Broken Dolls Asylum

Every night was the same.

Cackles, cheers, hoots of maniac laughter filled the empty hallways.

The first few nights, I was scared out my mind. Maybe they would come into my room one night, who knows.

After that, I was simply annoyed.

The walls of each room were as thin as paper and hollow enough to create an echo. No sleeping pill could knock you out enough, to make you forget all that you’ve heard.

Honeydale Rehab Centre could burn for all I cared.

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“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up,” I muttered over and over. The white blankets slipped down to my knees, revealing the large white t-shirt I wore to sleep. “Shut up!!”

I started hitting the wall next to my bed, screaming at it like they could possibly understand. My next door neighbor was Megan, and for a fact, her psychosis wasn’t stable enough to hear my hollers at all. She probably even thought I was singing to her.

“Jesus Christ Freddie!” Tom, one of the caretakers, slammed the door open, watching me slowly lower my fists and dig my nails on my knees until my fingers turned red. “What is it now?”

“How in the world can you stand them?! They don’t ever shut up!! They simply... they don’t shut up and I can’t sleep when I’m pissed off.” I muttered angrily, placing my head on the wall and looking at Tom walk towards my bed, shaking his head.

“You get used to it. I mean, you’ve only been here for three months. I couldn’t sleep properly for nine.” He stated with a shrug, taking out some sleeping pills out of his pocket.

“It seems like three years. God I miss calendars... I’m surprised I haven’t tried to scratch out my throat out yet...” I ripped the bottle off his hand and popped the cap opened.

“Is that a notice for something you’ll do anytime soon? ‘Because we’re getting the sheets cleaned on Thursday. Could you do it before then so it isn’t much hassle with the blood?” He rolled his eyes and watched me put three sleeping pills on my hand and throw them in my mouth.

I swallowed hard. “Aren’t you the funny guy...”

“Those will knock you out of the park quickly so get to bed. Good night kiddo.” He called out, closing the door behind him as I laid there, my grey eyes staring holes through the pale ceiling.

“Welcome to Honeydale Rehabilitation Centre, I’m sure you’ll be happy with all the accommodations.” That was the first and only time I met Ms. Vernice. She was the most cookie dough filled lady I’d ever met. She was the director of the center, but she had so many of them built around the states that she was constantly travelling so we didn’t see her very often.

We were left with Slaughter aka Ms. Slater.

She was the complete opposite of the saint Ms. Vernice was, and she wasn’t very fond of lunatics. “This is Ms. Slater, the main caretaker in this center. I’m sure you will get along just as well as the other patients do.”

“Oh yeah... perfectly.” I murmured under my breath, shifting to my right side to stare right at my pale white closet, and a small wooden table.

“This is your room. I hope you find it good. If you need anything just call out for me.” He was dark skinned, with strange green eyes that looked into you.

“You’re wrong.” I stood there, looking out the window.

“What?”

“I can’t call you out if I don’t know your name. My name is Freddie.” I answered, twisting my hips towards him.

“My name is Tom.” He smiled kindly. “And you are the first person to ever acknowledge that.”

“It’s ‘because I’m not crazy.” I twirled one of my dark strands of hair, turning away.

“I believe you.” He closed the door before he could hear my answer.

“You’re the first.”

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“Rise and shine Honeydale patients! It’s a beautiful Monday morning, October 13th.” The speaker called out. No one ever knew who the person who woke us up at six in the morning was. I bet that if we did know, they would be already dead.

“Fuck you...” I murmured, pulling the covers over my head.

“You heard her. Wakey, wakey.” Tom slammed the door open.

I slowly pulled my arm out from under my covers, flipping him off.

“Cute. Get up.” Tom tugged the covers from me. “We have eggs for breakfast.”

“Green eggs and ham?” I scoffed, stretching out.

“No need of food dye either!” Tom added, walking towards the door. “Get to the showers.”

He closed the door immediately after that, leaving me to my own thoughts. I stood up, stumbling a little to the side, not really caring much how crappy I looked. I opened the closet to a complete set of light pink scrubs. I sometimes envied the guys and their baby blue scrubs. At the very least they didn’t look like a walking bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

I took out some white undies as well as a white bra, all complementary of H.R.C. which worried me a little since they even knew my cup size. I walked out my room, ignoring the fact that I would get in trouble for not making my bed, and turned to the right.

H.R.C. was divided into four separate sections. The main building, which also included the comforting lobby, was where all of the thirty-seven caretakers stayed in. You could call this, the prettiest section of the whole center, ‘cause it contained everything that the other sections didn’t. Comfortable beds, seats, flowers, pens, and even paper were included in this section. Something we, unworthy people, simply couldn’t handle.

The section to the left was for people like me. Easy to medium cases stayed here. These were the ones that were afraid of their shadows, believed in ghosts, and their mind was simply gone. They were usually easy to manage. We didn’t live in the most comfortable conditions but it wasn’t that terrible. As far as I know, the only colors we saw were from each other and our scrubs. Everything else was a dull white.

Then there was the section you just didn’t want to enter. I admired the care takers. They were brave enough to enter the world of mentally ill serial killers, rapists, and complete dementia. These were the cases that were completely incurable. All that was left was death. Where they were kept was pretty clean from the outside, but the ratty rooms were crumbling down from the inside. They were all kept in strait jackets, just in case they felt the need of attacking someone. I’ve only been there once, when I forgot which hallway I belonged to. Good thing they found me before I entered their common area. It’s like walking into the whale’s mouth blindfolded.

Finally, there was S.S.

I’ve never been in there before, nor do I feel the need. As far as everyone knows, that area is completely haunted. It the oldest, most destroyed, scary, place in this rehab, one which only a few dare to enter, excluding the caretakers. This was in the back area of the center. I always felt a strange curiosity for that place, even though none of us were allowed. I never understood either what was so bad about it, since I never believed that those people could have bigger issues than us over here.

This section was specialized for treating suicide cases. Get it? S.S. is the abbreviation of Suicide Section. I heard that not many were included in this section. This was to treat those with very fragile minds, those that were not only psychological cases but physical as well. Tom wasn’t good with specifics since he could lose his job, so I never asked this frequently.

I opened the door to the shower section and immediately closed it behind me, making sure no one saw anything indecent. You would be surprised. I walked around, leaning down and checking for a free one, since all that held the showers and the tiny place to walk across were thin, white, shower curtains. I wasn’t fond of nudity, and God only knows how much I had seen these past months that have made me hate the human body.

I finally spotted a free one and quickly ran for it, making sure not to slip on the humid floor full of puddles of... what I hoped was water. There were only five showers in total in the girl’s bathroom. This was because most of the patients in my area were usually showered privately by the caretakers in bathtubs a few doors down. Lucky ones like me, that weren't completely out of our minds, got the freedom to shower by themselves in privacy.

I tippy-toed up and placed my clean clothes on top of the flat surface of the short wall. This was the only way to keep your clothes dry. I had learned the hard way, being smart enough to place it on the benches, which most of the time, hadn't been cleaned well enough. If you catch my drift.

Pampers and H.R.C. were close friends.

I quickly took my five minute shower, throwing all the industrial products on my head, and scrubbing everything hard enough to leave my body covered in red scratches. You would think that smelling clean in a mental asylum would kick up some points in the crap-o-meter.

Not when you smell like a walking bar of soap 24/7.

I grabbed a towel from the hangers on the wall, which, Tom assured me, were washed, dried, and deeply cared for every day, and started drying myself up, leaving my skin rough and arid.

As I changed into my clothes I couldn't help but overhear the cackle of girls entering the room. I could pretty much tell who was who, just by their hollers. I walked out barefoot; my feet stepping on the soggy floor, trying to speed walk my way across. Before I could make it out the door though, Megan grabbed my hand.

"Shit..." I muttered under my breath, turning my head towards her crazy smile.

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