November 1928

The lone bell above the asylum chapel tolled the morning hour. The foggy morning was damp and cold. Sara didn't want to leave to the warmth of her dorm room bed. She could hear the other children shuffling out to wash up before breakfast. She knew she should join them but she couldn't bring herself to part company with the toasty bed. It was so rare that she felt comfortable there.

"Get up, you lazy little brat!"

Sister Mary Alburga's shrill voice woke the girl from the light sleep she'd dozed off into. She'd been a resident of Briarcliff's children's ward long enough to know that tone meant punishment. She was already crying before her bare feet hit the icy floor.

The sour-faced woman scolded her and boxed her ears till they rang. She told the other children who were already in line to look at her in her disgrace, which they did, though all but one only did so because they were afraid to disobey. Everyone in the ward feared Sister Alburga, even the other nuns.

When the Sister was satisfied the girl had been thoroughly shamed, the line was allowed to go to the mezzanine for a greasy, flavorless breakfast of plain oatmeal and orange juice. Sara didn't want hers but her stomach was so hungry that it hurt, so she forced herself to swallow the oily glop. She felt queasy afterward, which wasn't much of an improvement over the cramping.

After breakfast, Sara was set to her punishment: Washing the windows of the dormitory. The dorm rooms were on the third floor of the Kirkbride building and to clean the outside of the panes, the girl was forced to stand on the ledge while Sister Alburga supervised her. The wind was strong out on the ledge and even though the nun had allowed her a coat, the autumn cold sliced right through her clothes and chilled her through and through.

She worked as quickly as she could but Sister Alburga kept making her go back over areas she'd already washed, claiming she'd missed spots. Sara was soaked and shivering violently. Her fingers had lost all color and it hurt to move them when she squeezed the cold, wet rag out into the small pail the Sister had propped on the window sill with her.

"C-c-can't I p-please come in t-to get w-w-warm?" she begged the nun. Her teeth were chattering so badly, it was hard to make the words come out.

"Not until you've finished," Sister Mary Alburga said with stony indifference.

"But it's so c-cold!" Sara whined. She dunked her rag in the small bucket of sudsy water. "I can't feel m-my fingers."

"Then you can't feel cold."

Sara sniffled and scrubbed at the window some more, even though she couldn't see whatever it was she was supposed to be cleaning off. She knew there wasn't anything there to wash. The nun was being cruel just because she could be and there was nothing Sara could do about it except pray that it would end soon.

The half-frozen girl went to dunk her rag again. As she leaned toward the bucket, her foot slipped on the soapy water that had pooled on the ledge. She gasped and teetered. The rag fell from her hand as she tried to grab the window, but there was nothing protruding to catch hold of. Her cold, wet fingers scrabbled helplessly at the frame. She was going to fall.

Then she felt Sister Alburga's hands on her ankles. Relief flooded her senses like warm rain. She looked down at her rescuer but the girl's joy died when she saw the nasty look on the nun's face. With lips curled in a hateful sneer, Sister Alburga shoved her. Hard.

Sara's feet went out from under her and she was falling. Her chin hit the wet window sill and she flipped midair. She saw the sky for a surprisingly long moment, then the world turned sideways. She caught a glimpse of one of the other child patients in the common yard, staring at her as she fell. Then Sara hit the concrete and saw no more.

She was buried that same day under a small stone marked "Orphan", though she had a family—one that would believe their troubled daughter had died from pneumonia, thanks to the staff at Briarcliff.

Days later Sara would find herself wandering the halls of the hospital, alone and confused, in a shadowy echo of the world she'd lived in. Dark things came from the worst parts of the hospital to chase and terrify her; to hurt her. When she wasn't running scared, she was painfully alone. So many hours spent wandering the grounds with only the wind for company left her aching inside so bad, it felt like when she'd been alive and starving.

Then she found Heather and the world was full again, alive and much safer than it had been, for her. She could touch and talk and eat and laugh and feel so many nice things. She had meant to let Heather go after just a bit but being alive again felt so good and the prospect of going back to hell was terrifying.

Sara couldn't let go of Heather. She couldn't even risk letting Heather 'wake up'. Not until they'd found a way out of the asylum, anyway. Then, Sara told herself, she could find someone else to ride. Someone who wanted to help her. Then they could all be free.

Until then, Heather would have to stay asleep.

...

-= AMERiCAN HoRRoR SToRY =-

...

Author's Note:

Brutal beginning, yes? And yes, there was a pun in the description of this Episode that related to this chapter: Surviving the fall. Which, obviously, Sara didn't.

Her story is based on the real life accounts that have surfaced about abuse of orphans at St. Joseph's Orphanage in the 1940s and Goodwood Orphanage in the 1950s. Some say the supposed survivors fabricated the memories. Check into it yourself and see what you think. Did nuns really kill children they were supposed to care for?

In case it's not clear from the opening, this Episode's going to be harsh. Electroshock dialed up to 11. Brace for it.