Approaching Night: Book I of Seluna

by Ilana Waters

  I remember when I first saw the garret, the day I arrived at Silver Hill. The unfinished attic was no match for the biting winds of late winter, although it did have a crude fireplace in the chimney that ran through its center. I learned quickly that it didn’t work, most likely because of a blocked flue. There was a thin, stained mattress on an iron cot, just below slanted and rotted wooden beams. A mountain of dust and cobwebs greeted me when I arrived. They covered the assorted junk that had piled up over the years: small pieces of bric-a-brac, extra washbasins, broken stools. I’d made a cursory attempt at cleaning, but it did little good. Staff wouldn’t let girls near anything that could be used as a weapon, like a broom.

  No place like home, I thought tonight, as Cutter turned to leave.

  “Far too nice a place for a lunatic,” she muttered, but not so low that I couldn’t hear. “I know staff in other ’ospitals that don’t ’ave rooms as nice. Not this one, of course. Dr. Catron is very good to us nurses.”

  I’ll bet he is. Needs someone to do his dirty work for him, after all.

  “Evenin’, child.” Cutter shut the heavy wooden door behind her as she left. This one didn’t have a window where one could see out. I heard her keys jangle again as I was locked in.

  “Evening, Nurse Cutter,” I replied. I didn’t know why she made a pretense of politeness. It was clear she didn’t care what kind of evening we girls had, or what kind of lives, for that matter.

  I groped around till I found my candle and matches; there were no gas lamps in the attic. The staff must have forgotten there were matches up here, or they would certainly have removed them as another potential weapon. I dearly wished I could light a real fire; it was freezing. I wondered if it ever occurred to the nurses that “lunatics” got cold the same as other people.

  In the end, I just put my dark lace shawl over my shoulders. It didn’t offer much protection from the chill, but it was all I had in terms of outerwear. I didn’t bother getting into my nightdress; it was warmer in my day clothes. With the candle lit, I gazed out the small, round window that overlooked the asylum entrance. It had been only a week since I’d walked up the broken steps to see the following letters etched in stone:

  Silver Hill: Lunatic Asylum for Unmanageable Females.

  The asylum was a large, imposing structure. It was daunting just to look at, let alone go inside. Set deep in the rolling moors of the Westernlands, Silver Hill was like a fortress. It was even surrounded by a moat. And once you were inside, there was no getting out. Girls who managed to run away were quickly caught, lost in the miles and miles of woods that grew past the moors. Ghostly, snow-tipped trees stood around the back and sides of the asylum. The edifice rose high above the land and seemed to glare down, as if challenging one’s right to be there. Truly, it lived up to the name “Silver Hill.”

  I recalled how I’d had to tilt my head back to get a complete view of the building. It was at least six stories, with stone turrets and crumbling chimneys. I tried to pretend it was a castle, but it wasn’t like the friendly kind in fairy tales. For one thing, it was covered in ivy and moss, as if nature were trying to take back what was hers. For another, outside it was eerily quiet. There weren’t any birds singing, or squirrels scampering about. It seemed even the animals were too frightened to venture near.

  As I walked up the entrance steps with Nurse Cutter that day, I couldn’t help but marvel at how magnificent Silver Hill must have once been. We came into the main hall, and I gaped at the balconies supported by a dozen enormous Corinthian columns. Then there was the sweeping, semicircular staircase that was the room’s only way to the second floor. And my jaw nearly dropped at the long walls of mirrors in gilded frames on either side.

  This part of Silver Hill was said to have been modeled after a similar room in the royal Palace of Versailles. I wondered if the mirrors there had the same effect. The ones here made the space seem much larger than it really was, as if it went on forever. As if there was no escape. Unless one could fly, of course.

  That was because the hall’s shining glory was a large, circular stained glass window. It stood high on the wall opposite the entrance and just above the top of the staircase. In stunning detail, it showed the Greek goddess of the moon in her chariot, pulled by silver-winged horses. There was a chandelier in the center of the hall, but without many candles. I didn’t know where the money from asylum admissions was going, but it certainly wasn’t towards the lighting. The only real illumination was from the moonlight shafting through the stained glass window. It was one of the only ones without bars.

  Actually, the near absence of light didn’t bother me. I felt more comfortable in the dark anyway. More alive. My senses tingled, the blackness draped around me like a warm cloak. I wouldn’t mind if it were always night.

  But from what I could see of the inside of Silver Hill, it wasn’t much better than the outside. All had fallen into decay and ruin. Paint was peeling from the walls and gilding on the mirrors, falling off in chips and flakes. Some of the stairs and railings were broken; many places were mildewed. As Nurse Cutter and I traversed the asylum, it was clear that numerous windowpanes had been smashed, maybe from girls trying to escape before the bars were put in.

  “’Ave to get that swept up,” Cutter said the first time we passed one window. “Bad enough patients try to get out. But them big shards of glass on the floor is just an invitation to slice themselves open.” My eyes widened. “Miserable mess to clean up it is, too.” I wondered if she meant the glass or the blood.

  On our way to my room for the first time, we went by the cafeteria, where I saw another broken window. It had to lead to the back of Silver Hill. I surmised this because the cafeteria was right next to the kitchen, and most kitchens were near the backs of large residences. It was then that I saw a long, dark vine coming through one pane where the glass was missing.

  “Are they going to clean that up as well?” I stopped and nodded at the vine. Gods only knew what kind of animals could crawl up the vine and right into the cafeteria. Not that I had anything against animals, if any were eventually brave enough to come to Silver Hill. I just wanted the wild ones outside, where they belonged.

  Nurse Cutter turned around and glared at me. “You just mind your business. Them vines is part of Silver ’ill’s old gardens is all, and Dr. Catron will do whatever ’e sees fit with them. We don’t ’ave money to waste clearin’ away all them tangled, thorny dead leaves and things. Which is forbidden to the likes of you, anyways. You ain’t allowed to go out there. Now keep walkin’.”

  Forbidden. Just like sharp objects, cosmetic supplies, and too much socializing. Apparently, gardens were bad for a person’s health as well. Whatever happened to the curative powers of fresh air?

  A deep yawn brought me back to the present, and the image of my first impression of Silver Hill dissolved. I moved away from the garret window. It was definitely time to go to sleep. I wondered what kind of day Dr. Catron had planned for us tomorrow. I crawled under the covers—nothing more than an old horse blanket—and shivered. As I drifted off, I could have sworn I heard another long, low moan that ended in a scream.

  Chapter 2

  I dreamed of the day I arrived at Silver Hill. After a rudimentary meal of coarse bread, turnips, and something I think was porridge, I was put in Rose and Laura’s room for a bit of “socialization.” Apparently, this was something lunatics needed, though not in great quantities. I silently questioned how helpful socialization could be inside a narrow room with two people I’d never met. It wasn’t as if there was anything for us to do. No games, no books. All were too “stimulating.”

  But it turned out Rose and Laura were quite nice. Laura seemed like a slip of a girl, fairly terrified at being admitted to an insane asylum. I could tell Rose was nervous, too, but being Rose, she hid it behind a curtain of bravado.

  “New girl, eh?” She whipped out a cigarette and matches after we’d been introduced. She offered one to Laura and me. I
gave a little smile and shook my head. Laura’s jaw dropped as she stared at the contraband, and when she didn’t close it for a few moments, Rose withdrew the offer. Shrugging, she lit her cigarette and took a drag, but her hands were trembling. “What they got you in for?” she asked me.

  New girl. It was a strange phrase. I later learned that Rose and Laura only arrived a few days before I did. But perhaps it made Rose feel better tagging someone else as the newbie.

  “You first,” I said boldly.

  I expected resistance, but Rose just shrugged again. “When I graduate, my family said I have two choices.” She took the cigarette out of her mouth and held it between two fingers. With her thumb, she pushed down on one finger of her opposite hand, then another. “I could either go into the family business—import/export—or I could get married and have children. But I don’t want to do either of those things. I want to start my own business. I’m not sure what kind yet. Something different. Maybe textiles. As for marriage and kids, phew! I’m only sixteen. I mean, what’s the rush? Can’t I decide all that later?”

  She put her cigarette back in her mouth and took another drag. “Anyway, my family acted like I was totally crazy for not following the path they’d mapped out.” She put her hands out to either side of her shoulders. “And so, welcome to Silver Hill.”

  I shook my head. “That is utterly ridiculous.” Then I looked at Laura. “Why’d they bring you here?”

  Laura gave the impression of a startled deer and stammered: “I-I . . . ah, well . . .”

  “ ‘Disobedience,’ ” Rose piped up. “Laura here refused to marry the bad-tempered lout her father picked out for her.”

  “Rose!” Laura’s entire face turned red. “You don’t have to go around telling everybody.”

  “I didn’t tell everybody. Just her.” Rose jutted her chin at me. “Besides, why shouldn’t people know? It’s not like you did anything wrong.”

  “You should have seen that man,” Laura whispered, tugging at a thread in her skirt. “He locked his own dogs in the cellar for two weeks and refused to feed them. I don’t even know why.”

  “No doubt you feared the same treatment once you married him,” I said. “And at fourteen, you’re far too young to wed, anyway. At least you got out of it.”

  “Yes, but then, I ended up . . . here.” Laura looked fearfully around the small room.

  “Well, you’ve got us now, so that’s something,” I said. I didn’t know why I was practically vowing eternal friendship with two girls I’d just met. But there was something about seeing them treated like animals that roused my protective instincts. Besides, these girls clearly weren’t crazy. They didn’t belong in an asylum.

  Though I couldn’t help but notice that both Rose’s and Laura’s families were thinking of marriage for them already. At seventeen, I was almost of marriageable age, but no one in my family had said anything to me about it. I had a feeling it was because I wasn’t as pretty as these girls. My hair, for instance, was untamable. Unlike Rose’s curls, no ribbon or pin could hold it, even if I had one. It would abide no attempts at restriction. I was told I had eyes the color of steel, but not the favored baby blue, like Laura’s.

  To make matters worse, my eyebrows were as thick and dark as my hair. Frankly, I liked the way they framed my eyes. People said they made me look angry, but I didn’t feel angry often. Mostly, I just felt . . . thoughtful. Since I hated wearing makeup, I made no effort to alter my naturally pale face. No wonder most people who met me thought I was plain. It was just as well that makeup wasn’t allowed at Silver Hill. And although I was slightly taller than average, I once heard my figure described as “sinewy.” Not exactly the voluptuous beauty it was assumed I should be.

  I tolerated the current fashions by wearing long skirts, though they were rather cumbersome. Mine were always blue black (my favorite color), but with silver thread that I wove in myself. I refused to wear a crinoline or bustle like other girls, and so my skirts fell down in a straight line. I think they looked much chicer this way. But I did have the typical high collar, the long row of buttons down my bodice, the pointy leather boots. The only light-colored part of my outfits was my kidskin gloves, which I always removed at the first opportunity.

  “So, what’s your story, morning glory?” Rose asked again. “What indescribable act of utter lunacy did you commit?”

  I hesitated for a moment. I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer just yet—or how I would do so. “Why don’t I tell you later? What I’d really love to do right now is tell ghost stories. Do either of you know any?”

  “Ah, I don’t know.” Laura twisted the thread from her skirt around her finger until it broke off. “I’m scared of ghost stories.”

  “I know one that’s not too scary,” I assured her. “If Rose is game, that is.”

  Rose squinted at me and turned her head to the side. She must have been wondering why I wouldn’t give the reason I was admitted to Silver Hill. She took a final drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out on the floor and sticking the butt under the mattress.

  “Of course I’m game.” She didn’t press the issue of my admission for now. “I’m not scared of a silly little story. Lay on, MacDuff.” She nodded at me.

  “Okay, then.” I leaned in closer so both girls could hear me better. “There’s kind of a story that goes with my name. My parents first wanted to call me Selene, after the goddess of the moon.” I paused for effect. “But I don’t believe her story. It’s just a fairy tale.

  “The Greek Titans—Hyperion and Theia—had three children. Helios, god of the sun, Aurora, goddess of the dawn, and the youngest was Selene, who ruled over the moon. When the Romans defeated the Greeks, they changed Selene’s name to Luna. Anyway, it was said that Hyperion and Theia’s children were meant to bring all manner of light to the world. Together, the three siblings ruled the hours of the day, shedding light wherever it was most needed by mortals.

  “Selene traversed the heavens in a chariot led by silver steeds. One night, she was riding across the sky when she saw a handsome shepherd below on Earth. His name was Endymion, and he had closed his eyes momentarily to rest from his labors. Seeing Endymion lying on the soft grass, Selene couldn’t help but notice how peaceful and beautiful he looked as he slept. She fell in love with him. Selene went to the king of the gods, Zeus, and begged that Endymion be granted eternal life. She could not bear the thought of him growing old and dying.

  “But what Selene did not know was that Zeus was in love with her. He had no desire to see her in the arms of another man. But so great was his love that he couldn’t bear not to grant her wish, because he knew how unhappy she would be. So he compromised. He gave Endymion eternal life, but only if he slept. That way, he would not be able to see Endymion’s happiness at being with Selene, and would not grow heartsick and jealous.

  “Selene accepted this arrangement, and so her shepherd sleeps for all eternity. But Endymion is not sad, for each night he dreams of holding the moon in his arms, of kissing the goddess herself.” I put out my own arms to indicate the story was finished.

  Laura sat rapt, her hands clasped. “That is so romantic! I wish I could meet a boy like Endymion.”

  “Pretty neat,” agreed Rose. “But um, Seluna? That’s not really a ghost story.”

  “What? Oh.” I scratched my head and laughed. “I guess you’re right. I don’t know why I always thought of it that way. Maybe because I only remember that story at night.”

  “I still thought it was lovely, though,” Rose said.

  “Yeah, and that Endymion sounds dreamy,” Laura sighed.

  “Literally!” I said, and we all giggled. But the giggling stopped when we heard shrieks in the hall outside, and what sounded like someone struggling.

  “Hold her down, for gods’ sakes!” barked a man. “What am I paying you orderlies for, anyway?”

  “Sorry, sir, but this one’s a fighter, she is,” a different man replied. “Be still, g
irlie; you ain’t going nowhere. Be good now, or we’ll sic Nurse Cutter on you!” There were more shrieks, and the clicking, pulling sounds of straps and buckles. Rose put her ear to the door, and Laura and I leaned closer as well.

  “Who’s that?” I whispered.

  “It sounds like Dr. Catron,” Rose whispered back.

  “Who’s Dr. Catron?”

  “The owner and head of the facility. You haven’t met him?”

  “I got in late last night,” I explained.

  “You’ll probably meet him today.” Rose looked at me with pity in her eyes. “Good luck to you.”

  We heard the first man—Dr. Catron—sigh. “Her condition is worse than I thought. It could be deteriorating, despite all my noble efforts.” Then he spoke at a slower pace, and there were scratching noises, as if he was writing on a pad.

  “Power cravings and critical thinking leading to brain overstimulation. Refuses to submit to those in authority.”

  “I am not power hungry!” the girl wailed. “My whole family treats me like a maid, and now they want me to have a career as a maid, too? I just want a say in what happens to me. Is that so wrong?”

  “Miss, that is the very kind of rebelliousness that can lead to hysteria,” Dr. Catron said severely. “Your belief that you know what is best for your life is a perfect example of hallucination.”

  “Hallucination?” asked Laura. “I thought that was when you saw things that weren’t there.”

  “Hallucinations are when you think things are real, but they’re not,” I clarified. “They certainly have nothing to do with disagreeing with someone. This sounds like they want the girl to act like a cog in a wheel and be happy about it. And Dr. Catron seems like a nut himself.”

  Speak of the devil. “I think solitary confinement is the best treatment for this case,” Dr. Catron said.

  “NO!” the girl shouted, and there were more scuffling sounds. Clearly, the orderlies were still having a hard time holding her down.