored for questionable audience age:

:Some excerpts have been removed:



“I think this will do quite nicely, if I say so myself.” Announced Jesse Hartmen.


:: Hartmen:: Status unknown at time--


“Yes, it’s all very well… but should we really mess with this? Those nutsos from Project Passageway were all… killed… after some work on finding out about the deaths of the four titans. How can we know what we do here is safe?” Proclaimed Bryan Rimes.


:: Rimes:: Dead with 10 minutes--


“Look, this is what we came here to do, am I right? Let us finish so we can go back home and sleep.” Said Tom Johnson.


::Johnson:: Dead within 8 minutes--


            “I agree with Tommy boy here. Although, I do believe I must be getting home rather soon. I have plans. Why’d you call us in on such short notice anyway, Doc? I said.


            ::Me,  documenting the case, Gerard Cole:: Still alive—


 Jesse Hartmen and the rest of us surgeons stood huddled around a tall body on a steel carrier. We were in Healing Helping Hospital, or “the pin,” as we all called it. That’s a joke I won’t go far into, see? I’m sticking to the story.

So this was us, a bunch of co-workers but also a bunch of friends. I, and assuming the rest of us were too, was called in just at 9 on the clock. I was sleeping and wasn’t all too willing but going in cause it’s my job, you know? Jeez, I wonder if I had stayed home… would things be changed? But you can’t dwell on the past, as my sweet mother Allison used to say.

            Now, back to our delightful little story.

            “Well, Billy, I called you in because this body, Montse Evelyn of the Project P group, is ours to operate. Well, you know that. But whatcha don’t know is this body died from massive trauma. We’re talking massive here, this ain’t no earthquake this a big bang is what. If you’ll look at these charts, [at this Dr. Harman gestured to a compilation of photos taken of X-rays, cartorrode graphs, brain waves depiction, hemorrhages, and all sorts of crazy gruesome stuff. Naw shite, this stupid old computer has spell check going off all over the dang place. Here, lemme skip the stupid speech and get to the happening.

He showed us the charts, everyone was all like “Gee and wowzers” Then we turned to the body and it appeared to have changed. I dunno (this spell check is nerving me Imma ignore it) how exactly it changed then, but it had somehow. Only me n Rimes really noticed, but Stephen remained practical as always and convinced alla us that we was wrong. Fuck him, I’m in no mood to talk about him, but he was stubborn. At the time he left he said he had a migraine and was going to go curl up and die. After Johnson died, we all freaked. Most a us became noxious on the floor, Stephen just shrunk up to the wall and started bumbling. Random gibberish, mostly. So back to he basics, see? We were creeping outta our logical, practical shells and became sheep in a fox’s den.

            Now, how’s Tommy Boy die? He was the first to stick his hands in that stuff boiling around in Montse Something’s body. He was, I dunno, trying to place what had killed him? This Montse was important stuff, you know? Ya prolly don’t, but whatever. After rummaging in the Project P leader’s chest, Tommy just… shook? Wait that’s not accurate… he crawled in the air, on his legs, standing… We were all like, you know, “what’s that Tommy?” and Tommy just fell over…

            It hurts me to recall, see? It was awful business, as you could guess. Immediately Rimes lunged over to catch Tommy and Rimes looked shocked after touching Johnson…

            Just so fucking HORRIBLE, ya know? Hope you readers know that I’m not just publishing this for the paper so I get some credits, it’s so I assure these young brave surgeons tales are told. So here we are, Rimes announcing Tommy’s not breathing, Hartmen bumbling against the wall, me admittably shrieking n stuff like that. And Rimes started to twist around and scream. Scream and scream and scream like some tremendous monster writhing in the gates a hell, Momma Allison made lotsa references to Gates a Hell… She was a good mom, ya know? But man, she was religious and firm on it. She always said, “Billy, don’t you go out there and mess up your relationship with god now!”

            I would say I knew and such. I’m wondering, since mom’s dead now, she coulda told me, maybe this Madness ordeal is a thing from hell, see?

It kinda makes sense, suppose. Well now, back to my story. Then Rimes kinda crawled like Tommy did. And Jesse Hartmen just froze. Just completely still… I stopped shriekin, think I said ‘something in the air…’ and we got outta there. No body else in the building, you know? Who’re we gonna call? (Ghostbusters, and such). Me n Hartmen left and took my car up to Bugsy’s Bar, got drunk, relaxed, forgot, prolly did some things I’ll regret but dunno, I was drunk right?


            Then the hangover started in. We got off that great high train and checked the time it was already 9 p. We practically threw up the last 50 rounds when we saw the price, ill be damned. Fuck the bar masters, see? And so we got drivin back to our own homes, with massive migraines, thinking about the burden waiting for the next person to be in Helping Healing Hospital.

            I got home, slept, woke up with my brain ache feeling better.

            Hartmen didn’t make it that far.




Document written by Jacob Cole, published in National Supernatural on August 13, 2009

The author of said magazine released the article, titled “Project Passageway Spurs More Action,” in a non-copyrighted version. I have condensed the story and put it here because it marks the beginning of action and end of arrogance. After this article was put on the news and Cole endured numerous interviews, a thorough search of Montse Evelyn’s body brought forth no injury to the investigators. Of course, there were speculators and critics; all of which pronounced that the whole deal was staged. If they had just believed, maybe left the whole thing alone, none of which transpired would have. But the many unbelievers unburied the past, they just researched and researched. They are the true ones behind the Plot. It is their fault only. I am writing this piece on Aug. 15, after Jacob Cole himself died. He robbed a bank, came home, filled a bath, poured the money in, and slit his carteroid artery. The damage to the money was irreversible, and thousands of dollars were lost. As his wife Melinda came in, she noticed eleven letters written in dark purple marker.


Rue the day,

The way may,

Bay Say,





The purple marker itself lay in a splash of blood in the sink. The cap was bitten off, and a search of the body for alcoholic intake showed no beer but the cap, lodged in Jacob’s esophagus. It too had writing on it.




Melinda did not report the body. In fact, she left the body unattended for a week, the only time she touched it was after first seeing it. She rummaged the pockets for anything, then went to a troubled sleep. For a week she did not bathe, did not go to the restroom, and did not even think about it. But it still got to her. I still don’t know how. Airborne is a possibility, along with contact we don’t know about. She wrote down everything about what happened. Another week passed, and a party of police was sent into the Cole residence to see what was happening. They found the Cole family in the bathtub, blood coating the walls. They read the notebook Melinda wrote, containing numerous scribbles of nonsense and logical speak which is the basis for my writing here. There was also Melinda’s personal bit of gibberish. On the walls were four grotesque words, written in knife scratches:





Those words shocked the world, mostly because they were just as nonsensical as Jacob’s marks; but coded in the same context… impossible, they had said. They didn’t know. All unbelievers died, including my mother, father, ex-wife, and my son… most likely all of my relatives, but I don’t know. Hard to tell now that all contact is down. I’m sure all political leaders are down, that much is clear. They would want to take down people with soothing authority first, all the better to feed the insanity.

So Melinda’s words marked a similarity in the craziness. That too fed to the idea that Project Passageway had presented. To this day I am unsure why Project Passage was called that. They knew things I never got my hands on, and now never will. This death began the real nutso reign. Some crazy sons of guns got out and started heaving ideas into citizens’ heads. I remember one leader, dead now, named Lavinia Runyan. Real freak, that one. She started some ludicrous way of life called the “Safety Take.” It explained this new strain of madness was a terrorist function, and that to survive we had to round up our friends and fly to Canada, where she had her hideout. There they had made plans for an invasion on Hawaii, where all the supposed terrorists had their secret hideout. Oh, and also they had “made a new weapon,” which they called the Mind Reader. It channeled the madness strain into enemy’s brain… and then the bad guys keeled over and died. Unfortunately, some people were willing to believe anything, and Hawaii had an all time chart-topper in tourists. Lavinia actually didn’t kill herself though. She was killed by a rival rebel leader, known as the Violin Spider. This guy’s real name was Marcus Kane and he stated that the only way to not be killed by the madness was to embrace a musical life. He and his nomad army commandeered the boxcars, living life the “way it should be.” Marc’s records showed he dropped out of school at grade seven and ran away from home, meeting his ten years older wife, Cicee, along the way from Pennsylvania. The two disturbingly young and old lovebirds took hitchhikes to Amish country. And, if you flew to Amish country with a musical instrument, you would get a good nickname. He had a decent amount of followers until killing Lavinia, which sprang a mutiny from his peaceful folks. Lavinia Runyan and Marcus were only two of the real loonies during those dark ages.

And that was just the beginning.  









The End

0 comments about this story Feed