West Park Asylum

The small town of Crow’s Landing sits on the coast of Oregon and is like nothing Carla has ever seen before. Being used to large cities and suburbs, the quaint town makes her feel as if she has stepped back in time. All of the buildings are made of wood and brick in a cape style that she remembers seeing while driving through the more rural areas of her home state. The cobblestone roads force her to park the rental car in the only lot she can find, which has plenty of empty spaces. Carla realizes that there are very few vehicle and she has yet to see a gas station. She comes to the conclusion that most of the people here are from other towns and they only come to Crow’s Landing to dock their ships. Such a situation would explain why there are very few residential houses, each building proving to be a business. Everything from the grocery to the store to the inn are of the same architectural style and the only differences are the signs that hang over the doors.

Reaching the docks, Carla is disappointed to find that every vessel is a simple rowboat. All of the information that Mr. Orson gave her said that Raven’s Hold is on a nearby island, which means she needs to get a ride. Only a few locals are nearby, but they give her a glare whenever it looks like she is about to approach. With no idea where to start her search, Carla wanders the streets and keeps an eye out for anyone that looks friendly. The drab-colored clothes of the townsfolk combine with their dour expressions to make her consider sleeping in her car and stealing a boat at night.

“I have not come this far to be undone by the town that time forgot,” Carla whispers as she sits on a bench and rubs her aching feet. Waving to a passing mother and child, she glances in the direction of the ocean and rubs her thumb along her necklace. “This place was nearly impossible to find. I don’t even get cellphone service out here, so I can’t call Mr. Orson for help. Maybe I can find a landline around here, but that would require finding a friendly local. Carla, you may have gotten yourself into big trouble this time.”

Her attention is drawn to a group of kids that are wearing bright t-shirts, each one depicting a character that she recognizes. The smiling and laughing pack stand out in the depressing little town, which makes the weary stranger decide to follow them. None of the kids notice the woman following them as they head down a side street and enter a building with a door that is adorned with a rainbow mural. A sign swings in the wind, the golden coin picture still as vivid as when it was first painted. Something about the style of the drawings is familiar to Carla, but she cannot put her finger on the memory. With no other ideas, she takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, a cacophony of noise hitting her in the ears.

Electronic sounds are erupting around Carla while she lets the door close and takes in the sight of the brightly lit arcade. Famous video game characters are painted on the walls and ceiling, including a few from the modern home systems. Stunned by the unexpected discovery, she sees pinball machines to her left and air hockey tables to her right. On the other side of the maze of games stands a counter that kids rush to with their tickets, the younger ones never collecting enough to get any of the big prizes. The smell of fresh pizza is in the air even though Carla cannot see the distant kitchen. All of her childhood memories come flowing back and she finds herself tempted to find the nearest token machine.

“I’ll bring Ian here when I get my hands on him,” the smiling woman whispers as she heads for the prize counter. Weaving through the mob of happy children and teens, Carla pauses at the sight of one of the games. “I thought this one was only for home systems. Even the buttons are the same as a controller. Wonder when they started making stuff like this.”

“What’s a home system?” one the younger kids asks, his mouth full of greasy pizza. He grunts and shoves another kid away while pointing at the token sitting on the machine. “I’m next so find another game. You know the rules.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re in a small town, but big cities don’t have many arcades like this,” Carla explains as she examines an unused machine. The graphics on the screen are a little cruder than she remembers, but she recognizes the game from one that her daughters play on rainy days. “We play these games at home where we can save our progress and come back whenever we want. Not really sure how to explain it since this place is pretty strange. Again, I never knew some of these games were available for arcades.”

“If it’s only about saving then we can do that here and just put in the code to get to our files,” the boy answers as his attention drifts back to his token. He gets a cup off the floor to take a long drink of soda, his foot impatiently tapping on the carpet. “Besides, arcades are more pure and special than home systems. If you can play whenever you want then there’s nothing to stop you from escaping reality all the time. So good kids that want to succeed would never get something like one of these home systems you’re talking about. Maybe you want your children to be failures and not know the difference between hallucinations and the real world. After all, nobody important ever became successful with their head in the clouds.”

Unnerved by the boy’s speech, Carla backs away and continues heading for the prize counter. Now that she is less enamored with the arcade, she notices that there are no adults and all of the laughing children have a serious look on their faces. It is a stern glimmer in their eyes that puts her on edge and makes her walk faster to where she hopes to find an employee. Carla releases a long held breath when she sees the man in a yellow shirt and a hat with floppy elephant ears on the sides. With a bellowing voice, he congratulates every child for their haul of tickets and happily gets them the prize of their choice. Most of them ask for candy or tiny toys that will probably be lost by the end of the week. Only a few of the older kids have saved enough tickets for the more interesting prizes that adorn the back wall.

“Thank you for coming and good luck on your next game,” the elephant hat man says to a teen who walks away with a plush raven. With no other customers, his sparkling eyes fall on the stranger at the far end of the counter. “You’re new here, which is something I don’t get to say that often. I don’t see any little ones, so I’m going to guess you’re lost and need directions. Not that Crow’s Landing is a hard place to navigate.”

“Actually, I have two daughters at home and I’m sure that would love to visit a place like this,” Carla replies with a warm smile that hides her nervousness. She moves away from the glass case to allow a little girl to pick a favorite candy, but she frowns and disappears to win more tickets. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Carla Nash and I’m kind of passing through. My brother is in an institution called Raven’s Hold and he told me that it’s near this town. I haven’t been able to find it on any map and I’ve been searching all day. Do you happen to know where I can find this place? I believe it’s run by a woman named Dr. Grace Rutherford.”

“You mean the looney bin where the really broken souls go to either get fixed or never be seen again?” the man bluntly replies, his chubby fingers drumming on the counter. Even though his grin widens, there is a definite shift in his friendly demeanor. “It used to be an island manor of the founders of Crow’s Landing and several other local villages. Nothing really special about it until that doctor took over and made her asylum. Strange things started happening here soon after that like wandering shadows and pets disappearing. All of the crows that gave us our town its name have flown away. Then again, we have a lot of coyotes that would eat pets and be mistaken for ghosts at night. No explanation for the birds though, so we can assume that has something to do with the island.”

Carla’s lips twitch before her smile falters and she hides her frown with a forced yawn. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t slept much. That’s the place my brother is and I’d really like to visit him or even take him home. His family is worried since he never contacts us. Do you know of a boat I can borrow or rent?”

“Are you sure he wants to return home?” the arcade owner inquires while handing a lollipop to a little girl. He pats the child on the head and squeezes a pump that makes a felt horn rise out of the front of his hat. “That was a poor question since you’re only concerned. I can give you a ship, but it wouldn’t be free. A two person rowboat is one of our grand prizes and will only cost you three million tickets.”

“I don’t have the time or patience for that,” the frustrated woman claims with a groan of defeat. The clanging of a bell shakes the building and she hears several machines unleash a flood of tickets that the kids greedily gather. “What just happened? Did the games just give a payday for no reasons?”

“There’s a random jackpot once a week where three million tickets are emptied out of the machines. Guess you just missed your chance,” the man says while offering a plastic dragonfly ring. He takes off his hat and scratches his balding head, the sight of the exhausted money tugging at his heartstrings. “I can see how the timing on that is cruel. Seems karma is out to mess with you, so I’d be careful. In fact, you might want to turn back and leave your brother in Raven’s Hold. Trust me when I say that him being there is for the best. Still, you look like a determined woman. Go to the docks and ask for Kyle Stevenson. He rents boats by the day and he might even be willing to sell you one cheap if you aren’t picky.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” Carla says, her voice filled with relief. She lets the man escort her to the exit, but her hand stops on the doorknob. “By the way, what are your hours? I am thinking of bringing my brother here when we come through again. He might get upset if I show this place to him and you’re only open for an hour.”

“We’re open twenty four hours a day, but closed on Mondays to restock everything. Have a safe journey, Mrs. Nash,” the owner claims with a proud smile. He pushes the door open and watches the woman leave, his eyes taking in the overcast. “Dang. Looks like it’s going to rain soon.”