by Ron Ripley
Ken was thinking about the tipping station when the phone rang.
Frowning, he walked over to it, took the handset off of the receiver and answered the call. “Hello?”
“Ken, it’s Carl,” Carl said.
“Carl, what can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a guest at the Factory tonight.”
“What?” Ken asked, a chill sweeping through him. “Why?”
“Well, you know how the Gaiman Foundation is looking to buy the place?” Carl asked.
“Yeah?”
“Evidently they want someone to check the place for ghosts.”
“Hell,” Ken said, “place is haunted as hell.”
“They don’t want our opinion,” Carl said with a sigh.
“So this guy’s hired by the State?” Ken asked, frowning.
“By the State’s real estate agent,” Carl said. “From what I’ve heard the State’s already irate.”
“How come?”
“They wanted this guy to sign off and say the place was fine. Evidently he said he wouldn’t.”
Ken chuckled, smiling. “Okay. Maybe there’s hope. Where is he?”
“I had Derek put him in the head nurse’s old place.”
“Why the hell did you put him there?” Ken snapped. “Jesus, Carl.”
“What?” Carl asked, confused. “Where was I supposed to put him?”
“Hell, he could have crashed here with me. He shouldn’t be on the grounds alone. You know better, Carl.”
“Dan’s there,” Carl said defensively.
“And Dan’s a good guy,” Ken said. “He can’t handle protecting someone, though, Carl. Damn it.”
“Are you heading there, then?” Carl asked.
“Of course,” Ken said angrily. “I’ll be there in a few.”
Ken hung up the phone and shook his head. He needed to get to the head nurse’s house.
He took his small ring of master keys down off of the rack, slipped the leather strap connected to them around his belt and snapped it shut. He pulled on his coat and his pipe, tobacco, and matches went into his right pocket. He picked up his two-way radio, turned it on and tucked it into his breast pocket. A moment later he had on his watchman’s cap and gloves, and he closed the door to his house.
A sharp wind cut down from the northeast and burned his nostrils, the scent of impending snow heavy in the air.
Bad storm coming, Ken thought, glancing up at the dark clouds rolling down from Canada. He had enough food stocked, of course, he was a born and bred New Englander. You didn’t play with Winter. More often than not the Old Man would sweep down from the north and bury you. No matter what the weathermen said.
Ken zipped his collar to the top so it covered his chin and he quickly velcroed the protective flap over the zipper. He followed the brick path from his front door to the sanitarium’s main road and he took it towards the head nurse’s house.
The two-way radio squawked.
Ken grumbled and fished it out. He keyed it and said, “Go ahead, Dan.”
“You on the main road?” Dan asked.
“Yup.”
“Going to the library?”
“Not yet,” Ken answered. “Just talked to Carl about the guest.”
“Oh. Yeah. You know they put him in the head nurse’s place?” Dan asked.
Ken rolled his eyes but kept the frustration he felt out of his voice. “Yup. Keep your ears open, Dan. I’ll be by around eleven, just as always.”
“Okay, Ken. Base out.”
Ken put the radio away and as he followed a curve in the road, his destination appeared. In the stillness, the sound of the generator ripped through the air. Light spilled out from the windows of the dining room and reached for the cemetery.
Of all the damned places, Ken thought. He fought to keep his anger down. Carl did some stupid things, but he hadn’t risked anyone’s life before.
But does he even know he’s risking this man’s life? Ken asked himself. Does Carl even understand? Really understand?
Ken turned onto the walkway for the house and called out, “Hello, inside!”
He reached the stairs and hurried up them.
“Hello!” he called again.
The door opened, and a man in his forties stood there, framed by light. He was bald, solidly built and he wore a heavy sweater and jeans with work boots.
“Yes?” the man asked.
“I’m Ken Buckingham, third shift watchman here,” Ken said.
“Hello,” the man grinned. “Come on in. My name’s Brian. Brian Roy. I was told you were the best person to speak with.”
Brian closed the door behind Ken. Ken could see from the hall into the dining room. The man had an impressive array of laptops and wires set up on a folding table. It looked like something out of a movie. And Ken had no idea what any of it was for.
“I wasn’t expecting to speak with you until after eleven,” Brian said.
“I didn’t know I was going to speak with you at all,” Ken said.
Brian chuckled. “Figures.”
“You know,” Ken said, glancing around the house nervously. “This really isn’t the best place for you to be set up.”
Brian frowned. “How so?”
“Well, the last head nurse to live here doesn’t particularly like company.”
“No?” Brian asked with a chuckle. “I know she doesn’t like smoking.”
“You tried to smoke in here?” Ken asked.
Brian nodded. “She kept putting it out.”
“Be happy she didn’t do more,” Ken said. “She’s not the most patient woman.”
“Real quick, Ken,” Brian said, turning partially. “Is there someone who hangs around the cemetery?”
“Who did you see?” Ken asked after a moment.
“A woman,” Brian answered. “She came out from behind a headstone and then disappeared at the gate.”
“Come out of the house now, Brian,” Ken said softly. “I want you to come out of the house.”
Brian opened his mouth to answer, but then he closed it. He turned towards the kitchen and Ken heard it too.
A scratching sound.
The door separating the two rooms was closed, but the noise was distinct. It rose up from near the floor.
And the door moved.
Ever so slightly it edged into the dining room, perhaps half an inch. Then it dropped back.
The scratches sounded again and once more the door was pushed out.
A little further.
Enough to catch a glimpse of darkness.
Something sighed.
“We need to leave,” Ken whispered. “Don’t worry about your gear.”
Brian nodded. He stepped into the dining room and took his coat off of the back of the chair.
A groan seemed to force its way into the room even as the door pushed outwards.
A hand grasped the bottom edge.
A pale, bloody hand. The nails were ragged and torn, flesh hacked and peeled back. As it held the door open, a second hand in a similarly miserable condition took hold of the jamb.
And a third and a fourth, and then a fifth.
Ken reached behind him, found the cold metal of the doorknob and twisted and pulled. Brian ran past him into the twilight and Ken followed.
Eleanor’s shrieks chased them down the brick walkway.
Chapter 10: Ken, October 12th, 1970
Ken had seen and heard enough to understand a couple of things. The first was easy enough to accept. Ghosts did exist, and the sanitarium was haunted seven ways to Sunday. The second was a little harder.
The sanitarium was bad.
Not like a bad boy or a bad dog. Not even like a bad man.
But ‘Bad’ with a big old capital ‘B’. Middlebury was wrong the way you read about in some of the papers from New York City and Boston. Wrong the way someone might kill another, and then decide to cook them up for dinner.
Wrong in the way the Indians used to torture their pris
oners.
Wrong in the way the pilgrims sent blankets infected with smallpox as gifts to Indian tribes.
Twisted.
This place is twisted.
Gus had been right. They needed to protect the residents. Nearly everyone who worked there understood it. Not all, of course. Life would be too easy if everyone accepted it.
Gus generally helped weed those people out. And if he didn’t, well, then Middlebury sure as hell did.
It was only a matter of getting the people out before they got hurt. Or someone else got hurt.
Ken and Ike leaned against the guardhouse and looked at Gus. Usually, they only saw him at the end of their shift, when he was coming in. Not at the start of it.
Something was wrong.
Gus looked angry.
“Here’s the skinny,” Gus said. “I spoke with Doctor Cushing this afternoon. A couple of the residents over in Building Two said they haven’t been getting their meds. Also, we’ve got one of the catatonic girls on the fourth floor who looks like someone’s using her as a plaything.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ike muttered. He took out a cigarette, lit it and exhaled angrily. “Any idea?”
“Yeah,” Gus said, nodding. “Guy named Randy Briggs. He’s been moved from second to third shift in Building Two. Usually, they try to rotate the shifts, or else stick someone on there they want fired, but this guy actually asked for third. Now you both know how crazy it can get, and Two’s pretty damned bad.”
“Did Doc find out about the meds the same time as the girl?” Ken asked.
“Yeah,” Gus said. “The first shift super over there was told what was found with the girl, and so she went into the filing cabinet to see the girl’s file. See if there was a problem with self-abuse or anything. When she was in there, she found the building’s complaint file was all twisted around. She reached a little further back and found the complaints about the meds.”
“Damn,” Ken said.
“Yeah,” Gus said. “This guy Randy’s in pretty tight with the union steward, so Doc really wants us to catch him in the act. I already talked to the other guys, they’re going to pick up the slack tonight for the patrols. I want the pair of you in Two. Doc’s not worried about the meds. He had the second shift nurse give the three patients who’ve been getting shorted a little extra in case Randy skimps tonight.
“What Doc and I are worried about,” Gus continued, “is Randy doing any more damage to the girl, or to a different one. You’ll be able to stay in the super’s office on the fourth floor. Keep your eye out for him.”
“Kid gloves or full on, Gus?” Ike asked. The man’s voice was low and angry.
“Full on,” Gus said. “I’m okay with him meeting the judge with his jaw wired shut.”
“Good,” Ike grumbled, and Ken nodded.
Together they left Gus and walked to Building Two. Randy would be on the first floor, near the phone and the pharmacy. In wordless agreement, Ken followed Ike as the older man went to the back of the building. Ike unlocked the rear door, and the two of them quickly and quietly climbed the stairs. When they walked onto the fourth floor Ken was covered in sweat, his undershirt and underwear soaked.
A smell of disinfectant swept over them, pushed by the giant fans which moved the air. The metal blades moved slowly as they hung from the dark ceiling. A few red lights glowed along the walls, between the windows and their bars.
The supervising nurse’s office was on the left, and the door was ajar.
Ike opened it, and Ken followed him in. The desk was neat and orderly. A pair of plants stood on the window sill. Half a dozen tall filing cabinets stood off to one side, and a couch occupied the other wall. Ike pulled the curtain down behind the plants, and Ken turned the Venetian blinds on the door’s glass so they could see out into the ward.
Forty beds stood in four neat rows. In each bed, a woman slept. Some of them fitfully. Some peacefully. A few of them could communicate, from what Ken had heard, but for the most part, these women had withdrawn completely from the world. A few had to be hand fed.
Ike sat behind the desk, and Ken found a chair by the door. He dragged the extra seat behind the desk to sit beside the older man.
“I’m going to beat the hell out of this boy,” Ike said in a low, conversational tone. “Not a problem, is it?”
Ken shook his head. “Not at all, Ike.”
“Didn’t think so,” Ike said. “Just wanted to check.”
Silence slipped over them, and they sat and waited. Occasionally Ike would light a cigarette and keep the tip hidden behind his hand as he smoked. The hours passed by slowly and Ken shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He’d have to slip outside soon and use the bathroom, but he would wait a little longer.
The door opened at the far end of the ward. Light burst in from the stairwell and a shape slipped in.
Ike eased himself up out of the seat, and Ken did the same.
The figure stole forward and came to a stop near one of the beds. It reached out a hand to pull back the covers and something screamed.
Ken slapped his hands over his ears and staggered. Ike did the same, and then the man pointed, just as all of the lights turned on.
“Damn it!” Ken screamed, rubbing at his eyes. When he could see again, he saw Ike open the door, and Ken followed the man onto the floor.
A man dressed in a white orderly’s uniform was suspended in the air. An unseen hand clutched the front of his shirt.
The man saw Ken and Ike and yelled, “Jesus, help me!”
And then he was thrown into the nearest window.
The man shrieked as the glass shattered and several of the bars bent slightly. Something picked the man up and hurled him into the bars again.
The man’s screams increased and blood exploded out into the room.
The unseen thing continued to throw the man until the screaming stopped.
Ken and Ike could only stand and watch.
Finally, the man was lifted up and then dropped to the floor.
“You,” a female voice said, and Ken could feel anger and hate directed towards them.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Ken whispered. Then, raising his voice, he yelled, “Run, Ike! Run!”
Ken grabbed hold of the older man and started to pull him towards the stairwell.
The unseen woman howled and chased after them.
Ken let go of Ike as they reached the door. They crashed through it and fell onto the stair landing. Ken bounced off the far wall, tripped, and fell down the first flight of stairs. He grunted as he felt some of his ribs crack. He groaned and rolled onto his back. Ike started down the stairs as the door to the fourth floor was torn off of its hinges and hurled backward. The unseen thing grabbed hold of Ike and with a howl threw him through the window on the landing.
The glass, wooden sashes and the iron bars all gave way at once.
Before darkness laced with pain swept over him, Ken saw Ike smile and close his eyes.
Chapter 11: In Ken’s House
“Thanks,” Brian said, accepting a mug of coffee from Ken.
“You’re welcome.” Ken sat down across from Brian at a small table. The older man reached up and took a bottle off of a shelf. Jamesons Whiskey. He opened it, poured a little into his coffee and looked at Brian. “You want to Irish it up?”
“Please,” Brian said, nodding.
Ken added some to Brian’s mug, capped the bottle and put it back. The man took a drink, looked at Brian and said, “You weren’t too fazed by what you saw.”
“No,” Brian agreed.
“Seen the same before?” Ken asked.
“Not the same, but just as bad,” Brian answered. “Are there more of those kicking around the sanitarium?”
“There are,” Ken said after a moment. “Thing is, they’ve been quiet for a few years. They were still active right after the facility was shut down, but they’ve sort of gone to sleep, I guess. Not until the real estate agents and the buyer started tromping around did they wake
up.”
“They haven’t reacted to the security guards?” Brian asked.
Ken chuckled. “I’m the only guard who patrols, Brian. The others only watch the gate. And the dead or whatever it is that lives here, well, they know me. They tend to leave me alone. Oh, every so often something happens, but it’s rare.”
“When’s the last time something happened?” Brian asked. He took a drink of his coffee and enjoyed the pleasant heat of the coffee and the flush brought on by the whiskey.
“Two nights ago,” Ken asked.
Brian chuckled.
“Didn’t say it wasn’t recent,” Ken grinned. “Only rare.”
“Fair enough. What happened?”
The grin fell away, and Ken became serious. “We get these young people, you know, twenty-somethings. They like to do what they call urban spelunking. You heard of it?”
Brian nodded.
“Anyway,” Ken said, shifting in his seat, “they like to come here. They think abandoned sanitarium, they read about the tunnels connecting the buildings. They figure minimal security. Sure, I can see how it would be exciting. It makes me work a little harder, and I worry about them. Middlebury isn’t a good place to be in the daylight. Night time, Brian, night time is bad.”
“So what happened two nights ago?” Brian asked.
“I started one of my walks,” Ken said. “Patrolling the grounds. I saw a light in the superintendent’s house. I went inside, and I found them hanging there.”
“Found who?”
“A pair of brothers,” Ken answered. “They’d been beaten up pretty badly. They were alive, though, which is more than the King usually allows.”
“Wait,” Brian said, holding up a hand. “The King? Who’s the King?”
“I’m not sure,” Ken said. He finished his coffee and set the mug aside. “He’s been here as long as I have. He’s not a happy man. Doesn’t take kindly to strangers or uninvited guests.”
Brian rubbed his chin. “It couldn’t have been something the brothers had done for an internet stunt?”
