That Which Should Not Be

by Talley, Brett J.

  “Well, sir,” I replied, glad he had not asked about the fantastic story that had just been told, “It would be presumptuous of me, I think, to make a judgment on such topics, at my age. While I feel as though I have seen many things, I am learning there is much more to encounter.”

  Captain Gray smiled, taking a long draw on his cigar. “And that is wisdom, my young companion. Wisdom, indeed. Well, my friends,” he said, turning to the others. “It is late, but the storm is at its worst. I believe there is time for one more tale, one more story for our young friend.”

  “Yes,” William said, “and even if there were no storm, I would insist he hear my words.”

  William looked at me, and in his eyes I saw the same steely resolve to impart some wisdom to me that had been in those of the others. I appreciated what they were doing, as much as I didn’t understand why they were doing it.

  “It is, indeed, fate that you have come here,” William continued, “for you and I are not all that different.”

  I leaned forward in my chair. As the winter tempest fell upon us in its greatest fury, William transported us back into the past.

  Chapter

  20

  William:

  I was a student then, much like you, finishing a course of study in medicine of the brain. Something had always drawn me to the insane, to those creatures in human form whose minds, and sometimes souls, I fear, are lost. Of course, the best place to study such a — how shall we say it — delicate subject was the same institution that drew you, Miskatonic University. A strange place that was filled with mystery and dark secrets. Those of us in the sciences always felt ostracized, distant from Miskatonic’s more esoteric pursuits. I muddled through, though I was never more than an outsider.

  It was the fall of my senior year when the head of my department, Dr. Seward, called me to his estate for dinner. Dr. Seward was a leader in his field, a true visionary in the study of that greatest of mysteries: man’s unfathomable mind.

  “Ah, Dr. Hamilton,” I remember he said as I arrived at his door. “Please, come in.”

  I walked into his modestly furnished home. The smell of fine fare wafted in from the kitchen where his wife was busy at work.

  “Come into my office. I have something I want to discuss with you.”

  I followed Dr. Seward into an adjacent room, one well apportioned with the latest works in our field, many of which I had read myself in my studies. Dr. Seward poured a glass of brandy and handed it to me. He made another for himself and sat down.

  “I received a letter today, one that instantly made me think of you. Tell me, William, what are your plans when you finish your studies?”

  “Well sir,” I said, “I had intended to find a position at an asylum. I would like to work with patients. I was never one for the University.”

  “Exactly as I had thought,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “A colleague of mine, Dr. Harker, is the head of the asylum the state opened a few years ago. The one up in Danvers. It appears he is interested in hiring an apprentice. I believe this represents an invaluable opportunity.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I responded, shocked and excited by this unexpected possibility.

  “A position at a place such as Danvers is not for everyone,” he said, his tone suddenly turning darker. “It can weigh on a man, make him question many things. Are you a man of faith?” he asked.

  “Yes sir. I would say that I am.”

  The doctor nodded his head several times and said, “I can tell you this. If you decide to remain in this profession, that faith will be tested. You will see things that will shake you to your very core, that will make you question whether a just God can exist. The brain,” he said, pointing to his temple, “is a grand mystery. For it is what is inside we seek to understand. There are no miracles, my friend. If the people within the walls of an asylum are to ever regain their being — their souls, if you so desire — it will be as a result of our pursuits. Prayers, unless they are made to us, are unavailing.”

  “I take it then, you do not believe?” I asked.

  I expected a quick response, as the doctor had made his lack of faith quiet clear. But instead he sat still for a moment, staring at me but not really seeing.

  “No, Dr. Hamilton,” he replied finally, “no, I believe there is something greater than you or me. But I have seen enough that I do not necessarily believe whatever that is must be good.” Then the doctor smiled. “Enough of such talk. So I can count on you then?”

  “When would they have me start?”

  “Why, immediately.”

  “Immediately,” I said, more than a little disappointed. “I don’t think that will be possible. As you know, I won’t graduate until the end of next term.”

  “Oh,” he said, raising his hand as if he was physically brushing away this problem, “I can take care of that. If you want the position, then it is yours.”

  There was no need to think it over.

  “Of course, sir. I’d be honored.”

  “Excellent,” he replied. “You won’t regret it, Dr. Hamilton.”

  * * *

  Eight short days later, a carriage arrived in Arkham Green to convey myself and a small bag of my clothing and personal belongings to the Danvers State Insane Asylum. It was raining that afternoon, a late fall downpour. Despite my enthusiasm for what lay before me, I could feel my apprehension growing, as the latent fears and doubts within my soul seemed to gain strength with every drop of falling rain.

  We drove away from Miskatonic, from the place I had spent the better part of four years, and on to an unknown future, the dawning of my career in medicine. We rode along the banks of the Miskatonic River for some time, finally crossing the unending flow and passing into the Makitan Forest. I need not tell to you what dark words are spoken of that place, of the arcane rites the students of Miskatonic claim are performed there. I averted my eyes until we were far afield of that accursed forest.

  We traveled farther into the country, until the only signs of human habitation were the rock walls bordering the road and high roofs of the occasional barn. I watched the rain fall through the carriage window until finally, after what seemed like an eternity of back roads and desolate countryside, I saw it. The asylum was a city on a hill, a shining palace, sitting like the home of some medieval lord on the summit of a high mass of rock and soil. It was massive, a turreted and gabled masterpiece. But, in my mind and heart, I knew the beauty without concealed a great evil within.

  The carriage began its climb up the tall hill, passing through the gates and past a sign that read, “Welcome to the Danvers State Insane Asylum.” Up we climbed, the massive structure looming larger in the ever-shortening distance. Then, I saw something that, to this point in our travels, we had not encountered. A horse-drawn cart was coming down the hill. Our carriage was forced to pull to the side, as the cart itself was too large to pass. I watched as it rode by, driven by a large man in a thick rain coat. A priest sat at his side. It was the cargo, though, that caught my interest the most. In the back of the cart was a long wooden box that could only be one thing: a coffin.

  Apparently the asylum cemetery lay just below where we had passed. A body would be interred that day, a life lost, with no one but the grave digger and a man of God present to acknowledge its existence. But I rapidly forgot that thought as the horses pulled again, and we climbed the last few hundred feet to the entrance of the asylum.

  The road curved upward, then flattened out. Before long we entered a long driveway. It was shaded by trees on either side, trees that, despite their apparent youth, nevertheless stood tall and true over the approach to the hospital. One, in particular, was different from the rest. A tall, rugged oak. Unlike the others, it was ancient with strong, thick branches pointed down to the Earth. I admired it as we went, but before I knew it, we had exited the trees’ protective cover. As the rain thundered down around us, we pulled into the semi-circular drive in front of the main entrance.

&nbs
p; I opened the door to the carriage and stepped out into the rain, walking quickly to the awning that covered the asylum’s front vestibule. My driver brought the bag in which resided all of my life’s possessions. He dropped it with a thud onto the ground. I removed a coin from my waistcoat and gave it to him. He tipped his cap and turned to go. I watched the carriage pull away into the coming night, and in that moment, I was completely alone. I walked to the entrance and opened the door. My adventure had begun.

  Chapter

  21

  I was immediately surprised by what I saw. The entranceway was larger and brighter than I had expected, with a great vaulted ceiling rising up above me. A man in a suit stood a few feet away, speaking cheerfully to a woman who was clearly a nurse. I stood in the doorway for a moment until he sensed me. He looked up from the woman, studied me for a second, and smiled.

  “Dr. Hamilton, I presume,” he said, striding over, thrusting out his hand to grasp mine.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, “though please, call me William.”

  “William it is then,” he said, never releasing my hand. “I am Dr. Harker. Follow me.”

  Dr. Harker moved quickly — this was a man who walked with a purpose — toward the grand staircase sitting at the end of the equally grand entranceway. I followed, surveying as I went. It was a beautiful room, richly apportioned as if one were entering the finest hotel. A concession to visitors, no doubt.

  The hospital itself lay farther on behind a heavy door at the far end of the entranceway. That steel curtain made me doubt anything beyond would resemble this room. We walked up the stairs to a series of offices on the second floor. Dr. Harker produced a key from his pocket and opened one, gesturing inside.

  I had a seat behind the doctor’s desk. I couldn’t help but notice the human skull sitting on the corner closest to me. As he walked to his chair, the doctor noticed my gaze.

  “I see you are admiring one of my favorite trinkets,” he said, gesturing toward it as he sat down. “Strange thing, skulls. If it were a human head sitting on my desk, no doubt you would have me committed, correct?” he said with a smile. “But it is a great tradition amongst learned men — doctors, lawyers, philosophers. Going back to the Greeks and maybe beyond, if you believe some of the more esoteric tales about the Egyptians.”

  “And why do you keep one, sir?” I asked.

  “Oh, for the same reason they did,” he replied. “To remind me, as it would remind them, of the transitory nature of life. It ebbs and flows, and, inevitably, it ends. Each of us will come to this. The only relevant question is whether we will end our days sealed in a coffin deep beneath the Earth or sitting on someone’s desk.”

  “That’s a rather bleak outlook, isn’t it?” I said with a bit of nervous laughter.

  The doctor simply smiled. He reached down and lifted an envelope off of his desk, opened it and removed the letter inside. He picked up his glasses and said, “Dr. Seward has given you quite the recommendation. I’ve known him for a very long time, and I can say without hesitation he is not one to give false praise. You should be proud.”

  “Well, sir,” I said, slightly embarrassed, “I’m certainly honored Dr. Seward thinks so highly of me.”

  “Yes, yes,” he replied, now putting his glasses back on the table. “And, in your academic pursuits, you show great promise. But I feel it is my duty to warn you. What you will see here, what you will hear, they cannot teach in books. What you will experience in this place,” he continued, leaning back in his chair, “will test your commitment to this field.

  “More than once I have seen bright young students walk through those doors just like you have and leave broken men. So I want you to always remember this: there may come a time when you know the clinical world is not for you. Leave then, before it is too late.”

  His words were stern, but I had expected them. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a chill course through my body as he spoke. This very fear had haunted my steps since Dr. Seward had told me of this opportunity.

  “I will do my best, sir.”

  Dr. Harker smiled again, this time a hopeful smile, though tinged with a touch of doubt. “Yes, my young friend. That is all we can have you do, isn’t it?”

  There was a quick knock on the door. “Ah, yes,” Dr. Harker said before commanding, “Come in!”

  The door opened and a man entered. He was tall, lean and fit, probably five or so years older than I. There was a haughtiness to him, but one not altogether disagreeable. Pride can be one of man’s more distasteful attributes, but when you enter a situation in which you are unsure, as I was that day, it is comforting to have a confident companion.

  “David,” Dr. Harker said as he stood, walking around his desk and grasping the man’s hand. “This is Dr. William Hamilton. He is joining us from Miskatonic University. I was hoping you could supply him with some of your knowledge. Dr. Winthrop here,” he said, turning back to me, “is my chief assistant. One day when I am gone, he’ll be in charge. For now, I want you to rely on him for any questions while you get yourself settled. And my door is always open,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Of course, sir,” I said, “and thank you again for this opportunity.” He smiled again, and with that, I turned and left with Dr. Winthrop.

  As the door closed behind us, Dr. Winthrop finally spoke.

  “Welcome to Danvers, Dr. Hamilton. I must say, I cannot imagine what you must be thinking right now.”

  I laughed nervously. “No, sir,” I said. “I don’t really know what to think.”

  “Well, you will catch on soon enough, I have no doubt,” he continued as we strolled down the main staircase. “Dr. Harker is an uncanny judge of character, and he clearly found you worthy. So,” he continued, changing the subject, “I have many things to show you and more to tell you. And they are all of critical importance. Never forget where you are, Dr. Hamilton, and you will do fine.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said, nodding once.

  “This,” Dr. Winthrop continued, sweeping his hand in front of him, “is main administration.” He stopped and looked at me, then said cryptically, “All of this is ours.”

  “Ours?” I said as we stopped in the middle of the ornate entranceway.

  Dr. Winthrop grinned. “The rest is theirs, Dr. Hamilton. This hospital was built to house five hundred patients. Five hundred. Half men, half women. We have nearly two thousand here now. Make no mistake about it, beyond this door,” he said, pointing at the large portal in front of us, “they are in charge. We just do what we can.”

  Dr. Winthrop pulled two large keys from his pocket.

  “These are master keys, Dr. Hamilton,” he said, holding them up in the air. “These keys will open every door in this complex. Every one, save for Dr. Harker's office.” He held one key out to me. As I put my hand on it, he said, “You guard this key with your life, Dr. Hamilton. No matter what happens, you must not lose it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” I muttered.

  “Good,” he said, finally releasing his hold on the key. “I want you to note the warning,” he continued, as he slipped the large skeleton into the lock. I heard the heavy tumblers rolling within. Dr. Winthrop pointed to a large sign placed in the center of the door. “BEWARE!” it screamed in great capital letters. “Patients will escape! Exercise Extreme Caution Upon Entering! Door Must Remain LOCKED!”

  “This is the last barrier, the final checkpoint before escape. Always make sure this door is closed and locked.” He swung the door open, gesturing me in before closing and locking it behind him. “These are the staff’s quarters. The staff cafeteria is through the doors on the right,” he said pointing to a large room in front of us. “You will take your meals there with the rest of us. Learn to like it. An unfortunate side-effect of our isolation is we have no other options. And that set of doors on the left is the staff dormitory.”

  “So, this area is sort of a central hub?”

  “Exactly. Are you familiar with the work o
f Dr. Thomas Kirkbride?”

  “Of course,” I said, as Dr. Winthrop opened the door to the cafeteria so I could have a look.

  “Well, as you know then, Dr. Kirkbride believes a patient's surroundings have an effect on his mental health. That’s why they selected this site. They wanted tranquility, peacefulness, beauty. It also had an effect on the architecture of this place. I’m sure you noticed on your ride up that our little building is quite impressive.”

  “How could I not? It’s like something out of a dream.”

  Dr. Winthrop chuckled. “That is an apt description. Anyway, as you noted, this is the central hub. Dr. Harker would tell you the hospital is designed on the shape of a bird. I’ve always thought it better resembles a bat. The administrative building is the body. That’s where we are now. On either side of us are the two wings. The wing to your right as you go through the main door is where the women are housed. The wing on your left has the men.”

  We stepped back outside of the cafeteria. “I’ll take you into the male wing now.”

  We walked to a large iron door adorned with the same sign I had seen earlier. Dr. Winthrop removed his key once again and slid it into a lock. I felt myself shiver as he did. I had done some work with patients while a student, but this was to be a totally different experience. Dr. Winthrop opened the door and in we went.

  “Good afternoon, Jacob,” he said to a white-coated man sitting at a desk near the door.

  “Afternoon, doctor,” he replied.

  “How are our guests today?”

  “Nothing unusual.”

  “Good. Jacob, I want you to meet our newest addition. This is Dr. William Hamilton.”

  The man nodded to me.

  “My pleasure,” I said with a smile. He didn’t smile back.