My Fellow Inmates,
How I have Lied... This story is growing, and growing as its being written. over ten characters and counting.... Many parts and pieces to tell... stories to be interwoven... and who the hell is the shadowy "Asylum"?
We are now going to break it in to pieces as new pieces are written... there shall be much more than the 6 chapters that was spoken of before.
Also, after you read this, please vote in the poll on which Story you would like to see a continuation to next: 1) This one (The Asylum) 2) "Carpe Noctem" 3) "He who's without Sin" or 4) Something New
I don't care if there is just 1 vote or 100, the story that holds the majority vote shall have an update sometime next week. It appears though, if you like where this story is going with this recent update, that you should vote early, and vote often, for Carpe Noctem already has a head start :)
With all that said... if you have not read part 1: Welcome to the Asylum" Please read it here:
Please keep your hands and feet within the ride at all times.... Here we go....
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Chapter 1
Welcome To Brackenridge:
We had no reason to be concerned, that’s what I kept telling myself as the van navigated the overgrown private drive up in to the hills on the way to the Lodge. Bradley was driving, this left Sam, Steve, Gary and I in the back all looking a bit green, attempting to distract ourselves from the fear that bubbled inside us all.
The only distraction to our thoughts was the few times that Bradley had to stop the van so us passengers could hop out and clear a felled tree or brush from the pathway.
“Ok ladies, everyone out! You too queerbait,” He would call out as the van rolled to a stop at an obstruction in the road. I would glare back at him in response as I slid out of the van to join the others, only to be greeted with what could only be described as a shit eating grin…
That fucker will get his someday… God I hated him!
What made matters worse is one would think that the others would stand up for me, tell Bradley to knock it off, let me be, anything to show him he was being a douchebag and needed to find another target for his own self esteem boosting. Sadly Steve and Gary would giggle in response, only fueling the fire, and Sam would give me a lost look and shrug…
So in order to hold the status in enjoyed in the school hierarchy I had to put up with Bradley’s shit, as I had for years…
Thank god we were all finally 18, graduation was just around the corner, and I would never have to see any of these people ever again.
“Todd, are you ok?”; my concentration was suddenly broken by Sam’s hand on my arm, “You’re bleeding…”
“What?” I replied dazedly, not comprehending what he was talking about.
Sam touched his hand to his lips which I mimicked, only to see drops of red on my fingertips as I pulled them back away. “Oh, no I am… fine.” I reassured him as I thought on my feet; “I am just… uh, nervous about entering Breckenridge… that’s all.”
“What’s a matter queerbait? Pissing your pants?” I could see those eyes glaring at me through the rearview mirror…
I just smiled back as the little voice in the back of my mind replied ‘Go to hell Dursley.’
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As the van pulled to a stop in front of the lodge, Bradley hopped out and marveled at the crumbling structure. He had never seen it, none of them had, it had only been described in passing by those that had been here years before, before it was abandoned.
He marveled at the structure, snickered at the odd appearance brought on by the lack of upkeep for so many years. Ivy and other vines snaked in and out of odd nooks and cracks within the buildings facade, and the roof was lucky to be more wood than moss.
Bradley knew this was going to be an enjoyable trip, for him that was. You see he was well aware that all of the rumors surrounding the lodge were complete bunk; for his dad, the chief of police, had personally investigated all the leads and hearsay supposedly connecting the disappearances with Breckenridge, and even exhaustive searches of the property, in an attempt to find any shred of evidence that the missing boys ended up here at any point, turned up inconclusive.
As he wandered around the back of the lodge, through the overgrown rusted out tables and chairs on the patio overlooking the forested edge of the preserve, Bradley smiled at this knowledge… No connections…
He was going to enjoy watching the other four chasing shadows all weekend and jumping at every little creak and bump that comes with old structures. Of course he was planning on helping their fear flourish through well places suggestions and a few tricks he had up his sleeves as well.
Yes, this was going to be a very fun weekend that he wouldn’t let them forget for a long time…
Never the less, some dangers were real, Bradley was very aware of that when dealing with old abandoned structures; the chances of squatters were very real. This is why he pilfered his father’s .22 from underneath the sink in the kitchen when he was packing his backpack.
Better to not take any chances.
Suddenly, as he neared the back of the building he heard a crash followed by cursing and calls for help.
Moving towards where he thought the source of the noise came from, Bradley noticed an open door off the side of the patio with stone steps heading downwards into darkness.
He stuck his head in and almost recoiled at the overpowering musty smell that assaulted his nostrils. Composing himself, he called out into the blackness "Hello?"
"Fuck!" a faint voice rang out from below. "Please help me."
Bradley looked around, hesitating a moment. Then with the courage summed up from the knowledge of the gun wrapped in his clothing in his backpack, he unclipped the flashlight from his belt and slowly descended the stairs.
Watching the unknown world unfold in the tiny beam of light Bradley mumbled quietly to himself to stave off the deafening silence that was starting to raise the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Damn you Todd, if your faggity ass has gone and got yourself hurt and ruins my plans for this weekend I swear I shall make you pay, dearly."
As he reached the base of the steps another cry pierced the darkness causing him to nervously whip the beam of the flashlight all over trying trying to locate the cause.
"Please, I'm hurt. Help me, I'm down here."
Bradley could not place the voice, and the stone walls of the hallway before him were causing it to echo, obscuring the location.
Slowly easing forward in to the darkness, the tiny voice inside, who he never listens to, was telling him to turn and run.
"Please god it hurts, I think I broke my leg!"
He could now hear a faint sobbing coming from a side passage that split off to the left, up ahead. Shining his light down the new hallway, he still couldn't see anything...
Cautiously moving forward down the secondary corridor, he could see an open doorway off to the right, up ahead.
Peering through the doorway, Bradley found himself glaring into what could only be described as a padded cell like he had seen in the movies. What appeared to be a white canvas cloth ballooned outrages from all surfaces only to be reigned back in by little white buttons in symmetrical rows indenting every foot or so of it's surface.
He let the flashlight play across the walls and ceiling of the room before coming to rest on what appeared to be a person wearing a trench-coat laying in the center of the padded floor.
"Please god..." a whispered voice emanated from underneath the coat; "Help me..."
Forgetting his hesitation Bradley rushed to the figure's side and polled the trench-coat away only to reveal a pile of clothing...
"Please..." The voice came again from under the clothes.
Moving things aside he found a mini tape recorder underneath the pile. Bradley stared at it in disbelief for a moment, then hit rewind, then play...
"...I think I broke my leg..." the player spouted out.
"What the fuck..." He had time to say before seeing the door to the room slowly swing shut out of the corner of his eye.
Bradley took off at a run, determined to beat the door closed, but was hindered by the soft padding on the floor. It felt like he was trying to run in sand.
He hit the door at just in time to hear the sickening click of a lock engaging.
The door had a small window inset in to it, which he pounded his fists against; "Let me the fuck out!"
A gravelly cackle echoed through the room causing Bradley to spin around where he stood. "Who... Who's there?" he said cautiously as he peered into the darkness of the room before him.
"Who am I?" the voice replied as if amused by a question that hadn't been asked in a long time; "Why, they call me Asylum."
The creepy gravelly laugh began to echo once again through the room yet as his eyes became adjusted to the darkness he could see he was still alone...
...and by the way the voice echoed off of all surfaces, Bradley guessed there must be some sort of speaker system in the room.
"...Bradley..." It was getting louder, as if getting closer;
"...Bradley..." It called again, how the fuck did this voice know it name?
Then it struck him. "Todd! You Fucking Faggot! This is not funny! When I get out of here I am going to kick your ass!"
"Oh, Bradley, Bradley," the voice replied; "Name calling is not nice... And besides, my sweet boy... I'm not Todd."
With a barely audible squeak brought on by a mix of surprise, confusion and fear, Bradley lunged for his flashlight.
Snatching it up off the floor he flipped the on switch on and off fruitlessly a few times before frantically hitting it against his hand, praying it would come back on.
The bone chilling laugh once again echoed through the room as if it were watching and getting off on his every move, like a cat toying with it's evening meal.
Frantic, flustered, and about to wet himself, Bradley wielded the flashlight like a weapon.
Holding it like a baseball bat he backed up slowly, in an attempt to place his back against a wall, only to trip over something in the darkness behind him, and land firmly on his butt in the soft foam padding.
This only made the voice laugh harder.
Feeling around to figure out what tripped him up, his hand landed on the strap of his backpack...
...His backpack... The gun...
Bradley grabbed the backpack and frantically tried to undo the zipper, yet a new sound emanating from the hallway, beyond the door, stopped him in his tracks...
...KACHUNK...
...KACHUNK...
...KACHUNK...
It was a metallic sounding rhythmic din, and with every concurrent sound the hallway outside the window in the door grew brighter and brighter...
Bradley's breathing grew shallow and harried as a darkened figure appeared in front of the window throwing a shadow across the floor.
"Let me go!" He screamed
"That's against the rules of the game." the figure calmly replied
"I'm armed!" Bradley cautioned, his voice beginning to crack from the stress of the situation.
The figure began to laugh again "That flashlight? How quaint..."
"No! I've got a gun you fucking psycho!" With that he tore open his backpack. jammed his hand in, and reached for the .22 he had wrapped in a shirt earlier in the day.
"Yes, you are right boy, I would be hesitant to mess with someone who had a gun... That is of course... Unless this is the weapon you are looking for..."
The figure held a gun against the window. Bradley stared at it in disbelief. It looked right, but it couldn't be... How could it? It wasn't possible!
With tears filling his eyes, and fight or flight in full swing he dumped the contents of the backpack across the floor of the cell.
Through every piece of clothing he tossed aside, through every sob and chest convulsion that he was losing the battle against stifling, the reality of the situation became clearer and clearer...
He was fucked. But how? But why?
...and in one last ditch effort Bradley stood up, rushed the door, pounded on it, and yelled for help at the top of his lungs.
The figure laughed again, "No one can help you now." With that he closed the cover over the little window in the door, sending the cell in to blackness.
...Bradley Screamed....
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With That, Visiting Time Is Over.
What Ever You Do Don't Scream Too Loud As Others Are Trying To Sleep.
~Rubberasylum
