Bedlam Stories

by Christine Converse

  “What — what has she done, Henry?” There was a moment’s hesitation before Uncle Henry could answer.

  “She … uh … she … well, she musta tore that hog apart with her bare hands.” There was a hiccup and a sob.

  “But she’s just a child!” Aunt Em openly wept. Hot tears splashed onto Dorothy’s face.

  “Em, it could be one of us next. You don’t know what she’s capable of.” Uncle Henry’s voice broke. Dorothy had never heard Uncle Henry cry before.

  “Ya gotta do it now, Miss Em.” Hunk’s voice came from her side. “She’s got to be committed. She’s a danger to everyone, even herself.”

  Dorothy struggled to speak, but was too weak to rouse herself from her near catatonia. “Let’s get her in the house.” Aunt Em’s shaking voice could be heard over the clanging bell of the approaching fire brigade.

  Dorothy felt herself hoisted up onto one shoulder of her frail Aunt and one shoulder of strong Uncle Henry, the toes of her once sparkling shoes dragging across the pebbled path back toward the farmhouse. Summoning all her strength, she opened her eyes.

  There was the field. There was the burning barn and the clanging, red, fire truck. She could hear the fire chief shouting for someone to find the well. There were the wandering hogs and horses. And there, in the cornfield, dangling from its wooden cross, was the Scarecrow, silhouetted and perfect against the moon.

  CHAPTER 7

  Have a seat,” the doctor behind the desk said, with a wave of his pen. Dr. Braun’s thick-lensed spectacles perched precariously on the tip of his bulbous nose. When he finally glanced up to look at Nellie, she was struck by the urge to laugh but suppressed it with a cough instead. His thick lenses made the pale eyes in his pale, wrinkled face look large and fish-like.

  The sun’s rays streamed in from the window highlighting his silvery-gray hair and beard. Where Nellie had expected to find the usual framed certificates and medical achievements on the wall behind his desk, there were instead shelves containing preserved biological specimens and disturbing devices whose purposes were not readily apparent. There were rough sketches of machines. One, in particular, was pinned next to a photo of a completed project that appeared to be a bed of some sort, yet it had all manner of wires and straps. The only personal item anywhere was a photo of a smiling young girl standing next to a beautiful woman with black hair.

  “Nellie Bly, is it?” Dr. Braun pushed the spectacles back up the bridge of his nose and leaned forward to study her while she surveyed the oddities adorning his office wall.

  “That’s me,” she said, peering at another odd photo of the doctor posing proudly next to a human-sized square, metal contraption with hoses and gauges.

  “Tell me, Nellie. Do you have any acquaintances in the area?” Nellie looked from the wall to the doctor.

  “Is this a new measurement of sanity? How many people are in my social circle?” she thought. But she was here to get answers, not give them, so on with the charade.

  Nellie pulled what appeared to be a fetal cat in a jar closer to her and peered through the glass. “This is certainly the strangest pickle I have ever seen.” The doctor put his hand atop the jar and pulled it back.

  “Any friends? Family perhaps?” he continued.

  “Yes. Here, kitty, kitty!” Nellie said as she slid the jar back her way, seemingly lost in the grotesqueness of the half-formed kitten’s face.

  Dr. Braun stood, picked up the jar, and thunked it down on a shelf, where the creature sloshed back and forth in its formaldehyde home.

  “Oh!” Nellie exclaimed, slapping her hands on the edge of his desk. “Is this to be my examination?”

  He leaned across the desk, closing the distance between them. “I ask the questions, Ms. Bly, not you. Do you have any living relatives?”

  Nellie grinned. “I told you I did. Is that important? If you find me sane, do I get to return home ‘to my relatives’?” She clapped her hands with delight and leaned back in the rickety wooden chair.

  The doctor’s pale face began to flush with color. He glanced to Nurse Ball and set his jaw. “Answer the question, Ms. Bly. Who are your living relatives? Where do they live?”

  Nellie leaned forward and pointed to the photo of the doctor next to the metallic box. “Oh, is that an iron lung?” She jumped up out of the chair and touched the photo. “Or is it perhaps some kind of humongous jack-in-the-box?”

  Dr. Braun’s nostrils flared, and he motioned to Nurse Ball with a stiff finger. Nurse Ball took Nellie by the elbow and sat her, forcefully, back down into her chair. “Go on, Nellie. Tell the doctor what he wants to know.” She placed her hand on Nellie’s shoulder and pressed firmly. This was clearly not just a suggestion.

  Nellie looked from the doctor to the window. “Well I am just wondering what a doctor who heals the mentally ill would be doing with all of these contraptions and …” she waved her hands toward the specimens, “ … these things. Yuck.”

  The doctor snatched his spectacles from his face and polished them on his jacket. Nurse Ball turned away to give the appearance of looking out the window, but Nellie caught Nurse Ball’s reflection in the glass and saw the secret smile she tried to hide from view.

  Dr. Braun forced an unconvincing smile and sat back down opposite Nellie in his chair behind the desk. “You’ll learn one thing very quickly here. We have all the time in the world.”

  “Oh, so do I, good doctor!” Nellie retorted, and returned the attempted smile. “I am just waiting for you to ask me a question that actually pertains to my mental state.”

  The doctor’s face flushed. He whipped his spectacles onto the bridge of his nose and jabbed a finger toward Nellie. “You will answer whatever questions I see fit to ask!”

  Nellie stood and curtly nodded. “In that case, Doctor, I believe we have reached an impasse.”

  Dr. Braun snapped the book in his hand shut and gave Nurse Ball a sharp nod. “Very well — send her for decontamination and put her in Block D.”

  Nurse Ball opened the office door and summoned two waiting orderlies to escort Nellie out of the room.

  “What? That was my evaluation?” It was Nellie’s turn to become red-faced as the orderlies took her by the arms and forcibly scooted her toward the door.

  “We will finish this conversation another time, when you are ready to cooperate.” Dr. Braun leaned back in his chair and picked up a fresh medical evaluation sheet for review.

  Nurse Ball stood before Nellie, her disapproving glare speaking volumes.

  “Are you going to go quietly like your friend? Or are you going to be a problem?” Her fingertips rested lightly on the top of a full syringe hanging from the brown, leather belt slung about her waist.

  “A problem!” Nellie stated, with a single nod to illustrate her unwavering confirmation of that fact. “This is unjust! This is negligence!” Nellie dug her heels into the floor, fighting the orderlies’ attempts to pull her from the room.

  Dr. Braun smirked. “So you’re a lawyer now, too?”

  “So you’re a ‘doctor,’ you say?” Nellie retorted, yanking her arm out of the grasp of an orderly. She couldn’t help herself any longer. Dr. Braun nodded to Nurse Ball, who solemnly bowed her head in acknowledgement.

  “Well, that tore it,” Nellie thought sourly, struggling to step out of range of the syringe Nurse Ball had pulled from her belt. Suddenly, a hot, sharp pain filled Nellie’s upper- right arm as the nurse injected her with the sickly-looking brown liquid. Nellie could feel the chemical heat of the drug in her veins as it rushed down to her fingertips, into her legs, and back up her left side. Within seconds, Nellie’s vision blurred, and the light in the room shrank to a pinpoint. She felt immediately sick to her stomach, and then moments later, lost control over her own limbs. Nurse Ball sighed heavily, as the orderlies slung Nellie’s arms over their necks and proceeded to drag yet another sedated woman out of Dr. Braun’s office.

  CHAPTER 8

  Nellie awoke to find herself standing in a
long, dark corridor. Rusted, metal pipes lined the walls, and the stink of must and mold invaded her senses, aggravating her already intense nausea. She struggled to make sense of where she stood. Cold, damp, cement under her feet. Cement walls dripping with streaks of dark orange and red rust. Nellie swayed and struggled to bring her hand up to the wall for support. Where was the light at the end of this corridor? Was she in a basement somehow?

  Pipes groaned and hissed. The sounds of laughter echoed down the corridor … not jovial. This was the sound of the unhinged.

  An iron door slammed shut. A bleating animal cried out. Nellie put her hand to her head; it felt three feet thick. Something skittered across the stone floor in front of her. Nellie closed her eyes and opened them again hoping to clear away the darkness. Surely this could not be happening?

  A small, white rabbit stood in the hall ahead, on top of some scattered, yellowed papers that littered the floor, its paws crossed over one another. One ear stood upright while the other flopped over. Most curiously, it wore a mask. The mask was of a human face, yet it was blank.

  “What are you doing here?” Nellie said, blinking sluggishly. The fuzzy, detached feeling from the medication made it so difficult to think.

  The rabbit cocked its head. With one solid stomp of its foot, it turned and hopped down the corridor into the darkness. Nellie scooped up a few of the forgotten pages to examine them more closely

  The Basement

  The Breaking

  Faceless In The Shadows

  The pages Nellie scooped up from the floor contained disturbing illustrations that had been rendered by scratching and smearing charcoal. Nellie decided that these images must be from one of the other patients of Bedlam, some form of art therapy. One page depicted a yawning, black pit with the souls and shadows of the lost and forgotten. They reached upward toward the one source of light, an open door that they could never reach. Another page swirled and flowed with demonic creatures, claws tearing, ghostly apparitions, skulls, phantoms, decay, and faces of death. Nellie realized that the more she examined the drawing, the more it revealed to her. There were pictures inside the pictures: a cat atop a ravenous demon, a screaming face within a phantom’s veil … all caught up in a vortex, swirling toward … toward what? The closer she got, the more she found the madness within the madness.

  She pulled the third page forward to examine the next set of visceral imagery, but a faraway, off-key humming caught her ear. She quietly lowered the pages and turned her head toward the humming. To her surprise, words followed.

  Why doth the little insane child

  Improve her shining blade,

  To spill the blood of those that smiled

  Then left her so betrayed.

  How very cross she has become,

  The madness can’t be stopped,

  Although salvation waits for some,

  The rest must all be chopped.

  SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAKKKKKKKK!

  Nellie squeezed her eyes shut, dropped to her knees, and pressed her hands tightly over her ears. The papers fluttered back to the floor around her. That sound! It was unbearable, like fingernails across slate. It just kept going and going, getting louder and LOUDER. No — it was getting closer!

  Then, as suddenly as the horrific sound had begun, it stopped.

  Nellie cautiously opened her eyes.

  She was no longer in the dark, basement corridor. Now she knelt before a mirror, in another place. It was the large, ornate, gold mirror from the asylum entryway. She stared, mouth agape, at her reflection. It rippled. Her face began to pull and stretch, her body following suit by pinching and expanding, warping and distorting. As she watched, the reflection warped and twisted faster and faster until it fluttered at impossible speed.

  Out of the darkness behind Nellie’s fluctuating reflection, emerged the shadowed figure of a girl. Nellie could not see her face, but recognized the arms hanging lifelessly at her sides. Her tangled, dirt-encrusted hair could just be made out against the blackness of the shadows.

  Nellie sat frozen in fear, unable to move.

  “Wake up ….” The dry, raspy voice echoed around Nellie.

  CHAPTER 9

  Nellie awoke screaming. Powerful torrents of cold water flooded over her face and body, sending her into shock. She coughed and spluttered, desperately trying to wipe the water out of her face while gasping for breath. Even though her waterlogged eyes were still blurry, Nellie could make out that she was now naked, in a damp cement room, with pipes in the wall above her and a gurgling drain in the center of the floor. She wasn’t alone.

  Two figures in bulky suits strode toward her, holding poles with broom-like extensions on the ends. Their faces hidden behind their opaque-windowed face plates and square hoods that covered all distinguishing features. Was this really happening? Nellie scrambled backward on the wet, cement floor and slipped. The ominous figures approached, holding their “brooms” toward her.

  “Get up,” came a muffled voice. The masked figure jabbed at her with the strange scrubber. A tinny speaker in the ceiling projected another hard-to-discern voice: “Lift your arms up.” Nellie looked from the speaker back to the figures and lifted her arms. The suited orderlies stood on either side and scrubbed her with the harsh bristles, chaffing her soft, pale skin until it was red and raw all over. The substance they scrubbed with smelled of lye. They left no part of her untouched, no crevice unscrubbed.

  To add insult to injury, one orderly grabbed a hose attached to a spigot, cranked the handle, and hosed Nellie down like an unwanted dog on the lawn. She held her hands up to shield her face from the stinging blasts of water.

  Finally, the tortuous cleansing ended and the orderlies left the room, slamming the door behind them.

  Naked, shivering, and alone, Nellie sank to the floor and wept.

  Nurse Ball rapped sharply twice on Dr. Braun’s office door. “Enter,” came his reply. She swept the door open and stepped through to find Dr. Braun reviewing medical files. The light from the window lit up the page in his hand, and she recognized it as the Recommendation for Referral by the bloody hand print that the sunlight silhouetted from the other side. Dr. Braun scowled at the page.

  “Something wrong, doctor?”

  “This Nellie Bly character intrigues me. She doesn’t fit the profile of the other inmates. She’s different.”

  Nurse Ball shrugged. “We do have all manner of patients here. Some need less support than others.”

  He peered over the top of the page, through his thick spectacles. “She has no relatives listed. She is a self-check-in. Yesterday, she mentioned that she wanted to go home to her relatives. Nothing adds up — a most unusual case.”

  Nurse Ball reflected on his statement, for a moment, and then nodded. “She strikes me as a person who doesn’t seem to have any problem … except, perhaps, with authority.” The doctor held the page with the bloody handprint toward her and nodded.

  Handing the referral and file back to Nurse Ball, he added, “Find out anything you can for me. I want to know everything about this Nellie Bly.”

  Faintly, Nellie wondered if this wasn’t what the beginning stages of hypothermia felt like. She hugged her knees and noticed that her toenails and fingers had transformed from pink to a deep purple-blue. She was also certain that the fact that her body was no longer trembling, combined with the compelling urge to sleep were, in all likelihood, dangerous signs of her impending end. She let her eyes close, and the incoming wave of exhaustion began to carry her toward the promise of blissful peace.

  Nellie ….

  The soft whisper of her name brought her back to consciousness. She had to force her eyelids to part and expose light to her blurry eyes. The dark, shadowy corner across the room seemed to move. “Get up!” The tinny speaker over her head sounded, and her sluggish system responded by jolting her with a fresh shot of adrenaline. She gasped, and her eyes opened wide. The shadows in the corner lightened.

  “Time to get dressed.”r />
  The orderlies, in their bulky alien suits, reappeared through the door, bringing a gust of biting, cold air across her damp, blue skin. They pulled her to her feet, her numb feet painfully slapping against the frigid, wet cement, causing waves of prickling pain as circulation returned. When she raised her head again, to surmise her new surroundings, she found herself in a new room, empty save for two metal stools and a cot. The iron and brick walls were dark. The only light of the room came from a small slit of a window that was set too high for her to see out. In the wall to her right, there was another window-like hole, but this one was made of thick, opaque plastic that could not be seen through from inside the room.

  “Put this on.” The masked technician held out a dry, gray dress. She snatched it quickly from his gloved hand, and dropped it over her head and onto her shivering frame. Thin though it was, it was all that stood between her and pneumonia.

  A bottle thunked down on one of the metal stools. “What’s that for?” Nellie pointed.

  “The doctor requires a sample of urine,” replied a muffled voice, from somewhere inside the suit.

  “What for?”

  Wordlessly, the orderlies turned and exited, shutting the reinforced steel door tightly and engaging the lock.

  “Hey! You can’t do this!” Nellie pounded on the locked door with her fist and immediately regretted it. The pricking nerves of her still cold hand exploded with pain that shot through her arm and into her shoulder. She returned to one of the metal stools and sat, cradling her throbbing hand. The heat of her boiling anger was enough to warm her whole body from within. She inwardly composed the next piece of her exposé.

  “The water was ice-cold, and I again began to protest. How useless it all was! The orderlies began to scrub me. I can find no other word that will express it but scrubbing. With long, scratchy brushes, they took some soft soap and rubbed it all over me, even all over my face and my hair. I was, at last, past seeing or speaking. My teeth chattered and my limbs were goose-fleshed and blue with cold. Suddenly I was doused with buckets’ worth of water — ice-cold water, from hoses — into my eyes, my ears, my nose and my mouth. I think I experienced some of the sensations of a drowning person as they dragged me, gasping, shivering, and quaking to my new home; a dark, stone box. For once I did look insane. They put me, dripping wet, into a gray, cotton flannel slip."