Asylum
"The last month has been born from great pain. And although I have had a great deal of time to reflect on my past I felt it necessary to write it down so that people will understand the horrific events that have brought me to this place. I will try to explain the events in the order that they unfolded to me, this way anyone that might read my journal should have a greater understanding of my actions. So, where to begin…"
"Argh, No…", he screamed sitting bolt upright; a cold sweat trickled down his brow. Trying to compose himself he swung his legs off the side of the bed and rested his head in his hands for a few moments, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. His feet landed on the floor and then sharply rose again, a searing cold had forced his body to rethink. Something didn't feel quite right to him. He glanced down at the floor, it was stone, cold hard stone; and then he realized, the bed. It was hard, too hard for anyone to get a good night sleep on, but more to the point, it was not his. Bracing himself for the cold floor he clambered onto his feet, his head began to pound with an intense migraine.
"Where the… where am I?" he said out loud still clutching his head.
The room was very dark, a small slit of a window allowed a sliver of light to enter the room illuminating only the smallest details. The walls were padded; a cushion like material covered them almost all the way up to the ceiling. Above the padding a pale blue brickwork, probably used in an attempt to induce a calming atmosphere; it wasn't working. He stared empty at the walls desperately trying to remember what had brought him here. One of the walls had a large metal door set into it and a large mirror. His mind blank he turned to the mirror for solace.
"Oh God " he leant into the mirror to examine his face, a tall, thin faced man stared back, eyes sunken, pale skin, "Who am I? - What am I doing here? In this…", and then it hit him, "Asylum? "
"The door, look at the door", came a faint whining voice.
"Who said that?" he returned. But there was no one there, the voice was meant for him and him alone. The voice was in his head and with each word that it spoke his head ached a little more as if a thin needle was being pushed ever deeper into his head.
"I must be going crazy - but I am in a cell - perhaps I… But how did I get here"
"The door Look at the door " came the voice, this time with a more urgent tone.
He turned away from the mirror and approached the door, it was open, but why. He peered through the gap in to the corridor, darkness; the lights flickered briefly illuminating the passage. The corridor seemed much more pleasant, a blue office style carpet covered the floor and the walls were painted yellow. Despite the darkness it seemed much friendlier. He realized that he wasn't going to get any answers from staying in his cell so cautiously he stepped out into the corridor to begin the search for answers.
In the darkness the corridor seemed to go on forever. A small amount of light allowed Jack to stumble down the corridor to where he assumed he would find the stairwells. As he moved slowly down the corridor, passing identical cell doors, the thought of being stuck in some twisted nightmarish loop came to the forefront of his mind.
"There's still someone here " returned the voice.
"What are you talking about? There's no one here", Jack found himself talking to the voice in his own head, "Jees, I must be going mad, I'm actually talking to myself!"
But there WAS someone on this floor, a subtle crying sound could be heard the further Jack proceeded down the corridor. Arcing his head slightly, in an attempt to pick up the sound better, he headed towards the cell from which the crying emanated. There he found a man in a straight-jacket tightly huddled in the corner shaking, and he too was very pale and drawn. Jack stepped closer, and with one swift but erratic movement the man leapt to his feet, rushed at Jack knocking him to the floor before finally darting out of the cell and down the corridor, all the while screaming, 'He's killing us all, there's no stopping him, he's insane; voices, oh, the voices.'
Jack struggled back to his feet and rushed out of the cell, he peered down the corridor; nothing but blackness, and there was no sign of the deranged man.
"What is going on here?" Jack questioned himself. Some part of him was hoping that the disembodied voice in his head would have the answer, but there was no reply.
Continuing down the corridor Jack found himself at the top of a flight of stairs, in the dark the walls seemed to glisten, another flicker of the lights flashed colour to the wall, to Jack's horror it was covered with blood and even more disturbing, written in the blood, was his name and beneath the blood at the bottom of the stairwell was a body which Jack assumed was the man who had written his name upon the wall before his untimely death. Jack stumbled past the body grasping his mouth; his eyes were continuously drawn to look at the body but he quickly looked away as soon as nausea leapt from his stomach to his mouth.
With the power out, Jack was never going to find the information he needed, and he knew it as he stood hesitantly outside the door to the basement.
"If the generator is going to be anywhere it's bound to be in the basement", he confirmed to himself. The door creaked open with an ear-piercing metal-on-metal screech. A small set of concrete stairs disappeared down into the darkness. Jack apprehensively took the first few steps down, pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness beyond. Once at the bottom, he scanned the room looking for the generator, and there it was, a huge red generator as big as the wall it was mounted on, standing seven feet tall with pipes, dials and valves covering the front, but despite its complexity Jack was able to quickly work out how the generator operated, and with a series of switches and buttons the generator exploded into life, first noisily filling the room with a black fog, and then gradually settling to a more gentle hum. Behind him the lights in the corridor above flickered into life, and finally Jack was able to see clearly.
Jack left the basement and headed towards the reception area, believing that the records department would be in the same place. He climbed the stairs where he found his name etched in blood and continued along the corridor of the floor that had his cell on, with the lights on the full details of the corridor were plain to see, each cell on the floor had a different scene of brutality and murder. One cell revealed a man impaled under his own bed, another showed a man with a leg that had been hacked off; in both instances blood was everywhere, splashed across the walls and in pools on the floor, but more disturbing was that it was still fairly fresh. Jack stumbled from cell to cell grasping his mouth firmly, desperate not to vomit as he continued to the reception area. The stairs at the far end of the building headed down to the ground floor, which according to the signage above was for the reception area.
'Don't go down there, there's nothing for us down there', said the voice in Jack's head. Jack took no notice. Yes, it was possible that whom ever had killed everyone in the Asylum could still be down there but he had to get answers for himself and those answers could be found at the reception desk.
Jack didn't hesitate once he'd arrived at the reception desk, he immediately began to search through the filing cabinets and desk drawers, and there he found a file with his name on it. All of a sudden he was overcome with anxiety, what would he find within the pages of his report. Jack braced himself and opened the file.
2 weeks prior.
It had been a hard day at work for Jack and he was looking forward to getting home to his wife. A series of awkward clients had left him with a splitting headache and he just wanted to get home, take a bath and spend the evening in front of the television with his wife. And that's exactly what he did, and at half-past eleven they went to bed.
Two hours later Jack woke with a start, he could hear footsteps coming from downstairs, checking that his wife was still lying next to him he assumed that someone must have broken in. Carefully he climbed out of bed and retrieved a baseball bat from the bedroom closet, then proceeded to move silently down the stairs to the kitchen. A man dressed entirely in black moved swiftly about the kitchen searching the closets and drawers, then he moved to the lounge and began his search again presumably looking for jewellery and money. Rage overwhelmed Jack and he rushed forward to confront the intruder, they both fell to the floor, Jack attempting to swing the bat at the masked man, and the intruder desperately trying to get free, and as they struggled Jack noticed the intruder's 'ace-card'. He was carrying a gun. Jack fought back with all his might desperate to gain control of the firearm, but the masked man was stronger and managed to throw him off. Both men clambered back to their feet, this time however neither man moved, Jack stood at one end of the lounge and the intruder at the other, pointing the gun at him.
"Look - just get out, the police will be here any second", no one had actually called the police but the masked man wouldn't have known that and Jack hoped more than anything that he would believe him. Just at that moment Jack's wife appeared in the lounge doorway, saw the gunman and screamed. Jack instinctively dived at the intruder and as both men crashed together the gun went off. For a moment all fell quiet, both men fell to the ground and there they remained motionless. It was one of those moments were time froze as if the world was waiting for fate to decide on the outcome. And then from behind the men Jack's wife slumped to the floor, a small patch of blood gaining in size every second spread from her chest, she was dead.
"No!" bellowed Jack once again reaching for the baseball bat, this time there was no struggling, the intruder was stunned by what had transpired, and he never regained consciousness after Jack had finished using the baseball bat. Jack let the bat slip from his hands and then he dropped to the floor twitching in agony for the death of his wife and the brutal killing of the masked intruder.
Almost two weeks later Jack was transferred from the hospital to a medical asylum, and there he lay for the next few days. The doctors weren't sure whether he would ever regain consciousness or not, but they had to keep him locked up for his own safety.
Jack was stunned by the details in the file, he still couldn't remember anything of the events he was reading, it must have been the trauma that had pushed him over the edge and sent him crazy; it would certainly explain the voice that spoke to him, perhaps it was his subconscious mind trying to shield him from the horrible truth.
Suddenly and without warning, a sharp pain struck his neck. Jack moved his hand instinctively to the point of the pain.
"Don't struggle Mr Straker it will only make matters worse", it was one of the doctors. A needle was being emptied in to his neck, and before Jack had a chance to respond his vision blurred and he fell to the floor unconscious.
"You had to know didn't you", Jack remained out-cold but the voice still spoke to him, "You couldn't leave it be, and now look what's happened. Do you want to know it all? Do you want to know the full extent of your guilt? Do you?" the voice was much more focussed now and extremely angry. "Let me refresh your mind, let me show you the sort of person you... WE are.", images flooded into Jacks mind, violent shocking images in quick succession.
"Ah Jack, how are you this morning? feeling any better?", another of the doctor's entered Jacks cell, Jack remained silent, eyes closed lying on his cell bed, "never mind, just going to give you your shots."
As the doctor moved closer Jack leapt up and grasped the doctor around the neck, the doctor struggled but Jack's grip ended the doctor's life quickly. He cast the body aside and left his cell. A male nurse saw Jack leaving and ran over to him to put him back in his cell, Jack launched a series of punches on the nurse who fell to the ground but he didn't stop there, punch after punch continued until blood stained his fists. And still the violence continued all the while Jack remained silent, jaw tight with rage, rage that would continue until every person, every doctor and every patient in the asylum was dead. Only then would his remorse be fulfilled. And afterwards as the blood began to dry on the floor he returned to his cell, laid down on his bed and once again fell asleep.
It had been several hours since Jack had been sedated and his eyes were just starting to open, his surroundings still very blurred but once again he found himself in the dark. He slowly sat up and tried to focus on the walls, this time they were not padded, they were brick. Jack climbed to his feet.
"Back off", said a man. Jack's eyes still hadn't returned fully, he moved closer to the man, "Didn't you hear me?" Now he could see the room and the man properly, a large man wearing a prison uniform leered at him from the other side of a set of bars.
"What's happening? Where am I?", Jack questioned.
"YOU. You worthless piece of crap. YOU viciously murdered everyone in the asylum", it all came flooding back, Jack sat back down on his bed.
"Hehe, you should have stayed unconscious mate - now you've got yourself a date with the electric chair", laughed the guard.
"Oh God", Jack was close to tears, "Could I please have some paper and a pen, I have some things I need to write down."
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