FROM THE SAME AUTHOR

Love Life

The Vampire’s Treaty

(The Peter Chronicles)

Happy Ever After

G.S.O.H Essential

A Fresh Start

PETER

All Good Things

9 Months Book One

9 Months Book Two

9 Months Book Three

Non-Fiction titles

im fine

PlentyOfFreaks

Wasting Stamps

Self-publishing: Releasing your book to the digital market

Short Story Collections

Scribblings From a Dark Place

Reviews, Critics & Mystery Shopping

The Story Collection: Volume One

Novellas

Smile

The Dead Don’t Knock

Writer’s Block

Buried

The Last Stop

The Chosen Routes

A Christmas to Remember (YOU choose the story)

Romance is Dead

The Breakdown

Picture Books

I Hate Fruit & Veg

© Matt Shaw

The right of Matt Shaw to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.

The characters, and story, in this book are purely fictitious. Any likeness to person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

With thanks to:

Elena Helfrecht for the use of the main cover image

Beth Thurlow and Julie Shaw for their editing

PREVIOUSLY...

I opened my eyes. I was face down on the bedroom’s wooden floorboards. I must have blacked out; the shock of what was happening too much for my body to take. As soon as I realized where I was I sat up and cast my eyes around the room. It’s empty. I’m alone again. I must have been unconscious for some time as daylight is spilling in from the window on the side of the room. Thank God for that. I need to get out of here. It’s over...

BANG!

No. It can’t be. It came from the front of the cabin this time. What do they want? It’s daylight now. They must know it’s over. They must do. My dad used to tell me things only went bump in the night.

I heard footsteps across the front of the porch. Will they ever leave me alone? A knocking on the front door followed. No. I’m not having it. I’m not. I looked to the floor and spotted the gun. Without giving it any hesitation I grabbed it and aimed it at the door.

“I’m in here!” I called out. “Come and get me!”

Footsteps across the floorboards in the other room. The door opened and I pulled the trigger.

BANG!

I screamed and dropped the gun. It hit the floor before Ava’s body did. My daughter. My beautiful daughter. She fell backwards with blood trickling from the front of her delicate face. What have I done? What have I done?

“Baby?!” I called out as I scrambled over to her lifeless body.

More footsteps from outside which sounded as though they were running towards where I was sat, cradling the body of my youngest. What had I done?

Susan screamed as she came through the cabin’s front door.

“My baby!” she screamed. “What have you done?!”

I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t know how to. Jamie came in and stopped in the cabin’s doorway. Her face was pale as she took in the scene before her eyes.

I screamed out as Susan pulled Ava’s body away from me and cradled it in her own arms.

“Daddy?” said Jamie from the doorway where she’d just stopped in her tracks. Her voice was shaking.

“My baby! My baby! What have you done!” Susan kept wailing over and over again.

“I’m sorry,” I wept with my head in my hands; tears flowing uncontrollably.

“Call someone!” Susan demanded. “Make it better! Make it better!” she screamed.

Jamie dropped to her knees and started to weep, her black mascara running down her pale face, as what happened slowly started to sink in.

“Don’t just sit there!” screamed Susan. “Call someone!”

“I’m sorry,” I cried as I tried to put a comforting arm around Susan.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” she screamed. The anguish and hatred in her voice flowing through every syllable.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated.

I stood up and staggered out of the cabin, into the bright daylight of the warm Saturday morning. I didn’t even manage to get off the porch before I threw up over the side, into the foliage below. I’ve killed my daughter. I’ve killed my daughter. I desperately wanted to forget...Block out the pain...But the screams of Susan’s pain and the whimpering of Jamie, from the doorway, refused me the luxury of forgetting and pretending it never happened. I need to call someone. I need to get help. I ran over to the car...I didn’t even hear them pull up...It was an accident....Had I known it was them...I opened the car door, which must have banged shut when they climbed out, and reached into the passenger seat to grab my cellphone. I flipped it open and pressed ‘9’ on the keypad. I stopped.

Who am I supposed to call? Who can make this all better? No one can. There’s no one. No one can bring little Ava back to life. No one can erase the pain Susan, Jamie and I will feel for the rest of our lives. No one can take away the image of the bullet piercing the front of Ava’s face and the look of shock in her eyes. No one can fix this. They’ll never forgive me. I’ll never forgive myself. Our lives will never be the same again. I’ve destroyed them for good. People won’t believe what happened during the night to make me feel on edge. They won’t. They’ll just know I killed my daughter. And, if I did that, I must have killed the store clerk too. Josh wins. He’ll get away with it. They probably won’t even know he was even in the store when the gun went off. They’ll pin it all on the city-man. I’ve lost everything. I’ve destroyed everything.

I’m not crying anymore. I’m in shock. Nothing can fix this. Where do we go from here? How do we move on? I sat for a moment with only the sounds of the girls screaming keeping me from being in complete silence.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Moments later I knew what needed to be done. I know how to take the pain away. It’s the only way. I climbed from the car and walked back to the cabin. I passed Jamie who was still crying in the doorway and I tried to block the image of Susan cradling Ava as I stepped past them and across to the bedroom. With no hesitation I picked the gun up. This is the only way I know how to take their pain away. This is the only way. I’ll have to be quick. I’ll have to make it quick. They don’t deserve any of this. The least I can do is make it so they don’t know what happened.

“What did you do?!” Susan screamed from the other room.

I walked back to where she was huddled over Ava and apologized once more. I raised the gun to Jamie first and pulled the trigger. I shot her straight through the head; the force of the bullet sending her out of the cabin’s doorway and onto the porch. Susan screamed.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. The shame oozing through the tone of my voice. “I’ll always love you. I’m sorry.” I turned the gun on Susan. Her final scream was cut short with the sound of a bang. She slumped over Ava’s body. I just stood there, for a moment, as I took in my actions. Seconds later, without even realizing I had started, I was screaming at the top of my lungs.

This isn’t my fault. This isn’t my fault. It’s whoever was tormenting me through the night. Whatever was tormenting me. If they had just left me alone, I’d have had no reason to have kept the gun so close to my side. Ava would have run into the room and into my loving arms. Susan and Jamie would have followed. Why did they even come back? Why? They weren’t supposed to come back. They were supposed to wait for me to call them. Susan must have known I didn’t have the numbers because my phone was on the seat. She must have come back to find me. She must have come back to make sure everything was okay. To make sure I was okay. Maybe her mum and dad weren’t in and they had had no choice but to come back? I screamed again.

“Please forgive me...Please...”

I walked through to my dad’s office and slumped down in his old chair. I looked down to the picture of my dad and me, for one final time. The picture had been changed again. My face had the eyes crossed out too, along with a scar drawn down my neck. I didn’t care how or why. Not anymore. I was past caring. I raised the gun to my head. As well as the cold metal of the gun against my temple, I felt the horrible feeling of warm breath against the back of my neck. I didn’t care anymore. I was numb to it all.

“Please forgive me,” I whispered.

I squeezed the trigger.

CLICK!

“NO! PLEASE! NO!”

I pulled the trigger again.

CLICK!

No. It can’t be. It can’t.

CLICK!

It’s empty. It can’t be. Please God no. Let me finish it. Please. I frantically started squeezing the trigger again and again and again on the off-chance there was, somewhere, one final bullet in the chamber. I know I hadn’t fired them all. I know I didn’t. There should have been one left. There should have been one left. I wept as I realized the gun couldn’t have been fully loaded in the first place. Come on, keep squeezing the trigger. There must be one left. There has to be one left. Come on, please. Please don’t do this to me. I’ve been through enough. Please...

CLICK!

CLICK!

CLICK!

I screamed as loud as I could.

M A T T   S H A W ‘ S

THE CABIN

II

‘Asylum’

1.

“Daddy!” Ava’s little voice whispered from somewhere in the back of my mind.

I’ve missed her dulcet tones.

I only have myself to blame.

“Daddy!” she repeated.

Is this a dream? Or is she really here trying to wake me from my nightmarish slumber?

“Daddy! Wake up!”

She’s here.

She has to be.

This isn’t part of whatever dream I was having.

This is real.

I know it is.

I opened my eyes. Ava’s voice - nothing more than a cruel trick of my imagination. She isn’t here. No one is here other than me and the jet-black spider which has made the corner of the cell its home.

I sat up and rested my back against the soft padded wall. I wonder whether the padding on the wall is to stop me from hurting myself, as they had explained when I first got here, or to drown the sounds of my banging and screaming as I beg for them to let me out; not that they ever will.

They didn’t even let me attend their funeral to give them a proper goodbye. They didn’t permit me to stand at the gravestone and grieve for a couple of minutes by myself. There were no goodbyes. No peace of mind for me as my family got a proper send off. None of that. I’m destined to be stuck with images of them on the cabin floor - dead forever. It’s all I see when I close my eyes.

Their dead bodies.

The pools of blood.

The smell of death, lingering in the air, as smoke filtered into the atmosphere from the barrel of the still-smoking gun.

“I don’t want that in the house,” Susan had told me when I brought it home from the shop where I purchased it. She hated guns. She always had. I told her she had nothing to worry about. It was for peace of mind, that was all. I told her to trust me. “You know I don’t like them,” she had continued.

“It’s just for protection,” I always reminded her.

Protection.

The word echoes through my mind as I remember what her brains looked like, splattered on the walls of the wooden cabin. Her body slumped next to our daughters’.

Protection.

I was awake now. I wished I wasn’t. I wished I was dead. I should be dead. I should have died in the cabin, with my family. I didn’t want to live. I didn’t want to live and I don’t want to be awake now. When you’re awake...They come for you. Even if you pretend to sleep...They know. They always know.

I jumped as a small flap on the cell’s door slid open. I closed my eyes regardless.

They always know.

I sensed a cold eye staring at me. They always looked through, at an angle, so you could only see the one beady eye. Not being able to see the rest of their faces...Only seeing the one eye which was watching you so intently...It always made it worse...Always made you feel even more uncomfortable than you already were. And these rooms, with their padded walls and lack of furniture...Even their lack of bedding...There’s nowhere to hide from their gaze.

“I know you’re awake,” a voice whispered. “I heard you move around. We thought, perhaps, you might want to answer some more questions?”

I didn’t answer him. No point. It wasn’t a choice I was being offered.

A key audibly went into the door’s lock. A little bit of fiddling and it clicked open. No handle on this side of the door, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before the door would be open. Seconds.  If that.  Seconds to contemplate running.  Seconds to contemplate fighting him.  Seconds to remember they’d have help close-by if I didn’t cooperate.

Seconds.

The door opened.

The doctor stood out of sight in the corridor, giving the illusion of no-one being past the open doorway; an illusion which tempted me further into making a run for it. I know he’s there though. I know he is. They’re always there. I have to keep telling myself not to run. It only makes it worse.

“Come now,” he whispered from the corridor.

Slowly I stood up. I hesitated for a split second before stepping into the corridor. The harsh brightness of the lighting stung my eyes. A couple more seconds to adjust. I felt a hand grip my arm and turned to see one of the doctor’s helpers. They always have helpers.  Another reason not to run, or to try anything. Could I take the doctor down? Yes. He’s stick thin. Old. Gaunt- looking. He wouldn’t put up a fight against me. Not enough of one anyway. But his helper? His helper looked as though he belonged in one of the rooms. Probably broke out and forged a career as a helper instead of getting locked up again. Twice the man I am. Literally.

The doctor led the way down the long corridor, past all the other locked doors, towards the usual room in which he questioned me. The helper walked with me, his hand never releasing its tight, unforgiving grip on my arm.

“Please,” I said, “I’m feeling better now...”

Both the doctor and the helper ignored me. They always do when I tell them I’m okay now...I promise to them I don’t hear screaming anymore...I promise I don’t see the boy...The boy with the scar down his neck...I tell them I know it was all in my mind...The stress of what had happened in the store with the teenager and the store clerk. I promise...They never listen. When will they listen? A real prison must surely be better than this place...

I’m supposed to be here whilst they see if I’m fit enough to stand trial. I want to be fit enough. I want to stand trial. I’ll plead guilty. I know what I have done. I was the one who pulled the trigger...Just let me out of here.

Let me out.

“Take a seat,” the doctor said. He didn’t need to. I knew the procedure and, even if I didn’t, the helper was on hand to push me into the only seat opposite the doctor’s table and chair.

I sat down.

“So...” the doctor continued. He leant forward and pressed a red button on a tape deck which rested on his desk. “From the top...” He sat back in his chair and waited for me to tell him my story. It was the same story I had told him on numerous other occasions.

The story that no one believed.

The story which led me to this hell-hole.

“I made a mistake,” I said. My voice was shaking. They seem to know everything. Will they know I’m about to lie? If so - did they know before I did that I’d try it on?

“Go on,” the doctor urged me. His face was expressionless. If he did know I was lying, he didn’t let on. I looked at his helper - his face, also, expressionless.

“I think...I was tired. The drive here was long.”

“I can imagine. The traffic can be quite heavy on that route...”

I shifted uneasily in my seat. They know I’m lying. I know they do. How long will they let me continue?

“And...” I stuttered. Damn. Pull yourself together. “And I was stressed from what happened...”

“At the store...”

“Yes...”

“The store clerk...”

“Yes...I was tired and stressed. I didn’t sleep whilst I waited for morning to come round...”

“And why were you waiting for morning?”

“I was going to go to the Sheriff Department...Explain what happened.”

“Of course. I remember now.”

“I was going to...”

“And why didn’t you just wait for the Sheriff, or go right there after the incident?”

My mind is blank.

I can’t remember.

Why didn’t I go straight there? I could have...

Wait.

My wife.

My kids...I wanted them to leave town. I didn’t want them to be part of it. I didn’t...

“Well?” the doctor pushed me for an answer.

“It was late. I had to walk back to town. I didn’t want to walk through the woods in the darkness...Thought it best to wait until morning...”

The doctor made a funny noise in his throat. I’m not sure if he was just trying to clear some phlegm or whether it was a noise to show he understood what I meant...Perhaps he even agreed with my logic?

“Tell me about the boy. The one with the scar down his neck...”

I hesitated. I remember everything about the boy. I remember the way the stitches criss-crossed down the length of his neck, from some botched operation...I remember his dead eyes staring at me...The sound of the scream that filled my head despite seemingly not coming from his mouth. Even his smell. An earthy odour.

“I was saying, I made a mistake. I know he wasn’t there. I know there was no boy.”

“Oh?”

This was the first time I had denied his existence.

“It was my imagination.”

“Imagination?”

“Yes. Caused, no doubt, by stress and tiredness.”

“Quite an imagination you have,” said the doctor. He still didn’t give any indication as to whether he believed me or not. I’d rather know - one way or another - what his thoughts were.

“My dad used to tell me stories about the patients from here...They said the doctors would...” I went quiet. No point going into it. I don’t want to upset him after all. The doctor raised an eyebrow. He looked down at a pad, on the desk near the tape recorder, and scribbled down a note with a plastic pen. I couldn’t read it as much as I wanted to. Reading upside down wasn’t a strength of mine.

“The stories featured a boy with a scar down his neck?”

I nodded.

“And a scream?”

I nodded again.

“You said, when you first got here, that you only had a year left to live. You explained that, if you heard the scream of one of the asylum’s ghosts...You’d die in a year. Your notes...” the doctor opened a file, the last item on the desk, and cast his eye down the first sheet, “...You linked that little story to your father’s heart attack, didn’t you? You told my colleague that he heard the scream, when you didn’t, and a year later he was dead.”

I forgot I had told them that.

“Coincidence,” I said after a slight pause.

“Hmmm.”

The doctor scribbled something else down on the pad of paper. I wish I could see what it said. I might have been able to use it to my advantage.

Might have.

“The locals, around the town, they speak of similar stories...”

“I know,” I said. “I remember one of them telling my dad.”

“Emphasis on the word ‘stories’. You know they are just that?”

I nodded. “Yes. I was confused.”

“So now you’re saying you didn’t see any ghosts?”

I nodded again. Still no expression on the doctor’s face. I still couldn’t tell if he believed me or not.

“We have a test...” he looked up at the helper. I, in turn, shot him a glance. The helper didn’t give anything away. He just stood perfectly still. The doctor turned his attention back to me. “We have a test which tells us whether you’re lying or not.”

“A lie detector test?” I asked.

The doctor showed his yellow, nicotine-stained teeth as he smiled.

“Yes,” he continued, “a lie detector test...”

“Okay...?”

“Would you be willing to cooperate with such a test?”

I hesitated for a second before nodding. I’ve heard there is a way of beating lie detector tests but I’ve never heard the exact method needed. I’ll just have to try my best to convince the machine I’m telling the truth. The fact the doctor wants me to take the test...Surely he must think I’m telling the truth or else he wouldn’t have volunteered the test. I just hope I have as much luck with the machine. If I can fool that, too, then I am one step closer to getting out of here. A real jail has to be better than this. It has to be.

“Well okay then,” said the doctor. His eyes lit up brightly as though my cooperation gave him a sense of satisfaction. A feeling of unease creeps through my body.

To my side, the helper stepped over to the doctor and handed him something out of his shirt pocket. What was that? Whatever it was, the doctor cupped it closely, in the palm of his hand. I’m not sure whether he just doesn’t want to drop whatever it is or whether he is actively trying to hide it from my sight.

Is this part of the test?

The helper stepped behind me and suddenly grabbed my arms.

“What is this?” I demanded. My heart was beating harder and faster than I had ever felt it before. Harder than when I first saw the boy, even.

No one answered me.

The helper pushed my arms forward so that my hands were on the doctor’s table.

“Please try not to move,” the doctor said, “and we’ll begin the test.”

He opened his clenched fist to reveal a small pile of pins.

“What are you doing?” I asked; the panic was clearly audible in my voice.

The doctor took one of the first pins and positioned it under the nail of my small finger, on my left hand. The other pins were positioned, in the same way, under my other nails as the he explained what he was doing.

“This is the test,” he said. His voice was quiet and slow of speech as he concentrated on where best to stick the pins, “it will tell me if you’re lying or not.”

“What are you talking about? How so?” I turned back to the helper who kept my arms locked in position despite my best efforts to break free from his grip. “Get the fuck off of me...”

“Once the pins are in place...” the doctor continued, “...we then hit them with the edge of your folder...”

“You’re insane...”

“You’re the one seeing ghosts,” the doctor bit back. “This is a tried and tested method for revealing liars...Are you a liar, Craig?” He looked up at me. His once bright eyes looked a darker shade of black now.

Don’t admit you were lying.

Don’t tell him you did see the boy.

Don’t.

He’s bluffing.

He’s a professional.

He wouldn’t do this.

He wouldn’t.

“I was tired and confused,” I insisted.

“Well then...We hit the pins with the edge of your folder...” He picked up the folder of notes, from the table, and positioned it against the pins. “If you scream...You’re lying...If you’re telling the truth...You will remain silent.”

“You’re insane,” I said again. I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead but still refused to admit I was lying. I have to try everything to get out of here; everything to convince them I’m well enough to stand trial for what I did. Anything and everything.

With no more words the doctor swung the folder into the pins which, in turn pushed  deep underneath my finger nails. As the agonizing pain tore through my body I couldn’t help but scream...

2.

I was standing at the edge of the forest. The lake was in front of me, along with my family; two daughters and my loving wife. I couldn’t see them. I could just hear their laughter as they enjoyed the last bit of sunshine the clear blue skies offered them, on our weekend vacation. Splashing noises, coming from somewhere at the edge of the lake’s crystal blue waters, were audible between the infectious fits of giggles.

I couldn’t help but smile despite knowing none of this was real. It was just a dream - one happy scenario of many that I had thought about since what had happened in the cabin. This is what the weekend should have been about; my wife and kids enjoying themselves whilst I worked on my book, back at the cabin, before joining them to share in with the fun, laughter and memories to cherish in the years to come.

I stepped into the clearing and headed towards the small bushes a little further down the banks of the lake. I couldn’t see past the foliage but presumed my family must be playing just beyond them as there was nowhere else for them to be so hidden.

As I neared the bushes I was able to see over the top of them. There they were, playing on the edge of the water; my family.

“Hey!” I shouted. They didn’t respond. “Room for one more?” I called out, a little louder, as I continued to move towards them.

Again, they didn’t respond.

I got to the bushes. I didn’t realise they were so thick. There must be a way around them. The kids may have crawled through them but not Susan. She’d have wanted to go around them; especially if she were the one lugging all the bags as I suspect she was.

“Fuck it,” I whispered.

I dropped to my knees and started to crawl through the undergrowth.

Thankfully there are no brambles.

No bugs as of yet either.

Also a good thing.

As I got to the other end, I pushed through with my hands followed by my head. I could see the clearing but I couldn’t see Susan, or my daughters, Ava and Jamie.

I could still hear them though; laughing and having fun. It’s strange. When I’m awake I struggle to recall the sound of their voices, even their laughter. It’s as though my memory is punishing me for what I had done by taking the sounds away from me. At least, in my dreams, I can still hear them. Even if they are short lived.

“Honey?!” I called out. I stood up and looked around. I could see them, playing in the water just off a wooden pier which ran from the bank of the lake. Ava was hanging onto the edge of a small rowing boat, her way of staying afloat - with the added aid of inflatables around her arms. She was kicking back with her legs causing large splashes to go over her mum and sister. She was in hysterics while they were screaming as more and more water soaked them. I couldn’t help but laugh. I’ll run up the pier and jump in next to them...I’ll soak them all.

I removed my tee shirt and kicked my shoes off. I was only wearing shorts now and it didn’t matter if they were to get wet. Besides, with this sun, they’ll soon dry. With any luck they haven’t seen me yet and I can surprise them all. I crept onto the pier’s wooden floorboards, making sure to keep low, and dropped my shirt. By the time I looked back up my family were gone from view.

I looked around.

They’ve gone.

They couldn’t have come out of the water.

I would have seen them!

“Susan?” I called out.

Nothing.

“Ava? Honey?”

Again, there was no reply.

“Ava!” I repeated louder this time.

Although they had disappeared, I was used to it. This always happened in my dreams. You’d think I’d learn from the many dreams I’ve had since that day, but I never do. I’ll keep looking for them and I’ll never find them. They’re there one minute and gone the next. The strange thing about this dream, this time, though...There’re no sounds other than the sound of my own breathing.

The trees were swaying gently indicating a breeze but I couldn’t hear the wind rustling the many leaves. Even my footsteps on the wooden boards made no noise as I continued to walk to where my family had been playing. There was nothing. It was as though the world had been muted.

I came to the edge of the pier, next to where the boat had been tied. No sign of my family. The water wasn’t clear anymore - it was a murky colour - hard to see anything under the surface. They wouldn’t be down there. They wouldn’t have gone under. I know they wouldn’t have. One could have but not all three of them. Especially Jamie, the eldest daughter, she’s a strong swimmer.

No.

They definitely aren’t down there.

So why am I being drawn to the ripples dancing across the water?

Come on, I know they’re not in there.

I know they’re not struggling for air, out of sight, in the murky depths.

Walk away.

I called out for my wife again but no words managed to escape my mouth; not just the world that was on mute.

Mute?

I couldn’t take my eyes away from the water.

What if they’re under the water?

What if they’re thrashing around, stuck in weeds?

What if they’re screaming for my help but also on mute?

I know they’re not.

I know it.

I know I’m going to jump into the water and find nothing.

I never find them once they vanish.

Yet...I have to go in there...

I jumped into the water and immediately ducked my head underneath the murky surface. Despite the water stinging my eyes, I did my best to keep them open on the off chance I could see anything which resembled the shapes of my family. I couldn’t see anything though. Not because they weren’t there, for sure...Just because it was too dark.

Running out of air.

I broke the surface of the lake, still in mute, and took a large gulp of air before ducking under again. Just once I wished I could find them. Just once I wished my dream would have a happy ending. It would have made sense for a happy ending considering the state of my life. I was always led to believe dreams worked in reverse; if you had a bad dream - in your waking life you’d have good fortune - and if you had a good dream...In the real world, you’d be in for a rough time. That being said, I was also told that if you lost your teeth in your dreams, it was supposed to mean you were soon to be losing some friends. Well I’ve had the ‘teeth’ dreams and I’ve never lost friends afterwards.

Back under the water, I still couldn’t see anything. They can’t be here though. I know they can’t. It wouldn’t have made sense for all of them to suddenly slip under without as much as a scream of alarm. I could understand if it were just Ava who was missing, what with her being the youngest - and weakest - of the three but...Not all of them.

I broke the surface again.

Damn dirty water is stinging my eyes. I shut them as tight as I could in a hope to cleanse them. Can’t feel it working. A few more seconds of trying to force the water from my eyes and I slowly opened them once more - I half expected them to start stinging again.

As soon as my vision cleared I saw the boy directly in front of me. He looked just as he did in the cabin. The same dead look in his black eyes. The same scar down his throat. He opened his mouth...

The world was no longer in mute as his terrifying scream filled my head.

* * * * *

I woke with a start just as I always did. I don’t know why. I should be used to it now; used to him appearing from out of nowhere. It’s the same every night. Every dream.

Did my dad go through this, too, on the lead up to his death?

Do I have a year left like he did?

A year before a fateful heart attack steals my life?

A year being haunted by what I’ve done?

I’d rather die now.

“You okay?”

I jumped again at the sound of a female voice. I rolled onto my side, on the padded floor, and looked towards the door. A woman in her mid to late twenties was crouched in the doorway. Despite asking if I was okay she didn’t look too concerned either way.

She asked again, “You okay?”

I sat up and leaned back against the wall, my favourite position in this little box room of mine.

“It looked like you were having a nightmare.” She barely stopped for a breath, “They look sore,” she continued. She was looking at my fingers.

They felt sore too.

“I’ve not seen you before,” she said.

The gown she was wearing, the blank expression on her pretty face - a look achieved through a high dosage of medication - all signs she wasn’t one of the many doctors who patrolled the area. Not a guarantee though. Some of the doctors here...The way they act...I often wonder if there’s substances flowing through their sadistic veins.

“Are you coming out today?” she asked.

Every day we had the opportunity to leave our cell to go to the day room; a room filled with various tables and chairs, a television in the corner of the room which was hidden behind a cage to avoid being damaged if a fight ever broke out, board games - no doubt with pieces missing...A nurses’ station in the corner of the room, which led onto a larger - and plusher - office in which they were able to relax. It was from this station that they issued the meds out at a certain time.

In a room full of crazy, I’d rather stay in my cell.

“There’s a card game happening.”

If she wanted to tempt me to leave the relative safety of my cell, she was going to have to do better than a card game.

“I heard you killed your family. That true?”

I shot her a look and tried my best not to react to what she said. It’s one thing having to go over the same story again and again with the doctors. I didn’t need to relive the experience with a crazy too.

She crept into the room and leaned against the wall opposite me. For the first time ever I wished they left the cell doors closed for the people who didn’t want to leave them; the people who wanted to keep some privacy in their already ruined lives.

“Vicky.”

I presumed that was her name.

I didn’t respond with mine as I didn’t plan on being here long enough to make any new friends. We both sat there, in silence, for what seemed to be an eternity. It reality it was probably a few seconds but everything here...Everything seems to go on for longer than what it actually is - including uncomfortable silences.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I said when I could no longer take her impenetrable stare, “I’d like to be by myself,” I finished.

“You want to convince them you’re not broken?” She must have sensed my look of confusion as she went on to explain, “The doctors...If you want to convince them you’re okay to leave, you need to act normal. Locking yourself away in a small room isn’t what they’d consider normal,” she said. “You do want to get out, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer her. It seemed as though she already had the answers; sometimes before she’d actually have the question.

“They say you want to leave. They say you don’t belong here.”

“They say a lot,” I said - more or less to myself as I struggled to hide the fact this stranger was annoying me.

She smiled at me, “Come on, I’ll show you around.” She clambered to her feet and offered her hand to help me to my mine.

Maybe, leaving the room will help convince the doctors I’m okay to leave?

Whatever.

One thing it will show them is that I’m not scared of them.

Especially after last night.

I’m not scared of them.

I’m not.

“You should be,” Vicky whispered in my ear.

3.

I always envisioned places such as this asylum, to be clinical - with their white walls, white floors, various security points and reception desks - due to the nature of what they were about. Inoffensive colours so as not to antagonise the patients, everything white so it was easier to keep clean when the janitors passed through with their mops and buckets. Security points just in case of trouble breaking out. Reception desks to help the few, and far between, visitors when they came to see a loved one or near-forgotten friend...I just thought they might have stretched to a few paintings to make the place feel more homely and a little less clinical; something, I’m sure, which would help the patients settle in easier. Perhaps, even, paintings - or sculptures - made by some of the inmates here during one of the many arts and craft lessons I’d heard the doctors and nurses seemed to favour.

I was following Vicky as she led the way to the day care room; a room I had caught a glimpse of on the many walks to the doctors’ rooms. A room I had never had the inclination to visit on my own. Vicky was relishing the opportunity to be the perfect tour guide; telling me about anything and everything as we passed what she believed to be points of interest - one of which was a dirty-looking drinking fountain in one of the many aged corridors. She informed me the water tasted funny from here. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wouldn’t have sipped from it if I were dying of thirst and my miserable life counted on it.

We turned into the day room.

“And here we are.”

It looked the same as when I had first caught a glimpse of it; various patients sat around at the tables - some playing games whilst others simply dribbled on themselves - nurses working at the station, behind the glass shield at the back of the room, a television - not switched on - in the far corner of the room, attached to the wall by a rusty looking mount and tucked behind a protective cage which would surely obscure most of the picture had it been showing anything.

“Did you want to play a game?” asked Vicky. “They have quite a good collection.”

I shook my head.

“How did you kill them?”

“What?”

I wasn’t sure whether Vicky even knew how blunt she was being. Her small, dilated pupils hinted she wouldn’t care though, nor remember the following morning.

“They have Snakes and Ladders,” she continued.

I shook my head again.

“You shot them, huh?”

“Daddy!” I heard a faint whisper from the doorway and turned to see Ava standing there, a trickle of blood running down the centre of her forehead. She didn’t wait for an answer, she turned her back on me - the back of her head was a bloody mess. She whispered my name again and disappeared around the corner.

“What’s wrong?” asked Vicky.

I didn’t answer her. I stood up and walked towards the door where I had seen my daughter. Beyond the door was a corridor. It looked different compared to the way it had looked when Vicky and I just walked down it. Darker. Colder. So cold, in fact, that I could see my breath as I exhaled.

“Ava?” I called out.

One by one the overhead fluorescent lights switched off plunging me into near darkness. The only light was coming from the daycare room I had just left and the far end of the corridor, the only direction she could have gone in. The light, down there, was flickering on and off. One second darkness, the next it was light.

Darkness.

Light.

Darkness.

Light.

Am I asleep? I can’t be. I never sleep during the day and I didn’t feel tired. It’s just the stress of the situation. The stress playing tricks on my already broken mind. It has to be that. None of this can be real. If it were then the others would have noticed it too - unless they’re all too medicated.

Darkness.

Light.

Darkness.

Light...

“Ava?” I called out again and again. There was no answer. I turned back to the daycare room. I know I should go back in there. Go back and sit with Vicky. Ignore what is happening out here. If anyone sees me acting strangely, they’ll keep me here longer and I desperately want to leave. I don’t like it here.

I needn’t worry about anyone noticing my odd behaviour. The quick glance I stole into the daycare room shows no one is looking. No one. I guess they’re used to ‘crazy’ around here.

“Daddy...” another whisper. This time it came from around the corner where the light still flickered.

Darkness.

Light.

Darkness.

Light.

The pull of my daughter was too strong to ignore and I started walking down the poorly lit corridor towards the flickering light at the furthest point. I haven’t even thought about what I’d do, or say, if I did bump into Ava.

I walked down the corridor and turned the corner. Another corridor. Again, all the lights were off except for the one at the other end; this one was on - not even flickering. A sign on the far wall pointed around the corner. A sign which read ‘Morgue’.

None of this was here earlier when I came through with Vicky. Am I losing my mind? Is it already lost?

I froze about mid-way down the corridor. I don’t want to see what Ava is leading me to. I don’t. Not in the morgue. I turned back in the direction I came from only to see a sign on the wall I just passed pointing me to the morgue. What? That’s not possible. That wasn’t there. The daycare room is down there. Not the morgue.

“Daddy, please...” little Ava’s voice sounded desperate and sent a chill down to the base of my aching spine. “Please, daddy...”

Please let her voice be in my head.

Don’t let her be haunting me.

It’s bad enough she’s dead.

It’s bad enough that I killed her.

I don’t want her to be stuck.

I want her to be resting.

I want her to be at peace.

My heart sank. When do people like me get what we really want and not what we deserve?

“Ava?” I called out to her.

“Quick, daddy...” her voice was coming from around the corner in what must have been the morgue.

I can’t not go.

I walked down the corridor with my heart beating hard and fast. I felt sick.

What do I say to her?

The next corridor was shorter than the previous two. At the far end some double doors with a ‘mortuary’ sign; a window in each of the doors revealing  bright light from the room beyond. It looked warmer through there. It looked deceptively inviting compared to these dark corridors.

“In here,” whispered her delicate voice from behind the doors.

Slowly I walked towards them and stretched my hands out, ready to push the doors open. It’ll be okay. I know it will. I know there’ll be nothing in there. It’ll probably be the daycare room. Yes, that’ll be it. I would have walked in a big circle; my brain playing tricks on me. That girl...Vicky...She’ll probably be sitting in there asking me where I went. What am I talking about? I doubt she’s even noticed I’ve left.

I stopped next to the doors.

Okay.

This is it.

Deep breath.

I pushed the doors open.

Not the daycare room.

There were cold, metal tables lining the middle of the room. Three bodies, covered by white sheets, on the last of the tables. I swallowed hard. Harder when I noticed the trolley next to one of the tables; various sharp implements, coated in blood, laid across the top.

Slowly I walked across the room, towards the far tables. My hand was shaking - no doubt anticipating having to pull the sheets off; worried about what laid beneath.

Silly.

There’s nothing to worry about. It won’t be my family. They won’t be here. They were buried. They had a funeral.

“Did they?” hissed a voice from behind me.

I twisted my head and saw the doctor standing in the shadows of the corner behind me, “You weren’t there...” he reminded me. “Maybe we dug them up again as part of your ongoing treatment?”

“My ongoing treatment?”

“Clearly you’re not well.”

“I am. I told you. Everything about that night...I was stressed...”

“You were lying. You screamed. Remember? Unless...” the doctor looked to someone behind me. I turned around and saw his helper standing in the opposite corner of the room. He continued, “...Unless you want to retake the test?”

I shook my head.

“I’m supposed to be here for evaluation. You’re supposed to be seeing if I’m fit enough to stand trial.”

“You think you’ll be leaving here?” the doctor laughed. “There’s only one way you’ll be leaving. You’re here until we say you’re mentally fit enough to leave...”

I turned my back on the doctor; my attention stolen by the three bodies lying on the tables. Would they really have dug them back up? I’m being haunted by Ava because her sleep was disturbed?

Sleep?

She’s not asleep. She’s dead. I killed her.

“Yes, you did...” the doctor agreed.

I turned back to him, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because people like you deserve it. To fix you, you must first realise the true nature of what you’ve done.”

“You think I don’t already know? My family is dead.”

“And you need to be punished. You come here hoping for an easy path. You come here hoping you can avoid doing your time. You’re mistaken. We all need to pay for our sins.”

“Who is under the sheets?”

“I told you.”

“You lie.”

“Do I?”

“You wouldn’t dig them up. There’s no need.”

“You need to understand what you’ve done.”

“I do.”

“You will.”

“It’s not them.” I turned to the tables and slowly walked towards them. It won’t be them under there. It’ll probably be some of the other patients; people who have succumbed to madness or the various cruel tests performed on them by the just as mad doctors. I’ll prove it’s not them. I’ll prove he’s lying.

I was standing next to the tables now and the dirtied sheets - stained with blood, potentially caused by the wounds on the bodies. The smell is rancid. Whoever’s underneath smells as though they’ve been under there for a while. I held my breath; not only to stop the smell invading my nostrils but also to try and hide my nerves from the doctor and his helper.

Need to be strong.

Need to be brave.

I just need to pull one of the sheets back.

Just one of them will reveal it’s not my family underneath.

Just one.

“What are you waiting for? Take a look at what you’ve done.” asked the doctor.

I closed my eyes and took a hold of the sheet with my left hand. A second later and I gave the sheet a sharp tug. Whoever was underneath was clearly visible now. All I had to do was open my eyes. Just one, even. A quick look and then I can close them again.

A quick look.

Five seconds.

I’ll open my eyes in five seconds.

Four.

Three.

Two...

One.

I opened my eyes and screamed as I looked at the table; a loud scream which echoed around the room even after it had been cut short when I realised there was nothing on the table. No body. Nothing. Not even a sheet in my hand although I didn’t recall letting go of it. I turned to the doctor only to notice he was no longer standing in the room. Neither was his helper. There was no one. I turned to the other tables - also empty.

“What the hell is going on?”

The tray of bloodied equipment wasn’t even there anymore. There was nothing. The room was derelict. Even the paint, once white and clinical looking, was now peeling off the walls and looking aged.

I shut my eyes again.

This isn’t happening.

This is impossible.

None of this is real.

“What are you doing?” Vicky asked.

Slowly I opened my eyes. I was standing in the mortuary still. The walls were once again coated in fresh white paint. The tables which lined the room were more or less empty with the exception of one of them - the one I was standing in front of. The body of a young boy laid open it. His eyes fixed to the ceiling, skin pale and puffy looking. A terrible scar running down the centre of his neck.

“What are you doing?” Vicky asked again. “You’ll get in trouble if they find you in here. And put that back over him...” she nodded towards my hand - a sheet securely in its grip.

“Did you see the doctor?”

Vicky shook her head.

“He was just in here. I was just talking to him.”

“I just followed you from the daycare room. He wasn’t here. Look, we really can’t be seen in here. We need to leave.” I looked back to the boy. He was staring right at me - his eyes unblinking.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve not seen him before,” said Vicky. “I’m going. You should come with me.”

I put the sheet over the boy - choosing to ignore his gaze - and stepped away.

“Am I losing my mind?” I asked her.

“If you’re in here - you’ve already lost it.”

4.

I was lying on the padded floor in my small cell trying to get my head around what had happened in the mortuary. I couldn’t figure out how I even got there; the way back to the daycare room, led by Vicky, was completely different to the route I had taken to get to the mortuary in the first place. I looked around, on the way back, hoping to see the route Ava led me down earlier but I couldn’t. There were no other obvious routes I could have come down. Nothing made any sense to me anymore. The only thing I knew for sure was what I had done and the mess I was in now.

Maybe I am insane like the doctors believe. Not just the doctors either. Other people must think I am too or else I wouldn’t have been sent here. The Sheriff would have taken me straight to the courthouse.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered.

I knew he was there. Not sure how he got in the room - now the door was closed, and locked, for the night - but, even so, I knew he was there; the faint wheezing noise coming from his mouth gave him away. I didn’t look at him as I knew he’d only point at me and scream; he does it every time I catch his gaze.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” I felt my eyes start to well up, not that I wanted to cry in front of...him?

Does a ghost count as a ‘him’?

Or an ‘it’?

If I did start to weep would it leave me in peace?

Would it make this nightmare end?

I turned my back on it and closed my eyes as I felt a shift in the padded floor as it walked closer to me. Another shift in the padded floor. What’s it doing? A cold hand went around my chest. Seconds later, a cold body snuggled in behind me.

“I’m scared, daddy. I don’t like it here.”

“Ava?”

I opened my eyes. The hand holding the front of my chest has painted nails - a pretty pink colour - Ava’s favourite colour. I immediately rolled over to offer her comfort; reassure her that everything is going to be okay.

Not Ava.

A cruel trick.

The boy opened his mouth. His eyes went wide. His scream filled the small room; not even drowned out by my own scream. I closed my eyes - the best way to make him disappear. Seconds later I realised I was the only one screaming in the room. I opened my eyes. Alone again.

My heart skipped a beat - just as it was starting to settle once more - when the small flap on the door slid open. The doctor’s beady little eye staring at me with a look of contempt.

“You’ll wake the other patients,” he hissed.

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “I had a nightmare.” He didn’t need to know I saw the boy again. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Seeing as you’re awake...What say we conduct another interview?”

“Please - I’m tired.”

The privacy screen slid across, blocking the doctor from my view once more. I heard the lock click back into place just before the door opened. As usual the doctor hid out of view giving false hopes of a forbidden freedom.

I hesitated for a moment. If I stay here, will he just close the door again and lock me back in?

“Come now,” the doctor hissed.

So much for being left alone. I reluctantly clambered up to my feet and left my cell. My cell? I wonder how long it will be my cell for. I fear it will be forever if these people have their way.

Nothing less than I deserve, I guess.

They think the same - the doctors - they think I deserve this.

I know they do.

I killed my family.

My daughters.

Ava was only six.

Six years old and, thanks to me, she’ll never have another birthday.

None of them will.

* * * * *

Same room as the last time I had a proper sit down conversation with the doctor. My notes are still on the table as are the pins he had previously inserted underneath my finger nails. I wonder whether they’re there to serve as a painful reminder to what he’s capable of if he believes I’m lying.

“Why did you lie to me?” I asked the doctor. I wasn’t sure if I was going to say anything knowing the lengths they’re willing to go to make things uncomfortable for me but I couldn’t leave it.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said you had dug them up. In the mortuary. You said. My family. You said you dug them up. Why would you say that?”

The doctor didn’t say anything. He just raised an eyebrow. After what seemed to be a lengthy pause he reminded me, “I’m asking the questions thank you.”

I didn’t know what to say back to him. Should I have argued? Would that have made me appear saner or would it simply have fueled their fears that I’m not fit enough to leave here?

An impossible situation.

“What have you been telling your new friend?” he asked; a stern look upon his face.

“My new friend?”

“A Miss Victoria Sheldon...”

My new friend? Is she my friend? Have I allowed myself to have a friend? She’s certainly comforting to have around. There’s something about her. She reminds me of my childhood. There was a person, back then, who I had nearly forgotten about. Even now I can only vaguely remember how they made me feel when I was scared; they made me feel as though everything was going to be okay. They made me feel like nothing could touch me. I’m not sure why, or how, but Vicky makes me feel the same way. She’s a little silver lining in an otherwise grey world.

After she led me away from the mortuary we had gone back to the daycare room and, for some reason, I ended up telling her everything. I confessed my crimes, I told her about the boy - the ex-patient with the stolen scream - I even told her how I keep seeing him and hearing the scream in the real world and not just in my dreams. The same cursed scream my father heard. The scream, the locals said, which meant you only had a year left to live. She didn’t laugh at me. She didn’t even give an impression she thought I was mad, unlike the supposed professionals working here.

“Well?” the doctor demanded - the coldness in his harsh voice ripping me back to the present.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. I should just tell him. I know I should. I shouldn’t play games with them. I should have learnt from yesterday. I should have learnt from the pins forced under my nails - which still feel tender.

“Some of the patients here are fragile people...” the doctor said, “...some of them are going through a strict rehabilitation program. Some of them,” he continued, “are a lost cause. Regardless of their mental state...”

“I didn’t say anything to her...” I pushed the lie further. Is my subconscious trying to get me punished?

“...They don’t need you filling their impressionable minds with your farfetched stories...”

“I didn’t!” I protested again. Not really a lie. To me it wasn’t a farfetched story. It was the truth. Just as, if she had wanted to tell me anything about herself, she wouldn’t have been lying to me. To us the reasons we’re in here are all very real.

“Would you be willing to take a lie detector test?”

I shook my head.

“You told her about the boy?”

I nodded.

“What did you say exactly?”

“I can’t remember.”

“There’s a test we can perform to help you remember...”

“I just told her I had seen him. I told her about the scream. I said it was a ghost story the locals told my father one day. That’s all...”

Nicotine-stained yellow teeth; the bottom row look a little browner today. The doctor leaned closed to me. His breath was as bad as you’d imagine it to be. An unpleasant pungency caused, no doubt, by a heavy diet of cigarettes, coffee and digestive biscuits. I tried my best not to react to it. “You understand how telling someone as sensitive as she is could be dangerous?” I nodded. I’m not sure whether it’s more dangerous for me or whether it’s more dangerous for her. “We can’t have the inmates thinking there are ghosts floating through the corridors of their safe-haven.”

I tried not to laugh. Safe-haven? There are war-zones, around the world, which would have a safer feel than this Hell-hole.

“I just hope you haven’t caused her any lasting damage.” He sat back on his chair and sighed deeply, “We’ve had a meeting about you today,” the doctor continued - the tone in his voice changed. “It seemed only right considering that you’re adamant that you’re cured and ready to stand trial for your crimes....”

I foolishly raised my hopes. Could tonight be my final night here?

“We agree...” the doctor paused and shifted his yellow fingers through the files of notes they had compiled on me, “...you’re not fit to stand trial. All this talk of ghosts, the fact you think you only have a year left to live...You seem more concerned about the supernatural than the fact that you butchered your own family...And the store clerk...”

“I didn’t kill the store clerk.” My heart sank.

“Regardless. It’s obvious to my colleagues - and I agree - that you’re not well and need to stay with us for the foreseeable future...”

I tried to hide my tears and frustration but am unsure on how best to react; should I get upset at the thought of staying here? Should I get angry? Is that how a sane person would react or an insane person? Should I start shouting that I’m fit enough to leave here and stand trial for my crimes? Should I...How does a sane person react to news like that and, more to the point, who’s the one who decided, in the first place, the rules and regulations set apart for how sane, and insane, people react? What’s to say the person who made the rules up was sane themselves? They could have been wrong.

“You don’t think I feel bad for what I’ve done to my family? I wanted to die right there with them...”

“Ah yes, lack of bullets wasn’t it?” the doctor said. I could tell from his tone of voice he was mocking me. Was he goading me into a fight with him?

“Fuck you. You don’t think I feel bad? You don’t think I see my family? You don’t think I hear their voices...I do. Every day since it happened...”

“Well we can help with that,” the doctor jumped upon what I said, “Because you’re unwell. We can make all that go away. We can make you better and that’s why you’re going to stay with us for the foreseeable future...Until all traces of them are gone...”

“What if I don’t want them gone? What if I want to keep seeing them...What if I want to keep hearing them?”

“And why would you want that?”

“Because I’d sooner not forget them and if that’s the only way I can remember then so be it...”

“And you think that’s normal behaviour, do you?”

A tear rolled down my cheek, “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it? Whatever I say...Whatever I do...You’ll always disagree.”

“You sound ungrateful...You should be thankful...”

“I should?”

“We’re going to fix you. We stopped you from having to go to jail for the rest of your life. Locked up with other murderers and criminals...At least here we want to help you...Now...We just have a few tests to perform and then you can go and get some sleep...”

The doctor took the pins up from the table.

* * * * *

I sat opposite Vicky in the daycare room; the table in the corner of the room away from prying eyes if there was such a place around here. They could still see us, I expect, and listen to what we had to say if they so desired. I’m sure of it. Be foolish to think otherwise.

“Have they spoken to you yet?” I whispered to her as I took my seat. I nervously glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was coming to stop us from talking. No one seemed to care. “They spoke to me last night...Warned me not to talk to you anymore. I’m sorry if you got in trouble,” I continued. I turned back to her, “did they say anything?”

She didn’t respond; just sat there as though she didn’t see me.

“Are you even listening to me?” I asked her.

It was then I saw it; a little trickle of blood matting her hair above her left ear.

“What’s that?” I asked. “Are you okay?”

She still didn’t respond. I leant forward in my chair and reached out to the side of her head where the blood was. She didn’t even flinch or register I was there; she just stayed perfectly still. When I ran my finger through her hair, a clump of it came away between my fingers when I moved away.

“Vicky?”

More blood suddenly trickled from the top of her crown, near her hair-line.

“What the fuck?” I turned around and called for the one of the nurses, “We need some help! Someone! Anyone?”

No one looked up. A situation not helped by the fact that half of the people in the room had been reduced to nothing more than dribbling idiots. The other half were on minimum wage and simply didn’t give a fuck.

“Come on, Vicky...” I urged her. I hurried to her side and took her arm. If they won’t come to us, we’ll go to them. I pulled her arm and tried to walk with her. I had hoped a tug would have pulled her to her feet and she’d have walked with me but it didn’t quite go to plan. She slumped forward in her chair and I couldn’t help but scream as the top of her cranium slipped off as though it were nothing more than a cheap wig. Underneath was a bloody mess but I could still make out her brain - a large chunk missing from either side. I jumped back in shock and couldn’t help but throw up onto the white-tiled floor.

“What have they done?!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as soon as I had finished puking.

* * * * *

I woke with a start, tucked into the corner of my padded little cell. Small traces of blood on the floor’s soft fabric. Must have come from my nails - caked in brown, dried flakes of blood after the pins were inserted underneath them once more. Damn they’re sore today. Can’t take another night of it.

“You’re awake!” Vicky’s voice gave my heart another jump.

I sat up and did my best to hide my fingers from her. Seeing as she’s okay...It’s probably best not to tell her about what was said last night. I’ll just have to try my best not to get her in any trouble.

No reason we can’t be friends.

Friends?

It still feels strange to think of us as friends. I can’t help but wonder whether I’d have woken up, feeling the same, if the doctor hadn’t pointed it out to me last night. In his poorly hidden threat he pushed me closer to her.

Don’t want to get her in trouble though. I’ll be careful from now on. Just talk to her about mindless stuff to pass the time. Avoid the past. Avoid my crimes. Even avoid her crimes if she chooses to share.

“I was thinking about what you told me yesterday,” she whispered.

So much for not talking about the past...

5.

I was sitting in the daycare room with Vicky. Rather disconcertingly I realised, soon after taking the seat, we were sitting at the same table which featured in my dream. I only hope it doesn’t have the same ending.

“I was thinking about what you told me yesterday afternoon,” she continued, “you know, about the boy...”

“It was the medication,” I lied, “I didn’t know what I was saying yesterday.”

“You didn’t take any medication yesterday.”

And speaking of medication - there was something about Vicky today that was different; a spark in her eyes. A welcome glint of life. Clearly she had opted not to take any pills today too.

“Listen...” she went to continue.

I stopped her dead, “Maybe we should just drop it,” I said.

“What?”

“I didn’t see any ghosts...”

“What?” she looked confused.

“I made the story up.”

“You didn’t...”

“Yes, I did. It was some old story that my dad was told. Something I used...”

“No...”

“Yes...I told the authorities so they’d send me here instead of a real jail. I wouldn’t last in a real jail amongst the general population. I killed my kids. You know what they’d do to someone like me in there?”

“You’re lying.”

Is there anyone in here who believes what I say without questioning it?

“No I’m not. I needed people to think I’m insane.”

“You’re lying,” she repeated. “You’re scared. That’s all.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Listen...”

She won’t let it drop. A chill ran down my back as though someone was watching us. A quick look over my left shoulder - the doctor was standing in the room’s doorway. His eyes clearly fixed on us.

“...I know who it is,” she continued. “I found out his name.”

I turned back to Vicky. I’m curious to know what she thinks she knows but I understand the danger she...We...I know the danger we’re in if she continues talking about it. For all I know my dream was a premonition of things to come; a dream I want to avoid for Vicky’s state. I know I don’t know her - and I don’t have a reason to care - but I don’t want her hurt. Enough people have been hurt because of me. I don’t need to be adding to the list.

“I’ve got to go,” I said. I stood up and turned around. The doctor was still watching us; his head shaking slowly from side to side as though warning me of my actions.

“Don’t you want to know?” she called out after me.

“It wouldn’t do any good,” I told her with my back still to her, “it won’t bring my family back.”

I walked away, through the room of crazies, past the doctor and out the double doors he stood in front of. I wanted to ask him if he was happy. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. I said neither. No point in angering him, or his colleagues. Hopefully they’ll soon tire of tormenting me...At least, that’s the hope. Just as long as I don’t rise to the bait.

As soon as I was standing in the corridor I stopped and leant against the wall. A few deep breaths to calm myself down. I wonder if outsiders know how patients are treated within these walls. I wonder - do they care?

“Dad!” Jamie’s voice called out from the side of me. I turned my head and saw her standing at the far end of the corridor. She motioned, with her hand, for me to go over. I felt no fear. I’m used to seeing my family now. Grateful even, despite part of me wishing they could rest peacefully.

I checked behind me to make sure the doctor wasn’t still watching. He wasn’t. A quick look through the door’s window and I can’t see him at all. Probably for the best. I turned back to my daughter and walked towards her - my eyes fixed at the bloody hole between her eyes.

The hole my bullet caused.

Just as Ava did when I met her in the corridor, when I neared, Jamie disappeared out of sight. I turned the corner - half expecting to see her further down the next corridor - and jumped when I practically walked into her.

“Jamie...” I went to hold her in my arms but she stepped back, away from me.

“Talk to her...”

“What?”

“The lady. Talk to her.”

“Vicky?”

Jamie nodded slowly, “Please...listen to what she has to say...Talk to her.”

Jamie’s eyes suddenly widened with fear as something behind me caught her eye. I turned to see what it was, half expecting to see the boy with the scar or the doctor, but there was nothing there. I turned back to Jamie. Her eyes were completely black now. She opened her mouth and screamed. A scream so loud it echoed throughout the corridor and straight through my splintered soul. I closed my eyes and covered my ears to drown it out.

I opened my eyes when the screaming ceased. Jamie was gone and I was back sitting opposite Vicky in the daycare room.

I looked around. She must have noted the confused look upon my face.

“What is it?” she asked with a genuine look of concern.

“How did I get back here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I left. I was sitting here with you. I left. And now I am back. How did I get back here?”

“I don’t know what you mean. You didn’t go anywhere.”

“Yes. Yes I did...”

“We’ve only just sat down...”

I looked over my shoulder expecting to see the doctor watching us. He wasn’t there.

“I was thinking...” Vicky continued.

“I know. You were thinking about the boy I told you about yesterday. We’ve had this conversation - well, part of it. I stopped you and walked out because I don’t want to get you in trouble...”

“What are you talking about?”

“The doctor...The one who did this...” I showed her my fingers; a look of disgust on her face as she flinched away ever so slightly. “He told me, last night, that I shouldn’t be talking to you about what happened...I shouldn’t be talking to anyone...I think, if we carry on, they may do something to you.”

Vicky didn’t say anything to start off with. She fidgeted in her seat uncomfortably. Eventually she asked, “What do you think they’ll do?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know.”

“They wouldn’t do anything, they’re just trying to scare you...What have you done to them to make them hate you so much?” she asked.

I raised my fingers again, “I don’t know....Maybe because I killed my family? Maybe because they’re sadistic sons of bitches? You heard the story, right? They pulled the child’s vocal chords out because of his screams at night...The locals said he wasn’t the only one...”

“His name was Anthony Ward.”

“What?”

“The boy...I found out his name - Anthony Ward. I was talking about your story to one of my other friends... My friend was on the same ward as him...The boy...He had his vocal chords removed just as the boy you described...There’s a whole ghost story centering around it...”

“You were talking about me?” I felt a surge of annoyance. I had told her something in confidence and she couldn’t wait to gossip it to her crazy friends?

“His name...He’ll have a file...We can find out what happened to him...”

“What good would that do?” I asked.

She didn’t have an answer for me, unsurprisingly.

What, did she expect the curse to suddenly be lifted if the boy’s story was revealed?

“This isn’t a movie!” I told her.

I heard the double doors to the daycare room slam shut - loud enough to make me turn my head. The doctor was standing on the other side of them, staring through the glass straight in our direction.

“What is it?” asked Vicky.

I turned back to her, “We have to stop talking about this. I don’t want them to do anything to you...”

“Who?” Vicky peered over my shoulder. “What were you looking at?”

I turned back to the doors; the doctor was gone.

“Nothing. I guess.” I stood up and said, “I’ve got to go.”

“Where are you going?” Vicky asked.

I didn’t answer her. I didn’t have anywhere in particular to go. I just wanted to back away from the unwelcome conversation and the possibility of angering the powers that be more than they’re already angered.

If I have to stay here, I’d sooner have a quiet life.

I passed the other loonies and pushed the doors open to escape their random, barely audible, mutterings. I should never have bothered leaving my room in the first place. I was right - people like me don’t deserve friends and a friendship between Vicky and I will never work...Even if I wanted it to. I can’t trust her not to tell other people anything we talk about. And I don’t want her hurt. She doesn’t deserve it.

Just as my family didn’t.

I’m the only one who deserves everything I get.

I turned right, when I left the daycare room, and headed down the long corridor - lined with the various colourful art projects I had seen so many times before - back towards my room.

I stopped.

A framed picture of a small hand-print, made with red paint, on the wall. There was a plaque next to it which read ‘Anthony Ward - aged 6 months’. Another one next to that, slightly bigger, which read ‘Anthony Ward - aged 1.5 years’...The next picture was a scribbled mess of various colours. ‘Anthony Ward - aged 2 years’. The whole wall was like a private gallery to this little boy.

Aged six months? Who admits their child to a mental institute at six months? Surely it’s impossible to diagnose someone, at that age, with mental illness. It’s hard enough; I’m led to believe, to diagnose an adult - let alone a baby.

I hurried to the last picture on the wall; a picture of two people - an adult and a child - in front of what I presume to be the asylum. Is that one of the doctors?

‘Anthony Ward - aged eight’.

The next, and final corridor before my room, was lined with artwork from an assortment of different patients.

There was nothing else from Anthony Ward.

6.

The doctor stopped inserting pins under my nails and looked me directly in the eyes as though shocked by what I had just asked.

“What did you say?” he asked. He sat back in his chair and put the remaining pins onto the table which separated us.

“I asked who Anthony Ward is.”

“How’d you learn of that name?” the doctor asked. I couldn’t read his mood. His face suggested, though, that I had awakened a long since dead memory.

“Who is he?” I pushed.

The doctor stood up; a flash of anger through his eyes. Unfortunately it’s quite easy to read his mood now. Definitely angry. He yelled in my face, the first time I had heard him actually yell, “I told you! I’m the one who asks the questions!”

I screamed as he hit the single pin underneath my nail. I tried to move my hand away, to nurse it close to my chest, but the doctor’s helper kept it firmly on the table.

The doctor moved closer. The stench of his breath was enough to distract me, momentarily, from the pain. “Do you understand me?”

“Who is he?” I asked again.

“You have no rights here!” he screamed. He stood to his full height and nodded towards the helper. The helper released my hands, from the table, allowing me to pull my hurting hand close to my chest to massage it better with the other. It helps a little but doesn’t numb the sting entirely.

“He’s the one I’ve been seeing...” I continued, ignoring the anger of the doctor.

“Just because a crazy person tells you a name - it doesn’t make it true. You’re simply dragging an innocent into your story to make it seem more real to yourself. The truth of the matter is, you’re nothing more than a murderer...” the doctor spat.

“The ghost stories around the town...They center around this boy...There are paintings of his on the walls...I’ve seen them myself...Who is he?”

“He is an ex-patient...”

“What happened to him?” I shouted.

The doctor looked to the helper, once more, and gave him a nod. With no warning, the helper slogged me on the side of the head. A hit, so hard, it shook my brain.

The room was empty.

Derelict looking.

I was alone.

I shook the pain of the punch off.

The doctor was standing opposite me again with his helper to my side.

What the hell was that?

“Look at you...You’re pathetic...”

“I’m not crazy and you know it,” I argued back - still reeling from the pain of the helper’s fist. “Others have heard of the story...”

“The story! Exactly that! The story. Just because of what happened to that poor boy...It doesn’t mean he, or any other patients from here are living on as tormented spirits...”

“I’ve never been in trouble with the law. I wouldn’t hurt anyone. What happened to my family was because of what I went through on that night...”

“I’ve had enough of this...” the doctor looked to the helper again.

Another fist to the side of the head.

* * * * *

I’m not in the room anymore.

Not sure how.

I’m in the daycare room - unlike earlier it’s near empty. The doctor is in the far corner of the room, standing over a nurse who was clutching a little baby. Both of them are smiling. The first happy scene I’ve witnessed since being in here.

I can’t hear what’s being said. The world is on mute once more, just as it has been in dreams prior to this one. I’m expecting to hear a scream any minute. That’s what happens.

Suddenly the doctor and nurse looked in my direction. There’s no anger in their eyes, though. They looked as though they were looking through me. I turned on my heel to see what had caught their attention.

I was in a different room.

Same decor as the daycare room.

It looked to be some kind of visitor’s room; smaller tables than the ones found in the daycare room. Grey plastic chairs either side. The room was empty with the exception of a little boy and a man - a man who had his back to me. The boy looked genuinely happy to see him as the man slid a present across the table to him.

His father?

I stepped closer and noticed a birthday card on the table - a large number five was on the card.

“Am I coming home soon?” the boy asked.

The man shook his head from side to side. The little boy - Anthony I presume - bowed his head down in disappointment. The man tapped on the top of the nicely wrapped gift he had passed over - no doubt a gesture to encourage Anthony to open it.

Anthony duly opened it but he didn’t look excited about it. If anything it looked as though he was doing it more to please his father as opposed to actually wanting to see what it was.

He held it up, once opened, allowing me to see it too - not that that was his intention. It couldn’t have been. He didn’t know I was here. I was nothing but an invisible witness to a scene gone by.  It was a jigsaw. A picturesque scene of a cabin in the woods - brilliant sunlight spilling through the dense woodlands behind the wooden building.

Anthony dropped the box and ran from the room. I gave chase. I don’t want to miss what happens. All these images, the messages from my family - someone is trying to tell me something and I need to know. I want to know.

Out in the corridor and Anthony had vanished. The doctor was at the far end with a man who had his back to me. They seemed to be in heated discussion.

“We can’t keep him here forever.”

The man passed over an envelope. The doctor opened it. I could see it was full of cash. The doctors didn’t force the lad to stay here? The father paid them to? Why? The doctor slid the envelope into his white jackets inside pocket. He then shook his head and disappeared around the corner.

The man scratched the back of his head and then followed - a few steps behind.

“Wait!” I called out.

I ran down the corridor and turned into them - straight into Anthony.

We’re in the daycare room.

Anthony is on the floor painting - the finishing touches to the painting I saw hanging on the corridor wall; a man and child standing outside of what must be the asylum. He looks older now. If memory serves correctly, from the plaque on the wall, he must be eight. He looked up, directly at me, and called out, “Dad! You came!”

I turned around and jumped when I came face to face with Anthony. He was practically standing on top of me. His skin was pale, his eyes clouded over, a messy scar running the length of his neck; he opened his mouth and his scream filled the room.

I stumbled backwards and screamed at him, “What are you trying to tell me?!”

He didn’t answer me with anything other than his ear-piercing scream. I turned my back on him and was pleased to note his screaming stopped as soon as I did. The room had changed again too - I was back in my padded cell...Standing right slap bang in the middle of it.

I’m not sure how much more I can take of this time shifting. My head felt as though it were going to explode. I spun around, to make sure I was alone in there. Thankfully I was - other than the familiar spider nestled in the corner of the ceiling still.

I fell back against the wall and slid down until my arse was on the floor. I’m exhausted; physically and mentally. I closed my eyes. I could sleep for a decade at least.

“Are you okay?” asked Vicky.

My heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice. I opened my eyes and saw her standing in the open doorway.

“You coming out today? I missed you yesterday, after you left...” she continued.

“You can’t be here,” I turned my head to the side in the hope that she’d disappear. Out of sight, out of mind. It was a trick which worked for the boy when he appeared to me.

The boy?

I struggle to think of him as Anthony.

The way he looks.

Inhuman.

“It’s no wonder he is so angry,” I said.

“Who?”

“Anthony,” I told her. “Here all his life? Abandoned. If I had been left like that, I’d want to haunt those responsible too...”

Vicky walked over and took a seat, next to me, on the floor.

“I mean it, you can’t be here. You shouldn’t be here.” I sighed, “None of us should be here...He shouldn’t have been here.”

“He isn’t anymore,” said Vicky. I knew she was trying to comfort me but I still fretted about what the doctors would do if they saw her with me. I shifted uneasily on the padded floor.

I want to talk to her.

I want to but I can’t.

I daren’t.

I need to talk to someone and it’s obvious I can’t discuss it with the doctors. It’s weird; in the dreams I’ve been having...The vivid dreams...The doctor I’ve been seeing is completely different. Compassionate even. He looks as though he actually cared about the child.

“None of us are here anymore,” Vicky continued. I looked in her eyes - didn’t look as though she was on medication. She started to laugh, “You still don’t get it, do you? You still can’t see it?”

I didn’t have the time for this. My head was banging from everything that had been happening - a pain only matched by the feelings coming from my tender finger tips.

“You really don’t recognise me, do you?” asked Vicky.

She stood up and walked from the room.

“What?” I called out after her. “What?”

I clambered to my feet and hurried into the corridor, after her. She was gone. Impossible. The corridor stretched too far for her to have made it around the corner.

Recognise her? What was she talking about?

I ran down the corridor. Maybe she did make it round the corner.

I turned the corner and slid to a stop.

“You haven’t got a hug for your old man?”

Dad?!

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He didn’t respond.

Footsteps behind me.

I turned around and saw Anthony running towards me. He ran straight past; I followed where he was going. He ran straight into the arms of my father. A tight hug. Warm. Loving. A pang of jealousy shot through me. What the fuck is this?

My dad scooped him up in his arms and held him tight.

“What have you been doing today?” he asked.

“Painting!” Anthony yelled - obvious excitement in his tone of voice.

They disappeared around the corner.

“No! Wait!” I called. I ran after them and around the next corner.

Mum and dad’s old living room? What the hell? Dad was standing by the fireplace; a fire blazing across the logs. Mum was sitting on the sofa, her usual place in the room. She used to say it was comfier than the other seats. I’d argue with her that it wasn’t and they were just the same but she’d never move.

“It’s just for the weekend,” dad was saying, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I just don’t see why you can’t do your writing here,” mum replied.

“I told you - I can’t concentrate. I just need to get away for a few days. Just a couple. I’ll get the project finished, my agent will be happy...We might get some money which will help with the bills...Just a couple of days. Come on, I need your support. I can’t do this if we’re arguing...”

“I’m not arguing, I’m just disappointed. Where will you go?”

“There’s a cabin out of town...It’s peaceful there...”

“Can’t Craig and I come with you? We wouldn’t be any trouble. We’d go for walks and leave you to write...”

“Maybe next time,” my father replied. “I love you,” he said. He sounded genuine but knowing how the story ended - with dad and that woman all those years later - I found it hard to believe the sentiment behind the words.

“I love you too.” Genuine.

Dad smiled at her and walked out of the room. Mum didn’t get up and follow. She just sat there and stared into the fire as though crushed by disappointment that my father was going away again. He was always going away when I was growing up. I remember now.

I followed dad into the next room only to find myself back in the asylum’s corridor. Dad was standing with the doctor - both of them talking in hushed voices.

“You can’t keep him here forever,” the doctor said.

“I just need time,” my dad replied.

“Time? Time for what? The longer you leave it the worse it will be. You need to tell your wife you have another child.”

Anthony’s my brother?

“You don’t understand. She’d never forgive me...”

“You should have thought about the consequences at the start,” the doctor hissed - it was clear he and my father weren’t the best of friends.

Dad pulled an envelope out of his pocket and thrust it against the doctor’s chest, “There’s more than enough in here...More than last month. Come on, I just need a little more time. Please. I’m begging you. It’s not just my family at stake here...If word got out about any of this...About my affair...My reputation would be ruined too. Come on...Please...”

The doctor took a hold of the envelope and put it into his pocket.

“You have one more month,” the doctor spat. He turned his back and walked away from my dad. The first time I had seen anyone turn their back on my father.

My dad sighed, “I’ll come by again tomorrow...I’ve got a cabin just a short way from here...”

I felt sick.

Whoever was showing me all this...Whatever was making me see all this...

I’m not sure I can take anymore.

I closed my eyes and fell back against the wall.

Padded walls?

7.

I opened my eyes.

My cell again.

Did I ever leave?

Something’s different.

The padding on the floor and walls isn’t quite as white as it used to be. It looks as though it’s been affected poorly by damp. Black mould growing in patches. I looked up to the corner of the ceiling. Plenty of webs but no spider. The cell door was wide open. The lights in the corridor, beyond my room, were off yet I could see the paint on the walls was peeling.

“Hello?” I called out. My voice was shaking. “Doctor?”

There was no response.

I stood up and walked into the corridor.

“Hello?” my voice echoed and bounced off the furthest point of the corridor. The place looked as though it had been empty for years. All of the cell doors were open. Slowly I walked down the corridor. I half expected something, or someone, to jump out on me but nothing did.

The next corridor was the same other than the fact I could see a little light coming from a room at the other end. I hurried towards it - thankful for the sign of life. Seconds later I could hear screaming - an angry child. I ran the last few steps to see what was happening.

As I turned the corner I realised I was back in the daycare room. A few people milling around, minding their own business or unsure of their business due to high levels of medication, and Anthony at a far table - sitting opposite him was my father. Anthony looked upset.

I approached them and noticed he was surrounded by his painting tools - the picture he was working on was the last one I had noticed on the wall earlier...A child and man standing in front of the asylum. Father and son?

“You promised! You promised!” Anthony was screaming at our father. “You said I could come home! You said I could!”

My dad didn’t say anything. He just sat there - an angry expression on his face.

Anthony continued, “You said when I was eight you’d take me away with you...You promised! YOU PROMISED!”“I can’t. I told you...My wife...She doesn’t know about you...”

“Tell her!”

“It’s not as simple as that!”

“Why don’t you love me?”

“I do!”

“I want to come home! I’ll tell them!”

“Don’t say that.”

Anthony started to shout to everyone else in the room, “He’s my dad! He’s my dad! He’s my dad!”

My dad suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Anthony by his throat - his tightening grip silenced him more or less immediately yet my dad didn’t let go or loosen his grip. He just kept the same pressure. The same force...

Doctors and nurses were calling from across the room as they came running over - ordering dad to release his grip. It took two of the hospital staff to pull him clear. Anthony dropped to the floor as soon as dad let go but air still wasn’t getting through as he continued to choke.

I looked at my father in horror. He fought the hospital staff off and stood up. Seeing what he had done he turned and ran from the room.

One of the nurses called out, “He can’t breathe...He can’t breathe...Do something!”

Another of the staff - a doctor - ordered her to, “Get a scalpel...quickly...”

I couldn’t watch.

I turned and gave chase to my dad. I hurried into what should have been the corridor. Not the corridor. A small room - a doctor’s office. Dad was sitting opposite the doctor.

“This is how you repay me?” the doctor was angry. “We went out on a limb for you. Took him in so your dirty little secret wouldn’t come to light...So your family can live happily ever after...” The doctor shook his head. “You make me sick.”

My dad didn’t normally allow people to speak to him like that. It was the first time I had actually seen him tongue-tied.

“Is he going to be okay?” my dad asked eventually.

“There were complications. His vocal chords were damaged...”

“Damaged? Damaged how?”

“You nearly crushed his throat completely...”

Dad looked visibly upset, “Can I see him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. In fact, I think it best if you just stay away. Either take him back to your happy little life or move on...Forget about him. You can’t keep leading him on like this. It’s not fair on him. It’s not fair on the staff here. Some are getting attached to him. Some of us more so than others, for obvious reasons...So what’s it to be?” he asked.

Dad hesitated, “My wife wouldn’t understand...”

The doctor looked disappointed.

“I can’t lose her.”

“If my daughter had survived the birth...Would things have been different?”

Again, my dad didn’t answer.

His daughter? My dad was having an affair with the doctor’s daughter? How many affairs did he have?

“Perhaps you should just leave,” the doctor continued.

“What should I tell him?”

“Just leave.”

There was a pause. Dad stood up.

“I’ll send money...”

“Don’t bother. Go. Stop coming here. You’re no longer welcome.”

The doctor swiveled around, in his chair, so he didn’t have to face my father. I can’t say I blamed him. Had I been in the same position - I would have done the same. Dad should have come clean. He should have told mum. He should have told me I had a half-brother. Should have let us decide what to do about it. But he took it away from us.

He took away everything.

A sudden pain in the side of my head dropped me to my knees. I couldn’t help but close my eyes; shut them tight hoping it would make the pain disappear. For once it worked. I opened my eyes and instantly recognised where I was.

My old bedroom. I was sitting on the floor, huddled up in a little ball; knees pulled close to my chest as though that would protect me from whatever was causing this fear I felt surge through my body.

“It’s okay, they’ll be home soon...” a voice behind me. “Come on...Come downstairs...We’ll play a game...Before you know it, they’ll be home...”

I felt some of the fear disappear from my body. Some of it. The person’s voice...Comforting...I looked over my shoulder.

My babysitter.

Victoria.

I remember this day.

The first time we met.

Mum and dad had gone out for the night. I was about six years old; one of the earliest times I could remember them going out and leaving me with a stranger.

I was scared at first but Victoria...Vicky...Of course...I knew there was something familiar about her. She looked older now. Older in the asylum. What’s she doing in there with me though?

She always had a way about her - a way of making me feel better. That hasn’t changed.

Another blinding pain in the side of my head.

Eyes shut.

Wish the pain away.

I opened my eyes. Not in my bedroom anymore. Back in the office with the doctor and his helper. The doctor sitting there, opposite me, with that same sadistic smile on his face. The helper standing at my side with his fist clenched - ready to hit me again.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Wait!”

The doctor nodded to the helper, stopping him in his tracks. “Something you want to say?” he asked.

“I know.”

“You know what?”

“You’re his grandfather...”

“What?”

“You’re his grandfather...My dad...Your daughter...”

The doctor froze. The sadistic smile, on his face, disappeared - replaced with a deep look of regret.

“What happened?” I asked. “You’re punishing me because of what my dad did? At least tell me what happened...”

“You’re punishing yourself,” the doctor mumbled. He stood up and walked straight past me, with his helper, right out of the door.

“What? That’s it? No...I need to know!” I stood up, unsteadily on my feet, and followed him out of the room but he wasn’t there.

No one was.

The corridor, outside of his room was empty. Derelict. Looked like it had been for years.

I turned back to the room I had just come from. Same scenario. Peeling paint on the walls, dust and cobwebs...No table...No chairs...Nothing.

“Hello?” I called out - distinct panic in my voice. My voice echoed with no one answering it. “Anyone?”

I started to run down the corridors. A quick look in every room I ran past revealed the same as the last - empty. Derelict. Even doors which were once locked were now open for me.

When I was starting to think I was the only one here I heard the sound of a woman screaming in pain. It was coming from a door to my right. I wasted no time in opening it...Empty and yet the screams continued. Male voices urging whoever it was to push. Male voices promising it was nearly over and that they could see a head. The screaming stopped suddenly. Male voices in a state of panic. A baby crying. I backed out of the room and continued to run down the corridor I was previously running down.

Maybe all the doors are open?

Maybe I can get out of here.

Escape.

Just keep running.

To where I’m not sure.

More screaming from one of the doors on my right. I’m scared to look but can’t stop myself. I pushed the door open unsure what to expect. The room was just as empty as the previous rooms.

A female was screaming. I recognised the doctor’s voice barking orders at her - not in a stern fashion. A panicked fashion.

“Get it away from his neck! Get it away!”

“He isn’t breathing!” the female voice screamed.

The sound of someone trying to resuscitate someone.

“Anthony! Anthony! Hold on!”

I backed out of the room. He killed himself? I don’t need to hear that. Why am I hearing these things? Why am I seeing them? There’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” I screamed down the empty corridor.

Empty.

This place.

It’s always been empty.

I remember now.

I remember.

8.

I had broken the doors down. They were boarded up to stop people, such as myself, from getting in. But I didn’t care. I had to get in here. I remember coming here, straight from the cabin. There was nowhere else to go. I remember running from the cabin. Running from what I had done. Running from their bodies.

Ava.

Jamie.

Susan.

I’m sorry.

Why am I being punished by Anthony though? I didn’t have a choice about what happened to him. It was out of my hands. I never knew about him. I never knew. No one told me.

I remember walking to the abandoned reception desk, the same one I’ve reached now, and asking to check myself in. There was no one there. Yet, in my mind...I remember having the whole conversation. I remember signing that I understood what I was asking of them...To assess me. In my mind I was shakingly clutching a pen and scribbling my signature on a piece of paper. In reality - there was nothing in my hand and nothing in front of me.

My mind playing tricks on me. Making me believe they were there...

The doctor putting the pins under my nails?

I remember doing it to myself.

Torturing myself because I believed it was what I deserved.

A broken mind.

I remember crashing out in the nearest padded room I could find. The asylum’s ghosts teaching me the truth whilst I was here? Are there even any ghosts? Was it Anthony showing me? Wanting me to know he was my brother...Wanting me to know I need to be punished just as my father had been punished...But why was my babysitter here? My mind desperately trying to offer me some comfort in my hour of need?

I need to get out of here.

I need to leave before I lose my mind completely.

“The door’s open, sir. Will you be making a follow-up appointment?”

A nurse was standing behind the reception desk. The first person to smile at me for as long as I can remember.

“No. I don’t think that will be entirely necessary,” I said to no one.

There was no nurse there.

Broken mind.

Need to leave.

I turned and hurried towards the broken door. I could feel a breeze from beyond. My heart was racing as I pulled it open.

A scream filled my head. Anthony was standing directly behind me. I spun on the spot to see him. His mouth was wide open.

“Look,” I said, “I’m sorry...For whatever happened...For everything...I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t! No one told me! I wish they had before it was too late. I wish they had! Everything could have been different!”

With no warning his scream intensified as he suddenly charged towards me.

I shut my eyes and braced myself for impact but nothing happened.

I opened my eyes slowly - thinking it was a trick.

I was in the cabin’s bedroom. A gun in my hand.

Anthony was standing in front of me, by the bed. His eyes weren’t cloudy. His skin looked a healthy pink colour. He smiled at me and disappeared.

I looked at the gun in my hand.

What the hell?

Footsteps outside, coming towards the front of the cabin.

We’ve been here before.

I ran through to the other room - close to the front door - and aimed the gun at the door. Whoever is out there...

The door opened fast and Ava came running in. I didn’t pull the trigger. I raised the barrel of the gun into the air as quickly as I could so as not to frighten her.

“What the hell are you doing with that?” asked Susan when she walked in.

“You wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had!” I said. I wanted to give them a hug. I wanted to give them both a hug but they’d wonder what I was up to.

“Night? We haven’t been gone that long! Anyway, can you give Jamie a hand with the shopping...”

“Shopping?” I asked.

“The bits you asked us to get.”

“Sure,” I said. I thought I sent them to her parents? I thought...After the accident...After the store clerk got...

“Did you know the store clerk knew your father? They aren’t happy with him!”

“They aren’t?” I asked - still dumbstruck as to what was going on.

“Apparently he made a ghost story up about the old asylum...The store clerk was saying they’re continually getting ghost hunters running around here, asking questions, trying to find out more.” Susan laughed, “He was saying he enjoyed the extra business at first but, apparently, each year the tourists were getting freakier and freakier...One of the doctors was so upset by the story he’s rumored to have jumped from the top of the tower you said the patients helped build...”

The grandfather, no doubt.

Jamie came in with the bags of shopping, “Where do you want the cleaning stuff?” she asked in her own grumpy way.

“Let’s go and stay in a hotel instead,” I suggested.

“What?” Susan said, “I thought you wanted to stay here to get your writing done?”

“It’s not important. I was thinking...Hotel tonight...More driving tomorrow...Let’s find a beach. It’s only a few more hours of driving!”

Ava cheered.

“What about the cabin?” asked Susan.

I looked around the room. Still vandalised. Still a mess.

“Let it rot.”

* * * * *

As we drove away from the cabin, I gave it a final look in the rear-view mirror. I could see Anthony standing in the doorway, looking at the floor. I’m not sure why he wanted me to know what had happened but part of me is glad I do know. Another part of me wishes I could forget everything.

All those years ago I remember my father telling me the story of the screaming ghost. The story he invented, not the locals. The woods weren’t haunted by the ex-patients of the asylum. The locals weren’t living in fear as to whether they heard a scream or not...

Only my dad was.

As I pressed my foot harder on the accelerator I just wanted to get away as fast as possible.

Get away from this nightmare.

Bury dad’s secret with any remaining love I once had for him.

I hoped he burned in Hell for what he had done - not just to Anthony but the other lives his lies affected too.

I won’t forget.

I won’t forgive.

I won’t allow myself.

I’ll just treasure my own family more.

Don’t let go.

THE END

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