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"Marigold" the animatronic therapy doll is not what she seems...

I started off my nursing career on the float team. That meant working on just about every hospital unit imaginable. Medicine, stroke, cardiac surgery, neuro surgery, emergency, orthopedic, rehab wards, and oncology. Not to mention a dozen or so other places. I got to become a Jack of all trades, and learned a lot.
But once it came time to settle down, I knew where I wanted to end up. And when the opening on the Trauma Unit (F-6) at the General Hospital opened up, I knew I wanted it. First of all it was full time, which meant I would keep my benefits and seniority. Also I loved the staff who worked there. They were all just as nuts as me, and they didn’t take themselves too seriously.
I got the position and started working there, enjoying the perks of finally being in the same place every day, rather than constantly floating to different units. I got to know the patients and the other staff members, their quirks and habits, which helped to make the day go smoother for the most part.
There was one patient, though, who none of us were ever happy to see we were assigned to. Room 8. Florence DeWilder. She had a private room all to herself, despite her lack of adequate health insurance, because otherwise whoever she was paired up with in a semiprivate would raise hell and complain to management. She was all sorts of trouble.
The craziest part of it was that she was 102 years old. So you wouldn’t think she would be capable of causing much of a stir. But she did. She was a spry old goat, when she was having one of her “good" days, that is.
She would lay in bed for days on end, barely moving, not eating or drinking anything. It would look like she was dead, as she breathed shallowly and never opened her eyes or spoke. But then she would catch us all by surprise with her sudden activity.
One of those times, I remember, I was sitting at the desk at the nurses’ station and she had been out for days, not moving, not doing anything. It was 2AM and I was half asleep, and I see her crawling rapidly down the hallway on her hands and knees. Racing towards me like an old lady/cat creature on a nocturnal hunt for floor mice.
Scared the hell out of me.
Lately, though, she’s been really awake. Like way too awake. It’s like she was hibernating for the last few years and now she’s suddenly woken up and wants the world to know it. Hence the private room. Otherwise she starts climbing into bed with the other patients or she’ll start screaming because she forgets where she is and gets scared that there’s somebody else in the room with her at 4AM. What a nightmare. For her and for us, I suppose.
The old gal is pretty mobile as well, since she’s been getting up and eating better lately. And although it's a good start towards getting her out of here and into convalescent care, it's been nothing but trouble for us. I know from experience that most hospital units have similar long-stay patients who come in for whatever reason and never leave. For her it was a fractured T5-T7 vertebrae after falling down some stairs. Plus a fractured orbital and radius. She’s miraculously recovered from all that now, several months later (despite the doctors’ insistence that such a thing was impossible without surgery, which he refused to perform due to the risks involved) but now she’s in no shape to go home. And the waiting lists for nursing homes are a mile and a half long these days. So she’s stuck with us on the trauma unit. And we’re stuck with her.
Because her family saw our dilemma, or maybe for other reasons that are less clear, they decided to get her a friend. This store-bought companion was called “Marigold” the animatronic therapy doll, according to them. Apparently Florence loves babies, so they got her this ultra-realistic baby doll that blinks and talks, burps and shits, pees and vomits, oh joy! Now two patients to clean up after, we all joked. Oh, and her family is super weird by the way. They said they spent tons of money on the thing and gave us a myriad of instructions to follow for the ridiculous thing. Don't get it wet, don't leave it alone, don't throw it in the garbage, blah de blah blah blah.
I asked them where they got it just to make conversation and they got super jumpy all of a sudden and started acting even stranger than usual, like as if I’d asked them where they get their black market human organs or something. They left the doll with her and I haven’t seen them since. I think I’m starting to understand why.
I don’t know where they got the damn doll from, but I know one thing for sure. It’s creepy as hell. It’s more than just that, though.
She’s really attached to it, for one thing. She won’t let anyone near it. Florence sits on her chair in the patient lounge with the thing in her lap now, stroking her hair or brushing it with a comb, all day, every day. I went in recently and asked if she wanted to have lunch (since she hadn't eaten any breakfast) and she slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder at me and the damn doll did the same thing, with its dead eyes lolling backwards in their plastic sockets, staring at me. They both blinked in unison.
The doll’s voice spoke as the old woman’s mouth opened and closed in time with it.
“No, I’m not hungry! I’m just a little girl so I don't eat much! I just want my bottle! Tee hee!”
Terrified, I backed away from them, as they watched me with their dead eyes and wide smiles. I couldn't control my horror at that moment, just screamed and ran out of the room. The whole thing was disquieting and disturbing to say the least.
I tried to tell the other nurses about it and they told me I was being ridiculous. It was just a talking doll and the old woman was playing a prank on me, pretending to be a bizarre and backwards ventriloquist dummy.
After a while I began to think they were right. But then I looked up “Marigold” online.
The doll in question was made by a small toy manufacturer who created these life-like baby replicas for sale to customers in Canada and the UK. But the ones on their website weren’t animatronic. They didn’t produce sounds or make voices. And they certainly didn’t move as I had seen that doll move.
I showed this to the other nurses. They told me I was becoming obsessed. Maybe she had a special custom version that could talk and move around. There was more than one toy company out there after all! That was all there was to it, they told me.
It began to feel as if people were talking about me behind my back. Like they were starting to think I was insane. But it felt to me like I was the only one seeing things clearly. The doll was possessed. That was why the family had dropped it off and run away, never to return. They knew what it was. It was evil.
*
Two days later the really bad shit started to happen.
Another night shift, sometime around 3AM, I heard a gut-wrenching scream from down the hall. I got to my feet quickly and looked around the corner. I thought I saw movement in the darkness at the end of the hall but wasn’t sure. The shadows concealed a lot, including a corner where the manager’s office was at the end. We always turned the lights down at night so the patients could sleep better, it didn’t even occur to me in that moment to turn them back on, to see what was lying in wait in the darkness.
The screaming continued and I ran through the shadows into room 7 to investigate the noise.
A man who had just had spinal decompression surgery was lying in bed. He had been ordered by the doctor not to move for the next 24 hours. It was a semiprivate room and there was nobody in the other bed, so he was alone in there.
I heard his continued screams and saw the blood pooling on the floor and the sheets were covered in it. Despite my rising terror I had no choice but to move in to investigate. The other nurses came in behind me and turned on the lights. They rushed past me.
“What are you doing? Help him!” They didn’t seem to understand why I was moving in slow motion as if I was in a dream. I already knew what they were going to find when they pulled back the blood-soaked bedsheets.
The man continued screaming and hollering and they pulled down the blankets to reveal the remains of his leg. There were mysterious quarter-sized holes in it and the flesh was missing completely.
No one understood how such a thing could have happened.
*
A few more days passed and it all started to feel like it had been a bad dream. I was on night shift and went into an empty room on the other end of the unit on my break, to try and get a nap. I hadn’t been sleeping properly, ever since that thing had come into my life. It was evil. Spawned by the devil himself.
I fell into a light and fitful sleep, lying in the stretcher on my break. I was in was an unoccupied patient room, so there were curtains drawn across half of it separating me from the window. I woke up to a sound on the other side of the curtains. Skittering movement like little footsteps running around on the linoleum floor.
I bolted upright in the stretcher, my eyes darting around the room, suddenly terrified for my life. I screamed as I felt a sharp pain in my side and saw something small like a child moving away from me in the shadows.
Looking down beneath the blankets I saw a piece of my left side was missing, crudely sliced off with something very sharp.
I jumped up and ran out of there, slamming the door shut behind me. That was the last time I managed to sleep at all. Even for a minute.
As the days went by, the incidents happened more frequently, the pieces taken from patients got larger and larger.
Flesh eating diseases were blamed, although the wounds were like nothing that anyone had seen before. The patients were shipped off to the ICU to be isolated.
The beds were filled with new patients and despite all of the insanity, nobody believed me. I began to stop voicing my concerns out loud, since I was starting to get questioned by the staff psychiatrist. She wanted to know if I really thought that the doll belonging to the patient in room 8 was alive. And eating people.
I told her I thought no such thing. That was preposterous.
I think I’m going to transfer away from the trauma unit. I’m starting to like the idea of being on the float team again more and more. I’m sure they’ll take me back. They’re always looking for people. But I’ll request to avoid being assigned to this particular unit. The one with the 102 year old patient and her precocious little doll. No longer a baby, mind you. She’s grown considerably. The once-small infant now walks around on two legs like a child. A child experiencing a constant and steady growth spurt, fueled by stolen flesh and pilfered blood. Her face and arms, hands and legs, all a patchwork quilt of puckering skin sewn crudely together, beginning to rot and decay before our eyes. The smell was horrific.
She tromps around the unit with Florence holding her hand, and everyone marvels at the amazing animatronic doll. What a fancy therapy doll, the visitors say. How would they go about getting one of those, for their grandmother with Alzheimer’s they ask me.
Marigold can speak for herself now, so I just let her answer. Her jagged teeth are plentiful and pointed. Her gums are black now and her eyes match, dark as coal. She smiles at the question and answers to the delight of passersby.
“You can't buy me, silly! I’m one of a kind! But I'll come visit you, if you like. Where do you live? We’ll have a tea party together!”
They fall for it every time.
JG
submitted by Jgrupe to nosleep

I'm a top executive at an international burger franchise. You don't want to know what you've been eating.

You probably know the burger franchise I work for. You’ve likely eaten there before, as have most of the people you know. We’re international, and these days much of our growth comes from franchises popping up in different countries around the world.
I never knew why the burgers tasted so unique, but I’ll admit, I suspected there was something wrong. Not for any one reason in particular, there were mostly just a lot of little things.
The way our CEO smiled, for example, when he said in our board meetings that the hamburgers were 100% beef, no added fillers or other ingredients. A few of the other executives shared knowing smiles with him and I couldn’t help but ponder to myself, how could that be possible at our prices?
I didn’t want to look into it, I’ll admit that now.
I have a sweet gig here, and a nice, comfortable life. I’ve been with the company so long and I’ve been promoted so many times that I have developed a cabal of underlings and yes-men who do all of my work for me. Assistants and secretaries, interns and protégés, they do whatever I tell them to, and thank me for the privilege. I can literally sit in my office all day, watch Netflix while sitting in the most comfortable reclining desk chair imaginable, and make obscene amounts of money while doing it.
But that can get boring after a while. And I decided to get out of the office for a day.
I was in one particular plant, our largest, doing an impromptu walkabout. It’s not something I’ve done in many years, but with my clearance level nobody was going to say anything. I went through the motions, not really looking for anything in particular. I was just trying to get out of my office for a little while, go back to my roots. I had started off in a meat-processing plant very similar to that one, so going back there was bit nostalgic for me.
The folks at the plant were astonished to see me there, since they recognized my name as one of the top executives. That’s one of the perks of being upper management. You don’t have to explain your presence to people. You don’t have to phone ahead or make appointments. You can just show up unannounced and they’ll be delighted to see you.
When I asked to see the meat, what was going in before processing, the plant manager gave a skeptical look.
“Meat?”
“Yeah, you know. One hundred percent beef, right?” With our masks on it was impossible for him to read my expression. He probably thought that I was giving him a knowing smile, like the ones worn by the few executives in the board meetings who knew the truth.
He began to laugh hesitantly. I followed suit, trying not to play my cards too soon. I was curious to learn the truth, in retrospect. He broke into a hearty laugh and I joined in.
“A hundred percent beef! Yeah, right. That’s so classic. Alright come on I’ll show you to the pit.”
He began to walk towards the other end of the plant and I followed. There was an elevator that brought us down to a sub-basement ten floors below ground level. We got off there and began to walk down a corridor that extended the length of several football fields. It took me a while to realize that the walls were very subtly curved, as if we were walking around a massive circle, like a particle accelerator the size of a city.
After walking for what felt like hours, we arrived at a locked door with a keypad. He punched in a number which revealed another hidden access panel. The man swiped his card, did a quick retina scan, and used his thumbprint to unlock the door, which opened with a hiss.
We went inside and I was amazed and subsequently horrified at what I saw.
There was a dark pit below us that was immense and stretched on for a great distance. It was like a great canyon made of what appeared to be concrete, hidden beneath the earth.
Inside the pit were innumerable dead bodies, in varying states of decomposition, as far as the eye could see.
The smell was horrendous, like nothing I had experienced before – acrid and eye-watering in its awfulness. There was a sound as well, a steady droning buzz.
The man pulled down his facemask. Below his nose, his face was not human. I realized this was not a man standing before me.
I saw that the top half of his face was just a well-constructed mask. His real skin below that was like that of a lizard, scaly and green. When he spoke, I saw that his teeth were small and numerous, sharp and pointed.
“We’ve made pretty good progress this week. You know how it is, though. They’re pretty paranoid these days. It’s getting harder and harder to lure them out. They like to stay inside where it’s comfortable. Our Tinder accounts still bring in a steady supply, but the UBER drivers are telling us they can’t get away with stuff like they used to with these new safety programs in effect. Regardless, we’re still managing to skim a lot of net product.”
He then wanted to show me things down below, and I followed, trying to conceal my mounting horror. We were being invaded. And they were slowly killing off the population and feeding our own species’ dead to the rest of us. Or so I thought.
As we got down to the lower levels I came to realize what the burgers are really made of.
“Perfect timing!” he said, and I watched through the viewing windows to our right as the floor holding all of the dead bodies rose up, revealing a grate beneath. The entire thing began to shake back and forth, quickly.
For a second, I thought to myself, is it snowing in there? But then I realized what was falling from the steel grate above. What was raining down from the massive pile of dead bodies. Maggots. Millions upon millions of maggots.
They fell down and I realized suddenly what the subtle buzzing noise was that I had been hearing since we had entered the huge space. It was flies. A horde of them, innumerable. The blood and guts and decomposing flesh of the people above leaked through the grate as well, raining down and colouring the maggots red where they writhed on the steel floor that extended for as far as the eye could see in every direction.
“We’ll let this batch dry out under the heat lamps for a while, then it’ll go up for further refinement and seasoning. You know, the usual.” He started on with some small talk and I tried to maintain my composure and not vomit. It was difficult. The smell was becoming very overpowering. The whole shaking a bunch of dead bodies and stirring them up, knocking their decomposing bits loose, really didn’t make matters any better.
Eventually he led me out of the pit and back up to the entrance. I was so grateful to get out of there I could have hugged him, had I not been so terrified of what he really was.
I really wish I could tell you which burger chain I work for. But if I do, I’m pretty sure they’ll figure out who I am. I’m already getting nervous that they know I found out the truth.
Yesterday in the board meeting, the CEO made one of his little jokes about the beef again, and a few more executives joined in with knowing laughter.
I’m starting to think I might be one of the only ones left.
Does anybody know any good vegetarian recipes?
JG
submitted by Jgrupe to nosleep

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