Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt…

This is my submission for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday.

Limousines and Healthcare

The dim light barely illuminates the room, its glow unsettling as it clings to the shadowed corners, leaving the space both suffocating yet exposed. Stephen shifts uncomfortably, his unease growing as Doctor Cole gestures toward the seat opposite, scrunches his lips, leans forward, and nods.

“So, tell me, son, what brings you here? We don’t get many of your type these days,” the doctor says, his tone playful but sharp enough to cut.

“I’ve had this…” Stephen hesitates, furrowing his brow as he fixes his gaze on the doctor. “What do you mean by ‘my type’?”

The doctor laughs, slapping his knees before leaning back, his hands clasping behind his head in a pose both comfortable and cocky.

“Where do I start? You’re healthy, obviously. You eat well—you’ve got some excess fat, healthy fat, mind you. You’ve got a job, healthcare, both lungs and kidneys, all your original parts intact, and—” he sniffs the air, “—you even showered today. That’s your type. Normally, the people I see don’t have healthcare, suffer from diseases without names, have never seen water, food, or soap to save their lives.”

He exhales sharply, waving a hand dismissively. “So, you,” he continues, peering at Stephen’s medical records, “Mister Bantan, you are unique. That tells me one of two things—you’re either someone of notability who doesn’t want the ailment you’re suffering from known to the outside world, or someone I’ve assisted in achieving their nirvana has sent you here.” He squeezes his lips tightly and leans forward again. “So tell me—who are you, and why should I care?”

“S-Sal Bodega t-told me to come see you,” Stephen stammers, his voice breaking under the weight of his unease.

Doctor Cole’s expression hardens as he rises abruptly. “I don’t know any Sal Bodega, Mister Bantan. So if you’re done wasting my time, there’s the door.”

“H-H-He told me to bring sixty thousand credits for you—and another three million for your cause—s-so you could keep helping those who can’t help themselves,” Stephen stammers, his words tumbling over themselves.

Doctor Cole smiles wryly and shakes his head. “You’re not the first to try and entrap me, Mister Bantan—or whatever your name is. I’ve already confirmed you’re not who you say you are. This Bodega person has never been a patient of mine, and I do not take well to bribes! I run a professional establishment, catering to those who cannot afford the luxuries one such as you can. So, unless you have something else to add, I suggest you leave, while I feel inclined to allow it!” he spits with curled lips and a scrunched nose, pointing toward the door.

Stephen takes a long-winded, stuttered sigh and gets to his feet, his face a picture of worry and confusion.

“B-But—” His words are cut off as Doctor Cole slams his foot to the floor, the sound echoing like a gavel in the heavy air.

“Good day, Mister Bantan!” he spits, his tone final.

Stephen drops his head and places an envelope on Cole’s desk. “For those who can’t,” he says uneasily before making his way out, each step slow and hesitant.

“I’ll make sure the deserving people get your generous donation, Mister Faulkner,” Cole says, his grin sharp and voice laced with venom.

Stephen’s eyes widen as he stumbles through the doorway into the decaying neighbourhood beyond. The stench of sewage fills the air, clinging to him like a damp shroud. A sleek black limousine waits at the kerb, its polished exterior an almost mocking contrast to the squalor around it. His driver, Frederick, leaps from the passenger side and rushes to open the door, his face pale with panic.

“Quickly, sir. This is not the sort of neighbourhood we want to be caught in,” Frederick says, shuffling Stephen into the car and closing the door behind him.

Inside, Stephen freezes. Sitting opposite him is a man in a medical gown, a mask half-covering his face. A nurse sits beside him, her expression calm but unsettling.

“Hello, Mister Faulkner. Let me introduce myself. I am Doctor Median. How may we reconstruct you today?” the man says with a malevolent cackle, his eyes glinting as the nurse leans closer, her needle catching the dim light.