March 17, 2023 - March 18, 2023
The sky was a near-black serenity mingled to a fantasy of stars. My eyes couldn't help snacking on its beauty. A sense of calm and smoothness alleviated my body and brain to rest and let my heart beat at its steady rhythm, and it was the just what the doctor ordered. Night was a reward of sorts, tranquility above me that brought a peace to my soul. It was a soothing stillness I needed before going into the asylum. It was a special kind of nighttime blackness, the kind that wants only to hold the stars and help them shine all the brighter. It was a warm black that hugged you like a grandma, and within its safety I could feel my own soul all the more clearly: My soul wanted a thrill.
Unfortunately, I'd underestimated the cold tonight, which wasn't like me at all. I think highly of myself as an organized and prepared person, but I dropped that ball hard today. The night air was slicing away the heat from my body faster than it could be replaced. I could've turned back, of course, but then Blake and I would miss out on a rare opportunity to search the asylum. Crickets chirped all around us in an unsynchronized rhythm. An ever so slight breeze tickled at my neck and rustled the nearby forest. In the vast area, a stream trickled in the distance, barely audible.
"Troy, over here."
I heard Blake's voice on the outskirts of the ten meter tall, metal-gated fence. It jingled as he pushed his way into a cut-out opening. He was soon on the asylum's property, standing in the tall, uncut grass at the end of the parking lot.
I was next. As I placed my right foot through the hole, a sudden hoot from a nearby owl made me jump. I hit my head against the metal, and it clanged around me.
"Aagh!" I placed my hand on the bump on my head.
"Ssshhh!" Blake warned. "You'll alert the cop."
I looked over to see a beam of light headed our way. Quickly, I slid inside, and we both ran to a nearby bush. I was the first to jump behind it, and the leaves rustled as I got comfortable. Blake joined me, and we waited.
Why would a cop be at this abandoned place? The thought lingered in my head.
"Hello?! Who's there?" the cop shouted into the wind.
His flashlight scanned the nearby area, the light shining through the openings of the gate. We ducked as the beam neared us and waited for many seconds. We heard no footsteps to indicate he'd left. The chain fence clanged as he pushed through, and he was now moving toward us!
Clump, clump, clump!
He was coming right for our bush!
"Blake, do something!" I whispered right in his ear.
He grabbed a rock from the dirt and tossed it at the fence.
"I know you're over there!" The cop skedaddled to the fence and was soon gone.
"How did you know that would work?" I asked.
"It always works in movies." Blake shrugged. He gave me a tug on my backpack. "Come on. We should go before the night's over."
"Why would a cop even be here?" I asked as we kept moving.
"Maybe he was a guard."
"A guard? What's there to guard here?"
"I don't know, man. He's probably just a cop, like you assumed, and who really knows what the five-oh is up to?"
Blake and I crept down the massive parking lot outside the front of the asylum. The lot was a skeleton, stripped of its paint long ago due to the harsh decay of age. Most of what remained was the asphalt itself, cracked with holes throughout, like an earthquake had devastated the lot. Even many of the street lamps had fallen down, along with many trees, both now scattered and destroyed. Though the air gusts felt as fresh as any summer meadow, this was an abandoned graveyard of the unburied dead.
A nearby crow let out a coo, like in some horror movie opener. With an increase in adrenaline, my fingers and toes became jumpy. There were no cars and no people. Old newspapers tumbled around the asphalt as if they were caught in invisible laundry machines. The trees behind us creaked and shivered, straining as their limbs fought against the breezes.
According to my research, this asylum, St. Bernard Asylum, was one of the last ones in the world to close. That didn't, however, make it look any less abandoned. Windows were shattered, graffiti was spray painted against the vine-riddled walls, and the roof was chipping away. Above the battered front door, a sign was half hanging from the wall. It read, "St. Bernard Asylum."
Blake led the way, and we arrived at the metal doors, the front entrance to the abandoned institution. Blake gave the door a small shove. Nothing.
"Help me with this." He gestured to me. I lined up with him, and we prepared to slam ourselves into the door. "On go. Three. Two. One. Go!"
We ran up and threw our bodies against the freezing metal, and the front door popped open. Our momentum carried us to the floor, and we hit it hard.
Bang!
The front doors slammed against the wall and rebounded closed, sending a sharp wind in our direction. Dust filled the air and spun around the room like a miniature tornado before dispersing. Blake pushed himself off the concrete floor and dusted off the leftover dirt.
"Well, the ghosts sure know we're here now," he joked.
He helped me off the nail and debris covered floor, and I shook the dust off my clothes. Looking over my exposed skin, I saw I'd scraped myself a bit, too, with small lines of blood covering my legs and arms. The only light in the place came from the moonlight shining through a bowling ball-sized hole in the second floor ceiling.
"Hand me my flashlight," Blake said, reaching out his hand.
I set down my backpack and grabbed both our flashlights. We clicked them on, and soon had a decent light source. With our lights, we scanned the reception area. At the back right, behind the circular desk, trash and debris were piled high. Painted in crimson red was the message, "The Devil's Lobby." The chilling sight of its bloodstained lettering sent shivers down my neck. How cliché, right?
At the left corner were rusted metal, spiral stairs that led to a second floor balcony. Two doors were in sight. One, at the back, read, "Visitation Center." During my research, I'd learned that was where family members of patients could visit. It was also the room that connected to the treatment room used by patients and supervised by the staff. The other door, on the right and next to the desk, read "Employee Ward."
"Where to first?" I asked Blake.
"Let's go to the patients' wards first. I want to see where the insane people slept. Plus, I read you can sometimes hear disembodied voices up in some of the rooms."
"Cool."
I smiled at the thought of capturing a recording of an actual spirit's voice. At the thought of that, goosebumps began to pop up on my arms. As I pulled out the EVP, or Electric Voice Phenomena recorder. Blake led the way up the spiral stairs. Each step up the crooked stairs unleashed a ringing clang. The broken metal bars felt awkward in my left hand as I slowly made my way up. Blake was right in front of me. At the top of the balcony, we had to maneuver around a pile of stacked up, broken furniture to reach the door. "Treatment Center," a sign read.
We opened the door and were welcomed by more graffiti and furniture. We scanned the room with our flashlights. At the back of the room was a metal, barred door like the ones you'd see in prisons. To our right, in the corner of the room, were sectioned-off counters used to hand the patients medication. Behind the two counters, a hallway led back into the second floor of the Employee Ward.
Blake gestured for me to follow him to that part of the room. He slid over the counter and under some metal bars bent back enough to allow us to enter. We were now at the edge of the Employee Ward. He plopped himself onto the rusted chair at the center and looked at a control panel attached between the two counters. I loomed over his shoulder for a better look.
"Do you know how to open the door in the back?" I asked.
"My guess: It's the big lever. It's always the big one in movies, so--"
He pulled down the lever.
Clang!
We heard the metal door at the back unlock.
"See. Told you."
"Wait." I placed my hand on his shoulder. "Wouldn't this building still need power to do that?"
He shrugged. "I guess someone's still paying the bills."
I can't explain why, but that thought tied knots in my stomach. I mean, who would bother to pay the electric bills here? And why?
Blake flew up from his chair, sliding it back. To our right, next to the last counter, was a door that connected our area back to the Treatment Room. From our side, it was no effort at all to push open.
After making our way over to the end of the Treatment Room, we entered the Recreational Room. I could easily tell this was the common lounge for the insane to wander. Laced around the edges of the room were shelves topped with dusty decor. Closer to the center was furniture in much better condition than what we'd seen thus far. In fact, age and dust were the only wear and tear these old seats had seen. There was a jukebox and black piano to the back right, a shattered television set barely hanging on to the wall in another corner, and a few tables with game boards on top, with the pieces scattered about, sat below.
"Check it out." Blake pointed at the piano. "Do you think it works?"
"Ha, you're out of your mind."
He didn't wait to look. I followed him as he strode over to the other side of the piano. I gazed down at the musical piece of furniture, at the missing keys, and inside the cover to see the interior torn to shreds. Further back inside, a squirrel was skewered over an iron spike like a horrific kebob. Everything about the critter was stiff and ugly, eyes frozen open, teeth bared, and dried blood painting the interior of the piano.
"Ugh. That's freaking gross," Blake gagged. "Maybe we should just find an insane person's room."
He led us to the door at the back of the Recreational Room, where we found ourselves in a long hallway that either led straight or turned left. The choice was ours.
"Which way?" I asked.
"Left. I guess."
He had his flashlight over the map. I gazed down and found the hallway we were in. Straight would lead us to the Theatre Room, which marked the last and furthest room in the asylum. And since we were on the second floor, that hallway would also lead into F-Ward. Additionally, a door on the right side of the straight hallway led into the Medical Ward.
In the left hallway, we would pass a door leading into E-Ward before the hallway would end at a door leading into D-Ward. Since A-Ward through F-Ward housed patient rooms, we could use either hallway to find what we sought.
Blake put the map back into his backpack and led the way down the hallway leading left. As we walked, I took in the atmosphere. Many of the walls were marked, scratched, and torn to the point where some of the frame was visible. That said, graffiti was these walls' main décor, since they lined almost every inch of what was left of the walls. Overhead, parts of the ceiling hung down, with wires cut and pipes exposed above. I expected all of it, yet in some strange way, being there made me feel a bit better.
Blake stopped and pointed to one piece of graffiti in particular. "I always wanted to know how my body worked, so I took it apart to find out," it read.
"I wonder how that person wrote that note if he-she took themselves apart," Blake queried.
"That's what's bugging you about it?" I asked sarcastically.
He shrugged. "Just doesn't make sense."
As we continued, the sudden sound of footsteps pattering behind me caused me to turn, but I was only greeted by darkness. I saw nothing but a shadow, darker than darkness, pressed against the wall. I looked down at my shadow to see if it connected to the one down the hall. When my head rose back up, it was gone, leaving my heart humming like a bird.
"What's up?" Blake shined his flashlight down the hall
"I think my eyes are playing games with my head."
I turned back to him and gestured for him to continue. That strange encounter left me puzzled, but in all honesty, it might've just been my shadow the whole time. However, that could be just the hope in me talking.
I pointed to another piece of ghetto art as we moved along. "As I slid my blade over your throat, it should sound like walking winter's wind…WWW."
"We were born in your world. You will die in ours," the last piece of artistic graffiti in the hallway read. Which meant we'd finally arrived at the door leading into D-Ward.
Blake opened the door, and we entered a long narrow hallway, much more cramped than the one we just left. Each wall had a set of two doors, directly across from one another, marked with numbers. The first one to our left read, "D-01."
"Let's chill here for a bit and see what we get," Blake said. He entered the D-01, with me following behind. He walked over to a dresser and opened a drawer. Dust puffed into his face, and he started to cough. "Jesus. Freaking old buildings." He covered his mouth and peered inside.
"What's in there?" I asked.
"Nothing." He walked over to the chair and sat down.
I looked out the barred window of the room. "I can see the parking lot."
"Half of D-Ward and A-Ward have windows that face that direction," Blake informed me.
I took a seat on the bed and placed the EVP recorder at the edge of the mattress, a few feet away from me.
"Ready?" I asked Blake.
"As I'll ever be." You know, most people are fearful of the supernatural, which isn't a revelation since 'supernatural' is just another word for the unknown. Me, though, I was always intrigued by it. Not understanding it, but wanting to was the most exciting part. Mix that in with fear, and my insides were like combining oil and water.
"Are there any spirits with us that would like to communicate?" I asked out loud into the room.
Nothing responded, but from what I've read, spirits usually keep to themselves. Supposedly, it's fairly rare to capture evidence of the paranormal.
"Anyone? Speak now, or forever hold your peace," Blake called.
A breeze as light as a feather flowed down my spine.
"Did you feel that?" I asked Blake.
"No."
"I felt a cold breeze. Is there anything in here that could cause a draft?"
We looked around. No cracks in the windows or along the walls. The ceiling and flooring were solid as rocks, too.
"Nope," Blake concluded.
Another breeze hit me.
A ghost's breath, I thought.
From outside the bedroom door, a sudden, loud rattle forced my breath to catch in my throat.
"Did you hear that?"
I shivered. Blake stared back at me, and I knew he'd heard it, too. I pulled down my hood in an effort to hear better, but all I heard were silence and the sound of my jump-started heartbeat.
"I'll check it out."
Blake stood up and marched to the door, making tiny, brushing sounds over the torn carpet. He cracked open the door and walked out of sight, chest out and arms flexed. I was alone.
Crash!
The loud noise came from the next bedroom. It sounded like glass shattering. Blake appeared back in the room.
"Sorry, I knocked over a mirror."
I got up and walked over him. His skin was as pale as a ghost, and his knees trembled. His macho man confidence from only seconds ago was drained. I knew something was wrong.
"How did you knock over the mirror?" I asked.
"Oh, I, ah… I bumped into it," he answered. I knew he was lying through his teeth, but I decided to let it go for now. "Come on. Let's keep checking some more rooms."
"Alright, let's go." I grabbed the EVP recorder and realized it was still running. "Wait. What if we captured a voice?"
Blake shrugged, so I hit the 'play back' button. I began to hear our conversation on the recorder before the sudden rattle sound played. As the sound passed, Blake grabbed my arm.
"Did you hear that?"
"No."
"Play it again. It was right after the rattling noise."
I isolated the part and set it on a loop. I increased the volume and hit 'play.' At first it sounded like jargon, but I began to make out the words. The disembodied voice was distorted and had a deep tremble to it. It sounded like someone speaking while half under water.
"Turn," I made out the first word. "Back" was the second word.
"Turn back," I repeated the ghost's sentence and turned off the EVP recorder. "Turn back," I stated again. "Should we?" I asked Blake.
He half-smiled and said, "No."
From all the years I'd known him, I could tell he wanted to leave but was trying to remain tough. On the other hand, curiosity had its grip on me, and I wanted to continue. To understand more.
"Alright. Let's continue, tough guy," I jested before leading the way out of the first room and down the hall.
At the end of the hall, it turned a sharp left. I led us down the turn before stopping at a bizarre looking door, one of the first ones in this section. Unlike any other, this door had claw marks down half of it. The other half was completely broken and scattered amongst the rumble on the ground. Despite this, I trooped inside, arms to my side, ready for whatever came.
"Really?! You pick this one?! Of all the ones you could have picked, you went with the most suspicious?!" Blake complained.
He walked up to the door and ran his finger over the scratch marks. They were everywhere, as if an animal had tried to break into the door. He then mustered the courage to enter behind me.
The room was covered with brown, worn down couches. In the center was an old bear rug. Its dead, black eyes were locked onto mine. Past the rug was another door with the same scratches! Written in brown-green dried ink were satanic symbols. The only phrase in English read, "Hell was BETTER!" The sight was shocking, but I wasn't going to let that stop me now. I knew no one had been in this place in a long time.
"Let's look inside."
I tugged on Blake and pointed at the other door inside the room. He reluctantly followed, dragging his feet a bit. It felt good to be the brave one this time around, and that realization only pushed me harder.
We entered the room. Only a broken bed and dresser were inside. I sat down on the bed, and the springs pressed against my butt. I grabbed my night vision video recorder and turned off my flashlight.
"What are you doing?" Blake asked. I heard the distress in his shaky voice.
"Turn off your flashlight. I want to see if I can capture a full body apparition with the video camera."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" He sat on the dresser.
"Don't tell me you, of all people, are scared."
He half-smiled and forced a chuckle. "Me? Come on. Who are you talking to?"
He shut off his flashlight, and we were engulfed by darkness. My video recorder let off a dim light on its display. We sat there for seconds, with no sound.
"Troy?" Blake eventually whispered.
"What?"
"You asked me earlier how I broke that mirror."
"Yeah."
"I didn't."
"What do you mean?"
"It was thrown off the wall!"
"Awesome! Did you capture it on video?"
"What? No, that was the last thing on my mind. Troy, that mirror shattered, and the glass… it spelled leave on the ground."
"So."
"Every spirit or ghost or whatever… all of them are telling us to leave. Don't you think we should listen?"
"But you've always wanted to go on a paranormal hunt like me. If we go now, we might miss something amazing. Then we could post it and make tons of money. Maybe we could even make it a career."
"But Troy, we've captured enough evidence, don't you think?"
"No. W–"
I was cut off by a sudden weight on my legs. I panned the camera down. Nothing. The force increased and began to hurt. I reached out in the thick blackness and tried to grab anything, but my hands grabbed only cold air. I swallowed hard.
Calm down, I ordered myself, everything's fine, and Blake's right next to me.
"Blake," I whispered. No reply. "Blake," I repeated louder.
The weight on my legs grew again. It felt like an elephant was sitting on me. I reached for my flashlight and hit the 'on' switch. Nothing. Suddenly, my video camera turned to static, then switched off! Fear pulled me under, and my heart was a jackhammer that pounded against my ribcage. I was alone in a prison of darkness.
"Blake!" I yelled and pled for any response. Nothing.
I switched into full panic mode. My breaths came short and fast. My heart thumped louder than a drum set. My whole body shook.
"God. Help me!" I prayed.
The weight grew and snap. The whole room shook, and the floor caved. I went crashing down to the first floor, still on the mattress.
"Aagh!" I gasped as the wind was thrust from my lungs.
Debris and wood smacked me in the face, and I fell backward. Thick fluid dripped down the side of my face and over my ear. It was blood.
After a minute of lying in the cold room, I was suddenly put on edge as footsteps thumped over to me.
Thump, thump, thump!
They came nearer. Nearer. I slammed my hand to the floor and felt for my flashlight but couldn't find it. I groaned as my hand cracked against the metal handle of my flashlight, then pulled it out and hit the 'on' button. Light! I forced my body up and shined the beam in the direction on the footsteps.
"Hey!" Blake covered his eyes from the sharp beam. "Shine that somewhere else."
"Blake!" I was never so happy to see anyone in my life! All the fear fell off me like leaves in fall. I ran over to him. "What happened to you?"
"Me? What happened to you?" He pointed his beam at the hole in the roof.
"The floor collapsed on me. But you… you disappeared."
"No, you did. I was just sitting there, and suddenly I heard a crash from another room. I turned on my light, and you weren't there. But-- Wait a minute, did you leave the room?" he asked.
"No."
"That's impossible. How did you fall through a floor in another room if you didn't leave?"
"Blake! I called your name, and you weren't there."
"But I… I don't understand."
I shined my light around the room. There was no door.
"Blake, where did you even come from?"
"Oh, I came from the door right beh–" He stopped as he shined his light behind him. "When I heard the crash and you weren't in the room, I walked out the door and found you here. But the door… the door is gone!"
"Blake. I think the building is changing!"
"That or I've been teleporting. Neither makes sense." Blake paused and shined his light around. "Oh no!"
"What?"
I pulled myself up and looked around. The ceiling was intact. All the debris that should have been around the room was gone. Again, it seemed like reality was shifting in front of our very eyes.
"Troy, this is the room where they left the deathly sick or horribly disfigured to die!"
"How did we end up in the Untreatable Patients Ward of the asylum? The only way in this area of the building is through a separate outside door."
"So this is the section where they threw lost causes? Cool."
"No, no. Not cool. We came to look for spirits, not spend time under the same ceiling where dozens of deaths happened. I'm out." I paced around.
"Okay, okay. But how do we get out?" he asked.
"Through that." I shined a light for Blake to see. At the bottom of the wall was a small, box-sized crawlspace. It was the only reasonable way to leave the room. "I'll go first."
I ducked low and scraped against the metal as I crawled through the crawlspace. I could see light, and I pushed myself into the empty metal room. At one end was a raised platform, but on my right was a door to the outside.
"Blake, there's a door!"
I helped him up, and we walked over to the door. Through the glass on the door, we could see the outside, and it was still nighttime. Blake trotted over to the platform and bent down to see under it.
"Hey, check it out."
"What are you doing? Let's leave!" I begged.
"It can wait, Troy. Look at this."
I stood in place, still shaking.
"Troy, it's fine now. We're safe from the death box."
Something was a bit off. Not too long ago, Blake was ready to go, just as I am now. But now he isn't. I guess it isn't completely out of character for him to be the courageous one. Still, this new round of courage felt somewhat out of place, given the recent happenings around us.
"Troy?"
"Fine. If that's what it takes to leave," I sighed and walked over.
I peeked below the concrete platform. The gap was big enough to crawl under, and I saw an open window to some kind of basement on the other end. In-between us and the window was a crapload of spider webs dangling from the top of the platform. Some spiders were crawling around as my light beam hit them.
"Go under there." Blake chuckled and placed his hand on my shoulder.
"What? No!"
Blake pulled out a fifty dollar bill. "Fifty bucks says you'll go touch that window." Blake and I were always trying to find dares for each other, but this really didn't seem like the time.
"But there's, like… like, spiders. I hate spiders," I protested.
"Alright. One hundred dollars." He pulled out another fifty.
At this point, I couldn't resist. With that hundred dollars, I'd finally be able to buy the new Sparkarc II cell phone.
"To the window?"
"Yes."
I took another peek. "Oh, what is that? Oh my God, man, look at that." I was pointing at the crap fest of bugs and garbage underneath it.
"Gotta get to the window."
"And then we can leave?" I asked.
"Of course."
"Crap, man."
I started down under and went for the center, where the least amount of webs were. I grabbed a stick from the dirt and started waving it above and around me to clear the way of spiders and webs. Inch by inch, I made it to the open window.
"I'm here." I shined my light back at Blake.
"Alright. Come back. You've earned the money."
I whipped back my flashlight at the window and jumped. I hit my head on the concrete platform and screamed, "Blake, help!"
In front of my face was the unshaven face of another man. He smiled with an insane grin and brown eyes that shot into my soul. He grabbed me and pulled me through the window.
"Blake, there's a man! Help!" I screamed again.
He tossed me to the ground, and I rolled up. The basement was some kind of storage area, but at the center of the room was a girl strapped to a gurney. On a table next to it was a toolbox of tools straight out of a madman's dream: Knives; saws; scalpels; and a flashlight. One look at the surrounding area, and I knew this was the serial killer's place of operations!
Our eyes locked for a moment, but I couldn't hold my gaze with those bloodthirsty windows to his soul. My eyes drifted away, down his hazmat suit and rubber gloves.
I reached for my flashlight to use as a weapon and nearly jumped out of my skin as he ran up to me. I started swinging my fists in an effort to protect myself. It didn't work. He tackled me to the ground and pulled out a knife.
Oh, God. I'm going to DIE! I thought.
Suddenly, Blake slammed into the serial killer and saved me. I collected myself as Blake fought for the knife. I got up and ran to help. Because Blake was only fifteen, the man overpowered him quickly and soon pushed him over.
My heart skipped a beat, and my blood turned to ice. The serial killer stabbed Blake in the heart. Blood gushed out of his chest like a river. The man got up and walked toward me. I was next. I was frozen in my spot, helpless as he took the knife to my heart.
Blackness!