This wasn’t real—couldn’t be. It was madness.
The ground beneath him—hard and black—stretched out, on and on, a seemingly never-ending landscape. It was a smooth, rocklike formation that secreted a thick red liquid beneath his weight. Enormous, jagged mountains broke from this ground and clawed up at the dark sky, and these themselves were dwarfed by terrible, perfectly cylindrical black towers.
This alien landscape, however, was not bereft of life.
Beings that defied sanity roamed, feeding off each other. Grotesque titans scooped up smaller, helpless monstrosities and thrust them into what appeared to be mouths. One being was so vast it stood level with the mountains as it screeched into the star-filled sky.
Other creatures, which were closer to Adrian, emerged from the ground—large, moaning mouths on long bodies lined with rolling eyes. They devoured anything that was within reach. One of these snake-like beings was ripped from the ground by a rolling, formless mass, then mashed and torn apart inside the gelatinous thing.
A screaming, humanoid figure—one that seemed human, only devoid of skin—was pinned down by a twisted horde of much larger creatures. Without legs, they pulled themselves along the hard ground on stumped midsections and toyed with the person—a man—tossing him around and dropping him from heights that should have ended his life.
But he did not die.
He simply moaned and screamed in agony. Then the monsters got to work. Not content with just pulling his exposed flesh from his body, they thrust engorged stalks that protruded from their underbellies into him, piercing him.
Adrian watched this horror unfold and continued to scream at the madness that surrounded him. Immense noises echoed, booming through the air, completely drowning out his own howls.
Then he heard something else amongst the chaos, something more focused. Something meant just for him.
He felt it inside his mind.
Something was communicating with him, and him alone.
It was not via a language he understood, yet he could still detect the intent.
This thing hungered for him and his fears.
For his guilt. For his madness.
Adrian felt this pull and turned himself around to face the direction it was coming from. A vast, raging body of thick liquid—a sea of boiling rage—was spread out before him. Whatever was communicating with him, he knew it was deep within that watery expanse.
And it called to him and tore at his mind.
Adrian fell to his knees, then rolled onto his back, continuing his screams. The sky above was a never-ending cosmos, and not one he recognised. Even the stars that sat high up behaved differently—pulsing, twisting, and moving. They coiled together, swirling and mixing to form something that was familiar to him somehow.
The thing inside of his head now seemed fearful, scared of the cluster in the sky.
He then realised what this formation of countless stars—the slightly elliptical shape that contained an iris within—reminded him of.
It was an eye
A great, cosmic eye.
It moved, and Adrian knew it was focused directly upon him.
ARLINGTON ASYLUM, ENGLAND - SEPTEMBER 1954
Adrian James screamed out again, but this time he could hear himself clearly, no longer clouded by that sinister voice inside of his own mind.
His panicked cries reverberated around him.
The other nightmarish sounds were no longer there.
He thrashed and kicked, but his arms and legs would not cooperate.
Adrian then opened his eyes, immediately seeing different surroundings. No longer in that cosmic madness, he now recognised a more familiar environment.
It was a small, dimly lit room containing only himself, the bed he was lying on, and a small, dirty toilet to his left. A single window sat directly above him lined with thick iron bars, and the dull light of the morning beyond seeped through. The walls were bare brick, grey and streaked with watermarks.
He looked down, breathing rapidly, still fighting and squirming, trying to get his bearings which were slowly returning. He was dressed in ill-fitting cotton overalls, once white, now yellowed and damp with perspiration. His arms and legs were restrained with wide, leather straps.
Memories started to flood back, finally overwhelming the lingering nightmare that refused to disappear.
Adrian then heard a metallic sound from the iron door ahead of him as it was unlocked.
The door creaked open and four men entered.
Two were dressed in simple white uniforms and took their positions at each side of the room, arms folded across their chests. Of these two, the man farthest to Adrian’s right loomed over him, a giant looking down. He wore a sneer and his dark eyes bored into Adrian.
That was Jones.
The man to the left was Duckworth, less imposing, but still not someone Adrian wanted to cross.
The other two men present were the more senior figures. One was a doctor—Dr. Reid. He was a serious-looking man in his early fifties who wore thin, round glasses and had a neatly trimmed goatee and closely shaved head. As ever, he wore a three-piece suit, this one a light brown.
The other man was older and dressed in a fitted black gown, one that had a faint embroidered pattern. It also had a high neckline that was finished with a clerical collar. This man was well into his sixties, and his grey hair was combed with a neat side part.
It was Director Templeton—the man who ran the facility.
‘Now, now,’ the director said. ‘All this screaming. What in the world is wrong, Adrian?’
Adrian’s memories then flooded back completely, and he realised that the fantastical, horrific things he had witnessed only moments before were nothing more than a dream.
A nightmare.
He knew exactly where he was.
It was where he was supposed to be—Arlington Asylum.
‘Nothing is wrong, Mr. Templeton,’ Adrian finally said. His strained throat—sore and raw—hurt when he spoke. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Good,’ Templeton said and stepped forward. ‘I’d hate to think our treatment was doing more harm than good. And I’m quite certain we are on the verge of a breakthrough with this medicine.’
Adrian heard the screams of the insane rattle around from beyond his room as Director Templeton’s lips spread into a wide smile.
‘Now,’ Templeton went on, ‘tell me what you remember.’
Chapter 2
‘What I remember?’ Adrian asked.
The director nodded. ‘Yes. You were screaming quite severely in your sleep. Bad dreams?’
Adrian ran a hand over his face and could feel the dampness of sweat. He looked down at his palms to see them glisten. ‘You could say that,’ he said.
‘Then tell me about them.’
Adrian looked up at the older man. Director Templeton had a gentle face with grey eyes set into skin that had started to sag with age. The man had a quality about him that drew Adrian to him, one he felt he could trust. This had been true ever since their first meeting, back when Adrian had almost…
‘Please,’ the director pressed. ‘It would help us greatly to know.’
Adrian shrugged. ‘It was just a dream. Is it important?’
‘Why yes,’ Templeton replied. ‘The medicine we gave you often spikes the brainwaves, we believe. Dreams are a fantastic indicator of how well it has worked. This was your first dose, and I am keen to know how effective it was.’
Adrian paused and shifted on the uncomfortable bed, going over the nightmare in his mind. Not that he particularly wanted to. ‘I dreamt that I killed somebody,’ he said, sombrely.
The director nodded, and Adrian even saw Dr. Reid raise his eyebrows. ‘And how was that?’ Director Templeton asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I say. How did it feel?’
That was indeed an odd question. ‘Horrible,’ Adrian said.
‘Just horrible? Anything else?’ Templeton pushed.
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Adrian shook his head, but that was a lie. When he replayed the act of killing over in his mind, he could not deny that he felt a certain sense of power with it. His face flushed with shame. Was that actually how he had felt when he’d carried out the foul deed?
‘You can be honest with me, Adrian,’ the director said. ‘This will only work if we are honest with each other.’
‘I am being honest,’ Adrian lied. Whether he trusted Director Templeton or not, he was not going to admit to those feelings.
He was not a monster. At least, he desperately wanted not to be.
‘Okay,’ the director went on. ‘Tell me, this dream. Was it a memory?’
This man certainly didn’t miss a beat.
Adrian looked down and nodded.
‘So, am I correct in thinking this was the incident that you have told me about already?’ Templeton asked. ‘The one with your father?’
Again, Adrian nodded, even though it was not true. The dream was of a different memory.
‘Can you tell me about what happened when you killed him?’
‘I’ve already told you,’ Adrian said. ‘It’s why I’m here. You know everything about what happened.’
‘But what happened in the dream, Mr. James? I am keen to know how accurate it was.’
‘It was accurate,’ Adrian said, growing tired and annoyed. ‘It happened pretty much as I remember it.’
‘And what about the details?’
‘The details are the same,’ Adrian snapped, raising his voice. He shifted again on the bed. The restraints dug into his skin, and the mattress of the bed, thin and lumpy, was hard beneath him.
‘Okay,’ Director Templeton said, holding up his palms in supplication. ‘That’s okay.’ He then looked up to the large orderly. ‘Mr. Jones, could you please release Adrian here from these dreadful restraints? He is quite clearly uncomfortable.’
‘Are you sure?’ Jones asked, his voice deep and soulless. The man was well over six feet tall, possibly pushing six and a half, with a broad frame. He had short black hair to match his dark eyes, a misshapen nose, and he carried himself with authority. Adrian had wondered if perhaps Jones had a military background. The man nodded at the director and bent down over Adrian, engulfing the patient in his shadow. Adrian winced as Jones grabbed him, causing the bigger man to smirk. The restraints were released, and Adrian felt the tingle of blood coursing through his veins again as the circulation was able to flow unobstructed.
‘Better?’ Templeton asked, and Adrian nodded.
‘Thank you.’
The director waved his hands dismissively. ‘Think nothing of it. Those straps were for your own good, I hope you know. The medicine has been known to cause extreme reactions. Dreams like the one you’ve had are common, but some are more potent than others. Some people have actually thrown themselves from the bed, such was the ferocity of what their mind was showing them.’
Adrian nodded, rubbing his wrists.
‘Now, is there anything else?’ Templeton asked.
‘What do you mean?’ Adrian replied.
‘In the dream? Was that everything?’
The older man seemed to know much more than he had any right to. ‘There was something,’ Adrian admitted.
Templeton smiled and leaned forward eagerly, the flat springs on the bed squeaking as he did. ‘Go on,’ he said.
Adrian realised that every eye in the room was focused on him, and Dr. Reid was looking less than impressed. Adrian had already had some dealings with the doctor and found him to be cold, but clearly the man was knowledgeable in his field. Adrian noted an ever-so-subtle shake of the head from Reid. Did he think this a complete waste of time?
‘Well,’ Adrian started, ‘after I killed… him, the room I was in changed, somehow.’
‘Please explain,’ the director pressed.
‘I can’t,’ Adrian said. ‘It just sort of, flaked away, like it wasn’t even a solid structure. And then I was somewhere else.’
‘And can you describe where you were?’
A humourless chuckle escaped Adrian’s lips before he had a chance to stop it. How on earth was he supposed to describe the nightmarish vision that his mind had thrown up? He gave an attempt, regardless.
‘Well, the whole landscape was… different.’
‘Different, how?’
‘I know how this will sound, but I don’t think it was on this planet.’
The director raised his eyebrows, but he did not look skeptical. In fact, he looked pleased. Dr. Reid, however, was visibly less-so.
‘Do we really have time for this, Isaac?’ the man asked.
‘It is Director Templeton,’ the director said, calmly exerting his authority. ‘And yes, we certainly have time for this. It is of the upmost importance.’ Reid shook his head, this time not caring to hide the gesture, but the director didn’t even look back to notice. Instead, his gaze was fixed expectantly on Adrian. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘go on. Tell me about this… other place.’
‘It was horrific,’ Adrian said. ‘The ground was like black rock, but felt a little different under my feet. There were huge mountains and these gigantic pillars that touched the sky. The size of them was hard to comprehend.’
‘Anything else?’
‘There were these… things.’
‘Things?’ Templeton asked, and Adrian nodded, not sure how best to describe them. Then another, more fitting word sprang forward in his mind.
‘Monsters,’ he said. ‘Nightmarish monsters of all sizes. Some in the distance were as big as the mountains themselves. The whole place just felt evil. And the sky was different too. A little like looking up at the night as we know it, but the stars moved differently. And I swear that they pulled together at one point, swirling about each other like some unfathomable eye that hung in the space beyond.’
‘This is good, Adrian,’ Templeton said. ‘And was there anything else? Anything at all?’
Adrian thought, and then remembered the boiling sea. And he recalled that feeling he had, as if something were making contact.
‘I think so,’ he said. ‘There was this expanse of water, if that is the right word. And I somehow felt that there was a presence beneath it. Something that was reaching out to me, in my mind.’
The director’s expression grew even more eager. ‘How so?’
‘It felt like it wanted me. I don’t know how else to explain it. It knew I was there, and it wanted to… claim me.’ Adrian shook his head. ‘It’s hard to explain.’
The director gave Adrian a reassuring smile. ‘Very good, Mr. James,’ he said. ‘I think that is enough for now. I can imagine this is difficult and more than a little distressing.’
‘I guess so,’ Adrian said. The director then got to his feet, groaning slightly as he did, the action clearly taking some effort. Adrian heard the popping of the man’s knee joints as they took on the strain of the rest of his body.
‘Is that normal?’ Adrian asked, ‘Dreams like that, I mean? Does it always happen after taking the medicine, because I’ve never experienced anything like it before. I never knew I had that kind of imagination.’
‘They are normal,’ Templeton reassured. ‘But, Adrian, do we ever really know ourselves? That is the question I am trying to answer here, and this new medicine will help me do that. If successful, the patient will be at ease with who they are. Once that happens, I feel that in most cases our work will be done—there would be no more need for treatment.’
‘And it will work for me?’
The director nodded. ‘I am sure of it. And once it does, all of that suffocating guilt you now feel will be gone. You can live out your life without regret.’
It was a soothing notion, one Adrian had heard before. It was the same promise that had drawn him here in the first place. Still, he wasn’t certain he deserved that kind of relief or absolution.
He actually felt that this place, Arlington Asylum, was exactly what he deserved.
Adrian’s four guest
s then moved towards the door, but Templeton looked back over his shoulder. ‘That is all for now, Mr. James, I appreciate your candour on this. You are free to wander the ward as you see fit and we will catch up soon. Have a good day.’
Adrian only nodded in response as they exited the room, leaving the door open behind them.
The truth was that there were no good days in this place, only repetition and misery that repeated in an endless cycle.
This was his life now.
This was his punishment.
Chapter 3
Adrian walked down the long hallway, heading towards the Communal Area—a large room where the inmates in the ward were able to assemble and, if their mental capacity allowed, talk and socialise. He knew in that regard he was lucky. It was a privilege awarded only to Ward B residents.
His ward.
From speaking with other inmates, he knew that the other main area, Ward A, was a place even worse than his current one. Patients there were afforded no time of their own, always under constant observation and therapies. Though Adrian knew that these treatments amounted to little more than torture.
Adrian passed the room next to his own and looked in to see his neighbour, Tom, asleep on his bunk. The poor old guy looked worse and worse with each passing day, so Adrian decided not to wake him.
All the doors to the rooms he passed were the same: rusty iron with small, square viewing hatches cut into them. Most of these doors were now pushed open, indicating the rooms were likely empty. The corridor itself was narrow with dirtied white-tiled walls that ran up to the high ceiling. The floor covering consisted of old, hexagon-shaped tiles, coloured with a slight tinge of green that could just be made out beneath old stains. The area was poorly lit, lending the narrow corridor a claustrophobic feel.
Adrian didn’t know too much about the facility he was housed in, other than the name of it, and that Director Templeton ran it, but he understood that whatever funding or financing the asylum had was insufficient. Very little of the budget seemed to go towards the upkeep of the building, that much was obvious, and the management, such as it was, were happy enough to let the place go to rot and ruin.
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