Michael Shorde's The Lost Book - Part Eight

I immediately heard the snarling of the dogs behind me, and I turned, holding up the book as my only weapon. They came swiftly, tentacles reaching out for prey. I held up the book, and a white light engulfed them. They fell dead in their tracks. I recalled what the Others said: the chain of life must take its proper course.

They were not violent, but we were. Our violence would lead to peace one day. The dogs lie dead, and I did not care – I started down the path of the main cavern, or part of a living being as I was told. A one eyed beast appeared, and then another. The first tried to snatch the book from my hand, and in my anger I snatched the knife and thrust it into its eye. It grabbed at its wound and fell trembling to the ground. More appeared, and I was in such a state that I worried not about the book, only my savage instincts. They came at me and I pushed the knife into the closest one. It bent its head to look at its wound, and I stabbed directly into its face. It barely had time to look at me before it fell dead. The others fled as I stood there in defiance.

I had not time – this I knew, for time here was different. I swiftly entered a large cavern infested by the spiders. I then turned my attention to the book. I held it before me, and saw a shadow far into the cavern. I do not know if it was David or apparition, yet I realized it was one of the older ones. The shadow held its arms up; I knew what it was trying to tell me.

I snatched the book up, held it aloft as the creatures came at me. They were everywhere, crawling along the sides of the cavern, and it was then I saw a figure I thought I would never see again.

It was David!

He was trapped against the pink, fleshy wall, hardly able to move, for he looked at me with sickening terror I have never seen before; he tried to speak, but I had no time. I didn’t know if destroying the spiders would also destroy him.

I quickly retreated as they followed – a swarm of them, I tell you, everywhere. I raised the book and took my stance. Flames shot up from everywhere, scorching my skin. Yet, I held my stance. I did not expect the circumstance – on of the bastards got through somehow and bit me on the arm. I had no alternative.

I struggled for my knife and stabbed it deeply into the center of the predator and into my own arm. Blood was flowing from my wound as the thing released its grasped and fell dead to the cavern floor. I had no choice – I continued forward, and heard a great roar from within the huge cavern. I knew what it was, and I was determined to show it the power of humanity or die trying.

There it was – Cthulhu. Huge and resolute in destroying me, this I knew. I held the book up once again and forced all my energy at the thing. Its huge tentacles rose to the top of the cavern, coming alive with light. It forced upon me a power I have never felt before; and I was already weakened by my wound. The tentacles, they were everywhere, surrounding me, burning me as I had burned it. They surrounded me an embraced me so tightly, I knew not what to do.

I saw the sad figure of David on the wall, and at the same time saw the gigantic maw of Cthulhu open – I didn’t know what to do, and then I heard a voice…

Into its mouth! Now!

I thrust the only tool I had powerful enough to defeat it into the black throat in front of me – the book.

“DIE!” I screamed, and it released me. It thrust itself back, releasing me; I lost my senses for a time, but I felt the thing dragging me along. I was helpless.

I saw the strange shadow appear again, and I could tell it was smiling. I took my knife from my belt and buried deep into the beast’s head. It released me and retreated to an one known place. I quickly ran up to David and used my knife to carve him from his prison.

He had no injuries I could find, only weakness. He could barely walk; I had to nearly carry him out of this prison of disgust and ungodly creatures. The book was gone. It had served its purpose.  We finally made it to the verges of the cavern, and he tried to speak, but I stopped him. And then we were standing in a light snow flurry – we both looked at the cavern as it vanished. I dragged him inside…

Michael Shorde's The Lost Book - Part Seven

 I began to think I was inside a huge being itself. Alive, aware, and absorbing all the life it could from others. Was this the case?

Now, I cannot promise a true description of what happened, for it was all too surreal. As I was sure the dog-things were gone, I headed for the main chamber. Something grabbed my shoulders and yanked me back, turned me around; I was looking into the face of something indescribable, something I knew that human minds were not prepared for. I surely would have gone insane had David not prepared me.

I felt several pairs of arms grasp my body, yet I could not tell if they were arms or otherwise. This being sure was on the other side of the thin veil of sanity, and I sensed it knew this, and was trying not to inflict harm unto me. It released me, and I moved not, as it had anticipated.

I stared at the creature, trying to comprehend exactly what it was I was looking at. It leaned forward, its face changing all the while into different forms, and I felt it was searching for one I could understand. Finally, it did find one I could understand. I was staring at the face of…

…David!

Its shape-shifting body continued to with its swift variants, too swift for me to focus on only one. David’s face whispered to me. “David told you not to come along this path. It would be dangerous.”

“Yes, he told me so, in the book,” I said, holding it out for the being to see.

“Lean forward,” the David face said, and I did as I was told.

Accept, accept. Let that special part of your mind accept what you see as reality, as did David’s.

I emerged as if from a dream, and the thing that stood before me was no longer shifting. It was showing me its true form. And yet, its true form was still something that the human mind would not understand for ages.

“I need to save my friend.”

“We know, and you will. It is why we empowered the book. It will not kill Cthulhu, but it will push him back long enough for you to free David. He is almost one of us now, and he must be the beginning.”

I started to comprehend. I spoke only with my mind. “Can you help me?”

“I cannot. We are not a violent race. The chain of life must take its proper course.”

“But he keeps you trapped in here!”

I sensed a smile, but could not see it. “We are not trapped in here. We stay here until we believe the time is right to expose ourselves, to help humans live again in peace. It is not up to us to stop the wrath of the Great Old Ones. It is up to you. To David.”

“But how do we do that? How do you expect two men to carry out this mission?” I spoke aloud, for I was frustrated. I was confused as to what it was I was supposed to do.

“Take David and he will show you. He has become as us, and you are becoming. Show me the book.”

I stretched out the book, and what I perceived to be hands took hold of it strongly, but not out of my grasp. A white light filled the book that we held between us, lit up the cavern, and I saw others standing around us as if in prayer. I feared not, my mind not confused; in fact, I felt gladness in my mind and heart. I knew all would be fine. I just needed to find David.

“And find him you will,” the being said, reading my thoughts. “I have empowered the book more so than I did with David. You will destroy creatures on your path, and we understand this is the way of humans as we know them now. We do not commend such acts, but realize it is the way to the future.”

I looked around at the tunnel, the flesh, and asked, “What is this? Where are we? This sure is no regular tunnel or path; it is more like a living being.”

The thing twisted, shifted, and said, “You are learning, Michael, for this is a living being. The living being.”

“But-”

“Go! Go now. The book is your power. There are the spiders and dog-things, and others you will encounter. Destroy them with the book. Or with that crude weapon you carry.” I felt behind me in my belt – the knife was still there. “Yes, we know about that. You are only trying to save your friend. He is our friend, too. Go!”

I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly found myself back in the main cavern. I walked forward, unsure of what to expect in my quest to save David. I only knew it had to be done. My mind was adjusting, remembering: accept, accept. I lowered my face and moved onward.

Michael Shorde's The Lost Book - Part Six

I plodded ahead, the smell pervading my senses, the visions becoming more conventional than I had expected. David had it right all along, for here I was among things not part of our world, yet I became less bothered with each step.

Where was David?

I stopped and opened the book. I heard a strange screeching emanating from farther down, and I swear I heard the screaming of a human. The sound echoed along this passage, this throat, for it seemed exactly what this was – a throat.

Ahead I saw another passage on the left. This was not the passage he spoke of, I was sure of that. Nonetheless, I slowed down as I passed it. There were strange noises coming from within, noises that sounded familiar. I stopped and looked around; the cave/throat was shifting, undulating, and I saw the bodies of people on the sides, stuck as if some slimy glue was holding them in place. Their mouths moved, but I could hear only a slight plea: Help me! Please help me!

There men and women trapped on the sides of the cavern, naked with their arms spread out. Helpless, they were, but I could not resist but to help these poor strangers, especially since I knew not the extent of their suffering. I pulled the knife from my belt and approached a man hanging in the goo. I tried to cut through, and he pulled one arm loose. I recall how he smiled at me just before the pinkish flesh swallowed him up; it had sensed my interference and had slid over the man with a sickening wet noise until the man was gone. I was shocked, taken aback, but tried to hold onto my sanity. There were others begging for help, and I told them, “Please, just wait a little while longer, and I’ll get you out!” They protested with moans and weak appeals. I could do nothing. I shoved the knife back into my belt, and turned my attention to the second cavern. I knew now what the sound was, however, I did not know how I was going to deal with it.

The spiders!

They suddenly appeared, scuttling along all sides of the cavern – they were even moving along the very top. I could not count how many there were, but apparently this was a nest of some kind, for they must have heard me, and those trapped against the wicked walls of this throat.

I held up the book, and a bright spray of light spread out among the spiders, and they started to flame up like fires. Regardless, they kept coming, and I grew frustrated. I thrust the book forward and in my mind I thought, die, you bastards. Die!

There were small flames everywhere, and yet, I spied a few slipping past me to the far wall. They crawled up and bit the people trapped there – I was helpless; I could not use the book for fear of harming the people hanging in the pink goo. I rushed up and grabbed a spider, hurled him to the ground. I pointed the book at him and he burst into flames. One by one, I snatched the spiders off the people and fried them. I felt beaten as I stared at the tiny clusters of flame that soon burned out. I thought I was done with the mayhem, but from the cavern came the snarls of something entirely different.

They appeared in the dim light of the tunnel, far back in the dim glow. They were dogs, and yet not dogs in the normal sense of the word. As they grew closer I became frightened, and yet intrigued that such things could exist.

Their bodies were that of large dogs, yet their heads were bundles of tentacles, waving and twisting around, almost hiding the mouths. One opened its maw wide, and my heart leaped – it was large, seemingly its entire head, with two rows of pointed teeth. It then closed the mouth, tentacles swinging around as if in anger.

I ran down the cavern, aware of the threats behind me. I lifted the book and pointed it at the dogs – the yellow light shot out in thin beams, striking each of them. They whimpered and fell (I believe there were five, but I was a little busy to count), yet each one struggled back to its feet.

I rushed farther down and saw the third cavern on the left. David told me not to enter, lest I get lost, but the dogs were again gaining distance. I glanced around and saw more bodies stuck to the pink, fleshy walls, more of the spider crawling among them and chewing off pieces of skin. It saddened me; I held up the book and thought, destroy those bastards! Fry their legs right off!

And just as I thought would happen, the spiders caught flame, but so did the people. I lowered my head. They were too far gone for it to matter anymore. Large parts of their bodies were gone and yet they still begged. I believed they were begging for death. I used the book and destroyed everything on the wall, scorching even the flesh. It bulged in and out as if in pain, and I heard an ungodly screech from farther down the cavern. Whatever I have done had apparently affected something down there, and I knew what it was.

The dogs came barreling around a corner, tentacles whipping around their moist, black bodies. At the moment, I saw no choice; I ran into the third cave, looking over my shoulder to see if the dog-like things had followed me. They stood at the entrance, eyeing me (though I could see no eyes), and tentacles reaching for something that was not there. They circled around for a while before turning and walking back in the direction from which they had come. I was taken aback by the writhing extremities that made up their heads. I gathered my thoughts, my sanity, and gritted my teeth together to strengthen my mind, my thoughts. I would not let these things weaken me.

So, I decided to explore the cave. I am sure David would have been angry, but my curiosity got the best of me. I traveled onward, seeing not out of the ordinary except that of the walls – pulsing, undulating, yet free of any creatures or people for that matter. I was quite pleased at this latter; I did not want to see any more suffering.

Michael Shorde's The Lost Book - Part Five

As I moved deeper into the cave, the light grew brighter, an unnatural pinkish glow. I discovered a cave to my right, but did not enter for David’s explicit instructions said to avoid the third cavern on the left. As I considered this, a low growl from behind caused me to whirl around to face whatever thing had crept up behind me.

The thing was about half my height and covered with gray, scaly skin. In the center of its face was a large singular eye, just above a mouth exposing pointed teeth of all sizes.  A low guttural growl emitted from its throat as it bared more teeth. I took a few steps back and it followed. I determined that it was attempting to chase me into the cave, or it would have surely attacked me by now.

The book is your power…

I held the book out in front of me, and the thing instantly cowered at the sight of it. “What is wrong, you ghastly thing? You don’t like the book?” I held it facing the atrocious being, and it cringed, trying to hide its face. “Look at me now! Look!”

As it looked, a beam of yellow light shot forth, clothing it in a bright yellow aura. It screeched and tried to run; nonetheless, it was too late. The light absorbed what flesh there was left on the thing, and its bones fell to the ground. The book was warm, nearly hot, yet I was able to hold it. David was right – the book was my power. Tendrils of steam rose up from the bones as I walked farther into the cavern.

The walls began to change color, and the deeper I explore, gray rock had turned into a fleshy pink that undulated and gave off a foul stench. It was more of a throat, a throat to the other Kingdom where David awaited me.

There were things stuck to the sides of the walls as in a spider’s web. These were things I had never seen before, except a one – eyed creature that had managed to find itself trapped. A spider abruptly scurried down and attached itself to the thing, and I heard a sickening sucking sound. The skin of the creature constricted, and its eye burst from its socket. The spider immediately went to the socket and began to suck up the fluid. I could take no more, and I wondered how David had survived the horrors. It must have been the acceptance he spoke of, pure acceptance. I decided I would accept it, too. I would keep my sanity.

I stood steadfastly and took in my surroundings – I purposely stared at the atrocities pinned against the pink surface of these walls – they were no longer hideous. They were simply beings from another place, and my mind, being intelligent as it is, simply accepted all that I saw. I felt strength grow within me, a more powerful me, and I wondered; this must be what David did to keep his sanity. He always did have an open mind, and now it may have saved his life. And if he had not allowed insanity to corrupt his mind, then I, too, can protect myself the same way. These were living, breathing (though I knew not about living and breathing – it was purely conjuncture at this point, but I would treat it as so). These…things, freaks would die no matter what it took.

I realized that it did not take a very strong mind to challenge what lie ahead, only a mind open to such things. I actually envied David for having glanced at these things and retained some kind of sanity. He had even seen another dimension of unthinkable creatures and survived. But now he needed help. Cthulhu must be powerful, indeed – and I was close to meeting this creature face to face.

Simple Observations

   It is nearly 3:30 a.m., and I have already been up for several hours. This is not unusual for me, especially when I know the following day will be busy. I oftentimes have too much on my mind, and end up tossing and turning before finally giving up.
   Regardless, I was pleasantly surprised when I went outside to smoke and found it to be quite warm. There is a slight drizzle, and I always love the mellow affect rainy days have on me. I wish it would stay like this all day.
   Days like this are always good for writing, or watching a movie (as long as it is scary). None of this Little House on the Prairie stuff for me. Well ok, sometimes, but I never cry. Men just do not cry. We're too tough for that. In fact, I think I shall write something tough and gritty today.
   I hope everyone has a great Thanksgiving this year - my sister will be out of town, so we are actually having dinner on Saturday. That is quite alright, though - she is a good cook and it will be worth the wait.
   This must be a scary time of year for turkeys - hiding in dumpsters and dark allys, wearing dark glasses for disguises. I can't say that I blame them. I wouldn't want to spend all day in a hot oven, waiting for that dreaded moment when my tender timer pops out and announces dinner is served.
   I think I will pop outside again for another smoke. Or maybe a cigar. I only smoke cigars when I am in a good mood, and that I am. I don't particulary know why, but I have my suspicions. I have a feeling today will be a great day. It's just an observation and I can only hope for the best.
  

Michael Shorde's The Lost Book - Part Four

The spider came close to the counter and stopped. At this point I could not see it, yet I knew it was right below me but I was too afraid to bend over for a look. It abruptly leaped onto the counter top, and my heart leaped in my chest. This abhorrence was even more sickening close up. Those segmented legs were spread out perhaps two feet across, and I saw a cluster of eyes on the front of that slender body. They were tiny and black, reflecting the light, unblinking in its incessant stare.

For a moment, I was at a loss as to what to do.

I had no time to think further; the thing reared up, raising its despicable legs in a commotion of ungodly flesh, revealing the slender underbody. It abruptly split open vertically, and a thin maw opened, displaying tiny jagged teeth that normally would not have seemed too threatening, but considering the source it changed the circumstances.

I was almost shivering with fear, could not take flight, and by reflexes took control of this monstrous apparition. My hand holding the knife thrust forward, straight into the mouth of this insidious creation. The blade entered straight into its mouth, and a thick, black fluid flowed out of either side. As sickening as it was, I drew back the knife and struck again and again.

I stood holding the knife above the dead creature, my chest heaving, and sweat covering my brow. The black fluid that was its blood smeared the counter top. I could smell its dreadful odor as I reached for a rag under the counter and wiped the blade clean. I would leave the other mess for the time being. I ran back inside the house, wanting to know more, wanting more from the book. It was lying on my chair – funny, because I had left it on the end table. I sat to learn more, to learn how to save David.

I looked at the drawing he had made of the tunnel. It was normal, yet grotesque in its fashion. Below it was another paragraph from David:

By now you have seen the spiders – don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Now your mind is open it is time for you to enter the other dimension where I await you. Beware of the creatures that walk its halls. Arm yourself with the book! It will drive the small ones away, for sure, but it will take all your strength to push Cthulhu back into his world.

My friend, as I mentioned, I have discovered another dimension, another world. It is a world that The Great Old Ones do not want exposed to us, a world which we do not want to see, either. It is a malignant place, full of things that were here before us, before them, and as it did to me, I fear it may be do unto you.

Walk outside your house, and think of the spiders, think of me, and the tunnel will appear. As you walk along, ignore the small creatures that threaten you – they are harmless. Follow the tunnel sharply! Do not sway from its path! If you do, you will find the other place, and perhaps no way home. If you should decline this invitation, I will most surely understand. Remember, the book is your power…

I reasoned about this; I did not ask to be involved, and yet he knew I would be involved somehow.  David and I have such a close connection; this can be the only answer. He knew I would not abandon him. But just how did he get this volume printed? And how did he know it would end up in my hands?

Fear crept up my spine as a lithesome insect would, sending shivers along my limbs. I poured another brandy and tasted the sour tang of the amber fluid. I stared at the French door to the patio. I would go. I stood and straightened my coat, took a deep breath, and ventured outside.

There stood the greenhouse – the lights were still lit. I walked beyond the greenhouse into a darker part of the back and stood staring into the blackness. My thoughts turned to David, to the spiders, to his ordeal. I concentrated on all those swirling thoughts, and I saw a dim glow in front of me. Here was the cavern, baring itself finally to me. It was the mouth of Hell.

Michael Shorde's The Lost Book - Part Three

I turned the pages and stared blankly at the images David had drawn. Like an artist undiscovered, he had revealed things I could not comprehend. The spiders. Or were they really spiders? Creatures not unlike spiders, yet possessing what seemed like an endless array of segmented legs. I could see no body, yet a stroke of a pencil. Horrid things they were, and I began to wonder myself if they truly existed.

As if I thought these creatures were bizarre enough, I turned a page and witnessed a thing of which no man should see. It had a long tubular-shaped body, with thick short legs and heavy feet of nine toes. It’s face was obscured by tentacles that reached out from a large circular maw lined with jagged teeth. From the tentacles grew more, smaller tentacles, and from those, more. If its design had been crude, I could have gazed upon it with more ease, but its perfection disturbed me to no end.

Below this particular drawing was a short paragraph by David:

Image this one hundred times this size, my friend. It is Cthulhu, king of the Great Old Ones. It is what holds me prisoner in its dimension. The book you hold now is my only salvation. It cannot destroy the creatures of this realm, but will push them back, as God pushed the Devil into the pit. It is then you can save me. Yet, I have more to show you. Soon, you will follow the same path as I – Godspeed.

I pondered over this for quite some time, growing weary all the while. Finally, I turned a page to find a drawing of what seemed to be the entrance to a cave of some sort. As I gazed at the drawing, the walls of the caved seemed to move with life, undulating and embracing upon something invisible. I closed my eyes and drifted off…

I awoke a short time later, the book still unfurled on my lap. I closed it and yawned, listening to the breeze blowing through the open French doors. The flames in the fireplace had grown weak, and fluttered as if about to die altogether. I set the book on the end table, and rose to add more wood to the fire. Rather funny, though, I didn’t recall leaving the doors open. The wind, of course it must have been the wind.

I made to close the glass doors, but hesitated. The breeze was refreshing, and I stepped out onto the patio to survey the grounds along the back of the house. Oddly enough, the greenhouse was lit from the overhead fluorescents, and I went to investigate. I opened the door and glanced inside at all the plants and flora, but the building was otherwise empty. After one more look around, I turned off the lights and decided to retire for the evening. When I returned to the study, I saw David’s book lying on my chair, open to the page with the horrid drawings of the spiders. I shuddered, for I knew I had not left it there.

From behind came light. I turned and saw that the greenhouse was lighted as before – I knew then that David had truly planned on leading me through the strange events he had before experienced. For the first time I was truly frightened. Was I to become victim to the heinous events bestowed upon my friend? Surely, he would not let harm come to me, except to lead me to his astral prison.

I ran into the kitchen and pulled a large steak knife from the wooden cutlery holder on the counter. I made my outside and immediately noticed something odd attached to the glass wall on the inside of the greenhouse. This was no plant, for it scuttled up and down the glass with amazing speed.

A spider!

This most certainly proved David’s sanity. Yet, I felt as if something was trying to sneak into my mind and steal my sanity away. Still clear of mind, I opened the greenhouse door, and warmth and beautiful scents cascaded over me. I started down an aisle, surveying the plants for any sign of the spider-like creature for it was no longer attached to the glass. My mind ran wild. It was waiting for me, waiting to kill me. I was experiencing the same fear David must have felt when he first encountered the freakish things. I held the knife before me and slowly moved toward the end of the aisle. Some of the larger plants brushed against me with large, flat leaves or the thin leaves of the ferns.

I heard a pattering on the floor, and saw a flurry of thin legs as the thing scampered across the aisle at the end. It sickened me to see it, but regardless I picked up my pace. I stopped just short of the end and peeked around the corner. There were three more aisles to contend with if the creature wanted to play a game of cat and mouse all night.

I crept over to the next aisle and moved back toward the front of the greenhouse, where a large counter (I had built this myself, and I was quite proud of it considering I know nothing of woodworking) stood before several tall shelves lined with pots of various sizes and colors. Stacked on the floor were bags of soil and fertilizer.

I reached the front and stood behind the counter as if I was a clerk ready to make a sale. I leaned on my hands and took several deep breaths.

The book you hold now is my only salvation…

I should have brought the book with me to perhaps witness its power over these multi-dimensional beings. As if that very thought had triggered a reaction, the spider emerged from some foliage in the aisle directly in front of me. As it moved toward me, I was almost mesmerized by all those damned legs. My mind could not fathom such a thing, and yet, here it was; I could hear the legs scraping through dust on the floor as it grew near.

Michael Shorde's The Lost Book - Part Two

As I pondered over this, I again grew angry. The doctor at the asylum should have known all this, and that David had shared his notes with the others. They obviously had had experiences of their own, but David seemed to be the key to it all.

Before I had returned to England, I decided to pay a visit to Dr. Lansing. I finally found him – in the oldest cemetery in town, Oak Hills. He had become a permanent resident there, among all the rest, of which there were many. David had taken me there once; he had always been fascinated with cemeteries.

But with the death of Dr. Lansing, the trail ended, and I was left with no other choice but to return to England. I had never visited the other students, as I felt that there had been no good reason to. I only wanted to find my friend.

So many questions…

I opened the book and started to read, and almost immediately some of my questions were answered; it came from something David had written after the first few pages, which were void of any information regarding a publisher, or anything else, for that matter. The pages were simply blank. Yet, knowing David like I had, I was not surprised.

Regardless, I abruptly came upon a page on which was short testimony from David:

This all came about as a result of the study on Lovecraft that ten of us were involved in, which I now know was not a study at all, but an experiment conducted by Dr. Stephen Lansing. His experiment worked, but with disastrous results.

My mistake was in sharing my personal notes with the others in the group. Three of us ended up committed, and the other seven…well, I don’t know what happened to those poor souls. In any case, I entered the realm of Cthulhu, and was nearly driven mad.

However, there was something that Dr. Lansing had not counted on, and that was the existence of yet another dimension besides that of the Great Old Ones. It seems that I was the one connection he had been looking for – I not only became a part of Cthulhu’s world, but I discovered another, different dimension. It is not one from far away in the universe, and it is not one next to us; it is a part of us. And no one ever knew.

We share the same space, each oblivious of the other’s existence, living our lives surrounded by those unseen. It is not the dimension of Cthulhu, but it seemed to have been the trigger to open the doorway in time and space, and allow me to witness the atrocities.

As we go through our daily lives, we do everything here, and among them. At first, we saw the face of the dreaded Cthulhu, and he attempted to drive us mad, for he knows that the human mind is not ready for such things. And for the others, it ended there. I was too curious, too open minded, and this angered that disgusting beast for I suddenly knew of another world. Perhaps they are a threat to the Great Old Ones, but they are nonetheless here, and I do not know my fate.

This is what this single volume is about – the unseen creatures sharing our space. All the things I have learned and seen, and I know that soon I will be gone. Cthulhu will not accept it, nor will he let any other humans know of it. So, my friend, I have given to you all I know – by now you know that this was meant for your eyes. Only you can help me escape the world in which I am trapped.

But beware, for the unseen creatures are everywhere, and they are aware of us.

To find me, Michael, you will have to find the secret openings to the underground world of Cthulhu and the Great Old Ones. Without doing that, I would never have discovered the other dimension of what I call The Creatures Unseen.

I had thought that Cthulhu’s world would drive a man insane, but this other dimension, which I postulate to be one of many was one that would definitely drive a man insane, was not meant for that purpose. They are creatures that the human mind is not ready to see. Perhaps it was my luck to see part of the world of the Great Old Ones that accustomed my eyes to the horrors that lie ahead.

I still maintain my sanity, but this is unusual for them, and they will not release me. My friend, if you do not choose to follow this path, I lay no blame upon you, for it is frightening at best. If you should choose to explore, bring weapons – it will be your only defense against some of the horrid things that lie below our world. Arm yourself well, for an army of one you shall be. Good luck, Michael.

David Rhodes

I was intrigued and frightened at the same time, considering what had happened to my dear friend. As I began to read, I realized it was a guide fashioned after what he had done in the beginning of Dr. Lansing’s study. It was obvious that David was much more adept with the subject, his mind open wider. I knew then that while the studies had affected all the students, three had entered other realms, especially David. His curious mind and willingness to risk led him among worlds beyond human imagination.

I oftentimes wonder if he had truly gone insane, or had found a way to keep his sanity, even if it was by but a thread. David was not a young student as were the rest – he was a writer of horrific things, which is one reason we bonded so well, for I, too, write of horrors and nightmares to jostle the imagination and even lead to dreadful dreams during which the dreamer would awake drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. But David always wanted to go one step further.

When he first heard of the study, he immediately went to Dr. Lansing, who promptly turned him down. David, in his usual fashion, pushed on; he explained that he had already studied Lovecraft, the Cthulhu Mythos, and offered Lansing several essays he had written on the subject. I recall David telling me how Lansing had looked up at him in silence for a moment, and said, “Give me your number. We shall, see Mr. Rhodes.” He told me later he knew he would be accepted into the study. And the next day he was.

At first, it seemed simple enough. Ten students, number nine not actually a student, but an explorer. I was not aware of this at first, but when David began to…change…I became worried. I voiced my doubts to him, but he only said he was intrigued with the whole concept of other dimensions, other universes – he wanted to know more.

I began to wonder: was I the teacher, as David would laugh and call me his muse, or was David the teacher, attempting to slowly make me understand the truth as he understood it.

I sat in silence, almost fearful of proceeding further with the book. Nonetheless, it drew me in, and I began to realize the he had, indeed, discovered something that not even the best imaginations could fathom.

I stared at the fire and sipped my brandy. And read:

They deemed me insane. I almost believed it myself had it not been for the simple trust I had in my mind. I was not insane. I was gifted. Or perhaps gifted is not the right term. Open. That is a better term. I was open to realities that others shunned. I discovered I was not alone, as number three and number six had also experienced that they could not comprehend. In the end, they accepted that they were insane. I would not accept that in myself, for I had been shown the truth of reality. I was not insane.

See here now, Michael, the atrocities I witnessed, and do not turn away, but accept it as truth.

Michael Shorde's The Lost Book - Part one

Michael Shorde’s

The Lost Book

I found the book in an old store on the south side of town. It was a book no one would even consider looking at, for it had no interest for most; but that did not include me. I immediately picked it up and brushed the dust from it.

David Rhodes. The Creatures Unseen.

My old friend, David, who had disappeared long ago after writing several books, the last being this one. I often wondered what had happened to my best friend – we spent many nights together in front of the fire talking over all things imaginable and unimaginable. He had a way with words that could oftentimes frighten even me.

I took the book to my flat and gently laid it on the mantle.

Where was David?

I did not at first look at the book. I thought about David, and how he had claimed to have contact with Cthulhu, a thing created by Lovecraft. He told me he had seen things unworldly. I tried to help him, but they took him away to an asylum. This was from where he disappeared, leaving only the body of a nurse. David could not have done this deed, for I knew him well.

I cleaned the book as best I could, but age had taken its toll. The cover was black and sturdy enough, yet the pages were dry, fragile. I browsed through at first, and some of the illustrations confounded me. I did not know David was capable of the intricate patterns, very disturbing, indeed. Perhaps it was his last testament to what he had witnessed.

Perhaps it was meant to be in my hands all along. I wanted more than anything to discover the truth, and as I held it near the firelight, the gold lettering glimmered; I believed it was the key to find my lost friend.

After all that had happened, all he told me, I returned from the States to my cottage outside of London. I had no more reason to stay, and it seems he has followed me on his own sojourn. I tried to prepare myself to experience my own journey, to the place where David lies in wait.

I poured myself a brandy and lit a cigar, sitting near the fire, for it seemed to bring life to the book. I recalled the twisted tale the administrator of the asylum told me:

“When we first brought David in, he was delusional. He claimed he was seeing…monsters, giant spiders – things only he could see. He had been a student involved in a special study involving the writer, H.P. Lovecraft. I did a little research of my own about this ‘Lovecraft’. Apparently he wrote about creatures of all sorts, in particular, Cthulhu. He claimed he had not only seen this thing, but other things as well,” Dr. Lattimer told me. “He grew agitated. I allowed him some paper and pencils to write on, and that’s how he spent most of his time. I saw everything he wrote – it was the only condition I gave him for having the writing materials.”

Dr. Lattimer seemed sincere; he did not find anything funny about his patients, I realized. “Doctor, just what was David writing about?”

“The creatures he claimed to have seen. As I mentioned, I was to read everything he wrote, but he fooled me.”

“Fooled you?”

“Why yes, he had an entire stack of papers hidden under his mattress. The entire thing was a chronicle, the real truth about what he thought he had seen. The rest was disturbing, but I think he was merely trying to fool me, drawing my attention away from what he was really writing.”

“What happened to his hidden papers?” I asked.

Dr. Lattimer looked at me curiously. “And just what is your interest in all this, Mr. Shorde?”

“He was my best friend,” I said. “He told me everything. In fact, he was my only friend. I am not from the States, and David befriended me, as we were both writers.”

“I see,” Lattimer said, slowly nodding. “I don’t recall him ever mentioning you.”

“One thing David and I had in common was that we were both introverts. We never went anywhere unless it was absolutely necessary. And besides, I could not bear to see my friend locked away here because everyone thought he was crazy.”

“We don’t like to use that term, Mr. Shorde. David was…disturbed, obsessed. I never thought he had it in him to harm anyone, but the nurse…the most horrible sight I have ever seen. David had gone over the edge.”

“He didn’t do it,” I boldly stated, and Dr. Lattimer sat up straight.

“If he didn’t do it, who did?”

“I’m not sure – but I know it wasn’t David. Did he ever mention Dr. Stephen Lansing?”

“Yes and Dr. Lansing visited here quite often at first, But eventually seemed to lose interest in the students altogether,” Lattimer said, shrugging.

That last startled me. “Students?”

“Yes,” Lattimer said. “David wasn’t the only one here. Two more of Lansing’s students were here, and are still here. But David was always his main interest.”

I was quite taken aback. “If David and two others were here, what happened to the other seven?”

“The other seven?” Lattimer asked.

I don’t normally get upset to this point, but I stood and leaned over Lattimer’s desk. “The other seven, Doctor! There were ten students in the study. David was number nine – well, that’s he told me. Lansing referred to his students with a number.”

Lattimer also stood. “You have just answered a question I’ve been trying to figure out for a while now. The other two students referred to themselves as 3 and 6. Now, I finally know. Lansing never told me of this being a closed experiment.”

“What happened to the secret papers David had hidden under his mattress?” I was quite agitated by this time, nearly grinding my teeth in frustration.

“They disappeared, I’m afraid. And right about the time Dr. Lansing stopped visiting David. I thought about calling the police, but thought it would have been hopeless. I had my suspicions, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough. The papers were simply gone.”

Time Away

   After an extended leave of absense, it was not as different as I thought it would be to return home - as I walked up the stairs, it was as if I had merely taken a short jaunt to the market or perhaps taken a walk. Nonetheless, it was pleasing to again be in familiar surroundings.
   This was one time I wished I had a secretary, for I found there was more than a few things to catch up on after a month's absense. I buckled down, and one by one began opening mail (snail mail and e-mail alike), checking and returning messages on Facebook and telephone; and I was happy to see I had received a card from a good friend in Maine. It is nice to be home.
   I somehow did not find it odd that after sleeping until five or six in the morning while I was away I awoke my first morning back in my own bed at two a.m. Old habits die hard. Even the way one side of my back aches apparently from the way I sit in my office chair return after only a very short session at the computer, and I am pleased to announce it is aching this very moment. I never thought I would miss such a thing; it is funny how things that bother us one day can some time later become akin to seeing an old friend for the first time in a while.
   The most pleasurable aspect of it all was finding that friends had been thinking of me, wondering if I was alright. This becomes increasingly important to me as I grow older, strolling down life's path to the inevitable end.
   It is back to writing for me, thinking of my friends as well, living this day with a slight smile upon my face knowing all is well.


Michael Shorde

The Change of Seasons

Summer was very nice this year, as I have kept in contact with many good friends, and made some new ones along the way. I oftentimes wonder, as I am sure other folks do, just where did the summer go? Although I worked feverishly, I feel as if I did not accomplish enough. Yet, I have all the free time in the world.

Just where did the summer go? The days change so slowly, the sunrise and the sunset, and we do not realize it until the last minute. Perhaps we are trying to hang on to those warms days when everyone always has plans for their free time. The outdoors, boats and barbeques, fishing and swimming...

It started with one or two cool evenings (cooler than usual, which I presume everyone is realizing the change is upon us), which developed into every night. When I wander outside in the early morning and see the moon traveling along a clear, starry sky, the cold dew on the grass, the automobiles, I remind myself that change is inevitable.

I just did not get enough done. I did not get out enough.

As the Earth hurtles along at a thousand miles per hour, spinning silently through the icy darkness, September approaches; it is the time of year that always reminds me that fall is upon us, the children are back in school, and another year passes by for me.

Soon, I will pass my days wishing for spring to grace us, the time when all things emerge from their hibernation and turn their faces to the sun.

The years pass by so quickly now. Where did the time go?

The Storm - A Simple Observation

   I awoke this morning around 3:00, after a night of tossing and turning. I decided that I was up for the day. After going outside for a cigarette, I plopped down in front of my computer to watch something on Netflix while I fully woke up.
   A short while later, I was on the front stoop, smoking and watching the lightning irradiate randomly across an angry sky. I was actually pleased, for there has always been something about stormy weather that I loved. It felt soothing, and for others, frightening.
   While sitting at my computer, the lightning proceeded to announce itself. It was distant, muffled at first; it showed no sign other than a mild storm would make. By then it was raining, and given the time, it was still dark outside. I lit the candles on my desk, as the power has been interrupted several times in the past.
   Lightning course down from the heavens, illuminating the dark morning sky, and exploding like an atom bomb. I could actually feel the building tremble. Now, don't get the wrong idea about me - I like a good storm, but when it sounds and feels like bombs exploding, I become a little uncomfortable.
   For around fifteen minutes, I restrained from going outside to smoke. The bombardment continued, and then grew faint. The worst was passing. I dared going outside, and the rain was still pummeling the earth. I like the rain. It is as if it cleanses everything and leaves it sparkling - the grass, trees, and even the cars parked in front.
   As with the natural law, the clouds split apart to allow the sun to shine down, causing all to sparkle. The crows appeared from their hiding places in the large trees nearby, and on the wide expanse of lawn next to me, many of them walked or flew across the grass in search of worms and other delicious things that always appear after a good rain. A bird's instincts are always right.
   Well, as the morning progressed, the sky cleared up, and I was busying myself with several different pieces of literature. I had suddenly felt compelled to write this down, a simple observation.
   Michael Shorde

The Shadow is born

The Dark Shadow is born

Sawyer and Leslie found themselves on the fourth floor, home of the infamous Sonny Ray Jones. The foyer was empty, quiet. Sawyer looked through the window of the west wing. It looked additionally sanitary, as if these patients necessitated a cleaner, whiter hall than the all the others. The freshly buffed floor shone, reflecting the overhead lights. Regardless, the hall was empty.
“Over here, Doctor,” Leslie said from the east wing door.
Sawyer crossed the foyer to the east wing and gazed through the glass. Partway down the hall, Dr. Wesley and a nurse were in the middle of discourse while two orderlies stood nearby, their arms crossed, and faces serious in anticipation of the impending task.
The nurse wore an unhappy expression as the doctor gesticulated angrily; he suddenly stopped speaking, turned (as he turned, he caught a glimpse of Sawyer watching through the small window), and motioned for the orderlies. He offered a detached glance at Sawyer.
One of the orderlies unlocked the door to the room in front of which they were standing, and both orderlies quickly entered followed by Dr. Wesley. The nurse unwrapped a clean syringe and stabbed it into a small bottle, extracting a small amount of the clear liquid.
Something drew her attention and she disappeared from the hall; she returned almost immediately, followed by Dr. Wesley. The orderlies appeared, and one of them locked the door behind them.  The doctor started for the east wing entrance, leaving the others to their business.
Sawyer swiped his card across the scanner and the door buzzed, when upon Nurse Blake pulled it open for Dr. Wesley.
“Thank you, Nurse. Hello, Dr. Sawyer, nice to see you again.”
“Likewise, Doctor,” Sawyer said. “I noticed you were having a little trouble down there.”
“Nothing we can’t handle, Dr. Sawyer. You’ll get used to it over time. The patients here require an entirely different type of care than those of the lower levels. I know your background, Dr. Sawyer, but I didn’t see anything about you working with the criminally insane.” He put his hands on his hips as if to embellish the work to which he was referring.
“No, I don’t have the experience you obviously have, Doctor. I chose other fields.”
“Well, that’s good,” Wesley remarked. “Because it’s not for everybody. Just as you embrace the mentality of an introvert with Dissociative Identity Disorder, I almost have to take on the mentality of a killer. Think like them, and you can stay one step ahead, or else you may end up on a slab!”
“Yes, I realize that all too well, Dr. Wesley,” Sawyer said, somewhat irritated.
Wesley seemed about ready to bolt. “Is there something I can help you with, Doctor? I’m very busy today, especially when a nurse and two orderlies are having troubles medicating one patient.”
“No. Actually, Nurse Blake was nice enough to offer to give me the grand tour of the place.”
“Well, I hope you like what you see so far. I’m sorry to be so brief, but it really has started out to be a rather infuriating day. The patients just do not want to cooperate, and it is on days like this when I could just become one of them. Just for one day. I would show them a thing or two!” He laughed evilly, and the other two merely smiled. “But like I said, Doctor, I really must go. Feel free to look around all you want. I’ll run into you soon.” He swiped his card, and returned to the east wing. Sawyer watched as he made his way back to the nurse on rounds.
Sawyer looked at Leslie and they both rolled their eyes and laughed. “Why don’t we have a quick look at the fifth floor, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Something alerted Anna, and she looked up from her daze…
“There really is nothing up there, Doctor. It’s a very small floor that they never finished refurbishing. Only sixteen rooms. They were going to fix it up and use it for something else, but after that guy fell and died, they just kind of gave up. It’s not good for much, really.”
Sawyer smiled. “Well, I’m more curious now.” He went to the stairwell and stopped. Leslie was standing there shaking her head and smiling. “You coming?”
“Yes, Tom, I’m coming.”
They climbed the stairs together, and at the landing halfway up they could already smell musty atmosphere of their destination. At the top, the gray metal door was ajar. Sawyer pushed it open to reveal a small, narrow foyer. Leslie glanced to her right at the square counter that used to be the nurse’s station. “This place is nasty!” she declared.
Sawyer looked around, and then headed for the east door.
“Where are you going?” Leslie asked.
“Just looking around, my dear.” Sawyer said, before disappearing through the doorway into the east hall.
Leslie followed him into the darkened hall. “Wow, it’s way too dark to see anything.”
Sawyer went into the room opposite the doorway and put his hands on his hips. “You’re right. This place isn’t good for anything except maybe storage. Come here and take a look.”
Leslie brushed up next to him; Sawyer could smell her perfume – it made her seem even lovelier. He stared at her as she studied the room, taking care not to be discovered.
“Well, this sure isn’t a room with a view,” she said, and they laughed good-naturedly.
“It comes with the economy package,” Sawyer said.
Anna, you need to talk to that doctor – he can help us both…
They returned to the foyer, and went over to the dingy windows. “I saw something this morning, Leslie. Something very bizarre.”
“You mean, like that shadowman?”
“Kind of. One second, there was nothing out of the ordinary, and the next, well…”
“What was it?” She drew closer to him.
“The entire East wing looked like something out of the thirties or forties. There were cots everywhere, half –dead looking men laying on some of them. Some were standing up. Leslie, I could actually see where some of them had had surgery! I mean, it freaks me out just thinking about it. There is something very wrong going on here. I knew the place was haunted before I decided to transfer here – that was part of the attraction – but I didn’t expect all this.”
“What are you going to do?” Leslie asked.
“Talk to Dr. Marsh again. Something tells me he knew more than he told me when I first spoke with him. Maybe Dr. Barrows had seen things, too. I wonder…” Sawyer rubbed his chin, deep in thought. He didn’t realize Leslie was quietly watching him. His eyes confronted her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor. I was just…”
Sawyer leaned over and kissed her. They stayed that way briefly, spellbound with each other, until Sawyer finally stepped back. “I’m sorry, Leslie, I-” She put a finger on his lips.
“Don’t apologize. It’s not like I didn’t want you to.”
They stood there smiling, their eyes locked. “Well, we better go. I have some things to take care of.”
“Me, too,” Leslie said.
They silently walked down to the fourth floor and caught elevator down to the first. Mary Price was at the nurse’s station, restocking her med cart. “I’m glad you too are here. I found something you should know about,” she said in her gravelly voice. She told them of the writing on Anna’s wall, and both of them went to investigate. To their dismay, Nurse Price had been right. Scratched into the wall opposite Anna’s bed was one word: shadow.
“What do you think it means, Tom?” Leslie asked, whispering.
“I don’t know. I’m beginning to think that Ann is connected to this shadowman. I’ll talk to you later on, ok? I’m going to talk to Dr. Marsh.” Before Sawyer left, they gave each other a knowing glance; and after he was gone, Leslie stayed and contemplated Anna, but her thoughts were on Sawyer.
Sawyer tapped several times on the open door, and Dr. Marsh looked up from his desk. “Come in, Doctor. How can I help you?”  Sawyer sighed, burdened by everything happening as of late.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about several things. I guess we could start with Dr. Barrows.”
“Sit down, Sawyer, you look troubled. Now what’s this about Dr. Barrows?”
“Well, it’s not really about him, though there may be a connection. The nurses say that Barrows was making some real progress with Anna Tanner. Apparently, he had overheard her speaking to herself, or someone, from outside her room on several occasions. This would have been quite a breakthrough. They said he spoke to you about it.”
“He did speak to me, actually,” Marsh said, standing and walking around from behind his desk. He sat on the edge and looked thoughtfully out the window. “Jacob was so excited about Anna. He came and spoke to me the night he died. He had managed to invoke some facial reactions from her – acknowledging his presence, smiling, that kind of thing. Not a whole lot, but enough to deem it a success. I was very happy for him.”
“But, he also got her to speak to him, right?”
“Why, yes, I’d almost forgotten – he did mention that she had spoken a few words to him. I recall him telling me this, because it was the night, well, the night he died.”
Sawyer stood, went to the center of the room, and turned. “This is very important, Dr. Marsh. Did Dr. Barrows mention specifically what Anna had said? I mean, to herself and to him?”
Marsh adopted a look of concern. “Just what is going on, Dr. Sawyer?”
“Some pretty strange things, Doctor. I’ve heard Anna talking, too. Saying things, short phrases, as if she were talking to someone.”
“Well, that’s good news, Sawyer. You looked so shocked.” Marsh chuckled, but Sawyer maintained his air of urgency. “There must be something in particular bothering you. Out with it, man.”
“She keeps repeating the same word, or words, as if the center of attention. Did Dr. Barrows mention the words ‘shadow’ or ‘shade’ when he spoke to you?”
Now Sawyer had Marsh’s attention, as he stood and addressed Sawyer. “Why, yes, he did mention those words. He said the same thing – that she had been repeating those words for some unknown reason. He had overheard her saying things like that while outside her room. And to him. Disjointed words, fragments. In particular, those very words you just mentioned.”
“Does the name Timothy mean anything to you? An old patient, or employee.”
Marsh stroked his gray beard. “No, I can’t think of anything. Barrows asked the same thing. I’m sorry, Doctor, but the name doesn’t ring any bells.”
“Ok, Dr. Marsh. Now it gets weird. Patients have been seeing a ghost, the same one – a ‘shadow’ or ‘shadowman’. It’s like a black, smoky shadow that appeared in their rooms and talked to them, but apparently was not very friendly. Tony Burns and Frank Evans both claim it was in their room. They were scared to death – Frank claimed it spoke to him in his head! And Tony Burns, well, he said he could feel it trying to get into his mind. He said another ghost appeared, a soldier or something, and drew the dark ghost’s attention. And then they both vanished. He said the other ghost even looked scared. I realize the type of people we’re dealing with here, Dr. Marsh, but I believe him.”
“It’s understandable you would believe, Sawyer. Naturally, a doctor wants to form a bond with his patients to be able to dig in a little deeper to the root of the problem. And the patient wants the same thing, of course. Even if they have to create a threat to gain outside support. These are lonely people, Sawyer.”
“I’m not sure if you’re getting my point. Both of those patients, and who knows who else hasn’t reported anything yet, or just won’t say anything out of paranoia, have seen a ghost. A ghost they describe as a ‘shadow’. Exactly the same thing Anna has been saying. Don’t you find that odd?”
“Yes, I do find it odd, and don’t get me wrong, but patients can talk to one another, spread stories -”
“Even Anna?”
“Well, that’s a different case altogether.”
Sawyer hesitated. “Would you be more apt to believe if I told you that I saw it, too?”
Marsh tilted his head, and looked incredulously into Sawyer’s eyes. “Are you trying to tell me that you actually saw this…ghost, thing, whatever you want to call it?”
“I did. Without a doubt. And I have a witness, but I think it best to leave that person out of it for now. I take full responsibility for my words. It was a shadow man. I was at the top of the east hall, and it was down by the door to the basement. It was all black, looked like smoke. Horrid, white eyes. I will never forget it.”
Marsh went to the window and clasped his hands behind his back. Finally, he said, “I believe you. After all, ghost stories aren’t new at Stormy Haven. I’ll admit, I’ve seen a few things myself, I just didn’t want to relay this to you right off the bat, and give you second thoughts about the place.” He whirled around. “After all, we can’t let a few ghost stories scare us away. And we certainly need you, Sawyer. Why don’t we keep this under wraps for now, and it might be a good idea to instill the same thing in the patients.”
“It’s already taken care of, Dr. Marsh.
“Good man! Is there anything else I should be aware of?”
“Actually, there is.” Sawyer said slowly. “Someone, or something scrawled a word on a wall in Anna’s room. I don’t think it was Anna, because as far as I can tell, she has never exhibited this kind of behavior before.”
“Oh? What is scrawled into her wall?”
“The word shadow.”
“Shadow,” Marsh repeated. “A few ghosts I can believe in, Doctor, but I have never heard of anything physical. I am suspicious. I think we need to pay a little more attention to Anna. There could be more to it than you think.”
Sawyer hesitated for a moment; Marsh was doubtful. This was not a good time to bring up what he had seen on the east wing. “I hope you don’t think I am overreacting, Dr. Marsh. I only wanted to bring some things to your attention.”
“Not in the least, Sawyer. In fact, I was going to suggest you look into Dr. Barrows’ files. I am sure he has written and computer files. See what you can find out, and let me know – I’m curious,” he said, decidedly. “And please, Sawyer, I don’t think it out of the question that you saw something. Did you finally get a chance to tour the facility?”
“All accept the cemetery.” Sawyer pursed his lips and nodded.  “I’m going there now.”
As soon as Sawyer left the office, Marsh sat down and ran his fingers through his beard. He turned to his computer and typed in a few commands…

4

Sawyer walked around the east side of the building, a much longer walk than he had first considered it to be, but finally turned the far corner and saw the cemetery. From a distance it looked insignificant, with its short, crumbling brick wall surrounding it. It was against the tree line, and seemed almost to crawl into the woods itself. He wondered just how many souls were buried there without markers, without any hope of a living soul arriving to say a blessing or simply speak to them. He realized the horrifying clarity how it must have felt to be alone your entire life, only to be buried in some dark hole, lost and again alone.
Alone. Was there some escape?
The headstones that were there were of a simple nature, cheap stone that weathered quickly; these were not people to be cared about anymore, only rotting remainders of a life spent in pain. Sawyer read some them as he walked through the weeds and rocks. Names and dates. Many, only names. Someone must have decided that merely a name was appropriate. What was appropriate for someone who was a burden yet had no way to change what their mind offered them as a life.
He stopped in front of one and read the name: Timothy Shade.
Timothy Shade? There it was – Shade. Timothy…Had Marsh not seen this? Anna was talking about a person. But how in the hell did she…
“Timothy Shade,” a voice said, startling Sawyer. “Hey, sorry about that, didn’t mean to make you jump,” the man said. The older man wore the maroon scrubs of the housekeeping department. His long, gray hair immediately announced to Sawyer that this man was a product of the sixties; there was no doubt. His face was aged and stubbly, a face that had obviously seen much in its life.
“That’s ok,” Sawyer said, half smiling. “I was just doing a little exploring.”
The old man lit a cigarette and blew out a thick plume of smoke into the slight breeze. “I come out here every now and then to say hello to Timothy, there,” he said, pulling another drag. “I’m in housekeeping, case you didn’t know. I do the floors. Nathan Dreosh. My friends call me Nate.”
“Well, Nate, I’m Dr. Sawyer. The new guy, I guess you could say.”
“Nice to meet ya’ Doc.”
“Same to you…Nate. Um, you knew this Timothy Shade?”
“Sure did. He and I were friends. He was a patient here back in the seventies.”
“The seventies? You used to come here to visit, huh.”
Nate looked him squarely in the eye. “I worked here in the seventies, before that psycho doctor got the place closed down.”

The early afternoon light spread into the hallway from the dayroom, along with the subtle sound of the nature documentary playing on the TV. The selection of shows for the patients was limited to mostly public television, and as Nate made worked way down the west hall, he heard the same channels drifting out of the rooms.
He limped (still had that limp from his short stretch in the Nam) over to the hand railing and snatched up his spray bottle, and sprayed a short area of the white tile, careful not to spray too much, lest a patient or arrogant nurse came strolling right through it and tracked it down the hall.
He grabbed the handle of the buffer and proceeded to buff over the white solution, giving the floor its nice shine. He may have been the least attractive employee at Stormy Haven, in his spotted red scrubs and pony tail, be he did one hell of a job on those floors. He was too proud to think otherwise.
His white sneakers squeaked on the tile as he swayed the machine back and forth, back and forth, attempting to finish the west wing for the time being. To do the entire building in a day was impossible, to do half miraculous. A rotation was the only solution.
He caught a slight whiff of urine, but paid it no mind; he grabbed the other bottle dangling from the hand rail, this one a pink solution his supervisor liked to call “Honey Mist”, and strolled down the hall spraying it into the air. All those in housekeeping were required to carry a bottle around at all times. It was a sin to have a visitor come into the facility smelling urine.
As he passed by Timothy’s darkened room, he saw the young man hunkered down in a corner with his sketch pad, rubbing at the paper with a finger. Nate went inside, and Timothy stopped and stared at his work.
“How’s it goin’ today, Timothy? Are you workin’ on your super hero again?” Nate asked. He smiled and waited patiently. One had to have patience with the young man, as he was not too quick to jump up with a grin and a handshake.
Timothy lifted his head slightly, glancing over the top of his black-rimmed Coke bottle glasses. “Hi. Hi, Nate.”
“Hi, Timothy. Did they give you a good lunch today?"
Timothy nodded. “Baloney sandwiches and chips.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. You look like you survived,” Nate said, laughing. He did it more for Timothy’s benefit, and when he saw the small smile on Timothy’s face, he nodded. “Can I look at your drawing?”
“Y-yeah.” He handed the sketchpad to Nate. Outside the doorway, a nurse that was passing by stopped and smiled at Nate. It wasn’t everyone who could look in Timothy’s pad, let alone hold it. The nurse went on her way, and Nate studied the drawing. Arched across the top of the page in bold letters was: Dark Shadow. Below were various windows with scenery and figures, an artistic masterpiece in black and white. The villains were in a dark alley, a ghostly shadow rising up behind them, forming into the shape of a man with white, glaring eyes. “I am The Dark Shadow. I roam the dark corridors of the mind, and walk unchained in the night, hand in hand with those things unimaginable and feared. I am your nightmare, and I am the thing in your closet, under your bed,” the ghostly thing was saying. Nate shook his head. The nineteen-year-old was a little twisted, but damned good.
“This is so good, Timothy!” Nate declared, handing the pad back to him. He never held the pad for too long, for he knew just how precious it was to the boy. After all, it had been his only friend for years, years of being locked away in the dark with nothing else but his imagination.
“Thanks, Nate,” he said, lowering his head.
“It’s nice day, today, Timothy. Are you going outside today?”
“I don’t want to. I don’t like Dr. Krain.”
“He tries to make you go out all the time, huh?” Nate asked amiably.
“Yeah.”
“Well, you know, if you go out, one of these pretty nurses might ask you for a date. You’re a good lookin’ guy.”
Timothy looked up at Nate, smiling. “Stop it, Nate!”
“Ok, just kiddin’ around, my friend. You know they’re just trying to help you.” Nate had to hide the doubt in his voice. He had seen the way Dr. Krain talked to Timothy sometimes, and forced him out of his room. He knew it was hard for him, and although he did want to see the young escape the confines of his room occasionally, he didn’t want to see him forced, and he empathized with him.
“I know, Nate. But I don’t like Dr. Krain. He’s a prick,” Timothy said slowly, evenly.
Nate was taken aback with Timothy’s choice of words sometimes, and yet, it made him feel closer to him, that he would open up like that. “Yeah, I guess, Timothy. Just hang in there, bud, ok?”
“Yeah.”
“I have to get back to work, Timothy. Talk to you later, ok?”
“Ok, Nate. See you later,” he said in his drugged-like cadence.
Just as Nate was leaving the room, Dr. Taylor Krain walked up with a chart in his hand, a smug expression on his face.
“Hello, Doctor,” Nate said, looking back as he walked down the hall.
“Your machine is still plugged in. I thought we agreed that you keep that thing unplugged if you’re away from it.”
“Sorry, I only stopped for a second,” Nate said, grabbing the buffer’s handle.
“It only takes a second for a patient to get hurt with that,” Krain said, his face like stone.
“I’ll make sure and keep an eye on it,” Nate said, breaking eye contact with the doctor.
Krain entered Timothy’s room, and Nate thought: Fuck you! He turned and started buffing away from Timothy’s room. He knew Krain would try to get him out of the room, and he couldn’t stand to watch the doctor grasping Timothy’s arm and hauling him into the hall. Nate had been in Vietnam, knew fear all too well, and he always felt it from Timothy. The outside world was the dreaded enemy, to be avoided at all costs.
Nate went back to his work, but his heart was with Timothy. Timothy Shade. How ironic it was to have a name like that, to live constantly in the shadows, his personal dark dream world.
Timothy…
“So what happened to Timothy?” Sawyer asked.
“You don’t know?” Nate asked. He took another long drag, tilted his head back and blew it up into the air. “No, I don’t suppose you would, unless you really looked into the history of this place. He got killed. The psychos on the fifth floor did it. Poor kid – never had a chance.”
“Funny,” Sawyer said. “Dr. Marsh never mentioned it.”
I’ve lived in Iowa my entire life, Doctor, and I have always been fascinated with its history…
“Oh, hell. He might not even know about it. It was a long time ago.”
“Just how long ago was this?” Sawyer asked.
“1974, Doctor. I was only twenty three-years-old. I started working here when I came back from the ‘Nam. Got hit by shrapnel a year into my tour. I’m surprised I lasted that long, fuckin’ hell hole. Excuse my French.”
Sawyer waved a hand. “It’s ok. Don’t worry about it.”
“I started working here in ’71. Timothy was only sixteen. Kid was a mess, and I felt bad for ‘em. He didn’t have any friends, only that sketch pad of his. He was a damned good artist. It was just a shame, I tell ya’.”
“Just how in the hell did other patients get a hold of him?”
“That doctor. He had us all fooled. When I think back, all of us working with a serial killer, it makes me shudder!”
All this information shocked Sawyer. “His doctor was a serial killer?” he asked incredulously.
“The one and only Dr. Death. He disappeared way back when, with some detective chasing after him. Apparently, he decided to take up practice here. Changed his face and everything. There were three murders, or four, I don’t quite recall. Right out in those woods.”
“My God,” Sawyer exclaimed. “I’ve heard of that guy, but I never knew he was here. That was before my time, I’m afraid.”
Nate looked him up and down, shaking his head. Dropping his cigarette and snubbing it out with his shoe, he declared, “Hell, you weren’t even born!” He chuckled and pointed at Sawyer. “If you want to find out more, I suggest you go into the basement – there’s a ton of old newspaper clippings and records in the old part. You might even run into a ghost or two.”
“So, who else comes out here,” Sawyer asked.
“Well, I’ll tell ya. That prick of a doctor on the fourth floor. Dr. Wesley. You met him, haven’t you? Guy with gray hair and beard?  He comes out here sometimes, too. When he sees me he just kind of browses around, but I get the idea he knows someone out here. You should keep an eye on him,” Nate said. “Every now and then, I see Dr. Marsh out here, but I think he’s just paying respects. I would watch that Wesley – guy’s got some attitude.”
“I think I will do just that,” he said. “Thank you, Nate. I appreciate it.”

5

Later in the afternoon, Walters picked up Macabee at the airport in a black, dented Escort. He pulled up to the curb in front of the terminal, and saw a man in a long gray overcoat and wrinkled suit. He instantly knew this to be Macabee.
Walters rolled down the window and called out, “Macabee?”
The man responded with, “That’s me. You must be Walters.”
“I am. Get in, Detective.”
Macabee got in and shook hands with Walters. “Very nice of you to pick me up,” he said in that gravelly voice.
“Hey, it’s the least I can do. After all, you came all the way out here to help with a case.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Walters – I didn’t come because I like you. I came because there’s a chance Dr. Death may be here. I am sure you’re a fine detective, but I am focused on only one thing right now.”
“Oh, hey,” Walters said. “I got ya’. Strictly business.”
“Thank you, Detective,” Macabee said, and went silent.
At the station, Walters led Macabee to his desk in homicide division. Papers and documents covered the top, and Walters suddenly fell self-conscious. “My desk isn’t usually like this, it’s just…”
“I know, Walters. No need to apologize. If it helps to solve a case, who cares what your desk looks like. My desk has had some many documents on it; they were falling off the sides.”
“Well, it will help solve the case, I promise you,” Walters said, suddenly nonchalant about the mess of papers.
“Good,” Macabee said. “Now you can brief me on this case, and I am sorry to say, but we may have to organize things a little.”
Walters sighed. “Ok, let’s do it. We’re going to catch this guy.”
Anna Tanner sat in her usual spot on the bed, staring at the wall straight across from her. She saw the word scratched in the wall; and she said it.
Shadow…
She suddenly felt strength, a confidence she had felt in a long time. “Timothy!” she whispered harshly. “Dark Shadow, come to me!” She went silent, sure that nothing would occur. Ana tilted her head slightly: I spoke. I actually spoke. Dark Shadow, I need you more than ever!
As she sat motionless on the bed, the familiar smoke began to appear from a crack in the floor. It rose up, swirling and twisting, until it shaped into the form of a man. Anna feared not, for she had seen much during her time at Stormy Haven.
“Hello, Anna. You called for me, and I am here.” Dark Shadow whispered.
“You have hurt people. I don’t like you.”
“Anna, I don’t mean to hurt people, but I must find him!”
“Who? Who are you looking for?”
“Dr. Death.”
“Who is Dr. Death?”
“I am going to show you now, Anna. Just relax, and let the images flow…”
“Ok…relax,” she said, and sat back onto her elbows.
The shadow came close, and Anna’s heart palpitated with fear. Abruptly, it was right in front of her, and two ghostly hands positioned themselves on her temples. Anna felt the cool energy, and unwillingly closed her eyes.
“Relax, Anna – see what I see. Feel what I feel. Maybe then you will open up.”
The pool of milk on the kitchen grew around the overturned glass, and the little boy stared in horror, unsure of just what to do. The milk circled around his cereal bowl, threatening to drip onto the floor.
The boy looked up at his father, and felt that familiar pang of fear. “I’m sorry, daddy, it was an accident. It just fell over. I’ll never do it again, I promise.”
His father stood near the sink, a cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth, a can of beer latched into his hairy right hand. His glare alone could cut stone. “Well, go grab a fucking towel! Hurry!”
The little boy stood and rushed to the living room doorway. His terror confused him. “What kind of towel, daddy?” He was even terrified of grabbing the wrong kind of towel, so strong was his fright and puzzlement.
“Anything, Timmy! Hurry up, it’s gonna drip on the fuckin’ floor!”
Timothy ran off to the linen closet.
“Hurry up, you little fuckin’ retard!” Wendell Shade called after him. “God damnit!”
Timothy came running in with a large, bright orange towel with a print of the sun hanging over the ocean. “I got one daddy! I’ll clean it up!”
But before the boy could move another step, Wendell called out, “Not that one, fuck! That’s my big beach towel! Go get another piece of shit towel, Timmy! Jesus Christ, it’s drippin’ on the floor!” He made no move to resolve the situation, only stood in his grungy white tank top swigging his cheap beer.
“What’s goin’ on in there, Wendell?” Mary Shade called out from a repulsive smelling bedroom down the hall. She lie on the unmade bed, adorned in a spotted blue nightgown amidst stained sheets and blankets, a can of beer sitting on the nightstand among an epidemic of prescription bottles. “Bring me another beer, Wendell,” she called out in a shaky voice.
Then she turned her attention to the digital clock on the nightstand. She stared at it through thick lensed glasses, and started tapping the various buttons atop the clock. She leaned back on her pillow and closed her eyes, her fingers tapping the buttons at super-sonic speed.
Mary Shade was talking to Jesus. Whenever Wendell saw her, he rolled his eyes. Timothy would see her, oftentimes sitting on the bed and talking to his mother, and he was just old enough to realize that the woman was nuts. Yet, he wasn’t quite at that age when he had thoughts of a genetic nature. Mommy was nuts, therefore, I am nuts.
In the kitchen, Wendell was tapping a foot and watching milk drip onto a floor that had remained unmapped for a forgotten amount of time. Timothy came running in with a smaller, plain towel, and he held it up for his father’s approval.
“That’s fine, now clean the shit up!”
“Ok, daddy!”
Timothy knelt down and began wiping the floor.
“Not there, you little turd, the table first, or else more will just drip on the floor.” He took a long guzzle from his beer, and with his last cigarette still smoldering in the ash tray on the counter, he fired up another and took a nice long drag.
Timothy struggled with the milk that was still threatening to drip off the table. He rushed the glass and bowl to the sink, and returned to the table, swirling the towel around in the pool of milk, which was rapidly absorbing into the towel. “Daddy, I think I need another towel,” the frightened little boy said.
His father sighed disgustedly, and said, “Hang on.” He set his beer on the counter and went out the kitchen door to the back patio, and returned with an old plastic laundry basket. He tossed it onto the floor next to his son. “Throw it in there and go fetch another towel.”
Timothy dropped the milk-soaked towel into the basket (the basket was spotted with dirt from being left out in the rain), and ran to the linen closet for another towel. There were not many towels left, and to Timothy, they all looked as if too good for his father’s approval. He paused, contemplating the kitchen doorway; he knew on the other side his father was waiting, and would not wait long. He hurried back to the kitchen, almost in tears; feeling like the retard that his father so frequently liked to called him.
“Daddy, all the towels look too good to use,” he said, his bottom lip quivering. He looked at his father’s angry countenance, and tears filled his eyes. At that moment, he wished he could have run away, very far away, or better yet, beat him up – beat his father up and make him clean up the darned milk. The frustration of knowing this to be impossibility generated another all too familiar feeling – anger. His tiny fists clenched, little vice clamps threatening to pierce his palms with fingernails; but they unclenched abruptly before his father could see them. That would have meant trouble for sure.
“Oh, now you’re gonna cry,” Wendell said. He leaned toward the boy. “Is it my fault you spilled the fucking milk? Huh?”
Timothy stood silent.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
He looked up at the horrid man, his vision blurred by tears.
“Well? Is it my fault?”
“No, daddy.”
“Stop your fucking blubbering, and go grab a dirty towel out of the hamper in the bathroom.”
Timothy ran off and returned with a damp towel he had retrieved from a hamper that reeked of mold and other unknown odors. He immediately finished wiping up the milk, and was about to toss the towel in the basket with the other when his father chimed up. “Rinse that out in the sink. Try to get most of the milk out of it, and wipe up where the milk was with the damp towel. It’ll get sticky if you don’t.”
With tears running down his face, Timothy removed the dishes from the kitchen sink and set them on the counter. He ran the warm water, rinsing and wring out the towel with all the strength his hands would tolerate.
Wendell walked out onto the back patio and took a long swig from his beer and an equally long drag from his cigarette. He looked up at the burning sun and decided it was too hot to be outside at the moment. He went back inside, letting the screen door slap against the frame.
Timothy was just finishing up – he dropped the towel in the basket on top of the other one. “You stay right here,” Wendell said, and snatched up the basket before taking it outside and dropping it on the cement. Once back inside, he set his beer on the table (now that it was all cleaned up and ready for more) and put his hands on his hips.
“You do this all the time boy, and every time you have to clean it up. I thought it would -he produced a loud burp-teach you some kind of lesson. But you don’t learn. So, I guess it’s time for a little time out.”
“No, daddy, please. I won’t do it again, I promise!”
“Nope. You say that every time, Timmy, and look what you do. Some time out will give you time to think about it. Maybe you’ll figure out why you keep fucking up. Let’s go!”
“No, daddy!” He clung to the table, but Wendell grabbed one of his arms and pulled him along, out of the kitchen, past the living room and down the hall to his small bedroom. He pushed him into the dim room.
“Now you just sit here and think about it for a while. And no lights! If I catch you with that light on, I’ll whoop your ass. And don’t open those curtains, either! If you’re a good boy, I’ll come and let you out in just a little while.”
He slammed the door shut, and Timothy sat on his bed. He knew he would be there a long time. There were even times when his father would fall asleep on the living room couch for hours, while his mother sat on her bed sipping her beer, even getting up long enough to fetch her own, for her calls to Wendell went unheeded by a man who lay snoring in the living room.
Timothy heard the muffled voices of his parents talking from the master bedroom.
“What did he do, Wendell?”
“Oh, just knocked over his milk again. All over everything. Fucking mess.”
Silence.
“Don’t forget, we have to go to the pharmacy today,” he heard his mother say.
“I know, I know,” Wendell said.
“What are you going to do with Timmy?” Mary Shade asked.
“He can just sit in his room and think about it.”
He heard his mother grunt and the creak of bedsprings. She was getting out of bed. “Is that stupid car of your gonna make it to the store?”
“Oh, shut up, woman! It’ll make it” Wendell didn’t want to be too harsh on the woman – after all he was living off of her welfare money, too. “And we’ll get some beer at the store too,” he said.
“I need smokes, Wendell.”
“We’ll get smokes, don’t worry.”
Timothy listened by the door as his father stomped past toward the kitchen. He ran to the curtains and parted them slightly, just enough to let in enough light for him to see into the closet. He rummaged around through the toys and discarded toys until he found what he was looking for – an artist’s sketch pad with a brown cover. The first few pages were littered with doodles, and he tore them out; he searched around for his small garbage basket, and had to stuff the wad of papers in on top of the rest, for it had not been emptied in quite a while.
Timothy heard heavy footsteps approaching, and he ran over to close the curtains. The door opened, and his father’s head poked in. “Are you being a good boy?”
“Yes, daddy,” Timothy said, sitting on the floor near the window, with his sketch pad and pencil in hand.
“We’re going to the store real quick. I expect you to stay put, you understand?”
“I will, I promise.”
The door slammed shut, and Timothy was engulfed in shadow. Fear was no longer the preponderating factor in his thoughts – it was anger. He started to draw the figures as best as an eight-year-old could, crude figures that represented his father, and then he thought about his comic books; there were all kinds of super heroes, in all shapes and sizes. It was then that he realized how is own name – Shade – correlated exactly with the place in where he was imprisoned. The dark, the shadows, the loneliness. It was not hard for him to draw a ghost, a dark, shadowy figure that came to his rescue.
The Dark Shadow was born.

“Maybe so, Evelyn, but for now, mum’s the word. I know a little about what’s going on, so I don’t think it’s out to hurt anyone (except maybe to kill Dr. Death, whoever that is). Trust me, alright?”

“You got it. I feel better already. Thanks Doctor. Just send me a bill at the usual place,” she laughed, and Sawyer was relieved. Dark Shadow was an angry entity. It wanted Dr. Death, and the last thing anyone should do is aggravate it. He and Leslie were caught up in the situation, and they both cared – all they could do is protect the patients for now.  And perhaps find out who Dr. Death was; and Sawyer could only think of two or three people who fit the bill.

Sawyer hurried down to the nurse’s station, and found Leslie speaking with Mary Price. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said.

“Oh no, you’re fine,” Leslie said. “We were just going over some medication issues.”

John Alder ambled up, smiling widely under his baseball cap. “Guess what?”

“Your wife is coming to get you for lunch,” Leslie said, exchanging glances with Sawyer.

“Yep. She’s coming to get me today. We’re going to lunch.”

“Well, that’s very nice, John,” Sawyer said. “I hope you have a good time.”

“Oh, he will today. She will be here in just a little while,” Leslie said, nodding.

“Wow, that’s great! I bet you’ll be glad to get out for a little while.” Sawyer patted his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m getting kind of tired of that thing following me around.”

Sawyer’s smile disappeared. “Thing? Following you? I don’t think anything would follow you, John.”

“Oh, it’s true! Sometimes I look back, and there it is.”

“It? Why do you call it that?”

“Because it looks more like a shadow than a person. Scary looking eyes, but I won’t let it scare me!” John’s face was suddenly strained. “I was gonna’ talk to Dr. Marsh about it, because I don’t like being followed.”

“You don’t have to, John – I’ll take care of it. Don’t scare the other patients with talk, now,” Sawyer said.

“Oh, I won’t,” John said, anger surfacing in his voice. “As long as the damned thing leaves me alone!” He ambled off at his usual slow pace.

Mary shook her head. “As if these patients didn’t have enough problems. Then the state has to go and put ‘em in the most haunted place in the world!” She chuckled. “Someone is talking, because I’ve had a few patients mention this “shadow” ghost. It’s some kind of rumor going around, and they’re a lot more apt to believe it, you know.”

Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, that’s the problem.”

Mary pushed her cart down the hall, and when she had gone out of ear shot, Sawyer said, “I found some information about Timothy Shade and Dark Shadow in the basement. I’m going to my office now to go over it, and I’ll see if I can dig up Dr. Barrow’s records on Anna.”

“Let me know, Tom,” Leslie said. They kept eye contact for a moment.

“I get right back to you, I promise. You should see it down there, Leslie. And when I went down, I saw it.”

“You saw this Dark Shadow?”

“Yeah, but according to Timothy Shade, Dark Shadow was supposed to be a good guy. A kind of super hero. Now, he only wants one thing, and he’s pissed. When I got near the records, he vanished. Just went away. I think he just wanted me to find them.”

“Well, you are trying to help Anna. Maybe this Dark Shadow is helping you,” Leslie said.

“I am sure that’s what is happening,” he said. “And I think he’s helping her even more, getting her to talk. She was actually talking to me. Anna told me Timothy and Dark Shadow was the same person.”

“She’s talking more? That’s amazing, Tom!”

“It is. But you know, I got the feeling in the basement that he didn’t want to hurt me. I don’t think he really wants to hurt anyone undeserving, but he’s angry, and he’s not human anymore. He’s angry about what happened to him. He wants Dr. Death. I need to find out as much as I can.”

“But that was so long ago. He won’t find Dr. Death here.”

Sawyer paused, pursing his lips. “Leslie, when Sonny Ray Jones came into my room, he claimed he was the Dark Shadow and Timothy Shadow. He said Dr. Death was here somewhere, but he didn’t know who it was. He said he could feel him. The Dark Shadow was in him, Leslie, I know it. This thing is trying to get a message to me any way he can.”

“What are we going to do?” Leslie asked.

“We aren’t going to do anything. I want to you to just…well, just let me take care of it.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Hold on just a minute, Doctor! We’re in this together. Anna is my patient, too, and I am going to help.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he said, gently grabbing her shoulders. “If what he said is true, we’re dealing with a very dangerous man.”

“Well, you need someone to look out for you.”

Sawyer laughed. “Ok, I guess I have no choice. I’ll get back to you as soon as I look over those things I found. I have rounds to make, too.” He wanted to kiss her right there, and it was difficult to hold back; and he knew she could sense it. Perhaps that was enough for the moment. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’ll be here,” she said, punctuating her remark with a smile.

Sawyer returned to his office, and began to pour over the story of the tragedy that happened in 1974. An absolute disaster, producing mayhem, death, and one patient dangling from bed sheets from a fifth floor window. He tried to imagine what it must have been like, and shuddered. Certainly, his neck would not have been broken immediately, therefore he must have strangled. Sawyer seemed to go into a daze, and the whole scene became clear.

They arrived at Stormy Haven, got out of the car, and Walters just stared at Macabee as the other stood and gawked at the monstrosity before him. “I can’t believe they opened this place again,” Macabee said.  

“It is quite a sight, isn’t it?” Walters said. Macabee remained silent for a moment.

“Let’s go,” Macabee said, without yes or no, without any restraint, the man just started toward the entrance.

“Um, Detective, you just don’t walk right into this place. It is a high security facility, you know.”

“Well, then you can stay. I am going.” The gruff looking man in the wrinkled suit mounted the stairs. Walters followed, almost like a child.

Macabee entered the building, and found himself in the foyer facing the nurse’s station. A few patients walked by, with no response to the stranger. The TV from the dayroom was playing Little House on the Prairie.

A nurse was at the station, a pretty woman, and Macabee went up to her and immediately announced himself. “My name is Detective John Macabee, and this is…” he glanced around to see if the other had even followed along, and saw him behind him. “This is Detective Walters.”

Nurse Leslie Blake took one look at the man, and was taken aback slightly. “Well, may I help you?”

“Yes, you can, I want to talk to the one in charge.”

A man in a baseball cap walked up to Macabee. “Guess what?”

“I have no idea.”

“My wife is taking me to lunch today.” He smiled and walked away.

Macabee actually smiled. “Ok, then, Nurse….”

“Nurse Blake.”

“Well, Nurse, I would like to speak to the person in charge here, if that is alright with you.”

Walters cut in. “If he’s not around, we can always come back.”

“Now would be a much better time,” Macabee said. He turned around. “What in the fuck is wrong with you,” he whispered to Walters.

“This place gives me the creeps,” he whispered back.

Leslie heard every word and smiled. “I would be very happy to show you to his office, if you’d just follow me, detectives.” She started down the west hall, toward the bend.

“I can’t get over the architecture of this building,” Macabee said.

“It is very old, you see, used to be a TB sanitarium, and was even filled with soldiers at one time from what I hear.”

“From what you hear?” Macabee asked.

“Well, I don’t know the whole history of the place, I just came when it reopened, you know.”

“It’s only been three months, detective,” Walters said.

“Thank you,” Macabee said, and rolled his eyes.

As they walked down the hall, a woman in red scrubs was on her knees scrubbing up a spot on the white tile floor.

“I’m afraid our floor man didn’t show up today,” Nurse Blake said. Walters opened his mouth, but Macabee shot him a look that closed it.

“Perhaps he’s just late,” Macabee said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Leslie said.

They passed Rose’s room, and there she was, standing in the hall rubbing her hands together, blue bandana wrapped tightly around her head as if she were about to clean. Macabee stopped in front of the next room. Here was a young woman sitting on her bed, short black hair, striking blue eyes. She turned and gazed at Macabee, silent…

“That’s Anna. Lovely, but very quiet,” Leslie said.

“Hello, Detective,” the woman said.

Walters was nearly stunned. Leslie froze on the spot. “Have you met her?” she asked.

“No, I can’t say that I have. Hello, Anna.” Anna smiled, for standing around the trio in the hallway were others, smiling as well, ones only Anna could only see. They held contact, those with sullen faces and deep, dark underlined eyes. And then Anna turned away, and the smile vanished.

“I’m amazed, Detective. She is only now beginning to speak, but only to Dr. Sawyer. I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Dr. Sawyer?”

“Yes, he replaced Dr. Barrows.”

“And this Dr. Barrows?”

“Heart attack, I’m afraid,” Leslie said. “Here we are,” she said and lead them into the office. The secretary’s office was empty. Nurse Blake tapped on the open door, and a an older man’s voice asked, “Yes?”

“It’s Nurse Blake, Dr. Marsh. There are some men here to see you.”

“Oh, well send them right it, Nurse. Thank you.”

Macabee entered, followed of course by Walters. This time Walters took his turn. “I am Detective Walters, and this is Detective Macabee. We have urgent business to discuss.”

Macabee studied Marsh, but stayed silent.

“I’m Dr. Marsh. Administrator of this facility. Aaron Marsh. What is happening?”

3

As the troop traversing the west hall passed, Anna looked down at the small, familiar crack in the dull tile and saw the blackened smoke begin to rise. She almost smiled, for this had, besides Barrows and now the new Sawyer, had been her only friend.

Timothy had told her of Detective Macabee, of his coming, and not to fear the man; nay, try to help him for death was in the air once again. Her door closed gently, and she was supposedly alone.

A figure appeared in her room, a man with the black eyes of a lobotomy. He frowned and drifted toward Anna; and although she knew this to be a threat, and she had become so accustomed to it, she made no move to avoid the advancing entity. Its face contorted into a picture of suffering, and it raised its arms as it moved closer; and then it turned, transforming the suffered look into fear.

The Dark Shadow arose, formed into a man, dark with only the whites of his eyes illuminating his features. The entity flew toward the closed door, obviously intent on escaping into the hall. Shadow’s right arm stretched out, blackened hands closing around the neck of the intruder.

Shadow lifted, squeezing as he did, and soon the entity’s tongue and eyes were popping from its head. It turned into a white vapor, visible for only a few seconds more before vanishing altogether.

In his office, Sawyer sat at his desk, trying to make heads or tails of the bizarre tale before him, in the meantime, down the west hall, the Dark Shadow ventured near Anna. “Hello, Anna.”

She gazed up slowly. “Hello, Timothy.”

“Anna, please listen,” Dark Shadow said. “Right now, Dr. Sawyer is looking at the old newspapers about how I was killed. Along with others, of course. He even has my old art pad that I used to make all my stories in. He’s keeping a tight grip on  it.”

Anna tilted her head. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

“The time isn’t right, Anna. Even with something standing before you, as I do now, the living, rational mind still cannot accept. For now, he has seen me, and knows I exist. Talking will come later. But, he believes you, Anna. Everything you say.”

“You talk to me because I am crazy.”

“No, Anna. I talk to you because you understand completely. And I am trying to help you.”

“The doctor. The one who killed you…”

“He didn’t kill me, Anna. But he allowed others to kill me. He is a dirty, filthy murderer who Detective Macabee has been chasing for years.”

Anna thought, making eye contact with Timothy as if were the most natural thing in the world. “The men who just walked by. Police?”

“Yes, Anna. The older one is Macabee. And he is not stupid. He needs to hear the whole thing, and if you think he won’t believe, think again,” Shadow said in that graveled tone. He went through this before I died – a different place.”

“Anna, you only have to talk. Tell them I mean no harm.!”

“But you have hurt people.”

My anger is death, my powers are tenfold since I died. Sometimes I can’t control it. I am only looking for him. I know he is here, but he is somehow disguised.”

“You get into my thoughts,” Anna said.

“Yes, but it is not possible with everyone. There are ways to block it. Let me show you. Perhaps you’ll recognize Dr. Krain.”

“Dr. Krain?”

“Dr. Death. Back then, he was using the alias Taylor Krain. He was my doctor. I was like you, but he had no patience. He would force me out of my room. He was killing people in Cedar Vale back then, and is now. His real name is Dr. Jordan Mitchell. If he finds out that you know anything, he will try to kill you. But I will protect you, Anna.” She nodded. “Close your eyes and I will show you…”

While the two detectives and Nurse Blake were in Marsh’s office, and Sawyer was perusing the horrid story of Stormy Haven, 1974, The Dark Shadow started showing Anna what really happened all those years ago.

Dr. Krain strode across the sparkling white tile, from his office on the east wing to the west wing, where his patient awaited him, unaware the doctor was even coming.

Evening was setting, and all that were left was a skeleton crew. Krain knew this, of course, being a part of the staff himself. There was, however, something he did not know until today. The ever-so famous Detective John Macabee was coming to Cedar Vale. He had suspicions about Stormy Haven, and was going to do a little digging on his own.

Because of this new development, Dr. Taylor Krain knew it was time to leave. But, he had an obsession – the reclusive Timothy Shade. The young man who spent his time sitting in a corner of his room drawing those outrageous pictures of his hero, The Dark Shadow.

No matter how many times he had tried to get Timmy outside, the patient always struggled. Others sadly watched, including Nathan Dreosh, who cared so much for the poor young man.

During this particular evening, nonetheless, Krain was still at work, and had a master plan of his own therapy ready to put in place. It was time to perform some shock therapy on Timothy before he left; and it was not to help the lad, it was to show him what the real world could do for him.

Krain was sick of the lame forms of therapy – this would probably be Timothy’s last session, but that was ok. The boy had no life to speak of, and this would be the final word. Down near the end of the hall, watching with all the strength he could was Nathan Dreosh – his eyes weren’t in the best of shape, but he followed along as best as he could.

Dr. Krain entered Timothy’s room, and stood there before him. “What’s wrong, Doctor?” Timothy asked.

“Why, nothing’s wrong, Timothy,” the handsome Dr. Krain said. “I think it’s just time for a little more therapy.”

Timothy gazed fearfully at the doctor. “Please, Doctor, not today. Please?”

“Now Timothy, you can, put if off forever. And today I just had planned a short walk. You don’t even have to leave the building.”

“I still don’t want to go,” Timothy said.

Dr. Krain reached down and grasped his left arm and yanked him up. “You are going, Timothy, whether you like it or not. Now come with me. And don’t give me any struggles, or I shall have two rather large orderlies come and make sure you do what I say. So, take your pick. It’s me and you, or the others to make it hard. Take your pick now.”

Timothy, wearing his coke bottle glasses and tee shirt, dropped his sketch pad on the floor and stood next to Krain, who was still holding tight to his arm. “That’s much better, Timothy. Now, don’t be calling out, giving me trouble, and this will be a nice mellow walk, ok?”

Timothy was frightened, but there was nothing he could do. “Yes, Dr. Krain, no problems.”

Still grasping Timothy’s left arm, Krain led him into the hallway and down toward the nurse’s station. The nurse standing behind the counter, looked up and noticed the two men, and at first thought it strange. Nonetheless, in her usual respectful manner, she said, “Well, hello Dr. Krain, and hello to you Timothy.”

“Well, hello Nurse. Timothy and I are just taking a little walk.”

Again, the nurse addressed Timothy. “Hello Timothy.”

“Hello,” he said, his head bowed down.

Krain led him past the nurse’s station and over to the elevator. “Where are we going?” Timothy asked.

“Just for a little visit,” Krain replied. He swiped his card over the black box on the wall, and the doors opened. Timothy resisted a bit, but Krain pulled him into the elevator. “Don’t make it hard, Timothy. You’ll just make it hard on yourself.”

Timothy remained silent during the short trip up to the fifth floor. He began to shiver.

“Calm down, Timothy. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re scaring me, Doctor. This is the fifth floor. The killers are up here.”

Krain smiled. “I’m not going to let them hurt you. Don’t worry, Timothy.”

Timothy looked doubtful, but said nothing as the elevator doors slid open. He has only heard about this floor, and how small it was – this much, at least, was true. Ahead was the nurse’s desk, and on either side two secured halls. It was small, and this was where the psychos lived.

The nurse looked up at Dr. Krain and his patient. “Is there something I can help you with, Doctor?”

“Yes, actually, there is. Timothy, stay right here, ok? I’ll just be a moment.”

“Ok, Dr. Krain,” Timothy said.

Dr. Krain addressed the nurse. “I need to speak to you in private. Perhaps in the records room.”

“Doctor, I don’t see the need for…”

“I said, I would like to speak to you in private. Now.” He made for the small records room, and she followed behind, irritated at his demeanor. They went to the rear of the room.

“What is so private, that we needed to come back here?” the nurse asked.

Dr. Krain pulled a scalpel from a pocket of his lab coat, and sliced cleanly across her neck while he held a hand over her mouth. She fell to the floor, and he whispered, “That’s what was so private, nurse.”

He yanked her tag from her neck and appeared from the room to find Timothy still standing there, shaking. He set the tag on the counter. “Why are you so afraid? There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Krain said.

“Where’s the nurse?” Timothy asked with a shaky voice.

“She’s just back looking for some records.”

“Records for what?”

Dr. Krain hit some buttons on the top of the nurse’s counter, and the doors to either side if the halls drifted open.

“What are you doing?” Timothy exclaimed.

“Just giving you the therapy you really need,” Dr. Taylor Krain said, before swiping his card before the box at the stairway door. He rushed through, pulling the door shut.

Timothy ran to the stairway door and struggled with it, but it would not open. He rushed to the elevator and pushed all the buttons.

Nothing.

He ran to the east door and peeked into the hallway. All the doors had been opened, and patients in their white pajamas were precariously sneaking into the hall, and two of them saw Timothy peeking at them. Their reddened eyes, drawn faces, maddened looks – ran toward Timothy.

The young man didn’t know what to do. He ran for the records room just as patients from the west hall were creeping into the foyer. He saw the slaughtered remains of the nurse, and vomited on the tile. That was when the psychopaths found him.

Several men grabbed him, and when he gazed into their faces, it terrified him. Their faces were death – murder. One called out, “Grab some bed sheets!” Two men ran off.

Dr. Death had pushed the alarm himself, and had given Timothy a chance of escape by leaving the nurse’s tag lying on the counter. But Timothy was too flustered to even think about it. Below the building, police were showing up, leaping out of their cars with guns drawn. Employees were running out of the building, while police were running back inside to lead patients out.

Dr. Krain had dashed into the woods, and vanished.

The sergeant in charge of the police whipped out a megaphone. “All of you, come down peacefully, and no one will get hurt!”

Several men dragged Timothy into the foyer and held him down while two sickened men tied the ends of a bed sheet around his neck.

“Stop!” Timothy screamed. “Stop now!”

“And just what are you going to do?” One man asked. His face was red, eyes inflamed.

Down below, where the police and employees were gathered, watched horrified as an office chair crashed through one of the fifth floor windows. The chair and shattered glass showered the ground.

And then the body was thrown out the window. Women below screamed, men gasped as Timothy grasped at his neck, but to no avail. Finally, he hung loosely, swaying in the breeze.

More police stormed the building. Several hours later, the fifth floor patients had been rounded up, but instead of returning them to their rooms, the police began the arduous process of transporting seven that were directly involved to the police station for booking, after which each one was put into a solitary confinement room. But this was only the gist of what took place.

The rest on the fifth floor were still there, basically trashing the place. The men were locked away in their rooms before the police could study the damage. There were chairs scattered everywhere, files that had been in the counter littered the floor, shards of glass around one of the main foyer windows. Especially, of course, the window through which they had thrown Timothy. It was after this vile act that they were even crazier.

This, of course, had been fueled by the bloody corpse in the storage room. Their eyes widened and soaked in the ethereal sight. These were the patients that trashed the records room while the nurse’s corpse lie on the floor amidst a flurry of papers swinging and swaying in the air, many landing on her body, her terrified face. In the meantime, six or seven men in institution pajamas were hanging another patient out of a fifth story building.

Some of the fifth floor patients – three to be exact – were strangled with a wild uncontrollable eye glared into their eyes as if they were in an orgasmic dream. They were murderous animals, and one actually took a large bite from a man’s arm and chewed it down. The others watched in fascination, for although they had seen many sickening things, this they had never seen before.

Another large bite and another patient bent over and quickly took a bite of flesh from the arm. He chewed…and then smiled. The two cannibals looked at each other in wonder, and then continued to feast.

There was nothing for the staff to do but help the first floor patients outside, and try to escape themselves. Although the patients on the second floor were considered docile, the police told them to not venture above the first floor. It was simply too dangerous. In fact, the police finally told staff to stay out of the building. Some of the nurses were crying, for they truly cared for these patients. And yet, the police told them no.  

After the group of psychopaths hanged Timothy and murdered three patients, they searched for a way out. The elevator and stairwell were locked. One bald-headed man smeared with blood picked up the nurse’s card and held it aloft. “And just what is this?” he cried. The one who seemed to be in charge, the one who had thrown Timothy to his death, said, “Give me that, you fucking idiot!”

“Don’t call me that!”

“And what are you going to do?” the one in charge asked.

“Noth…nothing. Just don’t call me that.”

“That’s fine; I won’t call you any names, as long as you help us get the fuck out of here. Everyone!” he shrieked. “We need to get out of here. I’m sure the cops have shown up by now, and the fuckheaded staff is all outside. We have a key card – we need to make it to the first floor and out a back way. But first, we need weapons. A couple of you guys go into the records room. Look on the nurse’s med cart. Anything. Hurry!”

He ran over and swiped the card across the small black box. The door clicked, and he grabbed it and yanked it open. “Bring me that chair,” He yelled to another patient. He propped the office chair under the doorknob and then went to the nurse’s station.

From outside, they all heard the sheriff’s voice: “Come out now – no one will get hurt. We can talk about this!”

He turned to the patients. “Go get that nurse’s body. Fast.” He wouldn’t stand directly in front of the window, but instead at the side. “Ok, we’ll talk. But first, I have a present for you.”

As the nurse’s body flew out the window, past Timothy’s corpse still hanging from bed sheets, the men cringed as the body hit cement below, breaking her body into contorted limbs, and the women turned the heads crying out in horror.

On the third floor, a patient walked down the hallway until he saw a patient from the fifth floor. “Why are you down here,” he asked.

The man came close and grabbed him by the throat. “I’m here to kill her you, you little germ.”

He strangled the patient until there was no life left in him. His face was a twisted sort of horror as he lifted up and headed toward the stairs. That was as far as he got. He found himself facing a gun.

Three patients were still on the fifth floor, while two had made it to the second floor. They all heard the shots from an automatic rifle- the patient fell to the floor, already dead. The policeman grabbed his walkie-talkie. “One patient is down, I repeat, one patient is down.”

“Copy that. Move upstairs, and see if you can round up the rest. They are very dangerous, I repeat, dangerous.”

“Copy that.

While that policeman moved up the stairs toward the fifth floor, more officers made their way into the building. They heard footsteps traversing the stairs. Both hid on opposite sides of the stairs.

On the first floor they appeared wild-eyed animals. Both policemen appeared, and this only caused a frenzy with the two patients  - One dashed one way, while other screamed bloody murder as he headed toward the policeman on his side. Shots rang out.

One policeman grabbed his radio. “Two more patients down, I repeat two more down.” The sergeant in charge of the operation shook his head. “Ok, two more are on their way in. There should be any more loose patients except on the fifth floor. Get up there fast.”

“Yes sir.”

As the two replacements entered the first floor lobby, the other two ascended the stairs. On the fifth floor the door was closed. It was locked. One man said, “Watch yourself,” he said and fired at the door until it opened. “These are the worst of the worst – watch out!”