Count Your Limbs. nosleep

So this is a story my uncle told me, about an old book he found when he became the new professor of our local community collage. It had this story in it, and his secretary told him the man who had had the job before had been away for some time now, and one day quite a few papers and books had been shipped back, including the "Diary". Here you go. This is how he told it to me.

Dr. Nehemiah Makepeace’s diary.

December 4th.

I started this diary to log the happenings involving my newest case, that of Marcus Stroud. An old friend, Eitan Mannery, contacted me in October about a case he had been given by the CDC, whom he worked for.

He called me up and told me how he had been given the most extraordinary case, involving a possible new disease. He described it as tumors but with no physical side effects; in fact, he said Marcus, for that was the name of the young man who was inflicted with this potential disease, was in fine physical shape. He had been having trouble isolating whatever was involved in forming these tumors, as they were not cancerous. Over the phone he confided in me that he was not sure this was a disease at all, that it almost looked like a birth defect.

I was intrigued, and told him I would be over directly. I have no family, besides the metaphorical family of my college where I teach, and I took some well earned leave from that. Mannery’s facility was in Nevada, approximately a thousand miles from anywhere, all the better, I suppose, for a CDC facility.

I flew into a tiny airport some miles away from his place, and was greeted as I stepped off the plane by my old friend. His Arabic and Russian background had given my friend the body of a bear and hair and beard as dark, rich and thick as his laugh. He wrapped me in a jovial bear hug as I stepped off the plane, nearly cracking a rib. Oh, curse my British background, for giving me a short stature and slim physique, though you wouldn’t know it from my accent, which is German.

“Hah hah, my friend! It is good to see you, eh?” said my friend, setting me on my feet.

“Still talk with a mouthful of borscht, old friend?” I asked.

“And you still with a mouth of sauerkraut.” He said jovially, completing our greeting ritual. He grabbed my bags in one hand and wrapped the other around my shoulders as he led me to a vehicle marked with CDC.

“Ah, I don’t mind telling you Nehemiah, it is good to have you with me.” He said as we drove some way into the cold desert to the facility. “This case is a fine one, unique!”

“A tumor, you said?”

“But not cancerous, or anything I know of. It is almost like an extra growth, a defect, but it only showed less than a year ago. But pfah, I will show you the documents when we arrive. Tell me, how have you been?”

“Well enough, busy as always with my teachings. Yourself? How is Mary?” Mary was his wife, a short, slim Asian woman of special beauty, who had my bear of a friend wrapped so tightly around her finger his hair curled.

“Ah, she is fine. Ho, have I told you the news? We are pregnant!”

“An Asian, Arabic, and Russian child?” I laughed.

“Yes! Ah, he will be a beautiful boy. Or girl, heh. Ah, my facility.” He said, sweeping an expansive carpeted hand around the window. I looked and saw a fenced facility, remarkably high tech for its innocuous area. White buildings glistened in the frozen sand, and one or two guards patrolled the area.

“Come, I will show you our lab, and you will meet my patient.” He led me into the largest building and to a living area.

“This is a secure facility for studying active diseases, you understand. Less than a dozen staff, but state of the art labs!” he explained as he showed me his office.

“So what your patient has is virulent?”

Eitan handed me a thick file and I perused it as he explained. “We don’t believe so, but the symptoms were puzzling, so we took every precaution.”

I hit upon a piece of the file and looked up. “Is this accurate?” I asked.

“Eitan sat heavily behind his desk. “Yes. He has grown a second hand on his left hand, set over his first one, mirroring it. I tell you, it looks like someones right hand set on top of his.”

“And it started off as a tumor?”

“Yes. The man’s name is Marcus Stroud, eighteen. Caucasian, one hundred eighty pounds. He noticed the tumor on his thumb some months ago, and was soon transferred here. When I first saw him, it was a lump on his thumb. Over a week ago it started to take shape.”

“Any side effects?”

“None. We have seen that he needs minimally more protein and nutrients, but beyond that…”

“How badly is his movement impaired?” I asked.

“None at all! It seems the ligaments in the joints of his…third hand are very flexible, as if his new joints aren’t, well, jointed. Tomorrow you can see for yourself, of course, it’s late, but take that file, read it over. It is good to have you here, my friend.”

December 5th

We met with Marcus this morning. He is a pleasant young man, and seemed to be taking his confinement, as it was in a medically isolated room, and we only went in in cumbersome suits, completely closed off with their own air supply, though Eitan assured me Marcus was not contagious.

Eitan sat me down and shook Marcus’ hand, and motioned towards me. “Marcus, this is Nehemiah Makepeace, a colleague. He is here to help me with your case.”

I extended a hand and Marcus shook it with a smile. “What’s up, Doc?”

“Nothing much, my friend. I am very intrigued by your condition.”

“German? Oh, yes, Lefty, or Lefty Two, I guess.” He gave a rueful laugh and extended his arm towards me to examine. It was rather more than a hand; in fact it extended to the wrist and sloped sharply down to disappear into his arm.

“Ah, it has expanded some.” Said Eitan.

“Yeah, about an inch, overnight Doc. Is that bad?” His voice became somewhat pinched.

Eitan chuckled. “If it doesn’t hurt, my boy, then I believe you shall be fine. Any other symptoms?”

Marcus lowered his head and looked off to the side. “Just the usual.”

Eitan patted him on the shoulder and stood. “Well, then, we’ll be back. Dr. Makepeace will be a regular here from now on.”

Marcus brightened again and nodded.

When we stepped out of the room I turned to my friend. “What did he mean by ‘The usual.’ I thought you said there were no side effects.”

Eitan looked uncomfortable, and rubbed the back of his hairy neck. “Ah, he seems to be of the opinion that the hand isn’t his own. He believes that it, well, he believes that the hand talks to him.”

I digested this. “And what does it say?”

“He claims it just narrates what goes on around him. I asked if it seemed…angry or mad, but he said it didn’t seem to have a personality at all, it just talked. Not all the time, just whenever he was excited.”

“Has he been diagnosed with Schizophrenia?” I asked, rubbing my chin.

“No. But there is an argument for it now.”

December 10th

It has been several days and Marcus has been developing at a remarkable rate. He is up to his elbow now, and seems to be taking it in stride. Except for a few moments where he has been rambling on bout having too many hands. “One two three.” He said one day. “Shouldn’t be three. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. Used to stop at ten. Can go all the way to fifteen now!” he calmed down moments later, however, and was his normal cheerful self after. We took samples of his extra hand, but got just what we expected. Nothing.

December 15th

We have ruled out contagion, so we have been free to enter his rooms and interact with him one on one. His growth has advanced, up to his shoulder. Very interesting.

December 24th

Christmas eve, and this little facility has been in the spirit. We exchanged gifts today, as per Marcus’ family traditions. He had shopped for us all using his computer. Hah, how we laughed when the mailman arrived, lost and bewildered. Spirits were high, though at the end Marcus became morose after the rest of the staff had left, Eitan roaring drunk of course.

“I don’t know Doc. It’s been talking louder.” He said as I sat next to him, under the tree.

“Your other arms?” I asked, as the growth had spread across his shoulders and down his right arm to the elbow, so that a collarbone and a right shoulder were visible.

Marcus nodded.

“What has it been saying?”

“Just the same stuff, Doc. It just says what’s going on. Almost constantly now.” He sighed. “You don’t believe me?”

I steepled my fingers and thought for a moment. “I’m sorry, Marcus, but I find I don’t. However, I do believe you hear it, whether it’s there or not.”

“I’ll take that, Doc.”

January 16th

I haven’t written in a while, but the most incredible things are afoot. A chest has grown on the back of Marcus, complete with all his internal organs! He has a heart, mirrored, thumping in his second chest, lungs breathing. No second head has formed, and the growth seems to be heading downward. Marcus has become more morose and withdrawn.

January 20th

The growth has gone all the way down to the groin, which has proven to be sexless, lacking any genitalia. Marcus has become weighed down by his second body, which he says has a name. He calls it Fetch, which he assures me is the name for a ghost that exists while a person is still alive. He says its commentary is constant now, and has become somewhat disturbed, telling me that it has become suspicious of Eitan, believing him to be plotting his demise. Oddly, this is somewhat true. Eitan has confined in me plans to remove the growth from Marcus’ body. ‘Fetch’, however, believes me to be a friend. I fear for Marcus’ sanity.

January 25th

The second body is almost complete, lacking only the feet. Marcus will not allow Eitan into his rooms, and in fact attacks him when he does enter. He has the strength of two men, though he looks somewhat odd, shuffling around, looking like he is carrying another man on his back. He cries during the night, and says the Fetch speaks to him harshly, berating him and urging him to kill his ‘captors’.

January 30th

The body is complete except for a second head. Today I was playing checkers with Marcus and he went into a rage, threatening me, saying that I plotted against him as well. He threw me out of his rooms, after scratching me with his nails, short though they were, on the face and wept upon his bed.

A blizzard rages outside, and the power flickers. Eitan has reassured me, saying the facility is state of the art. I go to sleep tonight feeling somewhat uneasy.

February 3rd

A disturbing number of events have occurred. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would say it was impossible. At two in the morning of January 31st, Marcus broke through his rooms, ripping the bars apart with inhuman strength. He had used the electronics in his room to fashion an EMP device, and set it off, blacking out the facility systems except for the backup power. He went through the facility, and…I would not believe it of Marcus, had I not been looking in hindsight, but he murdered four guards. He tore their throats out with his teeth, as was obvious from the bodies we found after we tracked him.

We followed a blood trail to the kitchens, where I and Eitan, who had stopped by the lab for equipment, found him weeping in a corner. We saw the man crouched in a corner, weeping, and I started to go to him but Eitan held me back. I saw what had made him hesitate. Marcus was now on the back.

His eyes were closed, and I looked closer at the naked man and retched. His joints were all bent backwards, bones sticking out of limbs, and the reason next was obvious. And horrifying.

The crouched man stopped weeping, and began to chuckle. It removed its hands from its face, and I gasped. Its eyes were black slits, the ears tiny, wild hair framing his face. But the worst thing was his mouth, like a sharks, gaping and toothy, no lips visible, the teeth jutting and sharp. The truth hit me. Fetch had grown a head.

It looked at me and rose to a half-crouch. It opened its hideous mouth and I recoiled from the smell as it said, “Do you believe now, Doctor?” Its voice was high and scratching, like a diamond scratching glass.

It laughed and peeled away from Marcus’ body, ripping the skin that held them together. It grabbed Marcus by the hair and sank its horrible teeth into his throat, blood gushing as it giggled around its mouthful. It tossed Marcus’ body aside like a rag, and slowly started walking toward us. “Am I real enough for you, Doctor? And you, Eitan? Did you see through me? Did you know?”

“I didn’t, Fetch, or I would have cut you off before.” Said my friend, and I marveled that his voice was still and strong.

“Not fetch.” Said the hideous parasite, dripping blood. “Call me Gang. Ganger. Goer. Walker. Can’t count to twenty anymore.” It giggled.

“Can’t count to anything soon.” Said my friend, and took from his pocket a gun, and shot the creature in the chest. It didn’t stop smiling, but looked down at the dart stuck in its chest.

“I loaded that with the most potent poisons I could think of, Gang. Do you feel them?”

Gang’s face fell, and it clutched its chest, pointing a clawed finger at us both. “No! I will endure! I will reproduce!” He picked up refrigerator as we staggered back, and threw it through the wall, letting in a gust of frigid air and huge snowflakes, the blizzard outside raging. It hopped to the hole, and looked back at us, clutching its chest. “I will be back! You’ll see my face again!” He pointed to me. “Count your limbs! Make sure they’re yours!”

And he leapt out into the blizzard, leaving us gasping for breath as our hearts slowed.

“What did he mean?” I asked, and slumped to the ground as he depressed the plunger of the syringe.

“I’m sorry, my friend. I can’t take a chance.”

I awoke in Marcus’ old room, and Eitan told me he would have to keep me under surveillance. I fully agree. I hope Gang, or Fetch, or whatever that demonic parasite had called itself did not pass itself on to me.

I can count to eleven now.

Submitted December 22, 2014 at 08:35AM by TheTatterJack http://ift.tt/13tJq1g nosleep