TheThing's Fireside Chats are back with a brand new story. Well, it's still kind of new; I wrote it for the Monthly Writing Contest that ended November 2nd, so I'm a bit late in posting it in my blog. I'll also say that this is not my best work; I can't seem to write horror stories too well. But I'll let you decide that.

The basis for the story is real. Scientists are really trying to grow organs. I just took that idea to a new level. So, enjoy Part 6 of TheThing's Fireside Chats!

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Mike slapped at his alarm clock to stop its incessant beeping. After a few misses, he finally rolled over and turned it off. Silenced, it flashed the date and time; 6:30 AM 3/6/19. Wearing only his boxers, he stood in his two room apartment, stretching himself and cracking his neck. His neck always needed to be cracked, as he always slept on the ancient sofa, the most comfortable piece of furniture in the apartment. Lethargically, he marched over to the other room in his apartment; the bathroom. After a few minutes, he finished up in there and came back to the Hub, as he affectionately referred to it. He turned on the small tube television to the morning news as he rummaged through a nearby cabinet for a morsel of relatively edible food.

As he munched on a few stale potato chips, he watched as houses burned, people were murdered, and politicians were arrested. If only I was that lucky was the thought that passed through his head every time he sat down to see how fast the world was spinning. As he threw the bag on the ground, next the other thousand bits of trash, and began to get dressed for work, he took note of a medical story the sensual newscaster was delivering.

"Yesterday, researchers have created a viable way to grow organs. Yes, grow organs. Although this idea has been around for a decade, there has been no easy, efficient way to grow and harvest these new organs. Before, stem cells were altered to grow any body part needed, but there has always been a short supply of the necessary cells and the political backlash from conservative groups. But doctors say they have finally created a way to use less stem cells, but grow more organs. This process is still experimental, and the FDA has not reviewed the research, but experts say this is very promising." Mike stopped listening once the broadcast switched to the portly Jim who had interviewed a few experts no one knew.

Deep in depressing thoughts, he continued his pre-work routine and left his apartment.

Brooding over the news, Mike moved along the sidewalk in a stupor. He was not sure why, but he was fretting over that story. There was some off-putting feeling that dwelled inside him, like a stone caught in a whirl pool, banging against his edges but never able to find a hold. He turned into the alley that led him to the back door of the convenience store he worked at, still trying to grab the stone as it spun endless.

Suddenly, it was night as a thick black bag was shoved over his head and held tight. His legs were flung into the air as Mike struggled with the sack. Mike tried to yell, to scream, to make some kind of loud noise, but it only came out as a silent grunt. Tires shrieked as the rest of his body was hoisted into the air by the arms of Darkness, and tossed roughly into a vehicle. Trying to get up, he was quickly restrained by the Darkness, and his limbs promptly tied. The Darkness threw a few punches to subdue Mike, and it worked. Whimpering like a lost dog, he laid on the cold floor and quietly awaited his fate.

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When the transport stopped, he was swiftly and roughly snatched by the arms of the Darkness again, and carried a short way. He was dropped on an elevated mattress made of stones. Mike's bindings were cut, but quickly replaced with the cold steel of handcuffs. The gurney was rolled for hours as Mike tried to broadcast his senses through the Darkness enshrouding him. He only heard the faint grumblings of the man pushing him as he talked to a silent being; the rest of thew world was quietly watching his mysterious journey. Focusing hard, Mike was able to catch the disgusting scent of a disinfectant that was over-used. The rest of the Darkness was a secret, possibly never to be found out.

Mike's gurney went through a swinging door, moved a few more feet, then came to a stop. After a moment of stillness and wonder, the bindings were released. Springing up in his new-found freedom, he tore off the mask and slipped off the bed, landing hard on the steel floor below. But not to be caught off guard, he jumped up and put himself in a defensive stance, ready for any challenger.

As his eyes adjusted to the exceedingly bright lights, he dropped his guard from the lack of possible enemies. Still on edge, he quickly glanced around the room, hoping for a hint at where he was. He looked around and knew only that he was in an unreflective, clean steel box. The cube seemed to be illuminated directly from the walls; there was not a single slit in the steel from where the glow could come from. Mike could not even find where he had entered. Not knowing what to do, he began to pace out the size of the room. Thirty-six paces, and a smidge. Using the air as a paper and his fingers as a calculator, he figured the room was about twenty-seven feet by twenty-seven feet.

After a few minutes, he decided to re-pace the room, just to be sure of the dimensions. This time he got forty-eight. Confused and bewildered by this significantly larger size, he walked again. Thirty-nine. And again. Forty-four. And again. Thirty-two. Again and again and again Mike went around the box, each time faster than the last. He kept going until he was as unsure of his reality as the cube was unsure of its size. Tripping over himself, he lay in the middle of a wall, crying and scared.

Exhausted from his fruitless exercises and thinking this could only be a dream, he curled into a tight ball and tried to find sleep. But sleep was as elusive as reality in this place. The effulgence penetrated his eyes and emblazoned itself onto his brain, propping up his weary mind.

Time perpetually stood still, or passed exceptionally quick. Minutes could have been hours, or possibly seconds, Mike had no idea. Hunger and thirst had come and gone, but the light and the room always remained, forever changing and unchanging. There was no noise save for his breathing and his imagination. Or was his breathing his imagination? Was he dead and awaiting God's decision? Not wanting to answer that question, he began to wander the room, searching for a distraction.

Mike's head whipped around as a grinding noise was being emitted from behind. Something had broken his cube! Crouching low, he prepared himself to battle the creatures that had committed such a travesty. Three beings stepped forward from the shadows and approached Mike. One wore a suit, while the other two were covered from head to toe in white plastic. The suit nodded "He's strong enough". Forcefully, these cretins grabbed Mike and dragged him away from his cube toward the dark tunnel ahead. When he started to fight back, something was gabbed into his shoulder, and Mike soon found himself flying above the sky.

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Mike awoke in another cell. Looking around, he noticed thin bedding on top of what looked like a converted wooden table. A sink and a toilet stood in the corner like bad children who never took a bath. The walls were made from rough stone, marked with calcium and other stains. Looking closer, he scratches, as if a lion was the previous occupant. By the smell, I wouldn't doubt it He thought, looking at the toilet. In stark contrast to the steel cube, it was barely lit; a single bulb was set into the middle of the ceiling and covered by plexiglass.

As he looked at the floor, a bowl of non-descript soup stared at him, along with a glass of water. The sudden rush of pain nearly knocked him over as he dove down and drank the soup right from the bowl on the dusty, earthen floor. The soup was tasteless and thick, but Mike's stomach could not stand to be empty for another moment. It spilled down the sides of his face and onto the floor, but Mike didn't care; there was something that could be digested in his stomach. The same thing happened when he downed the water.

Wiping his mouth contently, he looked at the heavy steel door. It was inlaid a foot or two from where his walls were, and had a small barred opening roughly eye level. Peaking out, Mike saw a hallway not unlike his new room. Dim and damp, it was lit solely by the lights apparently coming from other cells. Not seeing anything of note, he sulked over to the bed and sat down.

Mike had no idea what was going on. Was this just a prank by the guys at work? Or maybe he was arrested by some secret police. But either way, he would be freed, right? They couldn't hold him forever in here, right? He laid down and, while staring at the ceiling, pondered any possible explanation for this situation.

But soon, Mike fell asleep, restlessly dreaming. Mike stood in a field, the wind causing the knee-high grain to bend. A range of mountains raised majestically out of the ground as small white clouds drifted overhead. A couple of yards away, six stoic nurses stood holding various oversized surgical equipment. Their uniforms were almost sexy, with skirts at mid-thigh and tops with the arms cut off. A rather large red cross marked their head coverings, and green, elbow high gloves protected their hands. Mildly amused, Mike hiked through the field towards the women.

But as he neared, he saw their faces. Their mouths and noses were covered by masks, but their cold, bloodshot eyes stared through Mike's soul, never wavering, never blinking. Stopping, he noticed their skin was not flesh colored, but grayed with their veins pulsing and prominent. Before, Mike thought they were just standing there, but from here, they were aggressive, prepared to slice with the scalpel, stab with the syringe, bind with the clamps. Unable to look away, he slowly backed up in fear. But the nurses matched his steps. They marched in lockstep, never breaking rank.

Suddenly, the mountains slid to the right, as if they were pulled by a train. The wheat caught fire, burned intensely, then turned to ash, all in an instant. Nothing was left but dirt and soot in this ominous wasteland. The clouds overhead slowly aggregated, calling brothers and sisters from all parts of the world to form a thick black curtain over the sky. Rumbling and glowing, they pulsed overhead, waiting for the moment to strike. Whispers were shouted from an abyss, echoing around the plain.

With a violent shaking, a fissure cracked open between Mike and the nurses, causing Mike to fall backwards. The gaping line slowly grew wider and wider, forcing the two groups further apart. At first, this was welcomed, until the hole began to draw everything into it. The fields were re-sewn and grown at a mindless speed before they were sucked towards the crack. The train that had so swiftly pulled the mountains away was driven to the chasm. The storm above gave one last crack before being drawn into the hell waiting below.

Something tugged at Mike's leg. Tripping, he fell to the ground and was dragged to the opening. As he slipped into the canyon, he turned around and grabbed hold of the edge, trying to delay his descent. Looking down, he saw dozens of men, women and children fighting to get out of the lava. Not wanting to join them, Mike clawed and the ledge, trying to pull himself up. With a groan, he lost his grip and fell screaming and tumbling into the fire below.

The nurses did not flinch for a second.

Violently waking up, Mike nearly broke his elbow against the cold stone wall that lay unmoving next to the bed. Jumping out of bed, he ran towards the steel door and began to beat his fists against it. He hoarse cries of "Let me out! Let me go! Jesus Christ, I want to live! Help!" reverberated through the endless hallway, but nothing happened. Nothing moved, not even the light being cast from the other cells. But still he continued to bang his fists against the cold steel in a vain attempt to break down the door, leaving bloody smears on its surface.

Without warning, an intense pain went through his arms that cast him back into the room. The electrical shock had been broadcast through the metal and had thrown Mike like a ragdoll. Dejected and defeated, he laid on the bed, not wanting to discover his fate.

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He woke again to the sound of steel scraping on stone. Looking up, he saw the same two men in white hazmat suits walking towards him. Springing to his feet, he tried to outmaneuver them, but the room was too small; Mike had nowhere to run. Grabbing him under the armpits and by the ankles, the men wrestle him onto another gurney and strapped him into place. Putting all of his strength into pulling off the handcuffs, he succeeded in only hurting his wrists.

One of the men grabbed onto Mike's hand and put in an IV. Trying to shake it loose, Mike did everything in his power to remove the small needle. He banged his hand against the bed, threw it about viciously, anything to free himself from whatever was about to be put in his body, but to no avail. The tube was connected, and the soft feeling of calmness drifted on top of Mike like a warm blanket in winter.

Relaxed and carefree, Mike was pushed down the hallway passing empty cell after empty cell. But as he got closer to his destination, he noticed small amounts of blood on the walls, human finger nails laying on the ground and imbedded into the stone, and rat-covered bones still decaying in the corners. But Mike only smiled and floated downstream.

As a door at the end of the hallway came into sight, Mike heard cries of terror and screams of pain emanating from each passing cell, the light casting over his face like their tears were cast upon the ground. But Mike only smiled and floated downstream.

Mike passed through the heavy, thick metal door at the end of the hall. When it closed, all sound ceased to exist, as if he had entered a church. In a stupor, Mike looked around the room. He looked up and down its clean steel walls, on the floor and on the ceiling before lazily saying "This place seems familiar."

With that, the ceiling became vaulted, rising up high above Mike. On the side of the enclosure that faced Mike, a window appeared. It sat above the ceiling's old position, hidden from the sight of any curious captive. A man in a fine suit stood at the window, surrounded by luxury. "As it should" he said in a British accent, holding a glass of white wine.

"This is the room where ya' were first taken. I know, I know, ya' loved it so much you didn't want to leave. But yer 'ere again, aren't ya mate? And you'll be in here a lot more." He nodded to the men who had wheeled him in. They removed the IV tube.

"Ya' might'av heard that scientists have found a way to make new, fully functioning body parts. But, they can only replace recently lost limbs; there's no way to reconnect dead nerves," he stopped to take a drink, "but there's a slight problem in that. Ya see, we can't be waiting round for some guy to lose a part fore we start testing these things." He began to pace back and forth in front of the window, almost taunting the helpless Mike with his unrestricted movement.

"So, we 'av to... persuade a few people nobody cares bout into.... donating their bodies for the good o' the rest of the world." By now, the drugs had worn off, and the scared feelings began to overwhelm Mike. But the suit continued. "Think about it; Jesus was nailed to the cross for other people's sins and Gandhi fasted himself to death so that India could have equality and peace. Think of ya'self as in their company."

Terrified, Mike began to struggle against his handcuffs, shaking the gurney and causing the guards to step in and prevent Mike from injuring himself. The suit tried to talk Mike down.

"Michael, Michael, calm ya'self. If ya' don't want to be compared to Jesus or Gandhi, and I don't know who wouldn't, ya' can think of it as bettering yourself. Yer getting new limbs!" He boomed over the loudspeaker. But Mike was far from listening; he looking around for something to free himself with. He shook his arms and legs, hoping that they could possibly shatter the bindings that held him. But it was no use; he was confined to that gurney.

The suit, seeing that his speech was no longer having any effect on the subject, went over a small control panel and hit some buttons. In the steel cube, a door opened, allowing six nurses through and into the room. When Mike saw them, he flashed back to the dream he had; these women were dressed exactly like the ones in the dream, their features just as demonic. Noticing this, Mike thrashed his arms, nearly punching one of the guards in the face.

But while Mike was trying to escape, the floor had opened up, and out of it came a table with nineteen body parts. There were five fingers and five toes, all different. There was also an arm, a leg, an ear, a nose, an eye, a heart, a lung, a liver and a kidney. Each sat on a petri dish with clear plastic tubes connected to each organ. A silvery liquid was pumped into each organ before flowing out again. With each pump of the plasma, a small noise could be heard, like a man trying to stop himself from vomiting.

An old rag was shoved into Mike's mouth to prevent any yells, but it only muffled the pleas for his life. A doctor appeared from the crowd and approached Mike, carrying a small, handle held saw. It was old; the blade had flecks of rust prominently on the teeth, while the rest of the device was covered in splotches of blood.

The suit called from up above down to the doctor. "Eh doc! Start off small. Take a finger."

Mike's eyes widened as the doctor stood over Mike. He tried to pull his hand away, but was restrained by the guards. The doctor bent over, a gleeful look in his eyes. He said "Don't worry; I've done this dozens of times. You'll feel every bit of it."

The saw revved up and slowly came down on Mike's forefinger.