House of Imbeciles

1941

“Tell me about her.”

“She’s not cognitive. She is nonverbal. She throws frequent tantrums that result in broken property. We’ve had to replace countless desks and chairs.”

“How have you restrained her?”

“We’ve tied her to the cot, securing each limb to the bedposts. We’ve also begun to drug her for her more serious outbursts. Doctor… will this stop her violent mood swings?” nurse Joyce asked, her sharp, clinical voice quivering.

Dr. Burke took his glasses off and sighed as Alyssa screamed three rooms down. The shouts of the wardens rose over her cries and the sound of breaking glass could be heard; she’d broken the desk lamp once again. All around, the other patients began to stir in their rooms. Christian, known as “the crier”, started his characteristic wail that would last for exactly four hours before he became dead-quiet. The boy never spoke, but once or twice a day would burst into tears. The wardens would usually isolate him in a room at one wing of the asylum and let him get it out; there was no stopping him.

Dr. Burke wiped his glasses with a rag and placed them back on his long, straight nose.

“It will eradicate the undesired characteristics and personalities associated with her mental condition, yes,” he said slowly, locking eyes with the stressed out woman and offering a weak smile, “but there is no way to be one-hundred percent sure. These things— these personality afflictions— are elusive. We have little information on it. The best we can do is go through with the procedure and hope for the best.”

Joyce nodded slowly and stood from her chair. “I’ll show her to you, then.”

The doctor gathered his bags and followed the thin, bony woman out of the room and into the narrow, stifling hallway. The floorboards squealed in protest as they strode down the corridor, the peeling yellowed wallpaper exposing raw wood paneling behind the walls. Doors lined the passage, huge wooden doors bolted shut from the outside, and as they passed Dr. Burke could hear the noises of the insane and mentally impaired as they gibbered and moaned, alone in their rooms. He shivered as they passed; the mentally challenged always disturbed him. To think of something so wrong with a human that they were rendered like children— or worse, vegetables— it simply had to be the devil’s work.

They reached Alyssa’s room and something inside broke against the door. Joyce opened it slowly and they entered just as two caregivers tackled a small, twelve year old girl with dark brown hair. She hit the floor crying, thrashing around, and screamed incoherently. The two men who pinned her down were large and muscular; one held her arm and the other had dug his knee into her lower back. She tried to bite the man holding her arm and he smacked her across the face, screaming “No!”

“Get her back on the bed and strapped in,” Joyce said calmly, pulling two chairs up to the bedside as they hefted the skinny girl from the floor. They swiftly harnessed her in as she kicked madly, bucking and snarling, trying to scratch their faces with her nails. But they’d been filed extremely short and all she managed to do was weakly slap them. Soon she was in place and began to slowly calm down.

Dr. Burke took his seat next to Alyssa and leaned close to her, examining her appearance.

The girl was a pretty one, but her face was covered in harsh red scratches that trailed down her cheeks, her hair a tangled mess. She smelled of vomit and her face was slathered in drool. She laid hyperventilating on the cot, her mouth hanging open and her eyelids fluttering.

“Hello Alyssa,” Burke said slowly and calmly. Alyssa didn’t respond.

“I’m Dr. Burke. I’m here to do something that will make you feel a lot better.”

The girl gnashed her teeth together and blew a spit bubble but did not answer.

Burke turned to the two wardens and pointed to the broken lamp on the floor. “I’ll need sufficient light.”

The two men disappeared and quickly returned with three lanterns and promptly lit them, casting the small room in an orange glow. Shadows danced over the walls, the cries of the demented echoing in the hallway sending chills down Joyce’s spine. The quicker the procedure was over, the better it would be. Alyssa was one of the more complicated and mentally deficient children in the Lender’s Ridge Asylum and was the cause of much stress and hardship. With her placated, the institution might be able to run more efficiently. Electroshock therapy hadn’t worked on the girl; the only hope left was Dr. Burke’s surgery.

The doctor opened his medical bag and extracted a long, icepick-like instrument and laid it on the end table. He put on gloves and requested towels to be brought in. The last thing he withdrew was a large hammer. He stood and inspected Alyssa, tying a face mask over his mouth and writing notes down in a small leather book. He mumbled to himself the entire time before turning to Joyce.

“Hold her steady.”

The two wardens were on her in an instant. Once they touched her she began lashing out, but they managed to hold her head down steadily.

Dr. Burke grabbed the icepick instrument and lifted her eyelid, sliding it in and breaking through the back of her eye socket. She screamed and tried to get away but the wardens held her fast. He slid the instrument over the eyeball, and, with a quick and forceful motion, used the hammer to stab it into her skull.

Her scream was loud and shrill. Blood leaked down her right eye, dripping down her cheek, pooling by her neck.  Still they held her.

Then Burke began swishing the pick side to side, cutting the brain, damaging the connections between the frontal lobe and areas which dealt with emotions..

“The frontal lobe is associated with personality and behavior, the center that orchestrates the thoughts and actions of the individual. Here is where her illness resides; here is where luck and prayer will be put to the test,” he literally screamed this to be heard above the sobs and chokes of the small girl underneath the icepick, thrashing and trying to get loose. The wardens gripped her neck, nearly choking her as they pinned her to the bed. Blood blossomed around her and stained the sheets. Her screams quickly died down and she relaxed, arms falling limply to the mattress. The wardens let go of her, the skin beneath their fingers bruised and welted.

“This rearrangement of the psyche will transform a disturbed child into an easier subject to control,” Burke said calmly as he retracted the instrument.

The procedure was over in minutes, but Joyce saw the change immediately as Dr. Burke worked to stop the blood flow and cleaned the girl up.

Alyssa’s mouth opened and closed, drool running down the sides and dripping off of her chin, but she was quiet and compliant for the first time in the four years since they first got her. Joyce was overjoyed.

“Well,” the doctor turned and said as he finished wiping her face down, “are there any other patients I can help, seeing as I am already here?”

Down the hall Christian began crying again, his howls rising to shrill and grating pitch. Joyce smiled kindly and said, “Now that you mention it, yes.”