Seven-X

by Mike Wech

  About a week after my visit with him, I got this Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory in the mail with a P.O. Box from Dell City to return it. This thing was about fifty pages with A few hundred "Yes" or "No" questions and very repetitive, like one of those dumb ass corporate job applications.

  Needless to say, I knew who it was and what they wanted. So I filled out Haworth's MMPI and mailed it back to him.

  Three days ago I got this 'open house' invitation to come to Uphir to cover his story.

  So here I am, sitting, waiting for the answers. And now I got them. I got everything I need. I know what I have to do.

  I'm signing my Consent Of Voluntary Commitment, a Liability Release and heading into what Aida Mae calls "The Heartbeat Of Hell."

  AUDIO LOG, AUDIO LOG,

  WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 8, 2010 1:30 PM

  (Entered by Eddie Hansen, 12-8-10 at 8:30 pm with additional notes.)

  If Dell City is Back To The Future 1, and I drove back into the 1950's, then Uphir is Back To The Future 3 and my rental car must be a Delorian. The deeper I disappear into these woods the farther back in time I travel, because I just drove smack into the 1850's.

  The building before me is epic. A historical landmark from an age of mad scientists, lunatic asylums, and blood letting. A remnant lost in time, but now restored to the glory of the spirit that lives inside. A spirit or a feeling that somehow is taking hold of me. As I stand here, I am in both in awe and respect for the millions of stones laid on top of each other to create this masterpiece in history.

  Deep inside this heart of nowhere is this massive colony of Gothic Architecture, hidden between mountains, sprawled across acres of dead land, forgotten in time, but now rediscovered with my own eyes. This building is alive! I feel it. I feel its force, its power, and its majesty. I feel its breath as if the stones are ready to speak to me and tell me their story.

  Long before I was born, this place was breathing with unspoken tales of terror. I know it. I feel it. Every part of my body trembled with anticipation as I reached the massive arched doorway that would welcome me inside.

  A nurse greeted me, ordained in uniform of that golden age. It was more than by design; it was by choice. Her friendly greeting and forced smile led me to believe something was quite different here. My inquisitive nature forced me to step inside.

  As we walked down the long, cold hallway, she was silent. I could think of nothing to say to break the awkward sound of our pounding footsteps echoing down the corridor. I merely observed the architecture with reverence as I saw my breath pour out before me with each footstep. Clouds of smoky air reminded me that my body was alive and much warmer inside than my new environment.

  Soon enough, I could feel the air begin to grow warmer and the sound of a heater filled the room I was about to enter.

  "The Doctor will be with you momentarily," the nurse told me. "Take a seat and make yourself comfortable."

  And with that she left me there, in a room of wonderment, staring at the ghosts of this place. Pictures and paintings adorned the walls of people I neither knew nor ever heard of. A warrior, a philosopher, a family portrait, they were all dead now, and the only memory of them were these portraits, painstakingly painted by hand, not some digital flash of random numbers which create the instant images we see today.

  This painting was created by someone who spent endless hours observing their subject and applying precise strokes of paint in patterns to replicate what their mind said was the essence of the person who stood before them.

  And with that thought in walked Dr. Alan Haworth. Finally, I was face to face with him again. This time inside the heart of his domain.

  "Sir Richard Andrews," he told me. "The designer of this magnificent structure. We strive to maintain his spirit, to restore the glory of such a time when men would adhere to noble causes. Wouldn't you agree?"

  "Sure," I told him not fully comprehending his statement, but playing along.

  "Please come in," Haworth stated as he led me inside his personal office. It's the kind of room that is purposely designed to make you feel inferior. I took a seat at his command, a bit below him, on a plush 19th Century crimson chair, looking up across his massive mahogany desk. I had to shift myself to see him clearly past all his impressive credentials and this peculiar statue of a leopard attacking a man.

  He sat there draped in the finest linens of that bygone era. Like Daniel Day Lewis in Gangs of New York or one of those Ivory Merchant Films, Haworth was indeed a character of great magnitude.

  "Your papers please," he stated as he leaned back in his chair. I placed my signed consent forms on his desk, while he quietly observed me. To capture the moment, I pulled out my digital recorder and asked. "Do you mind if I turn this on?"

  "Not at all," Haworth responded, acting colloquial when I knew he had motives behind everything he said. He continued. "Welcome to Uphir, Mr. Hansen. During your stay you may record when given permission and at no other time. Do you agree to this?"

  "Sure," I told him, gaining the sudden realization that I had no other choice.

  "Then let's begin," He replied, staring at me as he picked up a pen and maneuvered his note pad and case file just out of my line of sight.

  I turned on my recorder and stated, "This is Eddie Hansen. It's Wednesday, December 8th, 2010. I am at the Uphir Behavioral Health Center in Uphir, Texas speaking with Dr. Alan Haworth."

  "Correct," he interrupted making sure to control the conversation and stop me when he desired. "Edward Thomas Hansen. You are of sound mind and body. You are currently not under the influence of medication, alcohol, or drugs. You enter this facility voluntarily and under your own free will."

  "Yes," I replied watching him read me beneath my answers.

  He continued, "And you will submit to my procedures for your care during your stay here. Yes. Is this true?"

  Here is where it got weird. Parts of my interview are not on this memory card. As I play back my recording, all I hear is hissing from this point on. Every once in awhile I hear this low rumble and a muffled voice breaking through the static.

  As I sat there with Haworth, I felt like there were eyes all over me. More than just the hundreds of cameras that seemed to be planted in every corner of the institution. There was a presence, or a strong feeling that someone else was in the room with us. Maybe it was Rev. Billings watching, because about five minutes later he came into the room fully informed of not just my conversation with Haworth, but of our past meeting and my present agenda.

  This guy spooked me. If Haworth was looking into me, Billings was looking through me. He looked more like a football player than some priest. He had this hulking stillness wrapped in a pinstripe suit, which sat in direct defiance to the whole 19th century theme Haworth had going on. Reverend Billings looked like he had seen it all and nothing was going to faze him. He was eyeballing me hard, trying to penetrate me deeper than my emotional or mental, cognitive capacity.

  Billings was examining my essence or spirit man as he called it. I'll be honest; I was uncomfortable in that room, with these two playing good cop-bad cop, dissecting my mind and spirit as it was a game.

  Haworth said they needed a comprehensive assessment of my total being if I was to be allowed full access to the facility, from my childhood memories to my family medical history, they drilled me on it all.

  Then Billings said I would see and hear things that I won't be able to explain or rationalize with my senses and that I needed to trust them and their procedures completely. And finally Haworth concluded that I must be fully prepared to protect myself. Protect myself. Seriously!

  At this point I was ready to pop Haworth in the head. His even toned probing of me was bashing my nerves, but I kept my cool. I listened as they continued interrogating my psyche. Sitting there, the lingering scent of sulfur burned through my nostrils, waking me to the fact that I needed to fight to maintain control of this situation and never let my guard down. So I began to dissect their strategies
and formulate my plan to get the answers I needed to break this case.

  I'm thinking, and stop me if I'm paranoid, that they have some sort of white noise generator, like inside a military facility to control any digital communication in and out of the facility, including my recordings.

  Because after about fifteen minutes of this static our conversation came back clearly. My memory now clenches onto the subject matter as I hear Reverend Billings speaking.

  "The gateway to demonic forces is a thin veil covering a realm that influences most human beings. Do you believe that a mere thought can act as a core element in the infiltration and possession of demonic hosts?"

  "No," I answered firmly.

  Then Dr. Haworth interjected with his air of superiority. "Would you care to elaborate, Mr. Hansen?"

  "No. Not really,"I told them. "I don't get myself crazy over this whole God-Devil debate. I kind of like to separate church and state. Especially in a mental institution."

  "But what if that's the place that they come together?" Billings responded.

  Knowing I wasn't going to answer to that, Haworth proceeded. "Mr. Hansen, would you say the core of evil is rooted in our experience, a chemical imbalance caused by instability in the world around us?"

  "Maybe partially true," I responded, noticing Haworth purposely thumb through a file he created on me. I could see a picture of my ex-wife with me on his desk.

  A pulse of fury rushed through me and I was ready to strike!

  He did his homework on me and now I'm his guinea pig as he smiled and asked me, "What's the worst evil you've ever committed?"

  All I could think of was the evil I wanted to commit on him. I know I had some type of response, but this recording went static again.

  As I listen back all I hear is this static buzz. Maybe it's the white noise, or they are trying to jam the frequency, or modulate the sound, because I hear a low, gravelly voice saying something. I can't understand it, because it doesn't sound as though it is English.

  I listened back a few times trying to accurately define what I'm hearing. But it's hard. I can't really make out what this voice is saying. I'll break it up into segments where the voice pauses and write it down. After repeated attempts, this is the closest I got. At least what I feel is correct.

  "Ego Animo Habitant Quemadmodum Habitarunt Hoc Recording."

  I have no idea what that means. If I break it up, maybe it will makes sense.

  Ego Animo Habitant.

  Maybe that's something about an animal, habitat? An animal's house. A living animal, maybe?

  Quemadmodum.

  That sounds weird, but that's what I think it says. I keep listening, and it's fast and sharp, the way he says it. Quemadmodum. Quemadmodum. What is that? Que means "what" in Spanish. Maybe it's what? A modem? A mad modem? A listening device? I don't know.

  Habitarunt Hoc Recording.

  The house for recording? An animal lives in this house or recording. Is that, right? Could that be right? An animal in this recording. Is that a clue to something?

  Maybe it's some software that garbles the frequency or pitch shifts, creating this effect. I don't know. It's weird, but I feel that voice is trying to tell me something.

  I need Google translate, because the more I listen the more this voice becomes distinct, almost piercing to me. I feel it deep in my chest when I hear it. It's warning me or trying to communicate a vital message.

  Ego Animo Habitant Quemadmodum Habitarunt Hoc Recording"

  Right after it finishes speaking that message the audio track from my conversation with Haworth and Billings returns clearly. I hear my own voice cracking with emotion.

  "I got him to the ground and kept kicking him. Hard. Really hard. In the head, chest, face, balls. Blood was bouncing out of him with every shot."

  I was talking about a fight I had in college in the woods behind campus. I remember now before that frequency jam, we talked about the evil within us that allows us to do things that bypass the filters of our reasoning.

  Dr. Haworth wanted to know the worst things I've done and what I am talking about now is part of this conversation.

  I see myself clearly now and I remember as I listen. It was this unconscious recollection that surfaced and seemed to push through me as I spoke. After seeing that picture of my ex, I wanted to rip Haworth's head off his shoulders for prying into my personal life, so I stopped looking at him and focused on that statue on his desk of the leopard attacking the man. I could see myself like that animal, ruthless and without conscience destroying my victim. It all seemed to pour out of me as I recalled this long forgotten attack.

  Listening again, I feel that swell of adrenaline pulsate with unrestrained violence, which accompanied my words to Haworth and Billings.

  "Then I kicked again watching his face pop beneath the jaw. Then I went for the ribs. Not letting anything up as I felt my feet cracking through him. The breath burst out of him. I didn't care if he died, but I just stopped. I stopped! I stopped and watched him struggle to get air."

  "What stopped you Eddie?" Billings inquired.

  "I don't know...I just He He... stopped defending himself and his mouth was twisted wide open. The blood pooled up around his head soaking into my shoes. And I thought... I thought maybe the cops would come, and I just... I.. Needed to leave."

  "Do you regret almost killing another human?" Haworth asked.

  "Not then, no!" I told him bluntly.

  That set something off in Reverend Billings. He got up and walked over to me stating, "Do you understand that this type of behavior may be the result of a demon working though you." Surrendering to his will, enabling his power over you."

  "I don't believe that!" I laughed, not mockingly or on purpose, just uncontrollably, which got Billings inflamed as he fired back at me. "You stated that you had no self-control while fighting and you couldn't remember everything that happened."

  That goaded me to throw it back in Billings' face. "I was drinking, man! Everyone fought. It's what we did to settle things!"

  Then Dr. Haworth chimed in arrogantly. "So was it a chemical reaction? A cerebral imbalance brought on by alcohol intoxication and external stress. An imbalance so intense and so acute that it would cause you to engage in unpredictable and violent behaviors."

  "It is what it is!" I erupted. "Two guys fighting over a cheating bitch! No devils, chemicals, or psychosis. Fucking human nature... Shit happens! I concluded, letting out a grunt while trying to compose myself in the midst of their assault.

  Taking notes of my response Haworth continued in his monotone assessment, "Do you often swear when you're upset or is this part of your normal vernacular?"

  "Is that another demon at work?" I told him using my sarcastic Texan accent to dig in my point. "Little Focker. The swear demon. Oooh," I shuddered watching the eyes of Dr. Haworth squint with anger. "According to your ass-nalysis, he's working through me right now, huh Doc. With all them devils looking for homes you boys should be in real estate."

  "I wish it were a joke Eddie," Reverend Billings said solemnly backing away from me.

  Dr. Haworth continued taking notes as an unsettling silence engulfed the room. Finally, Haworth looked up stating coldly, "Mr. Hansen, We would like you to take a few tests now, along with some precautionary vaccinations."

  "You're shitting me!" I said aloud, thinking there is no way I'm going to submit myself to this.

  After another silence, Reverend Billings quietly excused himself, submerged in deep thought and a sense of disappointment in my answers.

  Dr. Haworth casually leaned over toward me and shut off my recorder. The office door opened to reveal my security escorts.

  JOURNAL ENTRY:

  WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 8, 2010 - 9:45 PM

  I can’t believe I spent three hours being tested like a lab monkey. Height. Weight. Blood pressure. All the usual shit and I say that literally, having provided samples to the staff for review. If this is a pissing contest with Dr. Haworth he got my first
shot, in a cup no less, ready for examination.

  That bastard’s probably drug testing me to see if I’m lying about using. I’m clean! If the glove fits, you must acquit.

  No stone was left unturned in there. I got the full physical with all the bells, coughs and whistles. At least one of the nurses was kind of hot. A young blonde in her mid twenties. She didn’t say a hell of a lot, but she helped pass the time and kept me from losing my temper.

  I’m not the type who likes being poked and prodded, and I felt like I was on display the whole time. Window dressing, a guinea pig being set up for a treadmill run.

  I knew they were watching me to see how I react. It felt like Nurse Hottie was part of this experiment like she was waiting for my reaction. She’d do something ditsy, drop cotton balls, bend over, whisk her hair, laugh at my stupid jokes, then I’d catch her look over at one of the cameras like I didn’t notice. I didn’t care because she was the only one with any semblance of a personality. Everyone else robotically attended to me as if I were a lab rat. At least she smiled.

  Now my arm’s sore and I feel woozy. I’m a little nauseous, like something’s off. Maybe it was all those vaccinations.

  Or it could be the fact I’m starving and can’t eat anything. I’m forced to fast so they can take my blood in the morning. There’s not even any food in the place where they put me up.

  Speaking of which, I'm in the guest house from Psycho. I’m shacked up in this little cottage about a half mile from the institution. I guess I’m still officially on their property because I’m fenced in and the guard’s gate is about a quarter mile up the road. It keeps me isolated from the madness of the facility.

  You’ve got to see this decor. It's shabby-chic mystique. There’s a leopard print blanket over this old iron bed, which looks like the patients put together, because the cross is upside-down. The blood red pillows and sheet set are straight from the Martha Stuart Insanity Collection at K-Mart.