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.