With Stevie and Dorothy onboard Ted guides the Model T on a winding drive up a rural hillside and through a set of tall iron gates until they reach the sprawling Danvers State Lunatic Asylum. Featuring a central building with a front tower flanked by angular adjoining wards, the layout of the asylum suggests a bat with outstretched wings. Numerous outbuildings surround the main complex, as do copses of broadleaf and evergreen trees. Grassy fields and woodland ring the hill. Under normal circumstances a beautiful vista, Dorothy and Stevie find themselves unable to shake a sense of insufferable gloom.
Here we are sir, Ted says, his mood sombre. If you want I can head back to the inn to take your friends into Salem and come back here at an arranged time. I don't much fancy staying here more than I have to.
The building’s design and intricacy draws Dorothy’s gaze for several moments. The imposing height of the central tower and the windows of all four stories almost staring at her. She didn’t know what to expect, but this was large estate was not it. Her attention is so focused on the building she doesn’t know if Stevie answered the taxi driver Ted.
”Thank you Ted,” Dorothy says. ”I don’t blame you for not wanting to wait here. How this place could calm anyone’s nerves I don’t know.” She checks her watch.
”An hour and a half?” she consults Stevie. ”I don’t think our appointment will last longer than that.”
You would know best Ms. Crick. We will see you in 90 minutes Master Ted. Thank you for your assistance in these matters. We look forward to seeing you again shortly.
Turning and looking around at the facility, Stevie resists a shudder at his own uncomfortable thoughts of the place, then sweeps his arm out, standing sideways to allow Dorothy to proceed up the stone walk and mount the stairs.
As a matter of course Stevie scans the windows and arches for faces or figures, thoughts of snipers and Italian spotters playing through his mind.
As Stevie scans the windows and arches of the asylum he notices metal grillwork covering all of the windows. With Dorothy in the lead and Stevie following close behind, the pair of investigators climb the stone steps and push open the main doors. On entering the cheerless interior of the main administration building, which resembles a hospital foyer, their nostrils are confronted by a pungent odour of antiseptic that is almost overpowering.
Approaching the main desk Stevie and Dorothy find a severe-looking nurse seated behind it. The woman, who is dark-haired and aged around her mid-thirties, is pouring over some paperwork as they arrive at the desk. She takes what seems like an age to look up from her work and acknowledge their presence. Can I help you? she says brusquely.
Stevie finds his gaze drawn to the left side of the woman's head. There's something wrong with her left ear. Part of it seems to have been torn or chewed off. Stevie doesn't get much time to look before the woman quickly brushes a lock of hair across her ear to cover it up.
Yes thank you. Good Afternoon. My friend and I are here to visit a patient, one Larry Croswell. You may have him admitted as Lawrence.
Stevie smiles politely and feigns ignorance of the woman's injury. He attempts to look proper and appropriate, as though this is a routine matter.
My associate is Dorothy Crick, a colleague of Mr. Croswell's from his publishing house. I believe he is expecting us.
He waves Dorothy forward, allowing her to interject any additional information if desired.
May I ask your name, miss... looking kindly at the nurse. If she has a name tag present he will feign ignorance of it.
You may address me as Nurse Rathbone, the woman answers curtly. One moment please. She puts on a pair of spectacles, opens a large desk file, and turns a few pages. Running her finger down one of the pages it eventually comes to rest on one entry.
Here he is. Mr Lawrence Croswell. She slams the file shut, removes her spectacles, and looks up. You really should have telephoned before coming here as I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey. Mr Croswell is not permitted visitors.
I'm sorry, I was assured the publisher set up this visit with Mr. Croswell some time ago. He is well behind on his deadlines and we need to discuss further arrangements. A sizable amount was advanced him for a series of articles on mental healthcare in New England that he has failed to deliver much beyond his preliminary drafts.
Stevie glances at Dorothy, a slight nod. If Ms. Crick could perhaps speak with his doctor then, if Larry is truly unwell and unavailable. I'd hate for her to continue his expose without at least a statement from a facility representative regarding what he has alleged in his earlier communiques. He looks at Dorothy with a subtle wink. This was the last site to be reviewed, and not entirely favorably I believe. No doubt his later work would have amended that perhaps.
Leaning in a bit, but not being presumptive, I know Nurse Rathbone they say no publicity is bad publicity, but is that truly the case? Perhaps the institutions survive but the lives and careers of the people involved in scandal never seem to really be the same again, wouldn't you agree?
As Stevie presents his case he finds himself strangely distracted, stumbling over some words and pausing longer than normal between sentences in a very uncharacteristic manner. His normal cheerful demeanour is gone, replaced by a palpable sense of dread. Whether it's the overly clinical nature of the setting, the Victorian-style tiling and light fittings, or just a grim sense of what might be going on behind the many closed doors and barred windows of this sprawling institution, something about this place just feels wrong.
Dorothy’s face shows a hint of concern as Stevie speaks. He doesn’t seem like his normal self. What has him so distracted? Maybe it’s the nurse? She doesn’t look that pretty to me, Dorothy thinks.
”Not permitted visitors? Oh, I didn’t think that was a possibility for Larry or really any patient. Wouldn’t a friendly face help cheer anyone up? If those are the rules of the hospital, I understand. As Mr. Barrows says, perhaps I could meet with a doctor?”
Nurse Rathbone gives Dorothy a decidedly condescending look as if to say, "don't tell me my job." I assure you Ms. Crick, visitor restrictions are entirely justified in some cases, for the good of the patient, the staff, or indeed the visitor. If you wish to discuss the matter further you will have to take it up with Dr. Berger, the hospital superintendent."
Ted pulls up outside a dilapidated row of shop fronts on Essex Street, Salem. This is it, 200 Essex Street, he says. Gene and Horton climb out of the Model T and walk up to a simple black-stained wooden door next to the entrance to a drug store. On the door is a brass plate with the words "Salem Paranormal Society" engraved onto it, and a buzzer.
Gene climbs out of the Model T with a nod to the driver. "Thanks, Ted! I don't suppose there's anything we should know about the folks here at the Salem Paranormal Society before we should head in, is there?"
After hearing whatever advice Ted may have to give, Gene heads towards the door with Dr. Bellwether and, after reading the brass plate, pushes the buzzer by the door.
Probably a bunch of goofballs, Ted shouts from the Ford. I'll be back in an hour. With that, he drives off.
Gene chuckles, "Now there's some insight. Thanks Ted! See you soon!"
After pressing the buzzer Gene waits for a bit, looking over at Dr. Bellwether and raising an eyebrow questioningly if it takes more than half a minute to get an answer.
Stevie senses the nurses reticence, and offers another polite smile, asking Would it be possible then to speak to Superintendent Berger, or would another appointment be necessary? He glances at his watch then adjusts his tie and cuffs, more to reinforce his proper manner and appropriateness for the woman's benefit. Would it be best if the firm's lawyers send the appropriate documents here or to Croswell's legal representative? We will of course have to see his accounts frozen, including those affording his stay here, until the publisher's needs and concerns are satisfied.
Thinking to himself, I really think we should bolt but Dorothy wants to see Croswell. Be bold, be brave, or be dead...
Nurse Rathbone barely conceals a frown on hearing that Croswell's accounts might be frozen. Seeing a passing orderly, a burly black man in his mid-twenties, she yells over to him. Mr. Carter, take over for me please.
Yes Ma'am, the orderly replies.
I can take you to see Dr. Berger now, Nurse Rathbone says as she rises from the chair. This way please.
Dorothy and Stevie follow the nurse down a corridor to the rear of the foyer and around a corner until she stops at a door. She knocks twice then pushes the door open. I'm sorry to disturb you Dr. Berger but I have a lady and a gentleman with me enquiring about one of our patients, a Mr. Lawrence Croswell.
Very well Nurse Rathbone, send them in, a man says from inside the room. Dorothy and Stevie are ushered inside, where they find a man in an expensive-looking three-piece chequered suit sat behind a large desk. He's in his late-thirties and has straw-like blond hair. He stands to greet them, revealing a tall and thin frame. I'm Dr. Berger, he says. Pleased to meet you. Stevie and Dorothy are struck by the man's piercing green eyes. And you are?
Stepping into the room, and nodding to the nurse, he smiles and speaks to the doctor. Good day sir, the pleasure is mine. My name is Barrows, Stephan Barrows. I am here with Ms. Crick on behalf of the publishing firm Stevie motions politely for Dorothy to stand beside him, but does not attempt to approach much further beyond the door.
The publishing house has not received certain materials legally agreed to for delivery by one of your patients, glancing towards the nurse to see if she left or stayed, as mentioned, Mr. Lawrence Croswell. Monies have been advanced to him for which he is now contractually in default.
Shaking his head in concern, We were hoping we might speak to Mr. Croswell, to ascertain his progress on those matters, his current health conditions, and what remedies he might offer or be willing to concede to, if possible, in order to meet his obligations.
Looking to Dorothy he bows his head slightly, pausing to allow her to speak, before continuing. Ms. Crick is both an author of the publishing house and also a friend to Mr. Croswell. It was thought a friendly face might best resolve the matter, considering his possible health concerns. We would hope to resolve this quickly and quietly, today preferably, without need for legal actions.
Patting Dorothy on the shoulder, consoling her for her confusion and concern over her friend. Would it be at all possible for Ms. Crick and I to see Mr. Croswell, even briefly? We have come from New York, mistakenly it would seem, as your nurse indicated our appointment request was not received.
Feeling a bit inflated, at the crux, he finishes If his condition is precarious, we can forego any mention of his legal troubles, instead appearing merely as a concerned friend and colleague. It would allow us to inform the firm of his state and they can determine perhaps a stay in further considerations, until Mr. Croswell is in better health of course.
Stevie then stands up a bit taller, almost at salute, smiling to the doctor, an air of confidence at a seemingly simple solution to conclude his business with the asylum and doctor.
As Stevie delivers his appeal, he and Dorothy spend a few moments taking in their surroundings. On the walls of the plush-looking office are numerous framed diplomas and certificates attesting to Dr. Berger's evidently extensive credentials in the field of medicine and psychiatry. He's obviously not shy about his accomplishments. Filing cabinets line some of the walls, and on one wall hangs a curious painting depicting what looks like St. George and the Dragon. Most disturbingly however, this version shows the dragon mauling an unhorsed St. George, his eviscerated steed lying some distance away. The painting is particularly detailed and quite gruesome. On another wall there's a framed photograph of a younger, happier-looking Dr. Berger shaking hands in front of the main administration block with a smiling, bespectacled older man. A caption beneath the image reads, "Dr. James Berger takes over Danvers State Asylum from Dr. William Shine."
As Stevie goes on, Dr. Berger's demeanour changes to one of irritation. I'm sorry Mr. Barrows; Ms. Crick, he says, nodding to each in turn. Visiting Mr. Croswell is quite out of the question in his current state. Soon after his arrival he became most... excitable, and was moved to J-Wing for his own safety and the safety of others. J-Wing is reserved for our most violent male patients, for whom visitors are not permitted. I'm sure you will appreciate that we can't put members of the public at any risk.
I understand director, and we of course do not wish to do anything to endanger your staff, Ms. Crick, or Mr. Croswell himself. Stephan motions for Dorothy to step towards the door.
Would it be possible for the asylum to put this directive in writing, for us to deliver back to the publisher, smiling politely. The firm will need this if they move forward with legal proceedings to seize Mr. Croswell's assets as part of recovering their substantial investment.
Glancing at the artwork, he nods to it, Interesting artwork, a different take on the tale if I recall it correctly.
Stephan dons his hat, and straightens his coat. Legal proceedings may unfortunately impact Lawrence's continued care, but I fear the firm, publisher, and court will decide in favor of our client over your patient. They usually do. Holding out his hand in conclusion, as though to shake goodbye. I'm sure the asylum will be able to appeal to the state for indigent persons support for Mr. Croswell, to continue the level of care you are billing his estate now. He smiles widely again, showing the whites. Their investigation will be quick I imagine, no more than a couple days of investigation and interviews with the patient.
Moving towards the door, having withdrawn his hand before the doctor can shake it, ushering Dorothy before him, Should I pick up the refusal of interview letter at the front desk, or send someone by to pick it up later today? Or in the morning perhaps?
Dorothy accompanies Stevie into Dr. Berger’s office with a neutral expression on her face. She catalogs the decorations and notes the diplomas and certificates on the wall. As the doctor speaks, she watches his face, wondering how to phrase any persuasion that might influence him.
At Stevie’s non-verbal request, she moves closer to the door. She holds her purse at her side. She looks again at the painting of St. George when Stevie draws the doctor’s attention to it.
When Stevie finishes, she adds, ”Doctor, I imagine the costs are higher for a patient to be in the J-Wing. I hope Larry gets better before his money runs out. And, I understand the rules are for safety. It’s too bad we weren’t able to see him even with supervision.”
”When is the pavilion’s opening? Will the patients be attending as well?”
The amphitheater? Dr. Berger says. I'm not sure when the next venue is, and yes, patients do attend when we throw a... performance. Why do you ask?
”Oh I merely thought that if Larry had calmed down by the next performance I could see him then.” Dorothy’s eyes flick to the painting again then back to the doctor’s face.
”He’s a good friend and it’s distressing to hear this...madness has seized him.”
Indeed Ms. Crick, indeed. But I suppose we have taken up enough of the good doctor's obviously busy schedule. Thank you for your candor sir. I hope you appreciate mine. I believe the letter I've requested will satisfy the firm and provide our client with something to consider for their next steps, towards recovering their losses with a minimal of upset to Croswell's future care, if possible. Hat in hand, he holds the door open for Dorothy, nodding to the doctor before donning his fedora. Please address the denial of visitation letter to Mr. Stephan Barrows, Esq, in care of Goodwin, Procter, Field and Hoar, New York City. I'm sure you are aware of us. I'll be staying in town overnight and stop by in the morning to pick it up, before catching the train back to the office.
Turning at the last, Ms. Crick and a friend however will be staying on a few days, matters to attend with Mr. Croswell's work and papers. I believe. Perhaps, smiling widely, if Mr. Croswell finds a moment of lucidity, you might call upon her at the... he looks at Dorothy, prompting her to mention the boarding house, yes, the Waitley Inn, and afford her a chance for a quick visit. If he's no danger of course.
As he pulls the door closed, Again thank you doctor, we will see ourselves out. Good day.
”Yes, thank you for your time, Doctor,” Dorothy says with a small nod. She adjusts her purse’s strap on her shoulder as she exits the door.
As Dorothy and Stevie exit the door Dr. Berger follows them into the corridor. One moment please. He looks decidedly uncomfortable as he continues. I don't see the need for a law firm to get involved. It's against hospital rules but, on this occasion, I will allow a short visit.
Dr. Berger turns to Nurse Rathbone, who had been standing outside during the meeting. Ms. Rathbone, please have some orderlies escort Ms. Crick and Mr. Barrows to J-Wing for a short, fifteen-minute meeting with Mr. Croswell.
The nurse looks shocked. Sir, do you think that's wise?
Don't worry, Ms. Rathbone, I will take responsibility.
Very well, she replies before turning to face Dorothy and Stevie. This way please.
The pair follow Nurse Rathbone down another corridor until they arrive at an orderlies station, where two large, well-built and intimidating men in hospital uniform rise respectfully from their seats. Ma'am?, they say almost in unison.
Take this lady and gentleman to see patient Lawrence Croswell on J-Wing, She replies. The superintendent has given permission for a short, fifteen-minute visit. Please ensure they come to no harm or you will have the superintendent to answer to.
Yes Ma'am, right away Ma'am, the larger of the men says, naked fear showing in his face. Come with me please, he says to Dorothy and Stevie.
After pressing the buzzer Horton and Gene wait patiently at the entrance of the Salem Paranormal Society. After what seems like an age, the door is opened by a short, rather unkempt, scholarly looking man. Can I help you?
Gene gives an awkward smile and offers his hand to the paranormalist for a shake. "Good morning, sir! We were hoping that you could help us with a couple things today. The more important is an aquintance of ours that we're trying to help, Mr. Larry Crowsell. We know that he was researching unusual things in the area and thought that there'd be a good chance he might have been here to see you at some point. We were hoping that we could talk with you to learn any news you might have of him and what he would have been up to."
Larry Croswell the writer?, the man replies as he shakes Gene's hand. Yes, I know him. We corresponded briefly about various paranormal activities in the area but then we lost touch. I suspect his interest in local hauntings must have wained over the years... perhaps replaced by some new fascination. Anyway, my name is Hendric, Roger Hendric. I'm something of a paranormal researcher - a ghost hunter if you like. Are you a believer?
"It's good to meet you Mr. Hendric. My name's Eugene Hansen, but you can call me Gene. This is Dr. Bellwhether. We're both trying to help Mr. Croswell as he seems to have been committed at the Danvers Asylum. Apparently he checked himself in, and now that he's in he fears for his mind and his life and can't get out. I think that he probably didn't lose interest in the area, but that he was trying to get closer to paranormal activity at the Asylum."
Gene pauses as he realizes that he's sharing more than Mr. Hendric want to hear right at the start. Taking a breath, he starts again.
"I don't know if I count as a believer, but I'm not a denier. I've seen too many things both back in the North Woods in Wisconsin where I grew up, and more lately in Arkham and Miskatonic University, to believe that I understand everything this world holds. Call me an open mind, maybe? Could we come in and talk with what you were corresponding with Mr. Croswell about, if it's a good time?"
Of course, Hendric replies, Come this way. He leads Horton and Gene up a flight of stairs to a studio over the drug store. The room is lined with shelves stacked with books, the floor space filled with all manner of clutter.
Hendric removes some books and paraphernalia from a pair of chairs opposite a large armchair and dusts the seats down with his hand. Please, sit.
He pulls a pipe from his jacket pocket and begins to fill the bowl with tobacco. So you think Croswell got himself committed to the asylum for his research? That shows dedication!
Gene takes a seat in the chair, glancing around the room in wonder. "My friend Randy, back in Arkham, would have a field day here. It's quite the collection. As for Mr. Croswell, the research idea is my theory right now, but we haven't actually been to see him yet, so I could have that wrong. I wonder if you could tell me what phenomena in the area Mr. Croswell was corresponding with you about? Was any of it connected to Danvers in an obvious way?"
Hendric lights the pipe and begins puffing away on it as he speaks. You ask about our correspondence. Well, Mr. Croswell was merely looking for interesting snippets he could use or adapt for one of his many horror stories. Danvers Asylum never came up I'm afraid. In the end, I think the correspondence tailed off because he wasn't finding the snippets sufficiently suitable for his fiction.
As he puffs away, a fog of smoke from the pungent tobacco in his pipe begins to fill the room. If you're interested in such things, I've got some photographs to show you from a recent investigation. Hendric looks around the room before locating a folder. He opens it and a series of photographs spill out, each captioned with a date and time. Look at these, he says, excitedly. I set a camera up on a timer watching this room. See here, the pencil on the floor? It moved right across the room! Gene notices that the times on the photographs are several hours apart, so if the pencil did move it must have been at a snail's pace.
Gene looks at the pictures and nods seriously. "That's fascinating. Do you know the mechanism ..." He shakes his head and turns back to Mr. Hendric. "I'd love to spend time talking with you about what happened there in the future, but right now I need to keep my focus on anything that might help Mr. Croswell.
"It doesn't sound like his direct correspondence to you can shed any light, but I wonder if you know anything about a granite or stone disk that's been linked to the grounds of Danvers. The former curator, Dr. William Shine, seemed to think that had it pacifying or protective powers of some sort, but apparently the current director, Dr. Bergen, had it removed when he had the amphitheater built. In the research that I've managed to do it's come up a couple times and I'm hoping you might have heard of it and know more than I've been able to discover so far."
A stone disk? Hendric says quizzically. No, I don't believe I've heard of such a thing.
The two surly, taciturn orderlies escort Dorothy and Stevie through a series of locked wards filled with listless, gown-clad patients slumped in wooden chairs or shuffling about aimlessly. Now and again a patient catches the eye of one of the orderlies and noticeably recoils in fear. As they go deeper and deeper into the hospital wing the patients look increasingly deranged, some sobbing uncontrollably.
In the last ward before J-Wing, a huge, hulking patient grabs hold of Stevie from behind and slams him hard into a wall shrieking, What do you know? WHAT DO YOU KNOW? The orderlies escorting them quickly intervene, pulling the man off of Stevie and wrestling him to the ground. Within seconds two more orderlies come to their aid and drag the man off into a side room. His hysterical screams can still be heard as they leave the ward and enter J-Wing.
Inside J-Wing their senses are assailed: shrieks and giddy laughter echo down the corridors and there's a stench of urine and faeces in the air that is barely masked by strong cleansing agents. Doors that in previous wards were wooden are now metal, with strong, heavy locks. Some of the gowned patients appear to have physical injuries - a missing finger here, a missing hand there, some even with missing limbs. As they pass a locked, grilled, metal door, Dorothy and Stevie catch a glimpse of a patient inside the small room staring out at them through raw, weeping, empty eye sockets, a deranged grin on his face. Even among the less-afflicted, long scars and gouges pockmark their flesh.
Stevie avoids looking around the halls as they moved, trying hard not to look any of the patients directly in the eyes. He remembers some of the shell-shocked at a field hospital outside Logano, and he doesn't want to be reminded of the lost souls reflected back at him.
He tries to listen more to any conversations being had by staff rather than the patients but with the noise and confusion he's unsure how successful that will be.
He stays as close as comfortably possible to Dorothy, offering his arm if needed to help support her, and if needed with lunge in front of her to avoid her being accosted by any of the patients.
I'm here Dorothy, I'm with you. We can turn back any time if you wish.
Gene's slumps a bit at the lack of recognition, but he nods and tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "I don't suppose that any of the other members of the Society here might be more likely to have heard of it? Anyone that's an expert on things connected to the Salem Witch Trials? The earliest references that I've found of something like it date back to then."