Journal entries – unknown author – year 1912 – Massacre of Hasley Asylum evidence
I’ve been working at a mental hospital for a few months now, working as a guard. Silence is a lost treasure now, all you ever hear is screams and chaotic laughter. There’s one patient here that is very, well, different from the usual psychopaths. This one doesn’t seem exactly insane, just, odd. The patient is a female, around 19 years old, long brown hair and green eyes. The look she has in her eyes when she looks at you is enough to make the hair on your neck stand up. She hasn’t given us any reason to fear her, no violence or threats, in fact she doesn’t even speak. Just that look… that cold stare she has when she looks at you.
The doctors dislike her for some reason. Pretty prejudice from my point of view. I didn’t realize how bad it really was until just recently. They treat her like a homicidal maniac when she was only admitted because she had a strange obsession with blood. They take it too far. Shock therapy is rationalized as treatment for her crimson obsession. The beatings however cannot be rationalized. Every day she has a new cut or bruise, but I’m told to overlook it. So I do.
I start to think they torture her because they’re really afraid of her. They want to feel powerful and in control. The doctors have no mercy with her, this girl whom I don’t even know her name, the girl who doesn’t even fight against the torture anymore, doesn’t even scream. I don’t know what’s scarier, her cold eyes, or the silence during the torture.
She’s broken. Beyond broken, beyond repair. They aren’t trying to help her, they’re trying to destroy her. She has no family that anyone knows of, they abandoned her when she was a preteen, the family afraid of her, afraid of her silence, afraid of her bloody obsession.
All the patients here avoid her, even the other guards. After today, I wish I had. I tried to talk to her, even if she did horrify me. She didn’t deserve this. I asked her if she was feeling okay, all she did was smile. She smiled. That smile almost gave me a heart attack. I’ve never been more scared in my life. That smile was even colder than her eyes.
She died that afternoon.
The doctors finally took it too far. Electrocuted her to death. I had the responsibility of taking her to the morgue. Her white hospital gown tattered, her green eyes rolled back, her pink lips now black. I felt sorry for her.
The asylum seemed even more cold now than when she was here. A chill ran up my spine as I heard a scream. It wasn’t the normal maniac scream, it was a doctor. I started to run in the direction of the screams but I had to stop, the lights went out. Every single light in the entire asylum went out. I couldn’t see anything so went to try and find something to use for light so I could find whoever was screaming. Then a sound that I haven’t heard since I started working here.
Silence.
The lights flickered and finally came back on. Still silent.
I walk down the halls to find someone to see what’s going on, but I can’t find anyone. I go check the cells, all the patients are gone. I have no idea where everyone is, until I look out the window.
Hundreds of bodies piled up on the back lawn. I see the familiar brown hair. But she’s dead, how can this be? She looks at me. Directly at me. There’s that same smile. That horrifying smile. She just throws a match onto the pile of bodies as she smiles at me. She just vanishes as if she wasn’t even there. I watch the bodies burn, unable to believe any of this is real. I begin to feel sick.
I finally pull myself away from the window, and freeze as she stands right behind me. That same cold stare, as she slowly raises a finger to her lips and let’s out the softest “shh” before she vanishes once again.
I still don’t know why she didn’t kill me as well. She killed every person in the asylum other than me. I’m still haunted by what I have seen, and I’m still horrified she might come back for me.
I finally found her name.
Victoria.