Doctor, Surgeon (Bday writing!)

She walked into the house. It was a house of her own, she had bought it six years ago the day right after she graduated from medical school. Her house was a fine-carved victorian-style mansion made of marble. As you can tell, she is a doctor and a (perilous) surgeon. Being the surgeon she is, she would be perilous and take her dead ancestors from their grave and operate on them. All her money was gone, so she lived very, very cheaply. Instead of hiring a maid, she would let spiderwebs grow on the dark corners of the walls. Instead of owning new polished iron tools, she would buy old, rusty needles and knives from the second-hand shop. Every single day after work at the nearby hospital, she would go back to her house in front of the oak forest, race upstairs to the room beside where she "drifts to dreams" and begin cutting. Today was a new day. She would use her repertoire. She put on her mask, her gloves, and took the rusty, bloody utensils and began cutting her *dead patient prudently. Blood spill. Maroon drips of the rusty-smelling blood was spilling and the organs were "sick". She cut and cut, and she found new copious treasures to study about.

It was 8 PM. She was tired. Tired of all the rust, the smell, the pain, the incredulous blood. She needed to prepare her tools and her "doctors bag" for tomorrow. She prudently stuffed her papers in her bag and began walking up the marble stairs. Then, she heard the sound of dripping water. Dripping continuously. The mansion was big, but it was extremely quiet. You could hear her breathing at that time. Dripping water. She remembered she turned off her tap water in the morning. She ran up  to find that blood was flowing from the surgeon room. She opened the door. The smell of rusty blood filled the room. The blood came from the tiled floor to the carpet on the second floor. She went to the bathroom to get tissues. When she walked in, she saw a broken mirror on the floor and blood all over the bathtub. "I must be seeing things." She whispered. But, she wasn't. She felt like she had shouted a clamor, the mansion was so quiet. She felt her forehead to check if she was sufferring from an illness. No, no illness. She turned the tap water on to leave tap water running hurriedly to clean the blood on the bathtub. She then went to clean the blood from the surgeon room. When she looked up, the patient was gone, leaving blood and a surreal beating heart on the surgeon's stool. She screamed. Bloody hands and knives in her pockets, she ran to the front door of her house. 10 PM. It was dark. Why did time run so quickly? She thought it was only 9. She was very fearful, but with the heart in her hand (literally), she had to kill the patient and put the beating heart back to replace the demonized heart. She ran upstairs. Blood everywhere, and apparitions of a live hand crawling on the carpet. She stepped on it and ran to find the patient. She looked in her bedroom, the surgeon room, and all the other spiderwebbed-filled guest rooms, and the bathroom. She double-checked to find the stoic-looking patient in the darkest guest room.