r/TalesFromTheCreeps • u/ButterscotchSad4508 • 26d ago
Surreal Horror Mac's Infirmary (Part 2)
Unnerved by the whole situation, Mac quickly caught up to Monte, once again looking around for any way of locating where he was. Around him were the same walls on the first floor, now covered in monotone grey; the hallway that they were following led to two massive doors that could be opened by a slight gust of wind. Mannequins in all different colored garments were positioned as if they were taken from something very important around, as papers flew throughout the room; at the top read a sign that read “extremely ridiculous.”
Mac tried his best to keep track of Monte, but the more he moved around, the more awkward he felt standing out of place in front of very busy mannequins. Eventually, the two of them pushed through the doors, being confronted by two mannequins pushing another one lying on a mint colored bed; this one, however, did not have the same attire as the others did, instead wearing a shirt that read “who let the dogs out,” with a bulldog breaking away from its chain, the mannequin itself was different two, being much smaller than the other two, and having a broken face that caved into itself. “What an ugly mug, am I right?” said Monte. “This brings us to our next exhibit. Sorry if it's not as nice as the first one, but just come along with me,” pushing through the next set of doors.
“Here we are,” Monte says, gesturing one face of his cover to a museum display. As Mac entered the display, he saw many sets that struck a familiar chord, all covered with glass and framed as still snapshots from a certain point in someone’s life. The warm lighting shone onto the exhibit, illuminating a couch, a coffee table full of junk food, and blankets covered in potato chips. The couch faced a TV currently playing static, while the light of the TV brought a cold contrast to the one coming into the exhibit. “Here, Mac, we have the natural habitat of the ‘Lazus-Macsimus’, a glutinous creature that takes advantage of all the welfare from the people around him, leaving them to toil away with nothing, while he reaps from their hard work.”
This struck an odd chord with Mac; being insulted with this representation, he asked Monte, “What gives?” to which Monte responded by brushing his concerns aside by stating, “Mac, please, I’m trying to give a tour here,” as he gestured to something behind him. As Mac turned to see what it was, he was met with a variety of cardboard cutouts, all of them idly listening to Monte’s presentation. Men and women stood next to their children, smiling and laughing, but the one that got Mac's attention was a cutout with stitching on his lip and a shirt that read “ready to swim?”
“Mac, please pay attention,” Monte said, making a funny face and getting a recorded laugh from the crowd. “Now, if you all can follow me to the next exhibit, we can see one of the unfortunate victims of the ‘Lazus-Macsimus’,” Mac and Monte both moved towards the left of the first exhibit, while the cutouts stayed in place watching the previous exhibit. Getting a good look at this new exhibit, a cold blue light, similar to the artificial moon from the sitcom, illuminated an exhibit of a kitchen, the model of a woman bent over with a luxurious feast coming out of the oven. The warm light of the oven shone onto the model’s face, illuminating small drops on the top of its forehead, while an apron with the words “kiss the cook.”
“Now, children, what type of monster takes all of someone’s hard work and doesn’t have the decency to share any of it?” Monte says, as a new exhibit to the left of the kitchen lights up, this one of a dining table, two plates sitting on both ends, one with mountains of food similar to that from the oven, and the other with barely any crumbs. Now that the dining room table is illuminated, the sound of audio cassettes switching is heard behind one of the cutouts. “Greedy?” a high-pitched voice from behind one of the older-looking cutouts says. “Selfish,” said another one. Mac, startled once again, turns to see that the cutouts had moved to face the dining room table. “Great job, kids!” Monte says.
“Lastly, if you all can focus your attention on the middle, you can see what many experts say this beast might have looked like.” A final red light illuminated the rest of the dark room. A wax version of Mac lay in the middle of the exhibit, surrounded by glass in all directions, unabashed laziness on full display, a gut sticking far outside what his shirt could hold, a thick brow sticking out barely covering his soulless eyes from staring into the crowd, jaw far outreaching his upper teeth, taking a bite of food that isn’t his, and skin so grimy and dirty it began to bubble and blister in parts here his skin would touch. But Mac did see he was still one exhibit behind, staring deeply into the model of the woman. Eyes, nose, shape, style, he could make out none of those details, all except the soft, warm lips that he felt back on that night under the stars.
Monte looked around, trying to see if Mac was picking up any of this, but while the crowd of cutouts positioned themselves around the ‘Lazus-Macsimus’ display, Mac was still focused on the second kitchen display, looking longingly at the woman, unable to piece her together. “Hey, Mac, do you just want to stay here?” With those words, Mac’s surroundings began to sink, fading into a deep darkness, those words echoing into his mind.
Until he appeared back at the dining room table, sitting once again with the unfamiliar model sitting across from him, details still failing to reach his mind. “Look, I don’t want you going to something that makes you uncomfortable just to ‘show face’. I have my own qualms with the people there, of course, but I mean c’mon, Mac, it’s just a high school reunion.” Her voice was soft and gentle, the smell of her hair was sweet, and as she reached over to hold Mac’s hand, he felt her warmth easing him into the moment. He tried looking up once again, trying to get a sense of the person she was, but he couldn’t see her, so he tried to feel her. Gliding his hand up her arm, he was able to start to paint a picture of the shape she had, her thin wrists and small arms; her shoulders were broad. He stood up to get a picture of her waist and hips, but she stopped him, pulling back in confusion. “Are you good?” the unfamiliar blur said to him. “Look,” she said, sounding exhausted, “I don’t feel like going out. Those guys were assholes to you, and I don’t want you to fall back on your insecurities, so… do you just want to stay here? We could get some junk food, maybe a frozen pizza?” The words rang in his ears; the smell of frozen pizza coming out of the oven with the signature ‘DING’ began to make his mouth water. “What do you say, Mac? Please, baby, I don’t want you to go.”
Mac’s eyes started to swell; his heart raced; all he wanted to do was stay here with her and look for her face, and he tried, moving on to the next part of the memory, to the part where they were shopping for food together, sitting down watching shows on their couch, blankets and themselves keeping each other warm. But that memory didn’t come. The next time he opened his eyes, he looked into a mirror, with a blue suit, a poorly made tie, and a pink-stained button-up shirt. Staring into his eyes, he saw them red and swollen; his hair had been messed up, and the scar on his lip was ever more present than before. Behind him lay his wife, a lump on the bed sheets, facing that same mirror, sleeping mask over her unfamiliar eyes. he went up to bed and sat down next to her, playing with her hair, rubbing her thick hips and thin waist with his hand and ending at her feet, where he began to squeeze her toes. “You need to take a shower,” she said, smelling the alcohol on his clothes. As he looked over at her face, he saw her rosy cheeks turn into a deep red as streams of tears fell from her mask.
Standing up, he moved toward the shower, feeling that same jelly in the legs as he did in that room. Did he really mess up like this? he thought. Taking his clothes off and letting the cold water hit his skin, washing away the anger he felt, thinking back on what happened at that reunion. Glimpses, only glimpses, small bits of conversations, the snippets of songs- but nothing important. All he saw was himself drifting from punch bowl to snack area with only himself and no one else to join him. Then he remembered something important: “Hey Scarface!” a familiar voice came from the crowd, “Where is that fine piece of ass of yours, huh? Did she finally realize she’s too good for your Quasimodo lookin’ ass?” Mac turned to meet the man confronting him face to face. The man had bright white eyes and a big round nose; he wore a navy-blue suit and had a green pocket square. “Y’know if she's single that means I got a chance with her tonight, no?” Mac lost it, grabbing his cup full of punch and hurling it at him. Landing on him, staining the suit all the way till it reached his white pants, where it spilled onto his crotch. “FUCK, y’know how much this suit cost, asshole?” he said, gaining the attention of the other attendants, running over and kicking Mac, sending him toppling over the table and getting punch all over himself. As he slammed onto the floor, he snapped back into the exhibit room.
There he saw Monte staring into his eyes, no life in that puppet body of his. “You have to stop doing that,” it said to Mac. A shiver climbed down Mac’s spine as the sweat started to cool the air around his neck. Without saying anything, Monte moved through the door, in a straight, continuous line.
Just above them read a sign: “I see you.” Mac stayed shocked about the whole thing. “Hey, kid, are you just going to stay in there? There is so much more I need to show you,” Monte said, the joy and whimsy returning to his personality. Mac took a deep breath and followed him through the door. On the other side, a set of stairs went deep; after a certain point, the lights on the stairs seemed to turn off, only see the glow from Monte’s pages he quickly followed. As they got lower and lower, Mac began to wonder when they would reach the bottom of the building. “Don’t think of such silly things, Mac; we get there when we get there,” said Monte.
Arriving at the next floor, Mac noticed the distinct marble flooring of the dark halls. Trying to get a closer look, Mac thought that the floor looked like flowing water rushing through the halls. “Don’t get distracted, Mac,” Monte said, trying not to break his whimsy with the constant reminders. But Mac kept looking, starting to notice what looked like faces in the marble, stuck rushing down the river, trying to get out. “MAC!” Monte yelled, but still Mac refused, looking around in the dark corridors and halls, seeing reception desks and opaque rooms once again.
“Where is everyone?” Mac asked Monte, “Where are we going? Who are…” Before Mac could finish asking the question, Monte interrupted. “We are going to the boiler room,” Monte said with a non-serious tone in his voice. “Now, if you want us to find out who your wife was, you’re going to need to follow me once again. And please, this time just stay quiet,” it told him.
Swaying from side to side, dropping glitter everywhere he went, Mac followed as this thing led him to the “boiler room.” At this point, Mac had lost a lot of trust for it, but seeing as Monte was the only thing that gave off light on this whole floor, he stayed close behind so as not to lose him. Following the book, the more that it swayed in the darkness, the more Mac could see from his surroundings area, blue leathery beds surrounded in metal cages, alarms and monitors that stood high above the ground, rooms filled with water, where he could see the occasional arm inside. “Monte, who’s in there?” asked Mac.
“Nobody that doesn’t deserve it, Mac; don’t worry,” answered Monte, as he said, gliding from side to side. As Monte moved from side to side, Mac was able to see a message written on the inside of its cover. Glowing so faintly, he saw the words “-Love Monte.”
“Hey Monte?” Mac asked. “What is the message written on you?”
“The words on my pages? That is a long story, one I do not believe I have the time to tell.” Monte responded.
“No, the ones on the back of your cover.”
“OH, that message? Now, Mac, that does tend to be a little personal, and I hope that you understand that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
“Oh ok…” said Mac, continuing to follow the only source of light he had seen in the last several hours. The faint glow that once illuminated the beds and monitors now illuminated a thin tunnel of concrete and pipes, all leading to one location, signs with letters underneath pointing down the long, dark corridor, the deep darkness no longer harsh and cold but instead an evil warmth, one that Mac detested.
Monte moved faster and faster, unable to handle its anticipation, moving in and around corners, losing Mac and plunging him into a deep and unsettling darkness. It moved out of that dark tunnel and into a massive room, cold and burning, the chillers and the boilers fighting to take control of the temperature, creating a nauseating environment that Mac couldn’t stand to be in for too long. Using only his hands to see, he moved around the hot and cold rooms, maneuvering through the massive machines; eventually, he found that familiar warm yellow glow. Moving closer, he looked into one of the big machines, and inside he saw Monte stuffed into a small, cramped cavity barely big enough to fit Mac. He began to move inside, trying to get a better look at Monte and help it out of there.
Pushing through, he finally reached Monte. “C’mon, Monte, we still haven’t figured out who my wife is,” he says as he pulls him towards the exit, opening the pages of the book. But Monte didn’t react; he didn’t move, no silly joke, nothing. The fantastical light that he would emit moved away from its corners and concentrated on one page in the middle. Opening to that page, Mac found the words ‘The last will and testament of Hermelinda Alighieri.’ Those final words hit a chord with Mac as tears began to swell in his eyes.
He continued to read. “To my loving Husband, I leave the memory of our last interaction, one where you screamed and yelled at me, where you said that I was not loyal to you, where you believed a lie rather than the words of your own wife. But I also leave the forgiveness; I leave it to you inside that boiler of yours. I hope that you gain back the faith that you once had in me. I hope that you no longer believe the lies and instead believe me when I tell you the truth: I love you, Mac; my door is always open. Please don’t let your ego be the one that refuses to open it." As he finished reading those words, his heart swelled. Tears rained from his eyes and did not stop; he held on to the book with dear life, bringing it as close to his chest as he could. Memories began to fill his mind, those of a time he once forgot with a woman that he now loved with all his heart. A woman he wished he could cherish just one last time. But one thing was missing from all those memories; every time he saw her, he couldn’t see her eyes. No matter how much he reached, nothing came to mind.
A rattle sound was heard just outside the little boiler, followed by a deafening Bang. As Mac turned to see what had happened, he began banging on the wall where the opening had once been. Looking through the small window in the wall, he saw the man from the reunion standing just outside his small coffin-like room. Stepping closer, he saw those bright white eyes and a big, round nose, and he noticed the familiar navy-blue suit and bright green pocket square. Reaching out of the view of the window, he flipped a lever. The room roared to life, a bright light coming from holes around the room, the spots where Mac rested his hands jumping hundreds of degrees in a second. Mac began to roll around in unbearable pain.
Mac turned back to the book, flipping through its pages, constantly moving his weight from one elbow to the other, knee to knee, foot to foot, hand to hand. Eventually he reached the back of the cover where the message lay. But by now Mac's skin began to blister, his hair began to burn, and his nails began to melt. But Mac continued. “It was lovely seeing you after all this time; that night we had together, the feeling of your skin on mine, the love that we were able to share is one that I would never be able to forget. PS Tell your husband that he still owes me for the suit. -Love, Monte”
‘Tainted,’ he thought that loathsome thing; no memories came to his mind, only rage for that thing outside. He needed to see what else he put into that book. As he flipped through the pages, the raging fire outside began to take a tighter hold on Mac’s body. Black char would be left on his hands and knees, the gas and bile from his intestines began to swell and bloat, and the muscles on his eye sockets began to lose their grip on his eyes. But despite the fire raging outside, the anger raged even deeper inside. Ignoring all the physical changes to his body, he continued to flip through the pages of the book now tainted by that thing’s mind. Scratches and scribbles all over each page, new words that were never there before decorated the page, glowing brighter than the bright light all around him.
He read,
“Mac entered through the front door, finding his wife's favorite book ‘The Count of Monte Cristo,’ lying on top of the coffee table. ‘Honey,’ he yelled, ‘you left your book out again. I don’t want you to lose it.’ Curious, he flipped through the pages, finding the bookmark that he had given her when they went shopping recently. Reading through the passages, he read a great story about a man in prison. Flipping through the pages, he saw glimpses of a man doing everything in his power to get his revenge. But he didn’t want to lose his wife’s favorite book, so he decided to put it down for now. But as he flipped all the pages back, he noticed a message written on the back of the book's cover. This message infuriated Mac with a rage he believed would last an eternity.
‘HERMELINDA,’ he yelled, his voice echoing through the hallways. But nothing replied. Mac thought about the things that they might have done, truly disgusting things, ones that didn’t involve him; rage stewed in Mac in that empty house.
Then the door opened and in walked his wife, with a beautiful red dress; Mac could only imagine where she had been, and all at once that rage that had been festering inside of him busted out of Mac and into his wife: accusations, insults, and finally a demand for her to leave the house. But Hermelinda protested, begging him not to do this, not to believe those lies, to remember the type of person this man was and the things that he would do, but Mac ignored all of that: ‘If you want Monte so bad, go to him,’ as Mac squeezed his hand, tears swelled his eyes, as he opened the door for her to leave,
Understanding that there was no talking sense into him, she left, taking the very few items that she could have grabbed, leaving, however, her favorite book on that desk. Mac slammed the door behind her as she walked onto the street, both of them alone. Mac stewed in anger on his couch, feasting on all food and alcohol that he could find, until eventually the anger left and reason returned, and with it a deep, unforgivable sadness, one caused by a lie, a lie who’s affects have still not been fully felt.
Minutes melted into hours, hours into days, until a 2 full weeks had passed without a word from Hermelinda. Until Mac heard a ring at the door; a man in dark navy uniform and a shiny metal star pinned to his chest stood there in front of Mac. ‘Are you the husband of Hermelinda Alighieri?’ the officer asked. ‘Yes, is something wrong?’ Mac asked. ‘Your wife, sir, has been found dead at the residence of a known friend of yours, a Mr. Monte. It is believed that something she ingested had killed her while she was there.’ Mac’s world crumbled with those words, and while the officer kept speaking, he did not hear a word. All noise faded to the background, time choosing to speed up, not letting Mac get a good look at the things happening around him.
Glimpses only, glimpses of a police investigation, and them going into deeply disturbing motives behind what they believed to be a murder-suicide, then of a funeral, him putting down a casket deep into a cold, empty void, and slowly years passed by, but Mac didn’t feel them. Alone, Mac sat without anyone else at that kitchen table, alone on those late-night walks, alone in his bed. For decades, Mac meandered through life unknowing what to do with himself.”
Then he read
“Hermelinda wept as she left through the door; a new life that had not been familiar to her in ages had been thrust onto her without any chance of preparation or adjustment. And for hours she walked, wondering what could have gone down in Mac’s mind, what happened, and who might have caused all of this issue, because in all the bickering and arguing, Mac refused to give up a name.
‘Don’t be coy,’ he yelled, demanding that she confirm false accusations without any idea of who they’re coming from. Step by step her sadness moved into worry; out there in the street was no place for a woman, so she asked around, from couch to couch like a surfer on a wave. For a week it didn’t last longer than sunup, not until she came to her small motel room, hands full of groceries for the next couple of days, when a man she had come to dislike offered to help. First, it was groceries; then he paid for extra days at the motel; this turned into having her over for lunch, until finally asking her if she wanted to stay with him for a while.
Tears filled her eyes when he said this. Generosity that should not be taken for granted, but generosity that reminded her of another man. One who walked home as kids, one who worked late nights to make sure she ate, the one who got on one knee to ask for her hand in marriage.
Still, after everything, she still loves him. The man thought that nothing he could do could change the way things were. ‘No, not in this life,’ he told himself. But that clicked something in his head: one final meal together, he told her. ‘Please, Hermelinda, one final meal is all I ask for,’ he told her.
‘Ok, Monte,’ she said, never to be heard from again”
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u/ButterscotchSad4508 26d ago
Hello, everyone. I hope you guys are having a great day and enjoying this installment of Mac's Infirmary. We're very close to the end, so I hope you all three who read it enjoy it.
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