Spirits are around us all the time; just because we don’t see them doesn’t mean they are not there… and no place holds nearly as many ghosts as Angelic Gardens Mental Institution. The towering psychiatric hospital was the crown jewel of Angelic Falls. The town was proud they had the biggest mental hospital in the area. Despite their satisfaction, the hospital sat in the woods just outside of town, far enough so none of the residents could hear the screams.
I don’t remember my age. I think I was six when my parents sent me here. That was the last time I heard their voices. They never loved me, always ashamed or scared of my power to see the dead. No matter where I went I always saw them, the living dead were everywhere, some were scary and some were nice. My mother thought it was all a joke until I tried to drown my brother because the ghost hated his nightly cries. Kill him. The ghost of Thomas Baker whispered into my ear that night. Kill him and be free of this wretched noise. Quietly, I snuck into his room and grabbed him. I was holding him under the water in our bathtub when my father barged in, shouting at the top of his lungs.The next day I was here, all alone… No one comes to see me other than the doctors and nurses…oh and the ghosts, they never leave.
My room sits at the end of the psych ward. The paint is chipping off the walls and the bed feels as if it’s made of rocks. It doesn’t matter how much funding the institution receives, they aren’t going to give the crazies good accommodations. I make my way over to the small window at the side of my room. The smell of formaldehyde riddles the air. The trees outside sway to the autumn breeze, their leaves tinged yellow and red. I haven’t stepped outside in years; I don’t remember the feel of the grass or the sounds of the birds. I only know the distant and faint screams of all the patients.
My chair begins to rock and I know Archie Williams is paying me a visit. Archie was a boy of around fifteen years of age. In his life he had been handsome but Dr. Dwyer’s shock treatments and unorthodox methods have destroyed his delicate features. He died on the table of one of Dr. Dwyer experiments., It was such a shame. He was such a nice boy, he only had a small case of schizophrenia. Now all he does is wander aimlessly around the psych ward, twitching and shaking; he can’t talk anymore, he screams. Wails of horror fill my room as more patients come to visit me. Gertrude Schmitz’s spirit helps herself to my bed. Ghosts don’t get tired but she liked to mess with me. She was deceased when I got here but I latched onto her quickly. She became the closest thing I had to a mother in these walls; she is the reason I’m still sane to this day, the reason I haven’t fallen to Dr. Dwyer’s evil hands. When I would get back to my room, throwing up and muttering to myself, she would soothe me. She brought me more comfort than my mother ever did. Gave me more love, more kindness. Dr. Dwyer is the reason she is dead. He is the reason I’ll never actually feel Gertude’s caring hands, or hear her voice unfiltered by the veil. Dr. Dwyer needs to pay.
Dr. Dwyer has killed more people than he saved. He finds a sadistic pleasure in hearing our tormented cries. All of my friends have died or been destroyed by his hands, him and his lunatic nurse. They call us the crazy ones but we don’t tear open people’s skulls just to fiddle and probe their brain, we don’t send jolts of electricity into the minds of our patients.
Marie Campell came here as a perfectly sane woman, now she sits in the same chair all day muttering nonsense to herself. Richard Perkerins was a man who found love with other men, now he’s dead and I can’t sleep with his cries in the pipes. Every corner of this asylum is full of patients both living and dead, screaming and crying; we’re all stuck here, with no way out. No one who comes in ever comes out. I plan to be the first.
When Dr. Dwyer comes to get me for my lobotomy, I’m going to kill him. The ghosts won’t be much help, no, even in death their brains are fried. And I intend to do the same to him. Tie him to a chair, carve him up, shock him, stab his brain the same way he stabbed all of ours. I intend to torture him, make his death long and drawn out so he can feel the pain he’s inflicted on countless of others. I’ll make his whore nurse watch, then when he’s gone I’ll do the same to her. Then I would announce at the top of the lungs that the monsters are gone, and we would all rejoice.