Tweeprose: ‘Twisted’ by A. N. Gretly (For @Zucker_Frei)

No one was allowed to talk about what happened in that building years and years ago, but people often whispered here and there like they always do. However, anyone who seemed to have been whispering too much either disappeared, or found themselves in the middle of a freak accident. The fact of the matter is, no one really knew what happened back then, but the citizens of Creekwell City understood that whatever happened on that night, it was far more horrific than their tiny brains could come up with. The building, of course, was the Creekwell Asylum for the Criminally Insane; which was previously known as the Cesspool Asylum back when that horrible event occurred.

The building, as old as the city itself, stood high and mighty at the outskirts of Creekwell. A strange structure, its facade could make any man dizzy with its odd angles. Any normal mind would not be able to comprehend these shapes for they were almost geometrically impossible. But of course, the people who called this building home were far from normal.

Emma-Jane Hartnell, a scrawny teenager, was one of those people who called the Creekwell Asylum for the Criminally Insane her home. At that moment, she stood in front of her barred window, staring at the night sky that seemed to have been clearer than usual. She waited. Breathing heavily, she waited for the man to unlock her door, and take her away. To take her downstairs to where all the screams were stored in dusty glass bottles. She wasn’t afraid, no, she was rather excited to know what he would try this time. She was also excited about saying hello to inmate number 2269, who always did not reply because she was too busy masturbating. Emma smiled at that thought, because she knew inmate 2269 from a distant dream, one of many she had. However, in the dream, the inmate was called Mona, and she killed a man by stabbing him the the chest while she was riding his hard phallus. Emma smiled at that as well.

Before long, the man showed. Doctor Smithers, he was called. A middle aged man with skunk colored hair, and large horn-rimmed glasses. The door to Emma’s room was unlocked and opened, and there he was, standing the the doorway in his pale white coat.

“Hello, Doctor.” Emma said in her sweet voice.

“Good evening, Emma.” Said Dr. Smithers “How are you feeling today?”

“Just fine, Doctor.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Let us go then.”

A security guard appeared from behind the doctor, and walked to Emma. She put her hands behind her back, and the guard cuffed them.

“Oh, hello, Roger.” Emma giggled to the guard “Oh, where are your glasses? I love them!”

“They broke this afternoon.” Roger said with a smile.

He produced his spectacles. One lens was cracked but still in place, and the other was broken into two halves that rested in his palm.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Emma said.

“It’s alright, I don’t really need them.”

He returned his broken glasses to his right front pocket,  placed his hand on Emma’s shoulder, and guided her outside the room. The three of them walked in silence, only the sound of wooden heels click-clacking filled this silence, save for a distant scream here, or a heavy moan there. As they walked through the hallway, Emma looked from left to right, reading the numbers on each locked door with a gleeful smile on her face.

2261, Emma thought,Suzan, killed her son. 2263, Laura, gutted her ex-boyfriend. 2265, Maria, made a nice bag from her best friend’s skin.

And on and on and on she went until she reached 2269 where she stopped, and felt Roger bump into her from behind.

“Hello, Mona!” She yelled.

“Keep moving.” The guard said.

The sound of loud moans punctuated by slippery noises came from behind the locked door. Roger, the security guard urged Emma to move, and she did. Still smiling. Still thinking.


The lab took most of the asylum’s basement, but it had only one door, in front of which Roger stood. It looked like any other laboratory, but it had a grim air to it, as if the walls had seen too many unnatural deaths; which was true, of course. This lab, however, unlike other labs, was equipped with several hospital beds with leather straps, and even vertical racks if need be. Emma-Jane Hartnell was strapped into one of those beds, with a spotlight shining white in her face, and several sensors stuck all over her body. Dr. Smithers stood next to her bed reading some charts, with his glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose. He placed the clipboard on the metal tray on the right hand side of Emma’s bed next to some scalpels, picked up an already loaded syringe, and walked around the bed.

“Now, Emma,” Doctor  Smithers said “I am going to ask you a question, and you have to answer me truthfully.”

“Okay.” She answered with a smile.

“Why did you kill them?”

“Oh,” She giggled “They didn’t believe my dreams were real.”

“I see.”

“Do you believe me, Doctor?”

“Well, Emma,” Smithers cleared his throat as he walked close to her bed on the left side, and moved his head over her face “You have to understand that what you are saying is hard to believe.”

“So, you don’t believe me then?” Emma said feeling very disappointed as she stared at the doctor’s face hovering over her.

“No, Emma, I do not.”

Emma dropped the half lens she picked from Roger’s pocket to the floor, swiftly reached over with her right hand to grab one of the scalpels from the metal tray, and stuck it deep in Doctor Smithers neck. A warm fountain of blood splatters all over Emma’s face as she unstrapped herself with her free hand. While she did so, the doctor fell to the floor in a puddle of his own blood, trying to scream for help, but all that came out were horse shocking sounds accompanied by gargles. Emma-Jane stepped off the bed and stood over the bleeding doctor, wearing a sweet little smile on her crimson masked face.

“That clumsy Roger, and those poor old straps.” Emma giggled “I mean, really, doctor, you need to get better guards, and update your equipment; the leather is just too flimsy”

She crouched down, and held the scalpel. Emma pushed it deeper into his throat, twisting it while she did so with the blood splattering everywhere.

“You have to believe Emma, Doctor.” She smiled “Emma is always right.”

Now you see it, now you don’t.


About Ahmed Gretly

Ahmed Nader Gretly. Construction/Site Engineer, fiction writer, poet, psychopath, researcher, a book addict, and a daydreamer from Cairo, Egypt. Currently doing Construction Project Management, MSc, at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh.
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