Dr. Willard stopped short and spun to face them. Chloe noticed that his eyes lit up the way Sam’s did whenever someone mentioned going to the bar.
“Yes, yes, exactly that! Very, very good Miss Klingeman! Dr. Kirkbride, of course, being the one to develop the Kirkbride Plan for mental hospitals. I must admit I am impressed. You are both familiar with such institutions?” Dr. Willard asked.
Sam and Chloe exchanged a quick glance.
“We live in one,” Sam admitted.
“Kirkbride Hall! Ha-ha!” laughed Dr. Willard, “Excellent! Come along then ladies.”
The girls followed him into a cramped office. Chloe looked around and wondered if he had ever been diagnosed as a hoarder. Books and binders were stacked haphazardly, with some piles almost touching the ceiling. Dr. Willard got behind his desk by turning sideways and sliding through the narrow gap between the edge of his desk and a tower of cardboard boxes against the wall. There were no windows, and no extra chairs for Chloe or Sam to sit in.
Once seated, Dr. Willard cleared his throat, folded his hands, and fixed them both with a benevolent expression. It was as though he thought he was about to give them a real treat.
“Now, the opportunity I’m referring to is the chance to be a…well, we’ll call it a teacher’s assistant, a T.A. Understand, this is not something that is usually given to freshmen in the first semester. You won’t be grading papers or tests for me. This position should really be called research assistant. At another university I would have graduate students to assist me, but we don’t have any graduate programs here at Birch Harbor, so instead, you ladies will be given a golden opportunity. This is the sort of thing that can really distinguish you when you apply for grad school elsewhere, as both of you plan on doing. This project is really special, I’ve been working on it almost ten years now, and it’s nearing completion. Let me fill you in. What you may not know is that here at Birch Harbor, we…I actually, have amassed one of the largest collections of the letters and writings of asylum patients in the world. We have letters and journals dating back to the pre-Kirkbride days of the early 1800’s, all the way to the de-institutionalizing period of the 1970’s and 80’s. I’ve spent years reading through them, gathering them, comparing them, and what I’ve come up with is a very thought-provoking manuscript which truly describes the patient experience in institutions through the years. It also proposes some new ideas. For instance, it would appear that the proportion of people in society suffering from schizophrenia, and other anxiety disorders, is the same 100 years ago as it is today.”
Sam yawned and glanced distractedly around at the pictures and pieces of paper stuck to the walls with push pins. Dr. Willard watched her for a second, either appalled or confused by her lack of interest.
“I’ll come to the point,” he said, “As I’ve said, the manuscript is in its final stages. I’ve a few more loose ends to tie up, a couple of gaps that need to be filled, and it will be ready for publishing. That’s where you two come in. I’ll need you to put in some time going through papers, finding entries relating to specific topics and typing them up for me. I would estimate that if you can put in a few hours of work, two or three evenings a week, I may be able to complete the final draft of the book by early spring. I think I’m going to call it-”
Here Dr. Willard paused for emphasis. He spread his hands slowly in front of his face, as though he could conjure up the title before their eyes.
“Letters to St. Dymphna…” Dr. Willard glanced at the girls to catch their reaction. Sam coughed. Chloe smiled weakly, not sure what to say.
“St. Dymphna…she was the patron saint of the insane?” Dr. Willard prodded.
“Oh,” was all Chloe could say.
“I thought it was…well, rather poetic I guess…” Dr. Willard mumbled, clearly disappointed.
“So is this a paid position, or…?” Sam asked in a bored tone.
“Miss. Klingeman, I am surprised. After reading your paper I had assumed you would jump at an opportunity to further your chances at getting into medical school. Is it paid?” Dr. Willard scoffed.
“She’s joking!” Chloe blurted out, “She’s kidding, of course. We’d love to, right Sam? It sounds really great, really, ummm…interesting.”
“Interesting!” Sam mimicked Chloe’s forced enthusiasm. Dr. Willard didn’t seem to notice her tone.
“Excellent, really excellent! We can begin right away, I hope? The collection is housed at the library. You take the elevator to the basement level, and its room 28B. We can meet there tonight to discuss the topics you’ll be researching and I can give you both your keys at that time. Shall we say…seven o’clock or thereabouts?”
“Seven, yup that’s good,” Chloe agreed, backing out of the room. Sam blew a quick exasperated breath and pasted a tight smile on her face.
“Seven…great,” Sam repeated. She followed Chloe out of the office.
Chloe hurried towards the elevator without turning to look at Sam. She was pretty sure she knew what the first words out of Sam’s mouth would be. Sam did not disappoint.
“This is all your fault!” Sam hissed, “Now we’re stuck being T.A.’s! This is really going to cut into our partying time.”
“It’ll look good on your med school application though,” Chloe ventured timidly.
“Never,” Sam vowed, “never, never, never do I ever let you write a paper for me again…never!”
Chloe readjusted her bag and trudged slowly up the main stairs of the dormitory. Every step brought her closer to the empty room. It would be the first time since the incident that she would be in the room on her own. She had thought about waiting at the library or the cafeteria for Sam, but she hadn’t thought to ask Sam if she would be coming back between classes. Besides, at some point they were both going to have to get used to being in the room alone again. It would be better…safer in the daytime, she was sure. And if anything happened, Seth was nearby.
Seth…
Chloe sighed thinking about it. She had known it was too good to be true. There was never any reason for him to be interested in her, but it had seemed like he was. It had seemed like they were moving towards something, maybe the beginning of a relationship, but then the whole awful episode with the walls had occurred and now she didn’t know. She wished there was some way she could have erased that day. He must have realized that there was something wrong, that it wouldn’t make sense for someone to have vandalized their room.
Chloe turned down the second floor hallway still deep in thought. Looking up, she saw Jen crouched down by the door to her room. She was about to slip something underneath.
“Jen?” Chloe called.
Jen started and jumped to her feet.
“Oh wow, good timing!” she said, “You won’t believe what I found!”
Chloe glanced at the paper in Jen’s hand while unlocking the door. The only words she could read were “Birch Harbor Gazette”. Though uninvited, Jen traipsed into the room behind her. She took a seat at Sam’s desk.
“When does Sam get back?” Jen asked.
“I don’t know. She might come back after her physics lab or she might go right to her next one. Why, what’s up?”
“Mel was at the library and she found these binders that have, like, every issue of the Birch Harbor Gazette, and it goes all the way back to the 1870’s, and she was just looking through them, and guess what she found?”
Chloe shrugged, though she had a sneaking suspicion she knew exactly what Mel had found. Jen thrust the piece of paper under her nose. Chloe read the photo-copied title and flinched.
FIRE DESTROYS NEW ASYLUM
Several Injured, One Presumed Dead!
Birch Harbor Volunteer Fire Company Display Skill and Bravery!
Late last night, fire broke out at the construction site for the new Birch Harbor Asylum. The smoke was first seen by Mr. C.A. Richards, 41, at his home on Thornton Ave. Mr. Richards promptly gathered his neighbors, and together, with the Birch Harbor Volunteer Fire Company, they
raced to the site and began efforts to extinguish the blaze. They arrived at 11.30 o’clock and noted that the lower two floors of the west wing were already engulfed in flames. Over the next quarter hour, the fire spread to all four floors of the west wing, despite the heroic efforts of our firefighters. At 11.50 o’clock, many members of the team saw what appeared to be a male person, still inside the building, moving past windows which poured smoke. Fire Chief Franz Hermen, 39, and two members of his crew, John Armies, 24, and Ernest Belcher, 29, entered the building, and were injured by the collapse of the floor above. The three men escaped from the building only moments before the collapse of the greater part of the west wing. The fire was controlled after the building’s fall.
The injured men were taken to the nearby home of Mr. Peter Whitlock, 67, with the exception of Mr. Belcher, who, suffering a crushed arm, was brought with haste, to the new Marquette City Hospital.
The cause of the fire has not yet been determined though many suspect it to be an act of arson committed by Mr. George Townsend of Toledo, Ohio, whose body was discovered in the debris early this morning. Mr. Townsend was known to have been a patient at the recently opened Newberry State Asylum, in nearby Newberry.
The buildings owner, Mr. Robert Weissmill has confirmed that the new asylum was not insured and has estimated the damages to be around $40000. He also stated that he wished to convey his thanks and gratitude to the citizens of Birch Harbor and especially the fire department for their quick response and brave actions.
“What we found out was that this building…this dormitory is the asylum they’re talking about. Mel’s boyfriend knows the R.A. over on three West and he says you can still see some of the fire damage down in the basement! So…do you think the ghost could be-” Jen stopped abruptly, leaving her sentence hanging.
“No,” Chloe said quickly, “No. I don’t think there’s a ghost at all. I think someone was trying to scare us.”
She folded the paper and tossed it on to her desk. Jen looked skeptical.
“Well, Sam thinks there is,” Jen argued, “Just show it to her, okay? I want to know what she thinks. Maybe we can go down in the basement and try-”
“No, no, no, no” Chloe cut in, “I can assure you, neither Sam or I want anything more to do with the whole Ouija thing. We freaked ourselves out enough for the whole school year, I think.”
Jen’s expression was mutinous. She glared at Chloe, and then abruptly, her whole demeanor changed. With a deceptively benign smile, she studied Chloe as if curious.
“By the way,” she said in her most innocent tone, “who’s that girl Seth’s been walking around with all day? I saw them this morning, coming out of his room…is she a friend of his?”
Chloe’s heart skipped a beat. She felt sick. Millions of questions hung on her tongue, fighting to burst through her lips. What did she look like? Did they say anything to each other? How early? What do you mean all day? She struggled to make her face a perfect blank. Jen was watching her avidly.
“I don’t know. Whatever Sam may have told you, he’s not my boyfriend or anything. I don’t know any of his friends,” Chloe said, careful to keep her voice level.
Jen shrugged.
“Just thought you’d want to know, I guess. Men are such jerks,” Jen bounced to her feet. “Tell Sam I stopped by, tell her to call me tonight, okay?”
Chloe nodded and busied herself with unloading her backpack, she didn’t hear Jen leave.
So that was it? She really had blown it. He asked her out, she said no, so he moved along to the next girl. She should have explained it better. She should have set it up for another day. She should have called him. Hadn’t he asked if she was even interested in him? From his own lips he had said that he couldn’t tell if she was interested or not, and she had made him think she definitely wasn’t. Chloe snatched up a bottle of lotion from her desk and flung it as hard as she could at the wall. It made a tiny spatter mark where the handpump broke off and then thumped to the floor.
She cursed and rubbed her hands over her forehead. Homework…she should do homework to take her mind off of it. There was that paper for her social sciences class that still needed to be finished. She could do that.
A few minutes later she was typing away on Sam’s computer, ruminating on the effects of the industrial revolution on British society. It took fifteen minutes for her to wind-up the almost completed paper, glance it over, and hit print. She shut down Sam’s computer and snatched the still warm paper off the top of the printer, looking it over once more before committing it to her folder.
“Oh, of course!” she muttered.
The paper was almost perfect, just one extra comma where it shouldn’t be! Well, she could take care of that at least.
Chloe yanked opened her desk drawer and rooted around until she found a brand new bottle of white-out. Carefully, she used the brush to paint out the tiny comma, and then set the brush down and blew gently across the spot to dry it. Almost invisible, she decided.
Just like you, the voice hissed.
“Left myself wide open for that one,” she whispered. The voice laughed. Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, readying herself to build a wall, but the voice didn’t come again. She heard nothing. Chloe opened her eyes and let her body relax. Am I getting better? She wondered. Her eyes fell on the open bottle of white-out. The brush still lay on its side next to it. It would dry out if-
Chloe blinked.
The bottle looked as if it were moving. She stared harder. It was moving! Slowly sliding towards the edge of the desk.
“Stop,” she whispered. The bottle took no heed. It continued its deliberate progress towards the edge of the desk.
“Stop, stop, stop, stop, It’s not real. It’s not really moving, so stop it. You’re doing it!” she covered her eyes to hide the sight, but she could still hear it. There was a faint noise, sounding like a long slow scratch as it moved.
“No, No, NO!” she said louder, to cover the sound.
It stopped. Chloe opened her eyes. The bottle was laying on its side on the floor. It had fallen off the desk. A small circle of white liquid was gradually becoming larger as the paint-like substance seeped out of the bottle.
“It fell off the desk,” she told herself. “It just fell off the desk is all, so clean it up and be done.”
Chloe approached the bottle cautiously. She bent down on her knees and reached out to touch the bottle with one finger, as if to test if it would burn her or roll away. It was just a normal bottle of white-out. She tipped the bottle upright and moved to set it back on the desk. She had almost put it back when it occurred to her that it might move again, and with one quick flick of her wrist, she sent it flying into the trash.
The pool of white liquid had formed a perfect circle. It looked entirely strange there on the tile floor. It would have been a perfectly rounded dome, if not for a dimple in the center of it. It sort of looked as if something was pushing it down at that point, like a-
As Chloe sat transfixed and horrified, the dimple deepened to become a fingerprint. Quickly, an unseen finger spelled out the letters A…M… in the fluid, streaking the white outside the circular border at the tip of the A and the last stroke of the M.
Chloe swallowed a scream and leapt to her feet. Still staring wildly at the letters on the floor, she paced back and forth a few times and then doubled over, clutching her stomach.
“It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real,” she moaned, “Stop it, stop it, stop it, it’s me! I’m doing this!”
Chloe got to her feet and grabbed her bath towel off the hook in her closet. She dove towards the letters and with one determined swipe, wiped them completely away. Her hands were sweating, and she noticed that she was breathing in short panicky gasps. Just like before! She tried to think calmly, but couldn’t. You see? Exactly like before.
Still dragging her towel she crawled across the floor and sat with her back against her bed. She concentrated on trying to breathe normally. I will not let th
is happen again, she told herself, I’m better now. I know this isn’t real. I don’t have to believe it. It’s not real.
As if in response, the bottle of lotion she had thrown earlier, skidded across the floor, narrowly missing her feet and crashed against the opposite wall. A wide pool of watery lotion had seeped out from the crack in the bottle while it had lain there. As Chloe watched, the invisible finger again traced the letters A, M… larger this time, sloppily.
“Not real!” Chloe asserted.
The finger, looped around from the down stroke of the M and spelled “R…E…A…L”
“No!” Chloe yelled.
Real… Real… Real… HELP… AM… each time it drew a word, the watery lotion would slowly seep back over it, and the writing would begin again.
“STOP IT!” Chloe screamed.
She lunged towards the spill and scrubbed the words furiously with her towel.
She raced across the room and snatched up the lotion bottle, hurling it with the force of a javelin towards the garbage can. The room felt like it was 100 degrees. Chloe gasped for air, the world was spinning around her. She staggered towards the door, and burst into the hallway. She didn’t stop to think, just ran.
Seth! she told herself, He’s in his room, right now. He’s here, he’s between classes. He’ll make it stop. He’ll make it better.
Chloe ran all the way to his door and hammered on it madly. To her relief, Seth opened it immediately, but only partway. He looked her quickly up and down.
“Wha-” he began.
“I’m sorry! I only said no because I didn’t want to leave Sam by herself this weekend, but I really wanted to go, and I’m really sorry I couldn’t and I was thinking, I was thinking that we could maybe, that we could…” Chloe paused to take a breath. What the hell did people do on dates? The Eat? That was where people went with their friends to hang out, wasn’t it? Where the hell else was there in Birch Harbor to go? Outside! Seth liked being outside! “I thought we could go for a walk or something,” she panted.
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