Mad House

It had been a long week; Millie had to admit. Seven days that were filled with insanity and borderline disturbing occurrences that would drive anyone to exhaustion, but that’s what you get when you work in a nut house – a nut house with a skeevy doctor and a head nun who’d drive any priest to drink.

Several of Brindlbrim’s patients had tried to commit suicide by using their bed sheets as a hang noose during her first two days; two patients succeeded. While Millie was busy having heart attack at the large number of people trying to off themselves, she had been told multiple times that this was a regular, usual thing at Brindlebrim’s and not to be worried.

“It happens all the time, doll,” Victoria, Brindlebrim’s oldest (and coldest) veteran, told her with a hard look. The old woman awkwardly patted her back before carrying on with sorting the blue oval pills into small plastic cups.

Not only did this new job come with depressing regularities, it came with creepy disturbances. There had been many things that made Millie want to throw her apron in and never return – Dr. Unwelcomed Caresses grabbing her behind for the fifth time in a row, Julius diddling himself in the rec room, and Turner going to the bathroom in his bed and rolling in it – but nothing made her want to throw in the towel more than Friday night.

She had been walking the halls that night, searching for an escaped patient by the name of Valentine Scott. She hadn’t been in her room during the surprise night check and it had sent the whole asylum on high alert. Apparently, Valentine had a violent history, something Millie couldn’t help but doubt. She had seen Valentine during group therapy, during of which she may have been sassy, full of attitude, and a bit sarcastic, but not violent. She was never violent.

Millie was in the east wing, which was empty, despite the overpopulation at the hospital, and dark. The wooden floorboards moaned and hissed with every step she took, protesting to the weight. They were crying out secrets of the building, yelling them out to anyone who’d listen.

“Turn back,” they’d say. “Leave this place and never return.”

But Millie didn’t listen, she couldn’t. She had to stay. She needed the job, the money.

Millie’s spine shivered, she felt a tickle on back of her neck. Her shoulders tensed, her hair rose on its end.

Someone was there. Someone was watching her.

Her chest moved up and down with alacrity, lightening her head. Her forehead glistened in the moonlight, the beads of sweat dripping down the bridge of her nose, off the tip, and onto the wood with a soft, plop.

That when she heard it. The scream was loud and helpless, hitting Millie in the deepest part of her soul. She could feel the agony in the woman’s voice, the torture. It pierced her ears and made her cringed to the very core.

Millie looked around the hall. Not a soul was present, nobody but her. But the screaming, the screaming was close, so very close. It felt like she was right next to Millie, screaming into her ear, howling in pain. Millie ran to the wall, placing her ear against it.

The screaming was coming from inside walls. The woman was somewhere inside the plaster, screaming bloody murder. Millie slammed her fist against the wall, trying to break through. She needed to help this woman.

She slammed and slammed until her fists were red and nearly bleeding. There wasn’t even a dent on the wall. She screeched in frustration. She couldn’t do anything, she was just as helpless as the screaming woman.

“WHERE ARE YOU?” she bawled, banging her fist once more on the decaying barrier. “Where are you?” she whispered, forehead against the wall with tears streaming down her face. “Why can’t I get to you?”

The floors creaked behind her, alerting her of another’s presence. Millie whipped her head toward the sound, her eyes adjusting to new figure before her. She wiped her tear-streaked cheeks, sniffing a couple of times.

Valentine Scott stood before her, clenching her left palm and biting her right nail. Her eyes were wide with fear; her usual pale skin looked even more chalk white than normal. It was frightening.

Val said something, although inaudible due to the screaming and her dry throat. She shook her head and cleared her throat before saying it again, louder. “You hear it? You can hear it too?” It sounded like a question but it was more of an answer, regardless Millie shook her head anyways.

Valentine gulped, visibly shaking in her shoes. She gave an emotionless laugh. “I guess it’s not all in my head. Thought I was going crazy for a second.”

The screaming stopped, in its place, an upsettingly loud bone crunching CRACK echoed through the halls. It made the girls jump closer and clutch one another. It was never good to be alone in these kinds of situations.

A door slammed and the pitter-patter of footsteps could be heard nearing the duo. The air became tense as Val dragged Millie to hide behind the dark, shielding crevice. Millie was hysterical, bawling and squealing and tugging away to try and help the woman, which Val knew was useless. The woman was already dead.

The footsteps were getting alarmingly close and Val knew that if Millie didn’t get her self together, they were in deep trouble. Val covered Millie’s mouth, pulling her close and restraining her. The footsteps passed them in a hurry, not paying any mind to the two girls in hiding.

They waited for the footsteps to become distant and soft. In the next few moments, the girls ran in the opposite direction of the stranger, trying to find a way out of the labyrinth they called the east wing.

“What was that?” Millie asked when they finally made it out of the dark arena. “Who was that?”

Val shook her head, scanning the area for any life. “I don’t know.”

“Who was that poor woman screaming in pain? Who was she, Val? Who was she?” The red head muttered again, completely ignoring the answer given before. Val turned on her heal, grasping Millie’s shoulders, shaking her into consciousness.

“I don’t know,” she told her with a shaky voice, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!”

Val told her how she had been hearing the screams almost every night. They weren’t as loud as in the east wing, actually they were barely audible, but Val could hear them. Each time would be a different scream and each night would end the same – bone-crunching cracks as if someone was breaking every bone in someone’s body.

Tonight had been the night she finally decided to investigate and she wished she never had. And Millie knew she couldn't tell anybody, not even Delaney, of what they saw.

---

That had been the week before and Millie had the weekend off to calm herself. But now it was the following Monday, and she couldn’t help but groan.

Mondays meant group therapy (well, really, everyday meant group therapy, Mondays just meant Dr. James was in a particularly grabby mood).

As Millie clocked in, she heard the commotion coming from the room across from her. There was screaming and a lot of knocking of chairs and tables. There was a fight in there, or some patient was getting detained by the male staff.

Millie rushed to the scene. Her ‘ghost’ was pinned down by a large bulky man as he squirmed and squealed under the weight. He was screaming nonsense, like ‘they’re here, they’re coming!’ But no one was listening to him. He had done it many times before.

“Get off me, get off!” he shouted, tugging out of the man’s grip. “They’re coming for me! He’s after me!”

Millie rushed towards the ghost, who’d fallen to the floor, face first. His nose was gushing blood, staining his blue uniform with dark crimson. There was a puddle forming on the floor. She lifted the man’s head to her lap, she tilted it back, trying to stop the bleeding. She lifted her head and glared at the male nurse.

“What is wrong with you?” she sneered.

The nurse faltered, gaping for a moment trying to think of an answer. “That’s Harry Styles, ma’am.”

“So?”

“He’s very dangerous. Paranoid schizophrenic and pathological liar, miss. Can’t be trusted,” he stuttered, shaking his head.

“Go away, you big brute. If I so hear that you’ve touched one hair on his head, I’ll slap you till next year, ya hear?” Millie glare intensified, hating when people were picked on for things they couldn’t help. “I’ll deal with him.”

The nurse ran off, not turning back once. Millie huffed in approval and went to look at Harry, her not much of a ghost. “You lied to me,” she told him, pinching his nose and sticking in some cotton balls she had in her apron.

Harry looked up at her for a moment and stayed silent. He watched as she took care of him, something new to him for no one in his life ever cared. He was the unwanted son, the no good kid, the crazy one. No good rotten scoundrel. It hit him that she even cared.

“Well, don’t take it personally, doll face. I do it to everyone.” And just like everyone else, she’d see him for what he really was and leave too. So what’s the use?

She stayed still, running her finger through his curly mop of brown hair. “Just so you know, you don’t have to lie to me.”

Harry scoffed, picking himself up, leaving Millie gasping up at him in a puddle of his blood. “I always have to lie.”