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Description
[Excerpt from a tape recorder found in the broom closet of Ellen Ridley Asylum. The rest was only screams]
If you visit someone in Ellen Ridley Asylum, don’t look inside cell 142. Don’t even walk by that cell. Because deep within there is the most vicious inmate that has ever been taken in. In fact he shouldn’t even be here, he should be fried or whatever they do now a day, to monsters.
Thirty five years I’ve worked here and never have I ever seen such a monster. He was placed here after a break out at the Fit Asylum down four towns away. One of those newfangled high security places, you know, the ones that think because they have money, they’ll keep those “crazies” in toe. I laughed when I heard the news. Every inmate escaped right under their noses, including Sarco.
When he first arrived his name was Seth Mallory. He was a sliver of a thing; he never ate much and was found everyday with cuts on his body, and blood on his bed sheets. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of sheets? It’s very difficult and very time consuming. Whenever I’d come to get his sheets, he’d smile, stand up and wave his hand towards them, as if presenting a fine piece of art.
He was put on suicide watch; naturally, the doctors assumed he wanted to die. The man was found outside an old mirror hall, surrounded by papers with the word “skitter” written several times over. I heard that he was a small town journalist, and his crew had gone missing. All he could manage to say for the longest time was that one word, until he began to say nothing. Whatever happened in there changed a man of many words, to a man of one. To this day no one’s found the bodies of the other journalists.
Have you ever heard the term autosarcophagy? No? It’s self-cannibalism. He was EATING bits of himself and drinking the blood. The doctors had never come across this before, so they honestly didn’t know how to go about it. He wasn’t necessarily causing harm to others, only to himself, so they put him in a room with a guard watching him at all times. We started calling him Sarco because of his strange case.
Something in that mirror hall, made his sanity leave him. Though doctors claimed the man was becoming cured since he began talking again recently. But he’s changed, he used to be fearful and mild mannered. Now he’s arrogant and looks at everyone in a strange way, a strange way that makes your flesh crawl. The type of feeling you get, when being looked over by a predator.
I found something in the broom closet, a guard, by the name of Miss Rose.
I’ve seen dead bodies here before, I’ve been here a long time, but this, this made me vomit.
Blood was everywhere, along with innards strewn about like confetti, and I mean confetti. Her organs were in tiny little pieces, as if something came in and ate them. She was also missing her eyes and tongue. But you know what the bastard did, he wrote the one word, in her blood, that only one that a person was known for here.
Skitter.
While I stared at the horror that was ahead of me, Sarco walked in front of me and waved his hand, as if presenting a work of art, only this time, it wasn’t bed sheets.

Description
[Excerpt from a tape recorder found in the broom closet of Ellen Ridley Asylum. The rest was only screams]
If you visit someone in Ellen Ridley Asylum, don’t look inside cell 142. Don’t even walk by that cell. Because deep within there is the most vicious inmate that has ever been taken in. In fact he shouldn’t even be here, he should be fried or whatever they do now a day, to monsters.
Thirty five years I’ve worked here and never have I ever seen such a monster. He was placed here after a break out at the Fit Asylum down four towns away. One of those newfangled high security places, you know, the ones that think because they have money, they’ll keep those “crazies” in toe. I laughed when I heard the news. Every inmate escaped right under their noses, including Sarco.
When he first arrived his name was Seth Mallory. He was a sliver of a thing; he never ate much and was found everyday with cuts on his body, and blood on his bed sheets. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of sheets? It’s very difficult and very time consuming. Whenever I’d come to get his sheets, he’d smile, stand up and wave his hand towards them, as if presenting a fine piece of art.
He was put on suicide watch; naturally, the doctors assumed he wanted to die. The man was found outside an old mirror hall, surrounded by papers with the word “skitter” written several times over. I heard that he was a small town journalist, and his crew had gone missing. All he could manage to say for the longest time was that one word, until he began to say nothing. Whatever happened in there changed a man of many words, to a man of one. To this day no one’s found the bodies of the other journalists.
Have you ever heard the term autosarcophagy? No? It’s self-cannibalism. He was EATING bits of himself and drinking the blood. The doctors had never come across this before, so they honestly didn’t know how to go about it. He wasn’t necessarily causing harm to others, only to himself, so they put him in a room with a guard watching him at all times. We started calling him Sarco because of his strange case.
Something in that mirror hall, made his sanity leave him. Though doctors claimed the man was becoming cured since he began talking again recently. But he’s changed, he used to be fearful and mild mannered. Now he’s arrogant and looks at everyone in a strange way, a strange way that makes your flesh crawl. The type of feeling you get, when being looked over by a predator.
I found something in the broom closet, a guard, by the name of Miss Rose.
I’ve seen dead bodies here before, I’ve been here a long time, but this, this made me vomit.
Blood was everywhere, along with innards strewn about like confetti, and I mean confetti. Her organs were in tiny little pieces, as if something came in and ate them. She was also missing her eyes and tongue. But you know what the bastard did, he wrote the one word, in her blood, that only one that a person was known for here.
Skitter.
While I stared at the horror that was ahead of me, Sarco walked in front of me and waved his hand, as if presenting a work of art, only this time, it wasn’t bed sheets.