Return to Red Creek

by Nathan Hystad

  The entrance was a set of extra-tall double wooden doors, set between two pillars, and Brent arrived first. “Do I knock?” he asked. There was a sign above the door with the hospital name, but nothing about visiting hours.

  “I don’t know. Go for it,” Taylor said, but they didn’t have to. The left door opened outward, and an older man wearing a tweed jacket stepped out.

  “Can I help you?” he asked with a deep voice. His eyebrows were thick and gray, seemingly acting independent of each other. His thin hair was swept over the top of his head in a vain attempt at a comb-over.

  Isabelle gently pushed Taylor forward. “Trevor Hayes. I’m here to talk to Trevor Hayes,” she said, trying not to stutter. The whole weekend was making her nervous, and she struggled to contain this negative energy now.

  The man tilted his head to the side, gauging her. “And what do you want to speak with Mr. Hayes regarding?”

  Taylor hadn’t been expecting that question, so she diverted. “I’m his cousin. My aunt was visiting a while ago, and I couldn’t believe that little Trev ended up in a place like this.” The man’s eyes went wide, and she tried to backpedal, clearing her throat. “Not that this hospital isn’t lovely.”

  “I’m sure. We were under the impression that Mrs. Hayes no longer wanted anything to do with her son,” the man said.

  Taylor rolled with it. “She’s had a hard time, and that’s why I’m here. I told my family that I’d come to see him and report my findings. He needs to see familiar faces, don’t you agree?” Taylor asked, knowing full well that neither her face nor the other two faces would be familiar to the boy.

  “Come in… what did you say your name was?” he asked, holding the door open.

  “Clare. Clare Bothwell.” The name came from a character in one of her dad’s least famous books. Taylor hoped the man didn’t know it. He smiled tightly and motioned her inside.

  “I’m Doctor Herman Bryenton. Your cousin is a unique case, but not as unique to the area as one might think,” the doctor said, leading them into the building.

  A fancy wooden desk sat on the right, with a grim-looking woman behind it, typing away at a computer. She didn’t look up, and Taylor’s nod went unanswered.

  “What does that mean?” Brent asked. The doctor hadn’t questioned the identity of Taylor’s companions. He didn’t seem to care.

  “It means we’ve had a few cases like this over the years,” Doctor Herman said as they walked. His heels clomped on the hard wooden floors, echoing in the wide-open foyer. They arrived at a wide staircase that wound up in two different directions. The banisters were a deep dark brown – ornate designs carved by hand, Taylor imagined. Her dad would love this building. He’d always tried going to places like this with her when she was younger. Not mental wards, per se, but old fancy houses or buildings. He said it gave his writing inspiration, and as she walked through Gilden Psychiatric Hospital, she could understand how.

  “What kind of cases are you referring to?” Taylor asked softly.

  “Her mother didn’t tell you?” the doctor asked, and Taylor shook her head. “He’s afraid of the dark. No, that’s not entirely true. He’s afraid to have the lights off, because of the shadows. Not quite the same as being scared of the dark. He’s more afraid of a conservative amount of light. We’ve had him in total darkness for a time, and he’d seemed happy enough, though that was early on, and he was quite heavily sedated.” Doctor Herman was rambling as he led them up the stairs and to the right.

  He unlocked another solid oak door. There was no window or screen in it, so they couldn’t see in, nor could anyone on the other side see out. As soon as it opened, Taylor could hear classical music playing, and voices talking.

  “What is this place?” Isabelle asked from behind them.

  “This is where our patients mingle.” Doctor Herman opened the door wide and waved them all past him before shutting the door again, locking it from the inside with a thick key. Taylor’s anxiety increased knowing she was locked inside a mental ward. She felt like they’d catch on to her, and she’d be stuck here the rest of her life.

  She almost turned around and demanded he let them out, but she took a deep breath instead. Brent didn’t seem to care as he perused the open room they’d entered with interest. It was in the heart of the building, with halls winding away from it at two ends of the room. Taylor looked left, then right, past the people sitting at the round tables, trying to guess which direction Trevor Hayes was in at that moment.

  A different kind of energy mixed with the nervous stuff she’d been feeling earlier, and Taylor knew she was on the right track here. Something about talking with this kid was going to help her.

  The doctor looked around too, as if he’d never been here before, and raised his thick eyebrows, his eyes coming to focus as he locked in with Taylor’s gaze. “This is where they spend most of their days. Many of them have been here a long time. One or two check in every year, as mental illness is a trait that can afflict someone at various ages.”

  “How do you not fill up?” Brent asked, and Taylor spotted at least sixteen people in the room. A young girl sat alone at a table, a well-worn paperback in her hand. She momentarily raised her eyes but shifted them away just as quickly as she caught Taylor giving her a smile.

  A man was tapping his hand against a tabletop as a woman moved checkers on a board. She was playing both sides, the man apparently just bearing witness to her game.

  The music being played was beautiful, one of Bach’s more melancholic concertos. Taylor had learned far more than most people her age about traditional greats, since her dad loved listening to them so much. The only one she stayed clear of was Vivaldi, for natural reasons. She couldn’t get the song out of her head some nights as she tried to sleep.

  She’d lie down, close her eyes, and hear the symphony playing on the scratchy record underground in the orchard outside Red Creek. Conway was beside her, holding a gun to her head. She’d glance to her hand and see the burning, itchy red blotch on her arm where the shadow man had grabbed her. The Schattenmann.

  Brent touched Taylor’s arm now, and she flinched, pulling away. She let out a whimper, and he looked taken aback. “It’s just me,” he said, and she moved in, grabbing his hand.

  “I’m sorry. I’m a little jumpy being here,” she said, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  He kissed her forehead. “So am I. This is creepy. I mean, what’s with the music?”

  The doctor was directly behind them, his face eerily close to their heads, listening to every word. “The music calms them. Most of them are medicated twenty-four hours a day, but this acts like a security blanket for the residents of Gilden Psychiatric Hospital, except for your cousin. He prefers silence. This way, please.”

  Brent glared at the man, clearly pissed at the invasive stance the doctor had taken behind them. He let the man go ahead and whispered to Taylor, “This guy is super weird. Are we sure he works here?”

  Truth was, they hadn’t asked him for credentials, but he did have the white lab coat and the key, so Taylor hoped that gave him credibility. She was just glad he hadn’t asked for her ID, because that would have been an awkward conversation.

  “Oh, crap. I was going to call my dad,” Taylor muttered to Brent and Isabelle. Her real cousin was walking slowly behind them, looking at each of the patients. “Isabelle, don’t stare,” Taylor said through clenched teeth.

  “Sorry. I just feel bad for them. They look lonely,” she said, and Taylor had to agree. With the exception of the irregular checker companions, most of the people were sitting alone, staring at the walls, out the windows, or into a book.

  Taylor pulled her phone out, and when Doctor Herman stopped at the other end of the great room, ready to enter the hallway, she held a finger up in the air. She dialed the last number she’d called.

  She was ready to tell him something about the weather at Bellton, complaining about the rain and how much it sucked that she was face-down i
n books for her assignment. She got his voicemail again. Now she was beginning to worry. She’d try her mom when they were done here.

  “Dad, it’s me. Just wanted to say hi, and to check how your Saturday is shaping up. Call me back. Love you.” She hung up and shoved the phone in her bag, turning the ringer off. She didn’t want anything to spook Trevor when she was talking with him. Brent and Isabelle were with the doctor as he unlocked another door, and Taylor jogged to catch up.

  “He’s in the third room on the end.” Doctor Bryenton let them in, and Taylor smelled chemicals: the kind she remembered from spending time in the hospital while her grandfather was dying. That was where she’d first seen the shadow figure too, another coincidental occurrence.

  “Can I speak to him alone?” Taylor asked. Brent and Isabelle had already agreed it should be her. If the kid was scared and out of it, she’d be the best bet to get real information from him. The house he’d freaked out inside was her father’s childhood home. He’d have a chance of relating to her.

  “Sure. He doesn’t talk much, but he might appreciate someone communicating with him. A familiar cousin, especially.” Doctor Herman lifted one of his thick eyebrows, and it seemed like he was going to add something to his statement. Instead, he sealed his lips and moved through the hall, his large keychain clinking as he found the right key, and soon the door was opened. “We have to lock them from the inside, for their own protection, of course. And would you mind leaving your bag out here? Hospital policy.”

  Taylor passed the bag over to Isabelle. “No problem.”

  “I’ll bring your friends to the nurses’ station for a coffee. How does that sound?” Doctor Herman asked, now sporting a friendly smile. Where had the pleasantry come from? He started forward and stopped, leaning in to Taylor’s ear. “Be careful. Make sure the lights stay on.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say to that, but she agreed as he turned and walked away.

  “I think we have croissants today. You two like croissants?” Doctor Herman asked, and Taylor saw Brent nod. Where did he put all that food? “Clare!” the doctor called through the hall, where a hefty man in a white uniform was approaching. “If you have any trouble, ask for Dale here. He’ll be standing outside the room.”

  Taylor rested her hand on the room’s door handle. It was a commercial lever, the kind you saw on office storerooms, not bedroom doors, and it had a thick observation window so the staff could look in on Trevor. She pressed the handle and it depressed, twisting to the side. She pulled the door open and was nearly blinded by the light.

  She stepped in, able to see the teenage boy on the far side of the room, which was larger than she’d expected. It took a second, but her eyes acclimated slightly to the brightness, and she now saw the source of the light. Long LED strips ran horizontally along the walls, angled toward the center of the room, and more shone up and out from the baseboards. The effect was a shadow-free room. A bed sat on the floor, no legs on the frame. Otherwise, there was no furniture to speak of. The walls were white, the floor white tile.

  “Trevor?” Taylor asked, more as a formality than curiosity. This was obviously Trevor Hayes, the boy scared of shadows.

  He didn’t answer, and she advanced closer, glancing at the floor to see an absence of her shadow. It was an interesting trick, and she was glad the hospital had at least accommodated his fears instead of ignoring them and pumping him full of drugs. Still, he had a muddled look to his young face. His eyes were puffy, his cheeks sallow.

  “Trevor Hayes, my name is Taylor Alenn. I want to talk to you about something.” She got closer and crouched, so she was eye-level with him beside the bed. He was on the bed, his upper half leaning against the wall, legs ramrod straight.

  He met her gaze, and she thought there might have been a hint of recognition at her name. Maybe he’d heard the last name of the people that used to live in the house he and his mom were renting. The neighbor lady did like to talk. Taylor knew that from experience.

  “Do you mind if I have a seat?” she asked, and he gave her a miniscule nod, enough for her to catch his approval. She smiled at him and hoped she could bring a small amount of peace to the young man. He was almost cute, his hair curly and brown, his eyes bright and hazel. Maybe Taylor could help him with what he’d seen or been through. She just needed to find out what that was, exactly.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked, knowing the answer was around two years. That was a long time for a boy to be in a place like this. If he wasn’t on the verge of insanity before, sitting here under this bright light for two years would push anyone over the edge.

  Again, he didn’t answer.

  “The doctor told me it’s been two years or so already. I spoke with Edith about you yesterday.” Now the boy’s eyes went wide. She was getting close. “She really liked having you as a neighbor. She said you cut her grass for her. She was so grateful since her husband passed away. Edith hadn’t been able to do a lot of things around her house. She wanted me to tell you thank you.”

  “Edith?” The boy said the name with the hint of a question. His voice was croaky, like he hadn’t spoken in quite some time.

  “Yes. You lived next to her on Wood Street for a year or so. Do you remember that?” Taylor asked him, trying to keep her tone level.

  He nodded. “I remember.” Trevor nodded at the lights around the room, and then at Taylor. “He can’t get me now.”

  Taylor took a gamble. “You mean the shadow man?” She kept her voice nonchalant.

  He perked up at the name she gave the creature. “You know of it?”

  “I do.”

  “They tell me it’s not real. That I imagined it, but I didn’t, I swear. My brain… it’s like I’m under water,” Trevor said.

  “That’s the medication they have you on. They don’t believe you because they haven’t seen it. I have, Trevor. I’ve seen it up close.” Taylor felt her eyes filling with water, and she wiped away a leaking tear.

  “When?” Trevor was getting scared now. Taylor had to calm him down if she was going to learn anything valuable. If he started to cause trouble, Taylor imagined an orderly would come in and give the boy something to calm him, which meant he’d be comatose in minutes.

  “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Way before you saw the shadow. I was a little girl.” Taylor decided to tell her story, albeit a slightly toned-down version. Trevor crossed his legs and leaned forward on the bed, turning toward her. “I was eight. My dad was back, packing up the house you and your mom rented a few years ago.”

  His eyes were wide. “He lived there?”

  “He did. Until he was eighteen and left for college.”

  “That must have been scary,” Trevor said. Taylor wanted to ask him why, but she held it in, wanting to tell her story before he got to his.

  “He doesn’t remember it that way. Or, at least, he didn’t.” Taylor pulled her hair back, taking an elastic from her wrist to make a ponytail. “Anyway, my mom and I came to Red Creek to see him. We were living in LA at the time. Long story.”

  Trevor didn’t ask, so she kept talking. “The shadow took me from outside Chuck’s. You know the restaurant on Main?”

  He nodded. “It took you?”

  “Grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away. I was so scared. It moved so fast and carried me like I weighed nothing. It felt like I was floating; a helium balloon being tethered to the earth by a string.” Taylor turned her arm over so he could see the tender part of her forearm. Light, almost imperceptibly pink scars bumped out of her skin. He ran a hand over them and held her gaze with tears in his eyes.

  “It never took me. Why?” he asked, almost as if he was at fault for its lack of follow-through.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What happened to you?” he prompted.

  She sighed. “The Smiths owned the orchard outside of town. I’m sure you heard all about them.”

  “I saw the documentary. They never mentioned a shadow. The kids at scho
ol joked about it at times, but I didn’t believe them. When it first came to me, I tried to tell my best friend about my experience, but he told me I was crazy. Ironic now, isn’t it?” Trevor looked around the bright room; a tiny cackle escaped his lips.

  “The Smiths control it somehow. I’m here to find out how, because there’s a chance it’s back.” Taylor paused as the boy’s face contorted into something grotesque. He was so scared. “Don’t worry. It can’t get you here. It wouldn’t anyway. You’re too old now. It wants children.”

  “Why?” Trevor asked, his voice a harsh whisper.

  Truth was, she had no idea. “It’s supernatural, and I can’t begin to understand the reasoning. There are a lot of theories out there on the internet about soul suckers, extending their lives by drinking the life force of children. Or they eat their livers, hearts, brains, anything else you can think of to live. But most of the research I’ve seen on the eaters says they’re flesh and blood monsters. We both know this Schattenmann is no such creature.”

  “What’s a Schattenmann?” Trevor asked nervously.

  “It’s German. That’s where it comes from. ‘Shadow man’ is the literal translation.”

  Taylor expected something far different than what Trevor did. He pumped a fist in the air.

  “You’re going to kill it. I can tell!” He was shouting now, and Taylor glanced to the door, hoping the orderly didn’t come in and stop them.

  “Shhh. That big guy’s out in the hall waiting for an excuse to come and force pills down your throat. We need to be cool about this, okay?” Taylor asked, and the young man nodded his understanding.

  “What do we do?” he asked.

  “We?” she threw at him.

  “I want in on this. I’ve been here for two years, and no one ever comes to visit me. I’ve become my family’s pariah, and they all think I’m clinically insane. As long as you’re not a figment of my imagination, then you prove I’m not crazy. Though if you are a creation of my brain, then kudos to me, because I’ve never seen such a beautiful girl in person.” He said the last quietly, and his gaze averted, looking at the bedspread.