A Monument To Our Sins; Claythorne Chronicles Part 1

So, Child of Madness and I (Caleb from Gentleman Killers) are writing a story that takes place with my favourite guy to write about (Burton) and a particular patient he has in Claythorne, a mental Asylum in Leeds England during the late seventies to late eighties. It is and will be rather violent and graphic, profanity will and shall be common to see throughout. If you would like to become a co-writer please send a request with the idea you have. I hope you can sit back, enjoy the painful pleasure and the squealing goodness of evil madness.

Please fan and comment! We need more readers and feedback!!


9. Near Death, An awful truth

In the room 244 A Burton was busy at work dealing with Mr. Dogg in the mindless efficiency that came with his several PhD’s and practiced hands.  Markus however was slouched over in a corner with a rope gag around his mouth, his head drooped over dripping blood steadily down to his bed sheets, now streaked with red, a wet red. Burton was examining a small table he’d set up in the corner of the room and looking over his little implements with childish glee in his eyes as if this were the equivalent to his burning ants with magnifying glasses. His coat was unstained despite the atrocious amount of blood on his gloves and the area around the poor sex offender. The doctor then picked up a pair of clippers, a wide grin on his vile face, his tongue that was like venom flicking across his lips as if there were something tasty nearby. Markus’ eyes widened further, bloodshot, and a muffled curdling holler for help emitted itself from his body and was closely followed by an equally muffled scream of pain as the clippers were lodge into his neck just next to his carotid artery. Markus began to pant as the immediate shock of the pain subsided, but was cut short from relief as Burton opened the clippers burrowed inside his flesh, twisted them slowly, closed down hard and retracted it from the hole in his neck. Markus could not have screamed harder, the pain shot through the entire body as he saw Burton retract the clippers with a nerve ending at the close. With a continual pulling motion, a long strand of nerves began to stream out of the patient’s neck cavity, still pulsing with anger and coated slickly with blood.

“So, how might you be doing this afternoon Mr. Dogg?” Burton inquired sarcastically with a sadist’s grin of inherent playfulness, just as he said this he took his other hand and removed the gag from the bleeding boy’s mouth.

Markus coughed, blood spattering into the air like little rain droplets somehow dodging the pristine torso of the attacking doctor. Markus was able to weakly utter a sentence, “Fuck you Burton, fuck you and your stupid asylum, fuck you and this, just fucking kill me you sadistic asshole! Why make me suffer?! I’ve done nothing!”

Burton chuckled all throughout the short speech not really caring at all at the boy’s frustration and replied with the same glee he’d shown so much of before, “Well, first off, ask yourself why you’re here my dear boy! As for other reasons, you’ve cause my precious Winter so much distress as of late and I can’t have that happening, because she doesn’t work well under pressure. Also, killing you is no fun, why did you love to rape girls instead of sex, steal instead of buy, do drugs instead of coping? The answer is the rush, pleasure of the situation, how much you can gratify yourself before you eventually give out one day and die. But the difference between you and I is the motive; I want nothing more than to understand life and all its wonders, you’re a sick fuck. Do you see my point?”

What surprised Markus throughout this wasn’t the speech that was purposely meant to anger the boy, but the numbness that was overcoming his entire body. Also it was odd to Markus that Burton was only about two inches taller but physically weaker in a most visible sense. He began playing with his bindings carefully and slowly, his voice still weak, “No, I don’t. Your god forsaken point is just a stupid ass excuse to get away with this shit! All of this controlling and murdering. No wonder people go missing, no wonder why the graveyard next to this place is so fucking big!”

Burton continued a playful spirit and had no feelings of sincerity sink in from the grisly boy’s words. He snipped down on the nerve in the clippers with a tittering, high pitched laugh and watched the boy convulse in intense agony.

For the brief moment Markus thought his life was over, but it was evident that the Doctor had not intentions on killing him just yet. The moment of excruciating pain he’d just felt left him immobile and unable to continue struggling with the bonds that prevented his escape. A single tear escaped the grasp of his eyelid and fell to the floor, he heard the doctor snicker and saw that this was gratification to the sick man; to watch the boy bleed and cry. Markus cried out to Burton with anger, “You asshole, you sadist mother fucker! You’re enjoying every miserly second of this shit! Aren’t you!?”

And with the Markus spit in the doctor’s face, a mixture of saliva and blood, unlike the blood from torture or coughing, this blood hit the man. Burton now had a glob of phlegm and Sanguine iron dripping from his brow over his eye. With a feeble smile of victory Markus tried to laugh, but it came out as a gurgling sound of happiness.

Burton wiped the glop from his brow and his eye, the face of childish enjoyment now erased; replaced by a furrowed brow and flaring nostrils. With surprisingly fast reflexes for a man of his physical state Markus head was leaned back against the cold cinder block wall with a red stained, purple glove holding it there and his right eye being held completely open by the fore finger and thumb of the same gloved hand. Right above his eye was a face of sadistic anger, no sarcastic smile and another hand with an almost invisible blade of a scalpel vertical of his pupil.

“Well boy, you’re getting your wish… If you have any last words, perhaps an apology, let’s hear it,” Burton remarked with a murderous scowl probing the scalpel closer and further away from the eye.

Markus’ heart began to race furtively as he realized the doctor meant to give Markus the penultimate peril. Without any logical response to the doctor he said the only thing that came to his mind, “No, please, forgive me.”

And with those words, Burton brought the tiny knife down into the eye, made a circular motion with his wrist as there was one last blood curdling shriek and he produced a cleanly cut eyeball. Holding it with his thumb and forefinger he looked at it with interest as if it were something new to him. Markus’ body, not yet dead, but unconscious, slumped to the floor with a thud and a satisfying splat as more blood evacuated itself from the many wounds.

Burton put the scalpel down, then with that hand went into his coat and produced a test tube; he carefully placed the delicate network optical nerves inside of the tube and corked it. He put the tube back into his coat, tore his gloves off and threw them onto the ground next to a disheveled Markus. With two strides he was at the door, opened it, went out, closed and locked it behind him. When a nurse walked by the doctor he said to her, “Cleanup in the room, full overhaul. Bring the boy into the basement.”

The nurse nodded and continued on her way to presumably retrieve a sanitation crew. Burton put a new, sterile pair of medical gloves onto his hands and walked in the direction of the cafetorium.


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