Middlebury Sanitarium (Moving In Series Book 3)

by Ron Ripley

  He stood in the foyer and saw why no one had answered the phone.

  The night orderly stood by the elevator. He had been stripped bare, his skin pale white and sickly beneath the fluorescents. A radio played static and just beneath the noise Ken could hear voices. Some of the words he understood, many more he did not.

  Evidently the orderly had heard them as well.

  He had driven pencils into each eardrum.

  The man was dead, yet how he managed to remain upright was a mystery until Ken stepped closer.

  It looked as though the man had cut his own belt loop into his skin and slipped his belt through the hole in his flesh. The leather had then been slipped around the art deco ashtray built into the wall.

  Yet the corpse…

  No, Ken thought. His name was Chuck.

  Chuck’s wounds were bloodless. Not the slightest drop or even a hint of the life fluid. Ken reached out, touched the man, and found Chuck was frozen solid.

  The door to the stairwell burst open, and a fresh series of screams rolled down the flights of stairs.

  Ken ran through the open door and up the stairs. He followed the screams until he found his way onto the third floor. He stepped into the darkness, unable to distinguish anything.

  He managed to gain control of his breath, put his radio back on his belt, and relight his pipe.

  The match’s flame illuminated only his hand and the briarwood bowl, which had remained miraculously half-filled.

  “Ah,” a soft male voice said. “My watchman has arrived.”

  Ken nearly choked.

  “Will you not greet your King, Watchman?” the King asked, an edge to his voice.

  Ken remembered his interview with Isabella in the House.

  “My Liege,” Ken managed to say, taking his pipe out of his mouth.

  “Ah, you do not disappoint, Watchman,” the King said in a purring tone. “Isabella was right. She knew I would be pleased with you.”

  The voice moved, circled around to the left. Ken stood and listened and waited.

  “Too long,” the King continued. “Too long have I suffered them here, Watchman.”

  Ken drew a long pull on the pipe, and then he let the strong smoke out slowly.

  When the King spoke again, it came from behind him.

  “You have been here for some time now?” the King asked.

  “Thirteen years, my Liege,” Ken answered.

  “An auspicious number. I have,” the King chuckled, “been here slightly longer than you. Slightly longer than, well, longer than all of them. Even Isabella, she was here before the first of them.”

  Ken clamped onto the stem of his pipe with his teeth and stuffed both of his hands into his pockets to keep them still.

  “So,” the King whispered, his voice at Ken’s ear, “what shall we do with them?”

  “My Liege?” Ken said around the pipe.

  The King spoke from the front.

  “These people here.”

  “The residents?”

  “Warts. Growths. Leeches without the benefit of cure. Suckling pigs draining the life of my home,” the King snapped. “Yes. Your ‘residents.’ What shall I do with them?”

  “Leave them, my Liege,” Ken said. He took the pipe out of his mouth. “Leave them.”

  “No, Watchman. You are too tenderhearted by far. You must not be. I come to sit upon my throne. I have been gone long enough. I will see them all like this.”

  The darkness vanished, replaced by a light so bright it caused Ken to cry out in pain and close his eyes for a moment. He blinked and then kept his eyes open to look at the ward.

  The ceiling tiles had been removed and were neatly stacked by the ends of beds. Some pop song by the Jackson Five played on the radio at the nurse’s station. The nurse stood on the desk, a numb look of horror on her slightly pudgy face. She had a sheet wrapped around her neck, the other end of it tied off to an exposed rafter.

  “Look what I did,” she whispered. “Don’t save me.”

  And she stepped off of the desk.

  Ken started towards her, but he saw her eyes bulge and tongue thrust forward from between her lips. He heard the crack of her neck and saw the mad tap of her feet on the air.

  It was then he noticed the others.

  All of the others.

  Above each bed hung a resident. Some sixty women, and each of them had been hanged.

  The room stank, not of bleach or cleansers. Not of the Virginia Slims the nurse, Karen, would smoke on her breaks.

  It stank of death.

  The ward smelled of the King.

  Chapter 20: Meeting the New Hand

  Brian awoke at seven in the morning. It took him a moment to realize where he was, but he did so as he sat up and stretched. From another room, he heard snoring.

  Ken, Brian thought.

  Brian stood up, walked into the small kitchen and ran the tap for a moment to get some cold water. He found a glass in a drying rack and filled it. He stood at the counter and looked out at a wide expanse of fresh snow.

  The dead watched him.

  Perhaps a score of them. Brian didn’t bother counting. He finished the water, quickly washed the glass and returned it to the drying rack. On the small dining table, he found a notepad and pen. Brian wrote a quick note to let Ken know he was going to go back to the head nurse’s place to check on the gear.

  With the information written down, Brian got his winter gear on and left the house. He closed the door quietly behind him. When he stepped down the few stairs to the brick path, Brian turned his collar up and tugged his hat down a little lower. Someone had shoveled out the walkway and plowed the road.

  And a young girl stood on the cleared asphalt and watched him.

  She was pale and dressed in tatters. In her hands, she held a stuffed animal, a dog of some sort. Her eyes locked onto him, and Brian knew he couldn’t avoid her.

  “Hello,” he said as he drew closer.

  She glared at him, her brow furrowed and her lips thinned.

  “Have you come to walk with me?” he asked her.

  “You were with Kenneth,” she said.

  “I was.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “I needed to rest,” he answered.

  She sneered. “You could have rested with me.”

  “Where do you live?” he asked.

  “The boneyard. The cemetery. Yes,” she smiled, showing him a smile full of sickly teeth, “you could have rested with me.”

  “Thank you.”

  Brian started walking along the road, back towards the head nurse’s house.

  The dead girl went with him.

  “The King likes His watchman,” she said after a moment.

  “Do you?” Brian asked.

  “I hate him,” she answered.

  “Why?”

  “Because I can.”

  A few minutes passed, and she added, “I think I like you.”

  “Thank you,” Brian said.

  “The King won’t.”

  “Why?” Brian asked.

  “Because the King only likes two people. One alive, and one dead,” she said.

  “The Watchman is one,” Brian said. “Who is the other?”

  “Isabella,” the girl laughed. “And she likes everyone.”

  “She’s friendly?”

  “Not unless she has to be,” the girl said wickedly. “And she wants to meet you, Brian Roy.”

  Brian looked down, and the girl was gone.

  He shivered once involuntarily and hurried on towards the head nurse’s house. He soon saw his car and a second vehicle parked behind it. Exhaust spilled out of the tailpipe of the unknown car, and Brian could see someone sat in the driver’s seat.

  Suddenly his phone rang.

  Brian stopped, took the phone out of his pocket and looked at the number.

  An unknown caller with a New Hampshire area code.

  “Hello?” Brian asked.

  “Is this Brian?”
a young woman asked.

  “It is.”

  “Hi Brian, my name is Anne, Anne Purvis. I’m Sylvia Purvis’ niece,” the young woman said.

  “Oh, hey,” Brian said. “Is that you parked in front of my car at the head nurse’s house?”

  “Yeah. I just knocked on the door, but no one answered.”

  “I’m walking up right now.”

  He saw her head turn in the driver’s seat even as she said, “Oh, there you are. Bye!”

  “Bye,” Brian said, chuckling. He ended the call and put it away. Within a few moments, he was close enough to the car, and Anne shut the engine off and stepped out.

  Her beauty nearly took his breath away.

  She had short red hair peeking out from beneath a bright white knit cap. Her skin was pale, her lips bright red, and her eyes an impressive dark blue. Her face was elfin with her chin coming to a delicate point. She was bundled warmly against the cold, and she was short, even in the heeled knee-high boots she wore.

  Anne was a miniature doll, probably barely old enough to drink, and Brian’s heart beat a mad rhythm against his chest.

  He cleared his throat nervously. “Hi Anne, I’m Brian.”

  “A pleasure,” she said, smiling at him. Her teeth were a bright white, with a hint of crookedness to several of them. The cold wind carried a sweet smell, reminiscent of musk, to his nose.

  Brian repressed a shiver.

  “Do you want to go inside?” he asked.

  “Please,” Anne said. “It’s freezing out here.”

  “Well,” he said, “we may not be able to stay long inside, but it’ll be warm, and we’ll get the gear quick as we can.”

  “Why can’t we stay long?” she asked, following him up to the front door.

  Brian shook his head. “I’ll tell you inside, Anne.”

  He held the door for her, glanced at the few ghosts who watched from the porch of another residence, and then he hurried into the house.

  Chapter 21: Anne Goes to Work

  Brian led Anne cautiously into the dining room of the head nurse’s house. From what he could see, all of the equipment was still there. All of the ‘power’ lights were green on the gear. The generator thrummed behind the house, the sound muffled by the new snow.

  “Are you okay?” Anne asked, looking at him.

  Brian gave her a tight smile. “Yes. Yesterday afternoon we had to leave here quickly.”

  “I thought Jenny said you were investigating alone?” Anne said.

  “I am. Or, rather, I was. Yesterday the third shift security guard stopped by and we discovered our presence wasn’t welcomed.”

  “By a ghost?” Anne asked, her eyes widening slightly.

  “Eleanor,” Brian said with a nod. “We need to gather up the gear as quickly as possible. After that, we’ll go on up to Ken’s place and look through the recordings. Sound good?”

  “Yes,” Anne said, looking around the room. “Is Eleanor going to come back?”

  “I hope not,” Brian said, hurrying to the table. “If she does we’ll need to run. And I literally mean run. Most of the dead aren’t particularly pleasant here.”

  “Okay,” Anne said, and she stepped up to the table.

  In silence, they started to disconnect the various devices. Anne quickly figured out which hard-cases went with each piece, and Brian didn’t worry about the recorders he had set up in the cemetery.

  Within fifteen minutes the two of them had gathered up every item. Brian left the chair, and the table behind as the two of them exited the house. With Anne's help, they carried the cases back up the road. They entered Ken’s house quietly. Anne managed to close the door without the slightest bit of noise, and Ken continued to snore uninterrupted.

  Brian led Anne into the kitchen, and they set the gear down by the backdoor.

  “Go ahead and sit down,” Brian said in a low voice, nodding towards the table.

  Anne flashed him a smile which left him stunned and took off her winter coat and gloves. Her slim body was sharply defined by a tight gray sweater and she sat down with a delicacy and grace Brian had never seen before.

  Swallowing dryly, he forced himself to focus on the laptop. He managed to get it out of the case, along with its power cord, and he plugged it into an outlet by the sink. He carried the computer to the table, opened it and powered it up. As the interior fan kicked in and hummed, Brian sat down across from Anne. He adjusted the position of the laptop, so they both could view it.

  “Well,” Brian said, “while we wait for this bad boy to load up, tell me why you took the job.”

  Anne gave him a wicked grin. “I was always interested in what my aunt did. Most of the family thought she was kind off of her rocker, but I didn’t. When she passed away, I was upset, and I really wanted to learn more. I reached out to Jenny, and she told me she’d let me know.”

  “And she did,” Brian said.

  “She did,” Anne smiled. “Anyway, here I am. I have absolutely no idea what to do, just so you know.”

  “Fine with me,” Brian said. “For right now, it’s going to be pretty boring. We’ll watch the different videos recorded by the cameras. Then we’ll check out the individual tracks for the digital audio recorders. If, or when we actually see something, we’ll mark it for further review and keep on moving. Got it?”

  Anne nodded. “Got it. Sounds easy enough.”

  “I’m hoping it will be,” Brian said. “This place is haunted as hell, but we just need some evidence. Later on, I want to check out the library here too. More than likely Ken will have a key, and I’d feel better about going with him anyway.”

  “Why?” Anne asked.

  “This place is scary,” Brian said, looking at her. For a moment, he contemplated how she might react to the knowledge of how he could see the dead. No. Not yet. “So, are you ready?”

  “Yes I am,” she said.

  “Okay,” Brian said. He turned to face the computer, pulled up the first file and started it.

  Camera One, placed in the foyer of the head nurse’s house, popped up. Time moved by slowly. Eventually, Brian showed up on the screen, let Ken in and the two of them went into the dining room. A few moments later they ran out.

  “What happened there?” Anne asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Brian said. He opened his mouth to say more, and then he closed it.

  Darkness crept into the foyer.

  Brian hit the key to mark the time and waited.

  A hand stole out of the deep shadow. The flesh upon the hand was pale, torn, bloodied. Anne inhaled sharply beside him.

  The fingers groped along the wall. They seemed to pull the entire shadow along with it. Soon the darkness filled the camera, and Brian could see nothing.

  Long minutes passed before the shadow slipped away.

  “Oh Jesus,” Anne hissed.

  Brian could only nod his agreement.

  Words had been written upon the plaster. Each letter was thick, seemingly burned into the old, pale green wallpaper.

  Prepare for the coming of the King. He awaits His Watchman. He shall punish the unfaithful. He shall feast upon His arrival. He awaits His Watchman.

  “What the hell does it mean?” Anne asked, looking at Brian.

  “Nothing good,” Brian answered.

  He hit pause on the film and stood up.

  “Are you okay?” Anne asked.

  “Yeah,” Brian said. He looked out the window. The little girl with the stuffed dog stood a dozen yards away and watched him. He sighed.

  “I just need some coffee,” he said, turning away from the window. He walked to Ken’s percolator and looked back at her. He smiled tiredly and asked, “Do you want a cup?”

  Chapter 22: Ken, the Library at Middlebury, June 22nd, 1976

  In 1973, Ken had turned on his television set just in time to catch the end of a report on Vietnam. It showed a Huey gunship going down.

  Ken had turned his television off and given it to Mike Pinkham on firs
t shift. Ken didn’t want to watch anyone die ever again, and he sure as hell didn’t want to do it while sitting in front of the television. In July of the same year, he heard about the accident at Logan Airport in Boston when a Delta flight had crashed. Eighty-nine deaths. Everyone on board.

  The maintenance guys got the radio.

  Ken preferred his books.

  He read fiction. Mostly what the librarian told him were the seminal works of American and British literature. Nancy knew what she was talking about, so he always ran his choices by her before he checked them out.

  Ken stayed away from newspapers and magazines. He didn’t care about the news. He didn’t care about politics, either local or national. They were all the same. He couldn’t escape it, of course. He saw headlines when he went into the stores for groceries. He overheard people on the few occasions when he ate at a restaurant or at the chow hall in the Sanitarium.

  His parents avoided talking about the news with him. They kept it pretty basic. He and his father talked about his father’s work at the sawmill. His mother liked to talk about her friends and their eligible daughters.

  Ken listened politely to both. He could care less about his father’s foreman Jean being a pain and how the man should be shipped back to Canada. And Ken really couldn’t bring himself to be concerned with Sue Wetherbee’s excellent homemaking skills.

  Ken hadn’t even been interested in women. For some reason his time at Middlebury had killed his libido.

  He wasn’t attracted to men. He wasn’t attracted to anyone.

  His mother needed to remain blissfully ignorant of that fact.

  All of these thoughts rolled through his head, as they always did after he spent time with his parents. Sunday dinners weren’t unpleasant, just routine.

  Ken sighed as he climbed the stairs to go into Middlebury’s library. The building was an elegant Edwardian, decorated with Eastlake carvings, furniture, and walls and walls of bookcases.

  When he went into the main room, he found Nancy at her desk. She looked up and smiled at him.

  “Good evening, Ken,” Nancy said. “How was dinner?”

  “The same,” he answered, returning the older woman’s smile.

  She took her glasses off and set them down on her blotter. She tucked a stray strand of gray hair back behind her ear and said, “So, since Sue Wetherbee was last week, who is your mother trying to set you up with this week?”