WILLOWBROOK

by Amy Auer

Kaycee Beaumont woke to the terrifying sounds of her own scream.  At least that’s what she thought as she bolted upright from the comfort of her own bed.  Her heart pounded violently against her chest and a prickle of goose bumps webbed her back.  The feeling was becoming all too familiar.  “Another bad dream,” she told herself wiping the clamminess of fear from her forehead.  Like last night and the night before and all the other sleepless nights of reoccurring nightmares, Kaycee rested her head in the dampness of her cupped hands and then closed her eyes. 

     Within seconds, she knew she was not alone.

     An eerie chill slowly invaded her, sending an icy river of blood pulsing through her veins.  Her heart was beating so hard it was painful against her chest.  And just when she thought she would scream, she felt it; the subtle weight of a cold hand along her backside.  Caressing her--comforting her--threatening her.  The icy hand teasingly snaked its way up her back until it reached her throat, and with a gentle thrust, she was force to look up.   And then she saw him--standing at the foot of her bed, motioning to her with his small hands to follow him.  As though her body were no longer hers, Kaycee climbed from the bed and followed.

     “How well do you know your house?”  The question roared through her head like a hangover, over and over again, haunting her.  It was the same question her best friend, Diane had asked her just last week; right after she had confided in her that she was seeing things--and hearing them. 

     As if she were struggling to return from the brinks of hell, Kaycee struggled for a moment and then blinked open her eyes, only to immediately shut them again and just as quickly open them back up.  “What the--?”  She muttered, stopping mid-sentence speculating where she was.  She sat up, looked around, and realized she had awakened on a brick patio.  But whose?  She wondered, then instantly realized it was her own.  She noticed a small metal door to the left of her--she had never noticed before--locked tight with a padlock.  Then, with the weight of a freight train crashing down on her, it all came back rushing back, “Oh my God, the door!”  She screamed and ran inside the house where she grabbed the telephone from the small table in the foyer and frantically dialed.

     “I need your help!”  Kaycee cried, before Diane even had a chance to get out of her Jeep Cherokee.  Kaycee pulled on her arm, nearly dragged her to the side of the house, and pointed towards the locked, rust-colored door.

     “Yeah, it looks like an old, coal storage or something.”  Diane struggled to say suddenly noticing the pastiness in Kaycee’s face, “Hey, are you all right?”  She worried.

Kaycee began explaining everything to Diane; the nightmares, the apparitions she’d been seeing, the terrible screams of tortured souls piercing the night, “Wait a minute,” she suddenly said, realizing the look in Diane’s eyes, “you think I’m crazy don’t you?”

     “No, I don’t think you’re crazy.  I think your still mourning the loss of your husband and daughter and it’s making you see and hear things that aren’t real.”  She smiled, and then walked to her car returning with a pair of bolt cutters and flashlight.  “WH--what are you doing?”

“Proving to you that there is nothing more beyond this door than an old storage of some sort. Kaycee, this house is not haunted.  There are no such things as ghosts.”   Diane snapped the lock in two and opened the small door.  They were nearly flat against the ground as they peered inside.  Diane extended her arm and flipped on the flashlight brightening a fairly large room.  “Wow! Let’s go in.”  She gave Kaycee a slight nudge.  It wasn’t easy, but they had both made it inside the cemented room.

     “Hey, over there,” Diane pointed to the far side of the room, “Are those steps?”  Kaycee looked to where the flashlight was pointing, and in the bright beam clearly saw the top of a staircase.  “What the hell was this place?”  She murmured, slowly descending the stairs.

    “Willowbrook,” Diane announced at the bottom of the steps, “The old lunatic asylum.  I know you’re probably thinking it’s too small to be a hospital of sorts, but I assure you its quite large down here.”  Before Kaycee had a chance to react, Diane grabbed her wrist and pulled her through a maze of cemented tunnels until they finally reached what appeared to be--what?  A prison...a hospital? A little bit of both.   Steel cages lined either side of the room.  She saw metal chains securely fixed to the walls, along with maroon-colored stains of blood splashed about the concrete floor.  A raw, slice of fear pierced her chest, making it hard to breath.  She tried to scream but couldn’t.   The room began to spin around her, and then her world suddenly went black.

     “Wake up darling.”  No, it couldn’t be! Kaycee opened her eyes and looked up at her husband.  It was a dream.  It was all just a horrible, horrible dream.  She reached up to caress his cheek and in a panic, realized she couldn’t.

     “Welcome to Willowbrook,” he said, “Don’t worry we’ll take good care of you.”  Just then, Kaycee’s voice shattered the night, yet no one would hear her scream.