Author: Ron Ripley
Category: Horror
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/ron-ripley/page,11,422170-middlebury_sanitarium_moving_in_series_book_3.html
“How many doors are down here?” Brian asked.
“Too many,” Ken said. They passed by the portals. “Those aren’t their markers, though.”
“What are they?” Anne asked.
“Years,” Ken answered. “Those are the years those doors were made.”
“What? You mean someone came in here and installed them?” Brian asked.
“No,” Ken said. “Something terrible happened down here in those years.”
The older man played his flashlight over another door, the beam illuminating a white ‘1949.’ “Take this one for example.”
“What about it?” Brian asked.
“When I first saw it, back in the seventies, it was open,” Ken said. He paused and looked at the door.
“So this one was made in nineteen forty-nine?” Anne asked.
“Yeah,” Ken said.
“What happened?” Brian asked. “Why did Middlebury put this door in?”
“Doctor and a nurse were walking from Building Four to Three. Bad snow storm. She was a pretty woman. He was a rotten man. He dragged her into an open room and had his way with her.”
“What happened to him after?” Anne asked, anger in her voice as she stared at the door.
“After?” Ken asked.
“After they found out she was raped,” Anne said, looking at him.
A hideous, wretched moan came through the door, and Brian took a nervous step back.
“He’s still in there,” Ken said, turning away from the door. “We found her in seventy-seven.”
“She was still alive?” Anne asked, horrified.
“It had just happened, for all she knew,” Ken said. “Time can be funny down here.”
“What was done with her?” Brian asked.
“She went mad when we got her upstairs, and she saw the year. She didn’t believe it. She ended up living in Building Three until nineteen eighty-two,” Ken said. “Come on.”
He started to walk again.
“Did she get better?” Anne asked.
“No,” Ken said with a sigh. “The King killed her. Killed her along with all of the other people in three one night. Ah, look. There’s a door.”
Brian looked and saw a door marked, ‘Building 2’.
Ken moved to it, grasped the steel doorknob, twisted, and opened it easily.
Stairs led up to a second door.
And the little girl with the stuffed dog stood at the top and looked down on them.
Chapter 35: The Girl with the Dog, June 6, 1989
Middlebury Sanitarium was a ghost town, both literally and figuratively.
The staff, other than Ken, no longer lived on the grounds. Of all the housing units, only Building Four was occupied, and not even completely.
A single trio of men served on first shift for security. Another set of three for second. Ken alone protected the remaining patients on third. The dead, however, still remained. The Factory still produced its ghosts.
Some of them Ken feared. Some of them he ignored. Others he avoided.
When he could.
In the warm summer air, Ken walked slowly. He smoked his hunting pipe steadily and traveled along his regular route, one he hadn’t altered in almost thirty years.
There had never been a need to.
He passed behind the head nurse’s house and heard Eleanor in the kitchen. Cabinet doors were slammed repeatedly, and Ken shook his head. The ghost never grew tired of it, but Ken had.
As he neared the crematorium, the creak of a hinge told him someone else played with the iron door. The great oven hissed and crackled into life, even though the electricians had disconnected all of the power to it at the end of April.
They’re on a roll tonight, he thought with a sigh. He exhaled and relaxed as best he could.
It was a little after one in the morning, and he still had almost six hours left in his shift.
“Kenneth,” a voice hissed.
Ken stopped and turned towards the voice.
The little girl with the stuffed dog stood behind the wrought iron fence.
“Hello,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes and rage devoured her face. “Watchman.”
“Why?” Ken asked. “Why do you hate me so?”
For a brief moment, her eyes widened. “You don’t remember me.”
“I don’t know you,” Ken responded.
“You did,” she said angrily. “You knew me well.”
“When?”
“When you were younger,” she said. “Much younger.”
“How young?”
“I think you were five,” she whispered. “Five. Five. Five. Not quite six.”
Ken shook his head.
He could not remember her.
“And in your mother’s garden, Kenneth, I heard the King,” she said, whispering still. “I came and saw you, instead, playing amongst the flowers and beneath the apple tree. I spoke with you. I spoke with your mother. And my family burned, Watchman. They burned.”
Ken remembered.
The Bordens.
The Bordens. The oldest daughter had watched him sometimes. She would sit with him while his mother worked around the house.
Her father had murdered her mother. Drowned her siblings. Set fire to the house and hung himself in the barn.
And Francine Borden had gone mad. Sent away.
To Middlebury.
“Francine,” he whispered. “Francine. What happened?”
“The King happened!” she screamed, and the rage in her voice caused him to stagger back. “Sweet whispers in a nurse’s ear and I too slipped free, Kenneth. Down and down and down into the tunnels, Kenneth. Down into the tunnels with my dog. My dog. My Kenneth. Named after my favorite little boy. The King is jealous, Kenneth. He will share you with no one. Not even a little girl.”
“And I will see you dead before He has you, Kenneth,” she said, her voice suddenly sweet. “I will see you dead.”
She lifted the dog to her chest and stroked its head. Her lips were bloody as she smiled, her teeth coated as well. “Will you not join me here, Kenneth? Come, sit beside my grave and reminisce. We shall speak of your mother’s garden, and of fire. Cold bath water and a hemp rope. Shall we?”
Ken cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I think not, Francine. But will you join me, in my house?”
A look of surprise crossed her face, and then she grinned devilishly at him. “No, Kenneth. No, Watchman. But I will see you. In the tunnels, where I died. We will see each other there.”
Francine turned and walked away. She faded into the darkness, and Ken felt cold.
For a long time, he stood still, and he remembered the young girl who had played with him beneath the heavy boughs of the apple tree in his mother’s garden.
Chapter 36: Denied Access
“Kenneth,” the little girl said.
Oh, Jesus, Brian thought. We don’t need this.
“Hello,” Ken said.
“You aren’t allowed up,” she said, smirking. “You cannot come here. You have to keep walking.”
“The door was open,” Ken replied.
“But I have shut this one,” she snapped.
Anne pressed herself closer to Brian.
“And the King?” Ken asked.
She spat on the floor. “Move further in, Kenneth. Watchman. I care not for the King nor for his Dog. I care not for Isabella, I care not. Move on and in, in and on. I will grant you death, should you climb these stairs.”
“Fair enough,” Ken said, turning around.
Brian followed suit and Anne asked, “Would she?”
“Of course, she would,” Ken said. “She hates me.”
Once again Ken took the lead in the tunnel. Their footsteps echoed oddly off of the walls and soon they were far from the girl and her dog.
“How much farther?” Brian asked.
“To the next building?” Ken said.
“Yeah,” Brian said.
“In theory, ten minu
tes,” Ken said.
“And in actuality, who knows?” Anne asked.
Ken chuckled uncomfortably. “Yes, young lady. I’m afraid you’re absolutely correct.”
“And the next door will be unlocked?” she asked.
“To a building? Yes.”
“Will we find any open doors?” Brian asked.
“I would like to say ‘no’,” Ken said. “The truth, however, is we may well come across one.”
“Do we avoid it?” Anne asked.
“No,” Ken answered.
“No?” Anne said. “What do we do then?”
“We go in,” Ken said in a resigned voice.
“Why?” Brian asked.
“Because it will mean Middlebury wants us to go in. And if we don’t,” Ken said, shrugging. “Well, let’s say I’ve seen the same door five times in a row waiting for me and the others to enter. We would never reach another exit to the surface if we ignored an open door.”
“Oh,” Anne said. “What an absolutely horrible idea.”
“Yes,” Ken said.
The conversation stopped, and the three of them continued to walk. Their steps continued to echo, the beams of their flashlights continued to illuminate the seemingly endless tunnel. The path ran straight, curving neither to the left nor to the right. It grew warmer the further in they traveled and soon Brian had unzipped his coat and taken off his hat and gloves. He slipped the book into his shirt and tucked the hem back into his pants to keep the volume secure.
“Do you hear something?” Anne asked.
The three of them stopped, and Brian closed his eyes and listened intently.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Yes. It sounds like a rocking chair.”
“Exactly,” Anne said, her tone excited. Brian couldn’t tell if she was fearful or genuinely enthusiastic about the noise.
“Well,” Ken said with a sigh. “I suppose we’re going to find out.”
He started down the tunnel and in a matter of moments his flashlight’s beam fell upon an open door. Above the lintel, the number '1918’ was printed in brilliant silver.
Ken paused at the threshold, and then he walked in, and Brian followed with Anne close behind.
The room took Brian by surprise.
He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but the long, well-decorated apartment certainly hadn’t been anywhere on the list of possibilities.
The scene before him looked as though it had come out of the early twentieth century. Tall, elegantly carved bookcases were placed symmetrically around the room with a large, wide fireplace occupying the center of the far wall. A fire burned pleasantly and cast out the perfect amount of heat. A few club chairs upholstered in dark brown leather framed small tables and elegant floor lamps with exquisite shades of stained glass gave off a soft light. In a shadow to the right of the fireplace, a hidden figure sat in a rocking chair and slowly rocked.
From what Brian could see, the person in the chair wore a pair of neatly pressed slacks and highly polished brown shoes. A tall table to the left supported a rather large decanter of alcohol and was accompanied by a tumbler half-filled with the same.
“Well,” a rough, hoarse voice said from the rocker, “the Watchman has arrived.”
“I have,” Ken said in a low voice.
“And it is well you have.” The person in the chair continued to rock gently. A gloved hand slipped out of the shadow, took hold of the tumbler and brought it back into darkness. A sound reminiscent of a dog drinking drowned out the rocker and the fire for a moment and then the tumbler was returned to the table.
“My apologies,” the stranger said. “I know my habits will be disturbing to you. Please, sit, Watchman, and your guests as well. I believe Mr. Roy has a book?”
His name spoken in the strange place released curls of fear through Brian and caused him to shake slightly.
The stranger chuckled. “You’ve no fear from me, Brian Roy. All eyes are upon the Watchman, now. Even your pretty friend is safe from the ravagers abroad. We await the King, and the Watchman, of course.”
Anne’s hand found Brian’s and he held onto it.
“Bring out your book, Mr. Roy,” the stranger said. “For while time is fluid, it is not infinite, even in this place.”
Brian continued to hold Anne’s delicate hand as he put his flashlight down and he freed the book from his shirt.
“Sit, please, all of you,” the stranger said. Once more the gloved hand appeared, took the drink, and brought it into the shadows. The disturbing noise of the stranger drinking filled the room.
Brian, Ken, and Anne all sat down. Brian looked down at the book in his hands and read the title for the first time.
Interventions in the Ghosts of Middlebury Sanitarium. No author was listed.
“You’ll want page sixty-eight, Mr. Roy,” the stranger said.
Brian opened the book to page sixty-eight.
“Please,” the stranger said, “read aloud.”
Brian cleared his throat, looked at the chapter title, and started to read.
“‘Nineteen forty-five and the War’s End:
Not surprisingly Middlebury saw nearly a score of cases concerning battle-fatigued soldiers, sailors, and marines. Unfortunately, as we saw an influx of these, the supernatural aspect of Middlebury increased. A few of the dead were contacted, and our medium was informed of the arrival of one ‘Septimus Rex,’ the Sanitarium’s undead king.
He proved to be an exceptionally powerful and difficult ghost to handle. He was responsible, we believe, for several suicides of previously stable residents. Also, we believe he was responsible for the accidental death of at least one security guard and the vanishing of several other residents. During this time, there were also reports of a large, black German Shepherd, although no physical evidence was discovered.
With the increase in resident fatalities and the injuring of numerous staff members, it was decided by the head doctor, Doctor Gregory Magnus, to seek the assistance of a professional in regards to the supernatural. Dr. Magnus was able to locate a young woman in Nashua. She willingly came up to the Sanitarium and Dr. Magnus confided in her his concerns regarding the King.
The young woman took on the job and requested she be locked in the House. Dr. Magnus warned her of the dangers of the House, of the ghost known as Isabella, and the young woman assured us she would be fine.
She emerged from the House three days later. She was exhausted and sick, but she assured us she was successful in banishing the King. She informed us the banishment would not last long, and he would eventually return at his full strength once more. She told us to inform her immediately, and she would assist the Sanitarium again.
She accepted no payment for the job done, and so Florence MacReady will forever be honored at Middlebury Sanitarium”
“Enough,” the stranger said.
Brian stopped and swallowed dryly.
“Have you heard enough?” the stranger asked.
“What do you mean?” Anne asked. “A young woman in forty-five would have to be dead by now.”
“Oh, she is,” the stranger said with a chuckle. “She most certainly is. But since when has death stopped Florence, eh, Mr. Roy?”
Brian dropped the book to the floor.
“Brian?” Anne asked as Ken looked at him.
“Yes,” the stranger said, sighing happily. “You understand, don’t you, Brian?”
“Yes,” Brian managed to say.
“Good,” the stranger said. The rocking chair stopped, and the stranger stood up. He stepped out into the light.
“Oh Jesus,” Brian whispered.
“No,” the stranger said, “I am not the Christ, Mr. Roy, but I do feel as though I have suffered for the sins of man.”
The stranger had once been a man, although whether he had been attractive or not Brian would never know. No one would.
The man’s face was ruined.
Each cheek had a matching hole, and through them, Brian could
see the teeth were gone, the tongue twisted. The man’s eyes were absent, the eyelids sunken and permanently sealed. Only a pair of holes remained of the nose, the flesh raw and hideous. The hair had been burned from his head, and scars rippled across the top of the skull.
“Behold,” the stranger said, his hoarse voice low, “the horrors of war. I am un homme sans visage, and beneath the hands of a loving nurse I was smothered. She could not bear to see me suffer, although I had no wish to die. She sought to free me, and yet bound me here forever.
“None of us leave this place,” the stranger said with a mangled laugh. “None of us. And should the King succeed in His ascension, well, you will be welcome here at any time.”
The stranger stepped back into the shadow and returned to the rocker.
“Now,” the man said, “hasten unto Florence. Middlebury has yet to decide its own fate, whether to be ruled by the King or to cast its lot with Florence.”
The chair started to rock.
“Leave,” the man said with a sigh. “The sight of you sickens me, as I’m sure you are sickened by my own visage.”
Ken stood first, and Brian and Anne did so quickly. They made their way to the door and paused as the man spoke again.
“And remember,” the man said, “the King longs to see you, Watchman.”
Ken’s face was pale as he led them back into the tunnel. The door closed heavily behind them.
“Do you know where this Florence is?” Ken asked after a few moments of silence.
Brian nodded. “It may be tough getting her here. And I’m not particularly pleased with the idea of it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ken said. “If she can stop the King, then we need her.”
“Is he really bad?” Anne asked.
“He’s worse than all of Middlebury combined,” Ken said. “It’s why he’s the King.”
Chapter 37: Ken, May 6th, 1986
Ken had known for nearly twenty years about Middlebury’s various ghosts and horrors. He knew them all, or so he had foolishly assumed.
With the passage of time came the reorganization and restructure of Middlebury Sanitarium. Advances were made in treatment programs, and while the beds were always full in the various units, they were now filled with people who truly needed assistance rather than ones merely shunted off by their families.