The Secret of Kolney Hatch

by Stefani Milan

  Before me, restrained to a bed, was a girl. She was still alive. I rushed to her side; I knew her face.

  “Agatha,” I said. “Agatha, can you hear me?”

  I knew this woman from London. She was Roger Loxley’s friend, the missing girl. She did not recognize me though. She was completely unresponsive, drugged, like I had been. Agatha was bruised and sickly. Underfed. She groaned, and I checked her pulse. Her heart rate was too slow. I would not let her die here. I looked for a place to set my torch. Luckily, I found a spot on the wall, and hurried to Agatha.

  Doctor Reid kept her alive. Why? Why was she here? The adrenaline rushed through me as I hurried to unbuckle her restraints. I had to save her.

  I stopped when I heard a “swoosh” sound and turned just in time to see the burly Bradford swinging a mace at me. I moved out of the way just as it crashed into the wall, missing Agatha by only inches. She was so drugged, she didn’t even scream. In those few seconds that the mace hit the wall, I jumped up from the ground, and, noticing a second doorway in the room, ran through it and into a faintly lit hallway.

  This hallway had to lead toward the staircase. I continued and came to another fork. Both hallways were lit, so I chose the right tunnel and ran. I knew Bradford would follow me. At the next fork, only the right tunnel was lit—the left was in complete darkness.

  Since I entered the tunnels in darkness, I chose the dark path and felt my way down the tunnel. I heard a clinking sound behind me, and I began to walk faster. When the wall ended, I knew I must be at another fork. I felt for the openings and decided that I would turn left. Of course I had no way of knowing if I was headed in the right direction, but I had to try.

  Finally, I saw a light in the distance. I found the light and realized it was my candlestick, lit, and sitting on the ground. I left it in one of the rooms, so how did it get here, I wondered?

  I picked it up and saw I was by the staircase. At the top of the narrow stairwell, I took a much needed deep inhale. Then I realized, someone had known I was in those tunnels. Someone was trying to guide me to safety.

  thirty nine

  THE STORM

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  November 25, evening, continued.—It was late, a little after 11, when I changed my dirt-covered, bloodstained clothes and began to gather my belongings and pack them in my suitcase. A knock on my door startled me, and I threw my suitcase down by the other side of my bed. I tried to behave normally as I answered the door, but I could not stop my body from trembling. My visitor was Doctor Reid, and my heart raced as I feared he would notice my unusual conduct and half-filled bag on the floor.

  He greeted me with a halfhearted smile as he fixed his spectacles on his face.

  “How are you feelin’ Paul?”

  “Fine.”

  I would not give him the satisfaction of any other answer.

  “Good. I fear a blizzard is upon us. It appears we won’t be able to travel to town until the storm passes. Our meager food supply may present an issue...”

  I wanted to scream at Doctor Reid, and tell him I had discovered his big secret—I knew about his shady deals, the dead bodies and the torture chambers, but most importantly, I knew I was not crazy.

  Instead, I portrayed a controlled guise. I turned my back toward Doctor Reid for a moment and surveyed the outside. A colossal blizzard threatened my chance to escape. On the bright side, Doctor Reid did not seem to detect any incredulity in my behavior.

  Caught in the abysmal thoughts of the murders, I could not bring myself to utter another word, so I kept my back turned toward the doctor. I stood there for some time in a strange daze, and when I finally turned around, Doctor Reid was gone. I sat on my bed and sighed. Now, not only had I seen the most horrific sight in those tunnels, but I was stuck at the very place where these people were murdered or imprisoned. I would be a prisoner of Kolney Hatch until the blizzard cleared.

  I only knew one thing for certain: I would escape Kolney Hatch.

  Letter from Paul Watson to Amy Rose

  “Dear Amy, “November 26

  I am in danger, and you are my only hope. I do not know that this letter will reach you in time. I do not know if this letter will reach you at all. I pray you were able to reach Oscar.

  You were right about the asylum. I discovered something at Kolney Hatch, something terrifying that has affected me as deeply as the day I learned my mother was murdered. A woman was kidnapped and chained against her will, and people were killed and thrown down in hidden tunnels left to rot with no proper burial and no family to miss them. I feel so helpless. I must escape this place. Please, Amy, send help as quickly as you are able.

  “Faithfully yours,

  “Paul

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  November 28, morning.— I could not stare a single person in the eye. I contemplated braving the snow just to get out of this horrid place, but the temperature was too cold; I would freeze. My eyes burned from watching those crystalline flakes rapidly cover the grass.

  My only thoughts were of what I uncovered in those hidden tunnels. I still had Doctor Wicks’ journal. I would take it with me when I left, and I would go straight to the London police. I would not take a chance with local authorities. I had an unsettling feeling that Doctor Reid had plenty of people working for him. Perhaps he paid them well, including Edward Fitch, the inspector.

  As the snow accumulated, I noticed a collective and growing agitation in patients and staff. The Captain ranted throughout the hallways. The food depleted quickly, and some patients were feeling weak from the lack of nourishment. Hannah yowled as usual; I heard her shaking her locked bars along with the other patients in the isolation ward. Ransford constantly recited a book of the Bible—Revelations.

  I was busy berthed in my tormented thoughts; I could not focus my attention properly. I desired no food or sleep; I was paralyzed, not by fear, but by uncertainty. Everything felt wrong,

  and I had no idea how to make it right again. I felt as if I was living in some other realm. This life was not the life of Paul Watson. No, this was the life of a man I did not recognize in some far away and unknown land. I needed to escape.

  When I finally mustered the energy to deliver my letter for Amy Rose to the post box, I was met with resistance.

  “No one in or out of the building. I’m sorry Doctor Watson,” Woods said as I put on my coat.

  “Surely you can make an exception, Woods.”

  I knew he wouldn’t, but I had to try.

  “I’m sorry Doctor Watson. I can’t. The weather is too dangerous. The temperature’s gone below freezing. I’m not authorized to let anyone out or anyone in.”

  “So if a person was out there, freezing to death, you would not take him in?”

  “I could not. We can’t even get the doors open. Would you like to try?”

  “No, that’s alright.”

  “Besides, no one’s coming for the letters, Watson, it’s a blizzard, you see.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “If you’ll trust the letter with me, I’ll be sure to deliver it when the snow stops.”

  I did not trust Woods. I did not trust anyone anymore.

  “No, thank you.”

  Defeated, I began to head back to my office, when, suddenly I felt a surge of anger.

  “I will send this letter, Woods, and not one person in this world can stop me.”

  Without bothering to look for his reaction, I turned away then and briskly walked toward my office, feeling triumphant.

  forty THE FIRE

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  November 30, 8 o’clockin the evening.—In the early morning of the 29th, around three, I woke to a burning smell and immediately jumped up from my bed. As I pulled on the warm doorknob, I saw the hallways were filled with thick smoke. Kolney Hatch was on fire.

  Smoke and hot flames were everywhere, and the patients screamed and ran through the hallways. In seconds, I dressed, grabbed my jacket, my journals
and notebooks, and Doctor Wicks’ notebook and ran out into the South Wing. I needed to bring anyone I could to safety. My eyes burned from the smoke, and I could barely breathe.

  “Help us!”

  It was a woman’s voice, and I ran to the women’s ward. The door was locked.

  “I can’t get the door open,” I yelled trying to break it down.

  “Please! Help us!”

  Then I heard the despairing screams, and I recoiled in horror. The door was too hot. They would not survive.

  I would not die in this place, I thought, as I continued down the South Wing. The isolation ward doors were opened, and I checked that all rooms in the ward and South Wing were vacated. I ran into the children’s ward.

  George sat in the corner, crying.

  “Come on, George,” I said breathlessly.

  I had to get to the stairs, but there was too much smoke. The windows would not open, they were too hot, and I began to panic.

  I made my way down the corridor with George, checking for any other patients. I prayed they were able to get out somehow. When I reached the stairs, I saw the front of the building was on fire, but the flames had not reached the stairs yet. Someone started this fire and in different places of the building. I was able to get George down the stairs and just past the lobby as the chandelier crashed onto the floor, spreading the flames further.

  Still unsure if I would be able to get out the back door, I led George toward the dining room.

  I heard the screams of patients running amuck but no sign of Doctor Reid or Alice. I tripped over a body in front of me. It was Hannah. I felt for a pulse. Nothing. George and I had to keep moving if we were to escape. Down the hallway to my right, by the kitchens and amongst the flames, was Ransford. He stood in front of the fire and as it began to consume him, he spoke.

  “The evil one has come! Now is the time for our resurrection. Birthed out of the flames as the Phoenix, I will rise in the name of the Lord Almighty,” he said.

  He did not flinch, even as the flames engulfed his body.

  The dining room was also consumed in flames. We would not be able to exit the building.

  “Come on, George,” I said, grabbing his hand.

  The tunnels were our only hope. I opened the storage closet right by my office and grabbed several wool blankets. Our only hope for light was the candlesticks, so I quickly lit them on a burning drape. When we reached the library, which was also filled with the black smoke, I saw Bonnie White unconscious on the ground. Thankfully, she was still alive, so I lifted her in my arms. We could not breathe. We could barely speak.

  “George, hurry, pull this here.”

  Once the tunnels were opened, I carried Bonnie and the blankets, while George carried the candles. Then I closed the door tightly behind us.

  The smoke and flames had not reached inside the tunnels yet, thankfully. But I did not know how long we would have before they did.

  forty one

  ESCAPE FROM THE ASYLUM

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  November 30, continued.—Once we were down the steps, I laid Bonnie on the ground and tried to revive her. She finally woke, coughing up inhaled smoke.

  “Are you alright?” I asked her, and she nodded slowly.

  “We need to get out of here...But we cannot exit through the building. It’ll be a matter of minutes before the smoke and flames fill these tunnels, so we need to travel far enough away to survive. Alright?”

  Both George and Bonnie nodded. I dared not tell them about the ghost or Bradford, for I did not want to frighten them. The smell of the hidden tunnels filled all of our nostrils, and George got sick.

  “Shield your noses with the blankets. Wrap them around you. It’s cold down here, and if we can escape through these tunnels somehow, it’ll be even colder in the snow.”

  We crept through the archway into the first passage of the tunnels and trekked for a while. Bonnie screamed when she saw a rat.

  “We have to be quiet,” I said.

  “Why, is there something down here, Paul?” Bonnie asked with fright in her voice.

  “How long have you worked at Kolney Hatch, Bonnie?” “Same as you. Since May.”

  Our whispers echoed in the dark tunnel.

  At the first fork in the path, I took a left as I had last time, but when I reached the second fork, I took a right. I did not want to go back to that torture room.

  Suddenly I heard something in the distance and gave both George and Bonnie the signal to keep quiet. I could not be sure if the sound was due to the fire, or something that lurked in the tunnels.

  We seemed to be safe for the moment as we hurried along the path, and when we reached another fork in the tunnels, I stopped. I did not know which way to choose. If we headed left, would that bring us to that laboratory where Heathcliff and William Wilson’s dead bodies rested? I could not subject George and Bonnie to that. But if I went right, would that bring me back to the first tunnel again?

  I decided to go right at the fork, and I had no idea how many other routes there could be. I was not even sure if we would find an escape route, but I knew we had to try. We had to try. I would not die in this dreadful place.

  I decided to turn left at the next tunnel, and we continued down the passageway for five long minutes in silence. We heard a ringing sound in the distance, but I had no way of knowing what end of the passageway the noise came from. I motioned to George and Bonnie to stop for a moment as we listened for the noise. Again we heard it, a strange clinking sound that I remembered hearing when I was locked in that basement room.

  Bonnie held up the candlestick in front of us. The noise would not cease—it only became louder, and then suddenly someone pushed me hard. I crashed into the wall and fell to the ground. I knew the man who pushed me was Bradford; I could smell the stench from his dirty body, and he produced the most heinous laugh as he grabbed me by my throat with one of his hands. Bonnie screamed. George mustered up some courage and kicked Bradford in the shin. With a swipe of his hand, Bradford hit George in the face and sent him flying back against the wall.

  I struggled against Bradford, but I could barely breathe. He held a sharp object against my throat.

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  All I could think of was poor George and Bonnie. I no longer cared about my life, but I was determined to save them. I tried to fight against Bradford, but he dug the sharp object in a little deeper, and I felt it slightly knick the skin on my throat.

  “Paul!” Bonnie screamed as she knelt over the unconscious and bleeding George.

  Bradford grabbed me by my hair and threw me against the wall again. I fell to the floor and tried to regain my balance with much difficulty. Then he dragged me through that dark hallway in the direction back toward Kolney Hatch. The smell of smoke replaced the usual stench of the tunnels. In the distance, I could hear the clinking noise getting louder.

  Bradford stopped and struck me again, sending me to the ground once more. Still, I struggled to get up. I was not a man to go down without a fight. But I was wounded, and I could not maneuver my way around in the darkness like he could.

  I was prepared to die. Bradford, keeping one hold on my throat, jabbed the razor-sharp object into my side, and I screamed in pain. I grabbed the spot where I was stabbed as I fell to the ground; I felt the blood oozing from the lesion.

  I knew Bradford was not finished with me yet.

  I cried out in anguish. My body was too weak; I lost much blood.

  Bradford held up the large, sharp dagger, now dripping with my blood.

  “It’s time to die,” Bradford said. The dull throb of my wounds grew in intensity. Then the pain became almost unbearable.

  “Why?”

  “Because he tells me to,” Bradford said with a heinous laugh.

  “Who,” I said breathlessly. “Who tells you to?”

  Bradford laughed.

  “Doctor Reid.”

  Then I heard an awful sound, not quite a scream, but
not quite a cry. Darkness surrounded us, and in that next moment, Bradford dropped his hold around my neck and winced in pain. Someone had bludgeoned him with something. I fell to the floor and caught my breath for a moment. Then, without looking to see what had transpired, I hobbled as fast as I could back in the direction where I left George and Bonnie. I was back by George’s side in two minutes; he had a pulse, but he was still unconscious on the floor.

  “Come on, George,” I said breathlessly, keeping my one hand firmly pressed onto my wound.

  “You’ve been hurt badly,” Bonnie said as her eyes filled with tears.

  “We have to go, Bonnie. We have to find a way out of here.”

  The smoke was starting to fill the hallways now. Bonnie panicked.

  “What if there is no way out, Paul?” She cried. “What if we die in these tunnels?”

  “We’re not going to die,” I assured her, though truthfully I was not certain we would find a way out, and I had a good chance of bleeding to death. “We have to try to find a way, Bonnie. Can you carry George?”

  “Yes,” she said nodding her head.

  “I’ll take the light, you take George. And bring all the blankets. We’ll need them if we get out of here. And Bonnie,” I said with barely any breath left in me. I was losing a lot of blood. “If I get caught, you keep running. You keep going as fast and as far as you can. Don’t come back for me.”

  Bonnie’s eyes were wide with fear and sadness, but she shook her head in agreement. I staggered along then through the tunnel, occasionally glancing to make sure no one was near. Bonnie struggled to hold George. If only we could get far enough to wrap my wound, I could help carry him.

  Suddenly, I heard a noise. I jumped at a shadow on the wall and saw that ghastly girl standing in front of us, her head and face still covered by the shawl. She had a large broken chain around her ankle. Had she escaped her captivity? Bonnie and I stepped back toward the wall.