Asylum

A Sketchy Plan

February 23

The moment the words ghost, hunt, and fun arose out of my friend Rebecca's mouth, and in the same sentence, I knew I should not want to go, yet I was curious. Who wouldn't enjoy being part of one of those cheesy, scary movies? The kind where a chill coils down the main character's spine and the hair on their arms sticks up similar to a porcupine's.

I would. I know I would because I love those stories.

I'm the girl who sits at the theater laughing at the stereotypical, goofy teenager. The idiotic one who hears a dreadful clatter that makes their skin crawl and instead of running into their bedroom to quiver under the bed while with fumbling fingers they dial 911, they choose to leave the safety of their home and the front door wide open.

In the process, clueless, they forget their glasses, a knife, and their phone and yell hello, while with a heavy breath, the killer hides behind the wax-leaf bushes in the backyard, holding a cleaver.

Also me? Someone sane who should've stuck to her convictions and the word no, when her foolish friends pushed that Wednesday evening. I should have followed my instincts when in angst my gut tightened at the mention of a delightful cryptid tour at an asylum. One of the most rachitic and haunted spots in the country.

While on the phone, she'd commented that our best friend Leon thought it would be cool to go as a group because, as they say, twigs in a bundle are unbreakable. My eyes rolled. What the hell did he mean by that?

"When?" I hesitated. I knew she noticed, but I couldn't come up with a solid reason not to go. I'd been caught off guard and couldn't think straight.

"Friday, and, don't say you got plans because you don't—well, duh! You do. With us! I know because you made them with me. Friday through Sunday. At the time we didn't know where we were going ... Now we do and it will be awesome!"

In my mind's eye, I could picture her shrugging her dainty shoulders after finishing her monologue. I waggled my head and smirked. I knew her well.

One at a time, I rhythmically tapped my short, manicured nails on the oak, dining table while gazing vacantly at the muted TV.

I pulled the red blanket tighter around my shoulders. "To an abandoned asylum, though?" I whined.

"Yes! Freaky, huh?"

The voice at the other end of the receiver sounded irrational, and for a split second, I wanted to hang up and pretend I lost phone service.

"A little too freaky, Rebecca. Tsk! I don't know ..." The chocolate-brown ringlets of hair swung when I shook my head.

"No excuses, Liz. You said you were up for anything."

"Yeah," I grumbled. "But that was before you mentioned the word haunted and going to a freakin' spirit-filled institution. I-I'm not feeling it."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious. Have you a clue what to do if we happen to see one? Or worse yet, if one of them decides they want to go home with you?"

"One what? Who'd want to go home with me?"

Her voice peaked with interest and I rolled my eyes. "Ghost, of course!"

"What?! They can do that?!" The tone of her voice deepened.

"Yes, they can do that! Have movies taught you nothing?!"

"Bah! C'mon, stop it. It'll be great. I promise. We'll go eat first, maybe a bar afterward, huh?"

I was frustrated. I knew she didn't believe in such a thing and so I said nothing else about it. I contemplated my options. Go, or not. The clear answer was not to go. But I felt foolish. We'd been talking about Leon's day, for months. He and his boyfriend were always up for any shenanigans we planned, no matter how ridiculous they sounded. They were always game.