The Asylum Wall

There is nothing here,  I think as I clutch the papers I’m carrying tighter to my chest then  force my eyes up from the walkway to look at the building. Nothing except ghosts and memories.

​

It  has only been a few years since the place closed, but it looks like it  has been abandoned for decades. Almost all of the small windows are  broken, giving the building a pot marked appearance in the light of an  early twilight. The doors hang crooked in their frames and weeds have  overrun the once smooth lawn. The place is dead and only the ghosts and  memories remain.

​

I  take a breath and push open the arching main gates; their grinding and  squeaking echoes in the silence of the area. “Ghosts can’t hurt you,” I  whisper as the echoes fade.

​

Broken  asphalt shifts and crunches under my feet. Up close, the decay is even  more obvious. Deep wrinkles and creases line the front of the building  where the paint is cracked and peeling. Moss hangs from the eaves  veiling and shadowing the broken, empty windows. I reach for the  partially open door and step through, back into the memories I came here  to face.

​

Dust  covers everything in the entry hall and I swallow the cough scratching  at the back of my throat. As I walk through the lobby, the dust swirls  around me creating mists and vapors that bring memories of the people  who once worked or lived here back into sharp focus. I am reminded of  the doctors and nurses—some of whom were easy to work with and were  still fresh enough they hadn’t become cynical or callous. There were  others who had worked with our patients far too long and had begun to  expect the worse behavior from them or had to have it proven which ones  weren’t BiFFs, or Big Fat Fakers. We did receive a percentage of those  as well. Shadowy forms also became some of the patients I had worked  with over the years. There—a young man in his late twenties physically,  but maybe four or five mentally and emotionally. He used to follow  everyone around like a little puppy. We could never get him to keep his  shoes on. I smile as I remember how he used to carry a security blanket  with him. Fortunately, one of the other, more stable patients would  always seem to adopt him and make sure he stayed out of trouble.

​

The  ghostly figure shifts and I stepped back as one of the BiFFs jumps  toward me—a young woman who had been ordered here, several times, from  one of the county jails, for evaluation. I didn’t know her charges, I  was never curious about that sort of thing as I felt it would prejudice  my attitude when I dealt with our high security patients. This one  though, she was a classic. She wanted to make you think she was crazy,  but you could see the calculating going on in her head. Some nights she  would create as many disturbances as she could; getting all the other  patients on the floor upset and agitated. Then some days she would go  into a sweet little girl act, being polite and helpful and other times,  she just become as disgusting as she thought she could away with.

​

We  all knew she was a behavior issue and after a few days, the doctors  would release her back to the county jail. But, she knew the right  buttons to push each time she went to court to make the judge think she  honestly had mental health issues and each time he would order her back  here for an evaluation. I always suspected the officers at the jail  appreciated the break they got when she was with us. Considering the way  we felt after dealing with her, I couldn’t blame them.

​

As  I leave the lobby and enter the patient areas, the dust thickens and I  find myself walking in a dense fog that obscures my vision. Still I know  where I am going and only pause to nod a greeting to each of my  memories as we pass.

​

My  hand shakes as I reach for the door to this room. A spark arcs from the  knob to my hand, flashing bright blue and creating a halo of light in  the fog. The bluish glow surrounds the door as I step through and back  into my past.