Hell Theater
Hungryness

Creepypasta is about a psychiatrist who gets a patient with an eating disorder. The patient was trapped in an elevator on his way to see the psychiatrist. What happens next will shock you. Personally, I think this is the scariest story on this list.

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As a mental health professional, I am bound by the secrecy of the doctor-patient and am not allowed to tell anyone about my patient2 condition. But this time, I felt the need to tell him. This story is, without a doubt, the scariest experience I've had in my entire practice as a psychiatrist.

This story happened in 2009 and my schedule was loose. I was eating my lunch when I got a call from my colleague who opened a practice in the same building as me. Sometimes we send patients to each other when one of us is busy.

“Hey, are you busy? I want to send someone to you.” he said.

“No. How are the patient details?”

“Eating disorders. Her mother was so worried that she sent it to me.”

Eating disorders. Hmm. .. That's not a very pleasant case. I actually had a bully patient vomit in my office during therapy. I glanced at my schedule for a moment. Well, I guess I can take it.

“OK, send him!”

“Thanks. I send him now.”

I try to tidy up my desk and wait for him. After 10 minutes of waiting, I started to get impatient and went out to look for him. When I got to the hall, I saw a crowd of people standing in front of the elevator. They talk to each other, like they are discussing something.

“What is this?” my many.

“Lift is jammed.” replied one of them.

Shit, he must be trapped in it.

“On what floor?”

“Away between 10th and 11th floor.”

Yup, it must be in it. My colleague's office is on the 10th floor, about 3 floors from here. In my experience, it could be an hour until the operator can repair this elevator. I hope he's not claustrophobic. Back to my office, I called my partner.

“How?’ my colleague answered on the phone.

“He was stuck inside the elevator.”

“Really? Poor girl” she laughs.

“What's the name?”

“Amelia,” she tried to remember, “Amelia D-something ..”

“OK, thanks. What if we drink after work, then we can exchange opinions about the case.”

“OK, she it ..”

“Eits, don't say it first. I want to form my own opinion without any influence from you, okay?”

“Oke.”

It turned out to be true my guess, only an hour later, I heard cheers from the end of the hallway. That's the sign the elevator is finally working again.

I have to make sure he's okay. Then I rejoined the crowd2 in front of the elevator.

There were more people than that so I couldn't see the elevator door from behind their backs. But I heard a clinking sound indicating the elevator stopped on our floor and the sound shifted as it opened.

“Holy shit!” someone immediately shouted.

People started to move away from the elevator. I tried to push forward the body of the person2 in front of me because I wanted to see what was inside the elevator. As soon as I got closer, I started to smell this. It smells like opening an apartment room and someone who hasn't had a bath in years is out. The smell flowed out from inside the elevator and flooded along the passageway. A young man dressed in a suit instantly covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief. I could finally see clearly what made people2's reaction like that.

The woman in the elevator was nothing like I imagined. He is very obese, he looks weighing about 200 kg. His face was true2 was so thick that his eyes were almost 2 invisible, only looking like two black dots on top of his cheeks. He has curly brown hair.

His mouth was covered by something that looked like oil-filled barbecue sauce. There was even a bone left in the corner of his mouth. He moved his fat hand to clean the debris on his shirt, the leftovers. It looks like it is running out of an all-you-can-eat buffet with a variety of meat menus. Holding tightly in one of his hands was a large black plastic bag, like a plastic trash. As he moved it, whatever he stored in it seemed to be stirred up. The stench did not appear to come out of the woman's body, but from the plastic waste.

The woman walked out of the elevator. His eyes and nose were filled with tears and mucus that kept flowing. I actually went forward when the other 2 people retreated in fear.

“Amelia?” I asked him.

He looked at me with his small eyes like a manik2. Her cheeks were smudged with red trash stains mixed with tears. He started to open his mouth and I thought that he would spit out all the barbecue he was craving towards me.

“A ... I was hungry ..” he said with a stuttering Southern accent.

The man in suit shuddered at the smell of the woman's breath and immediately stepped away.

“It's okay,” I tried to reach him to help him, “Do you want to talk about it in my office?”

Seeing me trying to grab her, she clasped more tightly onto the big black plastic bag and hugged it in front of her chest. It makes a noise that makes me sick. I could feel my lunch going up to the back of my throat.

“What is yours?’ ask, “I won't take it.”

He started crying. The voice was enough to frighten me, as was the sound of. Honestly, I don't want to touch her. I want to go back to the office, lock my door, and pretend 2 never accepted a patient like him. Any smell and spillage that was in his bag could have stayed in my office for weeks. But still, he is human and he needs my help. I can't just look away.

“My office is not far from here. Why don't you come with me there?” I started walking. In my mind, if he hadn't followed me, it would have been good. He can go back to his apartment which is most likely full of cockroaches and feces and who knows what other sickening poop2 is, and I'll find another patient.

But he followed me, with a limp step. I opened the door for him and he came in with the fat on his body swaying2. He still holds his trash bag with the fingers of a straw of barbecue sauce while occasionally burping. He stopped in the middle of my office.

“Yes, I know. I'm concerned too. I hope you're okay. But luckily you brought something to eat, didn't you?”

He began to cry again, squeezing his trash bag, which I feared would explode and spilling all of its contents that I knew-just-God-that-– knew onto my carpet. He nodded as his face turned red and tears flowed profusely as if out of every pore2 of his face.

I then took him a tissue and he picked it up, still clasping his trash bag tightly, as if afraid I would steal it.

“Do you want me to hold it for a while?” ask me to pray in my heart that he says no.

He shook. Mercifully.

“What's in there?” I pointed to the big plastic bag he was holding.

He riled and snorted, trying to suck all the liquid back into his face. Using a single tissue, he swept his entire face, flattening the red stains on his mouth to the corners of his face.

“Sisa ... leftover food ..” he replied stammeringly. His chest seemed to rise and fall and he began to sob again. His face is similar to a fountain. I'm starting to feel sorry for him. He seemed to suffer greatly.

“See,” I said, “stuck in an elevator really is a traumatic experience.”

The stuff is starting to sound shrill.

“So why don't we just postpone our meeting until you feel calm.”

He tried to answer in the middle of his stuffing, “An ... You want to meet me?”

“Yes, just not today. Why don't you just go home and try to relax. I'm not in the right mood to talk about all your problems. But I really want to help you. So, let's reschedule our meeting for this week. What do you think?”

I walked back to my desk and picked up a business card. His mouth was still trembling and it seemed that he would soon become a pile of slime that screamed crazily. But he actually looked calmer and nodded, then took my card with fingernails2 that still grasped sticky and wet tissue2.

“Te .. thank you ..” he said. I can barely read his face. His entire face looked red, swollen, and wet so he was almost expressionless.

“Do you want me to accompany you to the lobby?” ask, “To be on guard in case the elevator gets stuck again. But I think the elevator should be fine now. You don't have to be afraid.”

He shook his head, “It .. doesn't seem like a good idea ...”

“Oke.”

And with that, he turned and walked out of my office in slow, lazy steps. With him, the black bag with its contents swayed in his footsteps, carrying away all the foul, slovenly, and unpleasant smells from it. I sighed with relief as he closed the door and disappeared behind it.

He never called me back.

A week later, I was drinking2 with my colleagues downstairs. We were relaxing, enjoying a few cups of drinks, and arrived2 I remembered him.

“Oh, crap2 thank you.” I said.

“For what?”

“Amelia.”

“Who?”

“Amelia. Dietary disorders, remember? Last week you sent it to me.”

“Oh yes, I remember. They are trapped in the elevator. How is he doing?”

“He was right2 like a ship waiting to sink. He was sobbing constantly and almost hysterically. I asked him to reschedule our meeting, but he never called to make an agreement.”

“Have you spoken to his mother?”

“No. I didn't get any information from him at all. But I gave him my card.”

“What do you think of him?”

“Dependence on food. Classic case.” I replied, “Benar2 a voracious eater. His face is right2 ..”

“Not, not his mother. I mean Amelia.”

“What?”

“What do you think of Amelia?” reworked.

“I've told you what I think.”

“Amelia, that 12-year-old skinny girl, you think she is a voracious eater?”

“What, no ... it ..”

And arrived2 I realized.

“What was his mother with him at the time?”

“Yes, I sent them both to you.”

“And the two of them got stuck inside the elevator together?”

He looked at me and his face changed.

I don't have to say, I never saw him again. Amelia D-something. Or her mother, the nameless obese woman I met outside the elevator that day. The woman smelled like death, covered with what I thought was red sauce, and carrying a garbage bag filled with food scraps.