Legends of Windemere

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.”

West Park Asylum

Rubbing his dark blue eyes and yawning, Ian Connors stares out the windows of Grace’s office. The new arrival is still curious as to why Raven’s Hold sent him a brochure, but he is no longer nervous. A brief tour of the school has helped him get over his fear that this is some kind of scam. Even though the interior is bland, the young man is impressed with the elegant surroundings that remind him of a resort. Not that he is any good at sports, but it is nice to know such amenities are available during his stay. Ian can already sense his staggering depression weaken and takes a deep breath that feels like it is the first one he has enjoyed in years. His mood falters when it falls on one of the scars on his arm, a harsh reminder of the reason he has been invited to the island.

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity, Dr. Rutherford,” Ian says, forcing a smile toward the patient doctor. He shifts in his chair while figuring out where to put his hands, settling for folding them in his lap. “I really want to get my life back together. Though, what you explained during the tour makes me think I don’t really belong here. You described some hard luck situations. I’m only depressed.”

“And yet your condition makes it difficult to get to work every day and hold onto any relationship,” Grace replies while tapping her pen on the desk. Leaning back in her chair, the doctor lets her knuckles touch the beak of a bronze raven on her bookcase. “Mr. Connors, I handpick every patient. Some I take on because I feel they are being failed by the more standard methods. Others, like yourself, I invite because they have given up on improving and I see that it is possible. You were whole once and you can be again.”

“That’s oddly poetic for a doctor. Not really professional either,” Ian cynically replies before he can stop himself. A flicker of guilt causes him to scowl and he stares at his knees. “I’m sorry about that, ma’am. That was rude and you’re only trying to help. People haven’t been the nicest to me since they think I’m holding onto my sadness for attention. So I occasionally react poorly to those that try to lend me a hand.”

“That reaction is more common than you think, Mr. Connors,” the doctor says, her smile never faltering. She rocks forward to push a clipboard across the desk and rolls a pen toward her new patient. “I need you to fill out these forms before I introduce you to our other residents. A few incidents have happened over these least five years, so we need to be on the safe side. I’m telling you this to create a bond of trust and honesty. As you stated, our patients tend to be hard luck cases and it occasionally results in violent outbursts. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Though your history requires that we keep you away from sharp objects until we are sure you won’t harm yourself.”

“I understand. The psych ward I was in after my first breakdown had the same rules.”

“You’ll find we operate similarly to such places, but with a bit more freedom.”

Not entirely understanding what the doctor is talking about, Ian decides to nod and focus on the paperwork. The forms are the same ones he has filled out at every medical facility that he has been brought to over the last three years. Completing them is practically second nature, so he stalls by pretending to think of the answers. Ian takes in the sight of the office with its leather couch, rows of books, and a gurgling water cooler. A small refrigerator is in the corner with a lock on the door and a few colorful magnets adorning the sides. For the first time, he notices several ravens scattered about the room. Some are statues and bookends while others are plush toys, making him guess that Grace named her institution after her favorite animal.

Peering out the window, Ian tries to catch a glimpse of the other patients who he can hear outside. His hand swerves and leaves a long mark across the top form when one of the distant voices starts imitating a screaming child. With his arms shuddering, the young man practically tosses the clipboard and pen onto the desk. His breathing is staggered and he could swear that something is pressing on his shoulders. An icy breeze coils through the open window and caresses his face, the scent of roses making his mouth go dry. It takes several minutes for him to calm down and reach a quivering hand to reclaim the unfinished forms.

“It appears you have more than depression,” Grace mentions while she gets the young man some water. She places the small cup at the edge of her desk, letting Ian choose to accept the drink when he is ready. “You’ve done a very good job of hiding your anxiety from your previous doctors. I can see that it is triggered by anything that would remind you of your son. Unless you mentioned it or a child happened to be in the office, your panic attacks would never have come up during therapy. The only reason I know is because I read all of the questionnaires that you’ve filled out over the last few years.”

“It’s what I deserve for failing them,” Ian replies as he takes a few sips of water. With shaking hands, he finishes his paperwork and drops it on the floor. “I called in sick whenever there was a baby shower or bring your kids to work day. Television and movies were watched alone in case there was a scene that I couldn’t handle. I don’t even remember the last time I saw my nieces. So, how did you figure it out considering my answers on those questionnaires were meant to focus on my depression and suicide?”

“It’s because your answers were perfect and identical across the board,” the doctor points out with the hint of a smirk. Taking the clipboard, she flips through to forms to make sure all of them are signed. “These are things we can discuss in our sessions. You may even want to bring it up during group therapy, which you will start tomorrow. For now, I want to bring you to the common room where you can meet some of our patients. Use today to grow accustomed to your new surroundings and make some friends.”

“Can I go into the forest?”

“That area is off-limits to all patients.”

Ian shrugs and finishes his water while Grace puts the forms in his file and straightens her desk. Feeling better about his future at Raven’s Hold, the young man goes back to silently staring out the window. He has a clear view of a tennis court, which is being used by a small group of his fellow residents. The back and forth movements are mesmerizing, so he never notices the squirrels gathering in a nearby tree. Leaning on the windowsill, Ian makes himself an easy target for the rodents to pelt him with acorns. The unwarranted attack stops when a bird shrieks from the roof and startles the chattering animals. As the squirrels scamper down the tree and into the distant forest, a winged shadow passes over the tennis courts. Ian tries to get a clear look at the bird, but it always manages to remain hidden by leaves or the bright sun. When clouds move to cut off the blinding beams of light, the shadow is gone and its feathered owner is nowhere to be seen.

“Some of the wildlife can be aggressive, which is another reason you are not allowed in the forest,” Grace mentions, bending down to pick up an acorn. She flicks it out the window and pushes her glasses up her nose. “Many of the animals are cautious around us because a few of our former residents harassed, tortured, and killed them. I trust you won’t do anything like that since you aren’t the type. More likely to hurt yourself than another living creature. I apologize, Mr. Connors. I keep analyzing you instead of doing what I promised. Please follow me to the common room.”

“Can I get another cup of water?” Ian asks, hoping to delay the inevitable. The tapping of Grace’s foot causes him to bow his head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, but I’m nervous and my mouth feels dry. I can drink it on the way if you prefer.”

Standing by the door, the doctor gestures for Ian to get a drink from the water cooler. He hurries to grab a paper cone and tries to fill the simple cup, but nothing comes out of the spout. A constant gurgling shakes the jug and nearly knocks it off the base. The old machine stops its rocking and releases a few spurts of water before shuddering a final time. Disappointed, Ian gulps down the small drink and crushes the cone. He leaps away when the spout falls onto the floor and the contents of the water cooler empties onto the carpeting.

“I’ve been meaning to get a new one anyway,” Grace says as she takes out her phone and sends a message to the office staff. “A janitor will take care of that before it seeps through. It isn’t the first time I’ve had a spill in here.”

“Why do things break around me?”

The blonde doctor sighs and holds the door open for the young man. “Coincidences and bad luck, which happens to all of us. The trick is to work through those periods and not create a downward spiral. It’s easy to let one mistake compound into a life-ruining disaster. That is the situation that brought you here, Mr. Connors, and I believe it is time you met the people who will know what you’re going through.”