Author: Brandon-Illiam-Lee PM
An interview with a detained psychopath, he recalls his journey towards surviving the war and ultimately his decent in to madness.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror/Suspense - Chapters: 3 - Words: 2,529 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 2 - Updated: 04-25-12 - Published: 04-23-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8054133
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I am led through a dim corridor towards the basement level, where I am told the most dangerous patients are held. Broadmoor hospital has housed some of the UKs most infamous criminals.
Today I am to meet 30 year old Simon Alexander; he is kept in constant isolation, penned in behind thick glass, much like Hannibal Lecter.
The security goes through several procedures in dealing with him, until finally I am sat directly opposite Simon's cell. The security guard just a few meters behind me and that 3 inch glass situated between me and the youngest patient in constant isolation at Broadmoor hospital. He is of skinny frame with black hair reaching down to his neck; he sits on the end of his bed staring directly at me.
Hello Mr Alexander, I'd like to talk about your experiences during the war.
I'd be delighted
Well thank you, I appreciate it very much, I know it has been a while since you have really talked to anyone outside of the hospital.
It's hard to talk to anyone outside the hospital; my time with the outside world is somewhat limited these days. He lets out a small laugh and then continues his ever grinning stare.
So how was it that you came to be here in Broadmoor
I survived, I did things to survive, everyone had to. They had their methods, and I had mine.
You were 20 when the great panic began, can you describe what happened to you that brought you here.
I was in the middle of a university degree when the war began, when the nippers came a nipping.
Zack, zombies, undead or whatever you would like to call them. May I continue?
Yes of course, I apologize
Apology accepted on this occasion (he winks at me). I was studying English literature at Aberystwyth uni, a small town situated on the Welsh coast.
I suppose I had better begin my story from the first time I saw one. I had heard all the commotion on the radios and news, but I cared little for it. I had come from London to Aberystwyth to escape the commotion of life; I enjoyed the calmness of the quiet student town.
But it wouldn't last, I was sleeping when it began, I was awoken by a loud guttural screaming of a young woman, the moans of the little nipper could be heard mixed in with her screams, I went over to my window to see what all this was all about, where I saw three of them, tearing her apart. She couldn't have been more than 19, maybe 20.
Did you call for help?
I could hear the rest of my flat from my room, scurrying around ringing the police, crying and squealing in terror at the horror of it.
But I stood there, rooted to my spot, staring at them as they took chunks out of her, it was a strange sensation, I was terrified, but excited as well. The blood and gore, the spectacle of it all, and there was plenty more of that to come.
The police never arrived and the attackers moved on to some of the nearby houses. One of my flat mates, Brandon came up with the idea of driving out to his grandmothers cottage, out in the welsh countryside. A fantastic plan, it was a walled off house, which was big enough to be adequately lived in and small enough to be properly defended, although I wouldn't call it defending. More akin to sitting back and watching the whole thing blow over.
Did you leave immediately after the attack?
Yes, Brandon insisted we take his car and as much provision as we could bring, three others came with us, Becky, Ana and Thomas. We left that night and drove on till morning, seeing very little nippers along the way. One here and there, sometimes they were just shuffling along the roads. Other times they would be eating some wretched carcass, every time I saw them gnawing on some hapless victim. I couldn't help but look on in awe, why were they doing this, and why did I want to join in. He smiles again, but the long grin quickly dissipates to a strange stare, as if recalling past events.