The Deal

by David Gallie

  ‘I’m doing some research for a novel I want to write. Apparently it’s one of the most haunted places in the city.’ I said, trying to keep the conversation as upbeat as possible. Heck, I even offered the old man one of my best fake smiles right back at his rear view mirror.

  I expected with the driver being an old hand at the taxi driving business he would probably regal me with tales about the asylum that he had picked up from various passengers through the years. What I got instead was actually quite surprising.

  ‘I don’t believe in all that haunted bullshit. It’s just one of many old buildings that need pulling down.’

  ‘Surely the history of the place must interest you, though?’ I had no idea why after years of having to tell cab drivers to shut up that I was now trying to engage this old man in a conversation.

  ‘Nah. I’ve heard a shit load of stories about the place. I’m sure that every one of them was nothing more than a hyped up piece of human imagination.’ I could have been mistaken, but I thought I could detect a note of bitterness in the old man’s voice.

  As the cab came to a stop for a red light about twenty minutes into our journey, I began to realize that I may be sitting behind my own fountain of knowledge. The simple truth was I had no idea what the building looked like. I knew even less about the inside of it.

  The miserly old man behind the wheel though had been told stories about the place which although he may think are all bullshit could, in fact, help me locate whatever I was hoping to find there, which at the moment I just didn’t know.

  So I decided to try and engage him further. If nothing else it beat sitting in silence listening to the noise of the traffic outside.

  ‘What was the worst story you heard?’ I asked eventually, trying to mentally prepare myself to remember as much as possible.

  ‘Well, one of the most fucked up stories I heard was about a room they had in the loft space of the building. The story goes that two of the top psychiatrist’s they had were secretly devil worshippers or some dumb shit like that. Anyway, these two doctors supposedly had been taking patients up to the loft where they would torture them and sometimes kill them to complete whatever bullshit ceremony a devil worshipper does.’

  It was strange listening to the old man because it was like listening to a younger version of myself. Before I had made the deal which put me in the situation I was in now, I too thought things like devil worshipping and haunted buildings was just the work of somebodies overworked imagination.

  I even smiled to myself as I listened and wondered what he would think if I told him my story.

  ‘Sounds a bit far-fetched.’ I said.

  ‘Far-fetched? Fuck me, boy, that’s only a small taste of some of the crazy made up shit I’ve heard.’ The driver now had the chat bug. As he popped a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a disposable lighter he had nearby I prepared myself for the next story.

  ‘There is one story that actually hinges on being believable.’ He said through a cloud of grey smoke.

  ‘Really?’ My body suddenly became alive again as he got my curiosity. Every bullshit story normally has some small element of truth in it, even if it was just a tiny fragment it could be all that I needed.

  ‘Yeah. This story goes along the lines that the same two doctors started accepting perfectly sane people into the asylum so they could mentally torture them and essentially make them insane.’

  I watched the rain drops hit the window next to where I sat and then turn into rivulets as the speed of the cab increased once again.

  ‘You didn’t believe the story about the loft but you think that one might be true?’ I couldn’t understand his reasoning.

  ‘Well, it’s not uncommon for someone to pretend their nuts to get themselves out of trouble. You know, like those idiots that get caught by the cops and pretend to be schizoid. So instead of being sent to jail they would be sent to a place like Muirmill.’

  I actually felt quite stupid once he had explained his thoughts on that story. Stupid because the insanity plea is probably about the only option left on the table for a killer like myself when the law eventually catches up with you. It also wasn’t unheard of for some of the doctors to be more insane than their patients, so I could see now why that story was more believable to the taxi driver.

  Then again, after experiencing what I had, the loft story did not sound all that far-fetched either, but there was no way I could tell that to the cabby.

  ‘Oh, there was one other story.’ Said the driver and he actually chuckled at the thought of it. ‘Someone once told me that while they were inside the building they could see this huge monster with wings. Apparently it was trying to find something and it couldn’t leave until it did.’

  A monster with wings? Images of the Grimoyle’s quickly sprung to the forefront of my mind. It was the vision of those monstrous creatures that solidified my determination to carry on with my quest. If Satan’s winged demons where there searching for something, most likely another artefact I presumed, then I needed to find it first.

  ‘Now that does sound like complete bullshit.’ I said, forcing a laugh that I simply did not feel.

  ‘Jesus Christ, yeah. I get some seriously fucked up individuals in the back of this old tin bucket,’ and with that he returned his attention to the road and silence befell the interior of the cab.

  At some point, I understood that I was going to have to stand up to Satan. Whether I would win the fight or not wasn’t something I dwelled on at that point simply because I knew I needed a lot more help in the form of the ancient artefacts that the dark lord himself had been sending me to collect on his behalf.

  Where are you Pertilius? I couldn’t help but think to myself as I continued to watch the rain splatter against my window, which turned the buildings outside into twisted and deformed versions of themselves.

  There was no familiar plume of black smoke or that strange electric buzzing I got in my ear before he would appear. It seemed that I was on my own this time, and despite wanting more information on what I should be looking for, I was actually quite satisfied to be left alone for the time being.

  I looked down at the gold ring on my index finger where my wedding band used to be. It looked dull and lifeless. There was no shimmering glow or any other indication that one of Satan’s hell spawn was getting closer. This made me feel a little bit better too since I wanted a chance to find out what it was I was looking for first before starting a fight with the winged demon.

  Then something occurred to me that I had forgotten to ask the young lady at the archives, but possibly the cabby might be able to answer.

  ‘When they closed the building down, did they remove all the patient records?’

  ‘Nah, they left all that shit where it was. Probably not many of them left now though by the time all the scavengers have been and gone. Although there is a crazy ass story about the records too.’

  ‘Really. How crazy?’ I couldn’t help but ask.

  ‘Seriously crazy.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Well, from what I was told there were two different places where they kept the patient records. The main record room would hold all the records for those who were really insane and then there was a separate room somewhere on the top floor containing all the records of those who were just trying to keep their sorry asses out of prison. As far as I know it’s all bullshit. No one has ever been able to find that room.’ The driver actually sounded quite pleased with himself as he threw the remains of his cigarette out the window and into the rain-soaked streets.

  He would never know just how much his unbelievable stories were actually helping me to focus on where I needed to look. If nothing else he had given me two solid locations that I had to check before looking anywhere else in the building.

  How easy it was going to be to get access to these rooms, especially the one on the top floor that no one could seem to locate, was an entirely different matter.

  Muirmill asylum was built w
ay back during the early days of New York. As my cab came to a full stop in front of the building where the main gates had once been, I could see why there were so many horror stories about the place.

  Under the depressing grey sky, it was a monolithic, gothic style structure built from pure sandstone. The parameter wall which spanned the entire circumference of the building was impressive. It had to be at least twelve feet tall and during its later years some enlightened soul had decided that razor wire would also be a good deterrent to stop the vandals and thieves from getting in and the crazies from getting out.

  I slid the old cab driver sixty dollars and stepped back out into the pouring rain. I watched as the cab disappeared back down the long wood lined pathway which would lead him back to civilization, before turning my attention back to the asylum.

  I started walking, slowly, trying to take in everything that I could as I passed through the large gap where the wrought iron gates would have once hung. I noted that those aforementioned gates had been left lying on the once pristine lawns. Discarded like they were no obstacle at all and I could instantly envision what kind of winged creature had the strength to rip them off their hinges like they were made of paper.

  Yep. The Grimoyle’s are definitely here. I thought as I turned my attention back to the rest of the building. The gravel driveway opened out into a circular courtyard where I could see a concrete and colourless fountain was the centrepiece.

  The lawns, which at one time would have been mowed on a weekly basis, where now overgrown with weeds and other varieties of wildflowers. As I got closer to the fountain I suddenly began to feel quite small when I glanced up at the building which just seemed to grow larger with every step I took towards it.

  There were at least four floors and all of the small windows which lined the building from the second floor upwards had rusted steel bars crisscrossing them, obviously to stop the patients from escaping.

  After a few minutes of walking, I finally reached the fountain which reminded of the one I had seen in hell. It was made of pure concrete and depicted a female nurse holding a cross while her other hand was on the head of a distraught-looking man who I assumed was a patient of some kind.

  The fountains basin was coated with a green sludge and only a small puddle of dirty rainwater covered the bottom of it. At its far side which faced the main entrance of the building I could see someone had decided to leave their wheelchair to rot in the fountains basin too.

  After a minute or so of investigating the fountain I turned my attention back to the asylum, it's self. I’m certain any other human being would have taken one look at the building and gave some serious thought to even going near its main doors which I noticed were slightly ajar.

  In my case, I was probably the only person to grace the derelict ruins who actually had made a deal with Satan. I was probably the only one who had come with more than a notion to raid it for anything valuable.

  Of course, what I was looking for was valuable, but probably only to me and the dark lord himself. And if Pertilius was to be believed even the dark lord of hell did not fully understand the power of the old relics.

  A strange feeling washed over me as I started walking towards the heavy wooden doors which would lead me inside. It was a feeling of knowing that there was something else here for me. Not just the obvious, which would be the artefact, whatever it may be disguised as. No there was more here for me personally. Somewhere inside was information that would help me fill in the blanks about my wife’s past and hopefully, help me understand how she came to be under Satan’s control.

  A set of four, wide circular sandstone steps leads the way up to the front doors. I took each one slowly and purposefully, not only trying to be as silent as I possibly could be but also listening for anything coming from inside the asylum, such as a huge winged demon.

  I could hear nothing but the sound of birds chirping and the scuttle of tiny feet which most likely belonged to the rats which had always called the building their home.

  However, as I stepped on to the fourth and last sandstone pad my body suddenly went rigid for a brief second as a wave of electric energy coursed through my body. It was the same sensation I had suffered back in the apartment before I left to come to Muirmill and it was the same sensation I always got when the dark lord or his minions were about to appear in my presence.

  This time, I could feel my heart beating that bit faster as the electric zapping sensation subsided. The doors to the building where ajar but not open enough for me to see inside. I tried to listen for life inside and still I could hear nothing. I glanced around in all directions taking in the overgrown lawns and the depressing fountain. Nothing. Not human or otherwise.

  Yet I felt certain that there was something trying to get my attention. As sure as I felt there was something watching me as I left my apartment over an hour ago. Something wasn’t right and whoever it was, did not want to show themselves. If only there was an artefact that could zap the bastards who try to hide from me.

  I’ll need to ask Pertilius if such a thing exists. I thought, turning my back on the world and pulling the two heavy oak doors open.

  What they revealed wasn’t much more than I already expected. Before me was a large foyer which separated into smaller hallways which in turn branched off in various directions on both sides of the building. Hospital gurneys, wheelchairs, and various other stainless steel medical instruments lay scattered across the floor.

  One thing I was grateful for was the fact the daylight was able to shine inside and I could see pretty much everywhere I went. That was only a good thing considering there was possibly a Grimoyle stalking around looking for a hidden artefact.

  As I moved further inside I found it strange that even after years of being left derelict, there was still a strong and sometimes overpowering odour of bleach and disinfectant hanging in the air. It was as if even after use someone still wanted the building to be as sterile as it possibly could be.

  I stood there in the foyer unsure which direction to move in first and always listening for the sounds that would indicate something bigger than a rat was moving around the building. To my left was a small walled off area that had once been the reception desk.

  I knew there probably wouldn’t be much of anything of interest there but decided to go and take a look anyway. I had to start somewhere and if I could find something that would indicate where the records room was then it would be a good start.

  The door to the reception desk had been left hanging open, probably from the point the building was closed to the public. Inside was a long slab of wood bolted to the wall which acted as a desk. On it was a smashed up old phone and a few sheets of an admission slip strewn over it.

  On the floor, more papers had been baked into the fabric of the building. Dampness had made the fragile documents pretty much melt into the floor and even hunkering down to take a closer look yielded nothing that was legible to my mind.

  I wasn’t ready to give up, though. The building had been closed down just over five years ago, which although was a long time, it still meant that at some point the state would have forced it to upgrade and follow the same health and safety rules as any normal hospital. That meant that there had to be a map somewhere, or at the very least a floor plan for visitors to navigate their way around the five floors of human hell.

  Turning my back on the reception desk I decided to take a left down the nearest hallway. I assumed that the remaining floors would be reserved for the patients so the doctor’s offices had to be on the ground floor, or at least the important ones would be.

  Sure enough, I was a few feet down the hall when I came to a door with a bronze plaque neatly screwed to its deeply varnished exterior. The plaque told me I was about to enter the office of a Dr. Mitchell Williams. I had no idea who he was or had been, but it was becoming obvious I was going to have to do a room by room search until I found something of use.

  I reached out and tried turning the knob. I had half expecte
d it to be locked for some strange reason but there were a soft click and the door slowly swung open to reveal what was once the good doctors office.

  As I stepped inside, I noticed that it was quite a large room with plenty of daylight flooding in. A desk and high back leather chair took up most of the floor space with bookcases, once filled with medical literature no doubt, lining the walls like wooden sentinel’s watching over the doctors every move.

  The green, hard wearing carpet, was blotted with various stains of unknown origin and the smell of encroaching dampness was stronger in the confined space than anywhere else I would investigate in the building.

  One thing that caught me off guard was how neat the room still looked. The asylum had been laid bare to anyone wandering off the streets but it had not suffered the same levels of vandalism I saw in the elementary school.

  The bookcases were empty save one or two obscure medical volumes and if a computer had graced the fake pine desk it had been stolen long ago, but other than that nothing looked like it had been trashed out of spite or just for the hell of it.

  Just for the hell of it? The words resonated in my mind as I realised why the building was still in pretty good shape. The Grimoyle.

  I felt it was a safe bet that as soon as the human occupants moved out the winged demon had moved in. Or perhaps they were the ones who had emptied the place all those years ago when the city had decided it no longer had a use for the old nut house.

  What I found strange was that, if the story was true, it had been here all those years, still looking for that sacred artefact which would please their master, and they were never able to locate it.

  Surely these otherworldly monsters had some sort of magic bred into them which allow them to find holy and unholy items without too much of an issue. After all, Satan liked to boast that he knew everything about everyone, yet he had no clue about the ancient objects left behind from the original ruler of hell.