Farnwald drove the next day, I wasn't feeling very good. We were going along the lake, down Nathan Avenue, which would curve us into the southern part of town. The sky was gray and the world looked dreary. A heavy drizzle made me feel very uncomfortable. I kept getting the feeling that the drizzle was going to erupt into a storm, but it never did.
We didn't have to drive far, the Historical Society was the first building in Southvale. "Building" is an over statement, it was more like a shack. It faced the lake, I could see that big Roller Coaster on the other side if I squinted hard enough. It also housed a boating dock and a small warehouse. As I headed towards the door, I noticed that the shack was made of wood, and it looked like rotting wood. I guess the tourist bureau of this RESORT town was either underpaid, or just didn't give a damn.
Farnwald was busy unloading the car, so I figured I'd head in. I knocked several times, to no answer, so I pushed in and the door fell off its hinges. I quickly grabbed it in a last ditch effort to avoid getting sued, but the sound of a person's voice startled me into dropping it again.
"Don't worry about that thing, its mostly just for show", said someone. It came from a young girl, maybe in her early twenties, that was sitting behind a desk. She looked pale, and her long hair was dyed black. She was very scrawny, possibly a perfect mate for Tom. I could tell he was interested, cause he dropped all the equipment the second he looked at her.
"What are you doing, that shit's expensive damnit!", I yelled at him. I mean, I was young once also, but like I said, that shit's expensive.
"Sorry sir...", he said as he took little glances at her while cleaning his mess. She didn't look very interested.
"So...", I began. "Do you run this place?"
"For the time being, yes", she sighed. "Not too many people wanna volunteer anymore to help this town out. It's too bad because the place has a rich history."
"I heard. As a matter of fact, I'm an author and I came here to do a story on it. My name's Dennis Crocker."
"OH!!", she yelped and she grabbed my hand. "I've read some of your work, I especially love that book about vampire's invading Florida" Oh no... not one of these people... I swear, these goths get kicks out of work like mine, and I don't mean they get scared, as was my intention. Instead, they simply enjoy the subject matter.
"Right this way sir!", she said as she lead me towards the back of the room. We passed a display case, which I first expected to contain something like arrowheads. Well, there were arrow heads, but a bunch of other weird stuff as well, torture devices, something that looked like a chalice, and some weird looking dolls.
"What's all this?", I asked?
"Well", she answered. "We don't know about a lot of them. We think we know where those tools come from. There was a Prison Camp..."
"Yes, I read up on all of that"
"Ok, well, we think those used those to torture prisoners."
"Whaaa...?"
She had a sad expression on her faces as she looked at those things.
"I can hardly believe it either, and in America especially. Supposedly, the evil men that ran this camp used to wash these blood-stained instruments off in the lake. There're supposed to be ghosts around there now."
Well, these things were rather nasty looking. I mean, they looked like they should be in a display case over in some Spanish Castle, not in a small American town. Guess the country was pretty wild back then. You'd think that Lincoln...
"Oh, and a few of those things recently went missing."
"Wha.....?"
"Someone got into that case without making a scratch, and stole them. They stole a few other weird looking things too, things that an archaeologist hadn't gotten around to studying yet. And they left that pure gold cup, weird huh?"
That's a bit beyond weird. More along the lines of another reason to leave the town. Maybe one of those nuts escaped from the asylum and was wandering around the woods, looking for helpless victims.
"Come on back", she said. "You haven't even seen the paintings yet."
As we headed towards the back, I glanced at a displayed photograph. It was of a single large house, with a few smaller ones around it. A plaque underneath it read: Brookhaven Asylum: 1820, Was used originally to house victims of the Plague. Restored, after much controversy during the construction of South Vale.
In the next room, my new friend suddenly seemed to get rather edgy. She started twitching a little bit. Her eyes stated darting back and forth.
"Is something wrong?", I asked.
"No... just, I'll be right back."
She ran into what I thought at first was the bathroom. But I had seen the bathroom, it was an office. I decided that it was none of my business and did some exploration.
There were a few paintings of the town in this second room, but two stood out, cause they were weird. The first was of some guy wearing a huge pyramid shaped helmet that covered his entire head, carrying a spear. Behind him were people hung upside down in strange boxes. Underneath was a plaque that read: Misty Day Remains of the Judgment. The second one was of a huge table, covered in food and strange looking statues. It's plaque read: Crimson and White Banquets to Honor the Gods.
She came out of the office, looking a lot more calm. I hoped to god she wasn't doing what I thought she was doing. Still, it was none of my business.
"Umm..., what are these paintings of?", I asked her.
"Not exactly sure", she said. "They were painted by a guy who visited the prison. The society believes that the first one is symbolic of the cruelties of the executioners. Those people are propped up to be killed by skewering. This didn't actually happen, but it gets the point across. I don't understand the second one at all."
Well at they weren't ACTUALLY impaling people on spears. The second painting looked like some sort of ritualistic feasting. Good idea for a book. Occultist executioners torture prisoners for cheap thrills.
"Where exactly is this prison?", I asked.
"Right underneath us"
"What? You mean underground?"
"Yep. After the prison closed down in the 1950's, the state government didn't want anyone to know what was going on down there, so they sealed it up. These are the only things we recovered from the place."
"You mean you recovered these dolls and stuff too?"
"Yup, we have no access to the prison so we can't figure out what they were used for."
"Well my buddy Farnwald is somewhat of an expert in the occult"
Her eyes lit up. I thought I had just guaranteed Tom a date. But then something crossed my mind. Where was he?
"Um, pardon me, I have to go find my partner."
"No problem"
Well, I headed back outside and found the equipment in the same spot where he dropped it. He was no where in sight. I felt sick at the thought of him going missing in this place. I headed around back to where the docks were, and I saw him sitting on the pier, looking out across the lake.
"Where the hell did you go!", I yelled as I walked towards him. "You scared the crap out of me..."
When I got closer, I noticed he looked very pale. His eyes were fixed on the beach. He was muttering strange things. Once again, he was scaring me.
"Tom!!! What's wrong?"
"G-g-g-g-ghost...."
"Where where!!!!"
"On the be-e-e-e-ach...."
I looked long and hard at where he was pointing at. I saw nothing, but this didn't stop me. I nearly fell to my death trying to get down the rocks with all my equipment. I took a few pictures of the place, recorded a bit of nothing with my radio, and used the ghost-reader thingy. Nothing, absolutely nothing. I was about to climb back up, when my radio suddenly emitting static. I took a look at it, with nothing more than curiosity. I shook it, banged it, and it didn't stop until I took out the batteries. It immediately resumed when I placed them back in, and then it faded away a few seconds later.
Exhausted, cranky, and with only a slight grip on my insanity, I trugged back up to Tom, who was beyond spooked. I was ready to yell, but decided that maybe this whole town was making both of us crazy. Who knows even, maybe something would develop on the film.
"What exactly did you see?", I asked him.
"It looked like, I dunno, a zombie. I didn't get a good look at it, but I know that its head was pointy. It walked out of the lake, and then walked right back in. I'm sorry about the equipment."
"Hey Tom."
"What?"
"I think that girl in there wants your phone number"
"Really! Oh that's great!"
He jumped up, finally smiling for the first time since we got here, and ran back towards the cabin. Ahh... youth. I took one last look at the lake. My brief moment of happiness was suddenly replaced again with dread. I decided that I would head to the asylum for research, then spend only more night here. I could stay for the rest of tomorrow, and then sleep at a different hotel. What could happen in one night anyway?
We didn't have to drive far, the Historical Society was the first building in Southvale. "Building" is an over statement, it was more like a shack. It faced the lake, I could see that big Roller Coaster on the other side if I squinted hard enough. It also housed a boating dock and a small warehouse. As I headed towards the door, I noticed that the shack was made of wood, and it looked like rotting wood. I guess the tourist bureau of this RESORT town was either underpaid, or just didn't give a damn.
Farnwald was busy unloading the car, so I figured I'd head in. I knocked several times, to no answer, so I pushed in and the door fell off its hinges. I quickly grabbed it in a last ditch effort to avoid getting sued, but the sound of a person's voice startled me into dropping it again.
"Don't worry about that thing, its mostly just for show", said someone. It came from a young girl, maybe in her early twenties, that was sitting behind a desk. She looked pale, and her long hair was dyed black. She was very scrawny, possibly a perfect mate for Tom. I could tell he was interested, cause he dropped all the equipment the second he looked at her.
"What are you doing, that shit's expensive damnit!", I yelled at him. I mean, I was young once also, but like I said, that shit's expensive.
"Sorry sir...", he said as he took little glances at her while cleaning his mess. She didn't look very interested.
"So...", I began. "Do you run this place?"
"For the time being, yes", she sighed. "Not too many people wanna volunteer anymore to help this town out. It's too bad because the place has a rich history."
"I heard. As a matter of fact, I'm an author and I came here to do a story on it. My name's Dennis Crocker."
"OH!!", she yelped and she grabbed my hand. "I've read some of your work, I especially love that book about vampire's invading Florida" Oh no... not one of these people... I swear, these goths get kicks out of work like mine, and I don't mean they get scared, as was my intention. Instead, they simply enjoy the subject matter.
"Right this way sir!", she said as she lead me towards the back of the room. We passed a display case, which I first expected to contain something like arrowheads. Well, there were arrow heads, but a bunch of other weird stuff as well, torture devices, something that looked like a chalice, and some weird looking dolls.
"What's all this?", I asked?
"Well", she answered. "We don't know about a lot of them. We think we know where those tools come from. There was a Prison Camp..."
"Yes, I read up on all of that"
"Ok, well, we think those used those to torture prisoners."
"Whaaa...?"
She had a sad expression on her faces as she looked at those things.
"I can hardly believe it either, and in America especially. Supposedly, the evil men that ran this camp used to wash these blood-stained instruments off in the lake. There're supposed to be ghosts around there now."
Well, these things were rather nasty looking. I mean, they looked like they should be in a display case over in some Spanish Castle, not in a small American town. Guess the country was pretty wild back then. You'd think that Lincoln...
"Oh, and a few of those things recently went missing."
"Wha.....?"
"Someone got into that case without making a scratch, and stole them. They stole a few other weird looking things too, things that an archaeologist hadn't gotten around to studying yet. And they left that pure gold cup, weird huh?"
That's a bit beyond weird. More along the lines of another reason to leave the town. Maybe one of those nuts escaped from the asylum and was wandering around the woods, looking for helpless victims.
"Come on back", she said. "You haven't even seen the paintings yet."
As we headed towards the back, I glanced at a displayed photograph. It was of a single large house, with a few smaller ones around it. A plaque underneath it read: Brookhaven Asylum: 1820, Was used originally to house victims of the Plague. Restored, after much controversy during the construction of South Vale.
In the next room, my new friend suddenly seemed to get rather edgy. She started twitching a little bit. Her eyes stated darting back and forth.
"Is something wrong?", I asked.
"No... just, I'll be right back."
She ran into what I thought at first was the bathroom. But I had seen the bathroom, it was an office. I decided that it was none of my business and did some exploration.
There were a few paintings of the town in this second room, but two stood out, cause they were weird. The first was of some guy wearing a huge pyramid shaped helmet that covered his entire head, carrying a spear. Behind him were people hung upside down in strange boxes. Underneath was a plaque that read: Misty Day Remains of the Judgment. The second one was of a huge table, covered in food and strange looking statues. It's plaque read: Crimson and White Banquets to Honor the Gods.
She came out of the office, looking a lot more calm. I hoped to god she wasn't doing what I thought she was doing. Still, it was none of my business.
"Umm..., what are these paintings of?", I asked her.
"Not exactly sure", she said. "They were painted by a guy who visited the prison. The society believes that the first one is symbolic of the cruelties of the executioners. Those people are propped up to be killed by skewering. This didn't actually happen, but it gets the point across. I don't understand the second one at all."
Well at they weren't ACTUALLY impaling people on spears. The second painting looked like some sort of ritualistic feasting. Good idea for a book. Occultist executioners torture prisoners for cheap thrills.
"Where exactly is this prison?", I asked.
"Right underneath us"
"What? You mean underground?"
"Yep. After the prison closed down in the 1950's, the state government didn't want anyone to know what was going on down there, so they sealed it up. These are the only things we recovered from the place."
"You mean you recovered these dolls and stuff too?"
"Yup, we have no access to the prison so we can't figure out what they were used for."
"Well my buddy Farnwald is somewhat of an expert in the occult"
Her eyes lit up. I thought I had just guaranteed Tom a date. But then something crossed my mind. Where was he?
"Um, pardon me, I have to go find my partner."
"No problem"
Well, I headed back outside and found the equipment in the same spot where he dropped it. He was no where in sight. I felt sick at the thought of him going missing in this place. I headed around back to where the docks were, and I saw him sitting on the pier, looking out across the lake.
"Where the hell did you go!", I yelled as I walked towards him. "You scared the crap out of me..."
When I got closer, I noticed he looked very pale. His eyes were fixed on the beach. He was muttering strange things. Once again, he was scaring me.
"Tom!!! What's wrong?"
"G-g-g-g-ghost...."
"Where where!!!!"
"On the be-e-e-e-ach...."
I looked long and hard at where he was pointing at. I saw nothing, but this didn't stop me. I nearly fell to my death trying to get down the rocks with all my equipment. I took a few pictures of the place, recorded a bit of nothing with my radio, and used the ghost-reader thingy. Nothing, absolutely nothing. I was about to climb back up, when my radio suddenly emitting static. I took a look at it, with nothing more than curiosity. I shook it, banged it, and it didn't stop until I took out the batteries. It immediately resumed when I placed them back in, and then it faded away a few seconds later.
Exhausted, cranky, and with only a slight grip on my insanity, I trugged back up to Tom, who was beyond spooked. I was ready to yell, but decided that maybe this whole town was making both of us crazy. Who knows even, maybe something would develop on the film.
"What exactly did you see?", I asked him.
"It looked like, I dunno, a zombie. I didn't get a good look at it, but I know that its head was pointy. It walked out of the lake, and then walked right back in. I'm sorry about the equipment."
"Hey Tom."
"What?"
"I think that girl in there wants your phone number"
"Really! Oh that's great!"
He jumped up, finally smiling for the first time since we got here, and ran back towards the cabin. Ahh... youth. I took one last look at the lake. My brief moment of happiness was suddenly replaced again with dread. I decided that I would head to the asylum for research, then spend only more night here. I could stay for the rest of tomorrow, and then sleep at a different hotel. What could happen in one night anyway?