Castle on the Edge

by Douglas Strang

  The Vortex

  I stealthily made my way to the stairwell and slowly descended, step by step, until I landed on the first floor. The all-around silence shouted its presence there too.

  The only audible sound was the beats of my heart, they sounded like the drumming of a Salvation Army evangelist standing on a street corner, clamoring for the repent of lost souls. I slowly ambled down ever so quietly, to the closed door of the recreation room. As I put my head against the door, I listened with great concentration, not a sound on the other side, absolute silence—nothing.

  I waited by the door. I must have been there for a good half hour because my watch said five to twelve, almost midnight and still no noise or movement that I could discern from behind the door. How long is this going to take? You know what, Ramsey? You’re not going to go in there. They’ll have to come out here…and that’s when I’ll ‘boo’ them. I’m going to get the last laugh, not them.

  Then I had an epiphany. I dialoged to myself in a soft spooky whisper.

  “I have it. I know what I’ll do. The trap panel. Yes, the trap panel at the second-floor nurses’ station. It opens to the center of the recreation room ceiling; it opens on to it from the second floor nurses’ station. Yes, that’s it. Of course that’s it. And that’s what I’ll do.”

  My whole being became charged with devilish energy. A trap-sliding floor panel was installed when the building was converted into the sanitarium so that there could be both full view and sound of patients’ activities to back up the floor personnel in the rec. room during various events. My little flashlight was growing ever so dim. There wouldn’t be much time left before the battery would die and the light gone out completely…maybe ten minutes at the most, if I’m lucky. So with what little light remained, I sprinted down the hall to the stairwell. The effect of the sedative had worn off. I ascended by skipping up every other step until I got to the second floor, then quickly headed straight to the nurses’ station; it was centered in the middle of the second floor. The six by eight-foot panel was positioned right in the middle of the station itself and it was surrounded by three concentric levels of iron bars, like a bull’s-eye. It correlated exactly to the center of the first-floor recreation room directly underneath.

  I looked at my watch; it was now exactly twelve midnight. The panel was only an inch thick so I lay down on it with my ear tightly pressed against the wood…listening, for an inkling of movement, not a sound.

  They’re not going to win by scaring me; I’m going to win by scaring them. I’m going to win this cat and mouse game because, I’m the cat and they’re the mouse, or should I say mice...hah-hah—the rats. I know what I’ll do. I’ll go to the linen closet and get some bed sheets, tie them together…let’s see, three should be enough, no, four…because I need at least forty feet to climb down.

  There’s a forty-six foot drop from the ceiling to the floor in the rec. room. I knew that because I’d measured it before. Yes, four should do it, I thought, that would give me forty feet, because each sheet is ten feet long, and I would have a couple of free feet to land myself on the floor from the end of the last sheet, if that. I would be able to anchor the end of the top sheet by tying it around a corner of the lowest bar of the circular railing around the panel; it’s less than one foot high off the floor.

  I’ll wait for a couple of minutes then I’ll gently slide open the panel, lower the knotted sheets and climb half way down. Then I’ll start swinging back and forth like Tarzan…yes, screaming like a goddamn monkey…hah-hah…that ‘ll fix ‘em. The joke will be on them…not me, not me. Hah-hah-hah.

  Everything was ready to go…four bed sheets tied together, one end securely fastened on to a corner of the lowest cross rail encircling the floor panel. The light from my flashlight was all but dead but I had enough to see the lever on the trap door. I made sure I had my home-made rope in my hand so I wouldn’t have to grope for it in the dark. Then I lifted the latch, turned off the all-but-extinct light so it couldn’t be seen by all the jokesters from down below, and put it aside.

  I commenced, slowly, ever so slowly, and ever so quietly, sliding the panel back. I was in complete darkness now and had to stage my movements very skillfully, and carefully, in order to not accidentally fall through the gaping hole into the black abyss below. Foot by foot I lowered my knotted sheets until there was no more slack.

  I was ready to descend and give them all the surprise of their lives. I thought to myself excitedly about the revenge I was going to exact upon those devils for what they’d done to me. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

  My adrenalin was spilling over as I took hold of the line. Down I went…hand under hand, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and twenty. Then I stopped.

  There I was, hanging in space with a twenty-six-foot drop to the floor. I’d passed the point of no return now. I couldn’t see the floor or anything else below me, not to mention above me…or beside me. It was like my eyes were closed tightly, even though they were wide open. The perspiration on my hands was causing my grip to falter. With what strength I had left, I began swinging…back and forth, building a horizontal momentum of about ten feet, I think. Then I went into my Johnny Weissmuller routine. “Ah-eh-ah-eh-ah-eh-ah-eh-ah…I gotcha.” I shouted, “I gotcha. You all didn’t get me. I got you. The joke’s on you…hah-hah.” I went into such a frenzy I forgot where I was and what I was doing. I lost my grip on the sheets and free fell twenty-six feet, straight down to the hardwood floor below. As I lay there in the middle of the rec. room, in the blackest of blackness, I must have lost consciousness for a few seconds because I was completely disoriented from the hard fall. My legs had taken the brunt of it, I know, because when I tried to get up, I couldn’t move them. In fact, my lower body was completely paralyzed. Then an ominous tingling sensation started going through both legs simultaneously which quickly transformed into pain. The pain grew stronger and stronger until I was writhing with it.

  “All right, the joke’s over, I’m hurt, I think I broke both my legs, I can’t move and I’m in terrific pain, help me.” I screamed, franticly…pleadingly. I was answered back with silence. “Please, help me. I’m badly hurt. Where is everybody? Oh my dearest Mary, where are you? Are you all right? I need you. You need me. We need each other, dearest. I love you.” Mary didn’t come. Nobody came. I was all alone. This is impossible, I thought. They have to be here. Mary has to be here.

  “Where are you, Mary? Mary-Mary-Mary.” I begged. No Mary, no one, no sound, no nothing. I lay on my back staring up into the darkness, seeing only the darkness, on the floor of the recreation room, where everybody was and now nobody is. I might as well have been in a grave. Strangely enough the pain was subsiding. I felt as though I was being anesthetized…yes, anesthetized. As I gazed up, I noticed something hovering, floating, above me, on my left side. I discerned two objects that appeared to be like marbles, yes, two marbles with the same design and color. They weren’t round like regular marbles but more almond-shaped. The spheres were a glowing opaque white with round black centers inside.

  The black ones seemed to be more or less translucent. Then I saw another pair moving into me from the right. They moved closer to the first pair, but the inner spheres were blue in that pair. Then both pairs were directly over my head and came closer and closer to me until they were about six inches directly above my eyes; and then, all of a sudden, each set suddenly jetted away from each other; one set moved to my right side, and one set moved to my left side.

  What is this? Is it a dream…a nightmare? Wait a minute. I know what they are now, I know what they are. They’re eyes…like Dudley said he saw in the stairwell. Now they’re watching me, but whose eyes?

  The horrific pain in my legs was virtually gone and replaced with numbness. Then numbness was filling my whole body. I couldn’t move my legs at all and could barely move my arms; it was like I had heavy weigh
ts attached to them…anchors. Then total numbness captured my entire body and I couldn’t move anything at all, except my lips. When I tried to speak, however, I couldn’t make an audible sound. All I could do was mouth, “Help me. Help me.”

  The eyes were over my head again; then they moved closer to me. They were dropping…closer, closer, and closer. My racing mind was trapped in my inert body. Even my feeble mouthing was rapidly waning until I couldn’t mouth anything at all. Now, it was getting harder to hold my own eyes open; they wanted to close. I managed to keep them open with all the strength I could generate; but it was getting harder, and harder, and harder.

  Although I couldn’t make out the dimensions of my environment, I felt the sensation of motion, a steady progressive whirling motion, in a clockwise direction, I think. All I could actually see were the eyes, those two pairs of eyes. Then another pair appeared but I couldn’t tell what color they were because I was fighting to keep my own open. I was losing the battle though. Then the new pair of eyes moved in and locked on to my own struggling-to-keep-opened eyes. Are they green?

  They rested no more than one inch above me. They weren’t detached like the other ones. They gazed on me, giving off a cold draft, with an aura of vengeance. The spinning excelled while the other eyes moved closer and closer to my face; then they moved farther away. Now, all the eyes themselves commenced to spin as my own eyes were locking up. The last thing I saw were those six eyes…spinning, spinning, spinning…faster, faster, faster. Then they all transformed into concentric circles…whirling, whirling, whirling…into a layered spiral. How did I get back up to the second floor? Then they merged into one circle; it moved higher and higher, wider and wider, while I felt as though I were falling, free falling down…deeper and deeper…faster, faster, faster, deeper and deeper…d-e-e-p-e-r…a-n-d…d-e-e-p. I lost consciousness.

  The Other Side of Bedlam

  Doctor Calloway: “The pupils are starting to contract. He will return to his catatonic state soon, it always happens that way and I don’t expect the outcome to change this time either.

  Nurse Holden: “Shall I inject him now, Doctor Calloway”?

  Doctor Calloway: “Yes, Nurse Holden.”

  Nurse Holden: “There. Cyrus Ramsey will soon come alive. I’ll be at the Nurse’s station until then.”

  Doctor Calloway: “I wonder what she meant by that strange comment?”

  Doctor Lederer: “I thought it a curious thing to say as well, however, let’s put that aside. So this deep-rooted psychosis of Mister Ramsey is repetitive?”

  Doctor Calloway: “Yes. It happens once a year, and at the same time. It always begins on October 30th and ends on November 1st.”

  Doctor Lederer: “Does it commence and terminate at the same hours as well?”

  Doctor Calloway: “The duration of Patient Ramsey’s psychotic dream per se is perpetually the same; however, it’s predicated on when it starts. In other words, it will commence on the evening of October 30th, usually anywhere from five to seven p.m., and last forty-eight hours, always forty-eight hours to the minute. You see, the exact time it ends is based on when it begins; but it’s always exact.”

  Doctor Lederer: “Very interesting.”

  Doctor Calloway: “Cyrus Ramsey was admitted to this very sanitarium seven years ago, exactly seven years ago the day before yesterday. The date was October 30th, 1930. Also, it happened to be our first year in operation. By a strange coincidence or maybe not so strange, but quite bizarre, none the less, it was precisely one year to the day that he murdered his identical twin brother Alex, on October 30th, 1931, when it really all began. The court judged him criminally insane. There was no trial; that’s why he’s still here. I’m glad that you were able to come, Franz, and see for yourself.”

  Doctor Lederer: “As you know, Niles, Alex was a student of mine. I believe he would have been a fine psychiatrist, had he lived. He used to talk to me about his family, particularly his brother, Cyrus. Alex told me when they were kids in Oklahoma, about ten years old, I think he said, they were playing by an old abandon dried-out well. Cyrus decided he wanted to look inside it. When he leaned over the edge, he lost his balance and fell head first to the bottom; Alex told me it was at least an eighteen-foot drop.

  “Immediately after the accident, he ran to fetch his father. About fifteen minutes passed by the time the father and son came back to the well with some rope. Alex and his father securely tied one end of the rope to an adjacent tree, and the father climbed down into the well while Alex watched to make sure the rope wouldn’t loosen from its anchor. When his father was at the bottom, he could barely breathe. In fact, he had to climb almost half way back up in order to inhale a couple of deep breaths, then hold the last one, go back down and rescue his unconscious son Cyrus.

  “If Alex weren’t there, both father and Cyrus surely would have perished, because it was Alex who not only pulled his brother out first as his father was losing his grip, but he then had to help his father out as well, because the father, was beginning to falter, even though he was already at the top of the well, and without the weight of his son. Remember, the father was clutching the inert boy, as well as pulling himself; so he was severely weakened as a result of the strain, and of lack of oxygen. It’s a miracle Cyrus survived at all.”

  Doctor Calloway: “Yes, I know the story. And in addition to oxygen deprivation, young Cyrus received an acute concussion on the crown of his head, from the head-first fall to the bottom of the well. It’s amazing that alone didn’t kill him; and no bones were broken, probably because of his young age. By the way, did you know the accident happened on October 30th, 1920, around five p.m.? Both boys were ten years old then. And Cyrus was in a coma for forty-eight hours. He came out of it on November 1st, at five o’clock, p.m. the same number of hours his ‘annual’ psychotic dream lasts.”

  Doctor Lederer: “However, Alex never told me his brother Cyrus, was his identical twin…the likeness, it is incredible. Did the dream actually start the very next year after the accident?”

  Doctor Calloway: “No. However, after the accident, the boy’s personality rapidly changed. He became confused and did poorly in school, whereas his brother Alex excelled in all his subjects; and he was very popular with his fellow students. Cyrus wasn’t. Both boys were in the same one-room schoolhouse class. Their teacher always lauded Alex as a sterling example of what a pupil should be and constantly criticized Cyrus…and always in front of the other kids in the class. And everyone made fun of him, including his own brother, Alex…at the time.

  “Even at home, Cyrus’s parents and other siblings would badger him when he would bungle something while doing his share of the chores, for example. None of his family, or anybody else, for that matter, took any consideration with regard to Cyrus’ horrible accident as the cause of his problems. One would think they’d be grateful he survived at all. And as you could well imagine, Franz, the poor boy became moody, morose, and difficult.

  “As the years passed, he developed a deep jealous resentment for his model twin brother Alex, to the point of disassociation with reality. Although Alex would try to make amends for his earlier teasing, Cyrus wouldn’t forgive him.

  “After Alex graduated from the University of Zurich at the young age of twenty, he arrived here to take on a position as an associate psychiatrist with me at this very sanitarium. Only twenty years old. That was in 1930. I wouldn’t have taken on someone so young were it not for your letter of recommendation.”

  Doctor Lederer: “Alex was a highly gifted student. He was only sixteen when he came to Zurich. He won a four-year scholarship that paid for his trip and studies at our university. He was the youngest student I ever had.”

  Doctor Calloway: “I know. And it was because of Alex I permitted Cyrus to be committed here, as his own family could no longer handle him and of course they never would have been able to afford the cost to put him in a private sanitarium. We put him on a regimen psychoanalysis and electrical shock treatment and ch
emical sedation. Of course he blamed Alex for his condition and for having him ‘locked up’ as he would say, and taking his life away. During his first year here, he brooded with anger, an anger that turned into hatred for his successful young psychiatrist brother Alex, who was only trying to help him. At the same time Cyrus created his own world, with delusions of grandeur, until one day he completely snapped. That was on October 30th, 1931.

  “On that fateful day, while on the first floor, in the dining room, he walked into the kitchen, unobserved by any staff personnel, and managed to get hold of a kitchen knife. It was the dinner hour, at five p.m. With the knife hidden under his gown, he, nonchalantly, walked up to the second floor nurse’s station, knowing full well that Alex and Mary would be there…alone. You see, he knew everyone’s schedule; so he plotted everything out well before hand. So when Cyrus saw them together, bodies tightly embraced, faces with expressions of ecstasy but eyes closed, mouths opened, lips stretched, tongues locked in such a contorted mesh, he was not even able to tell one from the other. He saw the exhibition of passion again, as he had many times before. It always enraged him to a level of madness that would make chaos seem calm, but this time he was going to do something about it. Alex and Mary didn’t notice Cyrus, who by now was behind them. Mary was in front of Alex…but again, she didn’t see him, behind Alex.”

  Doctor Lederer: “So at this point, Alex is literally between Mary and Cyrus?”