AN: I don't believe in ghosts, but once I was on a class trip to a hotel. Modern, no ghost stories attached, nothing. But one of the rooms we'd reserved…something was wrong with it. Even the teachers wouldn't go in there.
Anyway, my imagining of Arkham Asylum borrows a bit from Shirley Jackson's Hill House.
Johanna Crane-The world will never know.
Christineoftheopera-I wouldn't...cellars. Anywhere dark.
He's never stayed after hours before. He's never had to, and the old director wouldn't hear of it anyway.
But now…now he can stay as long as he likes.
Arkham is very old-not as old as Keeney Manor, but old just the same. And it feels like Keeney Manor-like it's hiding something, like there's always someone watching him from the shadows.
Twice now he's gotten up from his desk, convinced that he saw someone in the hallway, and seen nothing. The patients are sleeping, the guards are…wherever it is they are…and he is alone.
Well, mostly, anyway. Kitty's sorting out something on the lower floors-training one of the night nurses, maybe-but she's already been at it for most of the evening and she'll be through soon.
He leans against the wall, wondering what's on the other side of it, wondering what exactly is in the closed-off part of the building that's always kept locked.
His predecessor told him it was kept preserved, per old Amadeus Arkham's wishes, as what the asylum had been like when it was a house. But he had never told him anything else, and further inquiries had earned him a stern, "That's enough, Dr. Crane."
Old fool. It's no wonder he was forced to retire, especially after prescribing a fatal dosage to a patient. Tsk, tsk.
He gets up and rubs the bridge of his nose, wondering if those are rats he's hearing in the walls.
"Jonathan?"
He looks up and this time there really is someone in the hallway.
"Hi, Kitty."
"I think it's time we went home."
No…no, not yet.
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"You know that part of the building that's closed off?"
"Yes, it's a health hazard."
"Regardless, I want to see it."
"Why?"
"Curious." She sighs but steps aside to let him out of his office. "You don't have to go if you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
He doesn't say anything to that, just takes his keys and a flashlight and makes his way to the forbidden door.
It hasn't been opened in a long time-the lock is stiff and for one horrible minute he thinks it won't open at all. But it gives and the door opens without a sound.
The room inside is dark and cold and dusty. There's a scuttling noise from a corner-a mouse, maybe, or even a large spider. God, when did someone come in here last?
"I can't see a thing…"
"Hold on, I brought a flashlight."
The light's beam is swallowed up by the darkness, but he can see bits-dead insects, cobwebs, a large wolf spider-on the floor.
"Let's get out of here."
"There's nothing to be scared of. Come on."
"But…"
"Fine, you stay here and I'll explore."
"Not on your life!"
"Then come on."
The spider hurries back to its corner as they enter.
What was this? Everyone knows of Arkham's…unpleasant history-crazed workman, crazed founder, murder all around-but this…what did this used to be?
"Must've been the servants' quarters or something." She shivers. "Gloomy place…"
Yes. Forgotten. Sick.
Not for the first time, he feels the disease oozing from the stone walls. No wonder that man tried to burn it to the ground six years ago…no. There is nothing wrong. It's just an old building with an ugly history and an ugly present. Nothing more.
He opens a door and finds himself in a nursery. There's a dollhouse here-nearly fallen apart from the damp-and an empty bookshelf, and a handful of porcelain dolls. One of the dolls is missing her head-it's rolled off into the corner and one of its eyes is missing.
"I don't like dolls."
"Pediophobia." he says absently, looking at the severed head. He wonders how it detached from the body. Perhaps it was ripped off…wasn't old Arkham supposed to be mad? Maybe he'd pulled the head off.
"Come on, love, let's go home."
"Another minute…"
What's that noise? Sounds like footsteps. Maybe there's a way in from outside.
"Jonathan, please…"
"Sh."
What is that noise? An animal? A hobo?
He takes a few more steps and feels a soft breeze against his face. Yes, just an opening to outside.
There's a wooden table-in better shape than the dollhouse, but stained.
Oh.
This must be where it happened. The murder.
Arkham legend has it that Amadeus came home one night to find his wife and daughters raped, murdered, and dismembered. This must have been the room he found them in. How very interesting indeed.
There's a sudden shriek from behind him and he drops the flashlight. It bounces a little but stays lit-thank God for small favors.
"Kitty?"
"Wasn't expecting it."
"Expecting what?"
She points. Sitting in a dusty corner, looking almost like a forgotten ball, is a human skull.
Time to leave.
"Come on." he says. "Let's go home."
He locks the door behind him and does not remove the key from his desk again.
THE END