Asylum: The Afterlife investigations #1

by Ibsen, Ambrose

  Skeptic though I was, I'd heard that voice on the phone last night, and from those cryptic words I'd taken away one clear message: Stay the hell away. If, as I'd spent the night hoping, this whole asylum thing was one big prank on Dave's part, then taking students there would be a waste of our time. And if something strange really was happening there—if something supernatural was actually afoot, well, I'd gotten my fill of it on the phone.

  “I'll think about it, but we should see what else comes down the pipeline,” I pressed. Putting out my cigarette, I stepped back into the kitchen, where the air was scented with fresh coffee. I took a glass mug from the cupboard and hit the plunger on the french press. “Maybe the next tip will be even better than this.”

  Elizabeth wasn't having it. “Professor, look... I know you don't want to get too buddy-buddy with students, OK? But if you're going to be advisor to this club, then you're going to have to step up. We should at least go and see the place, find out how we might go about touring it. And... seeing as how we're on break now, I have nothing but time. Please, let's go and visit the place. If we don't, I'm going to drive myself crazy over here!”

  I sighed into my cup, the coffee-scented steam rising up into my nostrils and giving me a slight jolt of alertness. “I'll think about it,” I said. “In the meantime, enjoy your break, Elizabeth. We'll have enough time to hammer out all of this club business when classes start back up.”

  “Well...” She paused uncomfortably. “Here's the thing.”

  Oh, good, I thought. A “thing”.

  “See, we're starting this club a bit late in the semester. In order for you to be paid a bonus, this has to be a semester-long club,” she explained.

  I set my teeth against the rim of my mug, stifling a curse. “So, what? You bamboozled me? Why didn't you say that before I signed the damn form?”

  “No, see, it's not too late for you to collect the bonus! We're just going to have to make up for lost time is all. In order to meet the criteria for a true campus organization, we have to hold a minimum of twenty meetings. That's it! Usually we'd spread them out to once a week and fill out the whole semester nicely. Instead... we'll just have to cram, do smaller meetings twice a week. It'll all work out, but that means that we need to get started now. If we get planning and scout this place beforehand, we'll be all ready to launch the club the minute classes start back up. See what I mean?”

  I stomped my way over to my laptop, firing it up and scrolling through the university's policies. It took me a few angry minutes to track down the criteria she was talking about, and when I did I groaned. “If I'd known this before signing I'd have told you to take a hike.”

  Either oblivious to my anger or unfazed by it, she kept on. “Let's go and see it! Drive by, at least. Maybe there will be someone working there who can put us in touch with the owner. Or, if we're really lucky, it'll be totally abandoned and we can just enter without anyone's permission!”

  “Sure!” I replied, mimicking her excitement. “And maybe, if we can avoid all of the asbestos dust, we'll be lucky enough to make it out with a dose of Tetanus!

  “Come on, professor! We have to get working on this!” she pleaded.

  “I'll call you back,” I said with a grunt, ending the call.

  Taking a deep breath, I held my mug between my palms and closed my eyes.

  What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

  9

  I spent the bulk of the day in my robe, sitting in front of the computer, reading about Chaythe Asylum. When I could no longer ignore the rumbling in my gut around two in the afternoon, I dug into my meager store of groceries and enjoyed half a pint of ice cream at the computer, as well as a handful of Pringles that were a few months past their sell-by date.

  Whatever. They didn't taste off.

  Now, where to begin with all of this asylum stuff?

  Chaythe Asylum was first opened in 1890. It was built by the architect Samuel Whitcomb, and was designed to hold roughly 700 patients.

  During the height of its operation however, as many as 1500 patients were known to be committed there.

  The grounds included rooms for the staff, dedicated areas for electro-convulsive and hydro therapies, a courtyard where patients could enjoy the outdoors, a full-service kitchen and cafeteria, laundry facilities, as well as three different wards where patients were housed according to the severity of their illness. Aside from these three adult wards, there was a smaller section for children added in the 1920's, located in a separate building which had been only recently torn down.

  It remained open for 99 years, until in April of 1989, the State of Ohio, after a lengthy investigation, deemed it unfit for patients and shut it down.

  Why, you ask?

  Well, let's just say I had trouble keeping all of the reasons for its closure straight. There were a lot of them, and it's no small miracle that the asylum remained in operation as long as it did.

  In the 1950's and 60's, the busiest decades in the asylum's history, rumors began to circulate about the alleged physical, verbal and even sexual abuse of patients by the staff. The authorities did investigate these claims, and it appears that a couple of staff members were let go, but nothing major came of the allegations. Next up, in the 70's and even into the 80's, there was talk of unethical experiments being done on certain of the patients. When the asylum closed in '89, some former patients came forward and claimed to have been tortured or mistreated whilst taking part in obscure, seemingly pseudo-scientific treatments. Evidence was found of certain experimental drugs on the premises, and the medical license of at least one doctor—a Dr. W. R. Corvine—was revoked by the State.

  Oh, and add to that list the “Third Ward Incident” of 1989. That was what really did it in. The deaths of two workers and three patients—four, if you include the killer—turned a lot of heads and brought the authorities down hard. On March 28th of that year, during a mysterious power outage, a patient living in the third ward—that intended for the most serious cases—escaped from her room and went on a killing spree, armed only with a small meat cleaver she'd smuggled out of the asylum kitchen. Among the dead was an orderly, a nurse, and three patients who'd been staying in the first and second wards. Others were injured in the rampage.

  From what I was able to gather, the killer patient, a young woman, died before the lights came back on. Whether she died by her own hand or was killed in the confusion is uncertain, however when power was restored to the asylum, she was found on the floor of the main lobby, where she was presumed to have attempted an escape into the outside world. Though the authorities in charge of the investigation did not name the killer, someone affiliated with the asylum leaked to the press, naming the murderer as “Enid Lancaster”, a 28 year old patient.

  Patients were moved to new, more modern facilities all over Ohio due to the closure. Ever since, the hulking building, situated on a sprawling acreage near the Ohio-Michigan line, has sat vacant. Throughout the 1990's, when the land had still been owned by the State, there'd been talk of demolishing the compound. Then, in 2001, ownership of the site changed hands. From what I was able to gather, it'd been picked up by a local developer for dirt cheap. There'd been a small uproar in 2004 when, speaking on a local news show, this developer had made known his desire to renovate the Chaythe Asylum and turn it into a luxury hotel. People in the area were incensed, thought such a project tasteless considering the property's sordid history, and there were murmurs of a boycott of the developer's other ventures until—in the winter of 2006—the asylum was sold to a new owner at a pitiable sum.

  The current owner, unless things had changed in the past ten or so years, was a man by the name of Hugh Blake. Blake hadn't shared with the press his plans for the site. Of particular interest to me was the fact that, in 2012, Blake had allowed a group of ghost hunters from the University of Toledo to visit the asylum for an in-depth tour. I stumbled upon an old social media post discussing the arranged visit, but was disappointed to find that the ghost h
unters had never made it inside.

  According to the Toledo Blade article I found, the group of five UT students, crammed into a Honda Civic, had gotten pulverized by a semi-truck on their way there.

  The obituary made for a depressing read, though I found in the whole thing a sort of silver lining.

  This Hugh Blake character, current owner of the asylum, didn't seem to have a problem with student organizations touring his property. That was a good sign.

  I started combing the web for more about the owner and, following some leads off of his LinkedIn profile, I happened upon a phone number for an enterprise he owned in town. It was a massage parlor and day spa, and the chatty twenty-something working the reception proved pliable once I convinced her that I wasn't a creep or solicitor. I took down her boss's business number and called it a day.

  I put on a can of vegetable soup for dinner and spent some time watching TV. The usual shows were on. I flipped past Wheel of Fortune, a rerun of Ancient Aliens—though not before wondering if Dave Thackeray was tuning in to this one—and settled on the evening news. It was all the same shit, of course; stocks were down, trouble brewing abroad, government scandals. I sat down in front of the TV and slowly ate out of the pot, flipping through the channels until I happened upon an old Boris Karloff film. The Mummy.

  I was nearly done with my soup and considering a call to Elizabeth when something caught the corner of my eye and sent me scrambling to my feet.

  A house centipede.

  Boasting what looked like a thousand legs, the pest charged across the carpet like a bullet, pausing just long enough, I wagered, to watch me freak out. I'm not much for bugs, and this type in particular gives me the heebie-jeebies. Once, as a teenager, I'd woken up one morning with one of these things tangled in my hair. Since then, I'd never been able to look at one the same way.

  I jumped towards it, slipper in hand. The rubber sole met the floor, but the beast escaped, speeding towards the wall and disappearing into a seam beneath the molding. I shuddered from head to toe at the thought of it running riot in my apartment, and only then did I notice the trail of tomato-based broth I'd left all over the carpet in my fright.

  Son of a...

  I dumped the remainder of my food in the sink and, after waiting several breathless moments for the insect's return, decided I'd had enough of the apartment. It was time for me to get out, to breathe some fresh air and see another human being, face-to-face. Dressing as quickly as possible I went real heavy on the Acqua Di Gio and stepped out, phone in hand.

  “Professor?” answered Elizabeth as I locked my door and hustled down to the street.

  “Yeah, it's me. You free? I was thinking I might run by the campus Starbucks, if you want to talk. I picked up a few things about that asylum that I think you're going to want to hear.”

  10

  I was half-way into a latte macchiato when the door opened and I turned from my corner spot to catch Elizabeth Morrissey on her way in.

  Elizabeth and her douche of a boyfriend, Jake.

  They sauntered over, Elizabeth bubbly and smiling in an orange jacket that complimented her clementine-colored hair, and Jake looking red-faced and frowning. I stood, pulling up two chairs from a nearby empty table, and then returned to my drink. “My,” I said, brows arched in mock delight, “two companions for the price of one! Must be my lucky day.” I nodded to Jake, who fixed me in his stern gaze. “Aren't you supposed to be back home for the break? I seem to remember you mentioning that you wouldn't be around.”

  He placed his hands—likely balled into fists—into the sagging pocket of his navy blue Moorlake University sweatshirt and said, “I changed my mind. You have a problem with my being here?” He leaned forward a little bit, like he was inviting a challenge, but Elizabeth talked over him almost immediately.

  “What did you learn about the asylum?” she asked. “Honestly, since we last spoke, I've been reading up on it myself. All kinds of articles out there. It looks like a spooky place.”

  I took a long sip, leaving a little dollop of steamed milk sitting on the tip of my nose that I pretended not to notice, and which earned me a laugh from the girl. I was willing to monkey around with her a bit—anything to get the lunk worked up. He looked away from the table, but not before rolling his eyes. “You looked into it too, huh?” I sighed. “Well, then you likely know as much about it as I do. Or, close to it.”

  We took some time unpacking what we knew of Chaythe Asylum and its terrible history. We both knew about the so-called “Third Ward Incident”—it was more or less impossible to read up on the place without stumbling upon mention of that grisly morsel. We exchanged facts about the doctor who'd lost his license there for supposedly administering experimental drugs, and she mentioned an incident I hadn't encountered in my own reading—the drowning of a visitor, a ten-year-old boy, in the pond outside the courtyard.

  Our info matched up rather well, and I was pretty impressed that she'd kept pace with me. “If only I could get you to study Chaucer this hard!” I remarked. There was one thing, it soon became clear, that she hadn't looked into however. “Now, here's something I haven't heard you mention. The owner of the place is a guy named Hugh Blake. Supposedly he invited some student ghost hunters from Toledo into the asylum a few years back, which tells me that this guy probably won't mind us poking around.” I drew out a slip of paper from my wallet, the one I'd scratched Blake's phone number on. “It took some doing, but I managed to get ahold of his number.”

  Elizabeth's eyes lit up, the hazel irises looking shimmery in the Starbucks mood lighting. “Whoa, really? That's great! And what did he say? Are we invited?”

  I withdrew the slip, tucking it into my breast pocket. “Well, I haven't actually called yet...”

  All the while, Jake had been doing his best to ignore us. He'd gotten up to use the bathroom half-way through our asylum talk and had returned with a pair of iced teas, one of which he handed off to Elizabeth. Giving his cup a shake, he sat back and tried to play it casual, looking anywhere but in my particular direction.

  “You came back in a good mood,” I said, pointing at him with my pinkie. “What'd you get up to in that bathroom, huh? Nothing indecent, I hope. That's not what public bathrooms are for.”

  He told me to go fuck myself without actually speaking a word and then turned to Elizabeth. “Are we done yet? Let's get out of here.”

  “Not yet.” Elizabeth set the iced tea on the table, the wrapper still covering her straw. “Well, why don't we call him?”

  “Right now?” I asked. “No way. It's late. Who knows what the guy is even up to. We can call him tomorrow, maybe.”

  Working over her lower lip until it was red as a cherry, Elizabeth shook her head. “At least leave him a voicemail!”

  “No, really, I'll call him tomorrow. It won't kill us to wait another twelve hours.” I dropped my cup into the nearest wastebasket, then continued. “I think it was a productive day as far as this thing is concerned. I just wanted to share what I'd found with you.” Grinning, I added, “Wouldn't want you to feel out of the loop again.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Well, it was stupid for you to go to that radio station alone! You should have asked me to come along. I'd have loved to go!”

  I nodded to Jake. “Geeze, she doesn't know how to let things rest, does she? How do you live with it?”

  If he found any amusement in my joke at all, he did his absolute best to hide it, sucking on his tea like his life depended on it.

  “Well, we need to do something,” said Elizabeth, looking down at her phone. “It's early yet, and this is exciting! Why don't we visit the asylum? Drive by it, I mean?”

  At this suggestion, both Jake and I sat up. “What? No, no way.”

  “Without permission?” asked Jake.

  “I'm not suggesting we go inside,” continued Elizabeth, draping her hair over one shoulder and running a few fingers through it. “I just think it would be cool to see it up-close. You know? Drive past it.�
��

  Driving up to an insane asylum that'd been shuttered since the 80's didn't seem too cool to me. I'd seen dozens of pictures of the place already while researching; until we decided to reach out to Hugh Blake and arrange for a visit, I felt I'd seen enough of it to last me a while. And as I sat there, thinking about everything I'd read, and about the strange call I'd listened to the night before, I wondered—not for the first time—if going there at all was even wise. There could be something waiting there for us, I theorized. Just what might lie in wait was impossible to say, but the creepy call that'd ruined my good night's sleep was enough to make me second-guess the entire operation.

  Tugging on Jake's sleeve, she tried appealing to him. “If the professor doesn't want to go, then why don't we take a trip out there tonight?” she asked. “Just the two of us?”

  There was conflict in the young jock's eyes. On the one hand, he'd have loved to leave me out of the whole affair, to snub me. On the other, he clearly had no desire to visit the asylum. Nevertheless, if he mirrored my reticence too much, he ran the risk of agreeing with me, which was unthinkable to him.

  I defused the situation, standing up to stretch. “We should wait until tomorrow, during the day,” I said. “Driving out there at night wouldn't do us much good. We'll be able to see the building much more clearly in the sunlight.”

  Elizabeth wasn't going to give in. Standing up and bringing Jake to his feet with her, she shot me a sidelong glance, her rosy lips parting in a grin. “What? Are you guys scared? Is that why you don't want to visit the place tonight?” She was hoping to bait us into it by preying on our masculinity.

  I, for one, wasn't going to fall for a schoolyard trick.

  Jake was pretty keen to dismiss even the barest hint of cowardice and promptly shook his head. “No way, it has nothing to do with being scared,” he shot back, a little too defensively. “It's a big, empty building. What's there to be scared of?”