Dr Murphy's and the Purple Box

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Follow a story about a man broken from loss. How he attaches to the unknown and befriends it.

Dr Murphy has a lot of demons repressed. But when they start coming alive he must ask himself are they real or all just a part of his mind? A lost woman running from a darkly figure finds herself at Murphy's front door, The first human he has spoken to in a long time!

A tale of grief, loss and heart bearing pain.

Submitted: March 11, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 11, 2012





“It’s gruesome outside. Looks like a storms brewing. glad I’m in here, with you three.”

“Do you believe in ghosts Murphy?”

“No I can not say I do, However I do believe the mind tends to play tricks on us.”

“Your mind must be a good trickster then. Because right now. Your talking to three statued heads, mantled in your office.”

“I guess your right Richard.”

“So what you are crazy, If you can't change that then my name isn't Bob.”

It wasn't, his name was Henry, the youngest of the three.

“ I don’t think I like change! I’m just fine here, in my own home. With you three it’s peaceful”

“If that’s what you tell yourself Murphy. You mope around all day, no work gets done and those pills go down your dried up throat like skittles!”

A brief moment of silence passed Murphy as Thomas, Richard and Henry's eye’s scattered around the room. He looked at an old worn out picture. It was a mirror to the past for him. His hair was brown and kempt back then; his Bright blue eye’s looking on the world with pure ambition. Next to him stood a young bonny girl. Lush red lockets, it was his wife, Mrs Magpie Murphy. She was a bright light inside his dark abyss. A heart scratched into pieces was now what remained. Just thinking of her paralysed him. Dark repressed thoughts went round and round in his mind. Locked up deep in that dark abyss, slowly mixing up a cocktail of emotions. He new he had to escape the bread trail down the lonely road of grief, and to take his mind away he quickly spoke

“No it is too late to work now, what time is it?”

He looked at his wristwatch; both hands pointed to 9. Without fail every night Murphy would be in bed for 10. but it didn't help, most nights he couldn’t fall to sleep, lying on a king-sized bed all alone. He pulled out a bottle from his worn and torn waistcoat, on the label was wrote 'Donomyl 25 mg'. The only drugs that could help him sleep without a prescription. However he believed he was eligible for one but he didn’t want to go outside. To converse with people seemed too hard, too difficult especially with a doctor. The last human he had conversation with was the mail man a few week ago. Even then he struggled to look him in the eyes.

3 pills landed in his palm, and for a split second he debated on weather to take them. They wouldn’t help him sleep no more. But maybe tonight that placebo effect would kick in. as long as he believed they worked then maybe they just would, this once. But before he could swallow, a dark shadow raced past the corner of his eye. He span round trying to spot the shady figure and then a loud strike of thunder came from deep within the country. From the shock he spat out the pills. Two landed on the floor, however, one of them flew up and lodged up Richards rocky nose. he looked at him in contempt, his eyes seemed to throw daggers at Murphy. The storm was still a fair distance from the house, Murphy could tell this by counting the seconds before a shocking light burst through the windows.

His trickster of a mind would play worse when sleep deprived. The figure was probably nothing but his twisted imagination, and there was no rational reason to fear thunder. Murphy picked up the cracked pieces of Donoyml and chucked them in the neglected office bin. As Murphy breathed in, he again debated on to take some pills. But a loud thunderous knock broke his thought pattern

“Who could that be at this time?”



Guests were rare and especially at such an hour. Not to mention there was no neighbour within five miles. The only thing outside was dank country lanes and leafless trees. He deliberately tried to ignore the knock, Thomas spoke

“Who could that be? Maybe it’s the neighbours looking for a cup of sugar.”

“I reckon it be an axe murderer after yer valuables?” Henry said carrying on the conversation. Richard finished by saying

“Or could it be your dead wife, desperately in need of eating your brains?”

It was obvious the stranger did not plan on leaving, as the knocking hasted and got louder. Murphy tip toed towards the door, as quiet as a shrew. He opened it an inch, just enough so he could peak out for a glimpse. His rotting wife standing there was imprinted on the front of his conscious, but it wasn’t her, it was a woman and she seemed only a few years younger than him, mid thirties. She wore a pair of muddy jeans, with a stained beige jacket that matched her blonde hair. Before he could open the door her voice rocketed out

“Will you Bloody HELP!”

She barged right through and right past Murphy, His first impression was how unmannered she was.

“Yer cheers, he could’ve got me you know.”

“Erm, Who could of?”

“Some man, he was chasing me. wearing a black rain coat and holding a knife. But when I looked at him, I swear he had no face. you know what I mean?”

Murphy was confused; not knowing the question was rhetorical.

“No I don’t quite know what you mean miss? Who are you? And how did you get so far out here?”

Although they got off to a bad start, she couldn’t help feeling much safer in here; she moved out her hand and introduced herself

“Hello, I'm Cheryl, Nice to meet you. I was camping with mates and well I got into an argument and stormed off, I thought he was a friend trying to spook me, but whoever, no I mean whatever it was definitely spooked me.”

They both shared an awkward handshake; squeezing too hard. However something was different, the chest aching nervousness that normally possessed him during conversation seemed to be calmed around her. Even if he thought her story was insane, how could he judge, he talked with inanimate objects.

“Please come sit down, maybe you can catch your breath. I’ll make you a drink?”

She sat in an old rocking chair, it looked kind of lonely in the room, there was no other wooden decoration. As hard as she tried she could not relax, her mind was racing through irrational thought after thought. Murphy mumbled his words in an obvious conversation with himself

“I will make her a warm cup of coffee, Oh yes a warm cup of coffee will solve anything.”

“Erm.... Thank you sir, oh what is your name by the w...”

“Oh sorry, I am Dr Michael Murphy, but my friends call me Murphy.” The three statues rushed through his mind.


On his way back from the kitchen he balanced a tray that held a flowery decorated tea cup set. One his wife picked out many years ago. While in the rhythm of his stride he had to awkwardly dodge a corner table, when the vibrations of an instant shock of a thunderous clash forced him to the ground, He luckily kept the tea cup set intact. The lightning then shot through the house, reassuring him that it was only thunder, and there was no reason to be afraid of thunder. He got to his feet and carried on the same stride. As he reached the front room door, before he could look through, a deafening scream for help howled towards him. As Murphy glanced in, he shut still; the tea cup set fell to the ground, and shattered into a hundred shards. Burning tea poured all over. How? Who? What? Were the three questions through Murphy’s conscious. Cheryl stood at the far end next to the unkempt fireplace, her face said it all. And in front of her, stood a tall hooded man, but Murphy could only see the raincoat, and he held a knife, but the uncanny thing was there was no hand. The blade just floated there. But from Cheryl’s view everything could be seen, well she could see the floating raincoat and knife, but there was no man. Murphy didn’t know what to do, he was a humble writer who never left his house, he couldn’t fight back, but in a hopeless attempt to hit the man with a lamp, the raincoat and blade simply fell to the floor.



It must have been a living dream, one created from his sleepless state, his insomnia. Ghosts were not real, just like his mantled friends in his office were not real. So then did Cheryl exist? Or was she summoned from deep down inside his dark and twisted imagination? He nipped himself, but no luck. If this was a nightmare then a nip would not suffice. However worse nightmares now plagued Murphy’s mind. His only sanctuary was this home, his one safe haven, now it was there prison. The only neighbour was 5 miles away, and between them stood a forest of trees. There jagged branches blocking out the shady night sky. Not to mention the vicious storm closing in, rain bounced upon the single glazed windows. But they both felt lucky to be with one another right now; alone they could not have coped. She had put a brave face on until that moment as her eyes started to weep. Murphy tried to console her by giving an awkwardly tight hug, and he asked

“Are you o..”

“No I’m not ok, I am terrified beyond reasoning. This is the worst night of my life. I lost everything, and then a floating knife wants to gut me. Do you know what I mean?”

He remembered when he lost his everything; right in his arms she left this world. He understood her tone the way she said everything, he knew she had lost someone close.

“I feel so alone, broken. Yesterday I was happy; I had a plan for the rest of our lives. One little sentence, ‘It’s over!’ My whole story crashed and burned.”

“I two have plans that can no longer be. My wife.... Well she passed away.”

He pulled his arm from around Cheryl and from an inside pocket out came a tiny necklace locket. Inside was a worn out picture of his dear Mrs Murphy. Their eyes interlinked, the awkwardness had gone, and now they had a comfort, there was something similar in their eyes. They could relate. Their heads closed in, but before their lips could meet, Murphy spoke

“I-I think we should get some form of a weapon, you know just in case it returns.”

Cheryl nodded to agree, with a smirk. As they scampered past Murphy’s office Cheryl could hear words. She glanced through the gap between the doors and as her eyes pondered in deep, they discovered the eyes of Richard. She Nearly jumped out of her skin, She would of kept her balance if not for the sound of thunder striking a leafless.



“What in hell’s kitchen are they?”

“Wait you can’t hear them can you?”

“Hear them? I can bloody see them; do you know what I mean?”

No she couldn’t be talking about them. They didn't exist, just a part of Murphy's deranged mind. The day he realised he was insane was when he first spoke with Thomas, Richard and Henry. It was not a month after Magpies death, he remembered it picture perfect. on a cold winters night not much different from this one. But in that moment he stood in an epiphany. He could not get past the question of ‘Am I insane?’ his mind raced, he realised that if she is really here, and she can really see them, then that would be the rational explanation for his fear of communication. It made sense; he didn’t want to speak to people because he feared they would have found out. That he was a crazy person, his neighbour, the shopkeepers in town, the farmers and especially the doctors. That question again ‘Am I sane?’

it took him a few seconds before he realised the change in the question, just two letters can express such a difference, enough to spark a light. Down deep in Murphy's dark abyss. As small as a firefly but a light of hope none the less. He took a few minutes in the clouds before he responded to Cheryl. That question had him stunned.

“There my friends Thomas, Richard and Henry. There brothers.

They both pushed open a door each and slowly approached, Murphy felt déjà vu as he walked in. He went back to that first time they had met, his nerves shot bolts of electricity through his body.

“So then, what are you three? Cheryl and I would like an explanation.... Now.”

“We are merely objects with the power of speech, we have the ability to knock you off your seat, but we are still more attractive than Murphy!”

“Don't listen to his jokes! We are the ghosts of these very walls past, But yes we do look better than Murphy.”

“No I think your both wrong, Murphy is cute in his own way, do you know what I mean?”

Murphy pulled out his bottle of Donomyl. that question again ‘Am I sane?’ but he thought about a new one, ‘Am I an insomniac?’ while the rest of the room were in deep conversation, he was baffled, Questioning his own sanity. But he worried how this would change him. He was not much of a fan of change. It had normally brought pain, but now how could he return to his ignorant bubble. He couldn’t pretend any more.

“When it rains, it pours, ha!” Murphy said without thinking.

The whole room looked at Murphy in confusion; he hadn’t followed the conversation for the last five minutes. But while he had the silence of the room he just had to ask

“So then am I Insane?”


“yes you are loopy as they come, As wonky as a door knob Murphy.”

“Ha ha, Richard you crack me up, Murphy you are sane, we are real, well as real as three ghosts imitating three mantled statues.” spoke Henry

When it rains it pours. That saying fit like a jig saw piece in Cheryl's mind. That night for her had been rough. First a heart wrenching breakup, a knife wielding ghost, then three talking statues. 'It had surely poured on me tonight' she thought. But through all the crap and shit she felt fine, for some reason he calmed her storm.

“So let me get this straight, three talking heads and a knife wielding rain coat, is this a nightmare? Do you know what I mean?”

“Oh so you have been acquainted with our youngest sibling Gabrielle, the black sheep of the family if I do say so, He is the one that would slice and dice your insides.”

“However it is strange that he has awoke, it cannot be a coincidence. You’re arrival here on this date, so suddenly. Not to mention the resemblance”.

“I can see where you are coming from Thomas. There is an uncanny look, you could be her doppelgänger.”




They began to discuss their past, how the four of them were raised in these very walls. However a lot had changed, the office used to be their lavatory. In fact it was their father who built the house, he was a wealthy mason, and this building was his pride and joy. But before he could finish the roof, he was struck down by the Gods, one single shock of thunder took away his essence of life. Gabrielle was just a boy of 12 years when he died, the grief extremely set in with him. The cold years past on and he eventually fell for a girl. It was obvious that it was only puppy love, but he fell head over heels for her. Bridget was her name, a blonde smartly dressed dame. But what she did on that cold winters night really did scar him. He walked into her house and heard her scream. The home had been passed down through her mothers will. He heard another groan, but these were not the screams of horror or angst. Oh no these were orgasmic screams of pleasure, and in front of Gabrielle's eyes was no other than the local painter’s coat.

A good 7 mile climb it took to get to her home. But on that evening he could not care, He was desperate to beg for her forgiveness. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and silently moved upstairs. They both jumped up when they noticed him standing in the room, he had already got behind them before a sound was made. The painter went for a punch but Gabrielle ducked down, and stabbed the knife right through his bellybutton. He had to hold his own intestine in place, while he went for the finishing slash, the painter tried to block. He sliced through three fingers reach his throat. Bridget swung with a plank of wood, but as Gabrielle awkwardly dodged he fell on top of her, as they both laid there, a pool of blood formed around them. He stood up he could see the knife penetrating through her chest. She couldn’t breathe. The guilt was the beginning, eventually it twisted him.

Thomas spoke “He has returned, but maybe not for,”

“Don’t listen to his kind words; he is here for you, to devour you all over again!”

“So what we look alike, why me I’m not her?”

She could not admit this, this fairy tale from three talking statues. Ignorance was bliss, but hers was short lived as Thomas spoke.

“Oh that doesn’t matter, he doesn’t know that. He does not understand rational thought.”

When Henry dived into the conversation the room stood quiet, his voice much deeper than the rest, when spoke, it silenced out all others. “Ha, a true lesson to learn from. But caution is strongly advised, if he gets a hold of you your mind he will twist.”

Both Murphy and Cheryl could relate, just another story, but it’s the same pain. Although Gabrielle's dark tale had been very gruesome, they knew that what they felt was the same. To let go, Murphy had understood such a concept, but he had many questions. However the thought being in his conscience fit like a jigsaw puzzle, right next to ‘Am I sane?’ The firefly in the abyss, had changed, it had become a light bulb as bright as could be.

“What can I do? There must be a way to stop him? To save her?”

“To save her, you must go to the basement, down there you will find an old purple chest, I believe in you two.”

“Oh shut up Thomas, He will eat you two alive, Oh and if you do manage to lock that box, remember you kill us two. "

“There is one more subject of matter. Without you have no hope of succession.”

With a painful growl, Henry’s tongue descended to the floor, and a shiny golden key trickled down to the ground



As they pulled forward the wood rotted door, both Murphy and Cheryl stared down into the blinding darkness. Nightmarish ideals of what laid below plagued Cheryl's mind, But Murphy already new what was down there. Her stuff, Mrs Murphy’s belongings that he couldn’t bring himself to let go of. Every toe dragged down those wooden steps sent echoing creaks through the silence of the cave. But before they could reach the ground, thunder crashed through the kitchen wall, the force blew the wood rotted door right into the frame. There was only one way left to go!

The moon shot a beam of light through a tiny window. Cobwebs decorated the worn out wooden structure upon the rocky interior. ‘Five years!’ Murphy said without thinking. Her eyes were busy trying to find sanctity in the darkness. In her blindness she collided with a bloody red stained table, knocking three instruments to the ground. Tools that must have been there since the building of that cave. There was a sharpened knife, a rusty saw and a blunt axe. As the metal clashed with the ground the vibrations bounced from cave wall to wall. Murphy turned to see the source of the sound but in his confusion he caught a glimpse of hope. There it was the purple box. Sat upon a table located just under the only light source, under the window. Between the golden braces that held the box together was a silky purple cloth. Murphy realised why he had never noticed this box before, It was because he had only stood in this cave twice during his time in this house. When he and his newly wed moved in they didn’t take much notice of a cold drought cave beneath. When they had seen the luxurious décor and impossibly huge home. The second was when he added her remaining attire to the lonely dust ridden cave. But before Murphy could step forward, he had a hold of her tight within a handless grip. Murphy tried to grab her but a jolt of thunder struck between them, right through the cave. The lightning blinded both of them. In his blurry gaze a female figure approached Murphy. As his eyes started to clear, he spoke

“Magpie, is that you?”


He looked round in confusion, the cave had gone, Both of them stood upon a dark lake, It was his deepening abyss, the one repressed deep in his mind. The only source of light was a floating light bulb behind her, Murphy's last form of hope.




Gabriel had gone, she was no longer forced within his grip. But she could only just make out a manly figure. She rose to her feet, but it was to late for her hasty escape. His fist planted her right back on the ground. It couldn't have been Gabriel, she could see the hand when it fused into her cheekbone.

He was her ex, he was Dave. But how could he be here now? But she realised this wasn't Murphy's basement. She was back home, her childhood home. By the time she could get up onto her knees down came his belt. Stomping her back to the wooden panels of her old bedroom floor. He repeated to hit her once ripping through her flesh, twice ripping a chunk of her skin off and the third drew blood from deep within her skin. Her scowling howls of help fell on death ears, and the louder she got, the harder he whipped.

Her face was now skinless, big meaty chunks started to fall off and crash into the ocean.

“ I imagined this since you died, rehearsed the speech repeatedly, and know I can’t find the words, it figures.”

She just stared, It did not seem like she registered his speech. the only source of light was from that hopeful bulb, Murphy glanced over at it, but as his head followed his eyes her arm twisted round out of its socket and crushed the bulb in her grasp. Shards of hopeless glass reach deep and draw blood to the surface. In a ghostly hollowed voice

“I blame you Michael, that guilt you feel is nothing to what you put me through.”

No one had called him Michael in years, he kind of forgot that was his name. He blamed himself, who wouldn't? Before her heart failed there were a lot of vicious arguments. A lot caused by him, and she knew how to dig deep right into his core, she wielded the key to his repressed dark abyss. On that dreary final night, they both attended an acquaintances anniversary party. One of those venomous arguments occurred and she threatened Murphy with divorce. It was not a surprise to him as this was not the first time she threatened finishing their marriage. hell she had left him many times before this one. she always came crawling back though. As he coursed her off under his breath she fell, and her heart started to fail. The cardiac arrest took her life.

Tears dropped from his cheek, the abyss rippled as it absorbed them. She hadn't laid a single finger on him, but she stabbed much deeper. Psychological warfare, the image of her rotting corpse, and those words ate away at his brain.

“Is there any hope?” He muttered.


He was still working on her back with his belt. Her view had returned, but her mind had fell dozy from the pain.

“Why? I’m sorry if I angered you.”



he didn't listen, he was in a state of red rage. She thought about his mother, how she always blamed her for Dave, she was usually the cause. if he had spoke with her while she was high off Heroin he would come home and see red. She remembered her thought every time. Mother like son, they both use belts. She never tried to fight back, not once. which was not like her. She always stood her ground. But Dave he was similar to her father, to man who owned these very walls she was now trapped in. She would rather be in a room with Hitler and Bin laden than be with that man again, her daddy. But as his face flashed into her mind, she looked up and he was stood next to Dave. That stench on him, smoke and ale from the Porks Rib Tavern. His signature baseball bat in hand. She tried to scream but she had no air left to voice her angst. They both started to slam down with force, crushing her mattered up meat sack of a body.


Only Magpies skull remained, Her face now floated in the abyss. Murphy eyes started to water like a starved orphan child. Around him was pure darkness. He could barely make out the bone of a face. But he could feel the slices of flesh beneath him, and the chunky meat still floating over.

“There’s no hope.”

Her jaw bone clashed with her skull. oddly, her mouth couldn't quite mimic speech.

“This is your grave, Here together we can rot in peace.”

Many demons slept below. They had bided their time here, grew strong. Because Murphy gave them a repressed haven, a place to grow. If they got a hold of him they would never let go. There hands moved closer and closer, they rose from the sea. Murphy closed his eyes, like a scared child hiding from a bump in the night. Before everything faded to black, his whole life flashed in an instant. First played the most forgotten childhood. The wedding was next and many years happily married. Not to forget those dark final years and as it raced past in fast forward, the film hit pause. it reached a certain point. A strange knock at the door, late at night. He watched it over and over on repeat. How she walked into his life and how all hell came with her. But that did not matter, when he thought of her there was hope. He didn't need the remnants of that hopeful light bulb no more. in that moment he stood to face death in the eye's. Light burst from within him and the abyss lit up as clear as a summers day. But Magpie's drooling corpse had gone and in her place stood Gabriel burning into ashes. It was the first time Murphy had seen the ghosts true image, well what he could see of the molten eruption of what was Gabriel.

Her bones had been shattered to rubble, skin ripped and blood pulsed. But on purpose, her face was left intact. So she could record every moment in her crashing mind. the rotten yet warm stench of her battered body, every crack in every bone stuck in her ears. Her final questions, why did I let them do it? She never stood up to her father, she never snapped at Dave. In her final breath she said

“If I’m to d-(cough)-die here tonight, if..... my last breath, then not without saying...”




The abyss around him started to evaporate, around him was a mist of steam. Although his vision was blurred he could make out her figure, and stood above her was Gabriel.

Her breath was running low, there was no blood pumping through her vains, but with every essence of life she had left in her she would finish what she began to say

“I used to believe; I deserved the beatings.... Know I real... (Cough) Fuck you!”

Before her eyes closed and faded to black, the bat and whip still digging through her disfigured form, far in the vast she could see a mist, and the last image was him, his hopeful figure running towards her, it was Murphy. As he broke the misty barrier a ray of light broke through and eradicated both of Cheryl's darkest demons. In there place stood Gabriel. Cheryl stood up, there was no blood, no broken bones. Her scars still remained but she preferred that. She watched as the hollowed figure of Gabriel spontaneously combusted into thin air.



They both opened their eyes and looked over at each other, and smiled. The cold cobweb infested cave had manifested around them. However all was not good as Gabriel also had reappeared, above Cheryl. Murphy rushed up to his feet and grabbed a snapped plank that used to attached to a broom. He swung for the faceless beast, but it just floated right through the cloak. The cloak arms lifted, as if to follow his movement. The sharpened knife, rusty saw and the blunt axe followed his movement and levitated. As Gabrielle's arms dropped the tools shot across the room. He managed to dodge the knife and he barely got out of the way of the saw. But the axe chopped right through Murphy's left ear. It hung on by a thread of skin, He held it in place with his hand. Gabriel forced himself on top of Cheryl. He pushed his energy into her, Murphy could see the darkness pour into her. While the blood trickled down his arm, he rushed towards the box. Gabriel in shock released from Cheryl but he was an instant to late and could not grab Murphy in time. He inserted the key, Gabriel used all of his might and forced it towards Murphy in one final hurricane. Murphy closed his eyes and turned the key.

A few seconds passed by, and that force had not connected with him. When he once again looked upon the cave, the sun glared hopefully through that tiny window. he could hear birds chiming melodies outside. Once again grabbing a hold of his torn ear. There eyes connected, but neither of them spoke. They did not need words to speak the peace, It was in the air, the tension had dropped. But in that moment he remembered the cold truth, and his eyes glanced towards the ground. Thomas, Richard and Harry. They were gone for good. But before he could snowball into a cloud of grief, a finger appeared beneath his chin. It lifted his head towards hers

“Thank you, thank you,”

As his lips moved to smile they were met by hers. In a moment of madness they both found sanity.


6 Months Onwards, the countryside blossomed. Murphy was beginning a new quest that once again involved a key. He heard a knock on the door, upon opening there stood Cheryl. They shared hellos and he passed her a key, one that was a copy for his home.

“You sure about this mike? Letting me move in. We've only been together a few month, you know what I mean?”

Beside her was a wall of suitcases, packed to the brim of clothes. Even if he wanted to he could not say no. The both dragged the numerous amounts of cases through the hallway. Murphy took one glance through to his office, not one statue had spoken since that night. The night they both met.

There was a river not to far from the countryside where Murphy lived. it lead into a dank vice ridden Village called Morcastle. It had been a slow journey but one purple box was heading downstream to such a town. Dodging the rapids, this time a stroke of bad luck as the purple box collided with the rocky riverbed. The lock shattered into a selection of pieces and the box burst open. The water around turned into a dark oozing goo. More darkness than Gabrielle and his brothers, heading straight for the Morcastle Sewage systems.

© Copyright 2019 matty6666. All rights reserved.

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