Survive- the Asylum Read online

"Burnt flesh... Hot fire..."

  I know, she's probably just crazy. But her babbling gives me the creeps.

  "Never mind, it can happen," replies the blond sister. She remains completely cool, although the confused woman touches her neck with her burned hand. A second later, two of them drag her out of the kitchen and take her down the hall.

  The rest of us stay behind wordlessly. About half of the patients do not seem to have noticed this little interruption at all - one brown-haired man is eating raw dough while another is moving the rolling pin around. Only Pete, Kate at the window and another man are watching the injured person leaving.

  When the nurse finally comes back, I stop her at the door.

  "Is everything okay?" is what I want to know.

  "With the woman," I mean. „It looked pretty bad."

  I bet the oven made her skin stick. That's a terrible thought. Who's up for cookies?

  "Yes, that's no problem," is the reassuring answer. "She was taken to the infirmary."

  "Does this happen often?" I ask.

  "Yes."

  The lady's answer is brief.

  "Now and then," she adds. "That's why we supervise the patients."

  With this, she walks busily back to the middle of the room to assign the patients to their tasks again.

  In the afternoon I am called into the treatment room. It's usually locked. It is only opened when the doctor appears.

  It's the first time I see him, anyway. He has dark hair and wears a white coat, which seems to have his best days already behind him. Somehow he's trying not to maintain eye contact with me for too long. Instead, he prefers to scribble on his clipboard with a futuristic-looking ballpoint pen.

  I feel somehow uncomfortable around him. I know he wants to help me, but I don't know him at all. And I'm not sure what's expected of me. The quiet scratching of the lead on the paper makes me feel uncomfortable.

  "Well..." the doctor finally begins after writing for a while. "How are you? “

  "I feel good," I answer willingly. "Aside from the fact that the pills make me tired and light-headed."

  "That's quite normal," the doc replies immediately. "Your body will get used to it. Besides, you don't have to take the drugs forever."

  Everything he says seems very well thought out. I have rarely seen such a confident person in my life.

  "Why am I here?" is what I want to know. "I can't remember anything."

  Suddenly the doctor looks worried. He thinks for a while before answering.

  "What they have is called post-traumatic stress disorder," he finally replies with a glance at his clipboard. "It can also affect memory."

  "Post... What?"

  I feel an unpleasant uneasiness that is crawling up inside me.

  "What does that mean?"

  My voice sounds higher than it did a minute ago. The doctor's face becomes even more worried.

  "It means you have been through something bad and you need time to process it. Then your memory will come back little by little."

  "When will that be?" I ask immediately.

  "I can't tell that."

  The doctor answers rhetorically.

  "Each person takes a different amount of time for this. I can only tell you that we are doing everything we can to make you feel better."

  He nods softly.

  "Everything that happens here brings you closer to healing. Even this conversation between us."

  I suppress the desire to frown. I can't face the possibility that he might be right. After all, I don't remember anything and don't even know how I got here. Could something so bad have happened to me that I just suppressed all of my memories? I find that hard to believe.

  "I want to go home," I finally admit.

  The doctor smiles a well-assorted smile.

  "I know," he gives back. "But right now you don't even know where that is."

  Of course I realize he's right. Nevertheless, this simple fact frightens me.

  "So you'd best cooperate as best you can. The rest will come naturally."

  Gowns, medications and people who touch in ovens with their bare hands.

  "I want them to do this pipe shaft test," the doctor finally says and bends over. In doing so, he pushes a piece of paper in front of my nose, on which a peculiar shape has been printed.

  "Tell me what you see," the doctor adds.

  I look at the strange structure that is on the paper in front of me and think for a moment.

  "A buffalo," I answer then. It's the best I can think of. Actually, the black and gray spot looks more like a skull to me, but I can't imagine that this answer would make the doctor's test particularly outstanding.

  "I see," he says and bends forward thoughtfully. "So that's how it is."

  After talking to the doctor, I feel agitated.

  On the one hand, I still don't want to admit that maybe I really have a problem and need help, because I feel much too normal for this place. On the other hand, there is no other explanation for my sudden memory loss. For the time being, I guess there's nothing left for me to do but join in and hope for the best. Even if I don't like it.

  The next day is quiet. It's raining outside. Large, transparent water pearls hammer against the glass, but the view out of the window has already become boring for me. When I am not in my own thoughts, I usually stare at the courtyard. It looks very unkempt and always lies there motionless. I keep asking myself why patients are not allowed to walk there. The only answer I always get is that there are sources of danger there that have to be eliminated in spring. I don't even know when spring will come. What day of the week is it? What time of year? I dunno. There are no calendars here. Sometimes I feel like I'm losing myself. Only day and night distinguish the time at this place. That and the green leaves on the trees in the courtyard. Thanks to them, at least I know it's spring or summer.

  While eating, I notice that the woman with the burn still has not returned. I keep an eye on her place all day long, but I can never discover it. I wonder where she is and if her injury is worse than the nurses thought.

  I wait until one of the nurses scurries past me, and I get up.

  "Excuse me?" I ask. Lately, I've been feeling like I'm babbling on medication. "Where is the woman from yesterday?"

  The sister doesn't seem to understand me and frown. She seems very busy anyway.

  "The one who burned her hand," I therefore add. "Is she okay?"

  "Oh," is the answer. The nurse blinks in surprise, as if she was amazed that I can remember the incident.

  "She's fine," she says then. "But she will remain in the infirmary for the time being. The incident has frightened her a bit, so it will take longer to reintegrate her."

  And with that, she disappears back into the hallway.

  For a while I listlessly pursue my present task until my gaze falls on the other patients again. They don't do anything else than usual either, but at least it distracts me a little to watch them now and then.

  A woman is sitting two meters away from me on the floor and is painting around on the tiles with clumsy movements. She uses the chalk she was given, but the white paper seems to be of no interest for her. The floor must be a better canvas. Her gaze is rigid and absent, but her drawing is really good.

  To my right I hear the constant murmuring of a young man. He holds a tattered crocodile plush animal in his hand and somehow looks as if he is afraid of it.

  The nurses are not around right now - for a second I am undisturbed. I get the idea of asking one of the two people how long they have been here, so I get up and move towards the woman with the messy hair.

  "Hello," I say as I come closer to her. I don't want to scare her. I notice how unkempt and confused she is. Her face is all dirty and her hair stands wild and dishevelled from her head. She stares at me for a while before making a strange sound. Like she's growling.

  I'm a little puzzled.

  "I was just wondering how long you've been here," I try again, but she still just stares at me.
This time a distinct hissing leaves her throat. It sounds so real, I have to suppress the impulse to back away. For a moment I think about whether I should just leave her alone. Meanwhile, she already fixes my throat intensively. She strikes me as a predator. Like a jaguar that you put inside a human body. Her jerky movements underline this even more.

  I'll straighten up again to remove myself. At the same time, she suddenly attacks. Her head leaps forward like a rattlesnake. I can feel her teeth on my sleeve! With eyes wide open in terror I jump at a distance. Shortly afterwards, I can see the orderlies coming.

  "No, Jeanne. Stop it," one of them demands from the confused woman. "You're not a tiger. Everything is fine."

  While I am still standing in the corner, disturbed, they take the woman out of the common room without looking at me.

  I need a few minutes to recover from this strange experience. After that, I decide to also talk to the strange man with the stuffed animal. I need to know how I got here. I'll put myself in danger if necessary.

  "Hello," I say politely as I approach. The look of the man falls immediately on my face. Instead of answering, however, he lets the soft toy in his hand jump up and down.

  "Hello," he repeats, raising his voice. I can guess that it's the stuffed animal that's answering, not him.

  "What's your name?" is what I want to know.

  "Mr. Croc," the stuffed animal says. It sounds crazy. I'm talking to a cuddly toy right now.

  "And your owner?" I try to be careful.

  "No!“

  The man's voice sounds so suddenly that it frightens me.

  "Don't say that," he begs. "I belong to him. Him alone."

  He looks submissively into the eyes of the stuffed animal.

  "Why is that?" I ask cautiously. I'm kind of curious now.

  "He owns me," explains the brown-haired man. "And I must never question him. I'm not allowed to answer if he doesn't allow it."

  The man looks around suspiciously.

  "If only..." he stammers. "Then I bleed again from the broken glass he cuts me with... O-or he sticks my fingers in the socket at night."

  I have to control myself not to pull a face. I don't think he'll leave the asylum too soon.

  "You want to get rid of him here?"

  I have a feeling that's the wrong question to ask.

  "No!" cries the man. "We just have to learn to get along better..."

  I decide to talk to him until it's time to take our pills. I can observe that his dose is much higher than mine. I know it's devious and wrong, but somehow it makes me feel better.

  After dinner, peace always returns. Most patients then already go to their rooms to spend the time until the last dose of medication. When I swallow the last pills of the day, I get tired almost at the push of a button. I think it's a sleeping pill so that no one will scratch their eyes out in their bed at night. For some patients this thought is not so far-fetched.

  Today I stayed in the common room to read a book, but as usual I cannot concentrate. The letters before my eyes just won't stay still. They jump around as if they don't want to be read. Because I find it hard to keep my eyes on the book all the time, I take a quick look around. There are only three other people in the room with me, apart from the nurses.

  The strange chess player is sitting right against the wall. He is absorbed in his chess game and thoughtfully turns a knight between his fingers.

  The blond man named Pete is writing in his notebook again today. It seems more like wild scribbling than serious writing, even if I cannot decipher the words.

  And Kate, the woman at the window, does the same as usual: she looks into the courtyard and seems dreamy and insecure at the same time.

  I wonder what's going on in the minds of those three. It's probably time to find out - I'm too restless to read anyway.

  "Hello," I say as I'm walking towards Pete. He seems to have no problem with me sitting at his table. He only covers the notebook with his hand. I do not blame him - it probably contains very private thoughts and feelings.

  "Hello," he says back. His look is open-minded and friendly. He reminds me of the guys at school who are always friends with everybody.

  "How are you?" he wants to know.

  "Strange," I reluctantly admit.

  Pete frowned.

  "What do you mean?" he asks.

  "I'm not sure yet, either," I answer, but Pete doesn't seem irritated.

  "It's normal," he says. "Things get a little crazy at first. Especially when you're starting to feel better."

  He sounds like he went through the same thing.

  "You start thinking and then you get more confused than before," Pete continues. "But in the end, everything will be okay."

  He says that fervently as if he wanted to prove it to himself a little.

  "I can distract you," Pete finally offers. He seems as enthusiastic as a child. „We could play a game.“

  "What do you mean?" is what I want to know.

  "I have checkers ... and nine men’s morris. And we have card games too!"

  Pete's so excited, I'm kind of sorry to turn him down.

  "Okay."

  While we play, we talk.

  "Did you hear about that woman?" I want to know. "The one who burned herself."

  "Yes... Yes," he answers. Pete seems in thought and plans his moves very carefully.

  "Do people get hurt here often?"

  Pete thinks for a moment before answering.

  "Sometimes. Now and then," he says. "But they'll go to the infirmary and everything will be fine."

  He seems kind of apathetic. I cannot hear compassion from his words.

  We'll finish our game before I say goodbye and get up. Since I still have some time left, I decide to talk to the chess player as well. It can't hurt, right?

  Chapter 3 - Questions

  He ignores me as I get to him and does not look up either. Instead, he observes the chequered board in front of him as if all the wisdom in the world were in it.

  "Hello."

  My greeting also runs in the sand. The bearded man answers nothing, but pretends I am air. Or maybe he doesn't notice me at all.

  "Who are you playing with?“

  This topic seems to interest him, because suddenly his eyes flit briefly over my face.

  "With myself," he then replies. His voice is rough and deep. You hardly ever hear it.

  "And who wins?" I keep asking. The man whose name I don't even know starts to smile sinisterly.

  "The asylum," he says.

  I want to know what he means by that, but for the rest of our conversation I will be ignored. The dark-haired man smiles only within himself and delves into his chessmen. I try to talk to him for a while without success, but then I realize that it is of no use. There's nothing to get out of him.

  As I move away from him, my eyes finally fall on Kate.

  She looks at me as I get closer and slides a little to one side. It seems like she wants to make room for me on the windowsill. As I sit down, I watch her face. I haven't forgotten what the nurse told me. Kate has acute paranoia and therefore severe mood swings. She can feel threatened from one second to the next. Nevertheless, she seems to me as normal as any passer-by on the street during the times when she is quiet. Her eyes are awake and her appearance is always well-groomed. Her narrow lips even smile fleetingly when I speak to her.

  "Hello", I greet her gently. "How are you?"

  Kate's muted for a moment before she answers.

  "As usual, I guess," she then replies cautiously. As she does so, her gaze flits around to see if the orderlies are listening in on us. But at the moment I can't see anyone.

  "Our conversation the other day...", I continue. "What did you mean by that?"

  I remember it very well. She said something was wrong. Of course, that could only have been the ramblings of a paranoid woman, but... something inside me wants to know if Kate saw something. At least I still don't know how I ended up here.

  Kate looks
at me like she's overjoyed. Yet she does not answer. Instead, she stares at me wordlessly. I quickly feel uncomfortable under their piercing gaze. A few seconds later she finally leans forward. Now she is so close to me that I feel her breath on the tip of my nose.

  "It's dangerous here," she whispers now. "Go home."

  "I don't know how."

  My answer leaves my mouth reflexively. I could not even think about it before.

  "The walls have eyes and ears," mumbles Kate. "You... She ...-"

  "It's about time for a night's rest."

  I was almost scared out of my skin when suddenly a hand touched my neck. It's one of the nurses who seems in a hurry to break up our little conversation. Or maybe I'm just imagining it? I dunno. My helpless look hits Kate, who is suddenly absorbed in the window pane her again. Until just now she was completely clear and responsive. Now she looks like she's out of it.

  I wonder what it all means.

  As I walk across the hall, I think about the things I experienced today.

  This place feels like a prison. Grids in front of the windows. Fixed meal and bed times. You only get blunt cutlery. But I must also admit that the doctor's words make sense.

  People who are sick usually don't know. It's a strange feeling not to be able to trust your own mind. What's happening to me? How can it be that I have simply forgotten everything from my past? If I remembered, maybe there'd be more light in the darkness. But as hard as I try, I can't remember. I just can't remember.

  As I reach for my doorknob, I hear footsteps behind me. In a fraction of a second I drive around, but only look into a barren, empty hallway.

  Nothing.

  Am I going crazy?

  Then, suddenly someone grabs me by the wrist.

  "They're coming!"

  Kate's voice almost makes me lose my temper. I get so scared that I wince and have to hold on to the door.

  What, did she sneak up on me?

  At the very first moment I want to scold her, but I see the distraught expression in her eyes. They're hazel and always worried. Now they seem even anxious. Kate is in a real panic, much more than usual. She looks like the devil is after her.