Confusion danced through the morning fog of his mind. The symphony of daybreak had drifted through the sealed ground floor window, penetrating the realms of his sleep.
The bed, beyond his warmed shadow, felt strangely cold. Reaching over, his hand brushed the crisp, empty, other side of the bed. Molly never got up before him.
He glanced around the unfamiliar room with a growing sense of unease. How did he get here…?
“Mols?”
The silent reply raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
Slipping out of the bed, he became aware of being dressed in someone else’s pyjamas. Red flannel, the kind he always hated.
The room seemed well furnished, the double bed was fitting in stark white sheets, the empty dressing table held only a man’s comb. A small wardrobe crouched in the corner, the open door draped with a thick padded dressing gown, a high backed armchair sat, alone, looking out the window. A selection of Molly’s ornaments had been recently moved on the sill, dustless ghosts marking their former spots.
He picked up a small cottage, turning it over. The little sticker, the date, the occasion, denoted in her looped, faded handwriting. They were Molly’s alright.
Fear cracked up his neck, a cold spread of prickling hairs. Where was she…?
The locked window was clearly fitted with a large alarm, a corresponding green light flashed incomprehensibly in the corner of the ceiling.
Panic started to bubble in his throat, clouding his thoughts. He stared at his frail trembling hands, fear seemed to age him.
Fleece lined slippers waited, tucked under the radiator by the door. Fred, barefoot on the hard carpet, slide his feet into the eerily snug, well-worn groves. The soft curl of warmed fleece embraced his calloused soles.
Pulling on the dressing gown, he eased open the heavy door. A shrill electronic cry shot through the air as the door left the frame.
Fred started at the sharp sound, tensing as he drew back from the opening. Silence rushed back on the heels of the siren. He waited, listening expectantly.
Nothing.
Hoping he was going unnoticed, Fred edged out of the door, wary of the alarm.
A long corridor stretched in both directions, the pulse of fluorescent lights seemed a harsh contrast to the dawn glow of his room.
Blinking sleep from his eyes, he opted for the shorter stretch of corridor, disappearing round a bend.
The corner hid a heavy windowed door, he tugged at the cold metal handle a few times before he noticed the keypad lock.
Glancing back down the corridor, he could no longer distinguish the door he had emerged from from the multitude lining the walls.
There was no going back. Fred didn’t know where he was, or who had secured the heavy lock barring the exit. He didn’t need to, to know it wouldn’t stop him.
Warily, he touched the keypad, gently brushing his fingertips over the numbers, feeling the worn rings in the plastic. 1 3 4 9.
It wouldn’t have taken him long to try all of the twenty-four possible options, but it didn’t take much reasoning to conclude it would be a year.
1943, the door buzzed open, the electronic hinge slowly controlling the movement.
Fred found himself on a large polished floor, a receptionist, woefully underdressed for her role, dozed on the desk.
Huge glass windows framing a heavy set door opened out onto a well-kept lawn.
Grateful for the soft soled slippers, Fred slid across the slick floor, cringing at his creaking joints.
Another keypad barred the door.
Glancing back at the receptionist, still lightly dozing, her arms crossed on the desk to cradle her head. Cautiously, he tried the same code. 1943.
A loud beep of refusal echoed through the lobby, bereft of sound damping furniture. The receptionist sat up with an embarrassed jump.
“Sir, you can’t go that way”
“What have you done with Molly? Where is she?”
“Sir please calm down, let me take you back to your room”
She called, rising from her desk.
Fred frantically scanned the keypad. The metal buttons showed little wear.
Unexpected salvation came in the form of an arrival. A youthful man in white overalls, touting a hefty metal case, pressed a large panel on the exterior. Unbelievably, the door began to inch open.
“Don’t let him leave Mark”
The receptionist called out, skidding across the shining floor in her tiny heels.
Fred darted through the narrow opening gap, stumbling through the grasp of the startled looking man. Fred wasn’t as lithe as he thought he was, his spine crunched with a spasm of stiffness as he ducked away.
His ungainly legs propelled him down the path in a stumbling run.
Throwing a neck cracking glance over his shoulder, he saw the spill of pursuit that followed through the door.
Fred stood panting on the grass, instinct had taken over; he had given them the slip. He had to find Molly.
She hadn’t been doing well recently, her latest bout of madness had taken a toll on her health.
He realized he knew exactly where she was, probably why they needed lock him up too. He had refused to let them take her there again.
Yellow Fields Asylum.
He wasn’t far; his feet had known the way all along, guiding him back to her. The old building stood further up the hill.
His legs had gained a heaviness he wasn’t accustomed too. He forced each step up the gentle slope, weakness hitting him in waves.
He finally arrived. He stood, gasping for breath, outside the rusted metal gates drunkenly swinging off their hinges.
The usual pristine path was lined with overgrown grass, waterfalling over onto the brickwork. Fred, staggering as he walked, could think only of Molly; alone and scared in that hellish place.
He found himself winded as he stumbled up the stone steps, strewn with fallen leaves. The plated doorbell, worn green from touch, shone like a beacon urging him on.
He nearly lost his footing as he finally reached the top, his heartbeat swelling in his ears.
Jamming his finger onto the button in an aggressive burst, he didn’t wait for a nurse to appear. He started hammering on the wooden door.
“Open up, you scoundrels, locking me up away from her.”
His weak fist bruised against the hard wooden door.
“Open up, I’m just as crazy as her I tell you, I want to check myself in”
The little strength he had was failing.
“Open this damn door”, his voice wavered, “check me in with her”
Tears of frustration wet his cheeks as he slumped against the door.
He knew they had to open it eventually, and there he’d be.
Cold began to creep into his bones, eating away at him from the inside. Finally, as the sun began to set, the door behind him slowly eased open.
It was an exhausted man, half asleep, who staggered into the dazzling lobby. An immaculate nurse sat at the reception desk.
“Ahhh Mr Hutchinson, you wish to check yourself in alongside your wife I presume?”
Bewildered, he nodded, taken aback by the ease of acceptance.
“Please take a seat in the corner, you will be joining her shortly”
Fred gratefully collapsed into the chair, a smile lighting his face as his eyes drifted shut into a gentle doze.
“Fred?”
A tentative voice called from the doorway.
“Fred, you in here?”
Fred stirred, opening his eyes with an eager sparkle.
A concerned young woman rushed into the dark lobby.
“Oh thank god you’re alright, I was so worried when I heard! What are you doing out here all alone? There’s nothing here but bad memories and ghosts”
“There no such thing as ghosts!” Fred bristled, “I’m here to join my Molly”
“Molly’s not in here, no one is, they shut this place down decades ago, how did you even get in?”
“They didn’t, the nurse…” he tailed off, seeing the dilapidated, otherwise empty room he sat in and finding his jumbled mind unable reconcile it, “She’s here, I know it! I’m not going anywhere, I just want to be with her!”
The woman sighed, sitting down next to him.
“Look around, this place is overgrown, no one had been here in years.”
“You’re here, I’m here, and so’s Molly”
Another sigh.
“I only came to get you, come on, there’s no one here but you and me”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Fred said stubbornly, “This is the woman I loved all my life, I know she’s here, she’s waiting for me”
“This place is deserted, you’ll freeze to death out here all night, come on, I’m sure Molly’s waiting for you back at the home!” She choked a little with the lie.
“I’m telling you, she’s in here, I can feel it. Who do you think you are?! Getting involved? Meddling in my affairs, just leave me to be with my Molly!”
His eyes held a bitter depth as he glared accusingly.
Tears began to drip down the woman’s tired face.
“I can’t go through this again, no matter where we move you to, you do this! I just can’t,”
She paused, taking a deep calming breath.
“Mum – Sorry, Molly, died years ago… Remember?”
She paused, hoping to see the spark of slow recognition soften his hard, hate filled eyes.
“She had an episode while you were at work, and they brought her here. You marched down, ranting and raving until they finally agreed to check you in with her, by the time they did… I’m so sorry. You couldn’t accept it then either. Please Dad, don’t do this again.”
Fred looked at her with pure hatred.
“I can tell why you’re in here! Bloody off your rocker, just piss off and let me be with her”
I took a gamble and played loose and fast with the prompt, but this just felt like the right story, hopefully it pays off. Dementia is one of the scariest things out there, slowly forgetting your own life...
This is my entry to @mctiller 's #twentyfourhourshortstory contest - check it out here - the prompt was 'A man who doesn't believe in ghosts checks into a mental hospital that has been closed for twenty years' - hopefully we hit it!
This contest runs every week so give @mctiller a follow to catch all the rounds!
Photo Credit by George Hodan who has over 25,000 images in the public domain! Some really generous people out there <3