The patients of Green Valley Asylum

Garden Graveyard

The police report was sparse, but the details were chilling enough: Noah Price, 16 years old, had been found in his backyard, calmly tending to a garden of small, freshly dug graves. He'd been watering the soil when they arrived, a peaceful smile on his face. The graves weren't for plants, though—they were for "people he didn't need anymore." When questioned about his missing parents, Noah didn't react, showing neither fear nor remorse. He simply stared off into the distance, his hands still caked with dirt. Dr. Mills reviewed the file carefully. Noah's case had been referred to Green Valley Asylum due to the boy's unnerving detachment and lack of explanation. The police hadn't found the bodies of his parents, but the implications were enough to send a shiver down anyone's spine. His parents had vanished, and Noah, with his quiet composure, hadn't offered any clues. He hadn't confessed to anything either—just tended to his garden.Dr. Mills took a deep breath as she prepared to meet Noah for the first time. There was something deeply unsettling about this case. Not just the mystery of his parents' disappearance, but the calmness Noah had exhibited. She had worked with many disturbed patients before, but Noah's detachment was different. He wasn't dissociating—he was fully aware, yet utterly unbothered.She walked down the long, sterile hallway of the asylum, her shoes tapping softly against the floor. Outside Noah's room, she hesitated for a moment, then knocked gently before stepping inside.Noah was seated by the window, his gaze fixed on the small patch of greenery outside. He didn't turn to look at her when she entered, but she could feel his awareness of her presence."Hello, Noah," Dr. Mills said softly, taking a seat across from him. No response. His eyes remained trained on the window, his hands resting loosely in his lap. He looked younger than his sixteen years, with soft, boyish features that contrasted sharply with the darkness of his circumstances."I've heard a lot about you," Dr. Mills continued. "And I understand you like gardening."That got a reaction. His fingers twitched slightly, and his eyes flickered for a moment. Still, he said nothing.Dr. Mills leaned in just a little. "Can you tell me about the garden you were working on? The one behind your house?"There was a long pause. Finally, Noah spoke, his voice quiet and even. "It wasn't really a garden. Not the kind you're thinking of."Dr. Mills nodded encouragingly. "Then what kind was it?"Noah turned his gaze toward her, his expression calm but unreadable. "I was burying things. Things I didn't need anymore.""Like what?" Dr. Mills asked, keeping her voice gentle.He shrugged slightly. "Parts of me."
In the weeks that followed, Dr. Mills worked to uncover the truth behind Noah's cryptic words. Each session revealed a little more about his life—about the stifling home environment he had grown up in. His parents, particularly his mother, had been intensely controlling, dictating every aspect of his life. They monitored his every move, controlled his schedule, and isolated him from friends or any sense of autonomy."They didn't want me to be me," Noah had said one day, his voice distant. "They wanted me to be something else. Something perfect."The emotional abuse had been relentless, though subtle. His mother had perfected the art of manipulation, wrapping her cruelty in words that sounded like love. "It's for your own good," she would say as she took away his interests, his hobbies, his freedom. "You'll thank us one day."His father, more passive, had enforced his mother's will without question. Noah had been caught in a web of control, suffocating under the weight of his parents' expectations. Over time, he had begun to lose pieces of himself."The garden," Noah explained during one session, "was where I buried the parts of me they destroyed. I thought if I buried them, I could get rid of the pain. I could grow something new."Dr. Mills began to understand that the graves Noah had dug weren't for people—they were symbolic. Each grave represented something his parents had taken from him: his independence, his voice, his identity. The act of "gardening" had been his way of trying to reclaim control, to cultivate a new version of himself after years of being stifled. But as she delved deeper, Dr. Mills sensed there was more to the story.
The turning point came during a particularly intense session. Dr. Mills had been probing gently about the day Noah's parents disappeared, hoping to break through the wall he had carefully constructed."Noah," she said, her voice steady, "I need to ask you about your parents. Do you know where they are?"He didn't respond immediately. His eyes drifted back to the window, his fingers curling into his palms. After a long, tense silence, he spoke."They were going to send me away."Dr. Mills leaned forward slightly, her heart racing. "Send you away? Where?""To a place... far away. Where I couldn't be myself anymore. They said I needed to be fixed."The words hung heavy in the air. Dr. Mills had heard of this before—parents sending their children to institutions or camps designed to "correct" behavior. It was clear that Noah's parents had reached a point where they no longer saw him as their son, but as a problem to be solved."And that's when you decided to act," Dr. Mills said softly.Noah's face tightened, his jaw clenched. "I didn't decide," he murmured, almost too softly to hear. "I just... couldn't let them do it. Not again."Dr. Mills felt a chill run down her spine. "Again?"Noah's breathing quickened, his hands trembling. "They sent my brother away. A long time ago. I haven't seen him since."This was the first time Noah had mentioned a sibling. Dr. Mills's mind raced. Could his brother's disappearance have been the catalyst? Had the threat of being sent away like his brother driven Noah to a breaking point?"I buried them," Noah said suddenly, his voice shaking.Dr. Mills's pulse quickened. "Buried who, Noah?"His eyes filled with tears, but his expression remained eerily calm. "The parts of them that hurt me."Dr. Mills realized with dawning horror that Noah wasn't speaking metaphorically anymore.
A search of the property confirmed Dr. Mills's fears. Behind the garden, buried under the soft soil, they found the remains of Noah's parents. The police had suspected this, but the discovery still sent shockwaves through the investigation. Noah's calm, detached demeanor during their discovery was chilling. He hadn't tried to hide what he had done—he had simply buried them along with the other parts of himself he no longer needed.In his mind, he had severed the ties that had bound him, ridding himself of the people who had stifled and controlled him. It wasn't an act of rage, but one of liberation—a twisted attempt to reclaim his own life.
As Dr. Mills sat with Noah in their final session, she realized that he wasn't a typical killer. He hadn't acted out of hate or revenge. He had been broken down piece by piece until there was nothing left of the boy he once was. The graves in his garden were his attempt to find peace, to cultivate something new from the wreckage of his life. But in the process, he had destroyed the very thing he sought to protect—his own humanity."The garden was never for them," Noah whispered, his eyes hollow. "It was for me."Dr. Mills nodded, understanding the depth of his pain. Noah's journey to reclaim his identity had led him down a dark, irreversible path. And as he sat there, staring into the distance, Dr. Mills knew that whatever pieces of himself Noah had tried to save were now lost, buried deep in the garden of his mind.