Unfinished Creepypasta: Phage's Hospital III

The second one has long been stricken from canon, but there was a third I never even completed or released!

A glimpse into what might have been:

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I've really done it this time.

I'd been looking for a sink relatively clean enough to drink from when I'd found myself in some backwards X-ray room. Broken skeletons were constantly hobbling in and out of the same door I'd just come through, though I knew they weren't coming or going from the same hall I'd just left. Ignoring me completely, they would take turns stepping behind some huge, flickering monitor - sort of how X-ray machines are portrayed in old cartoons - and just sort of dance around, the screen giving the illusion of flesh and organs. A skeletal doctor gestured meaninglessly at the screen, mumbling out "hmmm's!" and "aahhhs!" at nothing in particular.

I was mesmerized enough by the scene to barely notice Phage, my old nemesis, burst through another door - was that always there? - with a gaggle of those sickening, veiny nurses.

"THERE HE IS!" he shouted, stabbing a metallic leg in my general direction. "This patient is in CRITICAL condition!"

I backed up, not surprised to find a blank wall where I had entered only moments ago. "I feel better than ever, actually." I was lying, of course, phlegm gurgling in my lungs with every word, but I certainly didn't feel "critical."

"Doctor!" Gasped one of the nurses, melodramatically putting what might be considered a hand over an area you might have placed a mouth, "what's your diagnosis!?" It was the first time I'd heard one speak. She froze in position.

"This poor, unfortunate soul..." Phage paused to straighten out his current tie, an awful brown plaid affair "...is suffering from the advanced stages of......SKIN!" The remaining nurses gasped in unison, perfectly duplicating the first one's exaggerated gesture of surprise.

This was a new one.

As they closed in around me, I recalled the last time I'd actively fought back against any of the doctors. It was at least a month before they finally declared me "stabilized," putting my eyes and my legs back in.

I'd been too chicken to lash out since, but at this point, I didn't have it in me to care. Whatever they were thinking, whatever they thought would "cure" my case of "skin," they would have to take me kicking and screaming. I was sick of this shit.

Phage must have seen it in my eyes, or maybe the monster could read my mind.

"Easy now, boy, you're not well! This is for your own good!"

I felt something snap.

I was REALLY sick of this shit.

Unthinking, uncaring, I let out a guttural scream and made a beeline for Phage, swinging my foot full force into his conveniently football-sized head.

He flew clear across the room, coke-bottle glasses comically spinning in mid-air before they clattered to the floor where he had just been standing.

Oh.

Shit.

What did I do now.

They were going to turn me inside out. They were going to chop me into cubes and staple me back together without anesthesia.

I braced myself for the clammy, paralyzing touch of squirming nurse tentacles.

It didn't come.

In fact, the Nurses weren't even moving.

Phage came wobbling out from behind the X-ray machine, nearly bumping into another skeleton patient. They hadn't stopped their routine.

"My GLLLLLAAAAASSES!" he cried, with a hammy thespian flair. "I can't SEEEEE without my GLAAAAASSES!"

Funny...he didn't even have any eyes underneath.

All at once, the nurses began feeling around frantically in the air, as though they, too, had been blinded. I did the only thing I could think of; I stomped the ever-loving shit out of those glasses, stomped them into a mangled mass of twisted, shattered plastic, and dashed for the door.

Phage blundered straight into a nearby Nurse. She didn't fall over, but collapsed where she stood into a little, dense pile of veins and scrubs.

As I tore down the hall, I could hear the little doctor's voice echoing out of the room.

"He's worse off than we thought! Call in the paramedics!"