Brodie Forbes was sitting in a small office in the city hospital. In front of her was a large chocolate coloured wooden desk, cluttered with files, folders and empty coffee cups. Behind the desk sat Dr. Robert Christie. Christie was middle aged, but the stress of the hospital workload had taken it’s toll over the years. He now had wrinkles so deep set into his face his dark olive skin looked like some sort of crumpled leather. Brodie was also aware Christie was a heavy smoker, and not just because of the pungent aroma of cigarettes he exuded. There was actually an ash tray on his desk, with a mountain of cigarette stubs piled on it, like some sort of mini funeral pyre. Brodie tried her best not to scowl at the sight of it, not that Christie would have noticed if she had. He was one of those people that constantly felt that they had something far better to do than talk to mere simpletons, and Christie wasn’t afraid to make that clear. He sighed, rubbed his tired eyes and leaned back in his swivel chair.
“First of all, whatever you experience during the experiment is strictly confidential. If we find out that information about the experiment has been leaked, you will be prosecuted and will most likely get yourself a criminal record. Got it?”
“Sure.” Brodie said, nodding. Like hell she was going to tell anyone. If her mother knew she was signing herself up for medical experiments she would go through the roof. But Brodie was a student, and Brodie needed the money.
“So let me ask you some quick questions, just to make sure you’re the right type of candidate for our enterprise. Would you say you have a good sleeping pattern? Are you getting enough sleep, without any interruptions or disturbances?”
“Yes. Normally I sleep for seven hours a night.”
It was actually more like three.
“Ok”, Christie began scribbling notes on a pad sheet, “And during your sleep do you experience a lot of dreams? Do you ever get nightmares or lucid dreams perhaps?”
“I don’t really remember my dreams I don’t think. Only now and again but they’re never very significant.”
Brodie remembered all her dreams. Most of them harked back to her childhood, when she had tea-parties with her imaginary friends.
“Do you ever sleepwalk?”
“Never.”
Except last night when she woke up in her bath tub.
“Right, last question, do you believe dreams hold any truths or significance in their messages?”
“No.”
“Alright. Now, the experiment itself is going to take place at ten pm, but we’ll need you in here for about eight, just so we have a few hours to prepare. I don’t want to go into too much detail about what the experiment aims to achieve; as it would spoil the purpose. But, I can tell you what the procedure is going to be.” Christie paused for a moment to crack his knuckles. Brodie winced at the crunch of bones, but kept a small fake smile on her lips. In reality the doctor was making her skin crawl.
“When we get you in we need to do some prep-work. So basically we’ll ask you to sit and do nothing while we get you wired up to our monitoring machines. After this we’ll give you a dose of the new drug we’re developing, which will put you into a deep sleep for the rest of the night. We estimate that you should come round at about six am, then we’ll ask you some questions. After that you are free to go with your money. Are you still interested?”
Brodie didn’t even hesitate. She’d been so sleep deprived lately they were basically doing her a favour.
“Of course.” She smiled.
***
Brodie returned to the hospital at eight pm the next day. A receptionist directed her to one of the lower levels of the hospital, where most of the experiments were normally held. She was greeted (more like grunted) there by an exhausted looking Dr. Christie, who led her into a small room where two technicians bustled about over monitors and odd machines. The room had been packed with scientific equipment. Big metal boxes that chirped and buzzed, twists of wires grew like weeds over the floor and up the walls. At the side of the room was a single bed, which to Brodie’s disappointment was just an average hospital bed, with a spindly metal frame and thin mattress with a duvet barely thicker than a blanket. It didn’t look comfortable. She frowned at herself. What had she been expecting? A freaking king-sized bed with feather pillows and water mattress with a built-in shiatsu massager? Nope, just a normal bed.
“This is where you’ll be sleeping tonight and where the experiment will be recorded. We have a couple of cameras just to record the actual physical events during the night but most of the work will be recorded by these machines.” Christie explained.
Brodie didn’t really care. All that concerned her was getting whatever it was they were going to do over with and get that lovely money she so desperately needed right now.
Brodie was asked to go to the washroom down the hall and prepare herself as if she was going to bed normally. She chuckled to herself, as this was so far from normal. She got changed into her PJs, brushed her teeth and tied her hair up in a bun. She was prone to spots and had learned one of the best ways to avoid them was to keep dirty hair off your skin while you slept. She reconsidered it for a moment, wondering if the bun would get in the way. She shook her head, nope, the jolly Dr. Christie would surely have said if it was a no-no. Brodie observed that like most other doctors, Christie enjoyed giving clear instructions. She looked at herself in the mirror. The girl in the mirror looked nervously back at her. What the hell are you nervous about? An injection? Puh-lease. Get a grip or they might pull the plug, and then you’ll have to go another week of digestive biscuits and water. She took a deep breath in and pulled herself together, with a determined frown on her brow. Ok. Here goes nothing.
Brodie returned to the room where the prep-work commenced. A couple of technicians began hooking her up to the machines by sticking little pads to her temple, chest and upper arms. Tiny little wires connected the pads to the monitors where, to Brodie’s somewhat uneasy amusement, she could see her heartbeat pulsing in a green line on a screen. Dr. Christie saw to it that things ran smoothly, and made use of himself by double-checking all the machinery. Well, really he just poked around the machines for half a minute, then slouched in a chair in the corner, where he started reading something on a Kindle. Brodie didn’t know whether to find this comical or annoying, so she just kept looking at the little screen with her heart rate, watching the flash of green bounce up and down to the beat of her heart.
By the time the technicians and Dr. Christie were satisfied the experiment was ready to go it was five to ten. Brodie got into the bed, which really was as uncomfortable as it looked, and Christie injected her with the mystery drug. It wasn’t long before it took hold. The room began to drift away from her, even the chirps and buzzes of the machines went quiet, and with each breath Brodie drew herself deeper into the darkness.
“Robert, I really think we need to reconsider this drug. Maybe it’s time to call it a day.” Mark, one of the technicians said to Dr. Christie.
Mark, Christie and Jess, the other technician, were sitting by the machines in the room where Brodie slept quietly.
Christie looked at Mark with acute annoyance.
“Why? How are we going to get anywhere with this if we give up so early on? If this works we’ll make the history books. The history books, Mark. And think how much money we’d get. You wouldn’t have to live in that shitty flat you’re always moaning about. Hell, get yourself a mansion!” retorted Christie. Mark shook his head solemnly. He wasn’t convinced. Jess continued to study the machines. She wasn’t ready to take any sides just yet.
“This is our third trial Robert. Because the other two subjects... the other two...”
“We’re getting our first response to the drug Dr. Christie.” Interrupted Jess. She indicated to Brodie’s body temperature, which was beginning to drop, little by little. Another monitor, which mapped Brodie’s brain activity, showed that Brodie was having a dream.
“Ok, she’s started the scenario. Her heart rate has increased slightly but other than that she seems to be calm enough,” Jess reported. Christie gave a nod and glanced over at Brodie on the bed. Her face showed no reactions to what she was going through in her head right now, but no doubt that would soon change.
There was a moment of contemplation, before Mark took another stab at Christie.
“Robert, I can’t do this anymore. This drug, this “Mr. N”, as you call it... there’s something not right about it. It’s dangerous.” Mark reiterated. Christie rolled his eyes. He was beginning to lose his patience.
“Mr N is nothing more than an artificial nightmare. We all get nightmares Mark. Call it the bogeyman or night terrors, whatever. It’s normal. If there is some way we can induce a nightmare so powerful it could wake a coma victim with a jolt, then we’d be rolling in it. How, Mark, does any of that sound bad to you?” said Christie, exasperated.
“Your Mr N has already killed two people. Tonight it could be a third. They’re not waking up. They’re dying of fright.” Mark said, now quietly.
“Those two people both lied on their applications. One had a heart condition and the other smoked and drank excessively. It could have just as easily been that. You’ll see. Mr N will do his thing tonight and with a bit of luck we’ll see our first positive result. One step closer to the “big bucks” as they say.” Chuckled Christie.
“What is it they see?” asked Jess suddenly. “What is Mr N, actually?”
Christie frowned slightly.
“I couldn’t say. Mr N is made of the chemicals secreted by the body when a sleeping person is experiencing a nightmare. Only we concentrated the chemicals and messed with them a bit to give them a bit more of a kick. I guess Mr N would manifest himself differently depending on the person. But one thing’s for sure. I wouldn’t like to meet him.” At this, Christie let out a husky laugh. It sent a chill up Mark’s spine.
No one said anything for a minute. Then suddenly, a machine began to let out an alarm beep. Jess could see that Brodie’s body temperature had become unnaturally low, and her heart was pumping far too fast. Heart attack fast. Jess turned to see Brodie on the bed, who had begun to shake, as if she was having a seizure. Her hair clung to beads of sweat which rolled like glass marbles down her face. The bun she had put it in had come loose and now her hair lay in damp ringlets. Brodie’s face had contorted into a look of pure terror and anguish. It was the look of a frightened child. Christie was at her bedside immediately. He pulled back one of Brodie’s eyelids, to reveal nothing but milky white glass. A wet patch began to spread on the bed sheet. Brodie had wet herself. Suddenly her shaking stopped and she lay motionless, like a clockwork toy that had ran it’s course. The heart monitor let out a long beep. Brodie had died.
“I told you! I fucking told you, you sick, twisted, money-grubbing, fuck!” spat Mark, who stormed out of the room. Christie looked helplessly for a moment to Jess.
“I agree.” She said, and left the room as well.
Christie stood for a moment, fuming with Mark and Jess, but most of all fuming with himself. Mark was right. It was time to pull the plug on “Mr N”. Three deaths. It was becoming clear the experiment was going nowhere. Christie nodded to himself, decidedly.
You can’t pull the plug on me Robert.
What the fuck? Christie jumped as he heard the voice. That dark, whispering voice. He looked back at Brodie, who lay still where she was, still as dead as a doornail.
That’s right. Mr N will always be here.
Christie turned grey. It was Brodie. At least, her lips moving. But it wasn’t her voice. It wasn’t her. Christie began to back slowly away from the bed, as he trembled with cold, sickly terror.
Mr N will always be here. Maybe he’ll visit you tonight. When you’re fast, fast asleep. You may not want to meet me Robert, but I am simply dying to meet you.
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