West Park Asylum

Ian quietly stares at the ceiling of his room, the moonlight casting shadows across the white surface. His left hand rolls the pill that he pretended to take at dinner, the gel coating sticking to his skin after being in his mouth. Curious and bored, he flicks the medicine at the ceiling and watches it get stuck. After the tour and trying to make new friends, Ian is too exhausted to panic and figures he can take care of it in the morning. Rolling onto his side, he buries his head under the pillows when someone starts screaming down the hall. The sound is cut off by the bang of a door, which plunges Raven’s Hold into an eerie silence.

A gentle buzz stirs Ian from his sleep and he groggily rolls out of bed to go in search of what he thinks is an alarm clock. It takes a few minutes for him to regain his senses and remember that he is no longer in his old apartment. Rubbing his eyes, Ian gathers his fallen covers and pauses when he notices that the back wall of his room is missing. A vast forest filled with fireflies is spread before him, the trees’ roots coming up to the edge of the tiled floor. He takes a seat on his bed and watches as a flock of blue-eyed birds erupt from the branches. Their numbers envelope the full moon for a second and leave it as a crescent that resembles a sideways grin. Crickets begin to sing, but stop as soon as Ian groans his dislike of their tune.

“This is an odd dream,” he whispers while getting comfortable in his bed. The sound of crinkling glass makes him turn his head to watch the wall reform. “I guess I was supposed to keep watching. I’ll remember that for the next time.”

“Why are you here?” asks a disembodied voice.

“To get better,” Ian replies, playing along with the dream. “I can’t function with normal people. Not that I’m dangerous, but being around them hurts me. So I want to get back to the person I used to be. At least as close as I can get.”

“No fun in normal,” the voice replies with a chuckle. “Never any fun in normal.”

“Maybe so, but there’s no fun in being alone.”

The air gets thicker as whatever is behind the voice hums to itself and considers Ian’s answer. A rhythmic tapping is on the window where a shadow hand is drumming on the glass, its fingers leaving misty prints. The ceiling turns black and drips grinning faces that float through the door like spectral bubbles. Each one pops to unleash a child-like giggle that sends a shudder down Ian’s spine. The vibrations get stronger and his jaw locks, both signs that he is on the verge of a panic attack. Desperate to get out of the dream, he closes his eyes and tries to focus on waking up before it is too late. Sunlight appears in the distance and races toward the room, washing away all of the shadows and jolting Ian back to consciousness.

“That was close,” he gasps while holding out his quivering arm. His pillow is drenched in sweat and his chest has a faint line of blood from a long scratch. “At least I had enough control to get out of there before it got bad. Guess I pushed myself too much today. Need to go easier tomorrow and keep my stress down. Probably should have taken my medication to be safe. Maybe it’s not too late.”

Ian glances at the ceiling and notices the pill is no longer stuck. Assuming it fell onto his bed, he half-heartedly searches the covers and the floor. He stops when his hand touches the dried remains of the gel coating, but none of the medicine is inside. Examining the brittle remains, Ian swears it reminds him of how one would autopsy a body. The slits are precise and show no sign of the coating being crushed. In fact, he is sure this is in better condition than when he last saw it, so it is probably something left behind by the previous tenant. Tossing the husk into a wastebasket, Ian tries his best to go back to sleep.