Page 63 of Insane Obsession

Turning over my shoulder, our eyes meet. “That remains a mystery as well, I’m afraid.”

“She couldn’t have been innocent, though,” the older woman mutters. “Look at this place. Even without the litter and peeled-off walls, it looks daunting.”

“She didn’t deserve to be in isolation for six months,” someone says.

The group agrees.

“That would drive even a normal-thinking person insane.”

“Perhaps.” I wait as some of the braver visitors take a look inside the rooms. “But we can’t ignore the fact that the day she came out, she killed six people. What does that tell us?”

“That she was insane?” An older man asks as he helps his wife return from one of the rooms. Behind her the rocking chair still moves.

“Perhaps. However, that’s hard for us to judge. In today’s society, a crime of this caliber is first-degree murder. Had she planned them during her months in segregation? Possibly. But unfortunately, we will never know. She wrote only a few words in her diary on that day, December 16, 1952.”

“And what was that?” The camera guy asks.

Turning around, I stare right into the lens.“I will haunt you for this.”

“My god, that’s creepy,” someone whispers.

“Absolutely. The walls are littered with terrifying messages. Especially inside the isolation room. We’ll head there in a minute once we have finished our tour on the ground floor.” I usher them inside the large restrooms.

Most of them look around in awe.

Even I am captured in that permanent flashback every time I set foot here. The moment my eyes laid on Bran that very first time.

“Mister Anderson.” The camera guy sounds panicked. He’s looking through the mirror, and I know what he sees. “Mister Anderson,” he repeats. He has dropped his camera, and even in the twilight, I see that his eyes are large behind his glasses. “There’s someone out there.”

I smile reassuringly while my heart rate picks up.Fucking yesss…“If you see something, just stay still.”

“Stay still?” Someone gasps. Fear and nervous energy fill the air.

“But—” Camera man spins around and watches the door. “He’s coming this way.”

“They won’t come here, I promise.” I clasp a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “But we have to move.”

“Where are we going?” The older woman asks.

“Downstairs. To where they kept the troubled patients.”

She looks at her husband, then back at me. “Thank you for this remarkable visit, but I am leaving now.”

Once the first person drops out, more follow. It’s always like that. Only a few of them are left when we head down the stairs.

“Be careful down here,” I warn. “The floors are pretty messy.”

We have barely taken a few steps when panic breaks out.

“What’s that?” someone asks.

Those little shitheads.

“Let’s just keep on going,” I encourage. Upstairs, footsteps race over the floors.

“No! I want out!” One of the girls screams.

I point to the green flash. “There’s an emergency exit on your left, you?—”

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