*My friend and I had to write a piece for English class and we decided to continue it. This first chapter is hers! Sadly we do not own Jeffree Star, Adam Lambert, Tommy Joe Ratliff, Dahvie Vanity, or Jayy Von Monroe. Enjoy!*

My head spun as I opened my eyes. What happened? Last thing I remember was being at my friend Adam's "First Day of Summer" party. I was a young Jeffree Cage, 18 and slightly intoxicated. I think someone was handing out little cups of fruit punch and I drank one. Some idiot must've spiked it with something. But where am I? It looks like some sort of cell, but it's all padded. Kind of like a mental hospital's cell. Wait…oh come ON! I can't believe it; I'm actually in the local asylum. Of course, the place was abandoned ages ago after a fire started in the solitary confinement ward. People say one of the patients, some deranged surgeon who had a knack for "experimenting" with his patients, had started the fire. And survived it.

Of course that was just a bunch of folderol. No one had survived that fire. Except some said that at times you can hear anguished screams and maniacal laughter coming from the ward. Here. Where I am now. Here in a mostly burned-out psycho ward. Where a seriously disturbed bunch of people resided. And died. Ok, I'm done. I am so out of here. I really hope the cell door is unlocked. I begin walking towards it, my hand reaching out to the handle. To my absolute joy, it opens. I guess whoever dropped me off in here, despite being a complete moron, didn't mean any harm. In fact, I think I know who the culprits are: Tommy and Jayy, the biggest punks in our school. They spend most of their lives in the principal's office and in detention.

Alright, that's enough rambling for now. It's high time I get out of here. I step into the hallway, a burned out shell of what it previously was, and right on cue, the lights start to flicker. Awesome. Wait…I think I heard something. It sounds like someone whimpering. I creep towards the sound until I come to a double door, like the kind you find in hospitals (makes sense…). That's definitely where it's coming from. Even though I'm 18, I'm pretty short, only 5'7''. That means I can't peek into the little windows. Just as I'm about to push open the door, I hear a second person. This one sounds absolutely maniacal.

"Oh, stop your squirming! I'm only going to cut your head open and perform a little lobotomy! I mean, it'll only feel like a hundred nails being hammered in your brain simultaneously. Now let me go get my equipment." That's when I hear muffled screaming and wild thrashing. Honestly, I'm terrified. I decide to open the door a little bit, to see what exactly I'm dealing with.

Oh my sweet Lord. I know the test subject. Michael James is his name and he was a very popular guy in school. Before he disappeared without a trace four months ago. But that's him! He's horribly disfigured now, with long, deep scars all over his once very handsome face. His long blonde hair is matted and partly shaven off. That's when I notice terrible burns on his torso. What is Heaven's name is going on here?! Who's this psychopath? Speaking of the psychopath, he's back. And carrying a set of shady-looking surgical tools. A drill, a scalpel, and…a claw hammer. He turns around and I have to cover my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

First of all, that's the crazy surgeon who allegedly burned down the ward. Second, he doesn't even look human! His black hair is tangled and covering most of his face, which is grotesquely twisted and burned. The most striking part is easily his eyes, though. Pale as ice and wide open. His eyelids have been burned off! When I did spot that particular fact I did let out a bit of a yelp.

He heard it. Yes, he definitely heard it. He advances slowly towards me, a sick, deranged smile on his face. That's when I bolt away as fast as I can, him right behind me, laughing wickedly. Of course I have no idea where to go, so I turn a left corner and fly in the first door I see. It's dark and a strange metallic smell is in the air. Blood. As I regain feeling, I realize I'm basically ankle-deep in blood. Letting out what was probably the most blood-curdling scream you'll ever hear, I tear out of that slaughter room. The doctor is about twenty feet away from me and I have to think. Fast.

This time I make a right and dive in the last room in the hall. When I say "dive", I mean it. I didn't see the step and I flew on a concrete floor completely covered in glass shards. I can't move now. There's a piece of glass completely embedded in my hand. I can see it entering the back of it and exiting the front. The pain is…blinding. Shocking. I can't even begin to describe it. I'm drenched in my own blood. Even my blue hair turned red. That's it. I'm done. I hear the sick maniac coming and I know I'm dead.

I close my eyes for a second and reopen them. He's standing at the doorway, smiling and holding a butcher knife.

"Here boy, let Dr. Vanity help you out." Are the last words I hear before I feel the blade plunging in my stomach and tearing me apart. I see my guts spill on the floor, along with spurts of blood. Scream after scream rips from my throat, but I know no one can hear me. I'm fading. I stare into those dead, lidless eyes, and then it all goes black.

In a cruel twist of fate, I wake up some time later. I'm in excruciating pain, and I'm lying on something soft. I look to my right and I see Michael's lifeless body next to me, a deep gash on his head. I look around and notice I'm in a hole. Vanity is burying me alive. Suddenly I feel cold, wet dirt piling up on me. I can't breathe. It's in my lungs. I'm choking to death now. I can't see anymore. I can't breathe.

Some weeks later the ward burst into flames again. The authorities blamed it on gas pipes, but I know who started it. They uncovered no trace of the horrific acts committed inside. They never found my body. Or Michael's. They never found Dr. Vanity either.