by Allen Dusk
Up on top of old Hospital Hill,
a doctor’s ghost is rumored to roam there still.
The patients he had all tortured,
the nurses he had all killed,
all in the name of medicine,
while perfecting his skills.
Countless thousands he maimed,
though no one incision was ever the same.
Gallons of innocent blood were spilled
and swept away though an old, rusty drain.
Restless souls now wander the hospital ruins with unrest;
they will wander forever
until that madman utters his last breath.
The old rooms are all empty and rotting away,
the hallways are littered with piles of decay
and buried deep within the hospital’s bowels
are horrible, dark secrets,
that shall never know the light of day.
And if you should dare to venture up there
for you curiosity urges you to peek inside
I pity your soul
should you happen across the glow
of the old Doctor’s eyes.
He will cut you and poke you,
and mock you with silence as you cry.
Then he will keep you alive with twisted science
all the while, you’ll wish you had died.
With old tubes and pumps
he’ll course toxic fluid through your veins,
moments before he begins slicing at your genitals
and inserting probes into your brain.
As you lay strapped to his table longing for death
he’ll stare at you through his X-ray goggles
as he carves the leg bones from your flesh.
With scalpels and drills and bone gnashing saws
you’ll find it impossible to plead for mercy
through your fractured and wired shut jaw.
As he finally allows you to hemorrhage
and embrace Death’s eternal chill
your dying brain’s last wish will be
that you had never taken a step
towards old Hospital Hill.