Tap-tap-tap.

That's all it took to break through the thin layer of bone with the ice pick-like orbitoclast and into the brain. Dr. Freeman angled the tool sharply inward, imagining the areas he believed he was severing. He knew a brain's layout from studying many cadavers. He didn't feel he needed to see the brain he was working on. Weren't they all basically the same, after all?

"The patient will experience bruising around the eyes," he told the men who were gathered around, watching him perform the procedure. "Muscle spasms. Those will subside within thirty minutes. Sometimes depressive symptoms return within a week but those are residual and easily cured with another course of electroshock."

Electroshock was what he had used in lieu of sedation for this operation. It was quicker than waiting for a sedative to take effect. He tap-tapped the tool into the patient's other eye socket and repeated the blind raking motion. Then he extracted the orbitoclast, wiping away the trace amounts of blood from the tool before dropping it on a nearby utensil tray.

"And that's all there is to it," he said and sent a self-satisfied smile around at his colleagues. "With experience, you can easily do twenty to thirty a day. More, if necessary. I personally performed fifty over a five hour period."

The patient began to twitch erratically. The other doctors in the room watched the man nervously but Dr. Freeman had seen the seizures before. "There's the spasms," he reassured. "Right on schedule."

He laughed and most of the other men chuckled with him.

—

George Bruner went to college to get a degree in Psychology. He wanted to be part of a system that could help people like his aunt. Aunt Clara had suffered from delusions but was generally harmless. Sending her to Briarcliff had seemed like a reasonable thing for her children to do after their father died and none of the kids had room to care for her in their homes. At Briarcliff, they could visit and send care packages and know that she was being cared when she was suffering from one of her delusional moments of fantasy.

Aunt Clara was dead within two weeks, supposedly from pneumonia. She went fast, but not so fast that she wasn't able to get a note out to her family, accusing the facility of abuse. There wasn't much the police could do when the family took the note to them. It was the word of a "crazy dead woman" against that of the asylum. There was no way the family could win.

They needed more proof, and that's exactly what George intended to get. He pitched the project to his Humanities professor, who was a progressive man who welcomed the chance to expose the system. He helped George obtain fake identification with a new name, and helped him write up the proposal paperwork necessary. From there, it was all on "John" to collect the story they needed.

For months John lived among the patients, pretending to be just crazy enough that the hospital wouldn't release him but not so insane that he might suffer severe consequences. That was the plan, anyway: Fly under the radar until the end of the project.

Just one more month and the project would be over. The college could publish their daring field reporter's findings. It promised to be big. Bigger than big. But something went wrong with the plan.

After the content of his notebooks was discovered, Briarcliff went into action. The staff simply couldn't afford another scandal. The notebooks were destroyed in the morgue oven. John was just as easily dealt with: They strapped him to a gurney and wheeled him off, screaming his true identity and protests, to Dr. Freeman's operating theater where he was shocked into stupor.

After the lobotomy, John never felt the need to scream or protest again.

.

-= AMERiCAN HoRRoR SToRY =-

.

December 1888

Brother Felix checked the tunnel hall both ways before letting himself into the Physical Therapy room. The large room was outfitted with several machines considered state of the art: A stationary bicycle, a medicine ball, a contraption that simulated horseback riding, and another that would jiggle a person who wore the two wide belts connected to it.

The devices weren't the reason he was in the room, though. His reason for coming was Sister Mary Paul. Her real name was Eliza and she'd fallen in love with him, and he with her. Their love was forbidden. It was a violation of their vows that led to further sins of the flesh. They had to be careful, so Sister Mary Paul was concerned when Brother Felix slipped her a note at dinner requesting she meet him.

"What is it?" she asked him quietly after they'd shared a quick, passionate kiss.

He took her hands and gazed intently into her eyes. "Brother Abel knows. He followed us to the mill the other night and he's trying to blackmail us." He could see the fear growing in her eyes so he gave her hands a comforting squeeze. "We need to leave tonight. Now. Go pack a bag. Only take what you absolutely need. I'll meet you here in fifteen minutes."

"How? We have no money," Mary Paul was growing more frightened by the passing moment.

He released her hands and cupped her face, then gave her another quick kiss. "Don't worry, darling. I'll take care of everything. Just hurry up and get your things."

She nodded and put a hand over his briefly before he released her. He went to the door then, intending to do just as he instructed her. When he opened the door, however, he was met by a band of dour priests led by Father Mackenzie. He was in a righteous fury.

"Take them," he commanded his brethren. His disgust was plain in the way he spat the words.

—

Brother Felix was hanged from one of the trees in the orchard beyond Briarcliff's mill. His body was left up for three days as a sign to any others who might consider forsaking their vows to the church. Food for the crows. Sister Mary Paul was taken to the tunnels where she was bricked up in one of the walls. The masonry was so tightly packed, her screams for forgiveness couldn't be heard once the last brick went in.

...

1968 - 1 week before Christmas

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

Tate was at Confession, seated in the parishioner's side. A priest twice his age sat on the other side of the gridded window.

"It's been... Fuck. Years since I last confessed," Tate went on. He lit a cigarette. "But lately I can't stop touching myself. I jerk off whenever I can. I've gotten it down so I can get off in under a minute in the shower."

He was lying. He would love it if he could get off that quick but he couldn't and the orderlies wouldn't let him alone in the shower long enough to get off. But it was fun saying it to the priest, just to hear him cough and shift around uncomfortably.

"You need to resist these urges," the older man counseled.

"Oh, but I don't want to," Tate volleyed with a grin. He blew smoke through the little window. "In fact, if it weren't for Sister Jude and her love of caning people, I'd probably jerk off all the time. Don't you like to jerk off, Father? "

The priest made a fake cough to let the patient know the smoke wasn't appreciated. "If physical penance is what you need more of, that can be arranged."

Tate's smile died. He wasn't sure but it sounded like the priest was threatening him. It hadn't occurred to him that the guy might tattle on him. "You can't tell anybody what I say in here, can you?"

"No," said the clergyman. "But I can make recommendations to my superiors about what spiritual path might be most effective for you."

Tate frowned. He was sure that was a threat, if a veiled one. He sucked on his cigarette angrily. Suddenly confession wasn't so much fun. "Look, I just wanted to have a smoke break and a few laughs," he said, finally opting for bailing out. It was undignified but he really didn't want another caning. "I didn't mean any of that."

"Lying is a mortal sin," the priest said. "Do you know what that is?"

It was Tate's turn to shift in his seat. He knew exactly what that meant, having grown up Catholic. "I wasn't lying," he amended. "More like... exaggerating. I do jerk off whenever I can. I just don't get that many opportunities anymore."

"You must resist those urges," the priest said again. "Yield not to temptation. Try singing a hymn when you feel the urge come on."

Tate rolled his eyes and pulled a last drag off his cigarette then put it out on the doorjamb, making sure to grind it out good so he didn't set the wooden box on fire while he was in it. "I'll try that. Can I go now?"

"Do you know your prayers?"

"Yeah."

"Five Hail Marys and seven Our Fathers."

Tate rolled his eyes again and stepped out of the cubby. A cloud of smoke came with him.

He wasn't at all surprised when, later that evening, Sister Jude had him brought to her office and caned him.

—

Tate's backside was on fire and every step was pain. He was looking forward to collapsing on his cot when he got back to his cell but when Byron let him in, he found he had a new roommate. Someone was laying on the mattress that was on the floor. The guy was curled up tight against the cold. Between the darkness and the fact that the other patient had his blanket pulled up to shield his face from the chill as well, Tate couldn't tell anything about him other than he had dark hair.

He followed through with his plan and collapsed until morning.

...

Author's Note:

We're on the 2nd-to-last Episode now. I didn't have to try hard to find inspiration for this one. America and the United Kingdom both supplied some fodder for this chapter. Dr. Walter Freeman, as mentioned before, is based on the real doctor by the same name. If you really want a scare, check out Amazon's "LORE" series. The second episode has a reenactment of Dr. Freeman performing a lobotomy that's gut-wrenchingly realistic. The show's made by folks who worked on the X-Files and The Walking Dead.

The second segment references a ghost story from the Borley Rectory in Essex. Interestingly, Borley was also tapped for Silent Hill. The haunted house in the Lakeside Amusement Park is the Borley Haunted Mansion.

I know this is supposed to be American horror stories but there are so many bizarre stories out there, I just can't restrict myself.