A/N: Hey guys! I'm not dead… Just lazy. But Summer break is coming and I will be uploading like c-ra-zey! Anyhow, this is a new work about a place in Pennsylvania. You can look at the history at www dot preservepennhurst dot org. Alternatively, you could look up Pennhurst State School and Hospital on Wikipedia or watch the Ghost Adventures episode covering it.

ATTENTION: To anyone who may have connections to a person at Pennhurst, my heart and prayers are with you and your family member/friend. I sincerely hope that they rest in peace. I did not write this with the intention of insulting or upsetting anyone. I believe that it is important to realise that Pennhurst was far from a perfect place. I will acknowledge I was not there and that I most likely have a very biased view. Also please note that this story is 99% FICTION and the one percent non-fiction is only so it is as historically correct as possible.

(Cover Picture © )

Please enjoy!

xoxo He Who Descends

1939, Pennsylvania, USA

CPOV

"We have to send him away. The neighbours are coming up with all sorts of stories," my father worried. He always put so much effort into what people thought, though this time I honestly didn't know what he meant. As always, his hair was slicked back, not a single strand out of place; until he dislodged one strand in his frantic arm waving.

"He'll grow out of it, just give him time! It's not his fault," Mother pleaded my case, her eyes fearful. Her blonde hair was falling out of her bun, a testimony to her distress. "I hear such awful stories about that place – he'll die! You can't–!"

Glaring in a well-practised way, eyes slanting and lips drawing back into a furious snarl, father cut her off. "I can and I will, woman! I've already sent a letter and they'll be here to pick him up by Thursday noon."

"But you can't–" Before another word could fall from her trembling lips, a harsh SLAP echoed throughout the uncomfortable, too-perfect living room. Father stormed out, not even bothering with a final argument nor noticing me as I ducked under the side-table as he passed, a dangerous shadow in the cavernous halls of our home.

Mother fell to her knees, hiding her face in delicate hands as her shoulders quivered with sobs. I scampered over to her and threw my arms around her from behind; the most comforting thing someone as tiny and quiet as I could manage. She sat up straight and turned around, spying me from teary eyes she whispered my name;

"Carlisle," she grabbed me and squeezed me as tight as she dared, afraid my frail body would break if she pressed too hard. She cried onto my shoulder and promised me everything would be ok.

"I promise I'll come to visit you every week and I'll bring my cookies," she kissed my cheek and squeezed me once again. "This is going to make you all better. And you'll come home in a few months and go to school and make friends!" I could tell that I wasn't the only one she was reassuring from the way her words faltered and the fact that she wouldn't look me in the eye.

I just leaned into her embrace more, feeling useless and as though my father was angry at her because of me. Because I'm different to other little boys.

Different because I can't talk.