The Mysterious Case of the Mayflower Dame

“To Eleanor” by Jonathan Simons A star in the form of flesh, radiant, captivating and gorgeous, A symbol of war and peace, a guiding light for those victorious, Like a rose surrounded by thorns, under the grace of a midsummer day, You can't help but be curious of her beauty, she can gather those who are astray An ambrosia that can cure a man's insanity, a sweet delicate pill to swallow To fill up an empty man with emotion, to give life to a soul that's hollow The smell of rotten flesh lingers in the air as I woke up inside the asylum rooms, due to the morning bell rung by the head nurse. Time was never a thing in this place. It’s as if a single day would last an eternity, with the echoing sound of bellows pumping under the boiler room—resonating upward the chambers seeking salvation. Scratches, blood marks, and carvings from the four corners of the yellowish walls tell a story of its previous patients. I could sense their pain and agony written like a diary, the worse part of it is that every time the lights are out, something is inherently trying to whisper in my ear. Words like “HELP!”, “SAVE ME!” and “CLOSE YOUR EYES” became a chant that every time I sleep, it resonates even in the deepest depths of my nightmares. I stood up from my rusty bed, noticing the coldness of my breath upon yawning. One of the nurses who happens to be my current caretaker, came in front of my door and slid my morning meal on an oak tray—just beneath the metallic dog hole. “We have Shepherd’s Pie and Lamb broth for breakfast Mr. Simons. Eat it while it’s still hot dear,” Emilia said, appeasing my stress with an angelic smile. I was served various meals during the first week of my stay here. Lamb chops, roast beef, Welsh Cawl, Yorkshire pudding, and fish & chips were some of the stuff I can remember. This is the first time I’ve been in the asylum and yet, the hospitality is similar to those fancy hotels, with top notch restaurant cuisines. Amidst all of the rumors about this place, I have to say, the food is superb compared to what I usually hear and read around the news. Upon gobbling up my breakfast, two male attendants entered along with Emilia for my morning check-up. My muscles for some reason were being monitored for scratches, or any sign of self-inflicted injuries. They were also giving me some sort of pill, with the pungent traces of oregano and mint piercing my nose. I can tell that ever since my breakdown (?) they’ve been more cautious of me. I wish I could remember what it is so that I could contemplate it myself. I have a five inch grandfather clock that only worked for the first two days, and immediately broke down even though the batteries were changed numerous times. My assigned nurse, Emilia, gave it to me in order to keep track of the time but, it seems unlikely to work at this point. She just insisted that I should have it as a memento for my stay here. Considering how bland the design of my room is, having a few ornaments wouldn’t be a bad start to be jolly over simple things. The clock is just placed on the table and it stands out due to its miniature Victorian design. One of the male nurses gave me several books before leaving along with my tray. Quite on schedule since having a bit of entertainment is important for patients. This is Alcatraz after all, and it takes at least a week to actually reach this place given its demographic location. Only a few officers were able to visit me due to the strictness of the security and clearances just to arrive at the island’s port. I was finally alone again in my room, my façade of being fine is slowly withering away. During this hour, the medicine usually kicks in along with the food that I ate. Awaiting for the next instructions, I took a book and began reading a story titled “The Lotus Yonder” by Kennedy Wales. I’ve heard his name before back in Cambridge, though this is the first time I’ve ever touched his piece in solid leather bound casing. On top of the introduction, there are symbols written on red ink. My mind was processing everything as visions of obscure places pulsated, making me sick to the bone.  As soon as the pulsating stopped, my stomach began to writhe. Excruciating pain enveloped my abdomen as I rushed to the bathroom preparing for the worst to come. It was at that point that my body decided to vomit everything I have in store. My eyes teared up as I knelt down in front of the bowl, with the complete sensation of one’s body being turned inside out. The toilet was covered in thick dark liquid—as dark as freshly mined crude oil. I pulled away as the fume from the liquid went upward towards the bathroom ceiling. Turning around, the walls that were supposed to keep me safe showed its true colors. The yellow paint that usually soothes my being became a rotten manifestation of a skinless burnt corpse. The marks etched on it were alive, breathing and moving. I rushed to the rectangular space under the door to call for help as I tried pounding the stainless layer repeatedly. Nobody is answering amidst the ruckus I’m making for almost a minute or two. I stopped upon realizing that my hands were bleeding and broken, making it impossible to even hold the door. This mortal body of mine was shivering as the temperature dropped drastically. The Sound of metal creaking emanated all over the room as every fiber of my hair began to stand up. I looked behind me to see where the sound was coming from. A decaying hand was stretching out beneath the mattress of the bed, with the lights flickering, and the sound of something static replacing my heartbeat. For each flicker, an eyeless figure with a strait jacket would move facing my direction. I picked up the clock on the table, preparing to smash the monster headed my way. It suddenly came in front of me, face to face within several inches. I wanted to move my hand nor speak but it feels like I’m being held by an invisible force draining my strength. The lights went out, and the static sound went off, releasing me from my bondage. I quickly turned the lights on and the monster was already gone, being replaced by an old notebook from where it was standing. I picked it up amidst the bloody hands and sat on the table, trying to redirect my focus away from the disgusting walls. Flipping onto the first page, this notebook appears to be the diary of a previous patient. I started reading the contents even though no dates were established so far: Entry #0   I was brought here by someone unknown after being framed for attacking one of the doctors here. For all I know, all of the evidences that I've gathered all point to him, I'm sure of it. The rest of the Police force should be onto my trail regardless of where I am.  I continued reading the next entries… Entry #1     The gazes of the nurses and doctors here are all suspicious and crazy. Yes, I know that this is an asylum but good riddance, they all look like they want to slice me up alive! This is off my previous occupation as a privateer and only my reputation seems to be the only thing keeping me away from further harm. Rubik visited me to see how I was but even he was curious as to how I ended up here. Entry #2     God knows how long I've been here. Even though I'm trying to write down all of my thoughts in this scrubby notebook, the flow of time certainly is different compared to the world outside. But one thing that is certainly good about this place would be the quality of food that they have. I've never haf a single stale bread since the day I was admitted. As I kept on reading the next few pages, things were getting disturbing… I grit my teeth in anticipation of the horrors embedded in each word. Entry #3     I do not know what it is, but during the middle of the night, there are weird sounds coming from the boiler room. I thought it was just the bellows but it didn't sound natural... I swear I could hear someone screaming in pain. This made me think twice about what's going on so I devised a plan to scout the area. The door can be tinkered using some wires under the mattress. It shouldn't be a problem to get out, the only concern is if there are guards patrolling the area. Entry #4     Whoever is reading this, YOU NEED TO GET THE f**k OUT RIGHT NOW!!! The walls are all demented and there's blood everywhere. It's like a slaughter house but it is alive! I don't know how they are able to hide it but this asylum isn't what it seems. There are weird puppets that look human but are deformed in all sorts of ways that I cannot describe. Th-those things are roaming around the facilities with no direction. I was lucky enough not to get caught or who knows what would happen... Entry #5     I tried to get out but there are obstacles all over the place. I don't know how long this bastard of a body could keep up with the things going on. My mind is slowly feeling awful for each day that goes by probably due to the food or something else. I will do anything in my power to jut down every single detail that I've encpuntered. Whether or not I survive in the next few days, I pray that whoever finds this should use it to get out! I was too afraid to read the rest of the notes… Apparently whoever wrote this made a list of things apart from the observation he made on the entries. Suddenly, the static sounds came up again, this time louder and louder to the point that my head feels like it’s about to explode. I fell off my chair while holding the book, keeping my composure amidst the broken hands. Without any hesitation, I tried to close the book, hoping that it would stop everything. But the name of the one who wrote the diary struck me as I flipped the back cover. Sweat poured like bullets, my breath was smoking in the cold, and my lungs feel like it was being poked by needles. My body was pushed towards the rancid walls in a crucifix position as I was being devoured whole. And for a brief moment while I my consciousness was fading, the clock started ticking. *Tick* *Tock* *Tick* *Tock* “It was me all along...”