Qayid Aljaysh Juyub
An ugly little horror story: Angels of Death
At night in the demon hour they, the damned, whisper from the abysses of time. In the solitude of their self-created hell between dimensions, they relive their stories again and again in never-ending hatred. Now you may listen to the voice of a lost soul ...
Again, the 'patient bell' in the nurses' station was pleading for help.
"Fuck, it's that Muffling from Room 13 again, I've had enough of that troublemaker!"
Auxiliary nurse Christine Lang angrily threw her playing cards onto the dingy table in the ward room and rose furiously. As usual, her colleague Nancy Nutten smiled fatuously as her sluggish mind did not immediately realise what had happened.
"The old hag must have shat herself again if this is the fifth time she's rung the bell."
"Probably, but I'm getting sick of the constant ringing. Hop Nancy, let's take care of the Muffling!"
"What now? All right, I'll go and get the cleaning stuff."
"Nah, we won't need that!"
"Do you think the old bitch didn't shit herself?"
Christine rolled her eyes discreetly, the Nutten wasn't exactly the brightest bulb in the chandelier.
"Just get a syringe and come with me!"
Finally, after an exhausting cognitive effort, Nancy came to the right conclusion. The attractive twenty-something giggled with anticipation while she got the desired utensil.
"Whoa, does that old slut stink!"
Nancy looked disgustedly at the bedridden, elderly lady who had been lying in her excrement for hours. The aide, who was not blessed with much intellectual ability, and her colleague had strolled leisurely to the muffling patient's room and were now standing in front of the unfortunate patient's modest bed - the poor bed for those with statutory health insurance.
Weakened by dehydration and fever, the widowed pensioner could only slur her words.
Sick from a lifetime of physical labour and fobbed off with a pitiful mini-pension, she had the misfortune to enter the Smrowser Clinic. There, a productive medical staff subjected the old lady to an unnecessary but extremely profitable operation. Since semi-educated assistants were allowed to perfect their skills on the less well-off patients, dangerous complications quickly arose, prolonging the stay in the inhospitable realms of the absurdist health system.
Auxiliary nurse Lang looked at the helpless old woman with a sneer.
"Mrs. Muffling is already lying alone in a three-bed room and is still complaining. Then she's too lazy to crawl to the toilet - you're a real pig!"
While her colleague giggled as inanely as maliciously, 'Sister' Christine took out an ampoule of insulin.
"Nancy, the syringe!"
Almost spastically trembling with mirth, Nutten handed over the desired utensil, which Lang emphatically drew up slowly with the insulin.
"So, Mrs. Muffling will have no more worries or annoy us with her whining in a moment!"
Brutally, the assistant angel of death rammed the syringe into the fragile-looking patient and injected the lethal dose.
"Now the old bitch has shit off forever!"
"Not quite, Nancy, you brainiac. She's only lost consciousness, but she'll be dead in no time. Let's leave her here, it's not like this is the first body the morning shift or the cleaning cunt have discovered."
"Exactly, it was really funny when the new cleaning slut ran screaming from the room when we did three of them in. I'm in the mood for another number. Shouldn't we give old Abdul or Laempel a mouthwash?"
Despite the sexual excitement Lang felt at the murder of helpless patient, rational considerations prevailed.
"No, Abdul's relatives are looking after him and Laempel's daughter is taking care of the bastard. Besides, the bitch is a teacher and could do something. But old Mueller has no one and is quite helpless. The other five in his three-bed room have already been pumped full of Narcotics by the late shift, so they don't notice anything anyway. The guy is a poor sod anyway and nobody cares whether he lives or dies. We're probably doing the old fart a favour!"
Full of anticipation, the bringers of death hurried to the second, lethal event, wisely ignoring the pleading sounds from the rooms whose inhabitants, crammed together like sardines, had not been sent to the realm of Morpheus by the previous shift. Finally, the club of semi-debilitarian devils reached the future scene of the crime.
"Oh there's Mr Mueller, how are we doing today?"
Lang sneered at the gagged old man whom the late shift had fixed to his bed with coarse leather straps as punishment for talking back and insubordination, North Korean style. The prisoner of Azkaban alias Smrow stared contemptuously at the questioner from intelligent eyes.
"Oh, our stubborn Mueller has had his mouth shut. Didn't we want to take the new tablets from Biondead again?"
Perhaps it should be noted at this point that the above-mentioned drug was tested on unwitting test subjects for the purpose of human trials by an enterprising medical doctor in a senior position at the hospital. The lucrative gratuities of various pharmaceutical companies also created various memory gaps with regard to the Hippocratic Oath and could also easily be reconciled with Professor Luidbeek's conscience, since he did not have one.
Roughly, the more intelligent assistant angel of Hades removed the gag to put her perverted plans into action.
"You fucking harpies, if I get out of here, there will be repercussions!"
"What, harpoon? Wow, Mueller is a real firecracker. Is the old geezer dumb."
"Nancy, shut the fuck up!"
While the Nutten was now silent in offence and her facial expressions - in keeping with her mental level - bore a certain resemblance to a sulking five-year-old, the underworldly Christine turned to her victim with her voice quivering with mirth.
"Only, Mueller you old smart-ass, you're not getting out of here, at least not alive. Hup Nancy, you genius, we're going to give the old bastard a mouthwash now."
"You miserable bitches, you're going to hell...."
Although the doomed man had no idea of the nature of the lethal event that lay ahead of him, he cursed his tormentors in a weak voice. However, the complaint management did not last long, as the two unpitying sisters descended on him like hungry vultures on a fat prey. To cut a long story short: The so-called 'mouthwash' consisted of pouring water into the trachea of the protagonist of the same until he passed away in agony.
After the procedure, which was carried out with extreme brutality, the Nutten let out a hearty and infantile laugh.
"Now there's no more foreign words from that weird old fool!"
Satisfied, Lang lit a joint, seriously considering going to the ladies' room to masturbate.
"What a shag!"
Satisfied, senior physician Jack Cutling lit one of his 20-euro designer cigarettes - of course completely vegan and climate-friendly, made by hard-working children from Cuba - and grinned contentedly at Nancy Nutten. She, in turn, carefully closed her lover's trousers, rose and wiped the sperm from the corners of her mouth with the sleeves of her nurse's uniform.
"You really liked it, didn't you?"
"Well, my dear, you are living proof that mentally restricted people with rudimentary cognitive abilities can coitus well! You are truly the most sexually gifted troglodyte I have ever met!"
"Oh thank you, that's the most beautiful thing I've heard! Trollodite is a flower, isn't it?"
Misinterpreting the short laugh of her senior doctor loverboy, the auxiliary nurse beamed at him affectionately and flattered.
"Hey, Jacko, have you already told your old hag that you want to break up with her because she hasn't fucked you for a year?"
Nancy's eyes had now taken on a cunning expression, which probably corresponded to that of a Homo erectus lurking behind a boulder before he tried to slay a cave bear with a hand axe in a misjudgement of the balance of power.
To Nancy's surprise, another short laugh escaped her lover's oral opening.
"You are too delicious in your stupidity!"
"You don't understand, of course, and that's fine. Well, my little courtesan, unfortunately my wife is three months pregnant and I can't possibly leave her now."
"What, the old cunt is pregnant, then she cheated on you too!"
Surprised, Cutling looked at this abysmally stupid person, whose ignorance was equivalent to some members of the Teutonic parliament. Okay, the lightly spoken words were not enough even for the moronic Nutten. If he didn't want to bring up the fairy tale of the immaculate conception now, he really only had one option.
"Oh shit, that bitch has actually been unfaithful to me! But Nancy, you sage from the bible belt, I have to wait until the brat arrives before I can test paternity. So another six months and you'll get everything you deserve from me!"
"What a crassly horny declaration of love!"
About as obtuse as the absurdist foreign minister from the Teutonic backwoods, the hooker failed to follow the true meaning of her head doctor galan's words. Caught up in the intoxication of love, an idea rumbled through the atrophied brain of the fair Nancy. With this she now intended to make her lover happy.
"Okay, if the Victimes should suddenly croak now, then you can take out the organs and sell them, can't you?"
"Victimes? Excuse me?"
"He is a young guy in room C22, he must have good mesentery! I'm sure there's a pretty penny in it."
"Oh, organ donation. Maybe I should take a look at the patient's medical records to see if an unscheduled operation might be necessary."
The business-minded medic nodded with delight, and at the thought of the handsome money to be expected from charitable organ traders, his piggy eyes lit up in a glint that was as greedy as it was rodent-like. Then there were the donations from solvent patients to inexplicably move up the transplant list when fresh goods came in. However, these were not to be sneezed at either, but since Professor Luidbeek also had a hand in them, they were less lucrative.
"Besides, the dumbass has been vaccinated six times against coronaborealis!"
The anticipation of a possible lucrative business deal fizzled out abruptly. Under such conditions, the effort was hardly worthwhile, since at best a discount price could be obtained for such pre-stressed material.
"Nancy, my cretinissima, don't worry your demented little head about things you don't understand. You'd better do what you do best and give me another blow job."
"But me and Chrissi Lang can cum dat type for you and you only need to gut him. Have already done it!"
Outraged like a six-year-old or uneducated women in absurdist ministries, the beautiful Nancy now whined at her lover. He, in turn, gazed with incredulous amazement at his, as he so affectionately referred to it among his colleagues, little temporary hooker.
"Are you saying that you accidentally gave a patient the wrong injection and didn't call a doctor to remove the organs? Well, Nancy, I'm going to have to reprimand you for that!"
"What, by mistake? No, there must have been quite a few. At least fifty, because that's how far I can count. We understand the business!"
Cutling was now beginning to brood. When occasionally some poor cash creep went to hell due to malpractice or unqualified care, almost no one was interested. But here there was a distinct possibility that, due to the number of sudden and unexpected deaths, even the like-minded, uncritical press and the overtaxed police would smell a rat. Of course, Luidbeek, the head of the ward, could not be harmed with his connections, but for the potent senior doctor, the matter certainly posed a danger because of his sex relationship. The best thing for him to do was to think it over calmly.
"Uh, Nancy, I think we'll have to take a rain check on the blowing. I'm about to have another mighty heavy brain transplant and have to leave now!"
"No, stay a little longer, I was so looking forward to give head and..."
Before the disappointed blow player could complete her sentence, her grounded Romeo had already hurriedly left the scene of unromantic intimacies.
It would be another month before the great war in Europe would come to an end.
Sturmbannführer Alois Luidbeek and three followers entered the village church with the loud roar of their Nazi boots. With his Walther P38 drawn, the leader of the fascist gang pointed at the priest standing in front of the altar, who looked at the SS man and his helpers with an expressionless face.
"I knew we'd get you, Priest. It looks like you're all alone now, Jew lover. Mueller, kill the pig!"
Herbert Mueller, just 14 years old, belonged to the last contingent of a thousand-year Reich, which, however, perished after a somewhat shorter time. Squeezed into a Wehrmacht uniform that was far too big and basically still a little boy, he was supposed to fight for the final victory of his shitty master race with the shotgun he had been handed after a short briefing. With his skull filled with Nazi propaganda, he actually believed in this murderous nonsense -well, in terms of gullibility, the Teutons haven't changed much in recent times- and looked forward to fighting for his fatherland.
Luidbeek had quickly recruited him and two other, more enlightened members of the Wehrmacht. This happened after the Sturmbannführer's squad from the Totenkopf units preferred to desert at a good opportunity, as is the custom with cowardly murderers when things are no longer so optimal, and leave the hunt for the conscious priest to their fanatically crazed boss.
Slowly, the boy raised his carbine and aimed at the priest. This happened almost automatically, since Prussian cadaver obedience had also been beaten into him, so to speak. However, Mueller was not a conscienceless idiot and despite all the fascist propaganda and Nazi bullshit in his head, doubts came up in him.
At first, the Sturmbannführer thought the youngest member of his gang wanted to enjoy the murder of the priest, only to become impatient after a while.
"What? Come on!"
Slowly the boy lowered his rifle.
"I can't do it!"
At first, the head Nazi could not believe his eyes and ears. A lowly people's comrade who did not obey inhuman orders? That simply could not be.
"WHAT? Miserable traitorous pig!"
Normally Luidbeek would have shot the child, but slightly confused by the disobedience, he knocked Mueller down with the butt of his pistol while the other two Wehrmacht members looked impassively at the scene and waited for further instructions.
Meanwhile, the delinquent watched the scene impassively and seemed to mumble something in Latin. The leader of the small fascist troupe misinterpreted this as a sign of fear and decided to have some more fun with his victim before gunning him down.
"I'll deal with you later! Well, priest, it wasn't enough that you were sent to a concentration camp for hiding Jews, you had to run away too, you sneaky race denier. Before I finish you off, tell me, do you believe that your Jewish God will protect you? Your silly faith has been known to move mountains."
The Nazi grinned mockingly at the priest, who returned the look expressionlessly.
"I no longer invoke God!"
After these words, the power of the shadow world awoke in the escaped concentration camp inmate. Horrified, the SS officer noticed that his supposed prey's eyes turned jet black and he was no longer able to pull the trigger of his pistol to kill the priest. Instead, Luidbeek turned in a flash to both Wehrmacht members and killed them with two quick shots to the head before they could realise anything. Slowly, the remote-controlled Sturmbannführer shoved the pistol into his mouth and blew the back of his head off. What remained was a shocked Mueller, who now sat apathetically on the church floor.
The former priest looked at the survivor with an inscrutable gaze.
"I was in the First World War and after all the horror I thought I had found God. Then hell broke loose and from the depths I pleaded. There was never an answer, but finally another spoke to me and I served him. It was only a few minutes, but You gave me the time to complete the transformation. Therefore, be my promise to You: In the distant future I will bring the souls of Your murderers and their accomplices to darkness. God is not, but only chaos and darkness reign, that is the truth of this world!"
Before Mueller could realise everything, the newly created being disappeared in an impenetrable shadow that immediately dissipated.
That stupid bitch! The unappreciated mistress literally launched a surprise coup when she caught her gallant smoking cigarettes on the deserted, balcony-like roof gallery of the hospital after a lucrative and unnecessary operation. Cutling could hardly believe it, the 'little whore' had just told him that she was going to call his wife and talk turkey. If need be, the beautiful Nancy intended to stalk his wife and grab her at the next opportunity.
The only stupid thing about the head doctor's mishap was that the auxiliary nurse, who did not have the intelligence of a mule, possessed the latter's stubbornness and refused to be dissuaded from her idea. Moreover, in the event of separation, Cutling's assets would fall to the female part of the family under the terms of a marriage contract, and his lovely wife really couldn't take a joke when it came to cheating. So now our unwilling Romeo was talking his head off, so to speak.
"Damn you Nancy, you fatal affair, I told you we had to wait until the brat got here! Then it's the old bitch's turn. But we have to be careful and shouldn't see each other again until then. You know, with the divorce guilt and all!"
Rightly, the agitated senior doctor suspects the simple-minded mistress to be somewhat ignorant of divorce law, and no doubt it was highly advisable with regard to the murderous hobby of his sex affair to cease further contact sports.
"No, Chrissie Lang already said you were too sweet and laughed so funny. Then she told me that I should force you to be happy. I'm telling that old cunt now, and that's it!"
Well, there was really only one ultima ratio left, if it worked.
"Nancy, you grenade of the Eros Centre, you are too good for me and I don't deserve you. You know how sensitive I am! I can't take all this! For your own good, I release you so that you can find a better man. I wish you all the happiness in the world and condoms that are tighter than your cerebrum."
"What? You're a fool! I'll kill the old bitch, like all the stinkers in the ward. Then I'll go to the cops and tell them that you put me up to it, you little shit. Chrissie already warned me!"
Ooops, a nice try that backfired badly. Actually, our potential medicus had already had similar but more subtle thoughts, but they were opposed by the separation of property and the will of his conniving wife. So the motto was to gain time and come up with something.
"I was only joking, you stupid flower in the garden of evil. You're right: better a terrible end than a horror without an end. Just give me a little time and I will solve the problem!
"You're a real Joker! I knew you loved me so much. But because you're so sensitive, you can get rid of the old one by the end of the month!“
Three more weeks! Well: time will tell. Meanwhile, the intellectually satisfied Nancy spotted an acquaintance in the dreary hospital courtyard far below her and bent over the gallery railing, shrieking and waving, although of course she couldn't hear her.
The black priest materialised in Cutling's immediate field of vision.
"What the hell..."
"Shut up and do it!"
Obediently, the medico, under alien control, kept his mouth shut, gripping the lower extremities of his mistress bent dangerously over the railing. Stupidly, Nutten's hands, still clinging to the banister, prevented a steep downward career, but brutal blows to them then solved the problem. Finally, the girlfriend in the courtyard took note of Nancy after all, namely when her body smashed on the ground.
The priest winked sympathetically at the head doctor killer against his will.
"You should follow your great love now, so jump!"
Cutling did as he was told and only a short time later the cruel creatures of the shadow realm took the souls of the unequal lovers for eternal torment.
At the same time, auxiliary nurse Lang was happily whistling through the unkempt corridors in the section for statutory health insurance patients at Smrowser Klinikum. Cheerful to the point of sexual arousal, she was thinking of her last murder of old Mueller when she suddenly saw a kind of priest in a torn gown.
Oops, surprised? The gentle reader should know here that the laws of space and time, or what mortals considered them to be, are of a different nature for inhabitants of the dark interworld. These inter-dimensional beings can physically exist in different places at the same time. Unlikely? Well, even the brightest minds puzzle over the nature of the space-time continuum.
"Well Padre, what are you doing here outside visiting hours?"
Astonished and shaking their heads, some loitering medical assistants looked at the auxiliary. Not noticing the shadow priest, Patient Murdering Christine gave the impression that she was talking to herself.
"Be quiet and follow me!"
To her own astonishment, the helper-sister killer silently followed the saint of her last days. Although oncoming people did not notice the dark priest, they instinctively moved aside. Finally, the mismatched pair entered the ultra-modern operating theatre 99 for privately insured patients, where an illustrious crowd of doctors now stood motionless like wax dolls at Madame Tussauds.
"As you see, my dear, I have gathered here the worst butchers from your slaughterhouse. I didn't want to tell your moronic friend, but the reason for what is about to follow is your last murder and a promise I made a long time ago. Now lie down on the operating table and give yourself this injection!"
Smiling, the shadow priest handed his puppet a syringe.
"As you will notice now, your muscles are completely relaxed. You are no longer capable of any movement and cannot even scream. However, you retain your full sensation of pain and I will now no longer control you so that you can enjoy it to the full. So, you white coats, slowly remove her organs and take care that she does not die too quickly. After that, you may cut each other's throats one by one with a suitable scalpel!"
So it happened - a veritable feast for the soul thieves of the shadow world.
At the same time (!) Professor Luidbeek sat in his magnificent office in front of his oversized, noble empire-style desk. The big medicine man was gazing meaningfully at a fat, golden syringe that had been awarded to him by a grateful pharmaceutical company for services rendered. Of course, there were more tangible benefits from Big Pharma like fat share packages and a veritable bonanza of commissions into non-public, tax-saving accounts.
The latest coup and reason for the award of the meaningful prize was the administration of a genetically manipulated, almost ineffective vaccine to quite a few people who were stupid or helpless enough to let it happen to them. Despite claims to the contrary, the drug often caused rather nasty side effects that could well lead to a permanent stay in the local cemetery. But the enterprising professor had, of course, routinely hedged his bets, and a sycophantic, uncritical press is a real blessing after all.
"What are you doing here?"
The god of the dead in white looked contemptuously at the torn figure in the scuffed gown.
"Dogs, bums and people with statutory health insurance are forbidden here. Well, the security will be..."
"Oh, shut up and stop fidgeting."
Completely confused and motionless, the inhuman medic sat in front of his table.
"Well, you obviously have even more blood on your hands than your grandfather Alois. I knew him, by the way, and promoted him to wherever he belonged. I'm not really here because of you. But since I'm here, I might as well take care of you. So take your award and pump air into your vein. For you, the boss will probably come in person afterwards!"
Obediently, Luidbeek grabbed the golden syringe and gave himself the final inoculation, only to be picked up by the Lord of Shadows himself.
May Allah keep you in the darkest hours and protect you from the terrors of the night.
By the way, this story is pure fiction and has nothing to do with living persons.
© 2023 Q. A. Juyub
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