Middlebury Sanitarium (Moving In Series Book 3)

by Ron Ripley

  Ken shook his head before he stood up and refilled his coffee cup. He added another dose of whiskey to it. “You want more of both?”

  “Please,” Brian said. He finished off his coffee and passed the mug up to Ken. The man filled it, added some whiskey, and handed it back to him. Brian wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic and then he asked, “What about the way they were hanging?”

  “What about it?” Ken asked, sitting back down at the table.

  “Was it a rope they used? Was it wrapped under their arms? Was it tied off to a beam? A piece of furniture?”

  “No,” Ken said. “You don’t understand, Brian. They weren’t tied with anything. They were simply hanging there. Suspended above the floor and they dropped after I entered the room.”

  “Oh. Damn.”

  Ken nodded.

  The man’s two-way radio suddenly sounded off with a loud buzz.

  Ken frowned, took the radio out of his pocket and said, “Go ahead, Dan.”

  “Ken, you still with the guest?” Dan asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Where are you two?” Dan asked.

  “My place. Why?” Ken said.

  “Oh. Well, ah, I just stepped out for a smoke, and when I came back, I saw a light on over by the boneyard.”

  “Where by the boneyard?” Ken asked, trying to keep his growing frustration out of his voice.

  “The crematorium,” Dan answered.

  “The crematorium?” Ken asked. “Dan, there hasn’t been any juice out there since before they closed the Factory down.”

  “I know. I thought it was a little strange.”

  “Alright,” Ken said with a sigh. “Leave it be and stay in the guardhouse. No more stepping out for a smoke. Your shift’s almost done, Dan.”

  “I copy,” Dan said. “Base out.”

  Brian waited until Ken put the radio away before he asked, “Stepped outside for a smoke?”

  Ken nodded. “Dan’s a First Gulf War vet. Tanker. He lost most of his crewmates in a friendly fire incident. He smokes a lot of marijuana to keep his mind together. I don’t ride him about it, but now I can’t judge how long the lights been on at the crematorium. Dan’s not exactly good about time when he’s smoking.”

  “Understood,” Brian said. He hesitated, thought about the thing in the head nurse’s house, and then asked, “Well, do you want company to check out the crematorium?”

  Ken looked at him for a moment. “If I say run, you run though, Brian.”

  “I’ll run,” Brian said with a grin, interrupting him. “Don’t you worry about it, Ken. I will run.”

  Chapter 12: Ken, May 13th, 1975

  Ken no longer had a partner.

  He hadn’t had one since Ike was killed. After the incident, he had asked Gus if he would be teamed up with someone else and the older man had shaken his head. When asked why Gus had handed him a note from Doc.

  The King wants him to guard alone.

  Ken wasn’t sure who the King was, or why he wanted Ken to ‘guard alone,’ but evidently Doc and Gus played by the King’s rules.

  And so would Ken.

  He was on his second pass of the night and he moved counter-clockwise. He had just passed the cemetery and the crematorium when the backdoor to the head nurse’s house was thrown open.

  Gloria ran down the stairs and into the yard. Hastily she pulled her dressing gown over her pajamas and Ken saw her feet were bare. Her dark red hair was up in curlers, and her pretty face wore a pinched expression.

  “Ms. Sohn?” Ken asked, turning on his flashlight and pointing it down to the ground.

  She turned around quickly, and her shoulders slumped slightly. “Oh thank God, Ken. Could you help me?”

  “Of course,” Ken said. He walked to her and once beside her asked, “What do you need?”

  “I need Eleanor to stop what she’s doing,” Gloria said angrily.

  Ken frowned. As the head nurse of the sanitarium, Gloria didn’t have a housemate. And, as far as Ken knew, she wasn’t a lesbian.

  Maybe she is, Ken thought. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sohn, but who’s Eleanor?”

  She looked at him sharply, as if to see if he mocked her. When she was satisfied he wasn’t, Gloria said, “Eleanor is someone who lives in the house and occasionally makes herself known.”

  Ken sighed. “A ghost?”

  Gloria nodded.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s in the dining room,” Gloria said angrily. “I got up to get a drink of milk and a piece of cake, and when I went in to eat, she was under the table. She kept pinching my legs and pulling my hair.”

  “Okay,” Ken said. “I’ll see if I can get her to calm down.”

  Gloria nodded and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Do you want to wait in the kitchen?” Ken asked.

  “No,” Gloria said, shaking her head. “She likes to stay in the pantry. I don’t want to upset her if you actually get her out of the dining room.”

  “Fair enough,” Ken said.

  He left Gloria standing a few feet away from the back steps and entered the house. The kitchen light was on. A few dishes were in the drying rack. The refrigerator hummed loudly, and the air was warm. The radiator sputtered in a corner, and Ken walked quickly to the swinging door which separated the kitchen from the dining room.

  Carefully he pushed his way in, the chandelier above the dark wood table lit. A soft light fell over everything, the neat rows of a blue and white dining service standing in a built-in china cabinet. A tall glass of milk and a plain white plate, occupied by a piece of chocolate cake and a silver fork were on the table in front of a pulled out chair.

  The room was bitterly cold.

  The shadow under the table was far darker than it should have been and Ken took a deep breath. “Eleanor?”

  Something scuttled under the table.

  “Eleanor, my name’s Ken. Ken Buckingham. I’m a security guard here.”

  The chair across from him bumped against the edge of the table.

  “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

  Someone snickered. A cold sound which dug deep into Ken’s stomach.

  “Eleanor, Gloria would like to finish her cake and milk before going back to bed. Would it be alright for her to do so?”

  The chair across from him started to slide out. An inch at a time it moved back, slowly and steadily. Once it neared the far wall, it came to a stop. A sickeningly pale hand snuck up around the edge of the table to grasp the wood. A second followed, and then a third, and then a fourth. Soon a fifth and a six were added, and Ken felt his heart begin to pound.

  He could see the fingers tighten their grasp and a groan crept out from beneath the table.

  Yet Ken stood still. He forced his breath to remain even.

  The top of a head appeared. The hair was dirty, a mix of blonde and gray and black. Clumped together and wet.

  A moment later a pale forehead, barren of any lines, followed the crown, and then the face appeared.

  Eyes shifted from left to right, not in their sockets but in the face itself. Two eyes, then a dozen. Three, and then five. They moved around freely. The mouth was first normal, pale blue lips opening wide to reveal a dozen rows of teeth. The lips stretched and a pair of chins formed and separated.

  The face was in constant motion.

  And Ken could only watch as Eleanor straightened. She wore a stained white shift with arms pushing in and out of form. She stared at Ken with one eye and then with four.

  “Eleanor,” Ken managed to say. “Will you return to the pantry?”

  She opened her mouth, and fresh blood slipped past the rows of teeth. A pair of tongues worked at her lips.

  “I’m hungry,” Eleanor said in a chorus of voices.

  “Then go into the pantry,” Ken said. His voice became stronger.

  Eleanor snarled. “I’m hungry.”

  “Go back to the pantry,” Ken ordered.

 
Eleanor cocked her head to the left, smiled, and then she chuckled.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes. I’ll go to the pantry.”

  Eleanor disappeared.

  For a moment, Ken stood there. He shook his head, turned around, and left the dining room. He passed through the kitchen, and into the backyard. Gloria stood where he had left her.

  But her hair was gone, and she looked at him in shock, her eyes wide.

  Gloria was as bald as a baby, and her red locks were nowhere to be seen.

  “Ms. Sohn,” Ken said gently. “Ms. Sohn, what happened?”

  She looked at him, and whispered, “The King came.”

  “The King?”

  “Yes. The King of the Factory,” she said, still whispering. “Oh, Kenneth, the King. He liked my hair and so he took it. He liked my hair and he took it.”

  Ken took the radio off of his belt.

  “This is Ken to base, over,” he said.

  “This is base, go ahead, Ken,” came the response a moment later. It was Sean.

  “Sean,” Ken said, “can you send the ambulance to Ms. Sohn’s house. We’re around back.”

  “Emergency?” Sean asked.

  “No, no blood or anything,” Ken said. “But I need help.”

  “Okay. It’ll be there in a minute, Ken.”

  “Thanks. Ken out.”

  Ken put the radio back and put his arm around Gloria’s shoulders. He pulled her in and held her tightly.

  She rested her head against his shoulder and said into the crook of his neck, “He liked my hair.”

  Chapter 13: Heading to the Crematorium

  Brian pulled his hat lower and tried to ignore the biting cold in the January air. He kept his gloved hands in his pockets and walked beside Ken.

  The old man set a steady pace. Quick enough to keep warm but not so fast as to break into a sweat. They followed a narrow path around the back side of the grounds. In the distance Brian could see the lights from the head nurse’s house, and off to the left a soft glow.

  “How long have you been here?” Brian asked.

  “Since I got out of the army,” Ken answered. “Nineteen sixty-nine.”

  “Were you in Vietnam?” Brian asked.

  Ken chuckled. “Oh yes. Southeast Asia. My home away from home for thirteen months.”

  “Do you miss it?” Brian asked with a grin.

  “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no,” Ken laughed. “I still have nightmares about the place. Too hot. Too humid. Too many chances to get shot.”

  “What did you do?” Brian asked.

  “Crew chief on a Huey,” Ken answered.

  “Damn. I had a friend who did the same thing. Guy named Lucky. Drank himself to death a few years ago,” Brian said.

  “Yeah,” Ken said somberly. “Happened to a lot of guys I knew. Especially guys who did time in the firebases or saw a lot of action. Some got hooked on heroin in-country. Others simply drank when they got home. Anyway, enough sad stuff. What about you?”

  “What about me?” Brian asked.

  “How’d you get into this?”

  “Looking for ghosts?”

  “Yeah,” Ken said.

  “Well,” Brian said. “My wife and I bought a haunted house.”

  “Why?” Ken asked.

  Brian laughed. “We didn’t know the house was haunted. We found out the hard way.”

  “Bad?” Ken asked, looking at him.

  “Terrible,” Brian said. After a moment, he added, “People died.”

  Ken nodded. “We’ve had a few of those here. It’s why I’m a little concerned about all of this activity. Eleanor hasn’t shown up since the late seventies, and the crematorium’s been dark since eighty-two.”

  “Who’s Eleanor?” Brian asked.

  “You know the hands?” Ken asked.

  “At the nurse’s place?”

  “Yup. Those are Eleanor’s hands.”

  “All six?” Brian asked.

  Ken nodded.

  “Oh.” After a moment, Brian asked, “Is the rest of her messed up, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow.”

  The cemetery came into view. The wrought iron fence, the granite posts, and the stones reflected the light of the house and the crematorium. Above them, the dark clouds looked heavy and angry. The light of the day bled out of the sky.

  “Why would the light be on?” Brian asked after a minute as Ken led them to the building.

  “I don’t know,” Ken answered. “I’m hoping it’s nothing serious.”

  “Was Eleanor serious?” Brian asked.

  “Compared to this,” Ken replied, “no, she wasn’t.”

  “Great,” Brian muttered.

  Chapter 14: Smokes

  Most of the time Dan was pretty good with work.

  He didn’t stress too much. Really didn’t have to deal with people. Hell, he just had to sit in a little box, keep an eye on the road and an ear out for the phone. Carl didn’t care if he stepped out for a little weed for his head, and Ken was always there to help if needed.

  Dan liked his job. Most of the time. Today was turning out to be a little different.

  First, there had been a guest put in the head nurse’s house, which was a bad call. All the shifts knew about the hotspots in Middlebury, and just because Eleanor had last raised her head when he was in high school didn’t mean she wasn’t around. Second, there was a light on in the crematorium. No juice to the circuits in there, but there was a light on.

  Dan had caught sight of Ken and the guest walking from Ken’s house towards the cemetery. And how Ken could live on the grounds was beyond Dan’s ability to comprehend.

  There was not enough grass in the world for Dan to remain calm while living in the sanitarium.

  In fact, just thinking about it put a little itch in the back of his mind.

  The itch would keep growing, Dan knew. Until he scratched it with a little marijuana.

  And Ken had told him no more smoking. Dan knew Ken was looking out for him. Not because Ken thought grass was bad, but because something bad was happening on the grounds.

  All the more reason to smoke, Dan thought.

  His hands started to shake.

  He couldn’t smoke in the guardhouse. It was the only thing made clear by Carl. No one else wanted to smell the sickly sweet stench of Dan’s weed.

  I need a smoke, Dan thought. Just one. I’ll burn a quick one down.

  He went into his cooler, took out his stash of pre-rolled joints and grabbed his Bic lighter. He held onto them as he left the guardhouse and made his way to a tall hedge. Dan stood behind it, hidden from the road, and lit his smoke. He inhaled deeply, let out a quick cough and grinned up at the sky.

  He slipped the lighter into a pocket and smoked a little more. He didn’t mind the cold air, or the way clouds looked. Janet was supposed to come over, cook up some dinner and bring over some of the beer her brother brewed across the border in Vermont.

  Dan took another hit off the joint and chuckled. He could feel his shins tingling.

  Wonder if they added a little extra to this? He thought. The curious sensation spread from his lower legs up over his knees and down into his feet.

  Dan went to wiggle his toes inside of his boots and found he couldn’t.

  Dan looked down at his boots.

  Small, thin branches had wrapped around the leather and punched through it. They had woven themselves into the fabric of his pants, and as Dan watched he could see the branches making their way up his legs.

  He dropped his joint and tried to step away from the hedge, but he was frozen in place.

  Branches shot out from behind him and lashed his arms to his side. Something slid up into his hair and curled around his head. It jerked him backward while another slipped in between his lips and burst out under his chin. Dan tried to scream, but more branches raced along his flesh to assault his mouth.

  They pushed deep into his throat, and the last thing he felt were the branches burrowing
down into his stomach.

  Chapter 15: Ashes to Ashes

  Brian waited to the left of the crematorium’s door while Ken unlocked it. He shivered, stamped his feet, and wondered why it had gotten so cold.

  You know why Brian told himself.

  And he did.

  “Ready?” Ken asked, glancing over at Brian.

  “Yes,” Brian said.

  “Okay,” Ken said, putting his keys away. “Remember what I said before. I say run, you haul out of here like a jackrabbit. You get right to your car, and you get going.”

  “You got it.”

  Brian watched as Ken turned the knob and opened the door.

  An old, terrible stench of burnt flesh seeped out of the building. A narrow corridor, dimly lit with light from an open doorway far down on the right welcomed them.

  The soft tones of an intimate conversation accompanied the smell, and Brian stepped nervously into the crematorium. Ken left the door open and took the lead. Brian followed him down the hall. They came to a stop and looked into the open room.

  Along the left wall stood the heavy iron slide which could be opened and closed. Beyond it, excised organs and amputated limbs would have normally been burnt. A single window dominated the far wall and lacked a curtain. It was the object in the room’s center, however, that caught Brian’s attention.

  A round table with a marble top. Elegantly curved and carved legs and which looked surprisingly delicate supported the stone. A trio of men stood around it. They were older men, their white hair clipped to brush the edges of the collars on their white coats.

  Before each man was a plate, and upon each plate were various meats. A bottle of wine accompanied each place setting, and a wine glass as well. The men chatted pleasantly with one another, occasionally one would pause, cut a piece of meat and eat it. The unknown flesh looked barely cooked as blood fell from it easily.

  One of the men looked over, his lips dark from either blood or wine.

  “Kenneth,” the man said. “You’ve brought a friend.”

  The other two men continued their own conversation, something, Brian realized, which concerned how best to secure a man’s precious bodily fluids. They ate precisely and delicately.