Page 15 of The Mare Rider of Cornwall Cove
“Do we not have a permit?”
I shook my head. “Not enough time.”
“Shit.” He blew out a breath that lingered in front of his face before whisking off on a chilly gust. “Well, let’s try not to get arrested then.”
With a nod of agreement, we adjusted our backpacks and strode toward the front doors. Massive things that now hungoff rusted hinges, the front steps were coated with dead leaves and icy moss. The air was clear, with no scent of anything other than decaying foliage. I paused just at the doorway, reaching out mentally. Nothing. Good. I gave Phil a thumbs up, then held up my phone and opened the flashlight app. Just like a wizard, the light came on and the foyer was illuminated. Cracked marble floors with a small fountain greeted us. The check-in desk sat on its side, dirty words spraypainted on it by past visitors. Dead leaves crunched underfoot for the first twenty or so feet, then thinned as they had been blown into a corner. Phil also lit a flashlight, brighter than my cell phone light, and scanned the lobby. It was a vast area at one time, according to the faded photos I’d found, a grandiose welcoming space for the rich who came out to visit relatives or be given tours. Yeah, tours. Like a zoo. The upper levels branched off this glorious reception area, one stairwell on either side, that led to the second and third floors. Those were the patient wards, and we would not be venturing to those as the stairs were rotten, filled with soft boards and gaping holes. And also because poking about in the electroshock and operating rooms where they sterilized and lobotomized people was a huge nope. I could feel the depression already creeping in as we merely walked through the full foyer.
“This place makes me feel blue,” Phil commented while standing by the dry fountain in the center of the lobby. Two fat angels gazed up at marble images of what I assumed had been doctors or perhaps surgeons. Someone had removed the heads of the medical professionals immortalized in limestone.
“Areas with lots of trauma and pain tend to do that. The negative energy is absorbed in the stone and lumber, the heavy feelings cling to the ground, seep into it, taint it.” I turned from him to stare out at the rotted couches, rat-chewed futons, and overturned urns that once held potted plants. “This place is two-faced. This is what the family saw when they came calling.” Imotioned to the once-resplendent lobby. “But what took place on the upper floors was something far less splendid.”
“Let’s get set up. I want to get this show done and get to the hotel on Route 28,” he softly replied. “You lead. You have the map. I’m just your pack mule.”
“Cutest mule I ever saw,” I joked, gave him a wobbly smile, and stepped out in front of him. He was so much more than just muscle. He was the raptor sitting atop the key. One half of our pretty amazing whole.
Passing through the reception area, we moved into a wide, open hallway that had at least a dozen or so doors. The hallway was barren of any kind of medical contraptions, something I was quite pleased about. I didn’t relish seeing bloody gurneys parked in plain view. Administrative offices, a cafeteria, which we would tour as I had info on what the patients would have been served, a solarium, and of course, the game room, which was at the end of the corridor. Each door was torn from the jambs or dangling from one weak hinge. The walls that had once been pristine white were now thick with black mold, graffiti, and ivy that was slowly reclaiming the building as nature did. The wind whistled through broken windows, channeling down the hall, gathering and then dropping dried leaves into the corners.
“If this one is popular, where do you think Roxie will send us next?” Phil asked, keeping the beam of light just ahead of us.
“The seventh ring of Hell?” I teased. He snorted. “I don’t know. I’m sure wherever it is it will be better than this place,” I commented as I passed by an office with a placard still intact that read CLERK OF CUSTODIES—WALLACE ABERNATHY when something moved past the cracked door. A dark shape, tall, a flash of black fog that was there and then…simply wasn’t. I gasped as I fumbled my phone. Phil’s light whipped in my direction, shining on the door, the tarnished nameplate glinting dully as the beam flooded the room. Nothing. There was nothingthere. Heart thundering, I blinked a few times as my adrenal glands got busy.
“What?!” Phil asked, coming up beside me, his big body a comfort as my pulse rocketed.
“I…nothing. I thought I saw a shape. A man…but it was just…nothing. Your shadow maybe, or a trick of the light.” I looked over at him. His jaw was set as he studied the doorway and empty office intently for a full minute before blowing out a shaky breath. “Sorry. I’m jumpy.”
“Nah, baby, it’s fine. Was it a ghost?” He turned to face me.
“No, they glow. This was…” I shrugged and chuckled nervously. “This was me being a twit. Seriously, it was nothing. Pay no attention to the dork in the glasses.”
“Never. I will never not pay any attention to the sexy man in the glasses.” He lowered his mouth to mine, a gentle warm kiss that was sorely needed. “I’ll give him all my attention all the time.”
“I adore you.” I stole another kiss, righted my backpack, and motioned to the end of the hall. “Let’s get to the recreation room. The sooner we get there and get set up, the sooner we can get this show on the road.”
We made our way down the corridor, stopping briefly to peek into the food prep area for the cafeteria where they fed the less violent patients. Remnants of tables lay demolished over time, wooden chairs scattered about, and the walls showed where antique furnishings and oils had burned, leaving dark scorch marks on the marble floors. I noticed several old wheelchairs parked along a far wall. They were most likely used for those patients who were too deeply medicated into a near comatose state, needing assistance to return to their rooms or to be pushed around the manicured grounds for walks.
“I used to love school pizza squares,” Phil said out of the blue. I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Like, seriously, I would tryto buy two lunches just for double servings, but the cafeteria lady would tell me to stop being corrupt like my father and be happy I got one meal.”
“What kind of boarding school did you attend that made cheesy pizza squares? I assumed you’d be fed pizza imported from Sicily,” I commented. He bit down on his lip. A rat the size of a cat darted past, and all talk of school lunches died off instantly. We booked it hard out of that area and down the hall, saying a bold “Fuck you!” to any more off-camera investigating and thundering into the game/rec room at the end of the dank corridor.
“On second thought, I think that was an opossum,” Phil huffed when we had the door to the game room soundly closed behind us. “They’re nocturnal and active in the winter.”
“Okay, good to know. I still don’t want to chill with it.” I caught my breath, pushed off the door, and gave the room a good once-over. Card tables lay tossed about, and the chairs were in the same condition as in the cafeteria. The walls were coated with crude phallic designs. Over in the far corner was a boarded-over window and a wheelchair with a suitcase sitting beside it on the floor.
“It’s a mimic,” I mumbled to Phil, who saw the old case and chuckled. We’d been known to roll for initiative on occasion. I must confess that I was curious as to what might be inside. “Maybe we’ll open it later for the viewers.”
“Yeah, that’s cool. Okay, let’s get set up and hooked up with Tray. We have about twenty minutes until the stream starts.”
“Cool, I’m ready, I think,” I replied as he knelt down to dig out his camera, a battery, and a few other techy things. I shrugged off my backpack and unzipped it. Glow in the dark everything waited for us to spread it about. I blew up a few balloons, tossed snapped glowsticks around, and dug into the bottom for our T-shirts. They were both 3-X, which was good for pulling over ourcoats, and had some silly penguin holding up a sign that read GLOW HARD OR GO HOME on the front. “Here you go.” I tossed Phil one. He rushed to pull it over his Lions varsity jacket and then returned to getting us hooked up and online.
“Internet out here is weak but should be able to handle it,” he told me as he held up his trusty Canon, the green light lit. “Tray and Roxie are ready to count us down.”
I nodded, took a cleansing breath, and stared into the light of the camcorder.
Chapter Six
“Hey, viewers and spiritseekers! We’re back,” I said, adding a spookyPoltergeisttint to the last two words of my opener. Phil, camera in his right hand, gave me a thumbs up. The light was bright in my eyes as I pulled on my most serious look. “Welcome to the second episode of Kestrel and Kee, Paranormal Investigators, sponsored by Schmidt Apple Orchard, Martin’s Vape Shop, and the Feline Like Coffee Shop. Tonight, we have a special show. We know it’s New Year’s Eve, and that you could be out at a rager getting lit but you’re ringing in the new year with us, so we’re going to have our own otherworldly glow party after a tour of the Cornwall Cove Lunatic Asylum.” Phil then panned the game room slowly as I kicked a balloon into the cold, stagnant air trying to add some levity even though I was feeling less than silly. “Phil and I have set up a little base camp here in the recreation room, or the gameroom, and as you can see it’s not exactly party central but we tried.”
The light came back on me. My breath fogged in front of my face as I spoke. “I guess we can start with a basic little history of the Cornwall Cove Lunatic Asylum.” Phil smiled around the camera at me, easing some of my tension. Shame that smile couldn’t erase the subtle pain in my head. “According to my research, and someone correct me if I’m wrong—”
