Jessops Pan S scanned with Plustek i Ai. Thompson Twins- youtu. Everyone knows about the doctor, he's kind of a legend in my hometown. I live in a fairly poor area, you know? And getting to the doctor has never been easy.
Fact of the matter is, about the only time people were willing to go to the doctor for anything before he showed up was if it was an emergency. Bleeding from the eyeballs or ass or something like, the kinda thing that probably should have gone earlier for. Doctor's visits ain't cheap though, so people put it off. Then the doc came to town, set up a nice little clinic in a nice little building and all that changed.
He was willing to work with people that couldn't afford it, the poorer folks, hell even the homeless. He'd let people work off their bills. Cleaning up around the place, tidying things and the like.
Simple stuff but it took off from his work load and let him save money he'd have had to spend on extra help. So yeah, safe to say he was a popular man around these parts.
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Could even call him something of a local saint almost, so when he disappeared, just up and vanished one day, you can imagine the uproar that followed. People were confused, upset, running up and down all the stages of grief and back again. There was no sign of what happened, or where he'd gone, and he'd never made any hints to wanting to leave. Even with the whole town searching, and the police investigating, nobody ever found out what it was that happened to him, or where he might've went.
Time passed and the clinic changed hands.
Went from a place of healing to a place of death. Now don't that sound over dramatic? When I say a place of death, I just mean a morgue. Stayed that way for a few years until the county coughed up the money for a better building and off it moved and the place was left empty. I don't imagine anybody wanted to run a business out of a former morgue, especially don't imagine anybody wanting to live in one.
Well, nobody around here at any rate. With the place abandoned, and the history it had, it wasn't too long before teens - and hell adults that should have known better - started sneaking in to take a peek.
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Friends would dare each other to go in and grab something, or go in and stay in for so long. Go in and stay overnight. No on had done that last before. Sure people would talk a big game, but when it came down to it every single one chickened out. Understandable, yeah. Didn't stop them from getting mocked at every turn though. Maybe you've guessed it by now, maybe you haven't, but I was one of those adults that should know better, with friends that should also damn well know better, that dared each other to go in.
Mostly when we were pretty plastered.
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We'd been upping the dares each time we gave them, and about a week and half, closer to two weeks ago really, one of my friends finally laid out the big one. Staying in the morgue overnight.
Because drunk me is an idiot and should never be allowed to make any sort of major decisions. My friends know this, the fuckers, and if ever anything were a major decision it would be spending the goddamned night in an abandoned morgue.
Being the helpful people they are, the soberest one among us drove us there and sorta poured me through the door of the morgue, with promises that they'd stay outside all night, and advice that was mostly variations of "Make sure to scream if something eats you".
Because they're helpful. The first hour was the easiest, I was still three sheets to the wind and not scared of a damned thing. Also I was still laying where they plopped me inside.
Drunk me thought the raggedy ass carpet was comfortable, and had spent most of the time on the floor trying to make dust angels, and yelling out to my friends, every so often, reports on my not being eaten.
The second hour was where it started to get difficult.
I was sobering up, and didn't have any liquid courage on hand to get my buzzed bravery back. The only thing that kept me from running back outside was the idea of my friends, and the sheer amount of dickishness I'd have to put up with from them if I ran out now.
Besides, I told myself, I'd been in there about an hour already and nothing had happened. Besides me stirring up an ungodly amount of dust. It was a creepy building sure, but nothing was going to happen. Bravery back-ish, I decided I might as well explore a bit. To be honest I wasn't all the curious about the place, but at the time I figured that if I could grab a little souvenir from somewhere further in the building, that'd really stick it to the assholes I called my friends.
Where I'd been dropped off, once I finally got to looking around, I realized was basically one big hallway with five doors.
Two on the left, two on the right, and one at the very end of the hall. Signs next to them helpfully explained what each room. On the right was the Viewing Room and Body Store. And at the very end of the hall, the sign next to the door read Consultant Office. Seeing as how that one didn't seem to have ever had bodies stored in them, that was the one I went with, seeing as how an office was likely to be the least terrifying.
Inside it was Pretty boring actually. It had obviously been an office, there was a filing cabinet, but the cabinets were open and long empty. A very dead potted plant stood in the corner, and the far wall was growling at me. Yeah, if you did a double take, had to re-read that last one, imagine how I felt standing in that room and realizing what I was hearing. Which made me feel just, oodles better, obviously.
Now, remember when I said drunk me is an idiot? Well, so is mostly sober me I guess, because instead of doing the smart thing and noping right the hell out of there, I decided, and why I still don't fucking know, that it would be a great idea to investigate the weird wall with someone scratching around behind it like some Nancy Drew wannabe. So there I stood, shining my cell phone at the wall and poking at it, generally looking like a dumbass, when the scratching stops, just completely goes silent, and the wall starts creaking.
Of course, my natural sense of curiosity and general lack of self preservation overwhelm my caution and I move in closer to examine the wall, well, doorway I guess. Shining my light inside, I can see a set of stairs.
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Not some dramatic spiraling nonsense you'd see in a movie, just, six or so steps, and of course I'm curious. Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting to find down there. Maybe a food cellar, or an angry racoon or something.
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What I was not expecting to find was what the beam of light from my phone uncovered when I reached the bottom step. In the center of the room was a hospital bed outfitted with manacles. That, in itself, was weird enough and had me wanting to just scurry my ass back upstairs, but the wall just behind it caught my eye.
It was basically one big corkboard, and it was covered in pictures.
Of course I got closer, we've discussed the idiocy and my total embrace of it. I was a little freaked out, but more than that I was curious.
And honestly I figured that maybe this was some sorta secret sex dungeon. Morgue employees needed love too.
Or hell, maybe this had been the doctors secret before he vanished. So, yeah, imagining an illicit romance or something spelled out in the pictures, I got closer to take a look.
And after only a few pictures began to really, really, really wish I hadn't. The first picture my light shined on, on the far left of the board, had been innocuous enough. Just a man in a hospital gown standing on front of what I'm pretty sure was that very board. It was empty, so I think he was the first picture taken. He looked a little nervous in the picture, had his shoulders hunched up, and he was kinda twisted away from the camera. Written under it in the white margin was "SPM - 1".
I didn't have a clue what that meant, still don't honestly, and it wasn't a very interesting picture so on to the next I went, which had the same label written under it. The second was a little different. It was the same man, naked now, but he was strapped into the bed in the center of the room.
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His hands were in the manacles, and his feet and legs were strapped down, and he looked kinda like he'd been crying, or was in the middle of crying maybe when the picture was taken. It was when my light scanned the third that things went sideways. It was the same man as the previous two pictures, and he was still on that bed, but his stomach was cut open. Hell, his everything was cut open, and what I'm pretty fucking sure was a loop of intestines had been pulled out and very neatly stacked on a small table next to it, and the poor bastard was looking right at it in the picture.
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I don't know how alert he was, but he was still very much alive when that picture was taken. The other pictures I saw, weren't much better. Some were a hell of a lot worse in fact. One, a picture of a woman labelled 'SPM - 7', started the same.
First picture standing, shying away from the camera. Second picture strapped to the bed, arms looking like she'd been jerking them mid photo. And the third, her arms were gone. And her eyes were gone. Very neatly gone for both, but gone.
A dogs head had been sewn onto her neck, looked like a German shep. maybe, with the tongue lolling out. And the woman's mouth was open and her face was twisted like maybe she'd been screaming when the picture was taken. I'm not super certain, mostly because by that point I was throwing up everything that had previously been in my stomach.
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It was while I was vomiting up my very soul that I heard that scratching sound again, closer this time, coming from near the bed in fact. When I finally managed to look up I saw what was making the sound.
The manacles on the bed sliding and jerking back, like some invisible hands were caught in them and trying to get free. Me looking at them, acknowledging them, seemed to push them into a frenzy because they started to jerk and scrape rapidly, violently enough that the bed was lunging from side to side.
It was about that time that the part of me with a tiny bit of common sense took over and sent me running up the stairs. Stumbling up them, out the hidden doorway and on out until I was back outside. Menu Close Submit Search Topics World Canada Local Change location Politics Money Health Entertainment Lifestyle Watch Perspectives Sports Commentary Contests Podcasts TV Programs Global National West Block Personalities Video Centre More Connect Email alerts Alexa Notifications Contact Us National.
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At its core is an effective, understated performance from Andrei Kouznetsov as Misha. He plays the character in the kind of locked-off way that we usual decry, but there is a certain expressivity to the coldness that is revealing of the turmoil underneath, from terseness to his concluding catharsis.
In this passive character a host of thematic preoccupations are projected upon and subtly built out through his interactions with his wife and family: sexual desire, shame, anger, violence, patriarchal respect, emasculation, depression, family, aging, death. It could have been, and maybe you will contend that still it is, something of a mess-it is a film that evokes a lot but confirms very little, up to and including verifying if the woman is even real.
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Is she some sort of psychological manifestation? or even supernatural?
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But despite this indeterminacy the film is worthy of contemplation due to Avital. Her assured hands help pick up the slack caused by interiority problem through sumptuous visual evocation.
An 8-time Staff Pick recipient, she is currently one of the very best at it after all, as demonstrated in emotionally loaded, but somewhat inscrutable videos like Autre Ne Veut - World War Pt.
The inscrutability is also partly by design. The film is supported via her production company, the internationally renowned Partizanand was self-consciously designed as a proof-of-concept for her upcoming feature debut, to explore Misha as well as the overall world and tone of the project.