Dear in the Headlights

He lit a cigarette and waited for her to stroll out.  She would be laughing no doubt; flirting and having a rip-roarin good time; leaving him out once more; so different from how it was before.  They used to laugh together, rip up the town and drink together.  Darin remembered how they would stumble back to his truck and get tangled up.  Not now.  She was too important.  she had too much to prove to all her NEW friends.  He dragged deeply and felt the smoke sulk in his lungs, slowly burning away his life from the inside out.  She always scolded him for his nasty habit. 

"It's not like you can win Darin.  You WILL get cancer."

He sighed and stuck his tongue out, offering a stray leaf to his rough fingertips as he plucked it from between his lips.  A heavy sigh escaped the defeated man.  He had lost his (another) job (again).  He ground his teeth and winced.  How was he going to tell her?  His confidence was crumbling faster than the ash on his cancer stick.  She managed to reduce him to a shell of disappointment and failure by never saying a word.  Her sighs, her eyes filled with sadness and draining belief that he would amount to anything; the doubt that they were going to stay together, that she deserved someone better. They were emotions and thoughts her mouth knew better than to utter or he would need to show her some reason.  Darin grinned gently and pumped his fist; feeling a distinct pleasure at the thought of "reasoning" with that self-righteous bitch.  She was so much better than him with her scrubs and hob-knobbing with nurses and docs at that smelly old rinky-dink hospital.  She was just an X-ray tech not a brain surgeon.  He snorted and blew smoke through his nose like an angry bull.

"Speak of the Devil" he growled.  Valerie was coming out to her car tossing some words over her shoulder to someone in the doorway.  She waved.  They laughed retreating behind the automatic doors.  After a short time, both cars fired up; hers pulling out first.  He lazily waited, not wanting her to be suspicious.

He tagged along on auto-pilot, already familiar with her route home.  The road turned and frowned as he lagged behind, waiting for the right moment, the perfect spot.  Trees leaned into each other appearing to whisper about the upcoming tragedy and clinging to each other with their spindly, gnarled arms as he and his dark intentions slithered passed.

At last he recognized the deep turn as the one he wanted to use.  He glanced up ahead and smiled at the darkness.  Winter had given him a clear view so he knew  he wouldn't be interrupted.  His heart revved as he slowly mashed the accelerator to pass her.  Once alongside, he fought the urge to look and see her face.  Darin was ultimately afraid that he would puss-out and wave, dropping back and following her home to hug her, tell her everything and feel sick as her clean hands stroked his hair and she kissed his head telling him it was going to be all right.  It was all fake.  She was planning to leave him.  She would say kind words but never mean a syllabol.  He chuffed. "syllabol ~ big word for a little pissant" he softly scolded the steering wheel. Once again he found his teeth coming together in anger.  His fists pinched the wheel as he pulled ahead  and sharply cut the wheel to force her off the road at the perfect spot.

He heard her scream and relished it.  The car bucked and gobbled up dirt and gravel.  The windshield shrieked and broke apart.  The airbags barked and smoked trying to catch the woman's jolting body.  The engine gasped then sat quietly sobbing, surprised and dejected in the dark.  He drove a little ways, pulled over and sat; lighting another smoke and watching for her to stagger out; dazed and bleeding.  She didn't.  His fingers tapped absently on the dash as he quietly listened to the forest around him shushing and gossiping about what he'd done.  At last he kicked open his door and stood.  He would need to go back and make sure she wasn't just unconscious.  Although this was not part of his "A plan", he wasn't about to let her come home.  Valerie would never belittle him again.  She wouldn't suggest she was outgrowing him or that he wasn't filled with potential and follow-through.  He was about to show her just how dedicated he was to that last one.  The knife slid comfortably into his palm awaiting orders as he ditched the last butt from the box and began to walk back toward the wreck.

"Gotta pick dem up" he thought to himself.  "They can trace me ..." He nodded approvingly at this.  He had remembered it from a lab tech his "best gal" buddied with had shared one night over beer and pizza; not the best dinner conversation.  "See Valerie?  I DO knowed somethin..." and he chuckled.  He also knew  there was more than one way to skin a cat.  He wondered which way he'd use on her ... if need be.  He rolled the blade in his hand appreciating its glean in her headlights; the way it danced along the road as the car revved and ticked; gravel slowing trickling from under the tires....

Darin stopped and stared.  His girlfriend's (soon to be dead and ex) car had somehow  idled up the ditch and sat ruffled but running fully on the road; its headlights blinking angrily at him as the dust and smoke settled .  Then the high beams came to life causing him to raise his arm and shield his face.  Darin barely had time to react before the furious beast jumped to life and began to close the gap.  Startled and confused, he turned and began to run for the safety of his own truck.  He heard the once terrified wind laughing through her broken windshield and the engine's throaty chuckle as his feet pounded the pavement.  He felt the heat of the lights as she got closer.  He turned one last time, throwing his best friend "Blade" at the hood of her murderous cohort.  Darin screamed her name as the grill bit into his legs, tripping him and sending him to the ground where bent tire rods, fractured lines and heated pans and parts gouged and ripped at his hateful skin.  The nearly bald tires happily smooshed him flat, like a rotted fruit.  The car hiccuped as it ran him over.

Valerie stopped the car, staring into the rear view at the malignant lump of flesh in the road.  She couldn't hide her sneer or the smile that crept in behind it.  Had he really been so stupid to think she didn't know he'd lost his job again?  That he'd been following her to work, the store, the gym ... everywhere?  That his scanning and scouring of her phone went unnoticed? Or that he had planned to kill her?  She reached for one of his cigarettes he kept in her glove box and lit up.  She tugged at a stray leaf and flicked it into the night carelessly.  Swiping her phone she called the police then her friend at the hospital.  He would come and help her of course; worried since she had told him as she left the hospital that her ex-boyfriend Darin was sitting in the lot again. She had tossed a promise that she would call when she made it safely home.  Darin had of course been painted as a very jealous, stalking kind of boyfriend... EX boyfriend to those new friends she was making.  And here she was, just trying to drive home after a long day and her unstable ex-boyfriend was tagging too close behind as he had been; police reports she'd made would show that.  Being alone and female so late at night, she was understandably afraid; slowing to let him pass.  He floored it and she thought he would just go on; satisfied he scared her but then, as she made the turn, he cut her off, drove her into the ditch and sped away leaving her for dead.  When she came to, she was terrified he was near, waiting to do something worse than drive her off the road.  So she slammed the car into gear and yanked it out onto the road to speed home.  It was all she wanted to do.  As she did, something appeared before her.  Too afraid and shaken to stop, she accelerated and realized all too late it wasn't a deer in the headlights.

She exhaled thoughtfully and pinched her cheeks as the flashing lights appeared in the distance.  She needed to look more shaken. She held herself and worked up some tears.  Sitting quietly, Valerie stared as a doe and two fawn wandered out of the trees, casting shadows along the road.  Then they gently carried her secret into the night.  She smiled and waited.

Left Alone

Although the team sat in silence, there was electricity fizzing around inside the van.  Everyone was thinking, planning and studying.  They had at last been given permission to investigate the old asylum.  It had been shut down for more than twenty years after the stories had leaked out.  Such sordid tales of misdirected psychiatric procedures coupled with deviant support staff trickled quietly through town so frequently that eventually there was a knock, a request to see inside, which was followed by horror, embarrassment, a hasty slamming of the door and a "don't tell" air amongst those who were left. So the Iron Maiden sat atop the hill; glowering and dark, hiding all the ugly little truths that the self-proclaimed martyrs of the town "failed" to see.  Never fear.  The team would find them. In the center console of their van sat the newspaper article about them.  It began with yet another incident involving curious trespassers who were found wandering in the wee hours confused and muttering utter nonsense which had sparked the town to invite a paranormal team in to investigate and quell the rumors beginning to surface about the old building awakening and seeking revenge.

They unloaded, set up and wrung their hands with anticipation.  Tom made sure that all the cameras were in position and running with full batteries.  Traci and Mike got the personal equipment together; digital cameras, recorders as well as the voice box while ensuring cords and stands were not in the way while they searched in the darkness.  That left Brynn and Sci to go over documents both historical and contractual with the owners and security.  All t's were crossed and i's were dotted.

The initial investigation was early on a Thursday.  It consisted of a "run around" where the team split up and  wandered the halls. Each member took notes on feelings, noises, object placement and so on so that when it was finally dark, everyone had an idea of where things were.  It prevented accidents and also served as a snapshot of history in case something was out of place later in the night.  They were not surprised by shuffling footsteps, high EMFs despite the building having no electric for more than ten years and EVPs.  They quickly broke out the voice box to get connection with the spirits. 

"Is there anyone here who would like to speak with us?"

"Go"

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Get"

"Were you a patient here?"

"Out"

"Can you see me?"

"Safe"

"Are there more than one of you?"

"Left alone."

Then the entities became more playful, messing with the light stands, slamming doors and stomping footsteps; all clear innuendos that the team was unwelcome to examine or look at the past.  But the they pressed on, took separate wards and floors.  Brynn was the first to meet someone with a hearty shove when she asked if it wanted her to go.  It almost sent her to the floor with a cold tingling sting and the recorded word of "Leave"

With evidence "in hand", they packed up at the morning light, slept like vampires and began again for a second visit.  This time there was much more silence despite the tension in the air and heaviness that seemed  to drag along behind each team member.  Only one word was recorded from all EVPs and voice box recordings albeit several times: "leave"  There was not much motion detected.  There were not playful games.  The investigation was actually cut short due to all the batteries and equipment failing.  The team took the hint, said thank you and packed it in.. 

Late in the last day,  Sci and Mike headed in to town to do some research leaving the other members to do their last investigations alone.  It wasn't the most desirable scenario but it was the only viable one.  The team had been warned against being alone for long periods, but there was nothing else to be done.  While the history buffs were discovering just how wretched conditions had been and how many patients had "disappeared", died or been 'transferred" the others whispered and listened.  In their research, they found stacks of pictures of cruel devices and records of terrifying procedures: the gossip bridle which was fastened around the head and kept the mouth shut of those who prattled, there were commodes or wheelchairs to which patients were strapped for extended periods of time.  Then there were the therapies used to treat their illnesses: ice therapy, electric shock, and trepanations which was the procedure of drilling or coring out holes in the skull to allow the demons that possessed the brain and made its prisoner act inappropriately.  It left them cold inside to think of such atrocities being committed "in the name of science".

But Brynn was unaware of this as she headed to the residential quarters to investigate, lugging her equipment and courage up the once majestic steps. She headed down the dark hall of chipped and scabbed paint.  Puddles served as watery wounds from the long leaking roof turning deep brown and scumming over with decay and stink.  She found an old office chair and sat quietly; waiting. 

It began as scuffling so soft that her initial thought was a rodent.  Then slowly came footsteps ever closer.  She peered through bleary eyes to focus on shadows that appeared to be shifting, moving toward her.  Questions to the air went unanswered although Brynn knew there were entities near by.  She could feel the cold, see her breath and all her equipment was whining.  She went to use her walkie but found the batteries quickly draining as with her other tools of the trade.  She fought the nerves that were edging through, tried to calm her breath and slow her racing heart.  Somehow she found her voice; small and soft:

"Are you here?  Would you like to communicate?  I'm Brynn.  I mean no harm or disrespect.  Were you a patient here? Did they hurt you?"

Suddenly the chair spun with such violence that the young woman's legs kicked out.  Two strong forces plunged down on either side of the chair like huge strong arms.  A thick black mass formed in front of her and leaned in.  Terrorized, Brynn slammed her eyes shut stifling a scream.  The hairs on her arms and along her neck rose as she felt frigid, bony dagger-like fingernails, long unkempt scrape and pull her chin; like a parent shaking a naughty child's chin wanting them to look.  And she did.

She saw faces; so many faces.  Many crusted with dirt and blood from scratches and wounds not healed.  Dry, cracked lips pulled back in sickening grins to reveal ragged, yellowed teeth or rotted bloody sockets where teeth had once been.  Some of their eyes were milky pools; unseeing but knowing a horror unspeakable.  Others were cavernous and deep holding on to the pain and agony of misdeeds done.  Torn dirty gowns billowed around her like coffin liners.  Brynn wiggled and pulled in the chair as hands pinched and pushed the chair merrily down the hall in a dark, evil parade.  There were voices swimming around her head; laughing, wailing, hissing but always in front of her was the largest thickest mass smelling of sour urine and cleaning solution.  The young woman was stuck in this awful chair, her tears the only thing allowed to be free.  She prayed that the cameras would record it all and that she would be safe.  The voices continued to pry at her, digging into the deepest parts of her brain.  She shook her head emphatically as if to shoo them away like gnats.  There was a booming voice that silenced them all:

"Make you better-You want to get better, don't you? " It thundered.  The other voices giggled and hissed.  Brynn thought she heard applause.  She had somehow moved to the end of the hall where she felt straps begin to bind and gouge her flesh.  The ghoulish audience seemed to become excited, beginning to shout but this was dulled by a cap or hat that was sacked over her head.  Something like a gooey wedge was crammed in to her mouth.  Brynn began to buck and kick in the chair. At one point she thought someone was trying to hold and stroke her hand.  She thought she heard a gentle humming.  Then there was nothing but light and pain.  Her skin burned.  Her mind began to smash against the sides of her skull.  All went dark.  The team was quick to find her but not quick enough to save her.

Tom had heard her walkie breaking up and noticed she wasn't responding.  He had walked back to Central and seen something on the monitor that caused him to call the others.  They bolted for the upstairs to try to save their teammate; their friend.  The evidence, both audio and video was never revealed.  No one discussed the matter.  Only the short newspaper article divulged any information at all:

In the early hours of Sunday, police were once again dispatched to the Queen of the hill.  Ms Brynn Marsten (26) was rescued after a 911 call was made by one of her friends and team members.  Ms. Marsten was hired along with her colleagues to investigate strange incidents and peculiarities that have been occurring at the privately owned building that was once an asylum. The young woman, was discovered badly beaten and confused.  Witnesses state that she was unintelligible and terrified.  She has been transferred to the local hospital for further psychiatric evaluation and stabilization.  This is the fifth incident since the beginning of the year where curious trespassers, vandals and delinquents have been hurt causing unduly reports of the building being haunted.  Perhaps now the town will understand that the Queen on top of the hill needs to be left alone.

And so here I am.  This isn't too bad for not having done anything in a couple of months.  I hope that you enjoyed it; no matter how short.  I am glad you came and happy to spend a little time with you.  Things are still a mess, but today? I made it here.  I miss you guys.  Thanks.