Page 9 of Into the Dark

“I’m fine.” He took out the map of the asylum they’d printed off before coming here. “Okay, the center of the building where we are now was for administration and staff. Doctors and nurses lived on site—back in the early days, the doctors’ families did as well. The northern wing is where men were kept, and the southern was for women and children.”

Chris’s golden skin went sallow. “Children? There were kids here?”

“Unfortunately.” Nigel shifted into what Oscar thought of as his lecturer mode. “Some were born to patients here, and were simply…kept. Others were brought by their families, for example if they had epilepsy.”

Chris’s mouth gaped. “Epilepsy?”

Nigel spread his hands apart in a helpless gesture. “It seems bizarre to us now, but it was a common reason for people to be institutionalized in so-called lunatic asylums, even if the person had no psychological problems. Even if they were children.”

“Jesus.” Chris shook their head.

“We’ll check out the kid’s ward later,” Oscar decided. “For now, I wanted to start on the first floor. The patients who were trusted not to hurt themselves or anyone else were kept there. Every floor up, security increased, with the most violent wards on the fourth floor.”

“Where the creeper is.” Chris grimaced.

“Yes.”

They started down the wide hall, past the offices. At the very end, a pair of staircases spiraled up to either side, their oak banisters still beautiful even with a covering of dust and cobwebs. Between them was a grand old elevator, the metal housing its shaft decorated with curls of iron that recalled the gate outside.

“The elevator was added in the early nineteen-hundreds—I’d have to check my notes for the exact date,” Nigel said. “I imagine it made moving patients from one floor to another far easier.”

Chris panned the camera slowly over it. “These old-timey elevators are so cool. I’m definitely coming back and taking some photos of this during the day.”

They turned away from the elevator. Just before the stairs, heavy double-doors to either side led to the north and south wings respectively.

“So what have we got, ghost-wise?” Chris asked as they turned to the left to enter the southern wing.

A long, wide hall stretched before them, lined with wooden doors to either side. Some stood open, others closed. The remnants of yellow paint scabbed the plaster, and grit crunched beneath their boots as they entered.

“Nigel?” Oscar prompted. He’d done the most research, since he was the best at it.

Nigel cleared his throat. “Nurses who worked here reported the shadow person on the fourth floor, disembodied voices warning them to go away, figures disappearing into rooms withno other exits, and a ghost girl playing in the second-floor classroom. Presumably the patients heard and saw things as well, but…”

“But no one believed the crazy people,” Oscar finished. His heart was a stone in his chest. This was why he’d been told he was imagining things, taught to keep what he heard and saw to himself. Dad had been terrified he’d end up here like Mamaw, long after the place had been shut down and treatments improved.

Now, having seen the asylum in person, he could understand why Dad was so traumatized by his visits. The sheer size of the place was overwhelming to an adult; it must have been terrifying to a child. Combined with the seventies-era drugs Mamaw had been dosed with, every visit must have been a nightmare.

The ward they were on now would have been the one Mamaw was held on. Women’s wing, home to patients who didn’t cause too much trouble, at least once they were dosed with enough Thorazine to keep them quiet.

She’d been here. Walked the same hall he was now walking.

He stopped at the first room and peered inside. Beyond lay a small cell with a single barred window. Three metal cot beds crowded inside, mattresses nothing more than bundles of rotted cloth and ancient mouse nests.

“The rooms were originally meant for only one person at a time, with windows and transoms to give plenty of air and light,” Nigel said from behind him. “The transoms had to be blocked off, though. Too many patients used the bars to hang themselves.”

Oscar took a deep breath, smelled only dust and a faint whiff of mold. What must it have been like to be in this cell, not when everything was fresh and new, but during the decades of overcrowding and underfunding? Had his mamaw ever slept here, in this very room?

He stilled his mind and grounded himself. If there were any ghosts in this ward…

A loud bang sounded from in the hall.

CHAPTER

FIVE

Nigel jumpedat the unexpected sound, heart in his throat. “What the hell?”

“It came from over there.” Chris, who had remained out in the hall, pointed further down. “From that metal door-thing in the wall.”

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