New Eden Chronicles – The Animal Interlude - Chapter 3

“Looking for a good time—father?”

The question echoes in Nathan’s mind as he glances at the young woman. She is in her late teens, or at least that is what he chooses to believe. Like so many young women, runaways, who ended up in the big city with dreams of becoming an actress, she had probably turned to prostitution to feed herself.

It had been some time since Nathan had entertained the thought of having sex, and even longer since he had actually been with a woman. “I don’t have any money,” he said studying her face. She was pretty, maybe even beautiful, he thought to himself? Under the heavy makeup and dark circles around her eyes, probably from drug use, she was beautiful.

“Are you really a priest?” she asked looking as if the answer really didn’t matter to her.

Nathan thought about that as they stood looking at one another. Yes, he wore the clothes of a priest, had been trained as a priest, and for the past twenty years had lived the life of a priest. So much had been sacrificed throughout those years because of one fleeting moment in time—one gut reaction—one mistake that changed his life forever.

Not so unlike this young woman, he thought to himself, who stood before him propositioning a man dressed as a priest. She had at some point made the decision to leave the life she had behind. And because of that, and for whatever reason, that one decision became her mistake. Now, here they stood. A woman dressed as a prostitute propositioning a man dressed as a priest and all Nathan could manage was, “Are you really a prostitute?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, but you could tell she wasn’t proud of it.

“Then I’m a priest,” said Nathan. As he turned to walk away she reaches out to him brushing his arm with her hand and says, “Maybe we can help each other?”

Considering what she was saying Nathan asks, “How?”

Looking up with at him with her eyes and head tilted down she slides her index finger into the V-neck of her top and softly pulls it to one side exposing her self just a little to entice him. “I can do something for you if you will do something for me?”

For the first time Nathan can see the street smart prostitute side of this young woman. She has made her target and will use her assets, her only assets, to reel him in. The shy innocent young woman with hopes and dreams of becoming a famous actress and owning this town had been replaced by the homeless junkie turned to prostitution to support her habit.

Just as he had come to New Eden twenty years ago with the prospect of saving souls and had his hopes dashed when the only souls he was saving didn’t deserve it in his opinion. Now, here he was faced again with yet another soul that needed saving, yet another soul that had made her own bed and should have to lie in it—or be buried with it.

So why shouldn’t he get something out of it for a change? After all, once he took off the clothes that made him a priest wasn’t just the man left? He had given so much without expectation since becoming a priest, and they had all accepted without offering restitution. This time was different, though, this time the restitution was coming in anticipation of his help. No matter what she wanted of him he would accept her offer first. “Ok.” He said, spoken simply and direct without even a hint of regret in his voice. “Where do we go from here?”

“I have a room in this building.” She says looking behind her, as she reaches for Nathan’s hand and leads him through the entrance.

There had been a slight breeze outside making the night air cool and bearable, but there was no breeze inside this building. No air conditioning, no fans—not even an open window. This building, like so many older buildings in the city, had that dank feel and musky smell, like mold, urine and rat feces all mixed in some gruesome concoction and sprayed on the walls and floors. There was no elevator, of course, and the stairs creaked and moaned with every step.

As they made their way toward the fifth floor Nathan began to wonder about his decision. After all, what sort of woman would proposition a priest in the first place? This woman, this whore had a lot of nerve to approach him during this most vulnerable time in his life. He had been struggling with being a priest for some time and this day had been particularly difficult. When he ran out into the street to get away he never imagined it would end up like this. As a matter of fact he could barely remember the confrontation that had caused his hurried exit.

Purging that thought from his mind he again focused on the young lady leading him up the stairs. She had managed to get a few steps ahead of him and for the first time he turned his attention to her body. The short tight red mini she wore hid very little of her shapely figure. Her long legs were very toned like that of a gymnast or runner. A firm tight ass filled out the back of the dress, and with no panty lines he imagined she was wearing a thong or no panties at all. Strong shoulders and toned arms led him to believe she had been an athlete.

In his younger days, before he became a priest, even before he became, became what lead him to the priesthood in the first place, he had liked that kind of woman. He himself had been an athlete. In high school and college he had his pick of women, mostly cheerleaders or high society types, always beautiful, always built.

She fumbled for her keys in the little clutch purse she carried with her. Nathan wondered why she even bothered to lock the door. It was weak, cracked in several places, and wouldn’t take too much effort to break down if someone really wanted to. She opened the door to her apartment, if it was even hers. He presumed it belonged to her pimp or dealer and was used by several girls on any given night.

It was a small corner apartment. The kitchen was a single counter along the side facing the alley. The living area faced the main street and had a fold out couch and a double window that looked down on the street. The opposite wall had a bathroom with a sink, toilet and shower. The hardwood floors were scratched and worn with small colorful, but dirty throw rugs of various shapes and sizes scattered about the floor like giant pieces of confetti leftover from some long forgotten celebration. Other than the fold out couch the compact apartment was completely absent of furniture. No table to eat at, no chairs to sit in, and no television to watch. It was clear this space had a singular purpose.

“Make yourself comfortable—father,” she said in an innocent childlike voice Nathan imagined it turned most of her clients on. That, coupled with her youthful appearance gave the illusion of an under age girl. As he studied her closer he thought this may not be an illusion at all. He would put that thought out of his mind. An agreement had been made. There would be an exchange. She would give herself freely to him and in return he would help her—with—something.

“But what?” Nathan thought to himself. He hadn’t considered what her request might be. At this point it didn’t matter. After what he had been through today not much of anything mattered to him anymore. Nathan made his way over to the pull-out bed and sat at the foot facing the young woman. She had just turned off the light and was moving slowly toward him unbuttoning her top with every step. He would get what he came for, and then honor her request. As her top hit the floor, and her knee rested on the bed, she leaned forward and whispered into Nathan’s ear, “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…”

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...” The words repeated themselves in rapid succession over and over again in Nathan’s head. So much so that Nathan loses complete focus on the situation at hand. As she pulls his jacket back over his shoulders the next five words she speaks don’t even register with Nathan at all—that is until he feels the sudden stabbing pain in his right side. “I have killed many men.”she had said.

Her attack had been shrewd, indeed. After binding his arms with his own jacket she had plunged a long needle sharp hairpin deep into his side. He knew she had targeted the kidney, which she would have hit if it wasn’t for the fact Nathan’s right kidney had been removed as a result of a gunshot wound. His misfortune would become her ultimate mistake.

The pain brought him back to reality, and just in time. The second hairpin, this time aimed at Nathan’s left kidney, had just pierced the skin when he reached across and grabbed her wrist to stop the attack. With a powerful snap of his arm Nathan slings the young woman off the bed and she slams to the floor a few feet away from the fold-out bed. Nathan stands and rolls his shoulders forward to pull the coat back up into place. Reaching to his right side he pulls the long needle sharp hairpin slowly out of the wound. Holding it up he eyes it and a trickle of blood—his blood—runs down the length.

The young woman, clutching her shoulder, which is obviously dislocated, slowly gets to her feet in front of him. “You won’t kill me … I know you won’t!” voice cracking as she speaks, “You’re a God damn priest … you—won’t—kill—me!”

Nathan eyes her as he steps closer, “You’re correct” he says looking her dead in the eyes, “I will not be responsible for your death tonight.”

In obvious pain, tears welling up in her eyes, she still manages a slight, but relieved smile.

“The fall will kill you!” Nathan says. Even before the words had finished departing his lips Nathan had lunged forward and clamped his powerful right hand around her throat with such force her feet left the floor. Continuing the same motion Nathan twists his body back toward the fold-out under the window; the woman’s feet whirling around slightly behind her body. Nathan takes one great step toward the window and hurls the prostitute forward like a human shot put. Her body first levels out and then folds over with arms and legs out-stretched as her back smashes through the window.

Whether from pure shock, or utter disbelief, the young woman never manages to scream until just before her body crashes five stories into the pavement below.

New Eden Chronicles – The Animal Interlude - Chapter 2

Yesterday...

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Douglas blurts as he slams the phones handset down hard into its cradle nearly shoving the entire set-up off his desk. “This is all I need right now” he mutters to himself as he plops back into his chair suddenly realizing all eyes in the squad room are fixated on him. Shooting a stern glare back at the assemblage is all it takes to sever their gaze and put everyone back to work.

Police Captain Charles Douglas isn’t someone to be trifled with, and his people know it. A career military man, with time of service in various Special Forces units, the Captain had recently taken down a drugged out perp with a Swingline stapler from across the room. The guy was about to overpower one of his rookie deputies when the red steel stapler shot through the room like a missile striking the assailant square in the back of his head—sending him down for the count. Everyone who witnessed the incident swore the damn thing left a contrail as it streaked across the squad room. Impossible, of course, but it made for a colorful footnote to the story.

You'd think an episode like that would mandate a severe rebuke of all involved, and a refresher course on proper police procedure. Instead, Douglas barked, "someone make sure that damn stapler gets back on my desk—and wipe off the blood!"

Douglas believes in leading by example, and learning from your mistakes. He would later be overheard telling the Police Commissioner, "the kid screwed up, Morgan, but no one died."

"He may as well be dead!” Morgan shot back.

"Who?” Douglas asked.

"The perp!” shouted Morgan, so loud that Douglas pulled the phone away from his ear for a second. "That damn stapler drove a piece of skull deep enough into his brain that he'll be a retard at best for the rest of his life. What the hell were you thinking?" Morgan continued admonishingly.

"He was going for the rookie’s gun", said Douglas, "how in the hell would you of liked me to handle that situation?"

"Truthfully?” asked Morgan—somewhat condescendingly.

"Yes—truthfully", repeated Douglas, echoing the Commissioner's tone.

"Shoot the bastard next time!" Morgan paused—"that's off the record of course."

"Of course" said Douglas, again dittoing the Commissioner's response, and tone. "And that would have been an option if I had been stapling my reports with my sidearm."

That comment pretty much ended the phone call. A week later a similar situation arose during a prisoner transfer to a Royal Canadian Mounted Police unit from neighboring Ontario. Just as the RCMP had taken control of the prisoner he knocked one officer to the ground and managed to relieve the other of his weapon. The Captain quickly drew his Glock 32C and without hesitation delivered a single slug dead center of the thug’s forehead. As the lifeless form crumpled to the floor, Douglas holstered his weapon and barked at the stunned group of his people “Somebody get those Mounties a bucket and a mop!” Then glowering at the two shaken blood splattered Mounties “You clean that shit up and get the hell out of my city!”

Week’s later skull fragments and dried brain matter are still turning up in various parts of the squad room—but there was no phone call—not that time.

In the earliest days of New Eden, Douglas’ four precincts and one hundred police officers under his command mostly stood around twiddling their thumbs. Other than an occasional parking ticket or traffic violation there wasn’t so much as even a hint of an actual crime being committed in this city. It was strange; strange enough that Douglas considered quitting many times over the years. Even once asking the Founder “What the hell do you need me for, Adam? You could put a boy scout troop leader in charge of this city.” As was always the case Adam had a way of convincing him, and everyone else for that matter, to see things his way. Even though Adam had persuaded Douglas to stick around he never really liked Adam’s response.

“We will,” Adam had said, “one day Douglas, we will need you.”

It was two years after that conversation that Adam Graham disappeared without a trace. In the weeks leading up to Adam’s disappearance Douglas had needed to promote some of his officers to investigators because there had been a crime. A transient had wandered into town undetected and mugged a resident. A few days later he promoted a couple more after a robbery was reported; another transient, another crime. Then, the day before it was discovered Adam Graham was missing, an assault and battery was reported, and two more made the jump to investigator.

The next day Adam was nowhere to be found—and the city erupted. All at once, synonymous with its birth, New Eden burst out of the picturesque image of perfection it had enjoyed for so many years; and suddenly New Eden needed Douglas—just like Adam had predicted.

New Eden’s first mysterious death occurred three weeks later, late in Douglas’ nineteenth year on the job. The scene was so grisly that everyone was convinced it was an animal attack. And that’s how it was written off—at first. The victim had been torn to shreds. Blood spatter and tattered flesh surrounded the body like confetti. It was everywhere. There was barely enough left to verify the find as human, let alone make a positive identification.

A medical examiner was brought in from a neighboring city and she attributed the attack to a pack of wolves, wild dogs, or possibly a bear. Only none of those animals were indigenous to New Eden; nor had any been seen or heard in the days prior to, or following the attack.

The victim turned out to be Bob Morgan, Police Commissioner Robert “Bob” Morgan who in Adam Graham’s absence was looked to as the de facto leader of New Eden.

Like Douglas, Bob Morgan had been a career military man before joining the New Eden Police Department; they had even served together. Morgan was once a national champion collegiate wrestler, and highly capable combat veteran. At 59 years of age he could still best ninety percent of the department in hand-to-hand combat, and half of those two and three men at a time. A fact he boasted about quite often. It was a hard to pill for Douglas to swallow that whatever got Bob Morgan got away without a fight. But when all the blood, flesh, hair, and DNA evidence had been analyzed it all belonged to Morgan.

No evidence of what had gotten to him. No eye witnesses. No one had even heard a sound. A 6’-3” man weighing 225 pounds was savaged by something in the middle of the night, on a populated street, and no one heard or saw anything. It was strange.

Strange was a word Douglas often used throughout his tenure in New Eden. How New Eden itself came into being was strange enough. It was strange that absolutely no crimes of any significance were committed here during Douglas’ first nineteen and three-quarter years of command. It wasstrange that things started to unravel in the weeks preceding Adam’s disappearance. It was strangethe first person to die mysteriously in New Eden was the Police Commissioner and acting Founder. And it was strange when the second body found, and the three after that, were all New Eden officials who were in succession to Bob Morgan as interim leader. Douglas’ realization was that not only was there a murderer in New Eden, but that Adam Graham may have been the first victim.

It was a brief conversation with New Eden’s Sanitation Director, the last remaining city official, which convinced him to bypass his office in the city hierarchy and give the reigns of power over to Captain Douglas—thereby making himself the target.

A very public press conference was called so the announcement was certain to reach the animal responsible for these murders. Although not publically acknowledged by the police department that during the preceding eight weeks each and every acting Founder or city leader had been savagely murdered, the New Eden press had overtly speculated that was the case. During which time the press had transitioned from using “animal” as a description of the person responsible for these ferocious murders to Animal as the moniker for a serial killer.

The day after Douglas’ announcement a package arrived at his desk. He eyed it cautiously as a sickening feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. Even before the bomb squad had determined it wasn’t an explosive, or biological weapon Douglas knew the contents. The hand scrawled note that accompanied the package was barely legible even though it only contained three words— “Now your turn”.

Douglas surmised the box contained what was left of the Sanitation Director. Although it would take days for the DNA to confirm that for certain one thing was evident; the Animal knew the city hierarchy also.

Now, still staring at the phone, Douglas was trying hard to grasp what he'd just heard at the other end of that conversation. "This city has gone absolutely bat shit crazy!” he thought to himself. It had been ninety-three days since the Founder disappeared without a trace. In that time numerous crimes, both violent, and non violent were escalating exponentially with no apparent end in site. It was as if Adam was the glue that held New Eden together. And once that “glue” had vanished—New Eden quickly fell apart.

And to top things off, Douglas just learned Adam’s own spiritual leader, Father Nathan Darke, had apparently himself—just committed a murder.

New Eden Chronicles - The Animal Interlude

What follows is my first attempt at "publishing" a fictional story. In as much as a Facebook Note is publishing that is. I've been laboring over this draft for so long trying to make it perfect that I almost scrapped the whole idea altogether. But as with my previous non-fiction notes I have to look at this as an exercise toward developing my writing style, and not an endeavor to write the next "War and Peace". If you feel inclined to do so I would enjoy hearing feedback from anyone who would like to give it. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy.

Giving credit where credit is due I would like to say my version of the setting for this story is based on a creation by my friend Victor DiGiovanni some 26 years ago in Sulphur, Louisianna, and the villain from a character created by Jenifer Boone Lybrand.

Introduction

Although the name New Eden shouldn't conjure images of darkness or corruption it's important to note this is the current state of being, and not its origin. During most of New Eden’s first two decades it was an abundant untroubled place. All that came to live and work there were successful in their ventures and enjoyed a happy fruitful existence. There was no crime, sickness, unemployment, homelessness, unhappiness, or even death. It was in every sense of the word—Eden. Throughout most of those first twenty years so many marveled at New Eden’s miraculous birth, and continuous prosperity, while only a very few knew the dire portent of its existence—or that of its Founder, Adam Graham.

For two decades and a day ago, New Eden didn’t exist.

Prologue

New Eden’s twentieth Founders Day has come without celebration—and without its Founder. Adam Graham disappeared without a trace three months earlier and with him went New Eden’s innocence. It was as if almost two decades of crime and misery had been unleashed like a flood upon a city whose worst criminal offense up until that day had been a parking ticket. If it was a single apple that delivered sin unto the Garden of Eden then the residents of New Eden must have consumed an entire orchard that day….

Chapter 1

Douglas could feel the life draining from his crumpled form as he lay in a crimson sea of his own blood. In a final attempt at self preservation he tries to shift his body so the gaping wound in his left side is pressed hard against the cold stone floor. Wracked with pain from the effort, Douglas quickly losses consciousness….

Seemingly hours later, Douglas awakes and the crimson sea now resembles a reddish mud. Lying with his back against the wall, his left side to the hard stone floor, coagulated blood now surrounds the wound. At the time he had thought this a fleeting attempt to prolong his life, but it appears the bleeding has stopped; Douglas now lay stuck to the hard stone floor. Consciousness fades again….

Struggling for a breath, Douglas awakes with a jerk and expels a lung full of blood. The thick salty liquid had been pooling in his throat and mouth slowly choking out his breath. He was able to seal his external wounds for now, but during the Animal’s vicious attack razor sharp claws had penetrated deep into his flesh lacerating his lungs, and esophagus. The internal bleeding was filling his filling his chest cavity, squeezing his organs like a dishwasher wringing out a sponge, and seeping into his throat and lungs. There was nothing he could do about this. He was drowning in his own blood with no hope to stop the internal bleeding, no way to save himself— not now; unconsciousness….

The ear piecing scratching noise in the distance invaded Douglas’ unconscious mind forcing him to awaken once more. Like fingernails on a chalkboard the sound impales his senses sending a cold chill throughout his ravaged form, and forces his burning blood soaked eyes open. Douglas can barely focus in the dim glow of dozens of candles now spilling their light into the cavernous chamber before him.

Douglas had responded to an abandoned building on the outskirts of the city based on an anonymous tip with only a small flashlight and his sidearm as back-up. “Stupid—I knew better!” he thinks to himself as he lay reflecting on the events that had gotten him to this point. In the basement of the building he discovered an open trapdoor in the floor and descended a flight of rickety wooden stairs into a dank musty sub basement. Directly adjacent to the staircase a stone corridor revealed itself and Douglas followed it to an arched doorway at its end. He had barely passed through that opening when the Animal struck from behind. In the ferocity of that onslaught the enormity of the space Douglas had entered was lost on him. His last recollection before he blacked-out from the attack was the frightening physical appearance of the Animal himself.

Now, following the sound with his eyes, Douglas’ gaze falls first on a familiar black object that lay just outside the reach of his outstretched arm—his pistol. Beyond that, another hundred feet or so with his back to him stands the Animal. His tall sinewy form, long black stringy hair, and cadaverous completion, are barely more visible than a shadow in the faint light, but are indelibly etched into Douglas’ mind. The Animal’s initial savage attack had been brief, at best, but before Douglas lapsed into unconsciousness the beast had pressed him hard against the wall, looked him dead in the eyes, inhaled deeply through flaring nostrils as if drawing in Douglas’ scent, then chillingly proclaimed— “You smell of death”.

The scratching sound Douglas hears is that of the mechanical claws the Animal wears on each hand as he uses them to inscribe something into the stone wall. As the shimmering candlelight light wafts across the walls Douglas can see the inscriptions appear to cover most of the visible wall surface, but it is much too far away, and much too dark for him to make out their meaning.

Shifting his attention back to the pistol in front of him, Douglas extends his fingers trying desperately to reach the grip. “Still a little too far”, he thinks to himself. Turning his palm flat to the stone surface Douglas digs in his nails and tries to claw his hand toward the weapon. His arm inches forward slightly, his body shifts with it riveting him with immense pain as his world suddenly fades to black—perhaps for the last time….

"I'm still alive", Douglas thinks to himself as his mind edges back toward consciousness. No longer hearing the scratching sound he again wonders how long he has been out—and what the Animal is up to now. He opens his eyes struggling once more to focus. It is quiet now except for his own labored breathing. Gone is the light from the dozens of candles that barely illuminated the area where the Animal dutifully incised the stone wall. In their stead a single candle now burns in the middle of the room illuminating a very tiny sphere of the enormous space. The inscriptions, the walls, and the Animal have all receded into the darkness.

"What is he waiting for?" Douglas thinks to himself. "Just finish me off dammit!" He tries to scream the words but manages only a barely audible gurgle as a gush of red fluid races forth from his mouth along with the words. Dropping his gaze from the single candle he eyes the weapon once more only mere inches from his fingers—and notices the fresh pool of blood surrounding it. His last attempt to reach his sidearm had obviously reopened the gash on his side and he was bleeding profusely. He wonders now, even if he could reach the pistol, whether or not he has the strength to pull the trigger.

Douglas also realizes he feels nothing at this point; not his arms; not his legs; not the blood pouring from his body; not the pain that permeated every fiber of his being—nothing—nothing but coldness.

Resolute to his fate Douglas’ attention treads momentarily to another place and time, then is snatched back just as suddenly as his eyes catch sight of a dark silhouette slowly creeping into his field of vision from the right—from the corridor. As the figure nears, Douglas’ body is enveloped in the shadow of the towering black form lowering itself beside him. Unable to move his head, Douglas can only tell the figure is dressed in black, and not the tattered scraps that the Animal wears. “Who is this?” he asks himself. Douglas feels warm fingers against his neck as the figure reaches to check his pulse, then extends his other hand to retrieve Douglas’ weapon. He watches as the figure quickly discharges the magazine for an ammo check, replaces it, then draws the slide back to be sure a round has been chambered. “Whoever this is he knows his way around a weapon.” Douglas admires silently. Then the stranger places the weapon in Douglas’ hand. He tenses, and tries to say something but the figure leans toward him and speaks softly into the air.

"Shh—this will all be over soon."

There is comfort in the tone of this man's voice, and familiarity in his manner. This is not the Animal—nor is it one of Douglas' men. The stranger stands drawing himself up to his full height and makes his way slowly toward the light as if daring the Animal to reveal himself.

"Don't!" Douglas manages, but far too softly for him to hear. The man is weaponless, as near as he can tell, and it’s Douglas’ hope the gun placed in his hand by this man is not his only means of protection against the Animal.

As the stranger nears the glimmer of light surrounding the candle, Douglas realizes who it is that has come to his aid. The dark figure, the stranger, the towering black form that handled Douglas’ weapon like a seasoned professional is none other than the priest he’d come to this place to look for—Father Nathan Darke.

Through burning watery eyes Douglas watches as Nathan Darke, now standing in that puny orb of light, seems to change in form and dress from the dark clad figure of a man in his late fifties to that of a younger man clad in a long coat and attire that appears to be from centuries past. Douglas assumes it’s a trick of the light, or he is finally losing his mind.

Summoning every last bit of strength he has, and fighting against pain, and unconsciousness, Douglas raises his weapon to aim at the priest.

Suddenly—the Animal strikes—Douglas fires...!

Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum, The Final Chapter...

Without Warning...

We had barely gotten the entire group through the floor entrance when a sudden blood curdling scream erupted from the deepest bowels of the fourth floor's western most ward. The sound ricocheted off the walls and pierced our flesh like a thousand tiny arrows launched from the darkness; overwhelmed with fear the group scattered like cockroaches under a sudden burst of light ... just kidding.

The Final Floor...

By the time we had reached the fourth floor the number of people in our group had dwindled from 22 to 15. Three of those had left during the third floor investigation, claiming to be tired; the other four had gone to the assembly area when one of them required medical attention. I wish I could tell you the young woman had been savagely attacked by an enraged spirit, or bitten by a rabid bat, but apparently she had suffered an asthma attack and just needed a break.

The fourth floor was laid out virtually the same as the second with the center main wide open to both the east and west wings. Unlike the second floor this area was very brightly lit which spilled out on each side penetrating deep into the corridors making the immediate east, and west wings much less palatable from an investigation standpoint. There were also more furnishings scattered about in this area to which a number of the Trans-Allegheny guides had staked out their claim to and lounged about chatting with each other, and some of the group.

Our celebrity guide on this floor was Dave Tango. Following suite with his predecessors, Steve and Amy from the previous floors, Dave laid out the back story of the fourth floor. He must have drawn the short straw this evening because this floor was very unremarkable in it’s history. There were no horrific stories of murder, or mayhem attached to this floor, and no extraordinary, or highly unusual claims of paranormal activity. Expectations continued to decline when it became apparent nothing much to speak of had happened so far this evening either.

Throughout most of the institutions life this floor had been used as living quarters for staff. Currently it was the primary floor targeted for renovation, hence the reason for the additional furniture, and bright lights. The only noticeable difference in the structure of the fourth floor, compared to the previous, was that the western most ward, Ward T, had a wooden floor. In this area, we were told, you could sometimes hear footsteps on those wooden floors when no one else was present.

The Investigation Continues…

It was after midnight now, and Tabitha and I were well into our fourth hour of investigation. Having arrived at the site at 5pm that afternoon meant we had been there for more than seven hours in total. We were getting tired. After having walked for what seemed like miles on the hard concrete and stone floors we decided to find a room, or two, we could settle into, take a seat, and do some extended EVP, and flashlight sessions. Since Ward T appeared to be the best shot at experiencing anything we, along with most everyone else, headed in that direction.

We had fallen behind the group just a little when we stopped to speak with one of the guides about the bats. They were extremely active on this floor, and one in particular seemed to of taken a liking to me, which prompted a brief discussion. Being the last to enter into Ward T it was difficult to disguise our entrance as the floor creaked and moaned with every step as if in excruciating pain under our weight. We quickly and carefully tried to make our way to a room and hunker down for a bit, but it was immediately evident there was no way to quietly traverse these floors. Seeing the third room to our left was unoccupied we darted in and positioned our self against the far wall. It didn't take long to realize that this area was far too contaminated with people to create an environment ripe for investigation. Between the painful groan of the floors as people moved about the ward, and the persistent murmur of other investigators echoing through the corridor any EVPs we may have been lucky to capture would have been drowned out by the cacophony of sounds and therefore unsubstantiatable.

Having made the decision to leave we hastily retreated from Ward T and entered the quiet of Ward V, passed through the center main, then Ward S, and eventually made our way to the furthest east ward, Ward R. Being practically alone in this area we walked to the end of the corridor and picked a larger room in the back right corner to investigate. This room, being on the backside of the building, was noticeably darker than those on the front which still absorbed the light of the waning moon. Contributing to the darkness, and visible through two large sunken windows on the back wall, was a huge wooded hill behind the facility which imposingly overshadowed the building. We decided this room was perfect.

The Clang…

Each of windows had a recessed sill very suitable as a seat; one for Tabitha, and one for me. The windows were about twelve feet apart and each was equally spaced a few feet from their nearest wall. I set the camcorder up, started the digital recorder, and placed the flashlight on the floor. After a brief demonstration for any spirits among us as to how to manipulate the flashlight, and the ways they could communicate with us, I took my place on the window sill nearest the outside end wall of the building. To my right Tabitha was taking her seat on the window sill at the inside wall as I was asking the question; “If there is anyone here with us…” when suddenly a loud clanging sound erupted from the wall beside Tabitha. She sprung from the sill as if shot from a cannon uttering a sound I could only describe as a suppressed muffled scream, and was at my left side, back pressed against the wall before the sound had completely dissipated in the room. Obviously shaken, I asked if she had bumped something to which Tabitha adamantly replied “no!” I said, “Alright”, and followed that up with an “it’s okay”, immediately after which I was informed by Tabitha, “No, it’s not!” A response to which I had to chuckle … just a little.

When we originally entered the room I had noticed a wall mounted heating and air unit on the inside dividing wall. It was fed by a single pipe that ran along the length of the back wall under the windows about a foot off the floor and around the corner into the unit. When I heard the sound I knew immediately it had come from contact with that pipe reverberating into the wall unit. What I didn’t know for sure was if Tabitha had caused it. Since she hadn’t seen it she had no way of connecting the two, so I continued on asking if someone, or something had made that sound could they do it again. After several more requests without a response we decided to move on. Once all the equipment was off I shined the light in the corner to show Tabitha the pipe. After barely tapping it with my foot it repeated the loud clanging sound and we determined that she must have made accidental contact while sitting down.

Others had gathered in this ward by now and the fatigue was starting to set in. My legs and back were aching from walking and standing on the hard floors, we were both hungry, and in need of a restroom break. With about thirty minutes remaining on this floor to investigate we made our way back to the center main building to ask the guides if there were any places open this late where we could get a bite to eat on the way to the hotel. Only one of the guides present, Pam, was a local and told us about a place coincidently located across from the hotel. We talked with her for a short while and expressed the desire to use the restroom before we left the building. She asked if we wanted to go then since she needed to fetch the young woman who had the asthma attack from the assembly area anyway. We agreed, and off we went to the assembly area.

Walking With Ghosts…

Pam talked with us the whole way, about a 10 minute walk, back to the reception area where the inside bathrooms were located. She was a full-time employee of the Asylum, and relayed some interesting facts about the property, ghost tours, and previous TAPS visits; all of which is lost to me now. After we used the restroom, spoke with some other guides, and the deputy/ paramedic on site this evening, we continued on the assembly area. Once there Pam informed us we had a few minutes before we needed to meet back up with the group so I grabbed a couple waters for me and Tabitha and took the occasion sit down for a while.

Besides us, Pam, and the other four members of our group seated several tables away there were two more Trans-Allegheny guides seated at different tables. They were the two young ladies who stood by the door as we passed them on the second floor. After we had sat there for a few minutes the younger one spoke up recognizing us as the couple they had waived to as we passed them on the second floor. We confirmed that it was us, and introduced ourselves. That’s when she asked who the third person was walking with us in Ward B after we had come back from Ward E. I wasn’t certain I had understood the question, so asked her what she meant. She said, that when we came through the door on the way back from Ward E, her and the other guide could see a third person walking with us in the shadows, but as we got closer to the light they didn’t see them anymore. After we passed them and moved on to investigate at the other end of the building they continued to watch, assuming this person had ducked into a room, but no one else ever emerged from the shadows.

I am certain we were the only ones in Ward E at that time, and as far as I know the only people on that end of the building. It’s possible the guides could have fabricated a tale to add some excitement to the night, but I really don’t think so. First of all, if that was their intention then why didn’t they stop us as we passed to ask that question? It’s because, at the time they didn’t know we were alone, and fully expected to see someone else come out of the shadows … eventually. Secondly, it was purely by chance that we ran into them again. If we hadn’t detoured off the fourth floor to use the restroom we would have continued on to the medical building without ever going to the assembly area the rest of the evening, thus never knowing about the ghost who walked with us….

The Last Building…

The medical building was a separate structure on the far west side of the property and behind the main facility. It had not only served as the Asylum’s hospital, but was also the hospital for the town of Weston for a number of years. This was the first time it had been made available for investigations, and it really wasn’t ready. It was small by comparison to the Asylum; smaller even than any single ward of the main facility we had been in this evening. Only the first floor had been cleared out for tonight, so there wasn’t much area available to roam. The main hall of the building was very brightly lit because the power feed was directly from the clock tower and unable to be shut off.

We arrived there several minutes ahead of the rest of our group who were still on the fourth floor and went on in. Pam gave us a brief run down of the buildings history and then went outside to sit on the steps in front of the building. The only two rooms of interest were the morgue, and a darkroom for reading x-rays. Otherwise, since the place had never been investigated by anyone, there were no paranormal claims to speak of. We wandered about for a few minutes until the rest of the group showed up with Zach leading the way.

With 19 people moving about the place this building quickly became very crowded. Tabitha and I decided we had our fill of paranormal investigation for the evening and headed outside to sit on the steps with Pam and another guide who had shown up. We chatted for a bit until Pam talked us into doing a flashlight test on the steps. She set up the light and tasked us with asking the questions. We played along for several minutes asking questions but without any responses. We somehow got onto another subject abandoning the test all together during which time Ozzy Osborne’s name was mentioned; and the flashlight came on. I chalked this up to coincidence, but Pam continued on a line of questioning that was Ozzy related, but to no avail….

Our evening ended shortly after that. Apparently the rest of the group was even less impressed with the medical building, or similarly as tired. Either way we were led back to the reception area, and from there made our way to the parking lot, and then the hotel.

My Mysterious Journey…

My interest in all things mysterious began my freshman year in the library of Lexington High School when I discovered a series of books titled “Monsters and Mythical Beasts”. I was fascinated by these thirteen books that covered everything from dinosaur sightings in Africa, to Bigfoot, ghosts, aliens, woolly mammoths, the Loch Ness Monster, and much, much more. Throughout my high school career I must have read that series dozens of times; the whole while thinking and planning ways to seek out these creatures and prove their existence.

Today this concept exists in the form of Destination Truth, Ghost Hunters, Fact or Faked: Paranormal Files and a host of other series. Only, instead of it being me proving these creatures that fueled my imagination as a youth really do walk this Earth, it’s Josh Gates, Jason Hawes, Grant Wilson, Ben Hansen, and others out in the field, doing the leg work, and pursuing my dream. I’m content to live vicariously through these shows; these people; knowing first and foremost this was my idea. Knowing I dreamt of these adventures, played them out in my mind many times over, and designed the traps and tricks to draw these creatures from obscurity and myth … into reality.

The End…

…or is it?