West Park Asylum

Ian swears the white tables and matching chairs are the only type available to psychiatric institutions. The bland furniture is kept by the windows that are cracked open to allow for a soothing breeze. A trio of couches sit near a television that sits silently against the wall, its remote mysteriously embedded in the ceiling. Books and puzzles are kept in a corner, the entire collection damaged and worn by years of abuse. Aside from there being no locks or bars on the windows, the room looks like every other communal area that Ian has ever seen during his various hospital stays. Even the white clothing is the same, which makes him wonder when he will get his own. Standing next to Dr. Rutherford in his jeans and long-sleeved shirt makes him feel exposed and foreign to the residents who are staring at him.

A repetitive click draws everyone’s attention to the corner where a bald man is fiddling with an old camera. He cranks a dial on one end of the object and hits the button to take a picture even though Ian is sure there is no film inside. Only once does the patient raise the camera to his face, aiming it at the newcomer and taking his time with the shot. Noticing that he is being watched, the man sheepishly stands and goes to the window. His movements are quicker as he rapidly takes pictures of everything outside and lets the sound of the camera drown out the rest of the world.

“That’s Mr. Garrett who came to us last month,” Grace whispers, allowing the other residents to examine Ian from a distance. When she is sure they have had enough time, she raises her hand for attention. “This is Mr. Connors and he just joined us. I hope all of you make him feel welcomed and help him acclimate to his new home. He will be joining tomorrow’s group session, so those in his group may want to introduce themselves. Now I have to do my rounds. I will have an orderly escort you to your room at the end of the day, Mr. Connors.”

“Wait. You can’t just leave me here,” Ian says before he can stop himself. Embarrassed by his outburst, he lowers his head and mumbles his words. “I thought you were going to be here for longer introductions since I don’t know anybody. This may sound immature and childish, but I don’t want to upset anyone by accident.”

“Then let them make the first move,” the doctor replies with a smile. She cleans her glasses on her sleeve while she thinks of a suggestion for the young man. “Perhaps you want to start by making friends with Mr. Garrett. He is one of our more mild-mannered patients and his more recent arrival can help you connect. Good luck and I will check in with you if I have time tonight.”

Ian tries to cough up a response, but Grace is out of the room before he can think of anything. With no other ideas, he tries to walk to where Mr. Garrett is taking pictures from the window. A grinning brunette steps in Ian’s path and leans forward to stare at his face, her hazel eyes holding an intensity that makes him back away. The young woman moves closer and puts her head to his chest before knocking on his head. A curious look is on her face and she bites the tip of her thumb while listening to Ian’s rapidly beating heart.

“You’re a real boy,” she says while standing and stepping away. The woman moves her arms as if something has put its head on her shoulder and she is stroking it. “My name is Dawn and this is my unicorn. He’s nice as long as you don’t make him mad. So what’s your real name?”

“I’m Ian.”

“Not a good name.”

“Sorry. It’s the only one I have.”

Dawn eyes the orderlies before slipping a sugar cube out of her pocket and holding it out for the imaginary unicorn. “I guess that will have to do. You might not be as fun a toy as we’d wanted, but it’s too early to tell. Do you like pizza and running naked through an elementary school? What about ice cream and killing people?”

“Yes to the foods, but no to the public nudity and violence,” Ian replies, trying his best to be civil. Glancing at the woman’s hand, he notices that the sugar cube is gone. “Your unicorn is a very quiet eater. I never heard him take a bite.”

“She’s very shy,” Dawn casually replies while kissing the space that would be the beast’s head. Clicking her heels a few times, she gestures to send the unicorn away and leans on the back of a couch. “I don’t know if I’ll like you. There’s the stench of guilt and weakness in your breath, which makes me sad. Stay away from me until I’ve made my decision. If you come near me, I’ll lock you in the basement.”

Ian nods his head and continues on his way to the windows where Mr. Garrett is sitting to fix his camera. Before he can speak, the bald man points at the empty seat and goes back to fiddling with the machine’s innards. Not wanting to be rude, Ian accepts the offer and realizes that he has no idea what he should say. His attention is repeatedly stolen by Dawn, who is whistling while wandering the room. Something about the woman puts him on edge and he feels uncomfortable when he does not know where she is. Ian is sure she is keeping an eye on him even when her back is turned.

“I don’t know why, but I find her unnerving,” Mr. Garrett says in a low voice. He closes the camera and aims it at the ceiling before taking a few pictures. “Dawn has been here for about five years and I doubt she’ll ever get out. She’s too enamored with her own hallucinations and she’s practically the queen of Raven’s Hold. Dr. Rutherford always mentions that she sees Dawn as a failure, but I think there’s more to it. By the way, you can call me Rich. You said your name was Ian, right?”

“Keen ears, Rich,” Ian replies with a small chuckle. The friendly tone of the other man helps put him at ease, but there is still a twinge of anxiety that keeps his back stiff. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what to say. It seems rude to ask what you’re in here for. Nice camera. Do you have any film?”

“Only the roll in my mind,” Rich replies, placing the machine on his lap. “I’m not insane like the rest of you. Sorry, but it’s safe to assume that’s the reason you’re here. Nothing against people like you, but I’m a prisoner here. You see, I came to Raven’s Hold to write an article on Dr. Rutherford and her methods. It was going to be a week of interviews and tours. Then things went . . . wrong.”

“Obviously,” Ian replies, remembering hearing similar stories in his past. Not wanting to upset the other man, he nods his head and leans back in his chair. “I guess you stumbled onto a big secret and they don’t want you to leave. Are they experimenting on the patients? Is there a darker reason that we’re not allowed in the forest?”

Rich stares at his new friend in surprise and fiddles with the camera lens. “The forest? No, we’re not allowed there because of what happened six months ago. A group of patients went out there and committed suicide. I believe there were four of them and it was some type of ritual thing that they came up with. The only people willing to talk about it are the other patients and who can believe what they say. Anyway, the real secret of Raven’s Hold is that it’s haunted. I mean truly infected by ghosts or demons.”

“And they don’t want you to reveal the truth.”

“Would you want the public to know that?”

“I can see how it would be a problem.”

“This is why I’m not allowed on the computer. They’re afraid I’ll talk.”

Finding himself at a loss for words, Ian rubs his arms by slipping his hands under his sleeves. His eagle-eyed companion still catches sight of a few scars and does a terrible job of hiding his curiosity. Not wanting to share his story, the younger man blushes and gazes out of the window. He is thankful that Rich remains quiet and goes back to taking pictures of random objects. Seeing how the other patients move and act, Ian admits to himself that his new friend stands out. If it was not for the use of a filmless camera, he would readily believe the story about being a trapped reporter. Then again, the idea of a haunted asylum makes him think he is dealing with a man who has fallen into his own delusions.

“You’ll see something is wrong when night comes,” Rich says as if sensing the doubt in Ian’s mind. With a groan, he stands and stretches his arms until the shoulders pop. “Need some fresh air. I’ll see you at group tomorrow.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Rich nods and pats his new friend on the shoulder as he heads for a door, the orderly searching him before letting him out. Turning back to the window, Ian falls out of his chair when he comes face to face with Dawn. The brunette is leaning on the sill, her legs dangling outside while she supports her weight with her toned arms. Before her strength gives out, she crawls onto the table and sits in front of Ian, her legs crossed in front of her. Practically bending in half, she puts her forehead against the young man’s hair and mutters incoherently.

“You’re not a toy,” Dawn whispers while sliding off the table. She kneels next to Ian’s chair and reaches up to stroke his cheek, her face filled with concern. “You’re a wounded puppy. Poor thing is so damaged that it shouldn’t be alive. Don’t worry, little puppy. Raven’s Hold will take very good care of you.”

“Thanks,” the young man replies, frozen in place by her touch.

“Welcome to your new home, little puppy.”