Mad Worlds by Bill Douglas Read Free Book Online Page A

loony bin.
    Click.
A small shaft of light appeared and he roused himself to stagger towards it.
Click.
The light went out, and he felt his way along padded walls, cursing, shouting for help. This was weird too – no echo. And he couldn’t find a door! As he made for the mattress again, he tripped over something. He fumbled the object. A piss pot, made of rubber. Empty at least.
    Click.
The shaft of light. A distant voice said, “You are awake, Mr Chisholm.” The voice was unfamiliar, but reminded him of Panjit, his pal from uni.
    He could make out where in the wall the light was coming through. Tensing, he sprang up towards it, but it vanished with a click. Where the light had been, he slammed both hands against a padded wall. “I’m awake all right. Let me out!” he yelled.
    But the conversation had ended, and he was left in semi-darkness. He tried digging his fingers into where the light had shone through. The surface was impenetrable. Maybe a hatch operated from the outside? There had to be a door. He crawled along by each wall, his fingers probing unsuccessfully. Maybe this was Hell, and he’d never escape.
    He again raised himself to where he thought the light had come from, and, yelling, beat against the wall with his fists. Noiseless and utterly futile. He slumped back across the mattress. His body ached, right through his bones and muscles. He lay drowsing.
    Becky sprouts wings and flutters away. A butterfly? He tries to follow, but can’t get his legs to move from under a heap of coal. Heather swoops past on a broomstick, shrieking, laughing at him.
    He awoke, sweating. A horror dream. He recalled where he was – in a cell, in the loony bin – and the helplessness returned.
    The shaft of light was there again. He lay still, listening, then shouted, “Hello?”
    The voice replied. “Hello Mr Chisholm. How are you?”
    How did this character think he was? Better try a different approach. “Where am I?”
    â€œYou are in Springwell Mental Hospital.” A man, same as before, with a foreign accent, was speaking through the hole where the light shone from.
    â€œWhat am I doing in here? I’m not mad.”
    â€œWell the people who brought you in say you are.” A pause, then the voice continued. “They also say you were violent and dangerous, so we gave you knockout medicine and put you in this padded room.”
    â€œThis what?”
    â€œIt is a padded cell. You are there for your own protection.”
    â€œFor my protection! I don’t need protecting. My imprisonment, you mean?”
    â€œWell, that is also true. You were, as I said, violent, and you are also in here for the protection of other people.”
    Rubbing his sore eyes, he rose to sitting on the edge of the mattress. This guy could hold the key to his release. “Who are you?”
    â€œI am Dr Singh, psychiatric registrar.” Not Panjit – Indian sub-continent, though.
    â€œCan you let me out of here, please?”
    â€œNo, not yet. We must be sure it will be safe to do so.”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake!” he yelled, “I can’t even see you.” He sprang up towards the light, which immediately vanished with a click. He hammered at the walls and then slumped onto the floor. He was helpless, beaten.
    Click
. The shaft of light. “The nurses will bring medicine to help you sleep,” said the doctor.
    Click
. Semi-darkness again, and silence. He fumbled for the mattress and lay on it.
    Click
. The shaft of light. Yes, a hatch. A voice barked, “Chisholm, wakey! Time for your medicine.” A very different voice – rough, gravelly. Sounded familiar, but where from? “Be a good boy,” the voice continued. “Any trouble and we’ll do for you.”
    That was it. The pig of a sergeant major at Aldershot for his induction to National Service and that delightful square-bashing! He’d dreamed of a