2018

It was close to 1:30 AM by the clock on Aaron's smartphone. The device was acting both as his flashlight and his video recorder as he crossed the floor of what used to be Briarcliff Manor's reception area. The once-majestic dark wood interior was blackened with age and neglect. Curls of something had drifted down to cover the floor, sealed in a thick blanket of dust. The teen's Converse hightops left tracks in the pristine mess.

"This is it," he murmured to his phone. His pulse was racing with excitement at the thought of how many hits his video would pull in when he posted it to his vlog. Nobody had gotten footage inside the condemned asylum before. "We're inside." He fine-tuned the focus. "Welcome to Briarcliff Manor, where thousands met their unfortunate ends."

He panned around to make sure the audience could see what he was seeing. His phone threw sharp light where he turned, highlighting the neglected state of the place. Aaron moved to the center of the room for another pan.

"Old photos show there being a statue in here," he remarked. He was still speaking softly. He was trespassing and that kept him alert and quiet. "But it's gone. Someone probably stole it."

He panned over the dusty wooden base where the statue should have been. There was a large cobweb attaching it to a nearby post. Aaron followed the post upward with his camera, up the central spiral staircase. The light from his phone didn't travel far at that angle. Made the room feel like it was closing in around him.

Aaron took in the claustrophobic experience, analyzing it briefly before deciding that was enough of that. He lowered his camera and saw in the view screen the most hideous face he'd ever seen. Distorted and sickly green in the light, the thing's jaw stretched long and its gaping hole of a mouth opened wide in a silent scream. Its eyes were solid white. The camera fought for focus and for an instant the thing looked like the missing statue of Saint Mary.

The teen danced back and looked over the phone at the foyer. There was nothing there. He quickly looked back at his phone but the screen, like the room, was devoid of the freaky thing he'd just seen. His heart was thundering like he'd never felt before.

"Fuck this," he breathed. He was awed that he'd actually seen something and while he was already beginning to rationalize the image he decided he could give it plenty of thought someplace else. In his shock he kept the video rolling, still kept up the vlog persona he'd crafted. It wasn't a live stream; he wasn't thinking about the reactions of a live audience. He wasn't thinking at all. "We're getting out of here, folks."

He turned to head back the way he came and the phone camera showed the doorway was blocked by a small group of people. They were of all sizes, wild-haired and filthy. Their clothes were tattered. Some wore what looked like the old uniforms the inmates used to wear. The silent people were just standing there, staring at him, barring his way out.

Then one took a step toward him and he bolted.

Aaron had studied maps of the asylum and knew better than to go upstairs. That was a dead end. He ran toward the back instead. There were large doors that barred the way to the inner guts of the hospital. They had been chained but one of the sturdy doors had fallen clear of its hinges so the young man ducked through without slowing, into the darkness beyond.

The air was very still on the other side of the doorway. Aaron got the sense he wasn't alone. Frantically he swung his phone around, shining the bright LED light all over. He didn't see anyone.

Seeing the corridor in person was far different from viewing PDF maps online. For one thing, the place smelled bad. Like rotting meat, rust, and dust. There were weird sounds in the darkness but none were coming from behind him so Aaron didn't think the homeless people had followed him.

He thought back to the maps and headed straight. If the images were correct, there would be another set of doors there that should lead to the main hall to the cafeteria. The cafeteria had several windows and doors. The windows were likely barred but he reasoned he should be able to get out through one of the doors.

He hadn't reckoned on the doors to the hall being locked tight, which they were. Heavily chained like the first set had been, only these ones were intact. There was no way out that way. Aaron tried to brace himself for the walk back into the strange and silent mob.

He didn't have long to worry about the matter: The ghastly ghoul he'd seen earlier had returned, and it was right behind him. It put a messy end to his troubles, shrieking its feral rage as it bathed the dusty hall with fresh blood.

Hours later, the phone was scavenged from the hall by filthy hands that carefully wiped away the gore.

...

-= AMERiCAN HoRRoR SToRY =-

...

1968

"Out in the hall!"

The shout roused Violet from her uncomfortable doze. When she opened her eyes she saw her cellmate was already awake, sitting up on the cot and staring at her. The woman was in her early 20s and had limp brown hair. Her eyes were large and sunken. She looked malnourished, gaunt of face and strikingly lean-limbed.

"Why are you in my room?" she asked, not rising from the bed.

The door was unlocked and Violet got to her feet. "They put me in here last night."

"All out!"

The woman's shout was annoyed. Violet headed out into the hall, leaving the bedding behind on the floor. She didn't know what else to do. The stringy-haired girl followed soon after, still staring at her. Violet looked down the hall to either side at the untidy row of inmates. It was strange being among them and she could tell a few recognized her. This caused a bit of a stir until Sister Agnus showed up with a switch to whip the knees of anyone who wouldn't fall in line and be quiet.

"Line up next to the heater," the Sister ordered.

The rows of women converged in a loose line. They weren't silent but they were a great deal quieter than they had been. One woman toward the middle of the slow-moving line kept muttering about how she was cursed. Another, an old woman with a limp, seemed to be whimpering about the hospital staff wanting her dead.

The hall was very cold and without anything to cover her feet, Violet soon found herself shivering and rubbing her arms for warmth. The short-sleeved nightgown wasn't much protection. She looked around again, taking note of what the other women were wearing. She'd never really thought about it before. Several had thick, drab shawls wrapped around their shoulders. Most had shoes or slippers or at least a pair of socks on. Many had sweaters. Still, just about every woman looked colder than she would like to be.

They all rubbed their hands and stamped their feet for warmth as they waited for the doors to the central corridor to be opened. The heater they were ordered to stand beside didn't put out any heat.

"Does this thing work?" Violet asked her cellmate quietly, motioning to the silent device.

The mousey woman widened her eyes. "They don't turn on the heat till October."

"We'll freeze!"

The line started to move then and the women filed out into the central intersection. They were led to the cafeteria where Violet hoped to catch sight of Tate but the men weren't in the room yet. When they were finally led in, she didn't see him with them. She wasn't surprised but she was disappointed. Concerned, too.

Breakfast was disgusting, consisting of greasy oatmeal, watery orange juice from concentrate, and dry toast. Violet ate the toast but she let a fat lady named Jewel have her oatmeal. The woman systematically hit up everyone near her for any portions of food they might not want. With some people, she didn't even ask but helped herself.

"I'm Rosemary," Violet's cellmate said midway through her serving of oily oats.

"Violet."

Rosemary smiled. "We're both plants."

A corner of Violet's lips tugged up. "Yeah. I guess we are."

The cafeteria was noisy. She'd never been in it at meal time before. The cacophony created by so many people of varying sanity was jarring. She found conversation gave her something to focus on, which helped.

"Why'd they put you in here?" Violet asked.

Rosemary shrugged and picked at her toast. She'd also let Jewel have her oatmeal. "I wanted to go to college in England. It would've been paid for but my parents didn't want me to go. It made me sad not to go so they sent me here to help my nerves."

Violet couldn't imagine a worse move. "Wow. Far out."

"What about you?" asked Rosemary. "Why are you here?"

"She's here because she kidnapped a psychopath." A girl with short blonde hair had wandered up the bench row and had overheard the question. Her answer was delivered gleefully to Violet rather than the girl who asked.

"Sit down, Shelly," one of the orderlies barked from the doorway. He wanted to chat up the nurse and couldn't do that if the patients weren't staying seated like they were supposed to.

She obliged him by squeezing in between Violet and the old lady sitting next to her. The old woman squawked in annoyance but made room.

"You kidnapped someone?" Rosemary asked Violet, looking scared. She did have to share a cell with the new girl, after all.

Violet's brows pinched and she shook her head. "No. Not exactly. I mean-" She paused, trying to figure out how to answer that question.

Shelly didn't give her a chance. "You heard about the clocktower shooter, right?" At Rosemary's vacant look the blonde girl continued. "There was a guy over in the men's ward who went nuts and shot a bunch of people."

"I heard he killed fifty people!" the wild-eyed woman next to Rosemary threw in.

"No, he didn't," Violet corrected.

"You did kidnap someone?" pressed Rosemary.

The teen frowned, feeling flustered by the disjointed conversation. "I rescued him. The doctors here-" She hesitated. Would it be a good idea to tell a bunch of crazy people that their doctors wanted to cut open one of the patients? But her hesitation came too late.

"What about the doctors?" Shelly poked her in the side rudely. She had a large interest in what happened to Tate.

Violet scowled at her for the poke. "Don't do that." She rubbed a hand over her side. "They wanted to operate on his brain against his will. I didn't think that was right."

She had the attention of all the women seated around her now. There was little new inside the walls of Briarcliff Manor and hers was the most interesting story they'd heard in a while. Unfortunately everyone would be kept waiting for more details because by then it was time to get in the pill line. The men had already gone through; now it was the ladies' turn.

...

Violet didn't get pills. Like many of the inmates, she got a cup of clear, nasty-smelling liquid to drink. She refused it at first but the dispensary nurse told her if she didn't take it, the orderlies would force her to take it. She had seen one such instance happen while she was working there and opted to take the medicine.

It tasted as bad as it smelled. She gagged a little then, getting an idea, headed over to the doorway where the orderlies were chatting with a couple of nurses. "Excuse me," she said with a little smile. Her stomach was doing cartwheels. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

"No," grunted one of the orderlies. She thought his name was Sam. "You can go when pill line's done."

She looked back at the line. There were still several people slowly grinding through it. "But I'm sick. I think I'm gonna puke." She put a hand over her middle and another over her mouth, like explosion might be imminent.

One of the nurses backed away but the orderly didn't look impressed. "You throw up," he said. "You're cleaning it up."

She must have made a strange face then because he and the other orderly laughed at her.

"Go siddown," the first guy told her.

Violet wanted to get outraged at him but the medicine was kicking in. She felt warmer. Pleasantly so. In fact, everything was feeling pretty darned good. She decided to retreat and think more about her options.

By the time she got to the table, she was feeling great. Woozy, boozy, a little off balance... but great. It seemed like she'd just sat down and the orderlies were calling them all to line up to go to the day room. She meandered over to the line, wondering distantly why she'd wanted to throw this stuff up. She was feeling better than she had in months. Maybe ever.

They were walking then. Violet shuffled along with the rest, eyes on the shawl of the woman ahead of her. She wanted a shawl too. She wondered where she might get one. She never saw any in the linen closets but there were so many that looked the same, she was sure they were hospital-issue. She thought about asking the old lady but then the woman started muttering to herself about how the doctors were trying to kill her and Violet decided she could wait to ask someone else.

..

Violet found the common area far less unsettling to be in, dressed as a patient and flying high on laudanum. The people didn't bother her as much, though they still seemed strange. She found her way to one of the old red sofas and settled into it. She shut her eyes for several seconds and felt like she was floating. She had to open her eyes to be sure she wasn't.

"Far out," she breathed softly. She was so very relaxed. "Oh, man. I should not be this high." She worried for an instant that she might forget herself. Forget her sense of purpose. She had to remember Tate. Tate. Where was Tate?

She looked around but didn't see him. She did see Shelly coming her way though. The blonde came and sat down next to her on the couch, one leg tucked up under her bottom. She had shoes on. Violet wiggled her bare toes and wished for some socks.

"How'd they catch you?" the other girl wanted to know.

Violet had expected trouble from her so the genuine curiosity came as a pleasant surprise. "On the road," she supplied.

Shelly lit a cigarette. She tipped her head back and exhaled a volcanic plume of smoke toward the ceiling before looking at Violet again. "What did you do?"

The brown-haired teen didn't understand what she meant at first. When it clicked through the thick drug haze, she smiled. It was a doped smile and Shelly could tell.

"Can I have a cigarette?" Violet asked.

"Sure," Shelly said but only after she checked to see how many were left in the pack she had stashed down the front of her blue jumper. She handed one to Violet along with a lighter. "What happened?"

A college-aged guy with dark brown hair joined them in the settee, taking the stained armchair where he sat and started writing in the notebook he carried. Violet paid him only peripheral attention. She lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool sensation of the filtered smoke.

"We were going to head to Canada but the cops threw something out in the road. Popped the tires, I think." She had another puff from the cigarette and made a sour face. "Car went off the road and into a bush. Getting out was a real drag."

Shelly was hanging on the story and Violet could tell the guy was listening too so she added a little more. "We managed to avoid them for three days. The fog's what got us, I think. If it just hadn't been foggy..."

She was pretty foggy now. She smiled. "I'm Violet." Said to no one in particular.

"John," the guy with the notebook said. "A pleasure."

"I'm Shelly," the blonde said. A few days ago she'd wanted to tear Violet's hair out. Now, the girl was her best source of news and entertainment. "What happened to Tate? Why isn't he here?"

Violet shrugged. The motion felt kind of good. She blinked and her eyelids felt heavy. That didn't feel so great. "They, um. I think maybe they took him to operate on him. They said he has a tumor."

Shelly was torn. She knew Tate had headaches but she didn't trust the doctors at Briarcliff. "They better not hurt him or I'll kick their asses."

It was a hollow threat no one believed. John started writing and Shelly sank into her unhappy thoughts, worried about Tate. She thought of him as one of her boyfriends and ranked him pretty high on the list of ones she liked best. She was afraid the doctors would lobotomize him while he was gone.

Nearby, someone started to play the piano. Violet stirred, feeling like she was waking up. Only she didn't feel awake. Not really. The music from the piano was pitchy but she could tell it was because the instrument was out of tune and not fault on the part of the musician. Leaning forward, she could only see the knee of the person playing the old piano. The knee wore a man's uniform.

The tune he played was familiar but she couldn't place it. After a moment, she decided she would go over and ask. Getting up took more effort than she expected. Once she was on her feet she wandered the short distance to the piano.

Seated at the keys was a young man a few years older than Violet. Well-built and good-looking, he seemed out of place in the run-down room. He played well despite the poor instrument but he stopped when she came over.

"Hi," she said. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I just... was trying to remember the name. Of the song."

He smiled. It was a nice smile. "It was meant to be 'Stormy Weather' but I don't think this piano's ever been tuned."

"Riiight!" Violet said, connecting to the title. "Bing Crosby."

The young man looked confused. Then he smiled tolerantly. "Frank Sinatra."

He plunked out a few bluesy notes and supplied in a fair impression of Sinatra:

Can't go on
Everything I had is gone
Stormy weather

Gravity seemed to weigh more by the piano so Violet leaned on it while she listened. His voice was like warm butter and she liked the way his eyes danced when he looked at her. When he got to the end of the refrain she stirred to inject the next one. She wanted to sound like Crosby but she channeled a drowsy Ella Fitzgerald instead.

Since my man and I ain't together
Keeps rainin' all the time
Keeps rainin' all the time

"You have a beautiful voice," the piano-man praised, letting the song dwindle and die. "You must be in my show!"

Violet looked at him curiously. "Show?"

He nodded then realized she must not know who he was. "I'm Dandy Mott." He stuck a hand out to her. "I'm organizing a talent show for the hospital. Say you'll be in it."

She was flattered but she wasn't sure whether to believe Dandy. "I'm Violet. I, uh." She looked around at the dreary common room. The other inmates had gone back to what they were doing-or not doing. She looked back at Dandy and smiled drowsily. What could it hurt to play along? "Sure."

...


Author's Note:

Most the asylum experiences you'll read about in this fic are based on real-life accounts. In many cases, the only thing I've changed was the identities of the people involved: The acts were real. I figure with tales this horrible, there's no need to embellish. Some of the things I've read about are so awful I can't even bring myself to use them.

That said, there's gonna be some unsettling M-F sex in the near future. Please bow out now if you're underage or easily triggered.

Side note: 'Stormy Weather' is a hugely popular tune from the 1930's that's been covered by just about everyone in the industry. From Billie Holiday to Ringo Starr, Bob Dylan to Christina Aguilera, and-yes-Sinatra, Crosby, and Fitzgerald all covered it. With AHS being so song-inspired, I had to tap this song.

Next chapter: We find out what's become of Tate. Also: What's in the future for Ben's career? It's all coming next.