The Secret of Kolney Hatch

by Stefani Milan

  I wondered if he was the one speaking with Alice. Now that he knew about Rosalind and me, he was especially unfriendly.

  Our eyes made contact for a split second, and then he was gone.

  I tried to fall asleep that night but kept tossing and turning from the rigid bed. I heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance. The storm rolled in quickly that night, and in only a few minutes the thunder roared like the mighty king of the jungle. The lightning, swift and bright, lit up the entire sky, and I knew it was striking anything and everything in its path. A loud crash of thunder shook the floor beneath me. Another flash of lightning lit up my room. It must have struck the top of Kolney’s towers because after another huge crash of thunder, everything around me went dark. For a moment, I was in pitch-blackness, and I had to feel my way toward my bed.

  I heard screams in the distance from some of the terrified patients. The screams made the storm all the more frightening. Suddenly, another blaze of lightning lit up my entire room, and I saw the most chilling, skin-crawling sight I had ever seen: a shadow that was not mine reflected off the bare walls. It was only for an instant that I saw that silhouette, and then everything in the room was black once more.

  I continued to feel for my bed. Once I reached the bed, I sat down and took a few deep breaths. I could not see anything in the darkness, and all I could hear was the torrential rain and the booming thunder. Yet another flash of lightning filled the room, and my heartbeat quickened as I saw the horrid girl that was following me sitting at the bottom of my bed, glaring at me with her menacing eyes.

  That split second of light felt like minutes. Her entire face was still covered by the shawl. A strange, uneasy feeling crept over me. As I quickly looked away from the girl, I noticed there was something in her hand, though I could not discern what it was. Suddenly, the flash ended, and the piercing thunder roared so loudly I felt my eardrums may burst from the reverberation.

  Seconds later, something pierced my leg. Did the girl stab me? I hopped off the bed and stumbled to the ground, shrieking from the pain. I attempted to crawl toward the door, dragging my now numb leg behind me. Halfway from the bed to the door, my hand felt a liquid on the floor. At first, I wondered if the rain somehow managed to leak through the roof, and I kept crawling through it. When another flash of lightning lit the room, to my utmost horror, I saw I was crawling through a large pool of blood. Now the numbness was spreading throughout my body, but still I continued to drag myself toward the door. A last flash of lightning struck, and now I could see a body lying in front of me. I knew his face immediately; the man was Heathcliff, and he was dead. He was sliced at the neck. I attempted to throw myself back toward the bed in fright, but my body was too numb to move, and just before that flash of light was gone, I glimpsed the girl running from my room. Then my vision blurred, and I felt lightheaded. I fell into complete darkness there on the floor.

  thirty one

  THE DARK ROOM

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  September 15, Evening.—Groggily, I awoke, unsure if it was night or morning. My vision was still blurry, and for a moment I grasped at anything in my immediate surroundings. I was still on the floor, so I managed to grab what I thought was the bed and hoisted myself just enough to see two figures in white in front of me. For a moment, I thought I died and these figures were angels. I tried, with little success, to focus my eyes; one of the figures appeared to be female, the other, male, and both were busy with something. A few minutes passed, and my vision cleared a tiny bit. I could no longer see Heathcliff’s body, and the female hovered over the spot where the pool of blood had been.

  When they saw I was awake, both the male and female knelt by my side and helped me to my feet. I could not get my bearings; I could barely see, and I assumed that the female must have injected me with a heavy tranquilizer. I could hear the man’s slow, drawn out voice; it was muffled, but soon I realized Doctor Reid was the man speaking. He seemed to be consoling me, and then he and the female helped me to walk, both of my arms thrown around one of their shoulders.

  Doctor Reid and the woman led me down the dim corridor. They stopped in front of a wall. I thought I heard them whispering. I started to regain consciousness and could tell the woman helping Doctor Reid was Alice. I tried to break away from their grasp; I was apprehensive about Alice, but Doctor Reid kept a firm grip on my arms, and I was too weak to break free.

  I heard a rumble again, and a moment later we started down a long, dark winding stairwell, the only light came from a lantern that Doctor Reid held in front of us. The stairwell smelled of the unmistakable stench of stagnant, moldy air. It reminded me of an old book that I once dropped in a murky lake.

  We walked for about five minutes, and when we reached the bottom we began down another dark and sinister hallway. Now another rancid smell filled my nostrils, a mixture of defecation and vomit. I could hardly keep from vomiting. What was this place, I wondered? My vision began to focus, and I realized that except for the small lantern, we were in complete darkness.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked in a hoarse voice.

  Neither Doctor Reid nor Alice replied. We walked in that darkness for several minutes, turning down various corridors until we came to a tall, arched wooden door. Inside was a small room with stone walls and frigid air. The room had no windows and only two torches of fire provided minimal light. The smell was rancid like decaying scraps of food, and the only sounds were the scurrying rats. A bed was in the middle of the room and medieval weapons hung on the stone walls: a sickle, a mace, and an axe were among the few I could recognize. Was this a torture chamber?

  “Tell me what’s going on!” I demanded as I continued my attempt to break free. I was too weak to fight my way out of Doctor Reid and Alice’s grips.

  Moments later, a large burly man appeared from the darkness. I had never seen him at Kolney Hatch. Deep pockmarks covered his face. His thick eyebrows were in a permanent furrow, and his eyes were large and black as the night. He had no hair on his head and many teeth missing. His scar-covered, dirty chest was exposed, and he wore a metal collar around his neck. I sensed this man was dangerous.

  Doctor Reid handed the lantern to Alice; she placed it on the floor by my side as Doctor Reid and the broad-shouldered man grabbed my shoulders. They slammed me onto the bed and buckled my arms and legs into mechanical restraints. I was certain they were going to kill me.

  “I didn’t kill Heathcliff,” I pleaded. “If this is what that’s about. I didn’t do anything.”

  Doctor Reid’s eyes narrowed, and he pulled out a long needle. Without a word, he jabbed the needle into my leg, exactly where I felt it the night before. In seconds, I felt the drug pulse through my veins. Then the three left the room, and I was left locked in the cell, strapped to the bed.

  “Let me out of here!” I screamed. “Let me out!”

  When my cries went unanswered, the realization that maybe they left me on this table to die horrified me.

  I lifted my head slightly—my vision was blurry—I could barely see the door. The putrid odor in the room made me nauseous. Then I heard a noise in the distance; it sounded like footsteps. At first the footsteps were faint. Then, they grew louder, accompanied by a strange clinking noise. Simultaneously, the eeriest cry echoed throughout the room, causing me to shudder. Was someone watching me? I pleaded for someone to help me, but my cries were weak. Suddenly the large wooden door opened and a strange ethereal form resembling a thick white cloud appeared. Was it a ghost? I could not distinguish any features, but I could hear its heavy breathing. I blinked my eyes many times to see clearly, but my blurry vision would not subside, a side effect of the drug. And then I heard continuous crying coming from the ghost-like figure as if it were sad to see me in such a state. I kept drifting in and out of unconsciousness. The cries shifted from sorrow to cries of fury. And then the figure was gone, and I fell again into a deep sleep.

  Another few hours passed; I heard footsteps again, but this time
they weren’t flighty steps, so I knew someone was coming to check on me. It was Rosalind who stood over me then.

  “Don’t worry darling, you’ll learn to love this place,” she said.

  “Release me...immediately,” I said hoarsely.

  “But darling, this is your new home. You and I will be together forever.”

  Then she injected me with yet another needle. I knew my body would not be able to sustain much more of these injections, and I was certain I would die in that basement. I tried to fight the drug, but it spread through my body quickly, and I felt my eyes close heavily again.

  I awoke the next time in a haze. Someone stood over me, but I was too weak to lift my head. The rancid smell filled my nostrils, and I became very ill.

  When I woke next, I was in the infirmary. No smells, no weapons, no ghosts, just the sounds of wheezing and coughing from the other patients. I felt nauseous as I thought about what transpired. I sat in bed for a long time staring at those barren walls, trying to piece together what happened, but the details were too fuzzy, so eventually I gave up trying.

  I could not get up. My stomach felt weak, and I could not bear to face a soul. I planned to stay in that bed for as long as I could, but then Doctor Reid burst into the room with a bright smile on his face.

  “Doctor Watson, how are you feeling?”

  I said nothing; all I could do was stare straight ahead. I was too confused to answer.

  “Do you know what’s happened?”

  He paused for a moment before continuing.

  “You’ve had a rather aggressive bout with Typhoid fever. Sheldon swears the meat was fine, but clearly...he was mistaken. Luckily, we were able to treat you in time, but...you’ll need to rest for a week or so.”

  “Has anyone else been infected?”

  “Yes, Heathcliff and Wilton Pickles. I’ll show you what the post-mortem examination revealed when you’re better.”

  I still stared straight ahead.

  “They’re dead?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, Doctor Watson. You’re fortunate to be alive. We almost lost you.”

  “My fever…how high was it?”

  “One hundred and four. Alice and I had to carry you to the lavatory; you were completely out of it. We were worried there for a while.”

  I sighed. Hallucinations from the fever. The whole situation made sense now, somewhat.

  “Thank you, Doctor Reid,” I said, “For saving me.”

  “Don’t thank me, Paul. It’s my job.”

  “How long was I ill?”

  Doctor Reid was quiet for a long moment.

  “A week.”

  “A week?!” I exclaimed. How had I been unconsciousness for a complete week? “That can’t be possible.”

  “I’m afraid so, Doctor Watson,” Doctor Reid said apologetically. “Now I’d suggest getting some rest, but someone has been waiting patiently to see you.”

  Doctor Reid walked out of the room then, and I wondered who was waiting so eagerly to see me. Then Rosalind rushed into the room.

  “Oh Paul, they told me you were awake. You look absolutely awful and beautiful at the same time,” Rosalind said as she sat down by my side and started kissing my face. “My uncle says I can stay with you, to help you recover.”

  “Rosalind, that’s not necessary…”

  I could not look into her eyes. The last time I remembered seeing Rosalind was in that dark torture room.

  “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but right here with you, Paul.”

  She grabbed a cool, wet rag from the bedside table and pressed it gently across my face as she spoke.

  “I want to be yours forever.”

  I understood then my relationship with Rosalind had gone too far. I did not realize she desired to be with me in that way—forever. The hallucinations were still vivid in my mind. I couldn’t think about anything else, but what I believed I had experienced. The dark room, the injections, the mechanical restraints, Rosalind’s chilling voice telling me that I would have to stay here forever was all too much for me to process. The experiences felt so real, and I could not separate them from reality. Rosalind’s words now made me feel uneasy.

  But I could not mention any of this to her. She would think I was mad. She wouldn’t understand. And I didn’t trust her.

  “What’s wrong?” She asked me, and for a second I wondered if she read my mind.

  “Nothing,” I said reservedly. “Nothing at all.”

  thirty two

  A DISTURBING REVELATION

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  October 29, morning.—Doctor Reid left me in charge of the asylum—he was taking care of some patients in town and would be there the entire week. I returned to work, healed physically, but not emotionally. The barren walls, the dreary hallways, and the terribly cold feeling were almost unbearable.

  Every time I looked in the mirror, my appearance seemed more haggard. My hair had grown past my ears. My face was drawn and pale; I hardly recognized myself.

  The hallucinations I experienced during my illness left a gnawing feeling inside that something was wrong, a feeling that only grew as the next days passed. I began to remember vague details about my hallucinations. I knew I had seen the girl in my room before that night, and I was sure the evil man I saw in the torture chamber was real. I began to worry about my mental health. Was I insane? Could I no longer distinguish reality from fantasy?

  Rosalind would not leave my side now. She followed everywhere, as if watching my every move.

  I found no happiness here except for one small glimpse of joy. Amy finally wrote back to me. I had to hide the letter though because I did not want Rosalind to read it. Amy was sorry she could not meet me that day at the tavern; someone in her family was gravely ill. She wrote about this place, how the people of Whitemoor were frightened of it—how people were thought to be wrongfully imprisoned in the asylum, and how no one ever leaves, which brought Rosalind’s words to mind once more. Amy wrote that I must leave, immediately. But how could I leave when I was the only doctor to take care of our patients until Doctor Reid returned?

  Later.—The entire day was a disaster. Between the cases in the infirmary and my sessions with my regular patients, I had not a moment to myself. Alice seemed overwhelmed. Woods had replaced Heathcliff as the temporary warden. The large gun he kept in visible sight frightened the patients and made them more excitable.

  “We’re doomed. We’re all doomed,” Eaton Fergus bawled as he sat in my office during one of our sessions. He nervously twirled one of his wispy brown hairs.

  “Why do you feel this way, Mr. Fergus?”

  “Woods as the warden? We’ll all rot here. Woods as the warden and Hodgson with guns.”

  “Mr. Fergus, please…”

  “You don’t understand do you, Doctor Watson?”

  Eaton stood up from the sofa and paced. “They hurt William Wilson, and he wasn’t the first. Woods and Hodgson beat him. Everyone knows of it. And where is William now?”

  “He’s…he’s safe. I can assure you. He’s back home with his family,” I said, but the words felt fraudulent as they left my lips.

  “No one ever leaves Kolney Hatch, Doctor Watson. We’re all stuck here to die. Even you.”

  “Mr. Fergus, please.”

  “We’re all gonna die here, Doctor Watson. We’re all gonna die.”

  His hands were on his head in hysteria. I opened the door and motioned to Lamont to find Nurse Hinkle.

  “Alright, listen, Mr. Fergus, calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me be calm. I can’t be calm.”

  I was sure Eaton was going to have a fit. He began to hyperventilate, his pupils dilated.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Fergus,” I said calmly.

  “Don’t get near me,” he shouted. “Don’t you get near me!”

  Lamont and Nurse Hinkle arrived and tried—unsuccessfully—to calmly escort Mr. Fergus back to the men’s ward. We administered a sedative to calm him.

&nb
sp; When the long, overwhelming day was over, and I finally reached my room, I saw someone had slipped a letter under my door, a note attached.

  Paul,

  I found this torn letter outside on the grounds by the river. Thought it strange to be out there and never delivered. Luckily, it does not seem to be ruined.

  -Harold.

  The letter was from Claire.

  “My dearest Paul,” “August 18, 8 o’clock.”

  I have no easy way to tell you what I am about to. Only Richard knows. I’ve lost the baby. The doctor said the cause was likely stress. I told Richard I would write to you to tell you what happened. Paul, Richard does not know about us, I promise. But I fear this baby may have been yours. I cannot know for sure, and I did not want to worry you, but I am so sad to know that it may have been our baby. I am truly sorry. Please do not write back to me. Richard will read my letter.

  “Yours always,”

  “Claire

  Her words hit my heart as hard as a thousand bricks. I dropped the letter and sat on my bed in a stupor. I would have done the right thing if the baby had been mine. I would have gladly been there for Claire and the baby. But then what if the baby was not mine? What if it was Richard’s after all? Or what if Claire did not want me to claim the baby? What if she would have had Richard raise my child?

  The thoughts overwhelmed me. The child was dead and it might have been mine. I felt sad and lonely. I could not write to Claire. I could not write to Richard, I could not talk to Rosalind, and so I found myself writing to the only person I could trust—Amy Rose.

  thirty three BEWARE OF ROSALIND

  Letter from Paul Watson to Amy Rose

  “Dear Amy,” “October 29, 1926”

  So much has happened, and I am overwhelmed with sadness. I wrote letters to my friends, but I do not believe they received them. A letter arrived for me today, a very sad letter from a friend. It was dated from over two months ago. The groundskeeper, Harold, found it by the bank of the river on the back grounds. I believe someone did not want me to receive that letter, Amy. And now I wonder about the other letters I may not have received.