Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum

by Stephen Prosapio

  She turned her gaze to Bryce, and Zach looked the other way.

  “Tech guys –Angel, Pierre and Matthew, get together and do a tech inventory. We’re going to need a lot of equipment and there’s no electricity at Rosewood. In addition to plenty of battery packs, we need to get a generator,” Zach turned to the camera, “because spirits can sap the power out of batteries.”

  Angel held out his hand to Pierre, their TechniHunter. Pierre was the only Demon Hunter with facial hair – an inverted, triangle soul patch on his chin.

  “Geeks of the world unite,” Angel said.

  “A pleasure, mate. I look forward to workin wit’cha.”

  Zach joined most of his team in a double take. The thick Australian accent shocked him. Demon Hunters had edited the show so that Pierre spent plenty of time on camera but had never uttered a word on the air.

  Determined to wrap up the introductory meeting before any foul wind steered them into even more uncomfortable waters, Zach spoke. “Sara, Bryce and I are meeting for lunch and will be planning more of the specifics. We’ll let you know more tonight or tomorrow. Any questions?”

  Matthew spoke without raising his hand. “Since we’ve got two technical guys with a lot of experience, could I help out in the actual investigations?”

  “We’ve got more investigators than tech guys, Matthew,” Zach said more sternly than he’d intended. “As I’ve told you before, next season we’ll get you more investigation time. This certainly isn’t the case for it.”

  A dejected look on his face, Matthew nodded. Zach didn’t even need to glance at Sara to know she’d probably gotten a close up of that disappointed expression.

  “Anything else?” Zach asked.

  The moment Zach saw Sashza, the transvestite Demon Hunters medium, raise her hand, he regretted ever having asked the question.

  “Zachary,” she called out in her falsetto voice, “before we go our separate ways this afternoon, might we perhaps unite in a circle so that I may bless our undertakings?”

  Zach tried to make his face stone-like to avoid showing any emotion on camera, but mentally castigated himself for not suggesting that he lead them in prayer. Now, he could not say no without offending her and the Demon Hunters. By his study of their show, Zach gathered that Sashza’s “religious beliefs,” were an eclectic combination of Buddhism, Native American Paganism and Schizophrenia.

  “I guess that would be okay.” He made a mental note to lead them in the Lord’s Prayer prior to tomorrow’s investigation.

  “All right everyone,” Sashza broadcast loudly. “Please join hands with each other and let’s all form a united circle. She extended her left hand toward Rico, the Demon Hunters Jersey-accented Lead InvestiHunter.

  Sashza grasped Ray’s hand in her only slightly smaller palm. The glare Ray gave Zach ensured he’d not be stepping into the boxing ring with his best friend again any time soon. Zach suspected Ray’s punches to his headgear might not be love taps next time. The rest of XPI complied with Sashza’s request even without their traditional grumbling. Once hands had been joined, Sashza asked for a moment of silence for all spirits— living, departed and lingering. Zach sighed as his thoughts turned to his recently passed mother. A memory flashed through his mind; one of the few remaining he held of her smiling, really smiling.

  When it came, Sashza’s alto screech startled everyone. “Gods of the heavens and gods of the stars join us here. From the gods of the earth to the gods in the sea, from the gods in the air to the gods of—”

  Sashza gasped. She looked skyward but her eyes were white. “The gods of fire!” She leaned slowly backwards and then lurched forward. Her movement was so violent that it broke Ray’s handhold. Sashza fell to the ground face first, her arms not extending to break her fall. Her chest and shoulders hit the earth squarely. Her muscular body thudded on the ground.

  One look at Bryce’s reaction convinced Zach this was not scripted drama. His new co-host had broken the circle and was rushing to her. It took both Bryce and Ray to flip Sashza over. Someone put a balled-up jacket under her head.

  “Sashza?” Bryce lightly slapped her face and caressed her forehead.

  From up close, Zach noticed for the first time how much makeup she wore to cover what was not feminine skin. Her eyes rolled around behind closed lids which fluttered a moment before reopening.

  “Sashza, what did you see?” Bryce asked.

  Her mouth opened and closed, but she didn’t speak.

  “Can someone get some water?” Zach called out.

  Sara and her cameraman swirled about them filming like war reporters on a battlefield.

  Sashza bolted upright. “Someone is going to burn for their sins!”

  “Shhhhhh. It’s okay,” Bryce said. “It’s only a vision.”

  “No. No, it’s not,” she said to him. “I cannot be a part of this. Someone’s lies are putting us all in danger.”

  Zachary’s Past—Age Three

  Beth Kalusky was halfway through a videotape of Friday’s “Tonight Show with Johnny Carson” when keys rattled outside the door of their modest duplex. Gary entered. He turned and made a point of locking the deadbolt before looking in her direction. Beth was not about to let him off the hook easily.

  She glared at him as he stood frozen just inside the doorway. “You reek of alcohol and cheap perfume!”

  Gary sighed and shook his head. “I absolutely do not.”

  “Crawling in at nearly three in the morning when you’ve got a wife and a baby is not acceptable behavior.” Beth pointed to the clock.

  Gary gritted his teeth and stared at the ceiling the way he did when he was bottling his rage. She wished once, just once, he’d let it out and show her that he cared. Show her the man he was before she’d given birth to his—

  “It was my brother’s fucking wedding, he said. “You left early.” Harsh as they were, the words came out monotone—no feeling in them. No passion.

  This isn’t the same man I married.

  “Brother’s wedding or not, you’re drunk and irresponsible. How dare you drive like that? How dare you disrespect me and your family that way!”

  “My family? My family?”

  There was a flicker of anger–quickly suppressed, but where was the passion? She knew with the turn of a screw, she could open him up. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said. “I know—sorry darling, you never promised me a rose garden…”

  “Goddamn it, Beth, enough with the melodrama. I was with my family tonight. My entire family. You’re the one who ran out of there as soon as the clock struck ten.”

  “Your son had to get home, Gary. Believe it or not, three-year olds need sleep.”

  “He was fine sleeping on the coats and blankets my sister laid out. You’re the one who bailed on family tonight.”

  “We are your family, Gary.” Her voice rose and she took a step toward him. “Zachary and I are your family!”

  Before he could respond, if he’d intended on responding at all, the room instantly turned ice cold. The vague scent of pipe wafted by, and not just any pipe smoke: Sailor Black brand. By his facial expression, Gary must have smelled it too. He exhaled. A stream of his breath looked as thick as smoke. Even on the crisp, October night, it wasn’t this cold outside.

  “What is it?” she asked, staring deeply into Gary’s eyes. She believed in the paranormal; he did not.

  “Henry. He’s here?” He uttered the words as though trying to convince himself that they were true.

  Two months prior her eldest brother Henry had died.

  The first chime of the clock struck. Its harmonious tones were still ringing when Zachary screamed.

  They bolted for his bedroom and arrived before the clock’s third chime. The toddler was standing on his bed. His eyes were wide and he reached toward the corner of the ceiling. It may have just been shadows, but the darkness stirred there.

  “But,” he said. “Don’t want come.”

  With the smell of Sailor Black tobacco
thick in the air, for a moment, Beth wondered who had been smoking in the room. She darted for her boy and snatched him in her arms.

  Gary flicked on the lights, but the darkness in the corner lingered. Gary blanched.

  A voice said, “He is my godson. It must be passed to him.”

  “Leave my son alone!” Beth said, clutching Zachary.

  “No,” Zach said, still reaching toward the dark entity. “Stay me. Stay me!”

  “Zachary.” Beth pulled his arm down. “No!”

  He closed and opened his extended hand repeatedly. “Stay!”

  He had no sooner uttered the word than the blackness swooped down at him. It disappeared into his mouth and nostrils. Zach collapsed unconscious in her arms.

  Just as quickly as the apartment had gone cold, it returned to a normal temperature. Looking at her son, Beth saw the blood.

  She screamed.

  Chapter Five

  “So has she done that before?” Zach asked, after they’d ordered lunch.

  Zach had been queasy since the events on the quad, and the aroma of rich Italian food that Zach normally adored, did nothing to settle his stomach. He was conflicted. On one hand, he was nervous that Sashza had somehow sensed the spirit housed inside his body, had somehow discovered his possession. Given her terror at whatever vision she had, Zach suspected she would have bluntly pointed him out had she uncovered his secret. On the other hand, he was anxious because she may not have been referring to his condition—which meant someone else was hiding an even more sinister secret.

  “Done what?” Bryce asked.

  “What she did at the quad?”

  “Oh, yeah, no. Well, she does get intuitions and feelings and suspicions. She’s swooned before, but I’ve never seen her as shaken and scared as she was today.”

  “She will relent and show up tomorrow, won’t she?” Sara asked.

  Bryce ripped a piece of bread from the loaf on the table and shrugged. “Might work out better for the show if she doesn’t. If our fans see that Rosewood is too creepy for Sashza. More dramatic that way.” He shoved the bread into his mouth.

  “Was that planned?” Zach asked.

  “Nnnnt mmmm.” Bryce shook his head fiercely.

  Zach continued. “I want to be up front here. Just investigating Rosewood should provide us plenty of drama. I don’t want anything manufactured.”

  “Why not?” Bryce asked.

  Zach couldn’t believe his ears. “Why not?” he echoed.

  Sara stuck her hand between them. “Bryce, what I think Zach is saying is let’s let this situation play out. We got some great footage today to start. Tomorrow, we’ll investigate the haunting and see where it goes from there.”

  “Whatever.”

  Blood rising to his face and temples already throbbing, Zach wasn’t about to back down an inch. “Not ‘whatever.’ If we’re going to work together, we work together straight up, no tricks and no backstabbing.”

  Bryce’s hands rose. “Halleluiah and Amen! I was kidding. Christ, learn to take a joke. Now, if you’re accusing me of something do it, but this isn’t a trial and it had better not be a lynch mob.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just as it was said, pal.”

  Zach had no clue what Bryce’s point was. His mounting frustration brought on the scent of Sailor Black. The smoke mixed with the smells of Italian cuisine to create an odor Zach guessed would saturate the lair of a mob boss. Although they probably smoked cigars.

  “Look,” he said, trying to clear his head. “All I’m saying is that on my show, we do things by the book. We have checks and balances to make sure our evidence is authentic. It’s reviewed independently.”

  “Checks and balances,” Bryce echoed. “Sure. I’ve seen how your audio and video reviewers authenticate evidence on your show.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong with it? Dude, that’s the difference between Demon Hunters and XPI. We don’t doubt that haunts are real. We trust our clients and help rid them of evil spirits.”

  “We do pretty much the same thing, Bryce.”

  “No, you guys walk around all high and mighty acting like you have all the answers. Well, you don’t. Pointin-fact? That ‘GrocersMart security video’ you’re all hot and bothered by?” Bryce used two fingers on each hand to make air quotes. “It’s a fake, dude. It’s nothing more than an Internet hoax.”

  Surprised, Zach said nothing.

  “Yeah, we researched it ad hominem.” Apparently unaware or unconcerned that he’d used the term incorrectly, Bryce ripped another piece of bread and waved it around as though celebrating a victory. “I didn’t want to say anything while the cameras were rolling, but anyone worth his investigative salt would have noticed that the stacks of Woods Red Firelogs, which are clearly displayed on the video, weren’t ever sold in Chicago stores. Plus, they were discontinued nationally two years ago—long before some poseur claimed that video was from the GrocersMart built on former Rosewood property.”

  Zach ignored the dig. “Okay, cool. One more myth we can debunk on the show.”

  Bryce sighed. “I told Patrizia to study the architectural blueprints, so we know the ins and outs of all the buildings’ layouts.”

  “And I’m just hearing about this now?” Zach asked. It came out much harsher than he’d intended. The scents of red sauces and sausages were drowned out by Sailor Black. His fingertips tingled. Unlike most people in an argument whose heart rates sped up, Zach’s slowed, making his thoughts distorted. “Why not first talk about it?”

  Calm down, godson.

  “Listen, Patrizia works for me—not you.” Bryce’s voice rose. “I don’t need your permission or your advice. I’ll be the one who tells my people what they will—”

  “Boys!” Sara pounded the table hard enough to cause the silverware to jingle. The restaurant hushed and many of the patrons inspected them curiously. “This isn’t a contest of whose dick is bigger or smarter.”

  Zach wasn’t shocked at Sara’s language. She wasn’t opposed to using flat out vulgarities in order to make her point. Bryce stared at her.

  “If you guys want me to pull the plug on this special right now, I will,” she said. “I’ll save the network a whole lot of money and I’ll move on to another project. I don’t need this shit.”

  Zach was pretty sure that she was bluffing, but she sure sounded convincing. He wondered if his own face had turned as red as Bryce’s had. Nearby patrons had paused their meals, stopped being coy and were just staring at them.

  “Or,” her diatribe continued, “we can all play nicely. Put aside our egos and give this project two days of intense focus. We need some good stuff. Yes, Zach, some dramatic stuff.”

  “Sara, I told you, we can’t control how dramatic our findings are.”

  “Yes, but you know this place. You’ve seen the case file— it’s ripe with legend and strange activity. People are not going to want to see a Halloween Special that merely debunks urban legends for ninety minutes. Some of the rumors have to come from authentic paranormal activity. How could it not be? The place is a former insane asylum.”

  “Former psychiatric hospital.”

  “Zach.”

  She had a point. This case had more potential for what they called in the business an “intelligent haunting,” than any case they’d filmed during their abbreviated first season; the “trial season” as Sara had called it.

  “Listen,” Bryce said, looking at Sara. “You know that I can be as good of a team player as the next guy. I agreed to use you as our producer rather than our own, and I’m cool with that. I just don’t want my team treated as an afterthought.”

  Sara fixed her steel glare on Bryce, and then alternated it on both him and Zach. “Look guys, I know the potential is here for a phenomenal show. If we do this right, the network may even give both shows two or three year deals. That doesn’t include syndication, specials, foreign rights, licensing, etcetera,
etcetera – provided neither of you fucks this up.”

  “I’m willing to let bygones be bygones,” Zach said.

  Bryce nodded. “Ditto.”

  Zach held his hand out across the table. Bryce shook hands firmly, but Zach couldn’t help but notice that the entire length of the handshake Bryce Finman never made eye contact.

  Chapter Six

  After the uncomfortable truce, things had gone moderately well at lunch—Zach even agreed to allow Bryce his infamous “BryceCam,” a tiny video camera which he wore attached to his belt buckle. It rarely contributed videos of anything except images of chaotic activity, but Zach didn’t want to make a stink over something so trivial. After lunch, he had needed to clear his head and had driven east through a few questionable neighborhoods to Pullman.

  Zach arrived at Rosewood Psychiatric Hospital just as the sun was setting. The clear autumn sky held captive peach-orange hues and illuminated Rosewood’s grounds in a peculiar glow. As Zach peered across the weed-strewn lot at the three-story asylum, he felt as if he was staring at a sepia-toned photograph. He could imagine the property as it might have been a hundred years ago: The inclined path to the brick asylum would have been well kept and welcoming. Two massive oak trees spaced forty feet apart and standing between the pathway and 115th Street may have been mere saplings when Rosewood opened. The asylum’s clock tower in the center of the wide angled L-shaped building would be sturdy instead of besieged by the elements. As opposed to having its hands stuck at 12:43, the clock would keep accurate time. Had he stood there a century earlier, the fountain in the middle of the circular driveway in front of the building wouldn’t have been cracked or damaged; water would have jettisoned into the fresh country air plummeting down into a basin pool, flowing over into the main receptacle.

  A line of trees concealed the back fence, but in Zach’s vision, the wooded area extended as far as the eye could see. Visitors, men in derbies and women wearing Victorian hats, strolled along tended garden paths near the south end of the property. Others sat on benches surrounding the orange-brick hospital—relatives hoping their loved ones would regain their sanity. The sun slinked below the horizon, the long shadows vanished, and the happy fantasy faded to gray twilight.