“Richard MacDonald and Michael Schreiber--,” He made our introduction and smiled politely, “We have an appointment with Dr. Arthur Langford.”
As he spoke, I took notice of a tall, thin man who slowly made his way toward us from the hallway. Utilizing the wall for support, he wore slippers and a pale blue hospital gown. His movements painfully slow and awkward at best, he crept ever closer. It was hard to define his age, dementia and medication having likely worn him well beyond his years. I had assumed the man to have been in his mid to late fifties.
His jaw hung agape and dark circles lingered like death from beneath his empty, dark and staring eyes. His features were faded and waxen, but there remained a twisted and tortured expression. It was something that I could only describe as something between desperation and absolute fear. Extending an arm with trembling, grasping fingers, he gasped in what appeared a plea for help. His face erupting in a silent scream as an orderly rushed toward him, forcing him downward, he uttered a long drawn-out, terrible cry! Within the feeble struggle, he slipped down and succumbed upon the floor.
I saw the sudden dismay and immediate disapproval in Rich’s eyes and knew that this had troubled him deeply. Although we were not accustomed to such places, the methods appeared rather extreme and even brutal to a great degree.
“This way, please.” An older nurse moved from behind the secured door, and locking it behind herself, promptly led us past the still struggling pair. She was short, heavy-set and had all the appeal of a prison warden. Her name tag read Roberta, and her hair was so tightly pinned back beneath her nurse’s cap that her forehead seemed to be endless. I felt certain that whatever personal warmth might have remained to her had long since departed. Undoubtedly, it had been drained out by the sheer menace, madness and melancholy of the place.
As we followed the nurse through the hallway we could hear shouting. There was weeping, moaning and a strange, haunting laughter that echoed with obvious madness. Janitorial staff and interns rushed about as patients slowly wandered the corridors. Many of which simply lurked like pale phantoms within the doors to their rooms. I felt what might only be explained as desperation, and an utter sense of hopelessness. By the disturbed expression on Rich’s face, I could only imagine as to what terrible impressions he now suffered.
We moved quickly, as in passing I noticed the rooms were painted in pale pastel colors of green, powder blue, light pink and a hazy yellow. When first completed they may have appeared rather pleasant. But over time, the sickness in that sanitarium seemed to have carried even into the walls and very structure of the place. Dark stains appeared in corners and colors took on faded, fouled and unpleasant hues. There was a chill in the place that even the old hot water heating systems could not manage. I wondered if it was just the season, wind and weather or something more.
Moving through an emergency doorway, we entered into a stairwell, hurriedly making our way onto the third floor. Passing through the doorway, I suddenly felt the atmosphere change. Not a simple temperature alteration, but a sensation that we had entered into something comprised more to that of a nightmare than reality. The nausea and unsettling feeling had remained, but there was now a cold and inexplicable fear. It was something that had crept up and sent chills down the length of my spine. I rubbed vigorously at my arms as the short hairs stood up and goose-pimples formed.
Unlike the previous floors, this one resounded in frightening screeching, howling and long, drawn-out shrieks of utter and complete rage! There was an endless wailing and the shouting of things so foul and contemptuous, that I will not even dare attempt to describe them. In all of my life I had never experienced such vile and utter chaos. If true madness had ever existed, then surely that evil had manifested, festered and thrived in this place!
“It’s just this way, gentlemen.” The nurse spoke suddenly, leading us through another set of secured doors and into a separate corridor, “Please refrain from looking into the patients’ rooms. They find it—disturbing.”
I had attempted to avoid any intrusive glances, but as we passed through the hallway, many of the patients occupying those rooms raced to peer out as us. Their wild and crazed eyes glaring from out of tiny re-enforced windows as with bared teeth, they struggled from behind steel doors. At one point, a rather large and fearsome character with dark hair and eyes began shrieking and smashing himself physically against the door. The steel barrier shook with the force as the nurse, hurrying us onward, directed us through yet another set of doors and toward a nurses’ station. It had been the first time that I had seen any true emotional reaction from her. Yet, it was little more than the wide-eyed expression of fear that a deer might reveal while fleeing before a predator. I could say very little as I swiftly followed the “proverbial” herd, while sharing that same panic and fear.
We passed through a lobby and then behind a front desk, which was occupied by several sturdy-looking orderlies and male nurses. It had all the appearance of what one might expect of a maximum security prison, with exception to weapons.
Leading us behind the counter, she halted before a door, and reaching to knock, said, “I am terribly sorry that you had to experience that. This is where we incarcerate the more violent and disturbed patients. It’s a rather unsettling experience for everyone…”
No sooner had she said this, than did an elderly woman appear from out of nowhere, and shrieking, fell upon us! With billowing gray hair and dark eyes wide and horror-filled, clawing and biting, she struggled with Rich. He had fallen helpless before her. Though appearing aged and frail, she now fought with the immeasurable strength of adrenalized, utter madness.
I had attempted to assist him, but was forced aside by orderlies. They were both very large men, but struggled desperately to restrain the little woman. I felt a hand upon my wrist as the nurse had pulled me aside. Astounded by the sheer rage and power of the old woman, I stared aghast as the orderlies dragged the shrieking and hysterical fiend away. Clambering unsteadily to his feet, Rich had been startled as the office door suddenly opened behind us.
“Good Lord, I am so terribly sorry! This facility is generally very secure, and she has never behaved in that manner before.” A tall, middle-aged and balding man drew us into the office, and closing the door, said, “This should never have happened. You must be Richard MacDonald and Michael Schreiber.”
“Yes sir, we are.” Rich straightened his tie, and accepting a chair before the desk, said, “Life and people are unpredictable for the most part. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Dr. Arthur Langford--,” Extending a hand in greeting, he offered us coffee and halted to look back at Rich, who nursed a bruised forearm, “Are you certain that you’re alright? I can have a nurse look at that for you.”
“Thank you, but it’s nothing really, just a little bruising.”
Assuming a seat behind the massive oak desk, he sorted several files, placing them into a drawer, and clasped his hands before him, saying, “I’m quite pleased that you were willing to accept my invitation. Under the circumstances--,” He motioned toward Rich, “As you might imagine, we rarely have guests on the third floor, beyond staff and permanent residents.”
Responding with polite nods, we stirred cream and sugar into our coffee, anxiously awaiting our host. He seemed somewhat apprehensive, twiddling his thumbs, as he nervously looked between us. “So, I understand that you gentlemen are involved with the research and investigation of paranormal phenomena.”
“We try to keep open minds--,” I sighed deeply, as looking between Rich and the doctor, I said, “But as you know, much can be explained by natural occurrences or medical conditions.” It was not that I had hoped to impress the doctor with a more rational explanation, but feared that we might soon be fitted for our own “hug-me” jackets. I had never forgotten Detective Raymond Emerson’s threats. And in a world requiring only three signatures to have a person institutionalized, I would not add this one to the list.
“So then, as professi
onals in your specific field, are you not firm believers in the preternatural or after-life?”
“We are open to the possibilities--,” Rich sipped at his coffee, “But in a field with little to no evidence that requires no doctorate, we can hardly assume it a profession.”
Dr. Langford suddenly laughed, and shaking his head, said, “My friends, you were not asked to come here in order to be psychoanalyzed. The fact of the matter is that some of the staff has been reporting, well--,” He hesitated, and contemplating briefly, looked up at us, shrugged and said, “For lack of a better term, unexplained phenomena. Now, please take into consideration that working in this environment can be challenging at the best of times. So, we have come to expect unusual reactions and have heard some very odd and even disturbing reports from staff and patients. Also, please consider that on a professional level I could never condone what you do. But under the circumstances, and knowing your reputation, I thought that perhaps your visit and presence here might ease the staff and residents just a little.”
“That’s completely understandable.” Rich nodded, and frowning said, “What can we do to be of assistance?”
He thought for several moments, looking down upon his folded hands as though expecting an answer to suddenly appear, he glanced up and said, “The next time that we have an event, I would like to be able to contact you to attend the scene. Please understand that I am only doing this for the benefit of my staff. Not because I really believe that there is anything unnatural occurring here. We have a standard to maintain. It’s the principle of everything that we practice here. And we certainly do not want to rock those foundations for any reason.”
“So, we are the proverbial placebo in this situation.” Tapping a finger against my mug, I slowly nodded.
“In affect--,” He thought aloud, “Your presence here will be doing us a great service. It will provide comfort for the patients, some of the staff, and ease some of the pressure that this situation has placed upon me. As you know, whether these claims bare any substance or not, hysteria can create an intolerable environment. Especially when considering the fragile temperament of many of our patients and staff working long hours under these conditions.”
“I have to admit, just being here for a short time has managed to leave me feeling, well, a little unsettled.” I slowly nodded, and said, “I can only imagine what an over-tired employee, working under pressure, might presume to see or experience.”
“Gentlemen, my actions in calling you here are of my own accord,” He explained, saying, “It does not reflect the opinion of my employers, nor would my colleagues approve.”
“You have our absolute discretion in the matter.” Rich promised, and in a second breath, raised a finger in thought, “All that we ask is access to all and any reports made concerning these unusual occurrences.”
“Unfortunately, none of these reports were ever filed.” Dr. Langford shrugged, “Gentlemen, might I remind you that within the realm of Psychology there exist no unexplained phenomena, but merely unidentified medical conditions that require further research and appropriate treatments and medication. To admit to such a thing would be considered utterly preposterous, much less filing reports. That might lead my superiors to assume that I give the thought credibility. And, as you know, it would not meet their approval.”
“So, you are really going out on a limb just bringing us into this.” Rich frowned.
“I am only doing everything possible to maintain a positive moral here. We cannot permit anything to jeopardize the integrity of the system. This facility and everyone here is depending upon it.”
“Fair enough, but off the record—“, Rich shrugged, asking, “Could you describe some of these reports?”
I was honestly impressed with the man. Not only had he sensed and diagnosed our concerns, but now approached the issue quite honestly. Removing his glasses and loosening his tie, he looked about the room for several moments before saying, “As you are already well aware, this facility houses many individuals with special needs. Their requirements extend from basic care and medication to permanent incarceration and more extreme measures. The environment is sterile and the atmosphere unsettling, even terrifying at times. So much in fact, that it can cause the imagination to run wild, even within those deemed sane.”
“It sounds as though you might have had a few moments of doubt as well?” I had to ask, and though he appeared reluctant, he frowned and nodded in reply, “I prefer to keep an open mind, though my profession insists upon more direct and rational explanations. In this case, and having experienced some inexplicable things within these walls, I cannot completely deny the possibilities.”
“Alright, so we are basically all on the same page here--,” Rich tapped a finger at his porcelain coffee mug and thoughtfully said, “And professionally speaking, this conversation never happened.”
“Exactly--,” Dr. Langford leaned back into his leather chair, “Strictly off the record.” He nodded at his surroundings and said, “I am willing to provide you with some information, details concerning the recent reports. But they must never be revealed publicly, under any circumstances.”
“Recent reports--,” I looked too Rich before asking, “Are you insinuating that there were others?”
His eyes spoke volumes, though he said nothing in reply. I was getting the distinct impression that these ancient walls concealed more than just madness….
“So, these occurrences have a longer history than we anticipated.” Rich drew out a notepad and pen, “Exactly what kind of disturbances were they, and where did they occur?”
“As it was described to me--,” Dr. Langford began, “Most of the disturbances seemed to occur in the bathing rooms. And they began with the sounds of weeping that became shrieking, and at times, staff imagined to have seen spectres that occupied the baths. There were also several occasions when staff, departing or returning to the facility, claimed to have witnessed apparitions wandering the grounds.”
I said nothing as Rich shot a nervous glance in my direction.
“The majority of these sightings seem to occur after dusk or just before the dawn, but never in between. One might assume that a person would be more susceptible to imagining things in the darkness, during the stillness of the night.”
“Was there anything else?” Tapping the pen to my pad, I watched as the man leaned back into his seat, and slowly shook his head.
“Alright then--,” Rich pondered before saying, “As I mentioned on the telephone the other day, we were doing some research on schizophrenia and its relation to sleep disorders, night terrors and the similarities concerning supposed possession. You can only find so much in text books, and we prefer practical experience. Would it be possible to ask you a few quick questions?”
There was a moment of utter silence, the atmosphere of the room becoming absolutely stifling. Dr. Langford appeared immediately uncomfortable, and licking at dry lips, said, “As you are both well aware, science and medicine has improved considerably since the sixteenth century. And though the church still condones and practices exorcisms, the professional world explains such things as chemical imbalances, or multiple personality disorder. Some of the more prevalent symptoms are related sleep disorders, improper diets and delusional, manic or even violent behavior.”
“So then you don’t personally believe in the existence of the soul--,” I began writing into my notepad, “Or the possibility that this life force or energy can transfer from one being to another.”
“Science states quite clearly that energy is never lost but simply transferred.” He pondered briefly, “As a Christian I am expected to accept the existence of a soul. But as a doctor of medical science, am not permitted to admit to something so fanciful.”
“We were actually hoping to find a defining factor that differentiates the symptoms.” Rich scribbled thoughts onto his page, “Something that might describe the difference between the medical condition, and assumed possession.”
“Accor
ding to the archaic material that I have read on the subject--,” Doctor Langford began. “I would assume that, where one is a chemical or metabolic imbalance, an affliction of the mind, the other is a physical manifestation, altering both the mind and body.”
“Off the record--,” I spoke quietly, looking to our host, and asked, “Have you ever heard or witnessed anything that might substantiate or even lend credit to such a claim?”
“In my thirty-six years of service to this profession I have both heard and seen many strange things.” Swallowing hard, he sipped at his coffee before looking back, “Some could be explained in rational terms while others were simply case files that vanished over time.”
“They simply vanished over time.” Rich whispered as though failing to believe his own ears.
“I can’t offer any examples--,” Dr. Langford apologized, “I am forbidden by the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act from disclosing personal information involving clients. Any failure to uphold this law would result in my immediate dismissal and legal prosecution.”
“So, there is no chance of seeing any old files?” I felt our window of opportunity failing.
“I have a family and am retiring next year--,” Dr. Langford explained, “I’m certain that you both understand my predicament.”
“We completely understand and appreciate your position--,” Rich nodded, and raising a finger in thought, asked, “But aside from breaching patient confidentiality, is there any possible way that we might share any research material on the subject?”
Rich had only told me that we were meeting with the doctor concerning a possible haunting. What was meant to have been a quick questions and answers session was swiftly becoming an investigation. Something that quite obviously distressed our host, as thumbing through a large crystal dish containing candy, he sighed deeply.
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