The Secret of Kolney Hatch

by Stefani Milan

  “Leave us alone,” I shouted, but she did not respond. She was pale and chalky, but to me she seemed so tangible.

  Maybe the ghost of Kolney Hatch was just a girl banned to the tunnels of the asylum for eternity. She must be alive; she appeared to be breathing. But then, why not leave, why not be free of this torture?

  She was holding a small, sharp dagger. Bonnie seemed frightened, but I was curious and needed to approach her.

  I stepped in front of Bonnie who still held tightly on to George. But the girl did not strike. I was surprised, for as I locked eyes with her for a long moment, there was not the anger or hatred I thought I would see.

  The girl lifted her hand and pointed toward our lit candle.

  “What do you want with it?” I asked.

  Tears welled in the girl’s eyes now, and she pointed behind her in the direction we were running.

  “Is there an escape? You’ll lead us there?” I said to her. I seemed to understand what she was trying to say.

  She nodded her shawl-covered head.

  “Why are you helping us?” I asked, becoming weaker and weaker by the minute. “Tell me.”

  The girl removed her shawl slightly to uncover her mouth, and both Bonnie and I recoiled in horror.

  Someone had sewn the girl’s mouth shut. Who would do such a horrific thing? I hobbled closer to her, watching the tears fall from her green eyes.

  I quickly investigated her mouth. There was a small opening—someone had been feeding her. This procedure had not been recent since there was significant scarring, and it appeared to have been done more than once. The girl looked like she was in her early twenties, and I wondered how long she had been this way. I was filled with pity; I needed to help her.

  I handed her the candle. My pity led to trust, and as she turned to lead the way, Bonnie, George, and I followed closely. The cold, dark corridors were filled with thick smoke now. We covered our noses with the blankets. Luckily, I brought an extra blanket which the girl took willingly. We continued following the candle light when I heard a faint noise behind us. I knew Bradford was chasing us, but I hoped we had enough of a head start.

  My body began to shake; I knew I was going into shock and struggled to block out the excruciating pain.

  “They keep her prisoner here,” I told Bonnie. The girl was a prisoner just like Agatha. Agatha. I’d forgotten about her. “Wait.”

  The girl turned around to look at us, probably wondering why we stopped.

  “There was another girl,” I said breathlessly, “Kept prisoner in these tunnels, just like you. Her name is Agatha. You’ve seen her?”

  The girl nodded slowly.

  “Can we get her to safety as well?”

  The girl nodded again.

  Suddenly, I heard Bradford close behind. I looked at the girl.

  “Go! I’ll hold him off,” I yelled to them, but no one moved.

  “I mean it. Get them out of here!” I screamed, and suddenly the girl was running down the hallway with George and Bonnie following.

  Bradford swung the mace at me, and I moved just fast enough for it to slam into the wall beside me, a little too close this time. I wished I had anything to fight back, but I could barely move, much less fight.

  “No one leaves Kolney Hatch,” Bradford’s sinister voice said. I could only dodge Bradford’s swing so many times. Eventually he would hit me. Only a dim-light shown in that corridor, but I could see a shadow moving toward us. It couldn’t be the girl.

  Ca-thunk!

  Bradford screamed, but didn’t falter. He was still swinging the mace, only this time at the person who had just sliced him in the back with a halberd.

  Alice.

  Bradford hit Alice sending her with such a force against the wall. She lay bleeding on the ground. Then Bradford fell to his knees, and soon he was motionless.

  I stood over his body in disbelief. The smoke had reached this tunnel now, and I had no idea where the others had gone.

  I heard Alice wheeze, so I rushed to her side, though I knew she was gravely hurt.

  “Alice, you saved my life,” I said, holding her bloody hand.

  “Beautiful child, so smart,” Alice cried.

  “Just rest now Alice…”

  “He made me do it to her, you see,” Alice said.

  “Alice, it’s alright. Just calm down.”

  Alice coughed up blood, and I knew these were her last moments.

  “Her father…made her believe…she couldn’t leave.” She took a weak breath—the smoke had thickened in the corridor. “Just like… he did…to all of us,” Alice said, and then with one last breath, she died in my arms.

  forty two

  THE TRAP DOOR

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  November 30, continued.—Most of my body was numb, but somehow I gained a bit of strength as I moved down the corridor. I came to a last fork, but I could no longer walk. In fact, I could barely stand, I was so weak. My eye was still swollen, and I could still taste the blood in my mouth.

  I thought about how I might not live. And then I thought of my mother, how she was murdered, shot, never had a chance to survive and escape her fate. I realized then, I could not give up. I would survive for her because I had a choice. I would determine my fate. And I would live. At least Bradford could not chase me any longer. The air was cold and the smoke still poured into the corridors. I no longer had my blanket, and I was terribly cold.

  I heard voices in the distance coming from the left fork. I staggered down that dim-corridor and soon the girl, Bonnie, and George came into view.

  “There he is!” Bonnie said running to help me. “We knew you’d find us.”

  “I told you to leave me behind.”

  “But we just...couldn’t.”

  They had stopped in front of a small, round wooden door. The smoke filled the tunnels now, and I knew if we did not find an escape soon, we would die from suffocation. I hoped this door led to our freedom. The girl had a key but the door was stuck. I pushed on it, but I was too weak.

  “Bonnie, George, we all need to push,” I said in a raspy voice. We pushed with all of our might, the girl too. Suddenly the door sprang open, and we all barreled through to the other side.

  We were in a dirt hole; just a thin stream of light cascaded from above. How long had we been in these tunnels? We scrambled through and struggled to our feet again. I knew we had to close the door and lock it if we were going to survive.

  I turned to look at the girl. I was sure I had to save her, for now I knew this dungeon-like chamber had been where she spent most of her life. Most people thought she was a ghost, but she was very much alive; I needed to help her escape.

  Her life was torture and agony, but she had learned to survive, learned to evade Bradford. Why she stayed, I could not say, but perhaps she felt this was where she deserved to be. I knew I could offer her something better in the outside world.

  “Help me push the door closed from this side. We can leave,” I said.

  Her eyes welled up with tears again. I reached my hand out for hers.

  “You’ve nothing to fear. You’re safe now. Come with us.”

  She ran back through the door and into the tunnels. I ran into the doorway.

  “Please, lass, come with us. Do not stay here,” I said, but she only stood at the edge of the doorway, staring at me, her eyes puffy from her tears.

  “Alice told me he did this to you. She told me he made you believe you couldn’t leave here. But you can. You must. Bradford is dead. Alice is dead. You no longer have anything to keep you here. I can help you.”

  Suddenly, she pushed me back towards the chamber and grunted in anguish. She wanted me to leave her there.

  The girl continued to cry, but in a possible change of heart, she threw her arms around my neck and clung to me for a long moment.

  The smoke began to fill the corridor almost completely.

  “Come on!” I yelled to her. “We must go now! We’ll not make it muc
h longer.”

  Then the girl pushed me back again with all her might, hitting my wound with such force that I took a great stumble backward. She threw the blanket on top of me and grabbed the handle of the door, pulling it toward her.

  “No!” I cried. Bonnie and George pushed the door closed and helped me to my feet. I heard the clicking sound of that wooden door, and I knew the girl had locked us in.

  We would have to continue without her. I breathed heavily for a moment in that frigid air. I could only see tiny specks of light through the planks of wood that covered the hole.

  “Step back,” I told Bonnie and George as I used my fist to break through the wood.

  Once I cleared the wood, I popped my head above and saw we were in a small room in an old abandoned log cabin. I prayed it was not Doctor Reid’s cottage, for then we would still be on the grounds. I lifted Bonnie up first, then George, and then with help from both of them, I was also able to climb up.

  Thick dust carpeted the floor of the room, cobwebs covered the corners, and the room was very cold. The only light came from the snow-filled skies and a street lamppost. Funny how the sky seemed so bright during a snowfall.

  I peered into the large hole in the floor. Someone had covered over the trap door, but the wood I broke through looked different from the rest, and I wondered if the flooring in this spot had been freshly laid.

  Bonnie made a makeshift bandage for my wound while I examined the old place. All that remained in the one room house was a small bed and a vanity table covered with dusty books and papers. More books, cups, silverware, and torn linens were strewn everywhere on the floor. George made his way to the small table and was shuffling through some of the papers.

  The air was so cold; I knew we could not stay long in this tiny shack. I thrust open the old wooden door to the cabin to see the blustery, treacherous blizzard in front of me. We would certainly have trouble trudging through the high, heavy snow.

  “We’ll have to go out there,” I told Bonnie and George. “Put on your blankets. Wrap them around you securely.”

  “We can’t go out there, Paul. It’s much too dangerous. We’ll die.”

  “We’ll die here,” I snapped. Then I softened my tone. “It’s not perfect, I understand. But we’re going to die. Do you both understand me? If we stay here, we won’t make it through the night.”

  I could smell the smoke, and I knew we had to leave. I wrapped the blanket around me tightly, and followed by George and Bonnie, I confronted the blustery blizzard. I thought it must be close to dawn, but it was still dark with the cloud cover and smoke.

  After plodding through the snow for about one hundred feet, we stopped by a small postbox that belonged to the tiny home. We were at least a mile from Kolney Hatch’s grounds. Kolney Hatch was still burning—thick, black smoke filled the air. The wind picked up, the air was cold, and the snow blew into my face. Though I was covered well with the blanket, I knew if we did not find shelter soon, we would freeze to death.

  My visibility was poor, my body numb. We walked for what felt like miles. As we climbed a small hillside, I prayed we would not head into the mountains.

  forty three

  THE SAVING GRACE

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  November 30, continued.—No longer able to walk, I took a seat on a snowy tree stump. I had the blanket wrapped over my head, shielding my entire face. I rubbed my frozen hands together and watched the snow continue to fall.

  I noticed the faint light of a lamppost in the distance.

  “I’m so cold, Paul,” Bonnie said, her teeth chattering. “I don’t think I can make it any farther.”

  “Bonnie, listen to me. There’s a lamppost. We’ll find shelter there.”

  We trudged on. George seemed able, but Bonnie could hardly walk. I helped her, and as we neared the lamppost a small cottage came into view. We continued until we reached the snow-covered cobblestone front porch steps. With difficulty, I crawled to the front door, rapping on it quite frantically with my elbow.

  For a moment no one answered, but then I heard the patter of footsteps behind the door. When it opened, I felt tears well in my eyes. Before me stood, Harold Newbury, the only true friend I had made at Kolney Hatch. His eyes widened when he saw us.

  “Laura!” He yelled. “Hurry up, bring some blankets!”

  He hastily came to our aid, helping Bonnie and George inside first, then me.

  “What happened?” Harold asked.

  “Fire,” was all I could say. “We escaped through the tunnels.”

  I leaned on his shoulder, as I limped into a small, warm living room. A flame blazed in the stone fireplace. Harold helped me sit in a cushioned chair, and I felt my body warm. My body tingled with a strange sensation as my limbs soaked up the warmth of the blazing fire, and as the pain from my wounds returned to my body, I cried out in anguish.

  I looked at George, who seemed well, thankfully, despite his bruises and the harsh journey. Laura, a plump woman with gray-streaked, light-brown hair and blue eyes, tended to Bonnie and tried to keep her warm with the blankets. After tending to my injuries, Laura brought us all some tea.

  “How did th’ fire begin?” Mr. Newbury asked concernedly.

  I shook my head that I didn’t know.

  “Any other survivors?”

  “I can’t be sure of who survived. All I know is that we couldn’t escape through the front or back entrance. The windows were too hot. We could only go through the tunnels.”

  “Th’ tunnels?” He asked me curiously.

  “You don’t know about them?”

  “No, not about th’ tunnels,” Harold said sorrowfully.

  I told Harold that I needed to leave for London immediately.

  “As soon as the snow stops, I’ll get you to the nearest station.”

  “What about Bonnie and George?” I asked.

  “I’ll take care of them, Paul. I promise.”

  December 3, evening.—For two days I rested at Harold’s. On the third day, Laura provided me with a warm coat and hat, a nice breakfast, and some biscuits to take with me. I said my goodbyes to Bonnie and George. Then I thanked Laura for her hospitality and help. Harold was driving me to town, even though I had protested that it was too dangerous. I promised they would hear from me when I returned to London.

  “How well did you know Doctor Reid?” I asked Harold as we slowly drove along on that snowy road.

  “Not well. I never really spoke to him.”

  “Well, be thankful you didn’t.”

  Harold told me the storm was the worst to ever happen in this part of Scotland in all the years he had lived here and how the three of us were lucky to have found his cottage when we did.

  We reached the station at nightfall. It was next to the old tavern where I was supposed to meet Amy. I thanked Mr. Newbury once more for his help and his friendship. Then I sat at the train station for a few hours waiting for the next train to Edinburgh. I was still very weak from my wounds, and I was worried about who may be searching for me. I glanced around the station several times hoping no one saw or recognized me.

  In the early hours of the morning, I boarded the train, and I was able to catch a wink of sleep. I grabbed the morning paper, and boarding The Flying Scotsman just in time, I was finally on my way to King’s Cross. As the train barreled toward London, I glanced around to make sure I was alone. When I was sure I was safe, I rested once more and woke up later that day.

  My body was in such pain, I could barely move. A thin woman with auburn hair and a tiny pinched-in face sat across from me and stared at me with a stern look. I knew she was trying to determine how I earned my bruises. When she saw me stare back at her, she turned away and pretended to fix something on her purple dress. I picked up the paper to nonchalantly see what was going on in Edinburgh.

  On the front page was an article about Kolney Hatch. In bold print the name of the institution was followed by the words, “burned to the ground.” I fervently began to read
the article.

  “Devastating consequences with a dreadful loss of life,” the article read, and “many bodies were still missing.” At this, I gulped and continued to read. My stomach knotted as I thought about the patients and staff; many people I knew had died. I felt the tears sting my eyes as I thought of Lamont, Madelyn, Nurse Hinkle, and Hannah. I hoped some of them escaped.

  The fire began on the first level of the institution, and burnt with great fury. A second fire had started on the second floor, and in a matter of minutes the entire building was ablaze. A high wind carried the flames fast and furiously throughout the building, destroying everything in its path and claiming many lives. Because of the remoteness of the facility, the fire contingent was unable to reach the asylum until hours after the fire started. By then the asylum had burned to the ground completely. It even spread to the head doctor’s cottage, and burnt that to the ground as well. The cause of the devastating fire was still unknown. Over fifteen bodies were accounted for, and a few were so badly burned they were unidentifiable.

  My heart wrenched in sorrow for the lives that were lost. I wished I saved more people from that fire, and I prayed more people were able to escape. At least Bonnie and George were safe. My mind raced with thoughts of the girl. Did she die in those tunnels?

  I was safe now, I told myself, as the train shifted along. I would be at King’s Cross in just a few hours. I would be home at last.

  forty four

  HOME AT LAST

  Paul took a sip of tea as he held the curtain in his sitting room aside with his free hand and perused the busy London street below him. Bundled up men ambled harmoniously along the snowy street like musical pieces in an orchestra, all headed someplace different, but in a perfectly arranged accord. Paul usually loved this time of year; it was Christmas-time, and though he could not be more thankful to be home alive and well, he could not help but feel melancholy.