Here Comes My Brain! (Part 1)

Here Comes My Brain! is a short story I wrote a few years ago, which I’m presenting here in 3 parts. The story was based completely around the title, which was based around something a neighbor was screaming, which was obviously (I would hope) misheard.

Please continue reading and look out for part 2. Feel free to leave feedback. If demand calls for it, I’ll publish some of my older short stories on here as well.

Here Comes My Brain is a fun horror/dark comedy about a man who is abducted and used in experiments that involve the reanimation of dead flesh, where each day brings more bizarre procedures and less limbs, as his desire for revenge increases. Without further ado…

HERE COMES MY BRAIN!

I don’t fully comprehend why this dreadful experience was visited upon me, but I will never forget the faces of those responsible. Well, I won’t forget their eyes at least. Most of those bastards were wearing surgical masks half the time.

At home, with my wife and child on the night of September 24^th, 1983, we were enjoying a meal of meatloaf when they burst through the door with ski masks and automatic weapons. Forced onto our knees in execution style, I closed my eyes and waited for the gunshots, but they never came. As it happens, a bullet through my skull, and those of my family, would have been preferable to what they really had in mind for us. Well, I’m a little confused right now…perhaps it’s idyllic that they did not ventilate my head just then.

Bags were placed over our heads and ropes around our arms and legs, before they violently shoved us into the back of a truck, slamming the metal door behind us. We were then carted off to God knows where, but the drive seemed to have lasted for several hours. I tried to comfort my wife, dear Julia, and my child, sweet little Sarah, but panic had taken over and they could only respond with shrieks and tears.

At least two others were in the back of the truck with us, and another couple was thrown on top of the pile before the truck came to a stop at our destination. When the doors were opened, screams of fear and protest were being issued from the mouths of my family, as well as the other victims, but there were no answers coming from our captors. They remained silent as they pulled me from the truck and shoved me down into a wheelchair, pushing me across a gravel path, inside a building of some sort and finally down a long elevator. With the bag over my head, I can only guess where they took my wife and child, but I pray that they did not suffer the same fate as I. I never saw or heard from them again.

When the elevator reached the end of its decent, they wheeled me down a long corridor. The front left wheel of the wheelchair was busted like an old metal shopping cart. I could tell because the damn thing kept spinning erratically, causing the chair to bear to the left and my legs to be slammed into the walls as the asshole pushing me along failed to compensate properly. Perhaps he did it on purpose. Either way, he is lucky I didn’t see his face at the time, or I would have added him to my shit list, which has grown quite extensive recently.

I was brought to a cell where I was strapped to a metal bed frame, void of a mattress, where they finally removed the bag from my head. I took in my surroundings, which appeared to be a cell with sterile white walls, a stainless steel sink and toilet, and the metal bed frame I was now strapped to. Oh, and the men who wheeled me here and bound me, who were the first to not be wearing masks, their first mistake. I guess the asshole that bruised my knees made it on my list after all.

Uselessly, I once more pleaded for answers, forgiveness for offenses I did not knowingly commit, for the release of my lovely Julia and Sarah, and at first I foolishly thought the large man with the bushy beard may actually be considering granting at least some of my wishes. He wore a look of genuine compassion and guilt upon his pudgy face, but he remained silent as had all the rest. Whether or not he agreed with what was being done to my family and I had become irrelevant. He was given a chance and did nothing, and so he was added to my mental list.

I laid there for hours, trying to figure out what I had done, why they had chosen my family, but came to the conclusion that we were selected at random, as were the other victims that accompanied us in the back of the truck. There was no other explanation I could conjure. I owed no debts outside of credit cards and as evil as they can be, even they would not stoop to such a level. I had no known enemies, have never worked for the government or any organization that would deem that I had seen too much. No, they most likely had pages from the phonebook tacked to a wall where they proceeded to throw darts while wearing blindfolds. Aren’t I a lucky son of a bitch?

Once or twice I heard someone crying, in addition to shrieks of dread, pain, or both, and I tried to discern if any of those voices belonged to my wife or child. After a short while those voices fell silent, either by torn throats caused by over usage, by gag, or worse. I cried for hours with thoughts of my Julia and Sarah. Poor Sarah, she was only eight years old. I have no idea what time it was when I finally cried myself to sleep. It was impossible to keep track of time this far underground.

I was awakened sometime later, which could have been hours or minutes after falling asleep, by the men who wheeled me to this room. They were accompanied by a doctor wearing a surgical mask and blue latex gloves. The doctor briefly looked at me through his black rimmed spectacles then gave me an injection which almost immediately caused paralysis, though I remained conscious and aware.

“Bring patient M302 to the operation room,” the doctor instructed the orderlies.

Read part 2 here!