Doc Mortis by Barry Hutchison

his fingernails.
    â€˜ Possible , yes, anything is possible, but how could...?’ he was muttering to himself now, no longer paying me any attention. It would’ve been the perfect chance to escape, if only I had been able to move. ‘Could it...? Is it...?’
    His podgy frame seemed to swell as he took a deep breath. ‘Think of the possibilities,’ he said. ‘Limitless. Limitless . But there must be tests, of course. Many tests.’
    He stopped walking and spun on the spot to face me. His eyes were dark and narrow as he looked me up and down. ‘Research. I must research before going any further. But first, let us take precautions, I think.’
    Raising his hands up to shoulder height he clapped them together, twice. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the double doors across from the bed were thrown open, and something from a nightmare strolled in.
    I knew right away that it was one of the figures I’d seen through the fog in the clown room. I could see it properly now, although every single part of me wished that I couldn’t.
    The thing was abnormally tall and impossibly thin. It wore a light blue hospital porter uniform that was several sizes too small. Arms and legs that were nothing more than bones wrapped in skin poked from the ends of the sleeves and trouser-legs. On its feet it wore slip-on shoe covers, the elastic bunched loosely round both spindly ankles.
    A surgical mask covered its mouth and nose, tied off behind two mangled ears that grew like tumours from the sides of its head. Above the mask, two round yellow buttons had been stitched in place where the thing’s eyes should have been. The buttons themselves were dirty and chipped, the thread holding them in place almost frayed away.
    Red welts and scabbed-over scars stood out all over its exposed skin. A blue hair net covered the top of its head, despite the fact that the creature was quite clearly bald.
    It lurched into the room like a marionette puppet, all jerky movements and shuffled steps. Its button eyes searched the room, its head rolling left to right as it staggered towards the bed.
    â€˜What... what is that?’ I gasped, pushing myself backwards into the hard mattress. ‘Keep it away.’
    â€˜Sssh, now, don’t fret,’ Doc said. ‘Two-one-seven here is one of my porters. He’s staff . You can trust him just as much as you trust me.’
    â€˜But I don’t trust you!’
    He sniggered again, more snorting somewhere high up in his nasal cavity. ‘Ah. In that case...’ His fat red tongue licked along the length of his top lip. ‘Brace yourself.’
    The porter reached the foot of the bed, but didn’t stop coming. First, its left hand caught the edge of the frame beside my shin, then its right hand gripped the mattress near my thigh. First one bony knee, then the other, clambered up on top of the bed, shaking its metal frame.
    It crawled just a few centimetres, until its disfigured face was level with mine. Its long, pencil-thin fingers tip-toed across its cheeks, searching for the edges of its mask. It fumbled with it, broken fingernails scratching its skin as it struggled to pull the mask away.
    A pig-like snout was uncovered first. It was set deep into its face, barely more than two dark holes through which I could hear its breath hissing in and out.
    The mask was drawn back completely, and the creature’s mouth was revealed. It was perfectly round, with no lips to speak of. Dozens of needle-like teeth lined the inside, their points all meeting in the middle of the circular hole. Small scraps of meat were stuck between some of the teeth. I tried not to think about what kind of meat it might be.
    â€˜Two-one-seven has some very special talents,’ Doc said. I didn’t dare turn to look at him. ‘I suggest you try to keep still.’
    The straps across me meant there was no way I could do anything but keep still. Even without them,