I, The Insane

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 29, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 29, 2016



 The old manor stood proud, even though it was crumbling. The old sign, rusty, and hard to read, still had it’s large rusty lettering. “Copperfield Asylum for The Mentally Retarded.”Some of the old wings had long ago succumbed to the wear and tear of time. I followed Jimmie through the old, rusted gates, admiring the main hall. It once was the most beautiful home on this side of town, then it was the front for the state’s best held secret; a living hell.
 “Hey Abe!” Jimmie yelled, “think this old place is haunted?” He laughed his deep throaty chuckle, knowing I was a skeptic.
 “Eh, doubt it. If you happen to find proof though, I may believe you,” I said, a foolish grin on my face. We walked down the overgrown drive, I was trying to avoid the weeds. Jimmie calmly waked through the them, none of the pricks getting through his thick pant’s legs. I’d already cut my leg open on a thorn bush trying to get here, so I was taking great care to avoid all of the spiny plants. The drive had been almost completely eaten by the weeds and tall grasses reclaiming it. The fountain out front of the asylum was long since dry, and was beginning to crumble.
 “What part of the complex should we start in?” Jimmie asked, turning towards me.
 “Uh, let’s start at the admissions area.”
 “What have we got this time, Dr.Hess?”
 “Possible schizophrenic, he’s delusional.”
 “Should I restrain him?”
 “Yes, he should be considered highly dangerous.”
I pulled the wooden boarding from the old doorway. Dust floated out, making me and Jimmie cough.
 “Ladies first,” Jimmie said jokingly. I walked in, covering my mouth with an old t-shirt I’d had in my pocket. Jimmie followed me in, a lantern in his hand. The old admissions office was littered with old papers and a thick scent of rubbing alcohol. I pushed a wheelchair out of the way, the wheels squeaking in protest. It looked as though someone took an axe to the main desk, the glass was shattered and the mesh torn out. Suddenly, I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye, moving quickly towards me. I turned to look directly at it, but it was gone.
 “Jimmie did you see that?” I gasped, my heart racing.
 “Oh, did the skeptic see a ghost?” He chuckled condescendingly. I glared at him, and began to walk down the hall towards the evaluation ward.
 The two orderlies dressed in white scrubs strapped the man to a wheelchair and began rolling him down the hall to where he’d get his evaluation, he was moaning about something in his head, as though he were trying to solve one of life’s great questions. Dr.Hess walks up to the two orderlies and talks quickly while writing on his clipboard,
“Just leave him here, you guys are needed upstairs, I can get him the rest of the way. You may wanna hurry, it sounded urgent.”
The two orderlies take off towards the stairs, and Dr.Hess bends down,
“Oh, my dear old friend, it hurts me to see you here.” The man seems to understand as the doctor begins to continue what the orderlies were working on.
 There were beds and wheelchairs throughout the hall for the evaluation ward. I looked into some of the various rooms; some only contained a simple table with two chairs, while others had beds where someone would’ve been strapped to. As I stared into one of the rooms, I felt a hand on my shoulder. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I turned quickly, right into Jimmie.
 “Boo!” He yelled in my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shadow again, strapped into one of the beds. I pointed, looking at Jimmie,
“Do you see that?”
“The bed for kinky stuff,” Jimmie said with a wink. I turned to see nothing but an empty bed.
 The doctor strapped his patient to the bed, hoping that his friend wouldn’t have to stay long. He began to do the work, looking the patient over up and down. Dr. Hess sighed in grief, it could’ve been anyone, but not him.
 I walked up the stairs, gingerly setting down my feet, checking to see if the old wooden boards were going to give in under my weight. Jimmie followed, closely watching my steps.
 “Always send the fat ass first,” He chuckled, thinking he was funny. Rather than reply, I chose to ignore him entirely. The door at the top of the stairs had an odd stain on it. It was a black crusty looking stain. I got closer, examining it. Blood, it was blood.
 The orderly didn’t listen to Dr. Hess, and he’d now understood why the doctor had warned him what he did. It was simple, a “watch your hands around his mouth,” order. The poor man went to lift the patient, and the man got his thumb bit clean off. He turned to the white door, holding his bloody hand, leaving a nasty stain on the old door.
 I walked into the hall where they processed the patients. The hoses laid on the floor where they’d been left. The lice powder containers sat, rusting away on their shelf. Jimmie started playing with the hoses.
 ‘What the hell are you doing?” I asked, looking at him as though he was crazy.
 “I like playing with hoses,” He told me with a wink.
 “C’mon, really?” He laughed at himself, and my reaction.
 “One of these days I swear,” I said, still watching him. He pushed back his hair, his nervous habit.
 “I’m kinda hungry, let’s get moving,” he said. As he walked past the old closet, glimpsed the shadow standing there, watching us. Frightened, I quickly ran to catch up with Jimmie.
 The water hit the man’s body, and he shivered. Dr.Hess sprayed him up and down, then sprinkled lice powder over him, and rinsed him off. He then led the shivering man to the closet, and dressed him. When the man was wearing the facility issued clothing, Dr.Hess strapped him back into the wheelchair.
The rooms were padded now, with thick doors, some of the white padding had been stained with god knows what. I stepped into one of the rooms. The one way glass was shattered all over the floor of the room. Someone had thrown a chair at the window, and the chair was oddly upright. Jimmie came in, looking at the mess. He giggled, closing the door. I heard the lock slide shut, and I heard him yell about coming back later. I turned around to find the shadow was sitting upright in the chair staring back at me.
 Jimmie smoothed his thinning hair, looking in on his friend through the glass. He was standing by the door, screaming towards the middle of the room. Two other doctors came into the observation room, clipboards in hand. They looked at the patient charts.
 “Abe McCray,” one of the doctors said, marking somethings on his chart. The other looked at Jimmie.
 “Dr. Hess, sorry for what happened to your friend, it must be hard for you to watch him fight the shadow demon of schizophrenia.”

© Copyright 2018 Catori Foster. All rights reserved.

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