CALLING BACK THE DEAD
A NORTHERN MICHIGAN ASYLUM NOVEL
J.R. ERICKSON
Copyright © 2019 J.R. Erickson
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 9781797615844
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JREricksonauthor.com
DEDICATION
For my lifelong ladies: Cherie, Bufe, Audra, Hannah, and Carrie
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
About the Author
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thanks so much for picking up a Northern Michigan Asylum Novel. I want to offer a disclaimer before you dive into the story. This is an entirely fictional novel. Although there was once a real place known as The Northern Michigan Asylum - which inspired me to write these books - it is in no way depicted within them. Although my story takes place there, the characters in this story are not based on any real people who worked at this asylum or were patients; any resemblance to individuals, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Likewise, the events which take place in the novel are not based on real events, and any resemblance to real events is also coincidental.
In truth, nearly every book I have read about the asylum, later known as the Traverse City State Hospital, was positive. This holds true for the stories of many of the staff who worked there as well. I live in the Traverse City area and regularly visit the grounds of the former asylum. It’s now known as The Village at Grand Traverse Commons. It was purchased in 2000 by Ray Minervini and the Minervini Group who have been restoring it since that time. Today, it’s a mixed-use space of boutiques, restaurants and condominiums. If you ever visit the area, I encourage you to visit The Village at Grand Traverse Commons. You can experience first-hand the asylums - both old and new - and walk the sprawling grounds.
PROLOGUE
1900
The Northern Michigan Asylum for the Insane
Ethel
“I don’t want to go,” Ethel begged, grabbing at her mother’s dress. Her mother pursed her lips and pried Ethel’s hands away.
“You’ve no choice, young lady. Now take your filthy hands from my skirt.”
Ethel’s father pulled her away from her mother and squatted to face her.
“It will be okay, Ethel. This is just for a little while. They’ll get you sorted, and you’ll be home in no time at all.”
Ethel looked at the towering buildings in the distance, the huge brick structures topped with pointed spires like something from a fairy story, but not a good one. This was an evil castle where a wicked witch lived.
“Please, Father,” she whispered, squeezing his hands until it hurt.
He stood and kissed her head, turning her toward the door. He nudged her forward, and she wanted to break away, run for the woods. If she escaped, they’d have to look for her, and then they’d be even angrier. Maybe they’d leave her at the hospital forever.
Finally, begrudgingly, she willed her feet forward. The tiny stones rolled beneath her flat shoes.
She studied the windows and saw faces peering down at her. They were dark and long.
“I’m scared,” she murmured, and her father squeezed her shoulder.
“You’re strong, Ethel, maybe too strong for your own good. There are other children here and doctors, wonderful doctors. You’ll see.”
They walked through double doors into a bright lobby with yellow walls.
Her father talked to a tall, slim nurse with curly red hair. She smiled kindly at Ethel, and a bit of Ethel’s fear slipped away. She heard children laughing. One of them screamed, but not from fear - from delight.
Ethel peeked around the corner into a large room. Kids of all ages ran back and forth. Some sat at tables, drawing and reading, while others huddled in groups on the floor playing with toys. They were strangers, these kids, but they wouldn’t be for long. Ethel knew how to make friends. In school, a group of children always followed her wondering what on earth Ethel would do next.
THE ORDERLY UNLOCKED the door and Ethel hurried into the bathroom, skidding to a stop on the icy tiles. She stared in horror at the toilet. Two dead rats floated in the water, their tails entwined. She backed up, shaking her head, and the orderly pressed a firm hand into her back.
“Just flush it, you silly child,” she snapped.
“But…” Ethel pointed a shaky finger at the toilet.
“They’re just rats, trapped in the night.” The orderly pushed her aside and strode to the toilet, pulling the chain hanging above it. The rats swirled and disappeared.
“Go,” the orderly barked.
Ethel sat on the cold toilet, legs trembling, squeezing her knees together to keep from looking into the watery bowl.
After she finished, she walked on wobbly legs back to the kids’ room. Another patient, a little girl called Eleanor, asked her to play, but Ethel shook her head no. She feared at any moment she might begin to cry and never stop.
ETHEL WOKE in her little room and clenched her blanket close. She had to pee, and stood before realizing she was not in her room at Kerry Manor, but in this square, cold room. Another little girl slept in a bed along the opposite wall. Ethel started toward the door, but something dark and oozy stood there blocking it. She saw glowing red eyes in its black, shapeless face. She crawled beneath her covers. She heard it drag across the floor and pause at her bedside. Its sour breath poured hot through her thin blanket. She tried not to move a muscle, but fear loosened her bladder and warm pee spread into the mattress beneath her.
“TAKE OFF YOUR NIGHTDRESS,” the orderly snapped.
She was a large woman with a face made severe by hair pulled so tightly in a bun it stretched the skin of her forehead and cheekbones.
Ethel glanced down the hall where other kids stood - some watching, others adrift in their own thoughts.
“I’ll be naked,” she whispered.
“And that’s what happens when you wet the bed,” the orderly said, pointing an accusing finger at a pile of linen with a visible yellow stain.
Ethel’s face grew warm.
“Take off your nightdress, now!” the woman snarled.
“I won’t,” Ethel said, gritting her teeth.
Befor
e she could react, the orderly shoved Ethel’s head down, grabbed the bottom of her nightgown, and wrenched it over her head.
Ethel crossed her arms over her chest, turning away from the hall of kids.
“Those too,” the woman hissed, pointing at her underpants.
Ethel shook her head and when the woman grabbed her arm, Ethel leaned down and bit her as hard as she could.
The orderly howled and shoved Ethel to the ground.
Another woman ran into the corridor, and together they lifted Ethel, kicking and screaming, and carried her down the hall to the seclusion room.
“Noooo,” Ethel raged, kicking hard at the other woman, who was smaller with blonde hair tucked under a white cap. Her heel connected with the woman’s jaw, and she cried out but held on to Ethel’s wriggling legs.
They left her on the bed, naked and shivering. She wanted to go home, but when she thought of home and her parents sitting warm by the fire, she hated them. She hated them for sending her away.
“HELLO, ETHEL. HOW ARE YOU TODAY?” The doctor squatted down and smiled at her, revealing two rows of overly large teeth.
He reminded Ethel of her cousin’s horse, Patriot, and she tried not to laugh.
“Nurse Jenson told me you wet the bed again last night?”
Ethel frowned and bit her lip.
“I’m scared to walk to the bathroom,” she whispered.
“There’s always an orderly in the hall, you know? They’d be happy to take you.”
Ethel blinked at him. The night orderly’s name was Gertrude. She was big and red-faced, and the other kids said she’d pinch you if you were bad.
“Yes, sir. I will next time.”
“That’s a good girl.” The doctor patted her on the head. The doctor glanced down the hall, and Ethel followed his gaze. They were alone.
“Tonight’s a full moon, Ethel. Did you know that?”
Ethel nodded.
“Nurse Jenson told Paula that this place is busy on the full moon.”
The doctor smiled and nodded.
“Yes, exactly. Many people believe the full moon affects people, especially people of a certain disposition.”
“Crazy people?” Ethel asked, shivering. She wasn’t crazy, but she knew the big hospital contained lots of crazy people. “Will they try to escape?” she asked.
“Oh, no. We’re very secure here. But the full moon is special for many reasons. Some of us doctors have a special meeting on the full moon. Would you like to come to the meeting? If you do, it has to be our secret. You can’t tell anyone.”
Ethel stared at the doctor’s small brown eyes. They seemed too close in his face, but still she had to look at one, and then the other, which felt silly.
“Like a party?” she asked, knowing the other kids would be terribly jealous if Ethel were chosen for a special party.
“Sort of,” the doctor said.
IT WAS WELL after lights-out when the doctor slipped quietly into Ethel’s room. He helped her into her shoes and coat, and put a finger to his lips.
Once on the grounds, Ethel walked between two doctors. Neither held her hand. She searched the dark shapes of the trees. What if a beast jumped out and grabbed her? They would never catch it in time.
She wanted to reach for one of their hands, but they were deep in conversation, as if they’d forgotten she was there. She suddenly didn’t want the attention of being the sole child at the party. She wanted to go back to her plain little room and listen to Mary snoring. Most of all, she wanted to be back at Kerry Manor, dozing beneath the lace canopy suspended above her bed. She would never defy her mother again or fight with the other kids at school.
After an endless walk, one of the doctors put a hand on her shoulder.
“Down this hill,” he said, guiding her down a steep hill into a valley of odd white trees crawling over the ground. A huge weeping willow stood in their center.
Ethel wondered what might lie hidden beneath its tentacle-like branches.
“Over here,” the doctor said, and they stopped at a wall of brush. Ethel looked up at him, wondering if he was joking, but then the second doctor reached into the brambles and she heard a loud click. A darkness opened before them, and before she could protest, the doctor had pulled her inside.
They were in a damp tunnel lit with torches. The flames cast strange shadows on the floor, and Ethel did not realize she’d stopped until the doctor pulled her roughly forward.
She shook as they walked into the darkness, more like a mouth than a hallway.
“Please,” she whispered, but neither man responded.
Forward through the damp, dank tunnel they moved. Ethel had never been so scared in her life, and suddenly feared she would pee her pants and the doctors would be angry. She bit her lip and stuffed her hand between her legs.
More light lay ahead in the tunnel, and soon they left the darkness for a vaulted stone room ablaze with torches. Wooden benches sat in little rows.
In the center of the room, Ethel gazed at a raised stone platform. Two beds stood side by side, and one of them was occupied. The man within it was thin. Her mother would call him thin as a garden stem. Ethel stared at his big, sunken eyes like black holes and his teeth with no lips she could see.
“Is he dead?” she whispered, tugging on the doctor’s coat.
He seemed finally to register her and carefully removed her hand, tucking it at her side.
“Not at all. He’s suffering, to be sure, and that is why you are here tonight, Ethel. We hope you might help him.”
“Me?” Ethel put a hand to her chest, surprised.
She noticed other men in the room, some of them talking, others gazing at her curiously. They wore dark suits, and several smoked pipes. One man sat on a wooden bench with a stack of books in his lap and a little silver instrument perched on top. Silver water rose up and down in a glass tube suspended within the little machine.
“I can’t help him,” Ethel stated. “I’m only ten, and you’re the doctor.”
She stepped away and stared at the doctor as if he might be the crazy one.
He laughed and patted her shoulder.
“Ten is the perfect age, Ethel. Did you know that numbers can be very powerful? Take today, for instance. Today is June 6th. Or if we consider the numbers, today is 6-6. And that number carries a bit of magic.”
“Magic?” Ethel asked, glancing again at the funny little instrument. She knew magic only through storybooks. “Magic isn’t real,” she added.
The doctor offered her a half-smile and stood.
“You may not always believe that,” he told her.
“A LITTLE SOMETHING TO help you sleep,” the doctor murmured.
Ethel lay on the bed, watching the ceiling through tears. The man beside her mumbled and groaned, his breath sounding like a pig rooting in the mud. She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, but they had strapped her down.
She pulled up on the restraints and lifted her head.
“I want to go home,” she said.
“Not yet,” the doctor murmured.
“I want to go home,” she screamed, and the sound reverberated off the walls. The men turned to stare.
She didn’t care. She thrashed in the bed, trying to pull away from the needle he held near her arm.
“If I miss, I’ll have to poke you a second time. We don’t want that, do we?” he asked, fastening a steely grip on her arm.
She shook anyway, screaming and trying to kick her legs. She screamed for her mother and father, for the nice nurse in the ward, Miss Davis, she screamed until her throat grew sore and her eyes heavy. When she finally stopped, she turned and saw the skinny man staring at her.
A man spoke, one of the doctors from earlier in the evening. She tried to listen and understand what was happening.
“Francis,” the doctor said. “Is the demon here now?”
The man on the bed beside her nodded his head and laughed.
“Oh, yes, Master is here, D
octor. He is here.” The man howled and shook.
Ethel’s bladder released and soaked the bed beneath her.
The warmth spread down the backs of her legs and she felt embarrassed. Soon the doctor would notice, and he would announce it to the room. They would all laugh at her.
“Can we speak with the demon?” the doctor asked.
Ethel turned and gazed at the man beside her. He closed his eyes and his body shook. His mouth pulled back from his teeth until she could see his pale pink gums. The eye in her view rolled back into his skeletal head. The man seemed to change, grow more solid, stronger. He lifted his head from the bed and turned to gaze at the men on the benches.
“Yesss,” the man hissed, and his voice had changed. It was deeper, like a growl.
“What is your name, Demon?” the doctor asked, stepping away from the man.
“Is this for me?” the man murmured in his gravelly voice, and Ethel realized he was referring to her. He watched her with a wolfish face and glassy, feverish eyes.
She tried to shrink away, but could do no more than turn her head and stare at the brick wall.
He terrified her. She didn’t want to help him. But her head lay heavy, and when she closed her eyes, she found she could not open them again.
ONE YEAR LATER
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ETHEL WATCHED her father carry his pipe into the study and close the door. Her mother was already inside, reading a book to Jared. Her sister would be knitting in the corner. Ethel lifted a milk crate from the butler’s pantry and set it near the study door. She retrieved the hammer and nails she’d hidden in her room the day before. She climbed onto the crate and pressed a nail diagonally into the door, so that it would drive through the wood of the door into the frame. She paused, listening.
Her father brought up the new capitol building in Lansing, as she knew he would. His talk of politics always grew boisterous and angry. Each time his voice rose, Ethel tapped the nail lightly. Around the frame she moved, until the door was surrounded by nails. She had nailed the windows shut early that morning.
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