My friend asked me yesterday, and this is going to give you some idea of the deep,philosophical discussions we have, if I had to choose what would I be, A vampire or a werewolf. I’ve given it some thought and decided on werewolf and here are the reasons why. On the plus side, they both go around biting people and there are a few I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of. The female vampire wears a light, flowing shift, great for the summer months and the werewolf is naked under the fur, both a big plus. However, I think the vampire loses out, as I think they would constantly smell of wet dog, you know, from lying round in the damp earth. You could be out and about and thinking, what is that smell, oh god, it’s me.
Now on the matter of the werewolf. I know all that shape shifting would play havoc with the skin and I bet you’d be stiff come morning, but its really only part time. For most of the month things would go on as normal. It would only be for about three night, when the moon was full, that you would have to change. Women would find this ideal, anyone who had ever suffered from PMS would find it a doddle, as lets face it, we’re not quite human during this time anyway. So that’s it and when you think about it, it’s an easy choice. As a vampire you’d have to get used to people following you with stakes, splashing you with holy water and lobbing huge chunks of garlic you way. What do you think?
In Ireland we are never sure of the sun come summer, but the one thing we can count on is the arrival of spiders, shriek. It’s bad enough writing horror, without having these monsters to contend with. During the warmer months its like living in the house of Dracula, as I have to do spider patrol every night, to make sure there’s nothing hiding in the corners of the bedrooms. Because that’s what they do, the ugly, hairy, humpbacked b*****ds. They sneak in during the day and crouch down in the corners and wait until you turn off the light and then its party time. I killed one the other night and I swear it was filled with ink. That’s another ceiling that needs repainting. I don’t want to hear anything from your bleeding hearts about them being God’s creatures and how you should trap them and take them outside. Get a grip, if you do this they just tell their friends how spider-friendly you are and even more turn up. If Noah was still around today, he’d be getting a punch in the face. I’ll leave you with two little rhymes for those of you, like me, hate spiders.
Little spider on the wall.
Have you got no friends at all?
Have you got no mum or dad?
Squishy squashy, that’s too bad.
Little spider on the wall.
You shouldn’t be there at all.
That wall had just been plastered.
Get off the wall, you dirty little…….spider.
After much discussion and few nips of brandy from John’s hip flask, we have decided to go on. We’ve been standing here in the hall for over fifteen minutes and there’s been no sound from overhead. At times we’ve imagined faint footsteps scurrying along the corridor, but put it down to the rats and mice, that are bound to be plentiful in a place like this. We’re going down into the basement. Remember I told you that this is where the treatment rooms and the mortuary are located and I find these to be the saddest and scariest place in the asylum. You will see things that will make your heart ache. Mental illness was considered a curse in those dark days and the treatment was barbaric. Yet, when you think about it, it was only twenty years ago. Let us hope things have changed dramatically for those who suffer from it these days. It’s freezing down here, but that’s to be expected of basements; they’re always cold, even in summer. Did you see those light; what were they? Oh, its rats, their eyes really blaze in the darkness. Let’s go in here. This was one of the treatment rooms. Follow the beam of my torch on the wall, as I move it slowly up. Can you see the chains and the leather restraints? They used to tie the violent patients up to the walls, shackled like prisoners. Is it any wonder they went mad? Let’s go next door; I want to show you the baths. They filled these with ice water and submerged hysterical patients in this for hours, because they believed it calmed them. Oh, my god, listen. That’s a woman’s voice, it’s faint, but you can make out the words.
“No, don’t, please no.”
That made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, come on. The dust in the corridor is really bad. It rises in clouds under our running feet. It had to come from in here. It’s a ward, with one bed, but this time the restraints are on the bedposts. Someone was strapped down here.
“Hello, did you call out just now?”
We wait in the deepening silence, until a shuffling in the corridor outside draws us out. It sounds like footsteps, dragging this time. They’re coming closer. Aim your flashlights down the corridor. What is that? It looks like a scarecrow wearing a lab coat. Is it someone’s idea of a sick joke, except…it’s moving? It’s a man or what once was a man. Tendrils of lank hair hang from a head that’s nothing more than a skull. The cheeks are sunken, the eyes dark, sightless hollows.
“Back away,” I whisper, but find you have already done so.
I’m doing the same, not taking my eyes off the advancing figure until I reach the stairs and then I’m running.
“Thanks for waiting for me. It’s no use looking shamefaced now. I was alone with that thing. Still, never mind, we’ve survived, though some of you look a little pale.”
We shouldn’t have been surprised by what we saw. The very air within warns that it’s a place of unrest. It surrounds you with a feeling of pain and hopelessness that can never be exorcised. We won’t be coming back here again.
It’s really cold tonight, hard to be its summer here. I’m delighted you are all here and I’m looking forward to our little ghost hunting adventure. Someone suggested that we split into groups, but I don’t feel that’s wise as I know the layout of the place and some of the floors are rotten and dangerous. What do you think of the place so far? The broken windows give it a menacing look, I know and the fading light makes eerie shadows flit across the walls, but believe me, what’s inside is much worse. I told you about the type of patient who was cared for here, the outcasts, and the unwanted. Echoes of their suffering are said to haunt the rooms and corridors, but try not to panic if you hear or see anything and whatever you do, stay close together. Got your flashlights? OK, let’s go.
Be careful, the steps leading up to the main door are littered with broken glass and bits of fallen masonry. I don’t see the point of a lock, with the condition of the window anyone could climb inside, but the owners insisted. Hold the light on it while I try to open it. Someone give me a hand, its rusted solid. Great, that did it, we’re in. The smell of damp and rotten wood is overpowering and the hallway floor is covered in a layer of dust and dead leaves. The thud of the door closing, cutting us off from the outside world, sounded very final. Let’s move on. The downstairs is made up mostly of admission and doctor’s offices, so our best plan is to start on the first floor. We can come back later to the basement. Keep in by the wall as we climb the stairs; the banisters are broken in places and the wood is likely to snap. This is where most of the wards were, but there are some in the basement. These, I believe were for the most dangerous cases and we will explore them later. Look how the damp glistens on the drab, green walls and there are strange-looking fungi growing through cracks in the floor. Be careful not to slip on them. The corridor here is a maze of old hospital trolleys and broken bits of furniture. It is so dark, even though the sun has not yet set. There are shadows everywhere, can you see them? They move like wraiths in the beam of the flashlights. Christ, that made me jump, a door slammed further along the corridor. Is one of you crying? No, did you hear it too? Someone is definitely crying. It’s down this way, come on. What’s wrong? Some of you are leaving. That’s fine, this isn’t for everyone. Can you find your way out or do you need me to guide you? Ok, see you later.
Our numbers are diminished, but let’s soldier on. There was a doctor working here over forty years ago and he had a reputation for terrible cruelty. Many of the patients had no one to care what happened to them, so he was allowed free rein when it came to some of his more unconventional treatments; well, not treatments as such, more experiments. Was that a sigh, perhaps, one of those of suffered at his hands is listening? This is where we thought we heard to crying coming from. It’s a four bed ward and look’ the covers are still in place. It looks like it was abandoned in a rush.
“Hello, is anyone there?”
The silence is deep as we wait for a reply.
“What, what did you see?”
Something is crawling out from under one of the beds; a black shadow that seems to be growing in substance, taking shape as it crawls up from the floor. OK, back away; this is not something we want to confront. One would expect the spirits trapped here to be those of the patients, but there’s something about this thing, something evil. Don’t run, watch where you’re going.
I expected everyone to be gone when I got back downstairs, but there are still three of you here. Do you want to explore the basement or should we leave it for another night?
As a prelude to tonight’s visit to the asylum, I’ve decided to tell you a bit about it, so you know what you’re letting yourself in for. The building itself is set over three levels, with a basement that once housed the treatment room and mortuary. The locals complain that it should have been demolished years ago, but its owners are either undecided or don’t have the money to do anything with it. Now and then a newspaper article will appear, as a former inmate recalls the horror of what they suffered there.
Like all abandoned buildings with a sinister reputation, it holds a strange fascination for the local children and it is through them I have learned much the history of the place. It took some effort to sieve through their stories and separate fact from fiction. It seems, and I’ve heard this from adults not the children, that the asylum catered for the most extreme cases, from mental illness to mutilations and terrible birth defects. The children grew pale as they whispered tales of the terrible things they’d seen there, even though the building was abandoned long before they were born. Their voices become choked with fear as they tell of the man with no face and the one with a trunk for a nose. They talk of strange figures and screams heard in the dead of night.
I will admit there is an air of menace about the place. On the day I first went there it was overcast, the sky grey and swollen with the promise of rain. It didn’t help that the wind blew through the empty corridors and sounded like the cry of a broken-heart child. So that’s what we’re up against tonight. I have permission from the owners for us to explore, though they take no responsibility for anything that happens to us while we’re there. Anyway, there will be a good crowd, so far sixteen of you want to come along. I’ll meet you back here at 9 p.m. It’s a damp, miserable day and the sun should start to set about then. Until tonight.
Have you recovered from our trip to the church? I hope so as I’ve planned to visit the haunted asylum tomorrow night. Contact me and let me know if you want to come along, or should I say, if you dare? I’m not going alone, it’s an old building with a sinister reputation and I’ve been advised to take someone with me, so I won’t go until I hear from you.
Over the next few days I’m going to take you on a journey into the most eerie places I know. I’ll start with one you might find the least threatening and if you decide to come alone, we’ll move on from there. It’s not for the faint-hearted, so be warned.
The church stands in the middle of a small village, close to the road, but bordered on all sides by pines trees that have run wild and now shadow the path to the main door. It was abandoned over twenty years ago. No one seems to know why, or else they’re not telling. The windows are broken, though small, sharp bits of coloured shards still cling to the strips of lead that once threaded through the ornate, stained-glass. Weeds sprout from between broken slabs lining the path; we must choose out steps with care. This is not the sort of place one would want to fall and lie injured, not as twilight draws in and the world of spirits comes to life.
Ivy snakes up the walls and crawls through every crack and opening. The windows can do nothing to stop its advance, but stare with silent, sightless eyes. The bell seems to be missing in the old tower; it’s hard to tell now the light is fading. Shall we go inside? OK, I’ll go first, but keep close and stop being such a baby.
That was some groan, wasn’t it, when I pushed against the door just now? It set my teeth on edge. Come back here, it was just the rusty hinges protesting the intrusion. Stay behind me, if you must. It’s dark in here, but the porch is small and the window smaller still. It’ll get brighter once we’re inside. The glass is still intact in the inside doors. Did you notice how the silence seemed to surge at us when we stepped inside? The ordinary, everyday sounds of traffic ceased once the door closed behind us and that’s weird because the windows are all broken. It’s as though some invisible barrier formed and now it’s just us and God, and let’s face it, he’s holding all the cards. Listen to how loud our footsteps are on the dusty tiled floor. There are other sounds, listen, soft scurrying, probably just mice or rats. Can you smell that? It’s something above the usual smell of candle wax. Take a sniff; it’s got a rotten butcher-shop smell, something I can’t quite put my finger on.
The altar is shrouded in shadow and many of the pews are still standing. Let your hand glide along their scarred wooden backs as we pass. It’s getting darker and I forgot to bring a flashlight. Stop holding on to my arm so tight, there’s nothing there. I can’t hear anything, other than the night breeze. What did you hear? I didn’t hear a groan, but you’re right about the shadows on the altar. They do seem to be moving in a strange way and that smell is getting worse. OK, we’ll leave, if you want, but I’m telling you now, you’re not coming to the asylum with me tomorrow night, not unless you stop being such a scardy cat.
If it were possible for a genie to grant me one wish, I know without a doubt what the wish would be. I don’t mean like world peace or the end to all sickness, I mean one personal wish just for me. I would ask for the ability to sleep whenever I wanted. For years I’ve been plagued by insomnia and today, after almost 43 hours without sleep, I have that awful hungover, fuzzy feeling that comes with lack of sleep. I find it very hard to get my mind to switch off and I suppose there are a lot of writers and artists who find this. I’ve tried everything from sleeping pills, that made me feel down the next day and Sunday night I took Valerian, which I was assured would knock out a horse, but neigh, I’m still awake.
My mind sometimes wonders back to my school days and bible teaching. I think of Christ in the garden at Gethsemane and his words to Peter and the sons of Zebedee, “could you men not keep watch with me for one hour?” Perhaps, I am descended from one of these disciples and am now cursed to stand watch forever? It sometimes feels like this.
I am thinking of words this morning, as I prepare to write and how their meaning can effect and convey a true feeling. When someone had to cope with the most terrible of losses, it’s not enough to say they were crying or sobbing. I think weeping is a much better word and it says more about the human condition than either of the other words could. Weeping denotes the wretchedness of hope flown. It reaches into the soul and resounds through the ages. It really is the most pitiful of sounds.
gemmamawdsley 