Stell's Little Book of Terrors

Sanitarium

A curious explorer finds more than they bargained for in the crumbling ruins of an abandoned mental facility

For over three years, the abandoned mental hospital about 5 miles outside of town has been the place I've most wanted to explore. According to local legend, Blackthorn Asylum has remained empty for nearly a century and is rumored to bring bad luck and suffering to anyone who dares to venture past its foreboding iron gates. Ghosts and all manner of evil creatures are said to dwell here. But being a massive skeptic, I refuse to accept any story until I experience the truth of it for myself. So here I am, creeping through its quiet, echoing halls with only the aid of a flashlight to keep me from tripping over the array of dust-encrusted wheelchairs, gurneys, and piles of debris where the walls have partially collapsed. Multiple layers of graffiti are splashed haphazardly over each other on the ground floor, some still recent enough to distinguish colors and words. In what's left of the mess hall, I find the remains of a gathering. Drink cans, a cigarette lighter, a ring of upright chairs, and even a pot with the moldy remnants of food sending up great wafts of a putrid stench. I don't linger there for long. Since the facility has three floors as well as a basement level, I've still got a lot of investigating to do. Breathing harshly through the mask I wear to protect my lungs from dust and God knows whatever else might be hanging out in the air inside this decaying old place, I round a corner into another long, straight corridor and pause a moment to shine my flashlight above my head to get a look at the corroded metal sign plate mounted near the ceiling. 'SOLITARY CONFINEMENT WING', it reads in fading, rusted letters. Great, I think to myself as I suppress a shiver of dread. Just what I need. Without further ado, I cross the threshold and begin my trek between the white concrete walls that stretch out before me. Something suddenly crunches loudly beneath my shoe, making me freeze and withdraw my foot at once to look down. Whatever it is, it's grayish-white and splinters very easily. My mind automatically knows exactly what that thing is, but I refuse to believe it. Someone who was here before me must have put that there to scare other explorers. Straightening up again, I'm starting to pass the first cell when I hear a very distinct noise from the other side of the heavy metal door. It sounds like someone's repeatedly striking a fingernail on a glass surface. My heart stops in terror, but I force myself to let out a choked laugh. "Not funny," I state firmly, telling myself that it's only another person who's decided to explore the same night as me. When there's no response, I stride forward despite feeling terrified and give the door handle a sharp yank. The door swings open reluctantly with a loud squeal of protesting hinges and a shower of rust that evidently hasn't been disturbed in decades. The cell beyond is very small, with white walls whose padding is mostly decayed now. Smeared on what's left of it appears to be some sort of reddish-brown substance that I'd rather not identify. Other than the remains of a metal cot on the floor, the space is completely empty. I shake off a chill that creeps down my spine and do my best to ignore the lingering feeling that I'm being watched, releasing the door handle and taking a step back. When nothing happens, I turn away and begin walking further down the hall. The extremely loud slamming sound when the door swings shut all by itself causes me to let out an involuntary yelp and jump about a foot into the air. Spinning around, I expect to see someone standing there, grinning triumphantly for having scared me to the bone. But what I don't expect to see is absolutely no one, But the latter is indeed the case. My heart races as I just wait in motionless silence for any other hint of noise. When a whole minute of soundlessness passes, I draw in a deep breath and whirl around. Must be the old, faulty hinges. It has to be. Honestly, I'm growing soft if I've already started letting the spooky tales about this place influence me. I traverse the rest of the ground floor without any other bizarre happenings, thank God. I decide to look around the remaining two levels above me and save the basement for last. The first staircase I come across has collapsed halfway up, leaving a few intact steps to cling to the second story landing and jut out into emptiness. Suddenly, the pile of detritus that's all that's left of the majority of the stairs rattles near its base as if something's inside it. Frozen with nervousness, I stare without blinking as some of the splintered wood begins to quiver and shift. I leap back and give an embarrassingly loud cry of fright when a skinny gray rat scampers out. It looks at me suspiciously with beady little eyes as if concerned I might steal its food, then skitters away into the shadows again. I shudder as I retreat in the opposite direction to locate a different way up. I hate rodents. Upon reaching the only other stairway in the building, I breathe out in relief when I see a mostly undamaged flight leading upward. After verifying there are no critters around this time, I carefully place my foot on the first step. The ancient surface protests my weight with a shriek reminiscent of a banshee's wail. I flinch, deciding to stick strictly to the side connected to the wall as much as possible. Keeping a firm grip on the metal handrail, I slowly begin to climb. The stairs creek and groan alarmingly but luckily do not give way under me as I ascend higher and higher above the unforgiving ground. For one single moment, I swear I can hear the thumping sound of more footsteps pursuing me, but they stop as soon as I do. I unsuccessfully try to convince myself that it's nothing but an echo. God, I'm paranoid tonight. My flashlight goes ominously dim just as I reach the second floor. I curse under my breath and give it a hearty slap with the palm of my hand, which thankfully brings it back to life. This level mainly consists of patient rooms and Therapy areas. There are a lot of jagged holes in the floor, so I do my best to be careful and avoid stepping through any weak spots. Many of the beds and chairs sport restraints made of metal on them. I cringe at the sight of more dark stains, doing my best to believe that it's only rust or spilled liquid. At one point, I'm sure I discover an electric chair, looming like a monster in the center of a therapy room and waiting for its next victim to take a seat. I stare at it in dread for a breathless second before hurrying quickly on. Most personal effects have either been stolen or erased by time of course, but I do find a few pieces of nearly translucent cloth that evidently had once been hospital gowns or other clothing. There's also a couple of toys in some rooms. A set of crayons that have all melted together into a shapeless, colorless mass, a doll without a face, a stack of bleached wooden blocks, and a faded yellow hula hoop. With every step that I take, I feel something within me growing stronger until the knowledge that I should not be here is nearly overwhelming. It's like my instincts are attempting to warn me that I'm intruding on someone else's private space. A sudden musical sound almost has me sprinting for my life. Instead, I open a nearby door to find another common area, this one featuring the threadbare remains of a carpet, a pile of wood and paper that was once obviously a bookshelf, And a sagging piece of furniture in the corner that I eventually recognize as a piano. The keys are stained yellow with age and filth, no longer arranged in a neat row as the center of the instrument appears to have fallen in on itself. I approach cautiously, praying that the floor does not choose this moment to do the same and reach out to depress one with my finger. the noise it produces is nothing short of chilling. A grimy, grinding sort of plink that I can't even consider a note. I turn away uneasily and am halfway back to the door when the same noise emanates from the old piano behind me. I don't even bother looking back before leaving that room. I make my way back to the stairs and continue up to the third level. This one is perhaps the worst off. Great sections of roof have fallen over the years of neglect, leaving open patches of starry sky to intermittently peek at me like watchful eyes. Beneath my feet, many places actually give way, causing me to have to stick close to the walls to prevent myself from plummeting. Most things up here have been damaged by the elements too much to identify, but there are some rooms that appear to have been used as offices. Any files that had been left open to the air are now illegible, and even crumble to pieces when I touch them experimentally. The metal filing cabinets that haven't already been broken into are too rusted and corroded to even open. One door bares a nameplate with 'Dr. Isadora Clayton' etched into it. Her office has already been ravaged through. A gaping hole in the ceiling has also allowed the elements to destroy whatever might have been left. Down another corridor, a door has the name 'Dr. Ivan Rokov' above it. This one seems even more unnerving because it could almost be called pristine. It's still covered in layers of dust and grime, but the entire office is comparatively untouched like everything else around it. The desk is piled messily with yellowed parchment. An open ink pot still contains a half inch of very dark gelatinous substance that looks like it's probably toxic by now. The handwriting on the fragile pages is so cramped and small that I struggle to make it out in the light of my flashlight, but finally give up when I realize that it's not even in English. Hunched over one such document, I freeze when the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. It suddenly feels like I'm no longer alone. I straighten up and spin around, not altogether surprised when I find no presents other than my own. I shiver. Feeling unsafe, I decide to cut this exploration short and go back downstairs. Picking my way cautiously to the staircase, I involuntarily pause when I hear the soft, unmistakable sound of another human voice. It's nowhere nearby, even sounding like it's coming from the floor below, but it's definitely there. Cold fear now grips me tightly in its unrelenting grasp as I quietly make my way down the stairs. I cling to the handrails with all my strength in case they should give out. Reaching the second floor landing, the noise finally becomes recognizable as a female crying. My breath comes hard and fast as I contemplate whether to follow the Erie sobbing or Continue on my way. I've just been through this entire floor after all, and there had been no sign of another person's habitation for years. Before I can make up my mind, the temperature around me suddenly drops drastically. It feels like somebody forgot to close the freezer door in a building that doesn't even have any form of ventilation. Taking that as my queue, I break into a run for my descent to the first floor. When I finally make it, I stop dead in my tracks to listen. The otherworldly weeping has ceased. I don't know whether to be relieved or terrified About that. But since I know I will never step foot in this hellhole of a place again, I resolve to proceed with my investigation of the basement. Thankfully, the steps leading down into darkness our stone this time. The deeper I go, the worse the smell of decay becomes. The dank, heavy air is rank with the scent of sweet rot and foul decomposition. I just hope I don't have to discover what exactly is wreaking like this. I gasp aloud when my boot sinks into ankle deep water instead of solid flooring when I make it to the bottom. No wonder it smells like death, I muse as I start down the first corridor. The basement level is clearly where all the surgeries and operations took place. Medical tables with restraints on them stand imposingly in the center of operating rooms, some even still featuring rested instruments and even a doctor's tattered white coat in one. The sound of a piercing scream breaking the otherwise dead silence makes me jump about a mile. I reflexively turn on the spot, desperately searching for whatever had emitted that horrendous cry. But there's nothing at all. Deciding to hurry up and get this over with, I proceed down the last hallway and start investigating. There's not much of a difference until I reach one of the last unopened doors. Inside is yet another operating room, but this time there's something new. Something very dark is lying atop the metal table. I freeze. What the hell is that? My flashlight beam flickers and dims again. I smack it frantically and relax slightly when the light brightens once more. Then I return my horrified gaze to the thing in the center of the room. There's a rolling tray of rusty metal tools on one side, which reflects dully when I play my flashlight over them. I take a step closer to get a better view of the inDistinguishable shape on the table, then jump back again when my brain catches up with my eyes. It's a person. Or what used to be a person anyway. There's nothing left but bones now, still restrained at the wrist and ankle and sporting a shredded Hospital gown. The skeleton's skull is splayed open wide like a book, split from the center of the forehead all the way down the bridge of the nose and extending to both jaws and the chin. There's nothing left in it of course, but I can only imagine What had once filled the empty cavity. There's still a couple of rooms left to explore, but there is no way I'm staying here even a moment longer. I'm doing what I should have done from the very beginning and leaving this place for the rest of my life. The things I've already seen will undoubtedly haunt me until the day I die, but I'm not going to scar myself even further. I spin on my heel to make the quickest exit I can. There, standing barely an inch away is a man with a white coat shrouding most of his body and a White medical mask covering the lower half of his face. I scream in horror and try to take a step back, but find myself frozen on the spot. It's only then that I notice just how cold it's gotten again. I instantly squeeze my eyes shut in a desperate attempt to block out what I'm staring at. Something tells me that if I look into those cold black eyes for much longer than I already have, something very terrible would befall me. I clench my free hand into a fist and pray wildly to any God that might be listening For that thing to just go away. It must actually work, because when I cautiously peak a few moments later, the only thing I see in front of me is an empty doorway. Not giving myself a moment to hesitate, I take off running as fast as I can, heading for the front doors at top speed. I'm met with no resistance as I flee, but I get lost more than once in the confusing maze of seemingly never-ending corridors. When I finally reach the imposing wooden double doors that hold freedom at bay, I practically throw myself at them and clutch the cold metal of the handles in my hands and just allow myself to take a deep breath before turning them. At first, my mind doesn't register the firm 'click', until they stop turning and refuse to budge. Unconcerned, I throw my shoulder against the doors and heave, more than desperate to get out of here. Nothing happens. Nonplussed, I try it again, only to be met with the same unyielding metallic 'click'. Heart pounding, I try one final time and scream when it does the same exact thing. I fall back as tears begin to cloud my vision. How in the hell could they be locked? Looking down, I don't even see a bolt anywhere on their blank brown surface. From what I remember, the front doors of the asylum can only be truly secured by a thick iron chain, which can only be attached from the outside. Deciding to try breaking a window instead, I wheel around and find my path blocked by a dust-coated wheelchair that certainly hadn't been there just a second ago. Standing behind the rusted chair is the same man in the same white coat and medical mask as before. His empty black eyes regard me malevolently. Just as I take a step back in a futile attempt to escape, I collide with the doors. My flashlight flickers once before going out entirely. The light does not come back on this time when I desperately shake and tap it. My whole world goes dark, and I have nothing but the sounds of my own tortured screams to keep me company as I join the souls that still remain trapped here at the Blackthorn Asylum.