West Park Asylum

Ian’s eyes flutter open and he groans at the sight of the boring ceiling overhead. He can see the early afternoon shadows stretching across the walls of his room and hears other patients outside in the garden. A steady breeze is drifting through the window and heading out the open door, the sight of which gives him some relief. There is a dull pain in his arm and it gets worse whenever he tries to move the limb. It takes him a few seconds to notice the intravenous bag that he is connected to. A gentle hand touches his skin and carefully removes the needle, pressing the gauze to stop the minor bleeding.

“What happened to me?” Ian asks, his memories of the morning foggy and jumbled. A band of soreness across his stomach reminds him of the gurney, but he is unable to recall anything more than one hitting him. “I remember Rich having an episode at breakfast. Then I went into the hallway and . . . everything gets fuzzy after that. Maybe I got hit by something.”

“Mr. Garrett struck you in the head with his tray and you stumbled out of the cafeteria before falling into a gurney,” the orderly explains while she tapes the gauze down. Her dark brown hair acts as a curtain, preventing the patient from seeing her face. “It appears your time in the solitary ward and your stress have made you temporarily anemic. Probably something to do with your blood pressure, but I’m not really sure. I haven’t read much on it and I’m still trying to finish my degree. Try having some orange juice and a few cookies. Dr. Rutherford wants you to join the other residents for dinner in a few hours.”

“In that case, I’ll get some fresh-”

The pewter penguin dangling from the orderly’s neck causes Ian to lose his voice. When she turns to check him for signs of an anxiety attack, he gets a clear look at her familiar face. Even though there is no reason for her to be in Raven’s Hold, he has no doubt that he is looking at his sister. The staff uniform has a few indistinct stains and is frayed around the collar, signs that at least her clothing has been around for a while. The woman blushes at his piercing gaze and goes to clean up the medical supplies that are spread out on the floor.

“Why are you here, Carla?” Ian asks when he can talk again.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” she responds while bringing him some water. She checks his pulse and frowns at the rapidly beat. “My name is Gina and we’ve met before. I’ve escorted you to some outdoor activities and watched you in the common room. It’s only been in passing, so I’m not surprised that you don’t remember me.”

“You look exactly like my sister,” the confused patient states before draining his glass. A dull pain starts behind his eyes, forcing him to lie down again. “She even has the same necklace, which I bought her when we were kids. This has to be some kind of trick. Are you in on some prank that’s meant to make me feel better?”

Gina takes a seat near his feet and puts some pills in his hand, tenderly closing his fingers around them. “You’re disoriented from having a difficult week and the blow to the head. If you think about what you’re saying then you will realize that it’s impossible for her to be in Raven’s Hold. All patients are invited and all staff members are handpicked by Dr. Rutherford. The location of this institution is a well-guarded secret. You sister could only get here if she was invited and we never allow family on the premises. There are too many liability risks. So you can see how you’re mistaken.”

“There is no way you look exactly like my sister and not be her.”

“I’m sure there are differences.”

Frustrated with the situation, Ian storms out of the room and slams the door behind him. He takes a final glance through the window at Gina, who is staring at him in disbelief. It is an expression that he remembers seeing countless times throughout his life. As nausea begins to overtake him, Ian wants to put as much distance between himself and his room as he possibly can. He jogs into the garden and takes a deep breath of the fresh air, the flowers filling his nose with a sweet scent. Taking a seat on the nearest bench, he puts his head between his legs and lets a panic attack overtake him.

“I have a new toy,” the ghost cackles, earning no reaction from its shuddering victim. “I guess this round goes to me.”