This came from one of the dark corners of my mind... Actually it came from a ghost story that a friend of mine made up. Obviously I've put a Morbid Angel twist on things so this should be quite good.

Disclaimer: Everything that you read within this story is fiction. The WWE wrestlers own themselves. Any original characters belong to me as does the name of the mental asylum. No WWE superstars were harmed during the making of this story.

Dancing Shadows

Dark skies loomed over the grassy hill, extending out towards a vast deserted land. Dead leaves of grey coloration dangled and swayed clumsily through the light breeze as it passed around the sagging trees which had long since been dying from the unbearable heat and drenching rain storms. It seemed that this land had suffered greatly due to the extreme weather, causing browning grass and rotting fungus clinging to stones and various damp logs.

Through the deep valley, stood a massive building with wrought iron spires extending from the rotundas, each placed on each wing of the structure. Deep crimson brick lined the exterior walls, rising up to meet those of the grey pallor roof. The structure was in fact enticingly beautiful with its Victorian style window panes and luxurious design. At first glance, it looked like an absolutely marvellous hotel; its comfort ready to be used by all.

Although it seemed like the perfect welcoming place, the truth of what this building stood for was evident behind the walls. No comfort or relaxation passed through these dark corridors, nor was there much evidence of hospitality. This dark place which loomed over the deep valley and created a murky shadow across the land, in which it was built, was less than beautiful and marvellous.

This was David Bethlem Manor (more commonly known as The Bedlam Manor), a mental asylum built in the late 1800's for those who suffered from various mental and quite often disturbing illnesses.

For years, patients were sent here by their families to be treated, usually with shock therapy and all sorts of severely painful treatments. Moral treatment was the most popular form of therapy. This type of treatment was influenced by social norms, religious beliefs, medical expertise, and scientific theory. What all of this meant was, the patients were isolated from seeing their families and forced into the care of nurses and doctors.

Although, it may not seem so bad to be locked up in an asylum to be treated for an illness one could not control, the screams of fright and pain still echoed down the corridors and continued long into the night. This place was not peaceful, nor was it

calm in any way. This building was filled with such disturbing horrors that it was unimaginable to one's mind.

The torture that went on here…really did feel like death. Some patients would be strapped to their beds, forced into dark isolation as others were tied to metal slabs, ready for either painful treatment or experimentation. It was evident that this sickening structure was not a good place to live in.

Even though the death toll of patients rose with each year, there was still a surprising amount of overcrowding taking place. Some patients were set loose upon the world while others remained confined due to public danger…


The darkness of the room became interrupted as a small lamp was flicked on, causing shadows to dance against the concrete walls within the small interrogation chamber. Here, patients were sat down on one side of the table as the doctor on the other side would observe and attempt to diagnose them.

It was a long and gruelling task, but it had to be done nonetheless. Thunder had already begun to roll through the clouds as the doctor made his way to his chair and sat down, opening a small manila file. He glanced across the table towards the small sixteen year old boy who from the looks of things seemed quite comfortable being tied to a chair. His soft features remained calm and his eyes, closed as if he were in some sort of thinking trance.

Opening the file slowly, the doctor eyed him with curiosity and intrigue then flipped on the voice recorder which was located in the middle of the metal table. After reading the original file six years ago, he had learned that this boy apparently suffered from multiple personality disorder and was sent here by his Aunt, who claimed he pushed his parents down the stairs of their home and stabbed them over and over again.

When asked why or how he could have done this, he simply replied by saying he had no memory of the event…all the while still covered in blood. He had been ten years old then. Not wanting her distraught nephew going to a juvenile detention centre, she had taken him away to David Bethlem Manor to be treated. It's true that sending a ten year old boy to a mental asylum is cruel and unusual, but his Aunt had never liked him, had always hated him in fact, calling him a freak of nature…for he had not always been right in the head.

The doctor eyed him closely, watching his face twitch lightly to the buzzing sound of the recorder and sat forward. So far, he had only observed one other personality, besides the original to work with. This personality was dark and very devious and far too mature for it to be from a healthy sixteen year old boy.

The doctor assumed that this was the personality that had come forward, enticing the small child to kill his parents. At this point, the dark personality had no identification and usually wished to be referred to as 'unnamed'.

The doctor had no idea which personality would come through tonight, whether it be his own or the 'unnamed' so he had every intention of finding out. He silently hoped that it would be that of the young boy tonight, but lately it had only been the 'unnamed' who spoke through the soft red lips. If the doctor couldn't find a way to help him repress this personality, the child could be lost forever inside the mind of a dangerous and very dark person. And so, he pushed the voice recorder closer to him and proceeded to sit back, watching the boy breathing softly.

Before the doctor had a chance to call out the boy's name, he suddenly noticed as his dark eyes slowly opened and formed a deep almost inhuman glare across his youthful brow. The sheer hatred and violence in his black hollow eyes caused a cold shiver to run up the doctor's spin. The 'unnamed' had clearly made his presence known with just one look.

You see, the doctor could always tell when the young boy was coming through based on his sad eyes and shaking hands. He always look frightened…but not the 'unnamed'. No, this man had confidence…disturbingly frightening confidence. It was as if he was always ready to attack and cause violence, spilling blood against walls and floors. This was the dominant personality for sure and the young, innocent boy never had knowledge of his presence.

The dim glow of the lamp seemed to have increased the shadows beneath his brow, giving him a shaded look of anger. Swallowing hard, he stared at the doctor across from him with a judgemental gaze, wondering briefly what it would be like to see his neck twist and snap and to see his head rolling onto the floor in a bloody heap. The doctor's soft voice rolled off of his tongue, asking to speak with the young boy.

The darker personality tilted his head slightly to the right, feeling the crack in his neck and blinked twice. Through a distant gaze, he slid his tongue down from the roof of his mouth and replied with a loose, gravely tone which sounded much too deep for this sixteen year old boy.

"He wishes not to speak with you."

The doctor leaned forward a bit more and nodded a little, watching every speck of brown within his eyes.

"If he does not wish to speak with me, then let him tell me." The doctor replied with an arched brow of interest.

A tiny smile twitched on the edge of the patient's lips and an amused spark glinted within his eyes.

"You know I cannot allow that to happen Doctor." He replied, giving a heavy sigh.

The doctor sat back and licked his lips, watching the patient closely with a keen eye. Getting to the boy was becoming increasingly difficult because the 'unnamed' had

become even stronger than he had been before. He had complete control over this poor boy and was not about to let him go without a fight.

"Let me speak to him once…I want to see if he is alright."

"He is comfortable…" The patient replied casually, sinking back into the chair. The doctor blinked quickly as the lamp gave a weak flicker, causing their shadows to dance across the table.

It was spooky and it was eerie…and the doctor did not want to stay in this room for much longer, especially with the patient's gaze piercing him like a bloody dagger. All he wanted was to get this over with for tonight.

"Let me speak to him." He stated, almost ordering him.

The patient continued to peer into his eyes, watching his soul trembling within his body. A hushed silence fell over the room; almost magnifying the sound of the doctor's pounding heart. He did not trust this patient, not one bit for he always caused a shiver to spread up and down his spine and goose bumps to wash over his skin. He just couldn't get the sinking feeling of fright out of his system because he knew something bad was about to happen based on the twisted smile now spreading across the boy's face.

"Tell me Doctor…" he began with that raspy low voice, resonating off the concrete walls.

The doctor sat forward a little more as the lamp began flickering violently when the thunder rumbled above.

"Do you like the dark?" He asked with almost a slow whisper, watching the doctor's eyes widening with terror.

Just as the boy had finished the words, the lamp flickered and popped…sending darkness flooding throughout the room. The only sound which echoed and bounded off the walls was that of the heavily breathing doctor, frozen to his seat.

Deafening silence throbbed in his ears as he attempted to stand up but found that he couldn't because suddenly there was some unseen pressure against him, holding him down. In panic, he instinctively thrashed out, only to feel a tight grip around his wrist.

Then a blood curdling scream pierced through the darkness as flesh was ripped away from flesh and bone was snapped away from bone. The scream lasted for what seemed like an eternity until finally it morphed into a desperately painful whine and stopped with a loud echoing crack.


Thick blood dripping silence.

And in the corner of the room through the pitch black darkness, a small gut-wrenching sob was heard. It was not from the doctor, whose eyes rested open in a blank dead stare of terror.

No…it was the cry of a small, shivering sixteen year old boy covered in blood.