The Secret of Kolney Hatch

by Stefani Milan

  “Why don’t you walk around a bit, perhaps take a stroll outside?”

  “Alright,” I answered, keeping my head down.

  “Paul, Let’s say for the next couple weeks, you refrain from any work unless you’re absolutely needed. Let’s work on getting you well.”

  “Alright,” I agreed again.

  The thought that I allowed this place to drive me mad sickened me. No. I was not insane. I had seen the girl. Doctor Reid was trying to keep me here. I had to prove to myself I still had my sanity. But how?

  November 16, morning.—I rose groggily from my rigid bed to see some sort of object on the floor. Someone slipped something under my door while I slept. Rolling off my bed lackadaisically, I walked over to pick up the object. It was one of the files from Doctor Reid’s office. I opened the folder with caution and examined the contents. It contained the profile of a patient I had never seen at Kolney Hatch. The inmate was a male named Bradford Dudley, who was admitted because he had committed many murders of women and children in Cardiff. He was to be contained in the isolation ward.

  I tried to remember if any of the male patients in the isolation rooms resembled this man. He was large, dark haired and dark eyed. But there were no notes about his confinement or any notes about Doctor Reid working with this patient.

  Perhaps the patient died or escaped, I wondered. Then I turned the page and saw a tiny scrap of paper folded in-between the file. Only one word, printed.

  Tunnels.

  I dropped the folder as I remembered the sinister man in the hidden basement who injected me. Was this man Bradford Dudley? Was he the murderer in the tunnels? And what part did the ghost of Kolney Hatch have in all of this? I wondered who slipped this folder under my door and who wrote the note. Someone was trying to tell me something.

  I decided I had to search for the hidden passage I saw during my so-called “delusions.” I had to prove that I was not crazy. I had to find the hidden torture room. I had to leave the asylum, but first for my own sanity, I would find that girl, and I would find that hidden torture chamber. Either I was crazy, or the hallucinations Doctor Reid claimed I experienced were not delusions at all.

  thirty seven

  THE BOOKCASE

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  November 24, evening.—I searched for the tunnels for a week to no avail. I perused the corridor looking for mysterious cracks and doorways. I ransacked every closet for trap doors. I almost gave up hope and thought perhaps Doctor Reid was right about my mental instability. I would have done the same myself if someone claimed he saw ghosts and murders of which there was no evidence.

  Last evening after supper, I searched again for the tunnels. I tiptoed down the softly lit corridor, where I heard voices coming from a room directly across from a broom closet just outside an operating room in the downstairs West Wing. I had a hunch to hide quickly in the closet, and just in time, for as soon I was safely hidden and peered through the crack of the doorway, two people emerged from the room, Doctor Reid and Alice.

  They were arguing about something in low, fierce whispers. I could not understand what their conversation was about, but Alice looked terrified. Suddenly, Doctor Reid grabbed Alice and kissed her passionately.

  Alice did not soften after the kiss but folded her arms and turned her back to Doctor Reid. He held her in his arms then, and I thought I saw a small glistening tear travel down her cheek. Her petrified expression aroused my curiosity, but I stopped myself from speculating any further and waited as Doctor Reid put one arm around Alice’s shoulders and walked her down the corridor and out of my sight.

  Only a tiny beam of light shined through the fissure in the closet doorway, but I noticed a candlestick lying by my feet. I grabbed the candlestick. Thankfully, there were a few unused matches beside it. I knew that if I did find the secret passage, I would need light. I slowly crept out of the closet and continued my walk down the hallway.

  November 25, evening.—I continued my search for the tunnels, looking at the men’s ward first for any hidden cracks in the large room’s walls. The Captain was the only one in the ward—he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at me. He suspiciously observed my every move.

  “He searches and searches but what does he find?” he said in his gruff, hoarse voice.

  I did not answer him, only kept looking.

  Then in a slow, raspy voice, he said, “He must be looking for them. Yes, he is looking for them. Oh he’ll find her down there, oh he will.”

  Still I said nothing.

  “Down to the darkness, down to the tunnels,” he jabbered, but this time I stopped and turned to the Captain.

  “What do you know about the tunnels?” I asked him.

  The deranged man let out a strange guffaw, and said, “She doesn’t like visitors. She doesn’t like them.”

  “You said tunnels, Captain,” I repeated. “What do you know of them?”

  Suddenly, the demented man rose from his bed and staggered toward me with his walking stick.

  Usually his eyes were glazed over, but now they were clear and dark.

  “The ghost of Kolney Hatch lives in the tunnels underneath the asylum. Hideous specimen.”

  “Enough with the ghost. What about the tunnels?”

  “She comes out of the walls.”

  “Captain…”

  “In your room. The walls have eyes. And she’s coming for you.”

  The Captain drew closer then and whispered into my ear.

  “The darkness is coming,” he said eerily.

  I left the men’s ward and walked briskly to my room. I positioned myself on the floor and attempted to reenact the exact movements from the night I had last seen the girl in my room. I envisioned Doctor Reid and Alice helping me to my feet and leading me down the hallway. I was almost certain we made a left from my room, though my memory of that moment was so vague, I truly did not know.

  I hurried then to the children’s ward, checking for any possible openings in the walls.

  “What are you doing, Doctor Watson?” Nurse Bigsby asked me, a curious look on her face.

  “Looking for cracks in the wall,” I said, running my hand against a crack in the corner of the room.

  “May I ask why?”

  I decided to lie—I did not want Nurse Bigsby to tell Doctor Reid or Alice what I was doing or they would sedate me again...or worse.

  “Someone complained of a leak,” I lied. “All that icy rain. Said it was in one of the wards. I told them I would look into it.”

  “Oh,” Nurse Bigsby said, and though I don’t think she fully believed my answer, she did not show her suspicions.

  Madelyn was in the ward, sitting on her bed and staring. She turned her head slightly toward me.

  “Book,” she said.

  “No, Madelyn, I’m sorry. I can’t read to you today.”

  “Book,” she repeated.

  “I’m sorry I can’t,” I told her again.

  “Book!” She said again. This time Madelyn became really upset and began to cry.

  Nurse Bigsby hurried over and tried to help me calm her down.

  “I don’t understand,” I said to Nurse Bigsby, “She doesn’t usually act this way.”

  “She’s been a bit frazzled lately, Doctor Watson. I think because no one’s had time to read to her, she’s very excitable, especially when we pass the library. She loves to touch the books.”

  The library. Of course. It was the only room I hadn’t thoroughly checked. The doorway to that secret chamber had to be in the library.

  “Thanks!” I said to Nurse Bigsby.

  “For what?” I heard her call to me, as I left the room.

  Once I was in the library, I felt the books, pulling out random ones. I thought perhaps a latch lay behind one of them. When that failed, I studied the bookcase. It was built into the wall, made of walnut, and split into three sections. The middle section had two long columns with carvings of cherubs and gargoyles. I ran my hands over the carvings in
the left column, feeling the mixture of smooth wood and occasional rough edges.

  Nothing. I doubted myself once more, believing that perhaps this venture was silly. But suddenly a vague detail from one of my “hallucinations” surfaced. I remembered this bookcase and a latch on the right. I examined the column and ran my hands over a fierce gargoyle carving. The face was hideous, with pointy teeth and ears and sinister looking eyes. When I touched it, it felt loose. I pulled on the gargoyle head and heard the rumble as the door opened.

  A hidden room. This was it—the entrance to the tunnels. I just knew it. I could see only darkness. And then I smelled that musty damp odor, the same stench as the night of the storm. Now I was sure I found the entrance to the basement. I pulled the door closed and hurried back to my room to grab the candlestick.

  After lighting the candle, I carefully made my way back to the bookcase, pulled the hideous gargoyle head and opened the hidden door. The small light from the candle revealed the staircase. I lowered my foot and cautiously slipped myself into this Cimmerian gloom.

  Without the tiny light emanating from the candle, I was in a complete blanket of darkness. I had no way of knowing what was in this ominous blackness—only what I could remember from my hallucinations. I felt with my right foot for another stair. There was one there, and I leaned my hands against the wall as I carefully made my way down the winding steps. Memories of Doctor Reid and Alice leading me down these stairs that night flooded into my mind.

  After feeling my way down the wall with my free hand, I reached the bottom, or what I believed to be the bottom. I kept one sleeve over my nose to shield the awful odor of defecation. Only asphyxiating darkness lay ahead. The only sounds were the tapping of my shoes as I tiptoed down the corridor, and the disturbing sound of scampering rodents. I prayed I would not encounter anything or anyone harmful.

  The candlelight spread over the walls now, and I could see I was no longer in a hallway but had reached a hidden cellar. I trekked a short distance in the dark lower level, when suddenly my eyes widened. There, just a few feet in front of me, was a large archway that led to more darkness. The tunnels, I thought to myself. I knew then what I had to do. I had to enter the tunnel and see where it led.

  thirty eight

  THE SECRET OF KOLNEY HATCH

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  November 25, evening, continued.—I stepped through the archway and into the darkness. The candle lit a few feet ahead of me. The passageway was narrow but had a fairly high ceiling, for though I was a tall man, I could fit in the tunnel with no difficulty. I continued to hold my sleeve against my nose and progressed down the slender passage. Except for a dripping in the distance, the blackness was filled with a sinister silence. Finally, I came to a fork in the path.

  Two identical archways appeared: one to the left and one to the right. Uncertain of which path to choose, I stood for a moment contemplating my next move. For no particular reason, I chose to go left, and I continued along another long passageway identical to the first.

  Again, I reached a fork in the grave corridor, so I decided to choose the left once more. This path began with a sharp curve to the right then wound back around to the left and continued straight.

  I contemplated turning around many times. I had no idea how long these passageways continued, and if I was gone too long, I would be missed. I thought again about the ghost I had seen in my visions and the frightening man Bradford who secured me to the bed.

  Suddenly, I heard a crackling sound behind me, and impulsively, I ran further into the passageway. The corridor narrowed, and I slowed my pace. In front of me was the tall, arched wooden door. I opened it, and before me was the small stonewalled room. The torches blazed, and I saw the bed where I was restrained. The medieval weapons on the wall were not figments of my imagination after all.

  I panicked and frantically looked back and forth from the room to the darkness of the tunnels again. Everything I experienced was real: the ghost, the man, Doctor Reid and Alice, Heathcliff’s dead body on my floor, Rosalind’s words by my bedside. I was never ill with Typhoid fever. I was left here to die, saved only when Rosalind pleaded with her uncle to keep me for herself as if I was some child’s toy.

  I ran out of the room, petrified by what I discovered, but when I saw the first fork, I became confused. The tunnel looked different, so I took the one I thought would take me back to the stairs. But soon, I realized I was lost. I had taken the wrong path. I continued down the hallway going right at yet another archway and arrived at the tall oak door.

  I thought it was the same door until I opened it and realized it was a different torture room. A new stench filled my nostrils. It was the most pungent, fetid odor I had ever smelled—the smell of death. I could barely breathe. The unusually cold room caused me to shiver uncontrollably. Though the room was quite dark, I could see a clay floor and stone walls that were chipped away in some parts revealing the dirt behind the stone. I heaved as I unknowingly let the stench fill my lungs, and then I quickly covered my nose with my sleeve again. I held my candlestick high as I perused the room. There was a small, corroded wooden table with only three legs—the other leg sat on the floor beside the table. There was also a tiny rotted chair, also made of timber, by the table’s side.

  I stepped toward the table and tumbled backward nearly dropping the blazing candle onto the ground. There, on the floor, propped against the table, was a decayed human carcass. The body was intact and clothed, though tattered and stained with dried blood. I kept my nose covered as I approached the corpse. I wondered how long the body had been there. Most importantly, I wondered whose body it was.

  The cold temperature would have slowed down the decomposition process, but in the summer months the warm room would generate maggots and blowflies which would speed up the process.

  I made my way close enough to examine the body; I needed to identify this man. He was still wearing his laboratory coat, so I figured he was a doctor. I saw something protruding from his white coat-pocket. It was a small journal; I grabbed the journal quickly, careful not to touch the body.

  The journal was old and tattered. I opened it and gasped. Inside, the journal read:

  Property of Doctor Charles Wicks.

  I carefully flipped through the book and realized it was his personal diary. Though the dirt and crumpled pages made it difficult, I was able to read his final entry by my candlestick’s light.

  “My name is Doctor Charlie Wicks. My life is in danger. I tried to write to my friends—to warn them of this place, to warn them about Rosalind and Doctor Reid. My letters were intercepted. I fear I may never be able to leave now. My investigation of “the evil one” led me to find the entrance of the tunnels. But now that I know the truth about Kolney Hatch, how these hidden torture chambers are regularly used, and about the dishonest business that Doctor Reid and his niece run—that is, the recruitment of patients who are only throwaways, whose families pay large sums of money to keep them here forever, I must fear my life. I have not found out exactly how the deals are constructed—only that, even my coming to Kolney Hatch was not an accident. Someone made a deal with Rosalind to keep me here and shut me up forever. That was why I was offered this job and that was why Rosalind pretended to love me. She confessed this all to me the other night. I know now that Doctor Reid will never let me escape this place. Hannah has told me of an escape. She told me to find the ghost who will lead me through this labyrinth. I am on a journey in these tunnels to find that escape and finally be free. Hopefully Bradford will not find me first. If anyone sees this passage, then I am dead.”

  I read in disbelief. I had never met Doctor Wicks, but in that passage, I could feel his anguish and desperation.

  My only thought now was to leave Kolney Hatch. I had to reach Oscar Baker so we could send authorities to these tunnels quickly. Amy was my only hope of reaching Oscar or the authorities. I also had to speak with Hannah and learn more about what she told Doctor Wicks.

  I put t
he journal in my coat pocket and stepped away from the body. When I reached the fork again, I headed left. I had no idea how long the tunnels were, and I started to worry. I heard a clinking sound come from the direction which I should have gone, and so, in a panic, I took yet another left which led me to a square stone room with more blazing torches on the wall. This room, which appeared to be a desolate laboratory, had rows of shelves that housed jars of different body parts. The stench was intolerable, and I vomited.

  On a long table in the middle of the room was a lifeless body. It was William Wilson, and I felt overwhelmed at the sight. Rats and countless insects crawled over the body. As I hurried from one side of the room to the other, my foot stepped on something mushy, and I faltered. I grabbed the candlestick to make sure the flame did not go out. I was on my knees on the dirt floor. The ground had seemed solid and earthen everywhere else, but here, it was yielding beneath my feet. I brushed my hand against the soft dirt a few times and recoiled in horror. There in front of me was a large man’s hand protruding from the ground. I cried out in anguish. The unnatural pounding of my heart forced me to take many long, deep breaths to steady the beat. I jumped to my feet and looked around. I had a spectral feeling that someone was watching me, and I spun around with the candle to make sure I was still alone.

  Medieval weapons hung on the walls as in the other torture rooms. I grabbed a sickle from the wall and began to dig in the earth. I had to verify whose body was buried underneath that dirt.

  I don’t know how long I dug, but eventually I uncovered the rest of the body. I jumped back as I revealed Heathcliff’s lifeless face covered by maggots crawling from his eye sockets and mouth. I covered my mouth and stumbled backward toward the wall near the tiny opening in the room.

  Again, I heard a sound. Someone was in the tunnels with me. I grabbed the torch from the wall and taking the sickle, I ran through a door, opposite from which I came, and into a set of new tunnels. I could see much better with more light, though the tunnels still seemed endless. I turned right at the next fork, hoping this would take me back to the stairs, but I found myself once again outside of a tall oak door. I feared I would die in this maze. I opened the door and gasped.